March 2, 2014
This one time I met up with a prostitute on Tinder. Her name was Victoria, well that’s what she told me it was anyway. At one point, I caught a glimpse of her license and it didn’t say Victoria. When we matched I was at the Chinese noodle markets with my friend Scaps. I sent her a message saying: “send me your phone number so I can send you pics of my money.” Scaps and I laughed about it and went on eating noodles, and we might have even sent that same line to another couple of girls. Eventually, Victoria replied: “what?” and I just told her to “do it.” Definitely to my surprise she sent me her number, and hopefully to her surprise I actually sent her pictures of some money Scaps and I pooled together.
“Babe you’re mine,” I told her.
“Ok,” she said, *winky face.*
“No,” I said, “I really am!”
She laughed again.
We organised a day to hang pretty effortlessly, it was a weekday. I decided to drive. At the time I didn’t have a car, so I thought it would be funny/sexy to borrow my friends Porche and pick her up in that. I got to the front of her house, but she wasn’t there. My brilliant entrance foiled. Instead of trying to drive around and find a legal park Surry Hills, I left it in a no stopping, thinking I’d be back out soon. I knocked on the door and texted her. She had a huge house, especially for 20 year old. She came down smiling and let me in. I don’t think we hugged or shook hands because we hadn’t defined our relationship yet, but that wasn’t even a worry at the time. She told me to come in while she got ready, she thought I’d be another hour, I might have gotten the time wrong, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She was kind and pale-faced, with the sort of beauty that fitted the transcendent descriptions of Asian women in some of the Middle Eastern literature I have read. We both did pretty well at avoiding awkward silences or confronting the absurdity of the situation. I asked her if she had any roommates, and she said she had one. How was she able to afford this amazing place? I wondered. I asked her what she did, and she gave a good, impressive response. As it turned out, I loved the company she worked for, and coincidently, I had actually met with the founder and CEO a couple of months back. We talked about what she thought of her boss and I told her my experiences of this woman in return. Then I sat on the floor and stalked Victoria online while she got some things done. At one point, I noticed a basket full of condoms, but funnily enough didn’t think anything of it. Probably just: oh so that’s where she keeps her condoms.
I found her twitter account and read out her tweets while she was trying to focus on something. This slightly irritated her, but in a fun way. Ha ha. Fun. Then I noticed she was followed by one of Sydney’s twitter-celebrity prostitutes and I brought her attention to it.
“Do you know her?” she asked.
“I’ve seen her at an event one time, and she follows me on twitter, but I’ve never met her properly,” I told her.
“How do you feel about prostitutes,” she said, putting down whatever it was she was doing and looking at me in the eyes.
I bit my lip and thought for a second, “I don’t know, I don’t think anything in particular…”
“Would you ever date a prostitute?” she asked.
I paused for a second. I thought about the best way to get across what I was thinking, and I said that I would be jealous, not that they were sleeping with guys, but that they were a prostitute and I wasn’t. There’s a certain power that prostitutes seem to have over people, even if they aren’t dating them, as if they have some power over their own sexuality that others don’t. I’d be scared to be vulnerable with someone who had that power over me. Except I told her I still would if it was the right person.
That’s when she picked up an envelope and threw it on me, the envelope said ‘Destiny’ and contained $5,000 cash.
“That’s what I made last night,” she said sitting down again, “I’m a hooker.”
“Why does it say Destiny?” I asked.
“That’s my pseudonym,” she told me.
I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m a writer and thus continually analysing my own life for metaphors and ironies, however the fact that her working name was ‘Destiny’ and I had previously bragged to my friends that not only did I want, but was actively pursuing an ongoing relationship with a stripper or prostitute, felt like incredible karma. The irony and chance of our meet up only continued when she asked me what I did. I told her I was a writer. Usually I get pretty passionate when I talk about what I do, but I was lost for words. I was, oddly enough, a little bit in shock. There’s nothing I could say that was as cool and interesting as what she just told me. She said: “oh yeah I saw something you did on thought catalog.” I laughed.
“Was it about emoji’s?,” I asked, but she wasn’t sure. She logged onto Thought Catalog site to find out, and funnily enough, the front page featured Reddit question session with a prostitute. We clicked it and read a little and to our surprise, the article was on her. While I remarked at what an incredible coincidence it was, she became furious. She was angry at ThoughtCatalog for shanghaiing her answers. I think she even yelled at the computer.
I tried to calm her down by going through photos of the purported ‘writer’ and laughing at her and what else she’d written. I didn’t want to talk about her job too much, and from that point on even tried to steer the conversation in another direction. I didn’t want her to think that her being a prostitute was the most interesting part about her. Although this article might suggest otherwise, it truly wasn’t. For me, the most interesting part was getting over the aspersions cast by prostitution, to reach far more interesting fissures of her character. She had so much else in her life going on, and she was so talented in so many ways. She went to a selective school, she was working for this incredible company, and had an uncanny knack for photography.
We hung around for a while in her apartment; doing whatever it is two people do on a Tinder date. After about an hour or so I was getting pretty hungry, and she’d been smoking a bit of weed, so I knew she was as well. She took me to lunch down the road. As I made the move for my wallet, she reached toward my hand and said: “you saw what I earn.” As emasculated as I felt, I was glad she did. If I was to have doubts about whether she actually wanted to have a relationship with me, or whether she was using tinder to find clients, sleep with me, and get me hooked, this would cast that doubt aside. We had a good talk, and we planned a photography exhibition together. I told her I was good at giving head, she laughed, and told me everyone thinks that.
After we hung out I drove her to work. I begged her to let me come in and sit in the corner and watch the process, but she told me I’d have to pay. I may not know what her real name is, but Victoria and I are still friends. When I lived in Kings Cross I always said I was actively pursuing a relationship with a stripper or a prostitute, by Karma or coincidence I wound up meeting Victoria.
© 2015 What We Wrote