avalonsmistress.com

Right, first up, I want it on the record that I’m not a prostitute.

No, really.  Get that firmly into your little head - I can see it in your eyes, you’re thinking that already.  You’re told that men can ‘rent’ my time, and you think ‘oldest profession in the world’.

So you’ve lost that have you?  It won’t slip off your lips, or out of your fingers - that sloppy accusation that always comes up at one time or another - it’s sloppy because I’m not a hooker.  If I CHOOSE to sleep with my clients, it’s exactly that.  I don’t charge more for it.  That last part is all about connection - and discretion.  My clients don’t pay me to be their ‘object’ for the evening - they pay me to keep them company - to look, and sound good.  To be what they need at that moment in time - and trust me, when you have as much resources as my clients, the last thing you NEED at any given moment in time is sex. 
It’s just not part of the equation.  More to the point though, why would they hire me?

I’m not much to look at.  Come on, honest appraisal here.

 

(Journalist’s note - she’s average height, fair skinned, red haired woman.  I’d say around five foot six, in stockinged feet.  She’s wearing a silk blouse, black waistcoat, black trousers and was wearing four inch heels when she greeted me at the door.  She’s got an open smile and eyes that dance and change colour in the sun - from grey to a deep, almost depth defying blue.  She’s right; she’s not what I’d peg as a prostitute.  But that’s what she’s listed as in the police report.  Whether she is or not, I also know that in doing this – in making me write these asides, she already has me right where she wants me.  And dammit, I’m quite enjoying it.)

 

I can tell exactly where you got the idea from - that dammed police report.  Daniel died of natural causes - and that was proven, but some fuckwit released the records of the investigation.  Three careers were destroyed because of that, and mine is…Precarious.  And I’m only two steps from completion.

I’ll explain THAT later, cause there’s a time and a place for everything.

So, are you willing to let go of the mindset that I’m a prostitute?

It’s important, because preconception colours everything, from writing to reporting, to verdicts.  And Daniel doesn’t deserve that.  More to the point neither do any of my other clients.  Nor do you need the aggravation of wrapping your head around the things I’m going to try to explain to you - because, of course, there’s a chance you just won’t understand.  I’d rather that was because you just didn’t understand, or can’t, instead of won’t.  And if you don’t understand that’s fine – we can let it go here.  Right now.  You can get up, and leave – there’s a wonderful coffee house just in the lobby – sit there and think about the next story you want to pitch.

 

She pauses, tilting her head at me.  She reminds me or a friend, in a way, curled up in an opulent overstuffed chair, she looks like a little girl.  And then her smile changes, and she reminds me of Sister Bliss - and I remember that she’s been trained, just like her.  I interviewed Sister Bliss just before *SANITISED*

 

Come on, let it go.  I’m not a prostitute.  More to the point, those of you thinking of reaching for your wallet - don’t bother.  I don’t JUST cost in money - there’s more to it than flashing cash.

 

I nod, because Sister Bliss said exactly the same thing, but this feels stilted, almost rehearsed.  She’s still making these statements in a casual, offhand way, but there’s something in what she says that makes me think that they have a script of sorts.

 

All right, I’ll keep reminding you.

 

So, that’s first, and technically, second.  You can’t hire me.  Automatically, because I’m allowing this interview, you’re never going to get onto my client list.  Don’t care how cute you are - it’s one of the rules.

Why?

Well, knowledge is power.   If you KNOW things about me, you can foster a feeling of intimacy.  That tends to grow like weeds between people like us.  And I’m sorry to say that nothing good ever lasts.  Goodness, and joy, unless you’re incredibly lucky, melt like snow.  Or are murdered, and die a bloody death at the hands of some pompous asshole.

And, some of the things I’m allowed to tell would, to be quite honest, make you feel a little uncomfortable about remaining in your seat.  Trouser tents here we come.  Aha, the virginal blush.  You’re not here for cheap thrills then, though, you wouldn’t be.  You’re the journalist that got Sister Bliss before she…went underground.

Other things might make you wish you never asked - not everything about this job is exactly savoury - or happy.  Once I’m paid for, clients can do anything to me.

Within reason.

 

Shall I start with Daniel, and work my way back, changing the names as I go - cause there’s no way any of my clients would even consider identifying themselves as being ‘clients’.  Or do you want me to start at the beginning, when they taught me?

You’re not sure are you?  I can see it wavering in your eyes - immediate release, or the slow, more measured build up.  Instant gratification or sustained pleasure?

What’s your poison?