Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘hotels’

Anatomy of a Boondoggle

Posted in Current Events, Perception, The Dark Side, Tyranny, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 19, 2010| 17 Comments »

If it were possible to make an accurate calculation of the evils which police regulations occasion, and of those which they prevent, the number of the former would, in all cases, exceed that of the latter. –  Karl Wilhelm Von Humboldt

Knowledge is power; it not only allows one to manipulate one’s local region of the universe, but also to resist attempts by others to manipulate one.  I’m sure all of my readers have noticed that once they become familiar with a subject that articles or stories written by people ignorant of that field become annoying or even laughable, and the omissions and misinformation inherent in propaganda stand out like dirt under an ultraviolet light.  The following is paraphrased from an article from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazetteof Sunday, October 17th, 2010; it is an excellent representation of the sort of prohibitionist propaganda which the police love to issue and which gullible reporters swallow whole because they can’t be bothered to investigate the facts or interview anyone with an opposing view (and wouldn’t be allowed to print it if they did).

An Illinois prostitute was arrested recently in Monroeville, Pennsylvania after allegedly offering an undercover cop sex for $200.  Prior to going to the room, she met him in the hotel parking lot and grabbed his crotch.  Police call this a “cop check”, one technique women use to tell a cop from a customer.  Schooled by the Internet, experience and fellow prostitutes, they post lookouts, frisk johns, demand that men get naked or ask them to fondle them. They think cops will balk at such demands, but they’re wrong.  “These girls take it to another level,” said the Monroeville officer, who has worked prostitution stings for 18 years and asked that his name not be used.

She certainly didn’t learn that from the internet, unless it was from some dumb bunny who’s never been popped before; all experienced girls know that neither touching nor anything else will expose a cop because they can do whatever they like, and even in jurisdictions where there are rules of behavior the cop will just lie and say he didn’t do whatever it was he wasn’t supposed to do.  Note that this slimeball enjoys victimizing women so much he’s done it for 18 years.

This kind of prostitution bust goes on every day at area hotels, which have asked police to do something about increasingly savvy hookers traveling to Pennsylvania from as far off as California, Texas, Nevada and Hawaii.  But it’s become news in Green Tree, where police Chief Andrew Lisiecki reportedly allowed a 32-year-old Fort Lauderdale, Florida woman named Akudo Duru (whom he contacted from her Backpage.com ad) to begin performing a sex act on him in a hotel room on September 9th before arresting her.

Hotels “asked police to do something about” touring escorts?  Oh, please!  Aside from the odd bluenosed manager, hotels love escorts; they’re clean, quiet, tip housekeeping and book rooms out of season.  What’s actually going on in this paragraph is an intentional confusion of travelling escorts (who stay in 3-star hotels) with streetwalkers in fleabags, who may very well anger management with noise, drama and attracting cheap undesirables.  Also note these yahoos giving themselves airs by pretending that Pittsburgh is some kind of Mecca for touring escorts!

According to Lisiecki’s affidavit, the two met at the Radisson and disrobed at her request. He asked her whether she wanted her “donation,” code for payment. After she told him to put it on the table, Lisiecki claims, the woman used her hand to start a sex act. He said he stopped her and told her he wanted more.  When she pulled out a condom, he arrested her and called in two other cops.  Lisiecki said the appearance of a condom is an obvious indication of sexual intent and predicate for an arrest.  The chief has since been criticized for going too far, but prosecutors and police say he did nothing wrong.  Touching, they say, is sometimes necessary because veteran hookers are careful not to verbalize sex acts.

Yes, it’s “code”, which is why the cops know it too; the word is “jargon”, ignoramus.  The “indication of intent” thing infuriates public health advocates; by pretending the presence of a condom is “evidence of prostitution”, cops discourage streetwalkers from carrying them.  But I guess the cops think their weird aversion to condoms is more important than public health.  But of course he did nothing wrong; he’s a big, brave hero who busted a damned dirty whore!  And even if he had done something wrong, he would simply perjure himself and deny it.

