Why I Stopped Obsessing Over Money

Claire and I go way back in college. I had just gotten a job to supply stationeries at a new hospital in another district. I took on jobs of any kind back then when I was unemployed after college.

Although, the job wasn’t paying much. I didn’t want to stay idle while waiting for a better offer. Most of the high-paying jobs I applied for haven’t gotten back to me. I was running low in my savings from previous jobs. I needed the extra money.

Claire lives in the same district. I was supposed to stay in town for at least three days to set up the admin office at the hospital. So, I called my friend Claire and asked her if I could stay at her place for a few days. She agreed. We haven’t been close like we used to, so I was a bit surprised she agreed without hesitation.

I got off the train station. I took a bus to Claire’s. When I got to her house, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a 2-story mansion that could easily pass for a castle. The interior was exquisite.

Looking through the glass window, I saw a BMW and Benz packed outside by the corner.

I was mesmerized by the elegant display of chandelier light dangling from the ceiling, the wine cellar standing far to the left, and the artistry portrait of what looks like a burning phoenix hanging on the wall. I was snapped back to reality when the butler interrupted my thoughts to announce that Claire will be with me shortly.

I nodded and gave him a gentle smile. Still in shock. How could my friend be doing so well? She had dropped out of school because her father couldn’t afford it.

Claire’s mum died of leukemia when she was still in the second grade. She grew up with her father and her elder brother, who was an auto mechanic. There’s no way her family could have afforded such a luxury.

As I waited patiently for my friend to join me, I got carried away by the movie showing on TV.

A few minutes later, Claire entered the living room. She was as pretty as I remember but more. I could feel her magnificent aura fill the air in the room.

At a glance, you could tell all she wore were designers, from her dress to accessories down to her shoes. Her black silk hair trailed down her shoulders. She walked up to me and hugged me. It was nice to see she still had that warmness that makes people around her comfortable. I felt small standing in front of her. My insecurities were itching to come out.

After exchanging pleasantries, she showed me to my room. We talked and whined about old times.

I tried to avoid asking the millions of questions brewing inside my head. But I couldn’t hold my curiosity any longer, so I burst it out.

“How are you doing so well? What do you do for a living? Who owns this place? The last time we spoke, you told me you were a cleaner in a hotel. So, how did you go from being a cleaner to living this big?” I asked while examining the room with a grim.

As I popped out one question after the other, Claire sat there laughing at me. “Relax! You ask too many questions,” she said, giggling.

It turns out Claire was an escort. She has been in the industry for 3-years. As for the house, she said it was a gift from a client she dated. She didn’t want to go into details of that relationship. But later, I found out it was money she got from an out-of-court settlement from the man. I learned the man was a public figure, and Claire had blackmailed him that she would go public if he didn’t comply. She had filed a case for sexual assault and battery.

“How much are you paid per session?” I asked.

“It all depends on the service I’m offering. I charge $200 per hour for incalls, then $350 per hour for outcalls because I have to include taxi fare. Overnight is $1,500, plus travel. If the client wants to push beyond my boundaries, by that, I mean anal, I’d charge an extra 50-$100. However, most clients are just happy with the hand, massage, kissing, and oral sex.”

“Wow! That’s a lot.” I said excitedly.

“Sure it is.” But I work through an agency. They take 40%, and I’m left with 60%,” she added. I do not file taxes for my sex work, and I try to maneuver my way around the system as best as I can, so I lock down tons of cash every month after personal expenses.”

“Yeah! I see that. These shoes must have cost you a fortune,” I smirked, looking down at her long hairy legs. She was wearing Saint Laurent 4-inches glass heels, a Prada sheer halter neck top, with a knee-length leather skirt.

Her left wrist was graced with a Gucci gold watch. I’m sure her earrings and necklace were the same Gucci design as the watch. It was like they came in a set.

“It’s a very lucrative job,” She said, smiling back. “Some of my clients like high-end fashion, which is more pricey, so I spend a lot on my wardrobe and accessories. You don’t want to look cheap on a dinner date with top brass.”

