Our Beginning  

Posted by H in ,

This is how it all began.

Obviously I am not going to reveal too many details here about how your private relationship began, both as acquaintances or friends, and even less as lovers.

There are a simple set of ground rules you have to understand about this weblog, and as this note intends to tell you our genesis (and thus, the genesis of this weblog) I am about to draw the lines right now for you, dear readers. So hop on here and have a look at them first.

Now that this has been taken care of, let's get started.

What I am going to relate here is not, like I said, the beginning of how things started between us. It's how things started in account to G.'s escort job. That's right, we're talking prostitution here, we're finally getting our hands dirty folks, stop drooling please.

I didn't know from the start. Didn't know when I met her, didn't know the first time I kissed her, didn't know the first time we had sex together. Not that it would have done any difference, actually. Or at least not for me. We started erratically and that would have only been a mere detail.

From the start I could sense she had been through a lot, she had been around, and had had to do what she had to, in times of need, to go forward. I'm not a psychic, but I am sure that people in similar situation will have similar stories to tell (and I invite them to do so). After all, it's mere politeness to *talk* to the people you sleep with, don't you think ? And after a - more or less long - while, you start to pick up things. You can have been in the business for years and not be an avatar of 007 when it comes to cover stories.

I have to thank G. for one thing here: she never lied about it. Or at least not that I know of. I would understand if she had. She didn't say it openly, that's for sure, and she was not really forward in letting me know her situation. She dissimulated things, but she did not lie. Or only by omission or manipulation of details.

Neither did she actually try to come up with extravagant cover stories. Having started slow and with some distance between us, maybe she didn't need the feel to. Or maybe she wanted me to know to pick up, or check if I would. How would I know... I just know she just avoided questions and eluded the ones already asked with short and direct answers.

I'm going out with a friend tonight. I was having a drink with former colleagues. I can't be with you tomorrow. Why ? Just have to take care of things.

Fair enough. I'm not a jealous guy. Like I said, we started slow - well, on some aspects - and I understood - and would still understand - she could have the need to see other people, romantically and/or socially. I was just happy to have her come back to me every time, you know ?

When you are involved with someone, you progressively get to know each other by learning about bits and pieces of each other's lives. Like a giant jigsaw that slowly goes back into place. Our jigsaw just didn't feel quite right. Pieces were missing.

And then she told me that she used to be a stripper.. And my mind wondered... what if she used to be more than a stripper ? And I already hated myself for letting my brain come up with such ideas, but I couldn't really help it. There it was. Could she go further ? Could she accept to cross the line ?

At this point, all you need is one more night where she is supposed to "meet up with a friend", and you can't hold it and have to ask who that friend really is, who you never met or heard of. What's his name, what do you talk about. How come so many of your friends don't mingle with us and call you so late ? Why do you look at me strangely when you come back like you need me or like you missed me as if I were gone for a year ? Why do you feel so distant, like you forced yourself to be detached. Like you've been skinned, like you're just a ghost.

And after a short attempt at going into denial, and at making you feel really guilty for asking something without really saying it (what if you're wrong, after all, you stupid idiot ?!) and that you've already figured out for weeks, comes the big question: you really want me to say this ?


Yes, I know and I want you to say this, to tell to my face what you really do. I need you to be honest with me, and with yourself at the same time. I don't care what you do, but I care about truth.

Here it comes. She used to be a stripper. And she used to be an escort. A prostitute. She started young, when she needed it. And she still does it occasionally. When it is necessary. Here or anywhere else, whatever the strip is.

And that's when you have to really ask yourself the big questions.
The ones you really didn't want to face so far....


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My Girlfriend is an Escort

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