Lisiecki, a former Pittsburgh police lieutenant who became chief of the 10-man Green Tree force last year, said criticism of his conduct is unfair and has hurt his wife and children. He claimed that he doesn’t enjoy physical contact with prostitutes, many of whom are drug addicts and are at risk for sexually transmitted diseases.  “I don’t like being touched by these girls but sometimes you can’t avoid it,” he said. “Some will not voice any sex act, so you can’t make the arrest.”  He said he decided to do stings himself because hotels in his community have asked for help, but his force is small and he won’t make officers work a detail if they don’t want to. “A lot of guys don’t want to do this work,” he said.

This paragraph is a gold mine.  The big booming metropolis of Green Tree (population 4422)  has such a huge problem with prostitutes that it has to devote a THIRD of its force (i.e. all who were on duty at the time), including the chief himself, to deal with the scourge of wanton women running up and down the streets and causing general consternation.  Next, a PUBLIC OFFICIAL claims immunity from criticism on the grounds that it has “hurt his wife and children.”  Gee, maybe he should’ve thought of that before accepting public office and then abusing his position to get free hand jobs.  Then he claims that he doesn’t like being touched by girls, despite the fact that he clearly had an erection because otherwise she wouldn’t have brought out the condom.  Obviously, an erection constitutes clear legal proof of sexual disinterest in Pennsylvania; the “rape is not a crime of sex” crowd may buy that, but no sexually aware woman would.  Then he trots out the old “diseased whore” stereotype, followed by a pathetic attempt to cast himself as a hero.  And the reason “A lot of guys don’t want to do this work” is because of these things called scruples, which the chief clearly lacks.

At least 25 recent affidavits from area police indicate that his tactics are not uncommon; cops often take their clothes off and touch or allow themselves to be touched.  While it’s legal, some officers don’t think this is a good idea, and some lawyers also question whether contact is appropriate since the law simply states that prostitution occurs when an agreement is made to exchange money for sex.  David Harris, a University of Pittsburgh law professor, said most police around the country usually make arrests after a verbal agreement.  “It’s not illegal for him to do what he did,” he said. “It is simply unusual…I’m not sure he had go that far to make the arrest.”

I think this speaks for itself.

Chief Lisiecki disputed that, however, saying he has received messages of support from vice units around the country who use similar techniques such as the Indianapolis PD policy which instructs officers to wait until the prostitute touches them before arresting her.  “Most (prostitutes) know not to talk,” said Sgt. Jon Daggy, late-shift supervisor of the Indianapolis vice unit. “They put you through these tests to see if you’re a cop. In many cases they’ve been coached by lawyers.”

Is even one person surprised that he received kudos from other vice cops?  They probably swap these stories over beer.  Apparently the brilliant legal mind of Sgt. Daggy is superior to that of the lawyers who “coach” prostitutes by giving them incorrect information about the efficacy of cop tests.

The prostitutes, who often carry laptops to keep track of appointments and post online ads, keep working because they make good money despite the occasional arrest. Some can clear $5,000 in a weekend, police said. If they have to pay a $300 fine now and then, “That’s the cost of doing business,” said Lisiecki.

$5000 in one weekend?  Not hardly.  In a busy week, sure, but not in two days.  Long division is your friend; try it sometime.  But since you admit you can’t stop prostitution, why the hell are you wasting public money trying to?

Prostitution is often referred to as a victimless crime, but police say it isn’t because it attracts other crime that can degrade the community.  If independent prostitutes are permitted to work, detectives say, the stage can be set for an organized ring to move in and control the sex trade.  What’s more, police say, prostitution is rampant.  During one bust at a Monroeville hotel, officers learned that five hookers were working the same building that day. In Moon, police have made 33 busts this year. In the city, Lt. Mathias said, officers arrest between five and 10 prostitutes every day.

