Sitting in therapy one day I tell my psychologist “to be” what I do for a living. She is not what I wanted when I contacted this group, but the few times I’ve sought help for anxiety and coping skills they always give me the same thing. She is a woman who could be my daughter and who is just figuring out who she is. Once I tell my story I wind up having to quit therapy because she doesn’t have the life skills to see where I’m coming from. I want the older woman or man who might have a drinking problem on the side and has heard and seen it all. They are usually aware of each case that comes through their office doors and assist behind the scenes so that their younger charge can learn her job as she’s still in graduate school and this is for credit. This is infuriating to me in that it always goes like this and have since given up on therapy because of how my psychologist sees me after I’ve spilled my guts. I decided to give you a glimpse into what therapy has been like for me as Jilly. This is how a regular session goes. I’ll call my pseudo psychologist, Megan for this tale.

Jillyclaire: I wanted to talk today about what I do for a living.

Psychologist Megan: Okay. Wonderful! What do you do for a living?

Jillyclaire: I am a sex worker. Actually I think I’m really a sex addict, but instead of just pursuing men for sex I’ve created a business out what I feel are skills that should be paid for. I’ve seen over thirty men this month and I’ve also had a few swing dates with a friend.

Psychologist Megan: (Long pause. Stares at Jilly for what seems like 30 seconds before speaking). Okay. Okay. So, you’re saying that you’re a prostitute?

Jillyclaire: Yes.

Psychologist Megan: Alright. (Gathering herself and remembering she has a job to do.) I want to talk about what you do. i.e. “I really want to discuss this with my boss first because I don’t know what the fuck to say to you now.”

Jillyclaire: Well. I’m sure you don’t hear this sort of thing everyday. i.e. “She’s not prepared. Big surprise. Why do they give me these children every time I go to a therapy group with a sliding scale? I don’t know why I bother.”

Psychologist: Now. Okay. I respect your honesty and how much you’re sharing with me about your life. Thank you. (Megan looks side eyed at a bookshelf full of counseling books and such, but decides that she can’t get up and go get one. Jilly notices this and responds thoughtfully.)

Jillyclaire: I’m an open book. (She pauses for a couple of minutes for that to sink in and to see if Megan squirms. She does.) You see. I’m emotionally mature and want to learn to manage the times when I’m down on myself or don’t feel as secure about my choices. I have anxiety at times because I wonder how much longer can I actually do this job.

Psychologist Megan: Yes. Yes. I can see that you are very mature and I’ve seen clients for months who begrudgingly tell me anything about themselves. Yes. This is good. i.e. “This woman is out of her fucking mind! What the hell can I say to her? I’ve never had to discuss this type of thing and don’t know what to tell her except that I think she should stop and quit being so reckless!!”

Jillyclaire: Have I said too much? Thrown too much at you? (Jilly tilts her head as she looks directly into Megan’s eyes maybe for the thrill of making her uncomfortable or just because she enjoys being mysterious or theatrical. Who really knows?)

Psychologist Megan: No. I’m fine. No. You are being honest. That’s what therapy is all about. Right? (Megan offers a nervous laugh which quickly becomes a guffaw.)

Jillyclaire: (Stares silently at the woman across from her that is 26 years old and expecting her first child.)

Psychologist Megan: You know that there are programs and groups that can help you transition into another career if you aren’t sure and want to try a different path.

Jillyclaire: Yes. I’m aware. I’m here for coping skills for the anxiety I feel at times.

Psychologist Megan: Was this decision to get into this kind of work your idea?

Jillyclaire: Yes. I mean. I had a boyfriend at the time I made the decision and he supported my decision. I hate to say boyfriend because I’m an older woman and that word always makes me feel like a teenager. I prefer to call him a lover or swing partner.

Psychologist Megan: That’s good. Okay. Are you still with this boyfriend? I meant. Lover? i.e. “Is he your pimp? I can’t ask that now. I’ve gained her trust. I can’t put her on the spot and coerce her into telling me she’s being pimped out.” Christ!!!!! Sorry God.”

Jillyclaire: No. We are not together anymore. Just friends.

Psychologist Megan: Does anyone else know what you do? Family or friends? i.e. “My family wouldn’t speak to me if I have taken this path. Whew! Thank you Lord for my many blessings.”

Jillyclaire: I’m pretty wiley and keep this on the down low. I mean. Yes. Occasionally someone will figure it out and confront me or just fade away. But, it isn’t family or life long friends that find out. It’s people I’ve met along the way in either a swinging situation or an acquaintance that’s stumbled upon the truth. One time I was swinging with my friend and this married couple. We didn’t use condoms because that’s the way we prefer to play. I get plenty of condom sex on a regular basis. So, I didn’t feel guilty. Prostitutes are usually some of the safest sex you can find. (Jilly giggles remembering how many condoms she’s gone through in the last seven years). All went well for a couple of months and then they found my Instagram profile and confronted me. I told them the truth and they still wanted to play with me, but now her hubby needed to wear a condom. At that point, I had lost interest and it sort of hurt my feelings because now they didn’t see me anymore. I became something else to them. Something filthy enough to require a condom. The husband and the wife have continued to reach out, but the thrill is gone. C’est la vie! (Deep sigh).

