In which everyone is a flaky ass-clown but me.

A few days ago, the agency I signed up to do private foot sessions with booked me for one in a neighbouring city. So, the agency dude would drive me there, 45 min each way, and the session itself would be two hours. I said yes because I wanted the money, but I kind of dreaded it. I’d be way out of my element – strange city, first time sessioning through this agency, first time sessioning at a client’s house – and two hours is just a stupid-long time to get my feet worshipped. I mean at the foot parties I go to, ten minutes can feel like an eternity. Two hours of acting cheeful/enthusiastic/accommodating while someone does something monotonous to me just beggars the imagination. Plus it’s a lot of physical effort. Most guys don’t hold your feet up to their mouths; they expect you to hold them in mid-air for them. Picture a two-hour-long stomach crunch, now with 2000% more thigh pain.

Anyway. Session was supposed to be late yesterday evening (I was to be picked up at 9:45). Agency dude told me to text him the morning of to confirm I was still up for it, and he would text me back more details on what the client was requesting.

So I made the confirmation text (setting my alarm to do so because I don’t so much wake up in the “morning” these days…). Got nothing back. A couple hours later when I was properly awake I still hadn’t heard anything so I sent another text saying “so what do I need to know about this client?” basically just to prompt a response; I got nothing. I sent another text a few hours after that. By 7pm I still hadn’t heard anything and I texted “Your silence is spooking me. If the client cancelled, please let me know SOON. I’m about to start the foot stinkening process and I don’t want it to be for nothing.” (That’s the one thing I did know; client wanted smelly feet.)

And I know any normal person would have called the dude before that point, okay? I know. But I have anxiety issues and the idea of making a phone call makes me feel all pukey. Also, when someone stands me up, I always feel stupid and wonder if somehow it’s my fault – if I got the day wrong or misinterpreted something or I dunno – so on top of my normal phone call angst there was also the horror of having to feel all pathetic and be like “did you forget about me, or…?”

So I didn’t call. I got my feet smelly and did my makeup and laid out my sexy outfit and hoped that I would hear from the guy at the last minute. And by this point I was so frazzled that I really just didn’t want to do this session at all, so I was hoping he’d call to say “whoops, client cancelled and I forgot to tell you, sorry.” But then it was time for him to actually pick me up and I still hadn’t heard anything.

By this point I’m totally in a frenzy. I don’t want to go to this thing anymore, at all. But if somehow this fucking gig is still happening, I don’t want to be unprofessional. I’m trying to think of valid excuses why I wouldn’t have heard from agency guy. Maybe he lost his phone or something happened to it. But, wait, he has my email address. Maybe he just forgot to confirm with me, but this seems unlikely. He’s always been good before about keeping me up to date, and considering my take from this gig would be $220, I’m guessing the client would be paying at least twice that overall. That’s a lot of money. I don’t think agency guy would forget to contact me with the client’s requests when there’s so much money at stake. So probably the client cancelled and the agency guy (who is kind of a disorganized idiot) got distracted by something shiny and forgot to tell me. Although, ignoring four or five texts through the course of the day? That’s…I dunno.

But what if, somehow, there was an explanation for all of this and the gig was actually still in place? Fuck fuck fuck.

I called The Veteran – who understands about anxiety but also seems to be more socially “with it” than I am, and thus seemed like the best advisor – and told her the situation and asked if I should go outside and wait for dude’s car for a bit just in case, or what. She persuaded me to call him, instead, and told me what I should say. I dreaded making the phone call but I dreaded waiting on my front steps in my Hot Girl Disguise even more (if one of my neighbours ran into me – provided they even recognized me in my wig and full makeup – you know they’d immediately conclude that I was moonlighting as a sex worker…).

I took some deep breaths and called agency guy. AND HIS NUMBER IS OUT OF SERVICE.

I wasted my entire day for this shit. I have a hard time getting anything done during the day anyway if I have evening plans – it’s an old habit of trying to save my limited spoons, I think (and persists even when I’m actually feeling pretty good). But this takes the fucking cake. After a shitty, grueling five days of way too much modelling work, I had four days off in a row – and a lot of stuff I was hoping to get done. The Pedant used up the first day. This was my second day, and I spent it first frozen in anxiety, then giving myself a pedicure I turned out not to need, then rubbing smelly cheese on my feet and wrapping them in plastic bags to let the stink marinate, then putting on makeup that I also turned out not to need.

And yes, I could probably have avoided most of this if I’d called dude an hour or two after my initial “Yes, I’m still good for tonight” text like a normal person. But this is still entirely his fault. I’m assuming his shitty fly-by-night business suddenly went tits up or something and he just hasn’t bothered to let anyone know. Probably fucked over a few other girls who were supposed to have gigs, too. I mean he has my email address. He has a way of contacting me. And he didn’t.

So that was my day yesterday.

Today – unfortunate timing to say the least – I’m supposed to meet the financial submissive who stood me up twice before out of anxiety. I told him to text me by 12:30 to let me know he was coming – or even to let me know if he wasn’t (last time, I’d texted him saying “I’m not even gonna start getting ready unless I hear from you” and…crickets). It’s now 12:24 and nothing yet.

