I left my heart...
27 september
constellation of sleaze (the motel, not me), face to face with this client- a guy I
had the hots for years ago- and I was considering a turn and run.
Really. I don't know about other guys in the biz, but when I encounter a gorgeous
client, I get wobbly knees: what if he rejects me? what if he gets the idea that I
should be paying him? this guy must be another model, so where's the 'real' client?
Is this a vice cop? did I just die and walk into an episode of 'The Twilight Zone'?
But really, after a nanosecond bouncing around conspiracy theories, I come back to
my senses. However, the added irony of seeing this man a few hours ago walking down
the street- it takes me a little longer to land on my feet, but I do, and we get
into it right away.
If anything could have knocked me out of the funk I was in over not getting to see
Mr. Volunteer again, this session was made to order. Here I was, getting paid to
fuck this gorgeous guy, I had to fight the feeling that this was not real, I was
only a dupe in some cruel Cupidinous farce, and that any second I'd glance in the
mirror of reality and see that the jig was up. I just plowed away, for deep down I
knew that this in fact was reality. And it would have to end anyway.
Then that something else happens when I encounter handsome men, in any situation.
The little red flag that reads 'Beware Beauty' starts waving, warning me not to lose
sight of my senses, and I almost never listen until I'm lost, and right now, I'm
flying on several planes.
After a couple hours, I want to sleep over, but he says he has to get up early and
that we wouldn't get any sleep anyway. He wants to move from Manhattan and back to
San Francisco, and I'm instantly imagining our life together near Buena Vista park.
It's amazing how fast your thoughts can soar when there's nothing remotely possible
to stand in the way. I tell him I'll be in New York in a couple weeks, before I fly
to London.
"Will you fuck me?" I consider giving up the biz. Hey, love is what matters most.
But when it's not in the picture, there's a whole list of other important matters.
I may be head over heels, but that doesn't prevent me from collecting my fee before
I go. Something about shooting your wad helps bring your senses back into focus.
Still, the next day I make a fool out of myself: I found an old greeting card of
myself in a shop nearby, write a note, and go to the motel to slip it under the
door- and he's in the room! I was still in My Life as a Movie mode, but what the
hell, I had nothing to lose except self esteem, and I could always make a batch
later.
I had lots of last minute errands to run before driving back to LA, and instead of
leaving in the morning, I left after dark. I took the 5 instead of my beloved 101.
I was juggling so many scenarios in my head, I wouldn't have paid attention to the
scenery anyway.
Had to get rid of my stuff, empty my cottage, maybe sublet my place to strangers,
get ready for my drive across the country with my dad, make sure I had an ad running
in New York, and somewhere in all this prepare to move overseas. And all I could
think about were the two men I had just met.
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