The Girlfriend Experience

I’m very upfront with my potential tricks regarding my market status; it reads: unavailable. Not looking for a boyfriend. Don’t want one. Every profile I have includes the acronym NSA, as in, No Strings Attached. This way they have nothing to fear from me in the long term, discretion assured and I want to avoid all possible stalking scenarios. Don’t get me wrong – I tried the boyfriend thing, a lot. It just wasn’t in the cards for me, so I let it go. I’m in a good place with that decision, which is why I make a point of calling attention to that particular aspect before I even begin to contemplate hooking up with someone.

Given that, it always surprises me when someone opts for, what I term, The Girlfriend Experience. This is a term hookers use when their johns insist on more than just a fast blow job in the cab of their truck or some hot doggy-style in an alley, behind the dumpster of the local Chow Mein shop. Such an evening usually involves eating out, and not just the kind most ladies of the night are used to getting paid for. This is how J.D. Hoyt’s on Washington Avenue in downtown Minneapolis stays in business. The Déjà Vu girls drag their new boyfriends down there for a pricey steak dinner for which the john pays the bill and of which the girls hardly take a bite. I’ve always wondered if J.D. Hoyt’s offers those ladies a kickback for each trick they sucker in.

Throughout a TGE meal there is a lot of hand holding and flirting. Questions are asked, lies are told and the world spins ‘round and round. Everybody is on their best behavior, pretending to be much classier than reality would reveal. The whole charade is carried off with the end point firmly in mind, that being sex, Bob (Dat be in da butt, Bob). TGE sex also deviates from the norm (and were not talking Hot Carls here). In this case there is more kissing and more eye contact, with a concerted effort on both parties to make the experience more sensual. It’s a form romantic role play where the romance reigns supreme.

I don’t really have anything against it, other than the time and the wardrobe it takes (jeans and a tee do not satisfy the requirement), and… the potential for misunderstandings. For me, drama and sex do not mix, unless it is part of a really well choreographed role playing scene where the parameters have been well-defined before play begins. However, unwanted drama is exactly what can inadvertently result when giving some dude The Girlfriend Experience. Wires get crossed. Looks are misread. The lines of fantasy and reality blur and that’s when the stalking may begin.

Early on, in my quest for slutdom, I made the mistake of blurring the lines of reality and fantasy over and over again. I’d meet a dude on line, we’d hit it off, we’d decide to get together and the next thing I know the evening includes drinks, the symphony and a late night dinner. In these cases I was smart enough to pay my own way (except for the symphony – he had season tickets), which helped to take the ick-factor out of the equation. The resulting sex was always at least okay (any sex is good sex?), with those initial sparks counting for something, but it was the follow-up questions and after-glow emails that ended up haunting and troubling me. More offers of evenings out would be forthcoming, each one a little more elaborate, involving friends and more time and… the truly dreaded request for OVERNIGHT STAYS. My loathing of such would seem to indicate that I have an issue with intimacy, but that is not the case. I love intimacy, as long as it does not exceed two hours and I have most of my clothes off for the duration.

Extraditing one’s self from a TGE gone off the rails is a tricky, guilt-inducing trial; a real nail biter. Somebody’s always going to get pissed off; somebody’s feelings will end up getting hurt. Things will be said that are ugly – some of which will be complete falsehoods and some of which will be dead on truths (you know, the kind nobody really wants to hear about themselves). So how one handles this situation is important. Simply choosing to block the dude’s profile and ignore his emails will find you face to face with said dude on your very own doorstep at 2:00 in the morning (true story).

I am currently having a bit of problem with one of my regular tricks. We’ll call him Wednesday. It’s not off the rails yet, but lately he has been pushing for something more than what we agreed upon when we first met. We met on Craigslist. That should be a big clue. He answered an ad of mine looking for a top with no strings. The first time was good (maybe even exceptional) and we both agreed that it was deserving of a repeat performance. It quickly became a regular thing. Sure, on occasion he would be travelling or I would have an appointment I couldn’t change, but for the most part we got together on a regular basis.

In the beginning, I would go over to his house for a nice throw down and thirty minutes later be back in my car on my way to some other assignation. There was no kissing, no shower, and very, very limited small talk. In fact, due to his seeming aloofness, there was a time when I was afraid he would lose interest and find himself a real boyfriend. Not that there is anything wrong with that and not that I would deny him a more intimate relationship if that is what he wanted, but I would miss his dick, which is quite unique. I would also miss his technique. Equally unique and frequently gasp inspiring.

We’ve been seeing each other on and off for over two years now. His work only allows a certain amount of time to satisfy his baser needs. It just so happens that our schedules jive and I’m usually available. For the first year our sessions were fairly brief and to-the-point. It was good… and simple. Then things began to change. Little things at first… he began to ask questions. I began to supply answers. Sometimes I’d tell him the truth, sometimes I would just make shit up. What difference did it make? This is a no strings thing, right? So why lie? To throw him off my path and to make me feel better about myself. No harm, no foul? The jury is still out.

