Several years ago, I ran a few ads for an in-demand escort about whom I was recently reminded while reading a book about New York Knick Hall of Famer BERNARD KING. Bertha was a tall, somewhat pretty blasian with an hourglass shape, a gorgeous voice, and horrible implants. Trumping all her credits and deficits was an uncommon talent for oral service. Thus, she made a lot of money.
On occasion, our protagonist talked about her basketball-playing past. But I knew it was mostly bull shit because she never mentioned any college – or even high school experience. I judged her to be a dabbler. Escorts often pretend to be this or that. But ultimately, they’re almost always escorts – and not much else.
So anyway…one day she talked about going out on a date with Bernard King – laughing him off with an anecdote about her dancing with another woman in a provocative way which made Bernard jealous. The manner in which she related the story dripped of disdain for a guy she clearly felt was not up to her standard.
Reading Bernard’s book, I couldn’t help but notice what a thoughtful human being he is – and remember what a lightweight flatbacker my client was. Maybe the backstory of a bisexual/single mother of two living in a studio apartment and lying on her back for a living was a compelling one. But alas, it never came through. Bull shit entitlement was more or less her – and too many other escorts stock and trade. The nerve of her to talk about Bernard King with anything but abject reverence! Whatever! Not gonna happen. What can I say?
I don’t know exactly what it is about escorts which causes them to “front” so obviously. A few years ago, I forwarded a musical track to a girl suggesting she write some lyrics for the music. The odds that any random individual be he or she a doctor, lawyer or escort could come up with anything are very low. And what was her response? “I don’t have time right now but if I did, it would be the best song ever!” Need I say more? This from a woman who sat around all day drinking liquor, smoking pot, playing with her own tits and sucking strangers’ cocks.
Or just recently, another girl who’d gone awol from her job explained her absence claiming that she’s busy writing an op ed for some website or other. Really? I’ve actually written several op eds for “real” papers. And I can tell you they don’t take days and days to write. It usually happens in an hour or so. The gig itself is not difficult. Getting the job is the challenge.
With no comment on what I felt was a complete cop out, I suggested she forward the piece so I could read it pre-editing knowing that often, what we read in publication is not exactly what writers write at the outset. I wanted to check out her submitted work rather than the edited and final version.
So what do ya think happened? You got it. Nothing! Now I may or may not be a professional writer. Or a good one. But when somebody asks to read something of mine, I have no problem forwarding the text. That’s what writers do. Not forwarding their work is what fakers do.
But in deference to these girls…let me shut the fuck up. All three of the aforementioned women gave great blow jobs. And were they not willing to do it for a fee (or an ad), I would never have had the pleasure. In their mind, they’d probably think (had they read this), “That old cracker’s got a lot of nerve after I sucked his cock.” And I guess they’d have a point.
Back to the title and the moral of this story. The irony is that using the sole criterion of a meaningful life, the beautiful blasian was in fact the beast, and Bernard the beauty. That’s what I was trying to say today.