There's this extra kind of look men get, when they find out I'm a prostitute. It's not necessarily offensive, it's just . . . They can't not look me over, just to check out what's for sale. Some of them can't help asking how much, and when I tell them they get this look like they're being ripped-off just hearing it.
And Ben's never paid for me. He did, of course, when we were dating and when we went out as friends. He treated all the time, and had me over to his work to 'sample' new drinks he was creating. He just never expected he was buying me, even after he knew what I really did for a living.
It's the stupid things that kept me in contact with him even through the worst of our fights. He would give me shit about my job and then send me this awful t-shirt from one of his terrible weekends away with some other girl to apologize. I would have to take that awful shirt back to him to throw it in his face, and he would tell me the genuinely worst dating misadventures. He would grin and try to get me drunk, and I would slowly thaw out. Next thing we were bread and butter all over again, patched up like nothing happened.
It didn't take money with Ben, or for him to see me at my best and go mad after me - it took a million dumb little rows and silly gestures to make it better. It took telling him exactly how much I was asking for, and seeing him look positively scarred I didn't ask a million.
And if there's a fairytale ending here - no guarantees, just hopes - it will be that though a lot of men have paid for me, Ben has always wanted to earn me and wasn't sure how.
Best Friends with Wandering Eyes, Ben/Hannah, Secret Diary of a Call Girl
And Ben's never paid for me. He did, of course, when we were dating and when we went out as friends. He treated all the time, and had me over to his work to 'sample' new drinks he was creating. He just never expected he was buying me, even after he knew what I really did for a living.
It's the stupid things that kept me in contact with him even through the worst of our fights. He would give me shit about my job and then send me this awful t-shirt from one of his terrible weekends away with some other girl to apologize. I would have to take that awful shirt back to him to throw it in his face, and he would tell me the genuinely worst dating misadventures. He would grin and try to get me drunk, and I would slowly thaw out. Next thing we were bread and butter all over again, patched up like nothing happened.
It didn't take money with Ben, or for him to see me at my best and go mad after me - it took a million dumb little rows and silly gestures to make it better. It took telling him exactly how much I was asking for, and seeing him look positively scarred I didn't ask a million.
And if there's a fairytale ending here - no guarantees, just hopes - it will be that though a lot of men have paid for me, Ben has always wanted to earn me and wasn't sure how.