Somewhere in between Paris and Summer, I found Layla. All these thoughts about intimacy yesterday got me thinking about her this morning.
This is a two part post.
People were talking about her on a local forum. No posted reviews, but good pics on BackPage. She was a lucky find. Dancer turned escort. Tall, blonde, and toned. We clicked. We had a lot in common. Almost too much. We’re both locals and grew up not far from each other, just in different decades.
After our first session, she asked if I wanted to stay and smoke a little weed. She had a new bag that was supposed to be awesome. Wanted to share it with somebody. She was free the rest of the day. So was I. T was out of town. It was the weekend. What the hell.
We got high, ate chocolate, and drank Mello Yello snuggled up in our underwear on the bed. Watched TV.
I saw her every week for a long time after that. Arranging our appointments so we could usually hang out after. The sex was always hot, slow and passionate. The chemistry was a level above anyone I had met so far while hobbying.
I didn’t realize until writing about it today that I enjoyed the intimacy as much as the sex.
She’d been a dancer 10 years. Recently quit. Too much drama, she said. She’d always escorted on the side. Mostly during after-parties that the clubs staffed. She was fed up with the BS of the strip club industry, and went indie as an escort a few months prior. Her best friend is a cab driver. She was making her living on business travelers he brought her.
Really? Who the fuck goes on a business trip and asks the cabbie: “know any good escorts?” in a city where its illegal?
Apparently lots of guys. Who paid very well.
She didn’t have any local regulars. She quit seeing the guys on the forum. They were pushing her for lower her rates in exchange for the good press they were giving her.
No matter where you are in life, people always want a piece of you.
The cabbie was her buffer to that. The guys he brought paid good rates, and booked multiple hours. I learned later that he watched out for her quite a bit. He was her check-in person. Many times I would get to the hotel and he was driving away. I never met him. She said he had a wife and kids. Never had sex with her. Just a friend. Relationships come in all shapes and sizes. I’m sure there is more to that story, but none of it is my business.
I’ve never been to a strip club in my life. Funny, I live in a town that’s famous for them. Nothing against them, but it always seemed like a very expensive way to get blue balls. I had no idea you could get laid in there. Obvious in hindsight. LOL. Layla danced for me a bit in the hotel room. Showed me her costumes. We had fun with it.
As the weeks went on. I learned about her. She had a fairly privileged upbringing locally. Got into drugs while dancing, but was now back to only the pot. “No hard stuff”. She was lonely. She lived at the hotel.
One session she had a ring of bruises around her neck. A coked up client tried to choke her over the donation amount. The Cabbie intervened. Heard the commotion from outside. Ran upstairs. Called the police. The guy ran off. The police treated her with respect, which surprised her.
She also has a soft heart and took in more than one guy who had troubles.
Eventually, she was kicked out of the hotel over a guy she let stay for a few days that had an arrest warrant. The resulting police incident was too much for the hotel manager. Especially after the previous incident.
Universal truth: Women love shit-head guys.
She moved into an apartment with a dancer friend. A lot of drama with that roommate. Layla kept to hotels during the week, but stayed in the apartment on the weekends. They fought a lot. I felt for her. She confessed she didn’t want to live alone. So stuck with the crazy roommate. Better than the shit-head guys, she reasoned.
Things seemed to go downhill for her from there.
I’m not sure if that was just when I started to notice, or if the crazy roommate was some kind of bad turning point.
More to come in part 2…