So, I've been rather ill of late, and have faced down a number of challenges since last I wrote. Violence. Sickness. A change of roommates. And a dash of heartbreak thrown in for good measure.
Being deathly ill has, however, afforded me ample time to catch up on cinematic releases... that is, I get to watch whatever my roommate drags home on DVD.
One such movie, The Brothers Bloom, left me 1) confused about the title, as only one brother was named Bloom, 2) irritated with the anachronism that fell pathetically short of Steampunk, yet made no sense in modern context whatsoever, and 3) disturbed at how closely escorting resembles a con.
These brothers went round the world creating new characters for themselves, conning people out of money or goods, and in the end, the basis of their concept was, "The perfect con is where everyone gets what they want," or something to that matter.
I was instantly thrown back to where I would size up a client upon entering, then quickly custom-tailor a personality... just for them. And, of course, everyone got what they wanted in the end: I got paid... and they got laid. But, I suppose it was all that acting and character-forging that got old for me toward the end.
I remember my "Final Act," as I shall now call it, though at the time it was just "Diana's Retirement Tour." I was lucky enough to see many of my faithful regulars -- most of whom no longer got 100% fake personalities, but rather, prismatic glimpses into the Real Me. One such client, my dedicated Kilted Gentleman, got The Real Me as usual (and was my official "Final Act."), and another guy... a brand new, never-met-the-man-before-in-my-life dude ended up getting to meet Me as well. As in, well... me. By the end of the week, he even knew my real name, how much I paid for my house, and as he was a doctor, I think he knew my blood type. LOL
I had dropped The Con. I just couldn't do it anymore, couldn't be all those girls to all those different men. I recall days where I was a flirtatious ingenue, a self-assured Sex Goddess, a horny grad student (though I was in school, I wanted nothing more than to actually study by half-past four in the afternoon), a Domme, and a naughty schoolgirl -- all before dinner. And, for dessert? Make that a Double with my friend Jenn, served up with a side of Ohmigod-This-Guy's-Pits-REEK. (It's called a SHOWER, gentlemen! With SOAP!)
No more gagging over sweaty testicles. No more horror-tales of grinning through dingleberries and fishy breath. I was done; the curtain lowered on a Grande-Dame of the Smallest Stage Possible.
My advice to girls out there, wanting to dive into the pool of Courtesans? Make your character well. Flesh her out, write her a past, give her a name you'll learn to love and hate. But, when you're done with her, let her rest in peace. That, my dear girls, is when the game is over.
R.I.P. Diana *smile*
(Don't worry... that's NOT the end of this blog. That was just a little farewell to a swell gal I learnt to love/hate over the years. *grin*)
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