Wednesday then began to volunteer things about his life. I would pay attention. He’s a sweet guy with good values and a kind heart. I like him, so I care about what he has to say.

Next, kissing came into play and I could feel the walls of emotional reserve shift. Such a shift can be a good thing; it does in fact make the sex better (at least for me), but it also makes me wary. As much as I like to dabble in the romanticism of kissing and as much as I love the physical sensation of it, something in this case caused tiny, distant alarms to sound in the back of my head. Suddenly, I had to be on my guard – not because I was fearful that I would fall in love, but due more to the fact that the whole kissing thing was highly uncharacteristic of Wednesday. Once kissing became part of our repertoire, lingering soon followed. After sex we would watch the news or Oprah together while making small talk. Then he started to invite me to take a shower before leaving. Then he started getting into the shower with me before leaving.

So I decided we needed to take a break. Only I didn’t tell him, well, not directly. Instead, I broke dates, with adequate notice (48 hours), of course. When I returned to the fold, kissing was off the table (his choice). As was showering, but the lingering and small talk crept back into our routine.

One day he asked me out to dinner; for some upcoming weekend. I was interested; I mean I could definitely see myself having dinner with this man. I had a lot of questions for him. Primarily I wanted to talk about relationships and find out why he wasn’t in one. I could also use it as an opportunity to underscore the fact that a relationship was the last thing in the world that I wanted for myself. Feeling that my motivation for accepting his invitation was a little too self serving (hidden agenda); I put it off, never committing to a time or place. He stopped suggesting it and soon we were back where we started – the perfect thirty minute fuck (minus kisses).

During our post-coital musings, I think I might have mentioned something about enjoying camping. Summer arrives, and suddenly the front entryway to his apartment is choked with camping equipment and strapped to the top of his SUV is a canoe. In swift order, the kissing, the showers, the lingering – they all come back into play, along with a request that we find a weekend to go camping. Sneaky. And freaky.

I freak. A little. Inside. Fortunately and not so fortunately a series of very unfortunate events happen in both our lives during the next two months, putting talk of said camping trip on hold. Circumstances conspire and we don’t see each other for over a month. When we do get back together the kissing is withheld, etc.

That all changed this week. This week, not only does the kissing return, but there was now something really sweet and passionate behind those kisses. I was swooning too much to question the source or motivation. Also his dick was working my ass like you cannot believe and in that way that only he can, so I was distracted to say the least. Later, we linger, watching the news. I get up, dress and am just about to make my getaway when, again, discussion of a camping trip comes up. I beg off and escape. For now. But it’s still there waiting for me, along with all that camping equipment clogging up his entryway.

I feel bad. And maybe I should. This is a nice guy. Way too nice to be involved with me. He is sweet and quirky and handsome and intelligent and has good taste. I want to fix him up with one of my other fuck buds, but none of them are good enough for him either.

Why do I balk at going out to dinner or go on a camping trip with such a nice guy? Well… I can offer two explanations. First – I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want to encourage him, and I don’t want to lead him on. Maybe I’m wrong and it is not his intention to make any change in our current situation, but having had the Girlfriend Experience blow up in my face in the past, I don’t want to risk it. Second – going to dinner is one thing, a safe bet – three hours max and either you’re on your way home or you’re headed back to his place for some hot, passionate, food-bloated, wine-inspired sex. The risk of revealing too much about yourself in those three hours? Minimal. But a camping trip? Roughing it? Without the privacy of a real bathroom? Morning breath, whisker burn, body odor, sweat stains, food stains, and the occasional (?) whine? Topped off by the fact that I would be stranded somewhere for over 48 hours with someone I don’t really know all that well? While the idea of getting fucked in a tent all night long does have its appeal, that appeal, for me, is limited to three hours, tops. And when I take into account just how used my hole feels after being fucked by him for a mere 45 minutes, I can’t help but wonder how I would ever fill the remaining 47 hours and 15 minutes. One can tap dance only so long. But what really terrifies me is all that he could potentially learn about me in those 48 hours. I don’t want ANYONE knowing that much about me. Up close and personal? Trust me, there are things NO ONE wants to know about me.

Also: What if going on a camping trip and learning things about me that no one wants to know ruins what we currently have? Flip side: what if not going on the camping trip ruins what we have - for him? Foot? Other shoe.

Of course, I never really envisioned myself having a fuck bud that I play with for two years. That’s a long time.

The obvious solution, of course, is to simply talk to him about it.

But it’s not that kind of relationship.

And there it is. That’s the joke. That’s the punch line.

Except… I’m not laughing.