69.

I don’t miss my early days as an escort. For the first six years, most of my appointments were one or two hours long. Most of my clients were polite and friendly and respectful. There was nothing glamorous about the work. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t very hard either. I disconnected from my body, played my role, and then went home to my husband. It was a job.

I worked out of various apartments and hotel rooms. I wore the same five or six outfits for sessions. I traveled from my home to my work space with a suitcase full of extra sheets and towels. I don’t remember most of my clients. Once, I tried to work out how many there had been. Hundreds, definitely. Did I ever break a thousand? I’m not sure. If not, then certainly I came close.

It was only when I turned twenty-five and met Matt that my career started going in a completely different direction. He booked me for dinner dates and overnight appointments and travel. I went with him on every business trip. Sometimes he lied to his wife, telling her he had to go away for work, so he could take me on normal vacations as well.

Soon he was spending so much money on me I didn’t need to do anymore one hour sessions. I raised my minimum booking package to two hours. Frankly, I didn’t need the two hour bookings either, but I didn’t want to rely solely on Matt. I figured I should keep some other clients around too. But I was already too busy, pushing myself too hard. So I raised my rates. I thought that would cause my business to slow down, but it had the opposite effect.

A higher rate and a two hour minimum started attracting wealthier, more discerning clients. Soon I was getting dinner date bookings, overnight dates, and travel requests from people other than Matt. I couldn’t keep up with the demand. So I raised my rates again. It was at that point I attracted my first billionaire client. The experience was a bit dizzying, in that I had trouble believing I had accomplished such a feat.

I thought talking to a billionaire would feel different than talking to a millionaire, somehow. But it didn’t. He was just a person. He was actually a very nice person. Relatively handsome, in his early or mid forties. But he seemed sad, and that was frustrating to be around. I tried not to judge him, because everyone has feelings, but it was hard to see him suffer so much when he had so much.

“Just give it to me,” I thought. “I’ll be happy with it if you can’t be.”

After two bookings, he asked me out on a real date. He wanted to introduce me to his friends. That really freaked me out. He didn’t even know my real name yet. Was I supposed to show up as myself, or as my character? I was confused by his request. Nothing about it made sense to me.