April 23, 2008
Why You Should Never Go To Hottubs
So there in the beginning I met most of my clients at the hottubs. And never once did I get in the water. I became familiar with every hottub place in a 60 mile radius. The ones in Palo Alto were gorgeous, by the way. More of a spa than hottubs. Those might pass the water test. Bring your PH kit to be sure!
It’s strange thinking back all those years. But the cast of characters I’ve met during the time I’ve been escorting have been strange and wonderful. Mostly strange. And not in a good way. I was asked how I choose new clients. My current methods are very different from what they were in the beginning. I go by intelligence level really. And lack of creepiness over the phone. You’re a construction worker? Great. You’re a hard working man. But you’re not going to get your foot in the door. Oh, you’re a venture capitalist working mostly with tech? Give me a second while I roll out the red carpet. Since I’ve made it clear on my website that I don’t want to see any morbidly obese people I’ve cut back on those. In the beginning I wasn’t so great at screening out the strange ones.
I recall agreeing to meet one guy. It was to be at the Berkeley hottubs once again (it’s been years since I’ve been to the hottubs so this was still very early days) and I met this guy. Early 50s I’d say. Long black hair. Very “hard” looking. As in he’d smoked way too many packs of unfiltered camels and drank too much whiskey. Before adjourning to our chlorine infused chambers we shared a cool drink he told me he worked for Pixar (which I never believed for a millisecond was true) Couldn’t stop telling me how beautiful I was and how much he’d love to go out with a woman like me and would I date him and wouldn’t I please be his girlfriend. Of course I said no. While there was a component of fun for myself in doing this, I was not using this as a dating service.
As we left the hottubs he kept telling me how amazing I was and how much he wanted me to be his girlfriend. And I kept sweetly telling him no. A few days later I read a review he’d written about me. It turns out that he was a moderator (which meant he probably was the guy behind) this particular review site. I’ll never forget that he wrote how awful I was and gave me a very low rating. For the first and last time in my stint as an escort I posted a rebuttal and asked why if I was so terrible was he so keen to date me? The review mysteriously vanished. It’s been ages since I’ve even read my reviews and anybody with any sort of intelligence can see that most of the stuff they write is made up. I stood up to this monkey but many girls are afraid of ruining their ratings and so never defend themselves. For me the occasional vitriolic review from a creepy disgruntled client isn’t so bad because it’s diluted by my many good reviews.
I now know that the review sites reject reviews that aren’t “explicit” enough. So you end up with a bunch of Penthouse Letters parodies. It’s all a scam to get a bunch of horny guys who can’t make a decision on their own to cough up the monthly subscription fee. Suckers. I’ve also learned that there are some very elite escorts who have been “banned” from advertising on the review sites because they refused to have sex for free with the site owners. Guys, you think they’re doing this all for your welfare? Get a clue.
So back to creepy “pixar” guy. Among this very odd group of hobbyists there are those who run a racket to see if they can sleep with girls for free. I wonder if they communicate with each other and brag about it. There are many ways they accomplish this; by trying to tempt girls into being their girlfriend or by craftily getting out of paying for services. “Oh, I thought you took credit cards – look in my wallet. no cash” or giving you a thick wad of cash that is mostly ones or a white envelope that has a piece of paper in it and hustling you out the door before you have a chance to notice.
This has happened to me exactly three times in my career as an escort. In all three cases the guys were very rough with me and kept me much longer than the agreed time. It very much bordered on rape. I’m not trying to sell some sad story. I knew the risks I was taking and I made those choices. Nobody is responsible but myself. But. I’d like to find those guys, have someone hold them down and stab them in the eye with a fork. That would give me satisfaction. Maybe singe their testicles with a zippo. Needless to say these days I always request payment up front with new clients.