If he actually does text me that he’s going, putting on the Hot Girl Disguise is gonna give me shitty deja vu of last night. Plus I’m still gonna wonder if he might not show up. Being stood up is a HUGE hotbutton for me – being all dressed up and ready to go somewhere and then just waitingggggg is one of the worst feelings in the world to me. The WORST. I mean I’m sure nobody likes it but my particular brain tells me that I’m an idiot loser who probably got the time wrong and/or the person I’m waiting for secretly hates me or is playing a prank on me. I would imagine most other people process it differently.

And if this meeting somehow does happen…I dunno. Between the (non)events of last night and the fact that this kid has bailed on me twice already, I am not really feeling like I can summon my gracious, entertaining, meeting-a-new-person persona very well today.

I bet he’s gonna go silent on me again, though.

To anyone wondering why I’m giving him another chance: a few weeks after he stood me up the first time (which was a rough one because I actually put on my makeup etc. and waited at the appointed spot for 45 minutes) he emailed me an absolutely glorious apology saying all the right things. Including offering to buy me something online to make it up to me. I requested a $50 MAC gift certificate and he sent it to me within minutes. He said that if I gave him another chance at an in-person meeting he swore he would be there – would even text a photo of himself at our meeting place for me to see before I even left the house, and would wait for me for as long as it took. He gave me his cell phone number.

I agreed to meet up with him again, and we established a date/time/place. The day of meeting #2, he went uncharacteristically silent again and I just got a bad feeling. I both texted and emailed him saying “I’m not even going to start getting ready this time unless I hear from you.” He remained silent. Okay then.

A day or two after that, he wrote to me apologizing again and telling me he has really bad social anxiety. I’m sympathetic to that, and told him that I was just as happy to do financial play online, anyway. I asked him to e-transfer me $75 so I could buy some new bras. He did.

Here’s where some developments happen that piss me off in earnest: he asked me to give him another chance at meeting up. I said yes, but being stood up is a huge pet peeve for me so please let’s just give it a month or so for me to get over that and we can keep playing online in the meantime. And he said that he really really really wanted an in-person domme (not just for financial stuff; he wants to do household chores and things, too, which does sound good to me) and that to be honest if I was gonna make him wait a whole month just for that possibility, he wasn’t sure he could stay the course; he might rather go find someone who would meet up with him right away.

So he’s talking like I’m the flake – like I’m being difficult and not wanting to meet him. Bitch, I TRIED TO MEET UP WITH YOU TWICE and you didn’t even do me the courtesy of telling me you weren’t coming.

But. He’s young and adorable (I’ve seen a pic). The two times I’ve asked him for money, he promptly complied, so it seems like he’s reliable and obedient in most things, it’s just that his anxiety gets in the way when it comes time to meet. He generally seems sweet and earnest and I’d love to have a houseboy of my very own (and he says he’s been a domestic servant for two women before, which is promising; allegedly, this is not just a fantasy but a thing he’s followed through on). And, again, he said a lot of the right things: that he knows he has anxiety issues but he really wants to get over them and please please please can I give him another chance. And because I too have anxiety issues, and because he seemed to have potential and I didn’t want to lose his interest, I relented and said fine, let’s meet.

The bras I bought with his money are awesome, by the way. Turns out I’m no longer a 36C, I’m a 36D (unsure if weight gain related or random size increase) which explains the weird gaping, armpit overflow, and areola-showage on my previous bras. The new bras actually encase my entire boobs properly and are more comfortable, too. It’s so weird, though, like an optical illusion – my naked tits look the same as ever to me, and these D-cup bras look huge and kind of matronly, and yet I put one on and my ordinary medium-sized breasts fill the huge cups somehow (and it no longer looks matronly). So apparently I now have Schroedinger’s Tits. Are they big? Are they not? I don’t know!

Anyway. Last night I took advantage of being in full makeup for that fucking nonexistent foot gig and I made a little clip for the boy of me showing off the two bras (and one matching pair of panties) he’d bought me. I figured seeing me talk to the camera like that might help him conceptualize me as an actual person and make it easier for him to meet me (he had said in his emails that I just seem so perfect, so too-good-to-be-true, that it contributes to his fear of meeting me). I wish I’d had time to make the thing earlier so he would definitely have seen it before meeting me, but unfortunately the way things panned out (with The Pedant coming over on my first day off and my second day off spent agonizing over the foot gig) I didn’t end up finishing and sending it until like 1am.

Ah, updates: I finally broke down and texted the boy a little while ago, asking him if he got my email.

He said no, he has a family emergency he’s dealing with. I said I supposed we wouldn’t be meeting up today, then, and that this is okay with me because I do actually have other stuff I should get done. He apologized for not having texted me at 12:30 and said his grandmother had fallen and hit her head and his parents were out of town so he had to deal with it alone. He said he was currently in the hospital waiting to see her. If he’s lying, I gotta give him credit for coming up with details so quickly. Also, he didn’t completely ignore my text like last time, which I guess is a step up. He asked if we could reschedule and I said we’ll figure something out. I didn’t try to establish a new date/time because, as I’ve said here and probably in other posts, being cancelled on is a hotbutton for me and when something gets rescheduled, the deja vu of getting prepared for the thing again just makes me wanna die.

