Well, we talked recently. It seems her boyfriend went out on an all-night bender and didn't bother to call to let her know where he was. True, a lot of guys don't call when they're out getting drunk with their friends, but when a man plans for dinner with his girlfriend's parents the same night...
My friend baked the lasagna, prepared the Caesar salad, debated whether they should have white or red wine (and couldn't decide, so she just bought one of each) and waited for her significant other to arrive. Needless to say, he didn't.
I got the call earlier this evening. It started out platonic enough. Her asking how the weather is going in Miami, me asking how everything is out west. Yet even when exchanging pleasantries I could hear the unhappiness in her voice. I pressed her on it, asking her what was wrong.
After she revealed all, I did my best to remain sympathetic, not blaming her boyfriend in any way, which I know makes her upset. Funny -- she'll complain about the dumb prick yet she won't leave him. But the real fun began when she changed the subject, and suddenly started asking me all about my life.
It was then I decided I had to tell her what I do for a living.
At first there was silence. Then, there was a brief spat of yelling on her behalf, after which she seemed to calm down. I explained what I could -- that I enjoyed the sex and enjoyed the money even more. Escorting wasn't taxing, and I earned a handsome living working far less hours than I would doing anything else.
So, The One Who Got Away now joins Bailey in knowing my occupation. People like Rebecca and Adam don't necessarily "count" because they're in the business themselves. After telling her, I felt great, as if a weight had been lifted off of me.
Not many people know about this blog, however. It's ironic that I'm at my most candid and honest when typing away on my laptop. Anonymity breeds candidness, especially when one's occupation demands a certain amount of secrecy.
Still, I could never tell my parents. To quote Hillary Clinton, "No Way, no how!" They think they've raised a respectable, college-educated young man who decided to go freelance instead of working at an office. I certainly like to think of myself as respectable -- and I know I'm college-educated -- and I did indeed forgo life in the office.
However, having sex for a living doesn't exactly sit well with all those rosy parental expectations. Sometimes I feel guilty for lying; other times I realize it's for their own good. Most importantly, I don't harass them for money, which serves as a testament to the level of independence I live by thanks to having sex with women who pay me for it.