Once again we have the intentional equation of internet escorts with local streetwalkers.  How, pray tell, do touring escorts “attract crime”?  Do they carry thugs in the trunks of their cars, perhaps?  And then we get the old “whores and pimps” fallacy again; “an organized ring…move in and control?”  WTF is that even supposed to mean?  I’ve been in this business for ten years and I’ve never heard of an “organized ring moving in” (from outer space, apparently) to “control” anything.  Do these retards mean escort services, or are they talking about the Mafia?  And how do they imagine these imaginary bogeymen “control” independent escorts, especially ones who are only there for a few days?  Once again, we’re faced with a lurid masturbatory fantasy of whores enslaved by pimps, dreamed up insecure men who cannot handle the fact that the sex trade is controlled almost entirely by WOMEN.

Since the Green Tree incident, several departments have asked the district attorney’s office for guidelines on stings. Lawyers can generally challenge arrests on two fronts: entrapment and “outrageous government conduct,” but neither usually succeeds.  “Entrapment” happens when an officer deceives an innocent person into committing a crime; interstate hookers rarely fall into that category.  “Outrageous police conduct” means a violation of due process; the landmark Pennsylvania case involved a 2006 arrest in Allentown where state troopers paid an informant to enter a massage parlor and have sex four times with two women.  The judge ruled that the man did not need to have sex four times and a verbal agreement would have sufficed. “We expect more from the police, and demand that they conduct their investigations and utilize their resources without resorting to such embarrassing investigative techniques,” the judge wrote. “No standards existed for this type of investigation, and some of the behavior by the participants was sophomoric.”  He dismissed the case and prosecutors appealed, but last year Superior Court upheld the ruling.

Yes, they can challenge on those grounds, but only shysters try because they know it won’t work and merely advise their marks (excuse me, “clients”) to fight because it results in more billable hours.  Lawyers know they can’t win prostitution cases because they’re “he said, she said” and the court is biased in favor of the cops, so any half-decent one will simply advise his client to take the plea bargain, pay the fine and get on with her life.  The fine doesn’t even cover the cost of the trial much less the sting, so the public is left paying the bill for crooked cops to get their sadistic jollies by having sex with whores and then busting them.

Read Full Post »

The Doors of Perception

Posted in Perception, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on September 13, 2010| 27 Comments »

If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.  –  William Blake

In my column of August 15th I pointed out that one of an escort’s greatest assets is the ability to blend into her environment and thereby remain invisible.  But as with creatures in nature or military camouflage, no disguise is perfect; even if the escort makes no mistake whatsoever, some people have an infallible instinct which allows them to see the truth about others no matter how well-hidden.

Usually, such instinct derives from experience; I know that I have no trouble spotting most escorts, and they can spot me with equal facility.  As Linda used to say in her inimitably déclassé fashion, “A ho knows a ho.”  Many a time I met another girl going into a hotel I was leaving or vice versa, and often we exchanged smiles; once another working girl struck up a whole (though disguised) conversation with me when we found ourselves riding down in the same elevator.  And on one memorable occasion a streetwalker approached me bold as brass while I was getting into my car and asked for a ride; while en route she began a conversation with, “I wish I had what it takes to be an escort.”  I was quite sure on these occasions that I was not dealing with a disguised policewoman; though I’ve never met such a creature, I’m sure her “vibe” would be completely different.

Cops love to imagine that they have the ability to detect “criminals” (including, in their minds, whores) by a finely-honed instinct, but this is in most cases as mythical as the superior driving skill many of them claim to possess.  Undoubtedly many cops can detect nervous behavior (big deal, so can most people), and since true criminals tend to behave nervously around uniformed cops it isn’t any great surprise that they notice criminals sometimes.  But this common ability has no power to detect one who isn’t worried; I’ve often been chatted up by uniformed cops while on my way to or from a call, with never a hint they thought I was anything other than a businesswoman.

