If one cannot command attention by one’s admirable qualities one can at least be a nuisance. – Margery Allingham
One of the most annoying aspects of owning an escort service is having to deal with nuisance callers. Many of these are one-time occurrences such as obscene phone callers or strokers (guys who masturbate while listening to girls describe themselves), but others manage to become major annoyances by repeatedly wasting the time and energy of both services and girls they either cannot or will not ever purchase services from. Some of these nuisances are demented, others are just sleazy and exploitative, and still others are so bizarre that they defy categorization.
The first type is typified by a man I’ll call the Major, a retired and quite senile military officer who lived in a house as decrepit as himself. When I first encountered him he was harmless; since he was totally impotent he just wanted a girl he could touch and talk to, though his sheer neediness could be a bit off-putting. The first time I saw him he spent the first forty minutes of the call repeatedly telling me I was beautiful, which quickly went from complimentary to creepy to downright uncomfortable. But after that he got stranger and stranger; he would try to pay with checks or expired credit cards after claiming on the phone to have cash, and once he physically attacked a girl for no reason she could determine. Needless to say, no service would even talk to him after that, but luckily he had become so senile that it never occurred to him to change his phone number, and seeing his name on the caller ID allowed us to simply ignore his calls (which never stopped though nobody had answered him for literally years).
Unfortunately, most nuisance callers were much more lucid and changed their telephone numbers often. Fortunately, they could not change their stripes as easily as their listings, and their distinctive patterns of behavior allowed sharp operators to recognize them no matter what the caller ID said. The prime example of this type was one we called the Peeper; 
he lived in a front apartment on a narrow street with another apartment complex directly across the way, and his modus operandi was to ask a girl to come dressed in a miniskirt and high heels, then give her the address of the apartment directly across the street from him. Clearly he was a voyeur who enjoyed the spectacle of a leggy girl walking around, and he would just sit in his apartment across the way peeking through the blinds (and no doubt playing with himself) while she banged fruitlessly on the door of an unoccupied apartment. I’m sure he rotated through the various services in an attempt to keep us from getting wise, but two things gave him away; first, despite frequent phone-number changes neither his name (on the caller ID) or address ever changed, and second, he always used a certain stock phrase when describing how short a skirt he wanted the girl to wear: “The more leg I see, the more dollar signs she’ll see.” It never seemed to occur to him what a dead giveaway this phrase was, because he kept right on using it despite the fact that none of the service owners who were wise to him would ever send a girl after hearing it. I must admit to having a bit of fun with him on occasion by pretending to be a different girl, describing myself in glowing terms and then of course not going; it amused me to imagine him sitting there behind his blinds awaiting a victim who never showed.
But no nuisance caller in New Orleans was as universally despised as Diaper Man, so-called because he always asked for the oldest woman available and wanted her to treat him like a baby, put diapers on him, etc (he had a particular fixation on Desitin diaper-rash powder). The first time anyone ever heard of him was when he called my service in the summer of 2000; the call actually went through that time, but I daresay securing a bank loan would have required less effort. He called repeatedly for days after the appointment was set, obsessively asking the same sorts of questions over and over; I knew he was trying to obtain wanking material, but I wasn’t about to give it to him. Then there were several monetary delays; though he was in his mid-20s his mother controlled his bank account, which probably explains his perversion. Eventually we met and I played his nasty little game, but the experience was so draining that I was left exhausted and literally shaking.
That, however, was the one and only time a call from him was ever anything more than an annoyance. The second time he called I refused to see him, but I referred it to Jeanette, one of my best girls, because she was willing to do domination and other such unusual calls. I warned her about what a pain it had been to make my date with him go through, but Jeanette (who, incidentally, was a competetive kickboxer and a former US Army sharpshooter) was willing to give it a shot because she had nothing better to do. Well, she talked to him, then he repeatedly called me back asking for her to call him again. I did this exactly once, then kept putting him off with “you can ask her that when you meet.” Only they never did; when she got there he had no money, and I only allowed one strike in that department. From then on I would tell him off whenever he called until I realized he was enjoying it, after which I simply stopped answering. Then he called Doug’s agency and Doug called me with it; I explained the situation and he was blackballed from a second agency.
But that was only the beginning; he soon became almost as good at being an annoyance as I am at being a whore. He must’ve eventually moved out of home and into his own apartment, because about a year after the one completed deal he called from a new number with a disguised voice and only asked for the oldest girl available; I went to the apartment, recognized him immediately and furthermore found that he didn’t even have the money for a cancellation fee. Obviously, he was hoping I would hurl abuse at him, so I had to resist the temptation (I don’t give freebies!) and just walk away, pulling out my cell phone as soon as I was in the car to let the other friendly agencies know Diaper Man’s new phone number, caller ID name and address. That stopped him for a few months, but soon there was another number under another name and another fake voice; the only reason we were not fooled was because he asked for the oldest girl available and alarm bells went off. Obviously I couldn’t assume it was Diaper Man merely because of that request, but a little judicious probing on my part revealed his infantilism fetish and Click!
After that, he made a hobby out of it; he would call from a bewildering array of phone numbers (some were pay phones and I assume others were friends’ phones) using a wide variety of names, and if he had gone into cartoon acting he could’ve made enough money with his different voices to hire as many whores as he wanted. The one thing he couldn’t disguise, though, was his fetish; even if he sometimes tricked me into getting a girl to call him she would soon call me back with, “Maggie, this weirdo wants me to change his diaper!” and I would know that I had again been fooled by the chameleonic creep. The only reason I’m not more embarrassed than I am about this is that he never again fooled us for long enough to actually get another girl over there.
Sometimes he would call Doug, whose standard response to him was “There’s not a girl in town who would come to see you even if you had money, you little freak!” But alas, he was a heterosexual pervert and being abused by a guy didn’t seem to do it for him, which meant he called me much more often since we were the only service in New Orleans at that time whose phone was never answered by a man. Not even Hurricane Katrina could stop him; though he called less and less frequently as the years went by, we still got occasional calls from the infantile irritant up until the time I retired, and for all I know he may still be up to his old tricks today.
Every experienced whore understands that male sexuality sometimes becomes fixated on a particular idea, image or behavior; the man with such a fetish may be unable to achieve climax without it, and even if he can he might still have a powerful yearning to experience whatever it is he’s obsessed with. Part of our business is to give men the opportunity to explore these fixations even if other women won’t, and when a man’s fetish is so unusual or extreme that even most whores are repelled by it there are still specialists who will willingly and non-judgmentally cater to his needs. Nearly any girl would have been happy to cater to the Peeper, and I could’ve referred Diaper Man to half a dozen women who would have helped him, but these cheapskates didn’t want that; what made them and others like them so pathetic and loathsome was that they preferred to steal their pleasure than to honestly pay for it.
