I would occasionally—actually it was a little too often—run in to clients while I was out socialising. Most of the time it was a matter of pretending you didn’t know each other or—because you were never sure that they had given you a real name – a very generic hello there, nice seeing you again, you’re looking well, must catch up soon. Generally it was a polite interaction, but as always there is an exception to every rule. One Friday night I was out with a girlfriend at the local, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a client who was drinking with another man I didn’t know. I smiled and waved politely, which apparently in drunk man language means please come over and insult me in a crowded bar.
‘My mate says you’re on the game!’
It’s a good thing that my girlfriend was well versed in my occupation or I would have kneed this guy in the nutsack. I just stared at him.
‘Well, well,’ he said.
‘So what else did your friend say about me?’
‘Nothing, just that you were on the game.’
‘It’s a good thing I have a better memory for details than your friend over there. Here’s what I remember: I do know your friend, he told me his name was Justin, and he was a barrister who worked in the city. I also clearly recall he booked me for half an hour, he is uncircumcised, sort of looks like a sausage with plenty of overhang, it was about three to four inches standing fully proud and exposing a mole at the base of his dick. He suffers from rapid ejaculation so he arrived at and left my home in under ten minutes, and that includes his shower. Normally I believe in discretion, and keeping clients’ secrets, but if he feels the right to expose me, then I am happy to reciprocate.’ Of course, not all of this was true.
‘Oi, Justin, show us ya mole on ya dick!’
Justin was one of those people who suffer from red blotches on their face and neck when they are embarrassed.
Reverse that scenario: I would never dream of walking up to a guy and saying, ‘Hey, you know your mate there, he likes to visit pros,’ but somehow because I was perceived as being lower on the hierarchy of moral acceptability and existence, it was perfectly permissible to approach and insult me in public.
34
Money and How it’s Spent
The money I was earning seemed to slip through my fingers. It didn’t matter how much I earnt, I could spend it twice as quickly. My rent was around $1200 a month, mortgage $200 per week, staff $400 per week, advertising $500 per week, the children’s nanny $300 per week and school fees $10,000 per year. Also throw in a few utilities at $300 a month, $600 a month in food, $600 a month in insurance, presents, beauty care plus half-a-dozen other miscellaneous items. Let’s not forget the tax man—$1000 a month there. Then there was always a relative with their hand out almost every month for a quick loan. My brothers were notorious; to this day they have a combined debt to me to the tune of about $7000.
Friends were another costly asset. The perception was that if my friends knew what I did for a crust they probably wouldn’t be my friends, so to have a friend who knew my occupation and still chose to confide in me was a blessing. It was such a godsend to have a person in my life that I could be one hundred per cent honest with, as they are few and far between. However, so many of these godsends came at a cost.
They were the friends who always started calling on Thursday to see what I was doing over the weekend. They always had a laundry list of suggestions that all sounded like a lot of fun, and great opportunities to let my hair down and blow off some steam. When finally a mutually agreeable agenda had been decided, we would set out all dolled up in distinctly non-prostitute attire. The taxi would generally be my shout as I was always in possession of cash, then I would quickly hear, ‘I’ll get the first round then.’ Sounds fair to me, the next round would of course be my treat.