I can only recall one exception, a cop who was working a “detail” (a private security job outside his normal duty hours) for one of the large hotels on Bourbon Street.  Because of the large number of drunk tourists that crowd the area on weekends, this hotel always hired uniformed off-duty cops to guard its lobby from inebriated non-guests who might otherwise wander in from the street.  I usually avoided these cops by the simple expedient of entering via the hotel’s parking garage, but in this particular instance my cell phone battery had died so I needed to check in and out via the room phone.  When I checked out, Doug let me know he had another call for me; since it would be the height of crassness to take such information down in front of the client I had to walk down to the bank of pay phones near the front door, and on the way I passed the cops at their guard positions.  I got the info from Doug, called the client and arranged my appointment, then started back toward the parking garage to leave.  But when I passed the cops, one of them hailed me with a smile and said, “Girl, in your job you ought to get you a cell phone.”

I replied, “Oh, I’ve got one, but I forgot to charge it.”

He then waved and said, “Have a good night!”

“You, too!” I answered.  It was obvious that he knew exactly what I was, and equally obvious that he didn’t care; I of course said nothing incriminating, but even so I was glad he wasn’t a vice cop!  Perhaps he had seen me before on other nights; I suspect most men remember pretty faces better than average ones, and he may have worked that same detail many times and therefore had ample opportunity to notice me.  Or perhaps he was observant enough to work out the escort pattern, and I fit it closely enough for him to hazard a guess.  Or perhaps he really did have the ability to see through facades, in which case I certainly hope the department eventually promoted him into a position where his talent could be better employed!

Another perceptive man in a hotel actually turned into a client.  I was riding up in the elevator with him and he struck up a conversation, obviously in the hope of “getting lucky”; he obviously assumed I was a guest in the hotel as he was, and asked if I was turning in for the night.  I replied with something like “probably not just yet,” and at that moment the doors opened to my floor and I bid him good night.  He had a sort of quizzical look on his face, though, and it was obvious he had clearly understood my comment.  But I didn’t realize how well he had understood it until I got out of the call some forty minutes later and found him lurking about in the elevator hallway despite the fact that he had originally gone beyond this floor to a higher one.

“Well, hello again,” I said pointedly.

He looked around to make sure we were alone, then quietly asked me “Did you mean what I think you meant earlier?”

I smiled, saying “That all depends on what you think I meant, doesn’t it?” and handed him my card.  I knew he was safe; this hotel was one of the morally-run establishments which refused to allow the NOPD to practice their evil games in its rooms.

Either he had done this before or was just naturally discreet, because he asked, “How much would an hour of your time cost?”

“$300,” I answered, and he agreed.  Grace was none too pleased when I called; it just didn’t seem right to her, but as I reminded her it was actually safer than a typical call because I had been able to look the man in the eye before committing myself to anything.  It turned out to be a very normal call, though especially nice for me since there was no travel time at all!

The Vieux Carré (French Quarter) is absolutely infested with tour groups; it’s impossible for a native to go six blocks in any direction without running into one.  The most popular of these are conducted from horse-drawn buggies whose drivers entertain the tourists with a colorful mixture of common local knowledge, facts learned from other guides, half-remembered history, exaggerated and/or distorted facts, pure hokum and outright lies; I suspect some of it is made up on the spot.  That was certainly the case with one such driver who passed me one spring day; I was in no great rush, so instead of my usual brisk walk I was slowly perambulating along in a rather filmy long-skirted dress.  I heard the carriage approaching but as usual paid it no mind until I overheard the driver saying to his passengers, “Y’all have heard the song about New Orleans ladies sashayin’ by, and there’s one of ‘em right there.”  A quick glance around revealed that I was the only woman on the block, so he clearly meant me; I doubt he intended me to hear him, but I have unusually sharp hearing.  It’s certainly possible (though unlikely) that he didn’t realize the song was about whores; perhaps my lazy sashay simply called it to mind.  Somehow, I doubt it.

