Try Escorting
Escorting finally became an option for me. Not that it was not always an open option, but it was finally smack dab in my face. Escaping from Keyser and the New Orleans situation, I found rest at a house where an escort agency was run out of.
If I wanted to, the offer was thee, no pressure. Money sure sounded good though, didn’t it? With talking to a few of the girls, they made it sound so easy, as if anyone could do it, especially a vampire. Some of these creatures that passed as call girls were far uglier than me, though some were pretty, but it was obvious that escorting was a job I could easily do.
With a sigh, desperate for some quick cash to survive on, I had agreed to give it a try. Answering a call that had requested for me to wear a cute party dress, I got ready. The mistress of the house informed me of the rules.
“There’s no sex for money, as that’s against the law, but there is always such a thing as consensual sex between adults. In order for there to be sex of any kind, he must remove his clothes before you. You can dance around, give a strip tease or whatever, but there’s no sex unless he gets undressed first.”
She explained entrapment and different stings that have been done on escorting agencies in the past. Being careful was also agreed upon, as was the carnal rule of money. Do nothing before getting cash; no check and no credit.
Fresh with a shower, I figured the whole process could not really be all that hard. It was strange, because there was nobody there to try to stop me. At the very least, I figured Dred would have forbid me from doing such an act.
As fate would have it, Dred and I arrived on the island on the exact same day, as if it had been planned. He still wanted to marry me, and he was not shy in letting me know that a year’s time had passed. Each day he even sent me huge bouquets of fresh flowers and little gifts for persuasion.
When it came down to it though, when I told him that I was hard up for cash and what I was thinking about doing, he only tried feebly to stop me. Sure, he gave me some cash, enough to eat on and get basic supplies with, but it would not pay the bills that were building bigger by the day. I thought he would say to do anything but that.
He wasn’t happy about the idea, but he was not dead set against stopping me either. Explaining how he had dated an escort before, he knew of the instant cash the job brought with it. “If it’s just going to be a one-time thing, just to help you get on your feet, then go ahead and do it, just don’t make a career out of it.”
My stomach turned with butterflies as a driver was called to drop me off at the specific location. An older man who looked like he had been a biker appeared at the door, ready to drive me to wherever I needed to go, armed with a gun and who knows what else. I felt safe enough with him, and he even tried to calm my nerves, but something was just not right.
When he dropped me off, he gave me a phone number to call him at when I needed to be picked up. Not even waiting to see if anyone answered the door, he drove off. There I stood, knocking.
It took a moment for the lock of the door to turn. When the door crept open, two eyes peaked out at me. Seeing myself standing before him, he swung the door open with a smile.
Stark naked before me was a man in his mid-thirties. Hard as a rock, he exclaimed, “I’m ready to fuck. You better be ready for a good time.”
“Uh,” I stood startled, like a deer in headlights. Sex was against the rules, right? I thought I would be escorting someone to a dinner or a movie, just like Charlie said.
I was not trying to exchange sex for money. The mere thought made shivers run down my spine and made me feel all slimy inside. This was not the exact scenario that I pictured.
Calmly, I tried to gather myself. Recalling that any type of touching, such as a massage, cost extra, I tried to reason with the thought of cash. “You know that it’s $250 an hour, and any type of touching is extra, right?”
“Extra?” He bawked like a chicken. “How much extra?”
Looking at his body, up and down, he was actually not in bad shape. Really, he was a pretty decent looking guy. Why would he even need to call an escort; why not just go to a bar and get a drunk chick?
“Well, it’s all based on tips, but for what you’re after, it might be quite an amount extra,” I reasoned, still willing to see exactly how much money I could make. What amount of money was worth settling for though? Really?
“That’s all I have is $250 dollars. I mean, I might have a bit extra, but I wasn’t planning on spending it, ya know? I need to have some spending money for myself, too.”
That was the kiss of death. “I’m sorry. You can’t afford me.”
Picking up my cell phone, I dialed the driver, instructing him to come get me. Probably pissed, the guy pointed me out of his house, making sure to rub his hard-on on my ass before slamming the door behind me. Piercing the pussy shut had its reason, and why even dream of violating that code?
Back on the road, I began to walk. Overly dressed in an evening cocktail dress with high heels, I looked totally out of place on the back road of an island. Anyone who would have driven by probably would have been able to guess what I was doing, even though it was the same as I dressed normally walking down the street.
I felt different, as if I had almost crossed a line of no return. Sure, I could understand why girls did it, desperate with nowhere else to turn, but I just couldn’t do it. Even as a vampire, I did not have the guts.
