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April 26, 2017 drink: white wine

I haven’t heard a peep from my old client, WAMU. Not since I said no to the jack video. Men are so transparent and stupid sometimes. Why keep reaching out to me randomly throughout these years if you don’t intend on following through? Only in the hopes of sending a fucking jizz video? How absurd. I had been ignoring his once-in-a-blue-moon emails, but caved when I decided to cut back my Texan visits. Ah, well. You win some, you lose some. Wouldn't a man prefer to come on my tits than send a video? I guess I could have said yes and then just not watched it. But you know I would have. And that's working for free in my eyes. Clients have to pay for the privilege. It's just the way it works. Plus, I'm not an online sex worker. I'm old school. Hand me cash and get your needs met.

Do you know he’s the only client that I’ve been to the house of? A bunch of years back, but not in the beginning. He flew me to the bay area to hang out. If memory serves, I stayed in a guest bedroom. His wife was out of the country. We didn’t even fuck—I was with someone at the time, but I think he may have jacked off while I was next to him. It was weird and it wasn’t. Not the jacking off, that's never weird. I've seen thousands of men jack off. The being at his house. Client’s tell me a lot about their wives; it’s easy to feel like I know them. Pictures of them together were everywhere. The funny thing is, I've known him longer. He was single when we met. And then he met her, and I was happy for him. He was too at the time (not sure about now), but she’s conservative. She didn’t (and doesn’t, I assume) know about his porn addiction or how often he jacks off. Make way for the happy hooker! As I've said before, it speaks to the checks and balances of marriage and call girls. And why it works and why the industry will never die. And also why it should be legal. Dumbest and most broken law in history. I wonder why I didn’t stay at a hotel? He lives in a rural suburban area, maybe that’s why. I think it was just the one night, but I can’t remember. When I think about it in retrospect, it seems odd. The Texan once talked about me going to his place when the Mrs. was out of town, but that would be too much, I think. We’re too close. WAMU was lovey-dovey in a worm-y, semi-creepy fashion, and he really didn't know me at all—I was better at keeping boundaries back then. He drove me bonkers with that pseudo romantic shit. Staring lovingly into my eyes. I'll take The Texan’s crazy-as-fuck antics over mushy shit any day. I barely like that stuff from my real lovers, I definitely don’t want it from a client. Be thoughtful and appreciative, but schmaltzy, get the fuck outta here.

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