The Derek Dilemma

Hey guys. I'm over my cold in case you were wondering, but that's because I gave it to Maude. It's so bad she isn't speaking to me. She says it's all my fault for not regularly taking advantage of the 15 bottles of Purell she has carefully set on every flat surface of The Business.

But that's the least of my concerns right now. I know what you're thinking... "What concerns could you possibly have now that you're the co-manager and partner of a massage parlor? Why you're practically living the dream!" Yes, to the casual observer I may appear to lead a charmed life. But I do have my share of problems.

And my biggest problem right now is named Derek. Well, he's not exactly the problem, but more sort of the complex and delicate situation I've created with him. It all started a long time ago when he first asked me "So what do you do for a living?" Well, I kinda told a tiny little fib, then covered it up with a white lie, wrapped it up in an untruth, stuffed it down a deceit, and then buried it in a fabrication before burning it down inside an abandoned warehouse of fraud.

I told Derek "I'm a shampooist."

99% of the time, that has satisfied the curiosity of most guys. In fact, I swear I can hear a checkbox being ticked off inside a guys head after I've answered that question - freeing him to ask me if I have any tattoos or if I want another drink.

And that answer seemed to satisfy Derek - for a while. But now let's go back to to last summer when I walked out of The Business. Suddenly I was an unemployed shampooist. And you know what an unemployed shampooist cannot do? Go independent. Whoever heard of an outcall shampooist?

So now I had to explain to Derek why I had to go visit "clients" to make money. At first I told stories about how I was picking up a couple bucks a week by visiting my mothers friends at home and doing their hair. Believable. At first. But then as my appointments started to pick up, I couldn't claim that I was washing the same head of hair over and over again.

That's when I kinda sorta casually mentioned that I started offering therapeutic massages.

To my mom's friends.

And some of their friends.

At really weird hours.

Several times a week.

I had to dig up my old massage table from my mom's basement and throw it in the back of my truck! I found some of my old books from massage school and left them around my place for Derek to find! "Oh, did I forget to tell you that took a class or 2 in massage therapy a while ago? I mean, I never used it or anything. Except for that one time... I may have had a job... at a place... somehere... but it never worked out."

I kept this up for a while and right when it finally started to look like I was gonna get away with it - Audrey called me up and offered me a sweet deal. Fuck!!! Now I need a whole new set of lies to cover up the previous lies, and justify the new lies. How on Earth could I go from unemployed shampooist to co-manager in 9 months? Even this was a stretch for a skilled deceptionist like me. How could I convince him I was one hell of a shampooer?

Part of me wants to just come clean and say "Derek, I jerk guys off for a living." In fact, I've dreamed about that over and over again for a very long time. It would probably be the most freeing and stress relieving statement I could make at this point in my life. But the practical part of me wants to say...

"... Insert perfect lie here..."

And this is where you guys come in. I would love to know what the perfect lie would be. I mean, I can't even figure it out.

Honestly, I think the ideal thing is going to be something between the truth and a lie. A sort of quasi-lie or truthy-fib. I'm pretty good at those. Another option is what I call the "joking truth." This is where I actually tell the truth but as a joke. For example, "Why did Audrey put me in charge? Because I love to get naked and jerk off my customers - duh." This way I can always claim to Derek that I told him the truth and it's not my fault if he didn't believe me.

So can you guys out there do better? Points given for the most original solution. And points subtracted for each use of the word "whore." Good luck

CJ

The Honeymoon Is Over

After weeks and weeks and weeks of getting laid on a regular basis... it looks like the honeymoon is finally over. I finally had to throw Derek's ass out. Don't get me wrong, we're not broken up or anything - I just couldn't stand him constantly parking his butt at MY place every night. I mean, it was totally convenient to have him there when I wanted to get laid (which was pretty damn often I'm embarrassed to admit, but you can't blame me after my year long dry spell) but it was the afterwards that got to me.

I've never been one for cuddling or pillow talk so it was totally irritating that he was still there in the morning. EVERY morning. Heck, I could have tolerated 4 nights a week, but he planted himself here every night about a month into the honeymoon phase.

So now he's at his place and our current agreement is 1 weekday night and 1 weekend night. Plus, I get the option of any night at his place - as long as I can tolerate his roomies . They're OK, but I'm not dating them.

But the good news is that now I'll have way more time to write! I have to admit that I kinda missed the luxury of coming home after a particularly trying day at work and have the ability to just spill my guts about it to the computer. With Derek here, I couldn't exactly do that.

But with him around all the time, I had to talk about things in a sort of coded generic way:

"Today was a waste" = tips sucked
"I'm exhausted" = Don't even think of asking for a handjob
"My 2 o'clock was a total bitch" = He tried to cum in my hair
"I need a shower" = I smell like semen
"I'm paying for drinks!" = I had a breast release today
"I'm paying for dinner!" = I had 2 breast releases, a mutual, and a foot fetish guy
"Cindy had a good day" = I could hear her fucking a guy in the room
"Maude was in a mood" = Maude was in a mood

It's amazing how writing on a regular basis about work acted as a kind of therapy for me. It calms me down, and helps me put things in perspective. I mean, there were days when I would come home literally shaking with anger, and after a few minutes of writing about it I would start to feel better. With Derek around I had to rely on a more mundane form of therapy - getting laid.

Hmmmmmmmm... type on a computer or fuck my brains out?

Oh shit... Derek - Come back!

CJ