San Francisco 2015:
Ah, man, this has been one hell of a trip so far. I completely broke down on the first night. Buckets of tears: the whole shebang. Just what every man wants: especially one who’s paying. I put so much pressure on myself with all my projects and I have long distance love, but nothing in person. It’s driving me batty. There’s no release. Nothing besides my “back massager”, and it’s not the same as intimacy. At least The Texan came the first night—I can’t remember if it was before or somewhere in-between the tears. So that’s something.
We didn’t drink much once we checked into the hotel. We didn’t need to; we had just come from a day at Napa and dinner (plus I had started drinking the minute I got to the airport in the morning). But the tears wouldn’t stop. It was insane. I don’t even know why I was crying. I fell asleep crying. Good times. Super sexy.
This happened to me in 2012. I had just broken up with Daniel, for several reasons, but one was to be single and make money as a hooker—not have to rely on the strip clubs alone. A month into my freedom, I met Cole, and I fell for him. But I kept hooking. I was sticking to my guns. It was an extremely difficult year. In fact, my second memoir takes place over just that one year. One of the things that happened—hooking and loving a person who knew everything and asked me questions—was that it made my work a lot more difficult. Not that I ever wanted to fuck the Texan, but when I had a man I’d rather be making love to…it made faking it with my client torture and near impossible at times. And it’s not like I could tell the Texan why I was breaking down, so it ended up surfacing in ugly ways—like the night in New Orleans when him and I cut ourselves while we were very drunk and very high. I hadn’t cut myself since I was a teenager. It wasn’t good. I was trying to relive some of what I was feeling by taking it out on myself…he was misguided and proving his love by carving my name into his body. It was a total shit show.
I’ve worked hard to keep us from doing that type of thing again. We’ve had a few similar episodes over the past three years (predominantly on his part), but no cutting. Regardless of my personal life, it’s simply not easy traveling to see someone as intense as The Texan twice a month for as long as I have. I go through phases. I’m clearly in a bad phase at the moment, which sucks because this is a three-night trip!
Last night we didn’t fuck at all. I truly am the worst hooker who ever lived. Not in general, but when it comes to him, I earn that title every now and then. By the same token, I should receive some sort of humanitarian award for the shit I put up with.
He had been working all day yesterday. I reluctantly got in the shower around 4 p.m., knowing I had to put my game face on. I wasn’t in the mood. Not one iota. I had been texting with the long-distance crush all day, which makes me happy, but probably isn’t the smartest thing. I rallied just enough for us to have a fun dinner. But when we got back to the room, I couldn’t seem to muster. I was running on fumes in the fantasy department. So I took two Halcion’s (I usually take a half or one at the most—and generally after he’s sexually satisfied) and passed out on him. I think I sucked his dick for like five minutes before I rolled over and went night night.
Might have to change tactics tonight. Cut the texting off earlier, instead of up until the Texan walks into the room. I suppose I shouldn’t be texting with him at all while I’m on these trips, but I want to talk to him. I don’t want to deal with The Texan. The crush makes me feel good. Who doesn’t want that? I really need a new client. In the meantime, I need to fuck him good tonight (or at all would be a step up). I know he’s not thrilled with me. A), because I know him and B) he told me. Although, to be honest, with all the crap he puts me through, I feel entitled to have a bad week. I’m not a blowup doll for fucks sake.