In the dragon's den
Blame it on the beer, blame it on the late night, blame it on the long bus ride.
I wavered on my chair, lost my breath. She was gorgeous, the perfume of crispy fries coming from her coat pocket made her seem delicious. Clearly, she'd explain all I needed to know - she had that natural expert glow about her. Maybe it was her highlighter or her flushed cheeks from the cold outside air, either way I was hooked.
Breaking me out of my daydream, the manager asked if I wanted to go on my first shift straight away. Feeling light on my feet and already tired, I politely declined and we agreed to reschedule for the following day. I'd start at 5pm, meet them at their locale quite off the beaten path, and be "on call" for 6 hours.
They made a few practical suggestions, told me to shave and bid me goodnight.
On the way home, I wondered what I had done. I had a little crisis of conscience, where I evaluated all that could go wrong. I had heard the cautionary tales. I knew what fate could await me. I read the books.
Still, the process of going back to a professional setting I did not feel comfortable in (retail was never my cup of tea), in which I felt I could not be myself, express my style, have breathing room - that wasn't for me anymore. I had to try something else. Whatever might come, I would prepare for. I wasn't alone anymore either. I thought of the manager, the assistant and the other woman I had met. They had done this before. That meant there was a way.
*
I've never regretted shaving my head up until that following evening, where I worried if people would turn me away because of it. I wondered if I could perform properly without embodying the traditional markers of femininity to a T.
I shaved everywhere, praying not to cut myself. I applied makeup the best I could - my eyeliner was a bit uneven. It was time to go.
The subway entrance swallowed me whole. I listened to Nirvana on the way over. I emerged from public transit victorious, having looked over each passenger, finding endearing qualities about them.
I was ready. I was horny.
This was happening.
*
After trying to ring the doorbell, understanding it wasn't working and knocking at the door, the handle turned. As the door opened, I minded my posture, trying to emulate the dignity of someone who knows what they are doing.
"Good you're here" said the manager.
I wondered how many people turned back on their decision before the first evening had begun.
"Yes. I'm here." I sat on a chair near the kitchen counter. There was a laptop, and several hat boxes. A few pairs of heels.
"We're going to post some ads now."
Shouldn't they have been already posted? I thought. Then it occurred to me that I didn't have any appropriate pictures. I didn't even know what an appropriate picture would look like. The manager said we'd use other pictures for now, and have "real ones" taken a bit later in the week.
I felt a bit uneasy. False advertising, I thought to myself. Now I really felt dirty.
*
"There, it's done."
The ad was online. I hadn't typed it myself, it was short and incredibly explicit.
Somehow, I still expected the manager's cellphone to ring off the counter immediately after he said so.
We waited. He started smoking, and showed me around the place, explaining the renovations that needed to be made. I looked around and wondered how I could make it more welcoming.
I'd try my best, I told myself, eyeing the futon in the back of the room.
There was no bed yet.
*
Shortly afterwards, I sought out a friend's counsel.
She had previously confided in me that she had started to explore the path to companionship as well. I was shocked at first, since I hadn't actually made the phone call yet.
I had told her it worried me, but in secret I was inspired. She spoke of herself as independent yet not helpless.
I reached out. I was helped but felt mislead & misrepresented. I wanted to count only on my own means for security, find a team I could trust with my safety. I wanted to welcome people with fresh linens and a view.
I had also broken the futon and ended up taking home less than minimum wage after my first shift at an agency, so while I now knew I loved the work involved, I wanted more control on the settings of my rendezvous.
This was too intimate to be wasted.
I wavered on my chair, lost my breath. She was gorgeous, the perfume of crispy fries coming from her coat pocket made her seem delicious. Clearly, she'd explain all I needed to know - she had that natural expert glow about her. Maybe it was her highlighter or her flushed cheeks from the cold outside air, either way I was hooked.
Breaking me out of my daydream, the manager asked if I wanted to go on my first shift straight away. Feeling light on my feet and already tired, I politely declined and we agreed to reschedule for the following day. I'd start at 5pm, meet them at their locale quite off the beaten path, and be "on call" for 6 hours.
They made a few practical suggestions, told me to shave and bid me goodnight.
On the way home, I wondered what I had done. I had a little crisis of conscience, where I evaluated all that could go wrong. I had heard the cautionary tales. I knew what fate could await me. I read the books.
Still, the process of going back to a professional setting I did not feel comfortable in (retail was never my cup of tea), in which I felt I could not be myself, express my style, have breathing room - that wasn't for me anymore. I had to try something else. Whatever might come, I would prepare for. I wasn't alone anymore either. I thought of the manager, the assistant and the other woman I had met. They had done this before. That meant there was a way.
*
I've never regretted shaving my head up until that following evening, where I worried if people would turn me away because of it. I wondered if I could perform properly without embodying the traditional markers of femininity to a T.
I shaved everywhere, praying not to cut myself. I applied makeup the best I could - my eyeliner was a bit uneven. It was time to go.
The subway entrance swallowed me whole. I listened to Nirvana on the way over. I emerged from public transit victorious, having looked over each passenger, finding endearing qualities about them.
I was ready. I was horny.
This was happening.
*
After trying to ring the doorbell, understanding it wasn't working and knocking at the door, the handle turned. As the door opened, I minded my posture, trying to emulate the dignity of someone who knows what they are doing.
"Good you're here" said the manager.
I wondered how many people turned back on their decision before the first evening had begun.
"Yes. I'm here." I sat on a chair near the kitchen counter. There was a laptop, and several hat boxes. A few pairs of heels.
"We're going to post some ads now."
Shouldn't they have been already posted? I thought. Then it occurred to me that I didn't have any appropriate pictures. I didn't even know what an appropriate picture would look like. The manager said we'd use other pictures for now, and have "real ones" taken a bit later in the week.
I felt a bit uneasy. False advertising, I thought to myself. Now I really felt dirty.
*
"There, it's done."
The ad was online. I hadn't typed it myself, it was short and incredibly explicit.
Somehow, I still expected the manager's cellphone to ring off the counter immediately after he said so.
We waited. He started smoking, and showed me around the place, explaining the renovations that needed to be made. I looked around and wondered how I could make it more welcoming.
I'd try my best, I told myself, eyeing the futon in the back of the room.
There was no bed yet.
*
Shortly afterwards, I sought out a friend's counsel.
She had previously confided in me that she had started to explore the path to companionship as well. I was shocked at first, since I hadn't actually made the phone call yet.
I had told her it worried me, but in secret I was inspired. She spoke of herself as independent yet not helpless.
I reached out. I was helped but felt mislead & misrepresented. I wanted to count only on my own means for security, find a team I could trust with my safety. I wanted to welcome people with fresh linens and a view.
I had also broken the futon and ended up taking home less than minimum wage after my first shift at an agency, so while I now knew I loved the work involved, I wanted more control on the settings of my rendezvous.
This was too intimate to be wasted.
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