Do You Usually Date Prostitutes?

SKYE BLUE

So yesterday I hit you with my truth regarding women and causal sex. After wracking my brain about what I could share today, I decided to tell you all about one of my ‘bestest’ first dates (I hope you caught the sarcasm there). All I can say is life occasionally gets real rough in the dating jungle.

Mr. Not Too Swift and I met online a while ago. We clicked during our first few marathon phone conversations. He told me he was trying to get back into DJ-ing, and that he worked as a sales rep at his day job. When I informed him that I was currently working on what I hoped would be a screenplay, while making a living as Shiatsu therapist and yoga instructor, he cheered me on. Our conversations generally centred on our mutual passion for music. Although he was into old school hip hop and I was more of a jazz aficionado, we both shared the love of beats, breaks and horns.

After a number of telephone chats we decided to meet for lunch at little Chinese restaurant about halfway between our homes. The morning of our meeting I called him to ask him if we could shift our meeting time back 30 minutes, as I wanted to squeeze one more client in before I came to meet him. He readily agreed to the time switch and asked me if I had to go into work to see my client. I explained that a few clients were coming to my home to see me before I headed out to see him. Then we finalized the details regarding where we would meet and ended the call.

Hours later, when I met him face to face I have to admit I wasn’t blown away. He was reasonable looking, but I wasn’t so sure there was any chemistry. Anyway, we settled into a easy first meeting chat, firing off the tried and true questions…

Do I look like you expected?

How do you find the site?

Etc.

Our conversation was flowing really well and I was just starting to relax when Mr. Not Too Swift got real quiet and fidgety.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘I need to ask you something,’ he said, looking real serious.

Did I say or do something off-putting? I wracked my brain trying to figure out what could have caused such a quick shift in his mood. ‘Okay. Shoot.’

‘Well, uh, when you called me this morning you said you needed to push back the time to fit in another client, right?’

He couldn’t be mad because I changed the time on him could he? ‘Yes.’ Now I was really confused.

‘Uhhh…and that client was at your house.’

What was this dude getting at? ‘Yeah.’ I could tell that my eyebrow was grazing my hairline, but I couldn’t help it.

‘What kind of massage did you say you do again?’

Lord, don’t let this man say what I think he’s going to say. ‘Shiatsu,’ I said flatly.

‘Legit shiatsu massage or the other kind?’

This mo’ fo’ can’t be serious. All I could do was just stare at him, I had no words. 

‘Are you going to answer me?’ he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I took a deep breath and said very slowly so he would understand…

‘Are you asking me if I’m a SEX WORKER?’

Mr. Not Too Swift’s eyes popped for a minute, but he tried to play it like he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth. ‘Nah, I’m just asking you if you are really a Shiatsu therapist.’

‘No, no I don’t think so. If you were asking me that, you would start by asking me if I went to school to study Shiatsu, which for the record I did,’ I countered looking him dead in his now shifting eyes.

Mr. Not Too Swift wasn’t about to back down and admit his mistake. ‘Well, either way you haven’t answered the question. Are you going to?’

Still pushing for an answer huh? Strong and wrong to the end, wow! ‘If you were concerned that I wasn’t a ‘legit’ therapist as you put it, why did you agree to meet me? Do you usually date prostitutes?’

Mr. Not Too Swift cleared his throat hard and looked down at his half-eaten plate of chicken lo mein. ‘It was just a question. Why you getting so upset?’

‘You ask me a question that implies that you believe I rub men’s genitalia for a living and can’t see how that might be upsetting? Really?’

His response? Dead silence.

After a minute or two of watching him squirm, I glared at him one last time, threw some money down on the table, and made tracks out of there.

A few days later I got an email from Mr. Not Too Swift that read:

Skye

I told my sister what happened and her reaction was worse than yours. I’m sorry about what I said. I know we probably won’t meet again so I just want to wish you all the best in your future.

Peace

Now, tell me people – was I wrong not to call the man back for a second date?

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