When the driver came to pick me up, I explained what happened, ashamed of myself for even thinking about doing what I almost did. That experience was enough for me. Try anything once, twice if you like it; tried to try it, and I didn’t like it.
The closest I would come to escorting was occasionally answering the phones when nobody else was around to arrange a call. An order taker for a sex service was not quite as bad; it didn’t put you at risk. Even if I couldn’t have a baby, I didn’t want to go down from some slimy disease.
More happy to be in peace, not being attacked, the last thing I wanted to do was put myself in a position where I could be hurt. One on one alone with a strange guy just seemed like the wrong type of environment for me at the moment. I’ll give props to any girl who did, just because I was not strong enough to do it.
Perhaps I was not desperate enough. Phoning my parents, I made the call for them to get me. Protection was a nice thing to be able to fall back onto.
Breaking Dred’s heart, I refused his marriage proposal. Though I had told him no from the start, he thought I would have changed my mind. I didn’t.
It was hard to move back home, but it was nice to have the option. My family had been wanting to see me for a while. Even when I thought they had not been there, they really had been.
Back home, I tried to drown myself in work, going from concert to concert. Even Pepper had known that I would not accept Dred’s proposal, giving me the advice to “find an Irish and Sicilian mix. That’s sure to be about as cuddly as a porcupine.”
When he came to town with Motorhead, I had to take the time to see him. The moment I hit the dance floor, he noticed me, pointing at me with the smile of seeing a friend from home in another place. His fangs gleamed in the lights of the stage, hardly visible to the average person.
Watching Motorhead for the first time was great, as they put on an amazing show. Being their 30-year anniversary tour, it was fitting that I would see them play with one of my vampire friends. Birds of a feather…
Before I could even run into Pepper at the end of the show, a man ran up to me and handed me a pass. “This gets you backstage. You are wanted.”
Eyeing the sticky badge, I mused, wondering if the gift had been from Pepper. He would know that I would not require such a thing, wouldn’t he? Why would he waste it?
A security guard looked at my pass and shuffled me into a cluster of people. “Stand here to meet Motorhead.” Excited chatter filled my ears.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Pepper approached, a girl on each arm. When he saw me standing alone, however, he dropped both of the girls, signaling for them to move along, and gave me a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I came back home, as you know. You’re not playing Detroit this time, so I came here to Cleveland. Next round of tours, you really gotta play Detroit, so it’s not as much of a drive for me.”
Chuckling, we laughed and chatted for a bit. I could feel the burn of a pair of eyes upon me, but I could not tell where they were coming from. Suddenly, the people around us started to move.
“You going to meet Motorhead?” I shrugged my shoulders, explaining that a pass had simply been given to me. “Well, it looks like somebody wants to see you, so you better go back there and check it out.”
Following the herd of people, I moseyed back into the lounge, where a Motorhead member sat with a towel on his head. Laying back, I let most of the people say their piece, giving praise and love. Sitting back in the shadows, I merely listened.
The man in the towel looked at me, even as people talked to him. Nodding over at me, he took the towel off of his head. Shaking his bleached blonde hair, it was obvious that he was the drummer.
“The name’s Micky-D. I’m not who you thought I was, was I?” He teased the fans who may have thought he was another member.
Still, I sat back, unamused. Perhaps my seeming sarcasm, jade of experience, caught his attention, for the next thing I know, he was inviting me to hang out. “One of the clubs down the way is staying open for us, as White Lion and Enuff Z’Nuff are just finishing up playing.”
Having nothing else to do but drive back home eventually, I shrugged my shoulders and agreed to join them for a drink. Arriving in the top back lounge just in time to hear the strum of White Lion’s cover of “Radar Love,” we watched the ending of the show. A bartender offered that any drinks were on the house.
Settling at the bar, I sat next to Micky-D, who was seated next to Lemmy, drinking Stoli Vanilla kamikazes. Excusing myself for a moment, I got up from my seat. Before I even had my back turned, some little bitch snuck into my seat, shoving my drink aside.
My breath inhaled sharply as Micky-D looked at her lovingly, seemingly forgetting about me. Not that it had mattered, mind you, it was merely the rudeness of the situation. Don’t steal my seat and spill my drink by shoving it aside, even if it was free.
Holding my breath for a moment, I exhaled when I felt something rub against my leg. Looking down I saw a scruffy Russian Blue cat, and a smile widened on my face. In the time it took me to exhale, the cat grew into a figure of a man.