Psychologist Megan: So it’s hard to keep friends. i.e “Jesus Christ! I’m going to pray for this woman. Wait! I need to help her. She’s asking for help. I’m not supposed to tell her not to whore herself out because that’s not my job, but she needs to stop. Oh God! I can’t help her! I can’t even think about the swinging right now. Gross! I’ll just have to digest that later. Maybe I can pass her along to someone else.”

Jillyclaire: Yes. It’s almost impossible. Also, whores are squirrel y creatures. I’ve met some lovely women along the way, but we all have a story. Most do not offer theirs or their trust very easily. Also, we’re in competition with one another. New Orleans is a little big city only when’s there are tourists or conventions in town. We have all slept with the same guys. I’ve given references over and over for the same men. The locals are what keeps us rolling when the city is dead.

Psychologist Megan: I can only imagine. i.e. “NO! I CANNOT FUCKING IMAGINE!” You know. I’d like to talk about how you feel when you’re working. I mean. Turning a trick? i.e. “I’m shocked, but intrigued. Am I a perv?”

Jillyclaire: I feel a rush of relief when I hear his voice over the phone if he’s a good one. The ones who talk too much aren’t serious and or they just want someone to listen to them talk for free. If he sends face pics of himself that’s a dead giveaway I’ll never meet him because he’s not serious. That’s an easy and automatic block. I mean. What kind of guy wants to send a pic of himself to a prostitute? We don’t care what you look like. When I clear a client on the phone and he does show up I’m ready and waiting for it to happen. That’s what I do. It’s like I was born to do it. I don’t feel used unless he’s telling me to suck his balls and banging my head up and down on his shaft. This always pisses me off because 1. He’s putting oily fingers into my freshly washed and styled hair and 2. I was going to suck his balls and and bang my head up and down on his shaft anyway and 3. I know how to do my job. I’m a prostitute for God’s sake! Some guys watch too much porn. When they get a real woman who wants to make them feel good they try and turn it into a Brazzer’s episode. i.e. “Hasn’t she had enough? When’s she going to stop me and tell me she respects my honesty again and then tell me she needs to confer with her older and more experienced alcoholic boss that I should be speaking with in the first god damned place?? Oh hell! I’m just going to lay it on thick now. I don’t care about her feelings anymore. You asked for it!”

Psychologist Megan: Well! (Her face has now turned from the rosey hue of an expectant mother to pasty white with a buckled brow and red blotches from the strain revealing her lack of experience and ineptitude). What’s a Brazzer’s episode?

Jillyclaire: It’s a porn site with the type of women who overact in a film and it’s mainly fantasy and geared towards men seeing women being objectified and loving it. Gang bangs and such. The problem is some guys aren’t able to perform with a real woman when they get the chance. The reality of it is different than being alone at your computer.

Psychologist Megan: Oh. I see. I’m going to step out for minute and go to the restroom. You know? Third trimester and all I do is pee. (Megan giggles nervously as she thrusts her very pregnant body up off her seat and makes a run for the door.)

Jillyclaire: I’ve been there. No problem. Take all the time you need. (Psychologist Megan leaves the office. Jilly wishes she could smoke a fatty, but that isn’t possible right now. So, she begins scanning Megan’s desk with her eyes and sees a lovely wedding photo memorialized in a white china frame. The couple looks happy and she can tell that they are whole as they beam with joy. She looks up and on the wall sees a framed certificate of completion in psychology from Brigham Young University and thinks “I must be killing this Mormon. No wonder she threw herself out of her office.”

Psychologist Megan: I’m back. Okay. Well. I can see we’re getting close to the end of our time today. I want to say that I think what you’ve told me has helped me get to know you better and once again, I thank you.

Jillyclaire: Like I said before, I want to be balanced and learn to manage my anxiety. I want to get better at this.

Psychologist Megan: That’s what it’s all about. Yes. Good! Good progress today! Whew! You know, our group is monitored by our older professionals i.e. “Alcoholics.” and we have meetings to discuss cases and decide what’s best for each patient. Kind of a checks and balances approach. I hope you are agreeable with me discussing your case with my boss. (Megan looks at Jilly with the utmost compassion and seriousness as she addresses her).

Jillyclaire: No. I don’t mind. I’m not surprised. i.e. “This is the last time I try this.”

Psychologist Megan: Oh. I hope I haven’t put you on the spot. i.e. “Shit! Don’t make her feel like a freak! You idiot! She’s trying to get help.”

Jillyclaire: (Takes a deep breath and longs for the moment she goes out to her car, pulls out her weed pouch gifted to her by her swing partner, takes out her pipe and rides dirty all the way home).

Psychologist Megan: Thank you again for your honesty. Next time I might have my boss sit in on our next meeting. Is that okay? I mean. If he decides that will be helpful. We’ll have decide in our weekly meeting.

Jillyclaire: Sure. That’s not a problem. Thank you. (Jilly picks up her purse and heads to the door. Closing it behind her she smiles at Megan and notices a wave of relief washing over her devout and very idealistic young face).

(As Jilly approaches the appointment desk on her way out she cancels her appointment for next week. She has decided to try holistic reiki and maybe take a hot yoga class next week instead of coming back to therapy. The secretary asks if there is a reason she can add to her notes. Jilly tells her that “I’m not available.”

Changing with my body as I glide through my fifties has been one of the most difficult things I’ve gone through. Not so long ago I was as wanton as a milf could be. Growth is inevitable and as I make my way through this life my thoughts have shifted and where once I would look at a man walking down the street and imagine what his cock feels like in my mouth, how his sack smells or how it would feel inside me, I’m studying his expression and his gait as he makes his way purposefully without noticing me noticing him. It’s the little things now that occupy my thoughts about men. I become most aroused by men who are fifty years old and beyond. Being a mature woman who’s had more sexual experiences than one person should in the course of a lifetime is a cruel twist of fate. I find myself waiting to be surprised by a new client who will see me with new eyes and bring me to the edge of ecstasy. It’s not to be. Maybe I’ll never be satisfied. I believe I have seen it or done it all and to look to someone else for sexual gratification is folly. I’ve even tried dating sites, but these guys are looking for “the one” and I cannot be that for them. Not too long ago I received an angry text from a stranger berating me for, and I quote, “you’re a worthless old whore and I that’s all you’ll ever be.” Yes. I plan on doing this type of work until it doesn’t suit me anymore. Isn’t that the point? It doesn’t matter that I had four clients that day, but sometimes I receive hateful emails and such, egging me to engage in their internal fight. Why? I don’t know. Statistics on women and aging say that a woman becomes invisible around the age of 51. In my business a woman can usually do this job or some variation of sex work like male humiliation, massage or role play as long as she wants to. Not to mention the online stuff I can do that while I’m not a fan of it does bring in easy money. I’m still in pretty good shape and have a gift for immediate intimacy with a stranger. I’ve honed this skill in ways that still bring in the money, but with each passing year I am pursuing enlightenment over my waning sex addiction. Being an introvert doesn’t help either. I am a solitary creature and consider myself the Luna Lovegood of the sex providers in town. I’m not exactly like everyone else in that I don’t have a bestie and only do doubles with two women I feel most comfortable with. I am usually lost in my bubble of words and questions when I’m not working, but I care and I’m always there to help another provider with a reference request or a threesome. I’ve felt like this for a few years now and part of it is menopause and part of it is I think I would like to try something else. Regulars call and make appointments like they have for years. I appreciate that they want to come back to see me. And I them. However, as I change and have good days and bad days I will have to let one or two down here or there. I’m sorry about that, but I have to put myself first on days when I’m not feeling it. New clients that come on strong and perhaps a little too abruptly and gush over me with inappropriate texts lauding me as the most beautiful older women they’ve seen are given my standard response of “I’m not available.” I just don’t have the energy for morons like I once did. A member of our sisterhood died last November. She was an older beauty in her sixties who would give me clients she couldn’t see that day or ones that she was basically tired of. I appreciated the nod because she was very well respected in this hobby and I knew that she would send me a decent man. One time a client of hers came from her home Uptown after she cleared it with me. Evidently he was having a hard time getting hard and she threw up her hands in the middle of their session and exclaimed “I’m tired of trying to get you hard! You have to leave now! I can see if another provider can take you today.” He told me it was so abrupt, but he understood and said she had been good to him over the years, but that’s the way she is. I understood her. She and I had the same birthday incidentally and I know as a fellow Scorpio we are very giving and are innately sexual by nature, but if you can’t get it together for a hot and sexy woman who enjoys what she does and wants you to get off in her mouth or in her pussy then you need to move on down the bench. I couldn’t get him hard either. He didn’t come back. So, I write about my tales for therapy now. It’s cathartic and soothes my weary little soul. As luck would have it, I’ve met a few clients who are published and they like my writing and have helped me see it for what it could be. I’m not saying I’m going to hang up my dildos, but I keep looking to myself more than the next client’s call. Does this mean I’m washed up? Maybe. Or, maybe I’m smart and want to challenge myself in new way. I call that progress and I’m proud that I have found another way to reinvent myself with something that gives me joy. Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do and I’ve made a fortune over the years. I just celebrated seven years as Jillyclaire this past week. I’ve gone through so many men that when I think on it too hard it’s almost like it didn’t happen. I could travel to richer cities and cultivate a slew of new clients who maybe I could keep, but I feel like I’m part of this city and I am to be enjoyed in my New Orleans home just like one would make the effort to book a dining experience at Commander’s Palace. You can’t replicate what I am in my own space surrounded by my local art, antiques, the style of my home and the dreamy escape I can offer where I am most comfortable. I am a real New Orleans experience and if you want to depart with me I’ll put on some mood music and share some delicious herb with you. I’m not much a drinker, but if you bring me some French wine, a little higher end and white, I will be happy to share a glass with you. Then I’ll take your hand and lead you to last room in my shotgun house. Inhale and exhale. Be with me and you’ll see the world from my view and see how I view you. I’m glad we’re together and want to have this intimacy. You’re my conquest. My stud. My lover. For you I can be available.