Chapter 3
Once I was back at the office, I let Kofi head off for his lunch break, leaving me with a solid hour to sit in solitude and reflect on the questionable life choices that had brought me to this moment. A few minutes went by before I noticed that Sade was calling me, again.
‘Can you talk?’ she said breathlessly; it sounded as if she were running up a staircase.
‘Yeah, for a few minutes, it’s not that busy in the office today,’ I replied, sucking on my pen cap nervously. Maybe she’d had a change of heart. Maybe this was where the real dragging was to begin.
‘OK, so …’ began Sade. ‘Sorry I locked you off so quickly, I was outside when you called. So here’s how I see it, yeah?
I think it’s safe to say that when it comes to dating in this here London, it fucking sucks, right?
As women, we put so much effort into making ourselves look good, sound good, SMELL good, all to go on a date with a guy that turns up looking trash and talking shit, only for them to have the rabid ass audacity to expect us to go halves on a date!
’ I could sense she was projecting here, but allowed her to continue as no lies had been told thus far.
‘So like … I don’t see anything in paying for a service that allows us to have the experiences we deserve. I think it’s empowering, and if men can do it, why can’t we?’ Sade had a point, I feared.
On one hand, I understood where she was coming from, especially the female empowerment angle, and being able to dictate how and when we as women experience pleasure and joy, but on the other hand, I couldn’t get over the shame I felt in having to resort to paying to be made to feel good.
Why would I have to pay for it, when other women around the world could get this treatment for free, with men who wanted to treat them to the best?
‘I hear you,’ I responded, a bit deflated. ‘I guess I assumed you wouldn’t be on board with the idea, and it just low-key annoys me that it feels as if I’m feeding into a stereotype.’
‘What do you mean, hun?’ Sade replied.
‘Just that, when you tend to look at who typically pays for sex or company,’ I began, wanting to choose my words carefully, ‘it’s never the super attractive, super slim or acceptably curvy women who are doing it, innit?
It always seems to be be the undesirable dregs of society that end up having to pay for it.
’ I hear Sade laugh on the other end, even though I was being totally serious.
‘Um, Cass – I’d hardly call you a “dreg of society”, as you so put it – I’ma need you to have a lot more confidence in yourself; and while I hear what you’re saying, in this case I just don’t think it’s the same. See it as you RECLAIMING your dating autonomy!’
‘Reclaiming my dating autonomy.’ That had a nice ring to it, actually.
I guessed if I spun it that way, I could perhaps replace the initial shame I felt with a sense of righteousness about the whole thing.
Was I really about to message a sex worker for a date?
For Sade of all people to co-sign this random act, that definitely said something.
Maybe I was doing the right thing, surely there could be no harm in it – what was the worst that could happen?
‘You have a point, I guess. I’m a bit nervous of doing it, and if I DO do it, you can’t tell a soul. Listen. Not a SOUL, Sade. We’ve gotta keep it between us, OK?’ I muttered the last sentence through clenched teeth as a way to emphasise the seriousness of this whole situation.
‘Oh, girl, please, I ain’t telling anyone.
As long as you keep me up to date with who you’re seeing; name, car reg etc.
Can’t have you randomly turning up missing, can we?
These London streets are tough, man. Oh, babe, this is so exciting!
Honestly, even if you only do it once, just for banter, at least you can say you’ve done it, right?
I wanna hear all about it, and also, send me a cute picture of you just in case you go missing and the news stations ask me for a portrait of you, ’K? ’
I sighed. Do it for the plot; why not? Jericho seemed like the best of an awkward bunch in any case.
‘Thanks, babe, I’ll keep you informed IF I do it.
Jeeze, man, I can’t believe this is what it’s come to, you know.
And for you of all people to co-sign this randomness too.
’ Sade chuckled heartily, her high-pitched voice echoing through the phone and into the office.
‘Sis? If I tell you the absolute scum I’ve been seeing on these dating apps?
It’s a jungle out here, man. I’m this close to probably hiring someone myself. Godspeed indeed.’
