Let’s face it, we all have Bad Days At The Office.
Maybe there’s a client with an thought that’s distant above what the bill will concede for, or a difficult patron who doesn’t know how to be a lucid person.
It’s accurately the same for sex workers.
Sometimes the clients don’t know that the hourly cost doesn’t embody the set, lighting, habit and special effects indispensable to promote their wildest fantasy.
Sometimes the clients have no thought that underneath the stockings and suspenders, we are actually human.
Sometimes the clients are just bell ends.
I’ve had adequate jobs to know these people start in every profession.
But at slightest as a sex worker, we competence earn a little some-more and at slightest get a lie-in.
And so we benefaction the misfortune clients and weirdest requests, protected in the believe that no matter how much they irritated me, it was still a bit some-more fun than operative in a call centre.
‘I wish to wear red lacey knickers, a parsimonious PVC maids uniform, thigh high boots and a leather hood!’ comes the breathy, vehement phone call.
‘No problem – just bring that all with you to the booking?’ we reply.
‘Errr… Don’t you have it all?’
No, not at all.
For me to support to every man’s crossdressing whim, we would have to live in a room the distance of Bogota.
Turns out it’s a surprisingly renouned past time.
‘Are you discrete?’
This was a doubt that got asked so many times that it done me yowl for humanity.
What are they thinking? That we have a neon sign with ‘WHORE’ created above my doorway for all the neighbours to see?
I wouldn’t mind, but one such simpleton asked me this doubt and then incited up in full hasidic rabbi regalia.
Speaking of religion, it has a lot to answer for.
Whether it’s messages from up high, or just some weird brew of shame and poisonous masculinity, there was at slightest one guy with the white horseman syndrome every week.
We’ve been drilled into meditative sex workers are doing something against their will (and if they are, then that’s not sex work ) so we must need saving, right?
Especially by a man who has paid us to provide him like a dickey for the hour.
At the finish of the appointment (rather than at the beginning) they would try to tell me God has bigger plans for me, even yet we was utterly happy with his strange strategy – that we take income from foolish men who wish me to float them like a racehorse.
Men phone tangible human beings and ask these questions.
Have you got a wrestling ring?
He was honestly astounded we didn’t.
I wish you to hang me from some wooden stocks.
I’m not insured for this.
Can you get your friends turn to giggle at my tiny cock?
Is that a ‘Friends’ part we should know about?
Can you fart in my mouth?
Not on cue.
What would you do with a 13in cock?
Come back when you grow one.
What would you do with a virgin?
Explain that the judgment of decency is an old-fashioned congenital deception designed to control women’s sexuality by making it a imaginary commodity.
I wish to watch by your windows as you get dressed.
The kind of poise that could get us both arrested – you for being a peeping tom, and me for showing the universe what we demeanour like in spanx.
I don’t have any money, but would you like to go out with me?
Let’s see, we don’t know who you are, what you demeanour like, or very much about you.
All we know is that you’re inexpensive and you hang around on sex work websites. What a catch.
I always told them to call back on my 0845 number, where we would explain all in good fact for £1 a minute.
Weirdly, I’ve never listened back.
Top of every sex worker’s hit list are the lowlifes, rascals and reprobates we call the Time-wasters.
Their ability to rubbish the time comes in many forms – from unconstrained texts, emails and phone calls asking vapid questions to sincerely making a booking, but having no goal of branch up.
I’d adore to know if they get some kind of kick from these haunt bookings.
Do they get their jollies meditative we’re getting trussed up for Casper the pervy ghost?
Fortunately we have several means and ways of sniffing out Time-wasters, and after a while the premonition just kicks in.
‘Is that the best cost you can do?’ is a word that haunts my nightmares.
It is also the word that will put any impending client on my blacklist.
Yes, approbation it is the best cost we can do since you’re sum for even asking that.
I can’t exchange for my rent, groceries, legislature taxation etc so you can’t exchange for me.
I am not a used car.
In the universe of eccentric sex work, bad clients are a day-to-day occurrence.
That’s not to contend they’re mean, or aroused – they’re just idiots.
They’re just idiots who have no thought how to pronounce to women who just wish to help make their fantasies come true.
You just have to remember that in this game, the blood isn’t accurately rushing to their heads.
Miranda Kane will be previewing her Edinburgh Fringe show ‘Crossbones’ via the UK. Please see www.mirandakane.co.uk for details.