But none of these men was as amazing as the middle-aged American Indian I saw one night in (I think) 2004; he told me he lived on a reservation in New Mexico and was in town to visit a friend, and it was pretty obvious he was stoned.  I don’t know if it was peyote or something more mundane, but whatever it was opened the doors of his perception to an astonishing degree.  The first sign came when I was demonstrating my oral skills; there’s a particular trick I use which must be very unusual because many clients have either asked where I learned it or told me no girl had ever done it to them before.  But my Indian knew exactly where I had learned it; he suddenly said “I think bisexual women are especially beautiful.”

I was a bit surprised and asked, “How did you know I’m bisexual?”

He replied, “Because what you’re doing to me is like what you would do to a woman.”  And he was right; I had adapted the technique from one I use in lesbian encounters.  The clitoris and penis are analogous structures, after all.

But he didn’t stop there; he proceeded to make similar comments for the next half-hour.  He knew I was divorced, childless and remarried; his fingers found nearly-imperceptible scars from old accidents and correctly deduced their causes.  It was nothing short of incredible, and when I asked how he could tell so much he simply shrugged and said, “I’m a shaman.”  He then held me close and gently caressed me, telling me that he wanted to enjoy the beauty of my spirit more than that of my body.

Eventually he fell asleep, and when I left I said to his friend in the next room, “Your friend is an amazing man.”

He agreed, saying “He’s always been like that; I’ve known him all my life and it still spooks me sometimes.”

For whatever reason, some people are more able than others to penetrate the veils we wear to cloak ourselves from a world in which many deny our right to live and work; fortunately, such individuals are rare and usually uninterested in using their gifts to harm us.

Read Full Post »

Just Plain Weird

Posted in Call types, tagged , , , , , on August 28, 2010| 11 Comments »

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.  –  Hunter S. Thompson

There are straight calls, fetish calls, couple calls, calls with two or more girls and those with two or more clients; in-calls, out-calls, multi-hour calls and quickie calls.  There are calls in which the client doesn’t want sex and those in which he wants absolutely nothing else, calls in which he just wants a show and calls which are mostly dates.  There are hard ones and easy ones, good ones and bad ones, unusually profitable ones, cancellations and those which are barely worth the money; but some calls are so weird they simply defy categorization.  I’m going to tell you about a few such calls because I think you’ll find them interesting or even funny, but if there’s a lesson to be learned here it’s that those who claim our work is “inherently degrading” have their heads so far up their arses that there is absolutely no hope of their ever seeing the light of day again.

The first of these was one of the last calls I ever accepted from Pam’s service, in the first few months of my career.  The gentleman seemed oddly impatient on the phone, and when I tried to describe myself he interrupted me with, “I don’t care about all that; who do you look like?”

“You mean a celebrity?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t really look like any celebrity, but some guys have said I look kinda-sorta like Angelina Jolie except fairer, and some have said I look kinda-sorta like Julia Roberts except a lot prettier.  And I’m not as tall as either of them.”

“OK, that’s fine.  Do you have a tube of lube?”

“What?” It was an amazingly rude question.

“Do-you-have-a-tube-of-lube?” he repeated, intoning each word as though it were a letter in a word he was spelling.

“Yes,” I said.

He told me which hotel he was in, then “How soon can you get here?”

I was already on the road and it was an easy hotel to get to, so I said, “Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Try to make it fifteen,” and he hung up.

I had encountered ruder and more hurried customers before, but he just felt strange.  But the hotel was one which refused to allow cops to play their nasty games in its rooms, so I knew I was safe on that account; I just figured the guy would be rude, rough and quick, so I let the agency know I was on the way.  I got there in the time he had asked and went up to the room, then knocked on the door; the customer looked as though he were seriously stoned, with glazed eyes and a vacant expression, and I heard another male voice in the room behind him.

“Do you have the lube?” he asked.

I thought it was bizarre to ask such a thing while I was still in the hall, but I played along.  “Yes.”

“Let me see it.”

