The 101st Reason for Getting Into the Oldest Profession

I have been in what my mother refers to as the “shmate” business (retail clothing sales) ever since I could walk. And I’m pretty great at it if I do say so myself! My clients, my “girls,” all love me.
I’ll tell a client when a pair of jeans she has been coveting for
months makes her thighs look like the colonel’s drumsticks covered in
some weird blue batter, or that the simple black dress simply MUST be
bought (even if she has nowhere to wear it) because it is a staple of
every woman’s wardrobe and frankly makes her look like she can hula hoop
inside a Cheerio. They always listen to me, and I slowly found that
honesty is the best policy when selling high-end clothing, not that I
have a choice about being blunt I guess. I mean… Jewish girl from Long
Island… HELLOOO… So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that it’s the same way in my new line of work….

So yeah, my new line of work… Selling boutique dresses and accessories is obviously not the oldest profession.

“My name is Alex and I am an escort.”

I’ve never written those words down before, and for some reason as I read it back over and over they seem so foreign but at the same time I’m thinking “no big deal.” Maybe I need to write it again… with feeling
this time…

“My name is Alex and I am an escort.”

Nope… no big deal.

After all between the economy going south, every other news story about a politician, actor, or sports star getting caught for cheating with a hooker or a stripper, and Gloria Allred representing every tramp
they were caught with, is the fact that a nice Jewish girl decided to
spread her legs for money really that surprising? (note to self: get
Gloria’s number… you never know)

So why the 101^st way of getting into this? Because I don’t have the typical long drawn out tragic stories about an abusive family, low self esteem, yaddah yaddah yaddah. It was simply a matter
of needing to pay the bills. One day I found myself with my rent, car
payment, and a whole pile of bills all due in less than two weeks and I
only had enough funds to cover half. I wasn’t even including having my
roots colored or eating. (yes, my roots take priority over eating, I am Jewish after all).

So there I was, 2 AM with a nervous stomach and visions of sleeping in the MARTA station I started trolling Craigslist for part time jobs. I couldn’t quit my job at the boutique. Even though I wasn’t making any
money the discount was awesome!! Maybe I could make some extra money
as an evening hostess? No such luck. Part-time at a bookstore?
Yawn. Flex time Fabulous Personal Shopper? There wasn’t even a
category for that in Craigslist! Talk about tragedy!

I finally hit the erotic category.

When you look back at your life you can usually pick out days or events that turn out to be those forks in the road that determine your future. And sometimes you wind up sitting on one or two of those forks
and stabbing yourself in the ass. Half out of curiosity and half
because I was so desperate I felt I had no choice, I read on – hoping
this fork wouldn’t come back to haunt me. A lot of ads looked enticing,
but every ad I came across wanted a face picture. And there was NO WAY IN HELL
I was sending them a picture! With my luck I would pick the ad that
was a practical joke being played by someone I actually knew. Makes
you wonder… is paranoia just a form of Jewish guilt combined with
premonition? I’ll have to look into that.

But three pages in and I finally found an ad for escorts who wanted their anonymity, flexible hours, and lots of $$$$$!!! How perfect is that? It was clearly a sign!

There was a phone number. Good thing because if I had to e-mail and wait for a reply I am sure rational thinking would have set in and I might not be writing this today.

I was also thinking “it’s 2:00 in the morning, who is actually going to pick up?”

Someone did…..

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NEXT TIME:

There's always a "first time".

kisses, Alex