Kevin time

I have been at Kevin’s this weekend. This will be a shorter stay, due to Kevin’s own work circumstances, so I’ll be going back to Amanda tomorrow afternoon.

This time life with him hasn’t been so urgent. My first week with him in this new role as escort companion was busy, so to speak. It was as if he had to get his money’s worth for the time I was there. He got his fill of me by filling me with himself. Literally. But it was social too — we had several outings with friends of his, which perhaps was about him showing me off, which is nice but tiring.

None of that is a criticism, just a true observation. In fact, on my first night with him that first week, he took me out on a date, and he was charming and lovely. He wanted to reset “us” in this new reality, and he did. But it was quite a week.

This time is more relaxed and less driven. I think Kevin is realizing he’s not paying for me by the hour and that he will have ample access to me through the year ahead. He’s got plenty of time to have me as he wishes. Maybe I have helped relax him about me as I have settled into his arms in a new way. Truth be told, I like him.


I find that travel brings out in me a measure of life reflection. This is true for me especially on plane trips, as if the literal act of rising above the clouds prompts a view of one’s life from a higher perspective. But it also happens when I have a long drive in a car.

Thursday afternoon behind the wheel coming here, my thoughts and inner dialogue (sometimes said aloud in the car) navigated my sexual tale of two cities.

After an hour, I spoke a self-affirmation: I am a woman who is highly sexual and I don’t need to apologize for it.

After another hour, I acknowledged, out loud to my empty car, that my life has resolved itself into two sexual lifestyles — slavery and escorting. I proceeded to explain to myself why that is, why I have landed here, why it is OK.

Which precisely is apologizing for it.

My coming out to my mother in the fall seemed to quiet my need to apologize for my submissive life in slavery. If she could accept me in that, then I didn’t feel I need to explain my sub life to anyone. Of course, a lot of that had to do with Amanda’s mom-wooing skills, but even so, my mother’s acceptance changed my apologetic.

Around the same time, of course, I became an escort to Kevin. Which is another thing entirely. So here we go again.

This is a new inner argument.


I tell myself I’m not an escort really. I just play one on TV. The TV of Kevin’s mind.

I remind myself I am not doing this for money. I am doing this out of my obedience to another as her slave. In my former Baptist morality, this would have been an interesting discussion question in Sunday school: Which is worse? To have sex with a man for money or to have sex with a man because you’re obedient to your lesbian lover?

In my current “Shae” morality, sex is good, important, and why it happens might not matter. Yet, some part of me feels wrong about the money part of this, even though I don’t get money from it. Again, I personally am not paid, but I am paid for in some arrangement between Kevin and Amanda. Still, I feel like I’m paid for this, for sex with Kevin, and that I am nothing other than, in fact, an escort.

The other night Kevin took me to a bar to meet two of his friends from a previous era — Jason and Owen. I had not met them before, as Jason just moved here and Owen has returned home from military service. As Kevin introduced them to me, I was called Kevin’s “companion.” It was obvious what they took that to mean. They were polite and we had pleasant conversation, but I was categorized by them. They learned I live in Denver and come to visit Kevin about once a month. When we were leaving, as Kevin was getting my coat, Owen slipped me his business card and said to call him, that he wanted to “use my services.”

I wanted to have the conversation with Owen that “oh no, you misunderstand… I’m not actually in the business, and in fact I am not paid directly… see, the payment is arranged through another person… not really cash, you see… it’s a different thing… let me explain further…” Once you play that out in your head, you realize it sounds pretty lame and there’s no way of changing minds. At the end of the evening, the see you taking Kevin’s arm, and everyone knows he’ll bed you later, and so you, in any practical definition, are his escort.

I think it best that I learn to accept myself this way, rather than try to develop a clever apologetic for it..

Many escorts, of course, charge by the hour or by the specific sexual service. I don’t know how a woman does that. They have to, I guess, driven by financial need. But I know also there are escorts who charge by the event or the evening, or even for a weekend or week or month, not measuring hourly time or offering a sexual menu, but providing themselves for a while to a man, an experience, whatever that turns out to be. For them, I wonder how many are regular clients, men who are repeat business.

Maybe that’s me and I have just one client.


The conflict, though, is in my mind and my sense of who I am. It isn’t with Kevin. Whatever the circumstances, he has been good with me, and I respond to him, and not really just because I have to.

Tonight he will want me and reach for my hand. He will draw me into him, and my hands will slide along his chest to his shoulders. And he will kiss me, a real kiss, full, soft. And then he will take me.

He is a man of significant sexual need.

I am a woman who is highly sexual and I don’t need to apologize for it.

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