Holy shit. One of the clients that I slept with earlier this year found my website. He emailed me. The subject line: Nice article. Inside, he tells me that he found my site, and asked if I would change a few facts, afraid that some people would know it was him. I was mortified. I felt truly bad. I never expected him to read this very personal story about himself. It’s a good lesson in being more careful and mindful. As I’ve said, this is a tell-all about myself, and my experience. Which is why I don’t use people’s names, and I’m careful not to mention specifics (what they do for a living, et cetera). But I forget that even the smallest details could be put together. Having said that, I also know most people won’t be thinking about those things when reading the story. It’s easy to freak out when reading about yourself. You know it’s you. But I totally understand. He had no idea that I’m a writer. I chose not to tell him; one, because it wasn’t essential to what he was paying me for, and two, I already have clients who read my Instagram/blog, and it limits the things I post and say. Which annoys the ever-living-fuck out of me. Honestly, when I wrote the pieces about him, I hadn’t planned on posting them, but then did. I responded immediately with an apology, and edited the piece.
I asked him how he found it. I was curious. Nothing is connected to me by name or email. He was sweet (thank god). He gave me a cute a. b. c. d. e. and f. option. One of which was that a friend of his is a fan of mine. Small world. I’m not trying to out or embarrass anyone. Obviously, some of my feelings and explicit details will be uncomfortable for the person in the story to read. I write about my life. I suppose at some point everyone will know and will either have to ask me not to write about them or accept it. Interestingly, a few men have wanted to meet me with the hope that I’ll write about them. One of my recent sex stories was requested to be posted by the guy. It’s extremely intimate shit. I can only imagine what it’s like to read my blow-by-blow view. Thankfully I hadn’t written anything mean about the client in question. I’m not vindictive or bitter memoirist. Jaded ho, yes. I try to shed light on my inadequacies, my bullshit, and the general absurdity of life. I gave him props for having a good penis. So that’s something, right? He didn’t appear to be pissed. He thanked me for editing the piece, and asked if I had weekend plans. I said that I was free, but I didn’t ask him if he wanted to meet up (as I normally would), I figured the ball was in his court. I emailed him again a couple days later, just a simple, thanks for not being mad at me. I was going to say more. Something like “I’m sure it was tough to read such a personal scene…” but decided against it. Keep it simple and all that. I don’t want to get into a whole discussion. I just want him to know that I’m not a bad person, and also open the door in case he ever wants to see me again. Which, I admit, would be a modern miracle, but you never know.