I obediently pulled the tube from my purse to show him; he took it from my hand, gave me a $100 bill, said “Thank you,” and unceremoniously closed the door in my face.  I looked at the C-note to make sure it was real, then shrugged my shoulders, put it in my purse and returned to my car, giggling quietly to myself as I realized what had just happened.  When I shared the story with the operator (figuring he would get as much a laugh out of it as I did) he instead demanded I turn in a third of it; of course I refused, since it was technically a generous cancellation fee and services are not entitled to any percentage of such fees.  This was another of the incidents which soon caused me to sever ties with Pam.

It hadn’t taken me long to figure it out; the caller had a gay lover in the room with him and they were stoned out of their gourds and therefore couldn’t leave the room.  But they needed lube to engage in their planned activities, so one of them said “Let’s call a whore, she’ll have lube and will even deliver it!”  So of course he didn’t really care what I looked like; he just wanted to be sure he didn’t accidentally ask a maid or room service girl for lube!

The second of these incidents at least had the form of a traditional call; the gentleman had asked Doug for an educated, older brunette, so that was right up my alley (I think I was 35 at the time).  When I talked to him he asked me to dress even more conservatively than was my habit, and to wear stockings and heels; that wasn’t a strange request at all.  But then he asked me to describe the shoes; I described my usual “work shoes”, a nice little pair of fuck-me pumps with three-inch stiletto heels.

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he said; “do you have anything plainer and more conservative?”

“You mean like ‘granny heels,’ plain and kind of boat-like with maybe a two-inch heel?”

“Black?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s exactly what I want!  Wear those!”

I agreed, presuming I was to recreate the look of a teacher or librarian he had a crush on as a boy.  But once I got there, he paid me and asked me to sit in a particular chair; he then instructed me to cross my legs and talk to him while playing with my shoe.

“Like this?” I asked, letting the back of the shoe drop off of my heel so the shoe was left hanging from my toes, then flexing my foot so as to pop it back onto my heel.

“Yes, exactly right!” he beamed enthusiastically.  “just keep doing that while you talk to me.”

“What would you like me to talk about?” I asked.

“Just anything, it doesn’t matter,” he replied.

So we sat there, both fully dressed, while I talked about whatever came into my head and played with my shoe as he wanted.  He just sat there conversing with me, making no sign of sexual arousal and not even particularly looking at my foot that I could discern; I felt like Violet Hunter in “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches”, except that the curtains were closed!  But after about 35 minutes he stood up, smiled, and told me that I could go.  I asked if I had given him all he wanted and he assured me that I had; he thanked me profusely as I left, but gave me not the slightest clue as to what any of it had been about!  The only thing I can presume is that my initial theory was correct; obviously the lady he fancied had the habit he had asked me to replicate, and he let me go once I had stimulated him thus for enough time that he could achieve climax in the solo masturbation session which no doubt immediately followed my exit.  Now, I must assure my reader that I am not in any way ridiculing this client; he was a perfect gentleman and treated me fairly and courteously in every way.  Would that all clients were so easy and so generous!  But one must admit that it was, as Holmes would say, a most singular case.

The third and final incident started as a completely normal early-evening call, but once it was finished the client had a strange request:  “Can you drive me to the airport later tonight?”

“Sure, but wouldn’t a cab be cheaper?”

“Yeah, but I want to go in my own car, plus I want you to keep me company while I’m waiting for the flight.”

“As long as you understand that I’m still going to charge you $300, I have no issue with that.”

He agreed, and explained that while in Korea with the military he had met and fallen in love with a local girl, and she had accepted his proposal but insisted on doing things traditionally, with his returning to the States, securing a job, buying a house and all that before sending for her.  Now after many months of separation he was about to meet her plane and they would soon be married; he had therefore thrown himself a one-man bachelor party by hiring a whore and now intended to celebrate in the hotel bar.  But he had no intention of risking his bride’s life by fetching her drunk, and he was far too nervous to attempt meeting her sober; he was so nervous, in fact, that he wanted someone to keep him calm while waiting at the airport.  So I arrived at his hotel about 11:15 (her flight was due about midnight), drove him to the airport and waited with him; the flight arrived on time and everything went as planned.  The girl was quite lovely and accepted his explanation that I was a coworker who owed him a favor; I drove them back to the hotel, helped her with her small luggage while my client got the large ones, then wished them luck and returned to my own car.  It had taken about 90 minutes altogether, but I was satisfied with my pay (which was very generous considering I was basically just a glorified portress) and had another interesting story to tell.

