I saw Charles* weekly for just over two months. We'd have a lunch date every Saturday. No intimacy other than a kiss on the cheek ever transpired between us, but I never thought much of it. It was simple - he'd hand me an envelope of cash and we'd have lunch. Stranger things have happened. He liked to talk and the lunch dates just made sense in a hooker as therapist sort of way.

One of these lunch dates included a picnic rather than a restaurant. Much to my dismay, Charles brought headcheese. He honestly seemed to like it. For those who are unfamiliar with the epicurean bliss known as headcheese, it's simply a hog’s head, skull removed and all the fleshy bits chopped up and formed into a gory little loaf of brain, skin, tongue, ears, snout, etc.

In the name of decent manners, I ate the putrid concoction on what would have been an otherwise tasty baguette. I did so without gagging, but it wasn't easy.

A week after the headcheese and baguette picnic, Charles and I met up for lunch at a restaurant and he said, "This has to stop".

This seemed reasonable to me as these things don't go on forever, but it was then that he also demanded "the letter". I had no idea what letter he was referring to and told him so. Charles then told me that playing stupid didn't suit me, to just give him the letter, that I was blackmailing him and that he'd call the police if it didn't stop.

At this point I'm all at once amused, baffled and offended. Sure, I'm a hooker, but I'm a relatively honest hooker and blackmail has never even occurred to me. I told Charles that I was offended and added the fact that considering the innocent nature of our dates, I clearly don't have anything worth blackmailing him over anyway. He countered by stating, "Exactly. Why else do you think I've been giving you this money? Do you think I'm stupid? Just give me the letter. This is over."

...clearly the hooker as therapy bit has backfired as he never really seemed crazy until just then.

This odd little dispute lasted for about 10 minutes before we both went our separate ways. I assume he went home to seethe, but I left to inflict this fucked up little story on a friend over a martini.

My friend views this as hilarious. While I try to explain just how offended I am over the incident, he just keeps laughing. He's of the opinion that I should claim to have "the letter" and see what happens. By the end of the second martini, this seems like a good idea to me.

I call Charles and tell him that I have "the letter". Now it seems I'm much better at the nefarious business of blackmail when I don't actually know I'm doing it as the conversation went like this:

Me: Charles?
Charles: Yes
Me: I have the letter.
Charles: Just fuck off.
Me: ... Very well then.

Now my friend thinks it's even funnier. I'm not sure what he (or I) expected, but that wasn't it. He clearly finds this a little more humorous than I do as he's still snickering while I voice my dismay over the fact that it sucks to learn that I've unwittingly been accepting payment from Charles for something other than being so damned foxy. Blackmail or no blackmail, this really fucks with my irresistible man bait image.

Having recovered from the ego damage, foremost on my mind is the fact that if it weren't for Charles, I'd never have suffered the indignity of discovering what boiled hogs' brains taste like.

I'll consider this a lesson learned. Should a future client wish to introduce me to a gourmet taste sensation such as - let's say, minced livestock anus, I'm going to decline. Manners and the expansion of epicurean horizons be damned. It's really not worth it.

Miss Jones

Recipe courtesy of Peggy's Antiquated Recipes

*Name, which was probably an alias regardless, has been changed.

Posted by Miss Meretrix Jones at 2:54 PM