I used to have a weekly lunch rendezvous with a client at a hotel LAX Hilton. We met at 1 p.m. on the dot every Tuesday. He insisted on having lunch with me before we humped, because he admitted that it turned him on to converse with me first, which I always found a tad comical. Believe me when I say that I am no Aaron Sorkin in the morning. Having to be awake, shaved, and half-presentable by 1 p.m. still counts as the morning to me. After lunch, we’d walk across the marble floor to the elevators and up to our room, which he would reserve before I got there. The hotel offered half-day rates.
His heritage was exotic and he spoke with a slight accent. I can’t remember where he was from even though he probably told me a million times. He had dark, soft skin, dark brown eyes, thinning hair, and big lips. He also had a wife and two kids. He even showed me pictures of them once! Men are so weird. The whole business of hooking is weird. There’s an abundance of nuisances you’d never think to expect. Even after all these years, I’m still confounded and thrown. Men never cease to amaze and amuse me.
We made an odd looking couple. I tried my best not to look like a prostitute, but come on, we screamed sex trade. I thought about this every time we walked to the elevator. Not that I necessarily care about what people think, but I’d prefer not to get arrested.
Unfortunately, this arrangement was during a heavy drinking and partying period I was going through with Hattie and Frannie and therefore, I was pretty wrecked for most of these “dates.” It was a challenge keeping it together and not barfing in my soup while also trying to be engaging and interesting. I wonder if he ever noticed that I was pale or shaky. The sex portion was easier than the conversation segment as it involved less brainpower. But fucking just after eating really isn’t ideal. Of course, neither is doing it hungover or with a married forty-six-year-old you aren’t attracted to.
We had a routine. Routines are common with johns. I’m a creature of habit, so a sex routine is fine with me. Plus, it helps in the not-thinking department. Unfortunately for me, this routine included him coming twice. I’d undress as he took a shower, which I loved because it gave me time to lay down and close my eyes. After his shower, he’d crawl into bed and go down on me for a bit. I’d fake an orgasm to make him stop. Then we’d swap positions and I’d lick his balls while he jacked off. He’d come like this and then wash off again. Then we’d go back to the bed for approximately three minutes of small talk, followed by round two. This was usually about the time when I’d really want to crawl out of my skin. Instead, I’d put on a brave face and slide the condom on and put a pillow under my butt. Approximately ten minutes of intercourse followed. Once the deed was done, I’d slink into the bathroom to pee and sink wash, then get dressed as he took another quick shower. We would walk down to the valet together, always turning my ticket in first. He would pay for the valet, give me tip money, and hug me goodbye. I felt sheer elation when I drove away and returned home to crawl into my own bed.