Below is an account sent by a friend who, in those days, went by Red Hot Maggie. It's similar to what Denise told me about her experience and is what I've heard from workers whose companionship I've enjoyed.
From: Red Hot Maggie
When I was in that profession, I began to close off from family as well. It's just that you don't have a whole lot to talk about with them. It's not something that you want to remind them of if they were to know because in most cases if they're not open-minded it's going to make them worry about you and question you and they will feel uncomfortable...
In MY case, no one in my family did know.
Then it becomes sort of one-sided and you want to know all about them, but then they want to know all about you and it's a little awkward and you're a little guarded.
Still, because you knew what she did, I would have hoped that she would have more openly talked to you on a more frequent basis.
I would have loved to have had someone close that I could talk to, because the strangest things would happen. When they would happen to any of us, all we could do is network with our hooker friends! What's really funny is when you tell your hooker friends what happened, a lot of them had similar stories - some even involving the same client! They basically become your huge, dysfunctional, mostly fun family if you're doing it right. You could go with being jealous of all of them and hateful if you were immature and stupid. Most of the young ones were like that. They acted like we were all out to get each other's money. It never made any sense to me why we couldn't get along. It's beneficial in so many ways. I would refer my clients to other people when they had a certain kind of kink or I wasn't available or maybe they just wanted to break. Your client should never feel that they can't see other people. That's what makes the world go round. Petty jealousy will ruin you in that profession and honestly there's no need for it.
When I had brain surgery, they all got together beforehand and did a fundraiser with a huge party and even I was included in raising the funds. All the girls were there that night and the guys could pick anyone there and when paid, the girls would donate a percentage toward the fund (some donated all! The guys would drop in money as well just as a gift) or, the guys could buy coupons to see us later at a discount rate. The coupons said that they were for a free vacuum on a vehicle so that the guy could carry it and not be suspicious if his wife found it in his wallet. We used the name and logo of a car wash and all that stuff. Also the rates were slightly discounted to attendees (all of the attendees had to be vouched for as regular customers to any one of those girls that were there because it was a special, gala event and we didn't want to mix in strangers and make it uncomfortable or get busted!) as an incentive. I had majorly generous gentlemen friends. So I had enough money to make it for a short time as I recovered. The house that I had back then had five bedrooms, so that worked out well! I lived in that big house all by myself.
In that profession, you don't have much of a net unless you have enough sense to save money and I was spending it like water. I didn't work constantly, it was all supply and demand! On average on a typical work day though, I would usually make at least $900 by seeing three clients I would space them far apart and give myself time to make everything fresh, like no one had ever been there before the next one. That's very, VERY important. You're providing a service to someone and they matter. They should never feel like they came after anyone else - no pun intended.
Sometimes I would get someone who wanted me to spend more time with them at a discounted rate but then they would usually tip me an insane amount of money. That was always really awesome. I never, ever asked, expected or made anyone feel obligated to tip. It was just icing on the cake if they did. we never ever discussed money. Protocol was to leave it in an envelope at designed spot, but don't hand it to me.
When I first started out at 150 an hour it was in Las Vegas just on a road trip with a friend. I remember stashing money in that room because you don't want to get caught with a bunch of money or condoms and you also don't want to get robbed. We would tear the hem out of the curtain and stuff money in there, or put it in the coffee filter cup of the coffee maker and crafty little places like that. Since we were first starting out and no one knew if we were legit (my friend had worked at for a while and knew the "ins and outs", but no one in Las Vegas knew who she was), we weren't requiring references which was risky, but we did have a buddy system and you have to start somewhere. I remember my very first client was a very hot, young, tattooed, bodybuilder kind of guy who called me back 2 hours after he got home just to tell me how incredible I was. I had never experienced anything like that before. It was life-changing. I was extremely self-conscious because I had a very flat chest and terrible stretch marks from having 10 lb kids. Luckily because of the profession, I was able to get that all taken care of over a long period of time of trying to save some and building some credit. I left Las Vegas with thousands of dollars and I didn't once gamble, except for what I was doing - a gamble in itself.
Overall, I saw a good guys. I had regulars and those guys are priceless.
There were a few bad ones mixed in, but I was never harmed. I was only shorted one time - when guy said he left the money in the car. I knew right then that I was never going to see that man again. Unless you have a big bad pimp which I don't even believe in doing - (if you're SMART you don't need one), you have to cut your losses in cases like that. This guy had past verified, but older references and I'd been doing it for a while. I warned everyone else because that's what we did. Networking.
Smart.
The chicks that gave me the referrals were shocked. One other chick chimed in that she saw him and he did the same thing and she didn't report it and then she felt like a heel. Two little too late chica. Some of the girls were on drugs and irresponsible as hell. You quickly learn who you can and can't trust.
Anyway, because I reported him to the girls I stopped the madness and he probably started seeing girls that weren't so together and didn't Network and didn't require a references by picking them up off the streets. I hope his dick rots off.
I wish I would have had enough sense to save money back then.
There was an online forum where we all congregated. We texted and called each other too. It was friendly. We networked a lot and this was to be able to keep us all safe. If a client wanted to see me I always made them vouch for themselves by giving me references. I checked those references. Most girls did this. My friend (that is no longer a friend for numerous reasons, one being that she was a psychopath) taught me well. Some of the girls flew by the seat of their pants worked any and all hours depriving themselves of a decent night's sleep and did not check references I imagine those girls also never made the client wear a condom. They wouldn't say that of course because it was very frowned upon, but you just get to a point where you know the type. Everyone has a type.
