And now.. the rest of the story.

My alter ego.

I shook for two hours after this appointment.  Brandy tried to talk me into posting earlier, but I demurred.

Now, I find myself in the LOVELY position of either “She should have said something to us, because we need to know the whole story for our own good” and “Any provider who rebuts is just causing trouble.  Bitch should keep her mouth shut.”  (WELL, everyone knows what my opinion to THAT will be.)

You people are keeping me from the Iowa debate.  I RESENT THIS.  I could be talking about Governor Goodhair’s absence, his alter ego from Massachusetts, that Pawlenty is actually quite funny and WHY oh WHY has Ron Paul STILL not learned to talk in soundbites… but no.  I have my very first bad review to deal with.

My very first.  How long have I been in this business?  I suspect that my experience without ever getting a bad review is relevant.  We shall see.

Rideafatboy scheduled an L1 massage with my alter ego.  He’s been here before – twice. At this point, I am convinced he has forgotten that he had seen Emily.  (It was many months ago, before last Christmas.  Emily, however, is low volume.  She remembers people.)

He was a bit early.  I apologized for answering the door with my hands covered in bread dough – I was baking and thought I had time to get it kneaded and set to rise before he showed up.  (I sort of wish I were joking.  It sounds so gay.  Regular readers of my blog – hell, regular visitors to my incall – will know that I like to cook and recognize this is par for the Emily course.)

The massage went fine.  We chatted about his motorbike, cooking, the economy, the drought.  Then I flipped him over and things went sour.

He asked for topless.  I don’t do such unless a tip is offered.  He offered a tip.  It was not $ + 40, as he reported.  I lamented that, since we don’t upsell and ergo have to wait until a customer not only requests but offers to pay for it, inevitably my hands are covered in oil at what point I have to touch my shirt.  (WOE.)

He was unhappy that topless L1 meant he couldn’t grab.  He was unhappy that topless L1 didn’t involve kissing.  He was unhappy that topless L1 didn’t involve L2 or L3  – which he asked for (didn’t offer to PAY for, I must add – he wanted it gratis and told me bluntly he had no more money to pay for that which he expected).  In regards to kissing I told him, and I quote, “I won’t tease you; that isn’t going to happen.”

He chose not to take no for an answer.

I have had appointments that I did not enjoy, or found unpleasant.  They were very, very rare (this is why I screen) but I have occasionally had them.  In all my time as a provider, this is the only appointment at which I felt I was in trouble.

He kept kissing me, after I told him it wasn’t happening and tried to make him lie back down.  When I turned my face away, he would grab my head and turn it toward him, despite me pulling away many times, and telling him no and to lie down. I pushed him into a prone position at least five times, by my count (twice quite forcefully).  He insisted upon sitting up immediately.

He tried to put his mouth on my bits.  I pushed him away and continued the L1 massage, he tried again, I quite bluntly made him lay back down**.  He immediately sat back up and grabbed my face to force me to kiss him.  I pulled away; he followed and pinned me down.  I pushed him back down onto the bed, and told him in no uncertain terms, “I’ve told you no, if you can’t take no for an answer then I’m going to get unhappy.”  That is a direct quote.

That’s when he got nasty.

I have always been a paranoid screener.  Even on the FBSM I insist that Brandy and I back each other up.  We do not do these FBSM appointments without the other present in the incall.  This is why.

I have met hundreds of playmates in this apartment.  This is the only time I, in my entire professional career, felt I was in any danger.  It was the first time I have ever been pinned against my will, and definitely the first time I’ve ever had to shove a guy down onto his back and had him react like a pouty little bitch.  If he had responded in ANY way but to decide he was going to leave (and I quote, “If I want to be told no, I can get that at home”**) he would have had much more to write in regards to his dissatisfaction.  I have an inner Igor complex.  If you ever push me to the point I have to TELL you that you’re over the line in bluntest terms possible… you have pushed the Irish lass too far.

This is why I am such a paranoid screener.  People may object to the hoops through which they have to jump to see me, but… I don’t know what you people are like.  I don’t know what’s going on in your lives.  I don’t know what the straw that breaks the camel’s back may be, and I don’t want to find out that it’s me telling you NO.

I have never, in nearly two years of public companionship, had a bad review.  I have never, in one year of L1 FBSM, had a bad review.  I have seen the top, most reliable, most trustworthy CC gentlemen and have earned their trust and affection.

If that is not enough for you, then, frankly, you can kiss my Irish ass.  I do not beg for favor.  And I most certainly do not, and will not ever, give Emily-style GFE FS for a Benjamin plus a meager tip, you cheap-assed, bitter, lost half a million on the stock market and now want someone to take out your frustrations upon, wanky little tit.

You want GFE?  Pay for GFE.  Otherwise, go <strike>troll Leopard</strike> enrich the lower levels of hobby economic commerce.

Although, and I’ve said it already but I think it bears repeating, I doubt he realizes that the woman he pissed off today was Emily Hemingway.  Most are not aware in specific terms of the exact identity of my alter ego.

(Well.  There goes that idea.)

** I am now middle aged – very early thirties.  I am of the opinion that just because one is middle aged doesn’t mean one needs to look middle aged, so I’ve begun an exercise program.  I’m up to 150 push-ups per day.  220lbs of short elderly white male is well within my range.  I also do 150 crunches per day.  One is free to ask Bull, or anyone else who has physically lain eyes on me lately, about my level of exercise.

** Perhaps you should also consider paying for the level of service you require.  I mean, if I show up at a taqueria and ask for taqueria food and then throw a fit because I didn’t get the much more expensive filet served by other restaurants – which I neither
ORDERED nor PAID for – you’d think I was crazy. Maybe I’m just being too sensible and non-PMSing douchebaggie though.

ETA: And now I have received a PM from the aforementioned.  I have no idea what it says because I have not opened it, nor will I.  I can readily suspect what someone might choose to say by making sure their comments are kept in areas where 1) I cannot see what has been said or 2) I am forbidden to reveal what he said.

Sir, you are welcome to address me here.  If you cannot address me in public – where all can see your words – you are welcome to not address me at all.  Stand behind your words for all to see, or stand craven.   Entirely your option.

I sent him a PM titled “PM deleted unopened” with the text, “You are welcome to visit my blog again though.  I updated it.  Cheers, Emily.”

He sent another PM.  I don’t think he gets the point.  Deleted.