These three calls were probably the oddest ones of my career; though all escorts have a few such stories to tell, I have found that these stand out even when professionals swap stories.  Some calls are barely like working at all while others are as difficult as anything I’ve ever had to do for money, but there’s one thing that’s incontrovertibly true about escorting:  It is rarely boring and almost never predictable.

Read Full Post »

The Clipboard Effect

Posted in Perception, tagged , , , , , , on August 15, 2010| 14 Comments »

The most successful prostitutes are invisible, because the sign of a prostitute’s success is her absolute blending with the environment.  –  Camille Paglia

One of the most common effects that the Hollywood hooker stereotype has on escorts and call girls is the tendency for inexperienced clients to be concerned about their dates’ appearances.  Since the Hollywood stereotype prances around in a miniskirt, fishnets, gobs of makeup, etc this concern is probably understandable; imagine the possible repercussions to a client if hotel security followed such a creature to his room, or if any of his neighbors saw her coming to his door.  That sort of costume would be hard to miss, which is precisely why experienced escorts don’t wear them.  Camille Paglia is exactly right; the most successful working girls are those who attract the least attention, either in calls or where they live.

“How will you dress?” is one of the most common questions high-end clients ask, and they’re certainly not unjustified in worrying; I’ve heard a few horror stories about inexperienced low-end escorts dressing like strippers or Hollywood streetwalkers.  But such a girl never lasts long in the business unless she learns quickly; no businessman or professional will want her twice, and her agency owner will tell her better the first time she sees her in such a getup.  Experienced girls understand that it’s best to dress in such a way that one wouldn’t attract undue attention in a shopping mall; I had only one wardrobe and wore the same sort of clothes whether I was working or not, and indeed wear the same sort of clothes today.  Obviously one must dress attractively, but there’s a vast difference between ladylike and skanky; I told my girls to dress as though they were going to court or to meet a boyfriend’s mother.  Some girls even wear business suits and carry briefcases, ensuring as complete a camouflage in a business-class hotel as any beautiful woman can ever hope to achieve.

But it isn’t only about dress; demeanor is just as important.  When orienting new girls I always stressed the importance of the “Clipboard Effect”, which is my term for the fact that if one acts as though one belongs in a place (such as by wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard when in a lab or hospital), everyone will assume that one does belong there.  In hotels, it’s best to walk briskly through the lobby directly for the elevators as if one had done so many times before (even if she has never been in that particular facility) so as to avoid looking lost and thereby attracting the attention of a helpful staff member who may ask where one is going.  And on those occasions where one has no choice but to ask directions, a smile and a simple question (followed by a smile and “thank you” afterward) arouses no suspicion, while sneaky behavior does.  I told my girls to always keep in mind that they were not doing anything wrong, but simply visiting a business client; they wouldn’t feel guilty if they were a pizza delivery girl or sales rep going to his room, and so shouldn’t in our business either.  It is truly amazing how much our thoughts show in our faces; shame and paranoia create a shifty, furtive countenance, while confidence and self-assurance are equally reflected in one’s face and manner.