Of course, you don’t. I said in my mind. You get paid for sex, and dining with rich people is a bonus. Plus, you get to shop in prominent boutiques if you’re spending the weekend with a wealthy client.

Claire is a top. She travels in first-class when she has a booking outside her town. Some clients would send a driver to pick her up if it’s in town if she didn’t feel like driving.

She was living a life I can only dream of.

From what she has told me, I was more than ready to begin this line of work. Now that I know she can introduce me to her agency, I can start earning some dough as quickly as a snap of my finger.

“When can you take me to your boss? I’m ready to start now, Claire. I don’t want to pass on this opportunity,” I said. I leaned closer to her, unable to contain my excitement. But the expression on Claire’s face was a bit frightening. She didn’t seem as excited as I was.

Could she be jealous that I might outshine her?

I know I’m more beautiful than Claire. Even back in college, she used to say she wished she was as pretty as me. She would imitate my dressing style, borrow my accessories, and insist on braiding her hair because I usually wore braids.

“I know you think being an escort is all about enticing your body to get men to throw $300 your way. It isn’t as catchy as you think. Some clients are beasts.

Even though we set our rules and limits to what we’re comfortable with, what fetishes we allow, and all that, not all clients will honor our conditions. Some will like to suck the life out of you by overworking you, especially overnight booking.” She explained.

I could tell she was fighting back her tears. Her voice cracked as she continued to tell me about her different experiences. There was one who refused to pay her for an extra session.

The clients paid through the agency’s site, so any extra goes to the escort’s pocket.

Then, there was another, who beat her ass repeatedly while fucking her. And one who sucked her clit until she bled. Another one, she gave a BJ peed in her mouth instead of cum after fucking her front and behind.

My head was spinning from all that Claire told me about her job as an escort. I had bills running in thousands. I was already behind my rents, and the long wait for much paying job made me more desperate. But now, I got a bit scared.

“Are you sure you want this?” Claire asked me with a mixed expression of distaste and confusion. “Being as escort eats a part of you. Sometimes the client can be violent. We do unimaginable things.” I tried not to be swayed by her remark.

“I know you, Jess, you can’t handle half the humiliation we put up with,” Claire said, trying to talk me out of it.

“But I get to pay off my debts. I can help my parents out and put my siblings through university. I can live in a decent house. Wear expensive clothes and not worry about paying for the next meal. If I save enough money to set up a store, then I’ll quit,” I replied. I was mustering all the courage I had as I assured Claire why I needed to be an escort.

I spent my time at the hospital doing what I came to the town to do all through the day. I installed different software on the new desktop, connected the printer and scanner. Then arranged the stationaries in the cardboard boxes. When I was done for the day, I asked the PR if I could leave, and he said yes.

I let the shower run cold water through my hair as I washed my hair thoroughly under the shower. I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with Claire. The clients get physically abusive? “Being an escort eats a part of you. We do unimaginable things.” I finally understood what Claire meant by unimaginable things. I imagined some stranger peeing in my mouth.

Oh, gosh! An intense shiver sprang through my body. That’s too disgusting.

The stories Claire had told me left a knot in my stomach. She was right. I can’t do it. I mean, it sounds exciting to be able to pay off my debts and flash a luxurious lifestyle, but will I be able to live with myself knowing the trauma that comes with the territory? That means I have no control over my body. The clients decide whatever they want to do with it.

No! Just thinking about it alone was getting my blood hot. I’m sure my face and body will be covered with bruises in the first week because I will insist on doing things I was comfortable with my temper.

There’s no way I’m going to let someone disrespect me for money. It just wasn’t worth it.

Making up my mind, I decided I would find another way to make money without losing my conscience in return.

There is no shortcut to success. Being an escort was a lazy way for me to get there. Instead, I reinvented myself by upgrading my portfolio with more qualifications and work experience. From that day forward, I decided to commit myself to become successful in the way that was right for me.

This story first appeared on Medium.

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