“Pepper!” My arms embraced him with an excitement greater than earlier. Just the sight of him made me forget all about any situation that may have occurred only five seconds before.
He pat my back, as if to say that everything was all right, to not pay attention to the mindless actions of others. No words needed to be exchanged. Micky-D was looking at Pepper, me smiling at the happiness of his presence.
Just the energy of Pepper made my fangs extend, and I flashed them at Micky-D. Elbowing the rude girl, he exclaimed, “you’re in her seat,” and signaled for me to sit back down. Pepper walked away, but his point had been made.
Pepper had a way of making points to me without words, as if communication need not necessarily rely upon verbal skills. I bit my lip, forcing my fangs to withdraw back into my skull. The only other time I flashed them during the evening was at Chip, who had been playing with Enuff Z’Nuff, just to take him off guard and let him know that there was a female vampire in the presence of all the male vampires thinking themselves to be the kings of the mortals.
Micky-D was stuck on me. When they tried to close the club, he escorted me into a circle, staying longer than expected by merely going back to the same location. “If you’re ever being chased, just go back to where you just were, as it’s the last place somebody will look, thinking that you just left there.”
Time eventually moved us all out to the bus, where Micky-D pulled me aside. Motioning towards the snug bathroom on the bus, he asked me a question quite bluntly, implying that he wanted me to escort him on tour until Chicago. “How do you feel about giving blow jobs?”
He started work on the button of his jeans, which made my stomach turn. “I’m sorry. I’m not a slut.”
Looking at me as if I had spoken as language he had never heard before, he would not comprehend my statement. “What? What do you mean?”
“Plain and simple, I’m not a slut.” He turned from me furious and frustrated, but I insisted, “maybe I can explain a little better.” Pulling aside my dress, I exposed the piercings in my twat.
“That’s rather repulsive to me right now,” he snarled. Looking away, he caught himself, then looked back to examine the piercings further. “What would make you do such a thing?”
“If they repulse you, then they’re doing their job. I did not want to have to be a slut, so I pierced myself shut. Call me paranoid, but it’s just me.”
“What’s the point of that? Are you just going to keep your pussy shut forever? That seems a tad against the point…”
“No,” I insisted, “not forever. I’ll just keep them in until I find someone worth while, someone worth taking them out for. Why bother going through the motions if it’s not the right one; is it worth the risk?”
He may have not understood my logic, much like many others, but it was my little quirk. I didn’t actually get the artwork done for the sole intention of piercing myself completely shut, but it did kind of work out that way. Really I did it for the pain, just to have the sensation of a pain that I could control, but people do not seem to understand that either, not even vampires…only some, a select few.
Brad did not fully understand, but he was intrigued by it, enough to still try to influence my life decisions. He flew me down for Mardi Gras, allowing me the opportunity to meet another member of White Lion, a former member who had joined Black Label Society to play bass, filling in for Robert when he joined Metallica. Brad also flew me down for my birthday, allowing me to cover Jazz Fest and be in New Orleans for the release of Nine Inch Nails album “With Teeth” that was released on my birthday.
Trent Reznor was a man with teeth of his own. Alexia had been the one to point that out to me, even escorting me to his home when we had been exploring the town; such a fan, we slipped a note inside his mailbox – something I can laugh about to this day. In turn, when Nine Inch Nails came to Detroit, I took Brad, as he had been staying with me during the crash of the hurricane.
The violence of storms had been further explained to me by my brother, who loved to try to control the weather with fire and whistles of magic. The first time he had called for a waterspout, chanting the word repeatedly, Charlie came, washing away a former condo of mine in Florida. The next time he chanted, Katrina came, followed by Rita and Wilma, washing away four of my former homes in both Key West and New Orleans.
As what goes around comes around, I gave Brad shelter, just as he had given to me. Friends watched out for each other, so I had to pay my dues. Showing him entertainment, as he had showed me before I left the city, our debts to each other were paid, making us stronger vampires and friends.
He even did me the favor of delivering Granthrax back some materials that had belonged to him. Picture this, just before Halloween, just before I was pushed out of my apartment, I come home to the red lights of the studio illuminating a coffin in my living room filled with Granthrax’s baby pictures that the lesbian landlord had taken for whatever reason previously. Wanting to return the property once it was evident that her voodoo had not worked on me, I asked Brad to return it to Granthrax, making him approach him late night at a bar as a total stranger, “I have something that belongs to you in my trunk, baby pictures…”
Too bad I only got to hear about Granthrax’s reaction. “Who are you?” Totally clueless as to who Brad was or how his baby pictures had become missing in the first place.