Like your sister, I enjoyed what I did back then and I ran a clean, safe, professional, reliable business but I never deprived myself of sleep when I needed it. When I first started out, I was seeing five or six people a day and it exhausted me fast. At that point I was working out of a motel. Best Western, wahoo! With the in between breaks to refresh and clean up the place and myself, and taking a food break about midway, I was pulling 14 to 16 hour days. Back then I only charged $150 an hour so I upped my rate and things began to level out. What you charge basically defines what kind of clients you end up with. At first a lot of them are really nice but there were some really strange ones in there and I had to run one off that showed up stinky as hell and hadn't combed his hair even. I think he was on meth. He did have references though. I just wouldn't let him in the door and I point blank told him he stunk. When I upped my rates the nice gentlemen still came to see me. It weeded out a lot of the skanks. If someone would ask me to do it for less I would find it to be a little bit offensive, but if it was worded right and the guy was a gentleman and hard pressed for cash because the wife controlled the finances or what have you, I would allow it now and then.
I never mind talking about this stuff. If you have anything you want to ask me ask away. You may not be too curious about it, but just don't think I'm a closed book when it comes to discussing things like this.
My note (below) that prompted the above...
Thank you for your kind note. I'm fine....and now laughing at the Barbie cartoon (at top of this post).
Your experience sounds pretty much identical to Denise's. But our lives took such different directions and kept us busy so it wasn't as if we were estranged...we were just busy.
After I left home (at 15) I never really went back. The first few years I visited a few months over the winter and worked, but as I got older I made friends with folks in other cities and was able to go there instead. I was idolized by Denise and we had an amazingly psychic connection, but the age difference was pretty great (8 years is a lot when you're young, you know) and when they went off to Hawai'i, I when to Idaho.
Our Dad being German and from an upper-class family, we were raised in that tradition. My mom's family was Dutch and though they were Catholic, she was an amazing sensualist. Her dad was a surgeon at Fort Bayard, the military post just down the street from Silver City. He had a huge car -- we have pictures -- that Mom said he kept so clean you could've eaten off the engine.
Mom's mom was a nurse who was part of the 1st class of RNs that graduated from Vanderbilt University (Nashville, TN, 1903). I'm not sure how they met, but my mom was around 3 and her brother 7 when they moved to Fort Bayard. It was an idyllic time and imbued their life-long affection for the Southwest.
Mom had real artistic talent and after highschool went off to the Art Institute of Chicago. She'd taken the train to New York to see the sights and was a fantastic dancer, as was my dad. They met at one of the USO bashes the military used to coordinate in those days; they married two weeks later.
From Mom's description, the next 8 years were a dream. My dad had done such a good job as a double-agent they "gave" him the Wagner home in Bayreuth (Germany) to live in. The house came with a car, chauffeur, cook, gardener and maid. I suspect he was at risk for assassination as they, the military, moved them around constantly. They enjoyed the travel though and, I think, got to some wonderful places, including Paris.
Dad was into photography and as a child I remember seeing the movies he made (before I was born) of them skiing in the Swiss Alps. It was so warm the women took off their tops. They had their bras on in the films, but I suspect when the camera wasn't running, those too came off.
It wasn't until I was around 6 or 7 that I was allowed to eat at the dining table. We always had wine with dinner and the custom continued when we returned to the States. It helped Mom relax after a day at work and eased the stress of the divorce. But we were also taught moderation and that drunkenness was vulgar. Proper decorum and behavior was expected, but -- and I'm not sure how we picked this up -- morals, other than honesty and doing a good job, weren't dictated.
Mom was a wonderfully loving and generous person who lived by the Golden Rule. An executive secretary with Holiday Inns, she hobnobbed with the upper-echelon and would often invite performers and visiting Directors of other Inns to our house for dinner. But she let us find our own way in deciding right from wrong. And through her tales about fasching -- the German tradition of pre-lenten Carnival and her comment that she thought our dad never spent a night alone -- she conveyed that sex was something to be enjoyed and never "wrong."
When she died and Bob, Denise's husband, kinda lost his sugar-momma, he divorced her and she was left high and dry.
Having co-signed Mom's 2nd mortgage a few days before she died (so she could buy out her room-mate), I inherited the house...and mortgage. One El and I were in the process of separating and I had recently been laid off from the University. It was all I could do to keep my own head above water. Denise disappeared into the city.
When she resurfaced she was working with a woman who screened her calls. They had a good partnership and I think they worked together for many years. Denise had inherited our mom's talent and drew beautifully. I took her down to the University Art Department once to give her a feel for the scene, but I think she enjoyed her work so much -- she said she really enjoyed being eaten -- school must've seemed like too much of a bother.
A couple of times over the years I got calls from alcohol detox centers asking if I knew where she was. Apparently, each time, she checked herself in and then left without telling them.
When I saw her last she was getting new dentures and in addition to money for rent, needed some for the dental work.
The little she shared about her clients sounded very similar to your description. I got the impression she had good relationships with a number of them and they appreciated her non-judgmental willingness to satisfy their proclivities. And, unlike my brother who sucks off the military-industrial teat, I was/am truly proud of Denise.
