hustle* Clients Oh Clients
Most of my clients were of the seasoned variety; retired, or very close to it –grey or greying, at the very least salt and peppered. With their working life behind them and not much left ahead, they wandered in bubbles of pre-existing youth and unrequited dreams. They stumbled between death and dying. Some were even fulfilling fantasies of yesteryear, going for the really hot chick that, as young males, they didn’t dare attempt to approach.
Some, I could be almost certain, had a granddaughter fetish, mesmerized by supple skin that has long left them, the grip on decade old photos. Perhaps they hoped to verify their masculinity through the purchase of female flesh because real men can buy things like flesh. Hello colonizer. My clients didn’t mean to be misogynists, at least that’s what I told myself. Such perceptions are so tangled with and an integral part of their generation. It’s hard to take the dominator from his pedestal –it comes with their whiteness. Almost all of my regulars were old, white men.
Since retiring they returned to fishing, a pastime of tradition and boyish wonder, virility, splendor in the grass. This time around, no fancy lures or hooks. What attracts a fish most? Valuables, something shiny and gold, and money, of course, lots of it. Jewelry in fistfuls can be got from these guys; wear the pieces for a while until they lose their initial luster, then pawn them later. Money flows like a river teeming with excited and excitable salmon; hungry for the hunt, money just another commodity. They are generous which makes the guilt a little strange, but backstage counting those stacks wipes away any semblance of negativity and whoosh. You’re off paying your bills and buying bottles of pills, groceries, new thongs.
Ain’t no stripper happier than when she scores herself the timeworn client. No stripper will turn away the old man customer, no matter how old, no matter how perverted. Okay, there are limits, I guess, but old man winter’s company is always welcomed and met with a smile or a coquettish glance. At times, these clients are even fought over; tooth and nail type stuff. With gifts like villas in Italy, furnished apartments, the latest in electronics. The sugar daddy is a highly prized perk of the sex worker business. Not every stripper will have the pleasure, though. Some watch from the sidelines, gawk, covet, hate.
Why is this type of client so desired? He’s simple, that’s why. He tells you what he wants and sometimes he hands over money just for talking. This client-stripper relationship is hand in glove: less pretentious because no one has to fake anything, less stressful because he’s not looking for a $20 hand job, less work because sometimes all he wants is to sit next to a pretty girl and feel youth shine from within. And he’s forgetful which makes getting an extra few bucks easy. He doesn’t like to argue because he spent a lifetime arguing with his wife.
Not all are so ideal. But most are, hence the battles between bitches.
Not all are so old, some are outright elderly. One ends up being more of a nurse than a companion; there are the unexpected bodily fluids and the cane to deal with. Some girls cozy right up to this and feel at home being maternal than fetishized.
Not all are so innocent. Some are freaks while others use their age as an excuse for being handsy.
The seasoned client wants a reminder that he is still living. He stumbles into the black box, fumbles through the dark, and finally witnesses Candyland. It’s the gleaming eyes, like baby boys, that give away the repeat customers from the newbies. What the mature guys got going for them is that they never seem to get bored of the divine female figure whereas the young’uns, the hustlers and players all got something to say. Everyone’s a critic, but no one’s been asked to critique. The older gentleman loves all the shapes and sizes. He’s a real connoisseur, alright. But don’t let him fool you, he’ll tell you of his army days, he’ll tell you what a playboy he was and how he took advantage of foreign women overseas and at home. Once a colonizer, always a colonizer.
The seasoned client delays the most, out of all customers, in adjusting to the dark in so many ways. Some talk about the guilt they feel for having thought about entering, for entering. Some use that as a sympathy tactic, others are opening their hearts. He brings up a dead wife, his prostate, erectile dysfunction, eating soup alone.
All of them are tanned. They soak up the Florida sun as if winter were nipping at their heels. They smell of outside, sunscreen, and singed hair. They often talk about the sun, how it brightens their day just a bit, how it gives them a reason to get out of bed, how it reminds them of their childhood. If they talk about their younger days, you can be sure they will convince you they were something of a stud. And while that may be true, until you have proof, it’s all speculation. If they bring in photos of their army days, make a copy so you can prove that he once existed. If they gift you a military metal, politely decline because it’s his only legacy. If he tries to touch you, let him, these are his last moments in life and we all deserve a little feel.
WORDS BY: Jacklyn Janeksela