paradise lost
17 march

When the potential customer on the other end of the line told me where he lived I suspected that he was the same guy from that neighborhood who had called me earlier in the week- and that I turned down his request for a discount for being 'good looking'. I didn't bring this up, but already this guy had a strike against him. Still, I needed the money, so when he said he had a second guy there, and I said that was ok.

Feeling just barely well enough, I walked to his apartment, which was not so far that I'd need a taxi or bus, but when I buzzed no one answered. The lobby door was open so I walked in and went up to his apartment and knocked. Again, no one answered. I searched the neighborhood for a pay phone, and practically had to walk all the way back to Jeff's apartment to find one, since as a measure to stem drug dealing, the city removed payphones from the area.

The guy answered, apologized, and said he'd meet me in the lobby. I walked back, talking myself down off an aggro peak. You can't do your best work pissed off.

He was younger than some of my clients, I began to get excited about making some cash as we rode the elevator, and I was curious about his friend, who could easily be more attractive. That bubble popped when guy B appeared out of the bathroom, and it quickly went sour from there.

It wasn't so much his looks as it was his attitude. He barely hid his dislike of me, and I sensed some jealousy issues going on (as well as some substance influence), especially since his friend was enjoying a thorough plunging by me. I don't know how I stayed hard, especially when I heard 'he doesn't have much time left' and 'I'll give him three more minutes and then he has to go'. Perhaps knowing that endpoint and cash were imminent helped my erection. I do know that when a client comes I get harder, partially because of the resulting tremors, but mostly because I know I've done my job well.

Not wanting to wear out my welcome, I pulled out before my three minutes were up and rinsed off as best I could. I never saw such a poorly designed bathroom sink, there was so much counter between you and the basin that you couldn't piss in it, let alone wash your just unwrapped cock. I was not about to step into the shower with Anthony Perkins in the next room.

But I was so happy when the misanthrope counted out my cash, and I excused myself as quickly as possible and practically ran to Jeff's, partly out of joy, partly to save my hide.

Back in the safety of Jeff's friendly apartment I booked a rental car for the rest of my trip. For whatever reason, it was cheaper for me to pick up my car in San Francisco and leave it in Los Angeles than to take the bus or train to LA and do the pick up and return there.

I salvaged one of the LA calls I missed due to pager trauma during my earlier tour of LA, and I'd be driving right to his door from San Francisco. First I had a long gorgeous drive ahead of me. The weather was fantastic, and I stopped at one of my favorite beaches and noticed a ranch up for sale nearby. If I had the money, I would have bought it on the spot. I ran through my mental rolodex but couldn't come up with any millionaires. I'd have to wait...

I also stopped at a favorite parking lot to see the sunset. Immediately a man changed direction from going to his car to following me. A few minutes later he asked if I'd like some head. I smiled, appreciating his directness, but politely declined. I had an appointment to keep.

Driving a late model car was a fun experience for me, I could actually pass vehicles other than farm tractors. And I could use the fast lane on inclines. Emboldened by my new power I nearly got pulled over by the highway patrol. I was not speeding as fast as others, and when I saw the lights come on I breathed a sigh of relief that someone else got nabbed. Still, I made the trip in record time, and with my side trips was only a few minutes late for my LA client.

When I at last returned to my place, I found the tail end of a birthday/Oscar party winding down. I dropped off my luggage and then experienced a shock as a wave of nausea came over me. Sitting on my floor, in my house, was a friend of my San Francisco stalker, the same friend I saw him with the week before. My mind started running amok- he'd tell the stalker where I lived, I'd never feel safe in my house again, I'd have to move. I was heartbroken.

Since I had to park the car I left quickly, my stomach churning. Did I keep or throw out the recorded death threat messages?

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