My First Escorting Experience
It all started one night at the club in the Hudson Hotel a couple years ago. The usual crowd of sub-lebrities and wannabes was grinding their bodies to a motley assortment of eighties and early nineties tunes. My girlfriends and I mainly go to the Hudson because one of our friends works there as a cocktail waitress and she hooks us up with free drinks. Of course, we could just get free drinks if we flirted enough with guys. Although we definitely enjoy more than our fair share of flirting and hooking up, it’s also nice sometimes to get free alcohol and to just have fun without dealing with some of the losers you meet on the scene.
One of my friends introduced me to Allison and we totally hit it off that night. It almost felt like we were long lost sisters because we had such similar tastes and interests. I know it’s clichéd but we were finishing each other’s sentences. At some point between sipping my green apple martini and scoping out the guys in the club with Allison, I started complaining to her about how my queen bitch of a boss made my life hell and how I really wanted to find something else to do.
Allison asked me if I was interested in making more money in an hour than I made in a couple days. At first, I thought that she was talking about modeling because Allison is a certified hottie – she looked absolutely luscious that night in her skin-tight low-rise jeans and halter top. The more we talked, though, the more it became clear that she was no ordinary model because she only did modeling in “private” sessions.
Allison told me how New York had a bunch of rich bankers and lawyers who were often too busy to maintain girlfriends. They often worked around the clock – these were probably the people I saw from my office window late in the night – and were looking for pleasures without the commitment. I was shocked to learn that these guys paid hundreds of dollars for a couple hours of company. Sometimes, you only spent an hour together. Other times, you might spend the whole weekend together.
After hearing more about her experiences, I told Allison that I’d like to try it out. At best, it would be a way to finally make enough money to truly enjoy living in Manhattan. At worst, it would be an embarrassing experience that I could writeoff to being young and dumb.
A couple days later, Allison calls me and tells me to go to the Hyatt that sits on top of Grand Central Station at 42nd Street to meet my first client. The guy who answers the door looks pretty harmless but definitely in need of a fashion makeover – wire-rim glasses, wrinkled khakis and a tee that’s one size too big for him. At least he was clean.
I walk out 20 minutes later a couple hundred dollars richer. The next day, I call my boss and tell her to go to hell because I’m quitting.