In truth, the hotel staff (with the possible exception of overeager security guards) really doesn’t care about escorts; why should they as long as no guests complain?  And unless a girl makes a spectacle of herself, guests are unlikely to notice her any more than they would notice any other pretty woman.  For example, take the Airport Hilton; for some reason I’ve never been able to ascertain we got an awful lot of calls from that one hotel, so many in fact that I was there at least four or five times a week and sometimes more than once in a night.  I had to pass the front desk on the way to the elevators, and it seemed the same night clerk was there every time I passed.  He could not possibly have failed to notice a strikingly beautiful woman passing his desk twice (about an hour apart) nearly every night for almost seven years, and he knew I was neither staff nor guest, yet he never said a word to me or gave me a dirty look.  Why?  Because I walked straight to the elevators and never attracted the attention of any busybodies.  In other hotels the staff actually got to know me; the parking valet and doorman at the Windsor Court always greeted me with a cheery “welcome back!” as though I were a guest, though they well knew I wasn’t.  And the concierges of several hotels would call me when a guest asked for a referral, I’m sure in part because they knew they could rely on my discretion.

The modern mania for security has made some hotels a little more difficult to navigate, especially late at night; some of them require a hotel key-card to activate the elevators, and keep the lower doors to the stairwells locked.  When visiting such hotels one must either piggyback with other guests or call the client to meet one downstairs, which he is often loath to do.  What I always did in such hotels was to glance to the reception desk to see if anyone was checking in; if so I simply lingered in the lobby pretending to read tourist brochures, then nonchalantly walked into the elevator with him and let chivalry take its course by saying “fifteen, please” (or whatever floor I was going to) and letting him swipe the key card and press the button.  If there was no guest about it was a simple matter to use my smile and eyelashes to convince a custodian to use his key, usually without any need for explanation.  Only if the lobby was bare of either guest or custodian did I have to resort to calling the client; I preferred to mystify him with my apparent ability to penetrate doors he knew to be locked at night.  Apartment-complex gates opened by key rather than the usual code could often be passed in the same way, by riding in behind another car, and thus neither annoying the client nor attracting the attention of security guards.

Some calls require being inobtrusive in a completely different way, and these are in my mind the ones which mark the true professional; she is a chameleon who can provide public companionship for a gentleman in any setting as easily as she can provide sexual favors in private.  She must therefore be able to dress, converse and conduct herself as the occasion demands should her client wish to take her to a restaurant, the symphony, a party or any other public event.  In such situations she must perform exactly as a “regular” date would, entertaining her client by her conversation and company and allowing not the slightest sign to any observer that she has been paid to do so.  Call girls, in other words, are the modern equivalent of courtesans.

Alas, since tyrannical laws prevent modern courtesans from openly declaring our calling as our spiritual ancestresses did, blending into the woodwork is even more important in our private lives than in our professional.  Even if a girl is fortunate enough to have the full support of her family and friends (and few do), her neighbors may not be quite so tolerant; unfortunately, the world is full of busybodies who would happily call the police to report any activity which offended their personal biases, and this certainly includes prostitution.   It is therefore imperative that not the slightest hint of one’s unorthodox trade enter the minds of those one is not prepared to trust with the knowledge.  And here, as with the customers, selective honesty is the best policy.  Some girls have a “normal” job as a cover, some invent a mythical job to explain their odd hours, and those who are married simply allow the neighbors to assume that they are housewives.  But except for this one deception, it is best to be as friendly and open with one’s neighbors as is typical in that neighborhood.  As Poe pointed out in “The Purloined Letter”, the best place to hide something is in plain sight.  When people see secretive, suspicious behavior they naturally assume one is hiding something and will usually set out to discover it.  But if one is natural, friendly and neighborly one blends in; if she pets dogs, helps old ladies with their groceries and coos over babies, they will all say, “What a nice young woman that Maggie is!” and overlook her eccentric hours.  In this one way, the stereotypes about prostitutes work in our favor; since everyone knows all prostitutes are diseased, drug-addicted criminals, obviously clean, friendly, good-hearted women can’t possibly be whores.  If prostitution were decriminalized we wouldn’t need to hide, but as long as the authorities insist on promulgating false stereotypes in order to support their oppressive laws we can appreciate the poetic justice that the very falsity of those lies serves to hide us from the laws they were created to support.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts