weekend, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would he bother with the pretense of dinner? Acknowledge that he'd paid me for sex? Feel entitled to more this time? I braced myself, which must have come across as rigidity.
"You okay?" he asked after I'd been in his apartment for less than a minute and realized we were not going out to dinner.
That did nothing but increase my anxiety. But I surprised myself with my forwardness.
"If we're gonna do this, I need to set some ground rules.”
He looked surprised, but not offended. Then he gestured to the couch. "By all means."
I sat, though still upright and guarded.
"Can I get you a drink?" he offered.
I shook my head. "No." One of my rules was that I was never going to drink before sleeping with him. I wanted to be clear-headed.
"I'm going to grab a beer," he said, going into the kitchen. I heard him open the refrigerator and pop the top off a bottle. He came back into the living room and sat in his easy chair, bending forward with his elbows on his knees. "So lay it out for me," he said, gesturing with his hands.
I took a breath. I knew from the forums I'd looked at that setting rules now was easier than trying to enforce them without telling him, and certainly easier than making them up as I went.
"First of all, I guess... I..." I was stumbling and cringing at how amateur I sounded. "I need to know what you're looking for."
Dr. Turner gave me a sniff of a smile. "No strings," he said. "I don't want to meet friends or parents or celebrate anniversaries or anything. The money is in place of that."
I nodded, even though I was still unclear. There was no time like the present to ask. "Are you wanting to date, or just have sex?"
Dr. Turner looked to the side. It was the first time I'd seen him uncertain, and I almost felt bad for him. He didn't know what he wanted, other than to get off. But I knew better than to think that a dating-and-prostitution arrangement could be uncomplicated.
"I can do no-strings sex, but I don't want to date."
Dr. Turner looked down at his beer bottle and nodded. I detected a hint of shame, but since weren't dating, neither of us was obligated to discuss feelings.
"I want to get some clarity on a few things. Are you paying me for my time or for something else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like the quality of the experience or the investment I put into making it pleasurable."
"I don't know," Dr. Turner said, scratching the back of his neck. "Whatever I think is adequate."
I bristled at that. It sounded too subjective to work out in my favor. So I laid out my rate for him, which I knew wasn't that high for what I was offering.
"Six hundred per hour, minimum. Whatever you want to tag onto that is up to you. Cash only."
" Six hundred?"
"Minimum," I reiterated.
Dr. Turner rubbed the back of his neck, then let his eyes swoop over my legs up to my breasts before giving a stiff nod. "Six hundred minimum," he mumbled.
"There are certain things I don't do," I said.
He straightened up as though he were sitting around a negotiating table.
"I don't do anything on camera, I don't do anal, I don't do bareback, and I don't swallow."
Dr. Turner shifted in his seat, eyebrow quirking for a minute as he realized that I was serious about setting limits. "Fine by me.”
"I also want you to get screened for STIs and provide me with a written medical summary. I'll do the same for you."
Dr. Turner pursed his lips and frowned. "But if we're using condoms..."
"I don't care," I said, crossing my arms.
Dr. Turner looked down again, then gave a nod. "Okay."
"I don't do any kind of bondage, knife play, gun play, blood play, breath play, or anything that leaves a mark on my body."
Dr. Turner looked startled at my open discussion of specific kinks. "I'm not into any of that."
"And I don't do threesomes," I said, covering my bases.
Dr. Turner sighed, as though my list of demands was tiring him. "Anything else?"
Knowing I was testing his patience with my rules, I backed