For What Am I Paying?

So what is it that I want from this person?

While I may be tempted into retaining the services she advertises (professional companion) I am (or at least I am telling myself that I am) looking for something different, unusual and perhaps not available.  It isn't a service that is clearly advertised anywhere I have seen.

As stated earlier I am a basket case when it comes to social interaction, in nearly any setting outside of typical company chit-chat and workplace meetings.  Even when it comes to going out for a drink after work, no one seems to want me to come along.  I believe I make them uncomfortable.

Women, I am totally hopeless in that department.  I haven't got a clue what to say to them.  I know that the standard "advice" available on the internet is that it doesn't matter what you say.  "Just get in there and say anything!"  When I am standing next to someone I am interested in in an ideal social situation, I can feel my thoughts fly out of my head.  It is like I am seeing my intelligence dropping as I search for something, anything to say to them.  It's really pathetic, but I have long  been this way.  It is something I find deeply frustrating.

So, again, what do I want from this person?  Well, being a woman, I hope she would be able to coach me on how to approach and converse with a woman.  But it is not just that.  I need to be able to discuss things that happen at work and at home and get a professional's take on the best way to handle certain situations.  For example, annoying work associate with a high powered and supportive superior.

How to articulate that to the person:

This is tough.  It is a difficult request to articulate, perhaps because it is a false reason and all I want is sex.  How can a guy really know if that's part of his motivation for anything  he does, other than  to acknowledge that it is in all cases.

The Escort (what, again?)

When I last talked about the escort I was kicking myself for having "stuffed up" the whole situation.  Well, to my surprise, she emailed me back and we now have tentative arrangements.  Remember all that stuff I said before about being glad it didn't happen?  Now I am taking a "what the hell" attitude.  When the plans fell through it became apparent to me how much I was really looking forward to that meeting.  Everything else to which I may have been looking forward seemed bland by comparison.

What I really want from this is some social polishing.  Someone who has scaled well past the socioeconomic level at which I operate who can look at who I am and what I am doing and say:  "You really need to work on this or that."  Perhaps after discussing a particular event the mentor would say "You really should have handled that differently.  Try this next time."  I know that I am very poor at many of these skills and over the years I have tripped myself up so many times career-wise, woman-wise and otherwise.  I probably should have found a way to deal with this a lot sooner.

So, since I am not a believer in sex outside of marriage, the real pressure is on to stay focused on why I am consulting this person.  She  is basically everything one could want in a woman; at least that's my impression.  The temptation meter will be in the red zone before, during and after any given encounter.  The first impression based on impersonal contacts can be deceiving of course.  Who knows if this will work.  I am prepared for this to fail miserably, but I am going for it anyway.  Hell, I have to do something.

Next Step -- Buy Something

So it takes a special sort of guy to screw up a date with an escort.  But oh well, it could have been worse, I might have gone through with it.  Part of me is glad it didn't happen, and part of me isn't (not hard to guess which part.)

So I am thinking, what next?  I considered buying stuff, always a feel-gook knee-jerk when things are  down, but the depression has taken most of the fun out of shopping.  For the price I might have spent on that escort I could get a lot of stuff.  While dampened, the depression hasn't completely stripped me of my admiration of and desire for fine watches.  Tag Heuer is my fav, but, of course, only the Grand Carrera models (read 4 grand plus.)

I look at Tag watches often and have a model picked out.  But dang, 4 Grand I just can't do it.  Then I  looked at Seiko, which I often do after looking at Tag.  Today I found this Seiko beauty:

It was 500 but that's chump change for what I was thinking about spending.  Should be here in a couple days; I hope I  like it in person as much as I did on the website.  I'm using BlueDial.  I started to order it from Amazon but these guys had it for 200 less than Amazon.

Will this make me happy?  Hell No!  Does it give me a little something to look forward to?  Yea, I suppose. 

I remember Sister Golden Hair the Lyrics of which go like this:

Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed 
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed 
I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times 
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine

This guy was so depressed he couldn't make his own wedding.  Man, that's depressed!  And that's about how I feel every day.  I buy sh*t to make me feel a little bit better, but then the feeling goes away.  The watch will make me happy briefly. It is like grasping for a hold on happiness, knowing it won't last but you grab it anyway.

What I should do is get involved with my church again.  I really did find happiness there, in serving God.  I was never devout enough though.  I would always do it for a little while and then get tripped up by something.  Often my privates.  I'm not makin' it.

The Case for Hiring an Escort

For those of you who haven't read the previous post:

I am a 40+ year old introverted divorcee who doesn't know sh*t about making friends.  (More on that later, but to stay focused)  I live near a big city,  Work associates have pegged me as serious, quiet and no fun.  I never get invited out with them.  I go to church (actually a Kingdom Hall for those who know what that means.  Everyone else knows what church means so that's the word I'll use.) regularly but have not found friendship there (Yes, that's a story too .  .  .   Focus)  A deep and long lasting case of depression left me uncaring about the lack of friends, family and associates, anyone who cares a flip about me.

(Hang on a sec, I thought this was about Escorts! -- Getting to that now.)

