Whoring in hotels.


So the other day, I was in a cab that smelled like piss dry-shaving my legs. (True story.) I was on the way to an outcall at a hotel to meet a client. I hate outcalls. It’s not just because the kind of work I do requires large, heavy, conspicuous tools. Nothing says I’m doing something aberrant! like strolling into a five-star hotel toting a bullwhip.

But I hate outcalls as long as I’ve done them, even not as your friendly neighborhood sadist. Nothing makes me feel more distinctly whore-like that meeting a guy in a darkened hotel bar and exchanging cash in a Christmas card.

I can’t imagine anyone working there is oblivious to what’s going on. And I feel like everyone is looking at me and everyone just knows that I’m a whore.

It feels like a tawdry movie cliche. You might as well snap a jewelry box almost on my finger and I’ll give a throaty laugh. It is not that I have anything against people who prefer outcalls. In fact, I frequently enjoy myself on them. As much as I do make decent money, I am nowhere near the level of being able to afford anything more pricey than a motel.

Perhaps my feeling particularly whore-like is related to have ridiculously out of place I feel at these kinds of hotels. I can use the right fork and order the right food and appropriately sip my drink, but the whole thing just feels completely unnatural to me. Not only because I grew up thinking dinner at the Olive Garden was living high on the hog, but because the idea of dropping fuckloads of cash on lunch and waving the waitstaff around like, well, that heinous Karen bitch from Bridezillas (“A doorman!!!”) is ludicrous to me.

Although I’m totally cool with them dropping fuckloads on cash to have me scowl at them and crack my whip. I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite.


One Response to “Whoring in hotels.”

  1. 1 Amber Rhea

    So the other day, I was in a cab that smelled like piss dry-shaving my legs.

    Best lede ever.

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