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So, do you remember my first Tinder date? The guy who failed to mention that he practices withholding? The one I left after fucking it out for two hours? With no happy ending on his part. Well, he works in the porn industry. As far as he’s told me anyway. He manages a few girls (both for film and private clients), and does, who knows what else in the industry. A couple months after our night together, he sent me a text message, and it somehow came up that he could help me in the hooker department. I’ve never had a pimp before, but he said that he already has a vetted clientele list, and the thought of someone else finding work for me sounded appealing. I could definitely use one or two new, part-time clients, so I said “Sure, let’s do it!” Our initial communication (all via text) on the subject was a bit strange...the guy’s no myth buster. He doesn’t seem terribly bright. Or he’s just bad at texting. Anyway, we finally got it to a place resembling an agreement: how much I charge and what I’m willing to do, etc. I emailed him a bunch of photos he could send to his client list. When we spoke of his fee, he said that he would take his cut in the form of a blowjob. At first I thought this was cliché that I actually found the idea novel. Although I did say that no way in hell was I going to give him a three-hour blowjob. A couple weeks went by, nothing. At some point, after further rumination, I said that I’d prefer to give him 10%, or that we should add his fee to the client’s end. More time went by without him sending me out. Then, about a month ago, he said he really needed to come, and would I consider helping him for a “family discount”. I said of course. I’ve already slept with the guy, I know he’s nice, it was a win win in my book.

We settled on a price for ninety minutes—which would include a drink or three, maybe some blow...I didn’t know he partied, but honestly, I don’t really know dick about this guy. My only concern with the cocaine was his ability to ejaculate while on it. Anyway, we made a date to meet late on a Saturday night. I was going to a friend’s birthday party, so I knew I’d be dressed up, it was perfect. I was a little nervous. It’s one thing to fuck a guy on a Tinder date, and another entirely when there’s money involved. Especially with his tantric track record, but I’m a professional and was willing to give it the ol’ college try. I was just hoping that perhaps he was trying to impress me all those months ago, and now he’d hopefully be on a mission to jizz. But I wouldn’t have the pleasure of finding out. I stayed at my friend’s party as long as I could muster, still waiting for his text, I left to have a cocktail on my way home, giving Tinder Pimp a last chance. He finally text around midnight saying that his event was running late and we’d have to reschedule. On one hand I was relieved, but I was also bummed about the money...and that I had shaved. Cut to a couple weeks later. He text: “I’m back in town, we still need to meet up and work this out and you need to blow me please.”

Me: “Cool! How about this Friday or Saturday?”

Tinder Pimp: “Saturday, no, maybe Friday.”

Me: “Sounds good.”

Tinder Pimp: “Now tease me.”

Me: “I’m with my mom, it’ll have to wait. Have a good day!”

Tinder Pimp: angry emoticon and blushing emoticon.

Me: blowing a kiss emoticon.

This time I waited to shower and shave, I wanted confirmation on our plans. I sent him a text him around 4 p.m. that Friday, and asked if we were still on. I think he had mentioned me coming over around 8:30 p.m. He responded that he was moving later. Moving? On a Friday night? A night we spoke of just five days previous? People are so weird. He also didn’t mention or acknowledge the fact that a move would probably effect our evening’s plans, no: “Hey doll, I know we have plans tonight, but I may or may not be able to keep them...I’m moving tonight”. I responded, “Moving?”

TP: “To a new place.”

Me: “What part of town? Sounds like we should wait. I have Sunday and Monday night free.”

TP: “Kk but soon I need to be sucked. p”

Is that “p” for please? I don’t even know what Kk stands for. Why can’t people just spell shit out?! Fucker’s forcing me to Google their lazy, idiotic shorthand.

Me: “Totally. You can still hit me up later, but I can’t “host” and I’ll need at least 1.5 hours to shower and get cute. I hope you’re not moving to the west side.”

TP: “If I’m parting later you wanna chill?”

Me: “At your new place?”

TP: “Y”

Me: “Still our arrangement?”

TP: “Cost?”

This annoyed this shit out of me. Fuck off, dude, you remember how much we said. Such horseshit. Do men really think a woman doesn’t know or remember the exact price she put on her body, her sexual services? Guys do this a lot. I guess they’re hoping I did forget and that I’ll lowball myself. I could have responded with a higher price, but I hate games.

Me: “We settled on ___”

TP: “For ___ I break the ass.”

Me: “Have you lost your mind?” This guy’s dick would make me bleed for a fucking month! Hello no.

TP: “Ha”

Then radio silence. Forty-five minutes later...

TP: “Beg me.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Beg you? No, darling. I think you’ve got this twisted. Not that I need him to plead for me either, but this is an arrangement, and I don’t need the money that bad. I’m not some crack-smokin’ ho on the street. Yes, the money would been a nice addition, but I’m too old for this shit. Why do people insist on getting in their own damn way? It’s a bad trait. His text didn't deserve a response. I think I’m done. The communicating issues regarding the pimp shit, and now this? Fuckit. Even if he was being cheeky, it’s just irritating. I loathe irritating. Especially irritating men. Life would be so much better for them if they just shut the fuck up. He coulda been balls deep in my throat, surrounded by moving boxes, had he ignored his instinct to be "cute". It's one thing to say "beg me" in a flirty tone after clothes have been shed. A whole different egg when it's in a text...out of context...and sent to a working girl.

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