So I figure, let me talk to someone who knows how to fake friendship.  Who does this well?  (Bing, Bing Bing, Bing, Bing)  Yup you guessed it.  Escorts.  Not the garden variety escorts, the really high end ones.  They are pleasant, smooth and self assured.  They have to be as they may find themselves in a Bentley, Private Jet or Penthouse (I wasn't referring to the website, though that might be the case as well.)

So I start combing the internet and come up with this site: eros dot com

It seemed professionally put together and well organized.  There were too many to count in the city where I live and I start flipping through the pages.  Most are ones that just want to picture their assets and that's not what I wanted.  I found a couple of very high end escorts that in their website indicate they are only interested in  very exclusive clients of a certain age and station in life.  That means NOT ME.  It's not that I am poor but just firmly middle class.

I came across a couple of escorts that I checked out.  But anyone who knows anything about booking an escort (and even those who don't) will quickly realize that the it is essential to check the reviews of anyone.  References came up poor on several of the ones in the lower range (200 - 300).  Then I start looking at the really high end - for a lark.  I found Avery.   Did you hear the choir?  If not you either 1.  Are not a man, 2.  Are not heterosexual or 3.  Don't know Avery.

She didn't list the price on the eros site but did reference her web page:  playwithavery dot com

So I read along about this goddess through her pages. The site is expansive and even hosts a blog she keeps current about her musings.  She is a very well read, articulate intellectual who has a deep and abiding interest in human sexuality.  She charges for her time:  $1,800 for a 2 hour engagement.  But I was hooked by the time I made it to that page.

So I email her to set up a date and slowly, expertly she leads me down the path:

1. I can't drive there (suburbs where I live,) you have to drive into the city. (So I look at it on the map and decide OK)

2. I don't do Saturdays, can we meet during the day, (So I book vacation time so I could handle a mid day meeting)

3. You have to tell me where you work or we can talk about it when we meet:  (Hmmmm, I'll tell you later I say)

4.  If you don't tell me where you work, I can't screen you, and you have to send me $600 cash in the mail for an introductory meeting in a public place.  (Whoa!)

My goddess what the hell!  Nonstarter.  I suggest an alternative; now my emails are bouncing off her mail server.  I really think it was angelic protection that kicked in here.  What an idiotic thing I was about to do.

Is this the first time a guy was led to lunacy by his privates?  Hell no!

Depression's Second Punch

"Anguish Writing" is the name I gave for my college release when I was so stressed out over exams, projects, tests, etc. I would reach for any scrap of paper and start writing what I felt.  It was a bit of a relief at the time, not hugely so, but enough to bring the stress under control.

I have kept this up but found that when the stress is at its highest, I can't function well enough to write things down.  That happened to me 7 years ago when my wife of many years announced she wanted a divorce.  Possibly more on that later, but this sparked a downward spiral into severe depression (ICD-9 code 296.33 for any clinicians out there.)  

Odd thing though about depression, when you are really down in the darkest corners, you stop caring about so many things.  People don't irritate you much because you just don't care what they think anymore.  I finally decided to start taking medication (of which I was deathly afraid earlier) and lo and behold, things are improving.  Very objectively I am able to focus more and could handle higher work loads efficiently.  (Brain work not manual labor.)  Then the sadness starts.

The feeling grow stronger by the week and  stronger and more frustrating.  So I speak to my analyst and he thinks it is because the things that old things that once bothered me I am now am starting to care about.  What am I so sad about, those of you still reading might ask?

I was never good at making friends.  As a confirmed introvert, that didn't bother me when I was well.  I had my family and a few relatives, work associates and church members.  The wife was an extrovert so she kept people coming over occasionally.  That was enough.  Now, sans family, I find that I have no friends.

You see just prior to divorcing I changed jobs, moved to a big city and of course changed churches.  Relatives are out of reach now for other reasons (later.)  Most people wouldn't find this too much of a challenge.  You make friends at work, join a social club, meet people at church, etc.  .  .  .  I actually started down that path.  However my religion takes a very dim view of divorce and when the "counsel" that reviewed my case rendered a decision I was severely sanctioned and certain activities in the church were now off limits.  The few fledgling church associates (Read: precursor to friend status) I had made began to evaporate steadily over several months.

Now I  am at the point where no one talks to me in church.  Work is OK, but in a commuter town, there isn't much after work socialization.  Also everyone my age is married.  Awkward for most of my work associates the vast majority of whom are married.  

When I was depressed, I couldn't care less.  Now I am coming out of the dark shadows; I care and I hurt.  I suppose that is a phase I have to go through to get better.  But I am desperate for friends & attention.  Without friends, I find that I go home on Fridays and don't speak to anyone (save an occasional store clerk) until Monday morning.  Quite literally I am untouched by another's human hands for 30 out of 31 days a month.  On the 31st day someone pats me on the back or shoulder, with a "Hi, hiya doin'".  That shouldn't count.  I do, on occasion, shake hands with someone.  Waugh!

Next post: My hugely unorthodox highly not recommended grasp for straws to pull myself out of this.