Witchery was much deeper than that, at least in my little life, as Genifur had pointed out to me accidentally. Innocently enough, she had asked, “have you ever had sex with any of the rock stars that you’ve interviewed? I mean, you meet all these people, but have you ever like fucked any of them?”
Honestly, I answered, “I let one guy lick my ass, just because, just to see if it was any different from any normal guy doing it. A lesbian probably could have done a much batter job in my opinion, but you never know unless you try. I tried it, and it wasn’t as impressive as I thought.”
She looked at me with wild eyes, disbelief. “You’ve been given a dirty kiss! In the old days, when being initiated into a circle, you had to have been given a dirty kiss, and you know what that is, right?”
Questioning me to see if that’s all that had happened on that fateful evening, I confessed, “no, he also read my fortune. He did an I-Ching reading for me and asked what I wanted to do. I told him about my books, but I also told him I wanted to tour, just to see what it was like, and within two weeks, I was on Ozzfest.”
Shaking her head, she sighed, “somebody’s got plans for you. You know that, right? You’re tied into the web, and I’m not talking about the Internet.”
When I came back home, I ran into that same mysterious man. He told me that I should try to find a living legend, try to find some writer to guide me on my way. I explained that Hunter S. Thompson was an influence, and he suggested contacting him.
Less than six hours later, Hunter S. Thompson shot himself in the head. It was a lesson I would have to figure out on my own, that much was obvious. This mystery was one that could only be solved by me alone.
Other guys came and went, making proposals and generous offers of how I could live my life as a housewife and broodmare, but none of them seemed to listen when I said that I was not likely to have babies. It seemed to flow in one ear and out the other, as they planned lives for me without my consent. Continually, I was breaking hearts.
Those hearts which could not be broken still called to me, wanting to touch me and see the legendary piercings, trying to get me to do things I did not want to do, like make pornography with 18-year-old whores. They even attacked me, pulling my hair and trying to force me into doing it. Instead, I flashed my fangs and walked away, throwing bloody tampons when I had to.
As time went by, I pondered my fate as the Black Widow. Perhaps I had been thinking of it wrong the whole time. Maybe I should not be looking for a husband, not one that would die before me, leaving me as an heiress.
More likely, it was I who was like the Black Widow, a spider with venomous poison for the heart. Inspecting the past, I have left quite a trail of broken hearts, even when I did not intend to. Does a spider always intend to harm its victim, even if it bites from instinct?
Even after I had gone back to Michigan, New Orleans called me back in the form of Brad for the celebration of Mardi Gras. Rage became fueled, turbo-charged, into a whirlwind of party. Blood had been stockpiled, and bags dusted his apartment, dripping its crimson coloration into all that would absorb it.
His roommate had ensured that we would not be of normal minds, bribing us Brooklyn style. “I was over hanging with Blanchard, and he said that Pepper’s datin’ some new chick. Somehow, he also got Stanton Moore to play with him, too; the Galactic drummer is now the new drummer for Corrosion of Conformity.”
We were planning to see, attending their show, but there were other things to do before then. Mom’s Ball was only one of those things, where Bradley let me dress him up in a skirt, a tiny Spanish-looking top and a crown. For more information, check out my book “Waking Up On Bourbon,” of which he is on the cover, as this much could not be fit into one single book.
In between shows like Hairy Apes BMX, duty called from Liz, who required help packing up her apartment for a move. In exchange for our help, she had given me some cookbooks, which my mother had requested as a gift, Southern Living. The hardest part about the duty was preventing Rocco the pit bull from attacking the pizza delivery person and wrecking havoc across the neighborhood.
Within a night, duties were done, and I collected my cookbook prize, which sat in the back of Brad’s car for a while to come, along with some baby pictures of Granthrax that the lesbian landlord delivered in a coffin. Though it was an odd combination, I thought nothing of it. Instead, I dressed up in my mother’s wedding dress from her first marriage to roam the streets.
Again, Brad tried to make me jealous by talking of other girls, one who I happened to have relation to, as our families both went back to William Brewster on the Mayflower. Funny how small the world is, but this is a lesson I would find out later. Is it small or is it just one big interrelated conspiracy?
By the time the Lundi Gras party with Galactic came around, Liz decided to claim me for a time, pulling me backstage where Brad had no access. Our first stop was the bathroom, where she pulled out some blood, but in my daze, I had knocked it into the sink while the water had been running. Though she was mad, she rolled it off, knowing we could easily find another victim.
