One of the more intricate (and endlessly frustrating) aspects of being a prostitute is how much to price your services. How much am I worth? How much will I need in order to feel good about the act? I’m putting myself at risk: of life, limb, and STD (because one can still catch stuff even when a condom is involved). I’m giving my body, mind and soul to someone not of my choosing—it’s not as easy as you might think. And then there’s current market value, which in Los Angeles, ain’t even close to what it used to be or should be. This town is filled with girls off the proverbial bus who are fucking “producers” for proverbial roles. Did I use proverbial in a strange and unconventional way? I think you know what I mean; these girls are giving it away for free! Actually, it’s not that at all...it’s mom’s and nursing students who need time to live and study, and being a call girl allows them that freedom. There are a million hookers in Southern California. It’s an oversaturated market. I should move to a small town and rule the market!
Often, what I think I’m worth is not reflected in what I get. Not since the 90’s. Actually, it never is, and sometimes I wonder if that’s because I’ve lowered the value of my services. I made a good living during first decade that I stripped. And I received an exorbitant amount of cash from the first five guys I slept with for money. I was young and on top of the world. I was fearless and had zero qualms about asking for five, ten grand. As the years have passed and money at the clubs changed, I found my prices getting lower and lower. I was (and have been doing) the exact thing I want all women to stop doing: bringing the market down! My fee is still on the higher end of what’s considered average in the U.S. market, but in a dream world—and a time machine—I’d earn more.
One of the things I most hate about pricing my body is when a man tells me I’m too expensive. Just because you can’t afford me is no reason to be rude! Or butt-hurt. This happens more often than you’d think. Guys get pissy with me over pricing. Once in a while a man will handle it with grace. He’ll tell me he can’t afford it, but is sure I’m worth every penny. I’m never annoyed with this response. It’s lovely and honest.
Lookit, the thing is, I’m broke most of the time and have zero savings. I’ve been on my own since sixteen and working for myself most of my life. There is no retirement plan or backup, but I’m not going to lower my price to what some jerk can afford or thinks is enough for a hooker, and then feel shitty about myself.
I’d like to say to any future men considering or soliciting my services (or other “working girls”), please be sweet when I quote you a fee. Are there girls cheaper than me? Absolutely! But they don’t have my mind, personality and love of blowjobs. I could be wrong about that last part. The point is; you get the couch you can afford. You go to Ikea, you know what you’re getting: a short-term couch with a bunch of screws that will drive you bonkers.