The Literal Best

I am absolutely sure I’ve done this before but, given last week’s angry rant, I feel it’s warranted again. I’d like to write a love letter to my clients.

82% of all the appointments I had in the last 16 months have been with returning clients. Out of everyone who chosen to spend an absurd amount* of their hard earned money hiring my company and services, 82% had met me before, knew who I was, knew what I had to offer, and chose to come see me anyway. Not ‘taking a chance’ on me but spending good money on a sure thing.

Most ladies thrive on regular clients, those of you who come see us weekly, daily, or just once or twice a year. That such a high percentage of my working time is spent with folks I have developed rapport with isn’t exactly unusual, but I can also say that 66% of the new friends I made over the last 16 months came back at least once. So far.

I’ve been struggling and worried lately over the effects of SESTA and the shut down of a myriad of local and national ad platforms. Eros is harder than ever to get onto and all of us are all mixed up together. It used to be that those offering and looking for a quick, dirty fuck could go to one or two places online, make that clear, and go on their merry way. They avoided platforms that catered to the longer, chattier types and vice versa. It’s just not the case anymore.

I went nearly three years without getting more than a few useless inquiries in my inbox. My website and ads made it pretty clear who I was, what I wanted, and what I offered. The two or three wasteful emails a month didn’t bother me since they were easy to spot and stayed in the minority. I used to read in awe about other people getting such scintillating messages as ‘u avail’ and ‘how much for hhr’. And yes, the lack of punctuation is part of it. Now…. Well let’s just say I’ve put a few extremely useful email filters even between potential clients and Rose. Rose was my filter, sifting through junk before it stressed me out and sometimes even turning the junk into gold. Or something like it. Now even she needs one, too.

I’m not alone here, either. All of my colleagues, from the ones who already dealt with a high proportion of junk to the ones who do everything they can to turn most people off, are experiencing a higher than usual percentage of absolute junk.

In their turn, clients are seeing a higher percentage of junk ads. There are, now more than ever, untrustworthy and suboptimal providers taking advantage of the confusion and, in their own confusion, scrambling to find their clients. Their niche. We had a comfortable strata and now it’s all jumbled. And what we’re losing is the professional, kind, respectful client provider interaction I got used to. It’s still there, it’s just much harder to find.

I am in an exceptional position. I have people from years ago that know who I am and that they can trust me to do what I say I will and be where I say I’ll be when I say I’ll be there. I have a robust client base that allows me to eject infuriating clients without suffering financially. Part of that is due to the aforementioned living up to the expectations I set but there would be no living up to anything without the clients who continue to visit me. Without the funny, silly, serious, sexy, passionate, intelligent, blue collar, admiring, respectful, giving clients who fill a hundred days at a time with amusement and adventure.

When I was very young I drew a picture. It was a bedroom, a large one with a four poster princess bed right in the middle, sashes hanging elegantly from the corners, and a stick figure woman (in my imagination she is beautiful) lounging back. At the door, patiently waiting to be called in stood a man. Young, old, no one knows, and it wasn’t important. What was important was that he waited, patiently, for his name to be called. Behind him stood another man, and behind another, dozens of men, receding down the hall, all patiently waiting their turn to enter the room and see the lady.

You see, the lady was beautiful and sexual and highly desirable. The men were waiting patiently for her to sexually serve them with her unimaginable skills. Her pleasure was irrelevant, her desire, sexually, was of no consequence. She was SO good at sex (whatever that was, ha! I was twelve at the time) that it was her duty and her pleasure to service each man, in turn.

I wanted to be her. So desirable! So elegant! In her beautiful bed, with the power to demand that each man wait his turn and the skill to entice them to actually do it… That was my dream.

And the cherry on top? There was a speech bubble and a thought bubble, each with a different name in it. You see, she *wanted* Joe to be next because she desired sex with him but Steve was next in line and duty stood above desire.

Like, holy fuck. I drew a picture of a high volume prostitute when I was twelve years old and wanted to be her! I am quite literally living my own personal dream. I can’t see my beloveds one right after the other, and I am more selective than twelve year old me/prostitute was, but holding myself to the promises I make, the setting aside of my own selfish self (sometimes) to give pleasure, bestowing my sexual skills graciously on those who come to my door…

So my beloveds, my darlings, you doofy, silly, sexy as fuck, adoring, deserving dears, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, truly, it is because of you that I live my dream and I will spend my life thanking you. I will live in my house that you bought for me, with my friends and my loves, my cats and my dogs, tilling my garden and trying to teach a younger generation. And I will thank you every day for what you helped me build.

When you first arrive, you intrigue me. When you go, I miss you. In between, I enjoy and adore you. I cannot imagine my life without you.

*Given the nature of the market and where average rates sit, every penny of what I ask is legitimate, but it is a pretty absurd amount of money given today’s wages. I wish it were different but sadly it is not. Know that I acknowledge and appreciate what sacrifices need to be made for me.