Tony Hall approached us. With quick introductions, we decided to sit back in the lounge. Somehow the topic of my piercings came up.
Bartering was ready to occur, as I stated that I was willing to show my twat in exchange for blood for her and a joint for myself, a fair trade considering the time of year. Raising an eyebrow at us, he said to give him a moment as he disappeared. Liz looked at me and blushed.
“Do you know who he is? He used to play with Bob Dylan; I mean, he’s a world-class musician, and you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. Do you even realize that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and stood up, “world-class musician or not, he’s taking too long.” Entering back into the cluster fuck of the back stage scene, my heart dropped as I saw an all-too familiar face. Keiser’s eyes locked with mine.
“Happy Mardi Gras,” he nodded at me. I tried to respond, but he ducked behind a group of people down the stairs. Blood boiled in my ears.
Tony re-appeared. “I’ve got blood,” he grabbed the elbow of a masked figure. “Hey, you got a joint?”
“I do,” a guy with a cowboy hat on answered, handing over a rolled cannabis cigarette. It must have been Shannon Hoon’s ghost or twin. I felt a chill run through me, as he disappeared into the wall, literally walking through the dense wood as if it were an opening.
We were ushered into the bathroom. Blood was distributed, but I had given it up long ago. I merely watched as eyes dilated before me, fangs extending with drool.
Snatching the joint when it was handed to me, I upheld my part of the bargain. As I lifted my skirt, the guys got close, jaws dropping in disbelief. The masked figure took off what was disclosing his identity.
“That’s hot. Doesn’t that hurt? I bet it feels good.”
“Wait a minute; you’re a friend of Betsy Boone’s aren’t you?” The now un-masked figure looked up at me and nodded. “My first roommate introduced me to you at Pepper’s bar when I first moved here.”
Tugging at his chin, he noted, “you do look familiar. I don’t think you showed me this before though. I would’ve remembered this.”
“Nah,” I shook my head and laughed. There was a knock at the door, and my cell phone rang. Brad was calling; “we gotta get outta here.”
The show was over. “If you know where Pepper’s bar is, I’m heading there now for a quick bite to eat. If you care to join me, I’ll meet y’all there.”
Naturally, Brad was upset that I had been gone for so long, and it infuriated him to have no idea what we were up to backstage. We didn’t give him time to question, as Elizabeth was driving to Le Bon Temps. “Are we going to see the Mardi Gras Indians?”
“We’re going on a vision quest,” Liz laughed, recalling the vision we had found at the last Phish show. Rocco had been faithfully waiting for us to exit Tipitina’s, so he was traveling with us now to the next bar. Ironically enough, when we entered our next stop, Liz and I got out, her with Rocco, her dog, and me with Brad, no leashes necessary until actually inside the bar.
Rocco and Brad whimpered, both wanting something different. The formerly masked figure, Blanchard, was chowing down some grub, inviting us to join in. I could not find an appetite, so I merely watched the food disappear from the plate little by little.
Before leaving, a bathroom executive meeting was called to order, and Liz gave Brad Rocco’s leash to hold. She and I entered, with Blanchard on our heels, locking the door behind us. On the back of the toilet was jar full of condoms “get ya some.”
Blood for blood, different species were exchanged. The bathroom board of executives decided that Blanchard would be taken to his residence of dwelling, escorted by the pit bull and us. Snatching Brad and Rocco, we were off to find the destination.
When we arrived, a sex swing greeted us. It was the first thing you saw when you entered the living room, just a regular fixture of furniture. “I miss my swing from Key West,” I whined.
Bloody whirwinds buzzed round and round and round again. Weed was given for my pleasure. Others joined in the festivities.
Exchanging stories, such as when I had taken Rex Brown and Pepper around Detroit in a bullet-riddled Buick for drunken entertainment. Norris had made the arrangements, inviting me to watch as they recorded an acoustic version of “Stone the Crow.” Now I was sitting in the living room of one of Pepper’s pal’s places.
All it took was me asking to go to the bathroom, Blanchard brining me a sip of green tea, to make Bradley erupt into a temper tantrum. Too much blood had sent him on a spree of conspiracy. He made a stance and exited the door.
My phone rang, and he screamed in my ear. “Either you come with me now, or I’m burning all your stuff at my house! You must leave now!”
Liz grabbed the phone and tried talking sense into him, but it was useless. Even the nitrous guy, a friend of one who I had known before, got annoyed by it all. Discourse ran rampant.
Blanchard begged me not to go. What choice did I have? I could either:
stay
or
go with Brad.
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