You’d think I’ve written enough about Aussies here. I agree, but guess what: Aussies seem to like me.
The phone conversation with Tony is excruciatingly long and painful. First he pisses me off by saying he’d like a booking in half an hour. Then he pisses me off even more when I say that the minimum notice is 2 hours as it says on my website, and he replies that he hasn’t seen it. I tell him I prefer dealing with people who know what they are getting themselves into, rather than someone who has no clue what I look like. I’m not nice when I’m pissed off. In an even tone, Tony goes to explain that he didn’t see my website because he has limited Internet access, but he saw my profile on a directory, there were a few photos and a description which he read. To myself, I’m wondering if the photos were really mine and who wrote that description*, but the directory is not Tony’s fault so I don’t say this out loud.
To cut it short, I reject the booking 4 times during this conversation, but Tony in an even and polite manner wins me over eventually. I’m quite surprised. First of all, at myself. If I reject a proposed booking, there’s a reason for it. Insisting on it will not change this reason but will add to it, not because I’m one of those stubborn, contradictory people (which I am), but because not taking no for an answer and pushing for what you want is the definition of rape. I’m not in a hurry to see anyone who tries to rape me over the phone. Secondly, I’m surprised at Tony. Usually, after my second no, I’m told that I’m too picky for someone who sells her [insert the misogynistic synonym of your choice for female reproductive organs]. But Tony wasn’t insistent. And he was polite to a fault where I was being difficult and not nice at all – and he still wanted to see me! So at the end I was curious to meet this rare specimen.
Tony has two questions straight away: my origin and my occupation. Let’s leave the origin issue for later. I don’t quite get it why clients ask me what I do for a living. Isn’t it obvious? Or do I look like I can’t possibly make enough through this job? So I tell Tony I’m a zoo keeper. We discuss the details of my newly acquired profession and end up having a laugh.
Tony’s visit to the UK is a short one, and 3 days later he texts me from London to ask if I could recommend a lady for him to see while he’s there. It’s a tricky question. It’s been 3 years since I left London and the sex work scene changes very quickly, especially in large cities. And while your barber can send you to his old barber friend in London, in prostitution we don’t recommend each other to clients. Simply because it can ruin your relationship with the client in question, not to mention your colleague. But since I’m not likely to see Tony again, I text him about 2 close friends I have in London, relationship with whom can’t be influenced by something so trivial as a man. One of them is from ABC, the other one is from XYZ.
Tony: Thanks Jewel, not really into those bloodlines! Am still wondering about yours – perhaps you will tell me more about that one day.
Jewel: Perhaps I will tell you one day, only what if I’m from ABC or XYZ (which, frankly, I can very easily be)?
Tony: Beauty such as that possessed by you soars above all mortal blood!
How can one not love Aussies? They will always find a way to get away with it.
*Not every ad of mine that you come across is written by me or even requested. One of recently-built directories advertises me as a Scottish pornstar. Another one claims I offer Aromatherapy oil massage and Tantric sex.