I got off the phone with Sade and after tying up a few emails and delivering some paperwork to a couple of the departments on the floors below me, I returned to my desk and took my phone out again; thankfully, Kofi was still on his lunch break so I wouldn’t be peppered with questions.
I scrolled again to Jericho’s OuiMeet profile; his ‘last online’ tab showed that he was online a mere twenty minutes ago and had replaced his main profile photo with a new one: a professionally shot studio photo of him wearing a tight white vest with a dog tag chain, teamed with some dark-blue baggy jeans and a pair of Timberland boots.
A man of taste. I wondered what his demographic was.
I looked through his menu again; how much was I prepared to spend?
Would he even accept me as a ‘client’? What if he had a certain type of person he went for?
Were they even allowed to have types? I felt a twinge of guilt about my last thought [#TeamAutonomyAlways], but I couldn’t help but wonder, just in case he didn’t respond.
I didn’t think I would be able to live with the shame of being rejected by a sex worker whose job it is to spend intimate moments with someone for money.
I hovered over the ‘delete profile’ button. This was crazy.
I thought about everything Sade had said earlier.
Outside of assault and/or murder, what was the worst that could happen?
Well, for one, my parents finding out. I pressed the button, which signalled a ‘Are You Sure You Want to Permanently Delete Your Profile?’ prompt.
Spontaneity had never been my strong suit – maybe it was time for me to start taking control of my life.
My finger found its way back towards Jericho’s profile instead.
Fuck it. Let’s do it for the plot, Cassie!
‘You only live once’ and all that. Before contacting, I had to figure out what I wanted.
Should I opt for an hour-long FaceTime call with him – a sort of pre-date consultation – if you will?
Or head in straight for the four-hour date?
I pondered having a video call with him beforehand so he could get a full look at me and decide if he even wanted to take me out.
What a concept. I exhaled as I heard Kofi’s footsteps round the corner to our office – I had to be quick.
I tapped the ‘FaceTime/Video Call (1 hour)’ option on his profile, which instantly directed me to a payment page along with a calendar to book our session.
By a stroke of luck, Jericho had an available slot that evening at 8 p.m. Without hesitation, I selected the time, entered my phone number, and quickly keyed in my card details, trying to outrun the wave of shame creeping back over me.
Just as I hit confirm, the notification came through – right as Kofi walked through the door.
‘Cassie, did you know they’ve opened a new South African bakery near the bridge?
’ Kofi burst in, his voice brimming with excitement and his right hand clutching two grease-stained white bags.
‘I picked up this thing called Malva Pudding – it’s like a fancy bread-and-butter pudding.
Fucking STUNNING. I got you some to try.
’ He set one of the bags on my desk with a grin.
Kofi was such a sweetheart, and under different circumstances, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would have been a good match. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
‘Aww, thanks, mate, you shouldn’t have!’ I cooed as I placed my phone in my desk drawer and picked at the white bag – the dessert smelled heavenly.
‘It’s about time that Westminster dipped into some flavour; it can’t just be Costa and Pret every day.
I’ll be sure to patronise them tomorrow on my break too. ’
Kofi leaned slightly against my desk, his body angled towards my chair. ‘Maybe we could go together sometime and grab takeaway, if you’re up for it?’ he suggested, expectantly.
‘Um, sure, that’ll be cool! Any excuse for a pastry, to be honest haha.’ I laughed awkwardly, although his eagerness to hang with me did make me feel a small twinge of warmth inside. I would be lying if I said I didn’t like the attention every now and again.
Kofi continued to linger against my desk for a while before my phone rang; saved by the bell. As I made to pick up the phone, I heard Kofi say under his breath, ‘Great, tomorrow then, but don’t get all excited haha.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Excited’ indeed. So much had happened in the last ninety minutes. I decided to put my head down and just steamroll with work – I needed to zone out to curb the anxiety of tonight’s phone date with the sex worker. Because that’s a totally normal thing to do on a Tuesday night.