• The Post-Friendship Issue
    The Post-Friendship Issue
    Workingwriter background

     

    I Work as a ‘Sensual Masseuse’

    How I make it as a struggling writer.

    A typical weekday for me is spent writing, practicing my musical instrument, yoga and my job: sensual body rubs. This job allows me lots of free time to sit around my apartment, obsessively cleaning and waiting for responses to my ads. Most of the johns are middle-aged married men, slightly overweight and moderately unattractive. Every now and then I will get a younger, more attractive man and wonder why they are there. In reality it is hard for men to meet women who will sleep with them, or make them feel special without the whole dating song and dance. These men are looking for intimacy with no strings attached.

    I don’t fuck my clients, instead I rub them down for an hour making sure they are relaxed and aroused, using my body and hands. I make sure to use a scent- and oil-free lotion to prevent leaving any traces of my existence after the session. After flipping over the client I will then dry hump them to orgasm, and then I clean them up with a baby wipe while they recover. I’m good at this, and usually both of us end up getting off. During a typical encounter my underwear stays on and they only get to see the rest of me. For first time clients, this is the narrative, unless they are especially handsome or have already pre-tipped me above and beyond my fee. If someone is exceptionally generous, I’ll give his genitals extra attention. If I get a twenty percent tip, I might give them a hand job, forty to fifty percent definitely a blow job and maybe they can watch me touch myself, and if someone is willing to give me double my fee then they can eat me out and receive a blow job. 

    This algorithm doesn’t always work. I have a return client I’ll call David who comes like clockwork every single week. He asks for and expects extra attention, but has never once tipped. I gave him the barest treatment at his last visit and when he asked for more I told him no, that I was in charge. When he asked why, I stated that he had never once left me a tip. “You ask for all this extra shit and don’t think that extra compensation is going to be requested.” It wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t the ugliest and most annoying of the bunch. He claimed he didn’t know that tipping was expected. I informed him that anytime someone gives you exceptional service you should always recognize this with a monetary bonus.

    I’m a good actress and all of my clients believe that I’m really just a horny girl that needs to get her jollies off. The truth? I’m a depraved writer trying to work as few hours as possible with the best return. That’s why I gave up stripping – not enough money for the hours you have to put in. And there was no way I was bringing all my books and writing to some run down strip club to try to get some writing done. When I moved across the country on a whim to chase an unknown dream, I thought it would be easier to find full-time work. I thought I would be instantly successful, that I’d be utilizing the degree I’d racked up a sixty thousand dollar tab for, ha! I collected food stamps, deferred my student loans and started hustling. 

    This works for me. In a way it satisfies my need for sexual expression. I can focus on myself instead of trying to get laid. Sex is still very important and enjoyable for me when I do get to have it, but it is no longer something I need. In the past my carnal desires have driven me to do some pretty shameful things to get off. I no longer sit in bars waiting for some attractive person to catch my fancy and pounce on them. 

    My job does have its ups and downs, figuratively and literally. I’ve had to tell some clients I didn’t want to see them again. Some because they tried to get me to hang out with them outside of work, or were too unattractive for me to even pretend that I enjoyed myself. Others were too demanding or thought they could take the liberty of trying to slip a finger into one orifice or another. I try to be fair and let them know what I am comfortable with and give them a second chance if they are especially abashed. I don’t want to drive away business, but I’m also not going to feel like shit to make someone else feel better. 

    At the end of my workday, when all my extra sets of sheets and frilly underwear are covered in semen, I take my laundry downstairs to the laundromat and start it. Then I open all my windows and veil the apartment thoroughly with sage. I take a long, hot shower to wash away all the men that have been a part of my day. Sometimes I have a drink, more often I just get really stoned and come back to my writing desk to sort through how I feel. I usually feel alright. Sometimes I can’t get the image out of my head of this overweight dude jerking off onto my chest and I cringe, but it’s not so bad.

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