I think I will want reparations in the form of money before I agree to meet up with him again. Also, if he fucks up the next chance without there being a good reason (or maybe even if there is a good reason) I just don’t think I can take it anymore. An online-only relationship would be fine. An in-person relationship would be fine. But this “I wanna meet you! No I don’t! Yes I do! No I don’t! But I won’t keep doing the financial stuff with you unless you agree to meet me! But I won’t show up!” bullshit is just ridiculous.

Meanwhile, one of the other finsubs I’ve been talking to is back in the game…and it turns out he wants a bunch of other stuff, too. He actually had the gall to complain to me that previous women have only seemed interested in his money, not in the other stuff, and I was like “You do realize your Craigslist ad only says you wanna take a woman shopping, right? Not that you want an ongoing dominant to spend money on and clean her house and worship her shoes and be her human furniture?” Dumbass.

I haven’t met this one yet (he actually cancelled on me a second time recently, but sent me $75 to make up for it – his suggestion, not mine – and, y’know, that actually does soothe my annoyance a lot). His picture doesn’t appeal to me as much as the other boy’s, so I’m not sure what I want from him. I mean I can do findom without having to be attracted to the guy, but with the other stuff he mentioned, I feel like I’d need to feel some physical chemistry. I dunno. I kinda like his attitude, though. Like I asked him more about his ideas of domestic service and he was able to tell me the chores he’s good at, plus he says he doesn’t expect me to watch over him every second or anything – I can just lounge around while he does his thing. So it seems like he genuinely wants to help a dominant out, not do some token shitty job of washing dishes while a leather-clad domme stands over him with a whip screaming that he’s not doing it right. I’m pretending, to this guy, that I have a monogamous boyfriend who lets me dominate other dudes as long as nothing sexual happens – and he understands and is still interested.

A further complication with both of these dudes is that I’ve been talking to them under my sex work persona. I’m not sure why – I actually want a financial submissive, like on a personal level. It’s not a business transaction for me. Oh, I know what it was, it’s that I assumed they would want a conventionally attractive woman – one with long hair and all the other trappings of femininity. Which, hey, fair enough: Everyone has needs in a relationship; mine in this case is money/consumer goods, theirs is a certain level of hotness. It’s a trade I’m willing to make. But I guess I did start thinking of it as a business transaction, somewhere along the way. Because I don’t think most finsubs actually approach it from an angle of wanting to serve a woman through money, they want to get duped out of money by a woman being so attractive that they lose their minds. Or something. It feels like there’s a game afoot where I need to be, like, cunning and shit, and cadge their money from them. Which is not a thing that feels comfortable to me; it feels like work. So I used my work persona.

Also, as an art model, I am kind of a public figure. Anyone who Googles my name will see naked drawings of me (and some costumed photographs, too). I just feel…vulnerable and easily stalked. I’ve told my real name and job to other dudes I met off the internet, but because finsubs kinda feel like clients, I am reticent to do so.

Maybe I made some shitty assumptions about finsubs though because both of these guys seem like they might actually want a human being they can serve, not a pro domme to make their porny fantasies come true. And if I ever manage to goddamn meet either of them and we really like each other, there’ll be this big thing to confess at some point. “Hey I really like you and would like an ongoing relationship with you, p.s. the name you know me by is not my actual name and also I look completely different from how you think I do.” Sounds like a shitty romcom plot twist.

Oh, and just as an aside, I’ve seriously had three random people approach me in public in the past week to say hi because they recognized me from a drawing class. Two of them called me by my name. So the Hot Girl Disguise isn’t just about trying to be more attractive for clients – I know that there’s a market for women of every possible appearance and my wacky “alternative” haircut might even get me a bunch of niche clients. The Hot Girl Disguise is, in large part, my way of not mixing the two worlds. I do not want to be on a coffee meet with a client and have someone yell my name from across the room and go “I’ve drawn you naked!” and I do not want to be out grocery shopping and have a client recognize me from a hundred yards away by my hair and come up and bug me while I’m trying to live my actual life.

Not that I have a whole shitload of pro domme or foot clients at the moment but you know what I mean.

Oh god, more breaking news: agency guy’s phone is apparently back up and running and he’s texted me an apology. He says the client still wants to see me and agency guy will pay me $30 extra to compensate for the fuckup last night. I don’t think I want to do that gig at all anymore. If I figure in prep time and travel time, the money I’d make comes to something like $30 an hour. Some places pay me that for art modelling and art modelling is more enjoyable, less invasive, less dangerous, doesn’t require makeup or a wig or, y’know, any clothes at all. And hell, I’ve gotten almost that much money (total, combined) from the two finsubs who keep cancelling on me, and I never even had to leave the house.

But I told agency guy to e-transfer me that $30 and then I’d think about it. Fuck him if he thinks he’s only gonna give me that $30 “cancellation fee” after I do the gig. Whether I do it or not, he fucked me over and should compensate me for that.

…Okay cool, he did send me the money. Now I just have to decide if this gig is even worth it.

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