#6

Madeleine Blair, in repose

Notes from Hiatus

My alarm sounds next to my head, overtaking the whir of the electric kettle beginning its burble: “So Fresh, So Clean.” This song really does make waking up easier, and I roll around between the sheets like a gas station hot dog, alternately hiking a knee up into its respective armpit while reaching the other leg’s toes down toward the cat at the foot of the bed. 

“Mornin,’ Margie,” I say, mimicking a rolly-R’ed meow and continuing to stretch under the covers for a precious bit longer. Once up, I head to the kitchen stove to ladle myself some milky masala chai. Most days, when I am not out the door to care for my Goddesschildren, my spouse ambles out of bed 30 (or so) minutes before me to stare at his two computer screens in the other room, a menagerie of numbers that is, to me, nothing short of bewildering. Before doing that, he makes great tea.

That’s right, I’ve gone and gotten myself a spouse! He and I have been spiritually/ceremonially married for some time, but after we legally married in late May, I removed my IUD. It’s baby-makin’ time. On that note, it feels appropriate to officially announce my indefinite hiatus from full-service SW here on my blog, and not just into the ether of Twitter.

Among the few things I find sacred, conceiving a child with my life partner is one–and yes, I say this as someone who identifies as non-monogamous. Proceeding with full-service work presents a risk I’m not willing to take, and am deeply and seriously grateful for the privilege of that option. For a while, in both my personal and professional life, I shan’t be, apart from the obvious exception, “dealin’ in cum.” (There’s gotta be an “income” pun somewhere in there.) 

My Last Client

On my drive from my current city to the wedding in my hometown, I had my last appointment. I always enjoy seeing this guy (and not just for his convenient geographical location). He is a kind client, generous with both his money and my time. In bed, he is energetic yet undemanding: an easy, fun lay. When COVID nixed a guys’ trip to Vegas in 2020, he said my execution of a Strip Blackjack tournament-for-two was “one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him.”

Also, this man and I unwittingly lived within a few miles of one another over a span of thirty years and three different regions of the US, an eerie and serendipitous revelation indeed. Simply put, he’s one of the special ones, and I’m not yet equipped, here, to deliver a complete picture of what I felt when the door clicked shut behind him. This is not because I harbor true romantic feelings for him, but because what the end of the appointment meant for me.

With this last client went a sense of certainty: certainty in my capability to remain devoted to my creative pursuits while financially securing myself solely with my labor. I have shifted my faith from sex work to my spouse to provide this certainty of security, and as grateful as I am for that magnificent gesture, there is still a fearful fickleness around my accepting it. (This calls to mind of one of the central dilemmas of Madeleine: An Autobiography‘s author: how her deep desire to be with Paul conflicts with her staunch avoidance of dependency.)

I packed up and carried my shit down the steps of the go-to AirBNB, the adrenaline of fast money pumping its tranquil energy through me. Unlocking my car, I felt a pang of sentimentality for all this slice of the world has afforded me. Even the unsavory bits, I think, were morsels of experience in the tasting menu of my life story. As I reversed out of the dinky, awkwardly-angled parking spot, the daydreamy sentences of long road trips had already started writing themselves in my mind when…

SCREEEEE-ACK! went Inga’s front bumper, ripping me out of my foggy feelings as it scraped itself across a vertical wooden support beam of the stairs I’d just descended. “Shit,” I muttered, creeping forward a few inches before tossing the Toyota into neutral and cranking up the parking brake, hoping it wasn’t that bad. I bet it’s just cosmetic, just a li’l scrape. 

It was that bad. 

I gazed down upon poor, poor Inga, the sweet little Hatch-Backed Cum-Slut of a car, who deserves not this sore and weary fate she hath endured. I tried to smush her bumper back into place, just–you know–get the pieces to fit and hold together well enough, but it was one of those moments when a millimeter felt like a mile. I knew then–and remain knowing at the time of writing–the $10 I’d later use to purchase Gorilla Tape at a nearby Love’s up the highway was but a fraction of what legitimate repair will set me back.

“There will always be a reason to keep doing sex work,” I said aloud, standing next to my fucked-up ditz-mobile, my wedding gown smiling its absurd white at me from the backseat. What else could I do but chuckle? Oh, this ridiculous life–this life of mine, this life I love. There will always be reasons to be a wife, a Whore, both, or neither.

That is one reason I say hiatus instead of retirement, and last instead of final: the very real “ADD-Tax,” y’all. But I also don’t enjoy the thought of “never again.” This world has, for the most part, been considerably decent to me. I have made sums of money in a single-digit span of hours as I would have made in a month or more doing other forms of available labor. It’s no secret either: fast money is not not addictive. And, of course, the more experience I gained, the better my professional practice got. 

I bet it’s just like riding a bike, and one day I may find out. When I miss aspects of companionship work, I remind myself that writing is and always has been my central purpose, so when my beloved partner offered to replace the stability provided by my beloved persona, the choice was as clear as the end goal of a profitable publishing career. Besides, I’ve been a Whore for a long time. I want to spend some time finally trying to become a Mother, too. But I also remind myself that there are hypothetical circumstances for most anything, and Whoredom in all its power can always be there for me if I need or want it. Turning another trick in my life is certainly not out of the question–just outside my realm of current priority.

Forever, Madeleine Blair

So what is inside my realm? I’m writing often, paddle-boarding and swimming, spending time with my Goddesschildren, reading, and playing the occasional few rounds of poker. I’ve been delighted to have more time in the kitchen, and am regularly hosting themed-dinner movie nights with neighbors. 

I am still inhabiting Madeleine, and finding immense joy in holding writing circles for sex workers. My first SW-only writing workshop occurred in late June, with submissions of personal essay, erotica, op/ed, and a blog post. I’ll be having another in August (see below)!

Until next time,

xo-MB

Write With Me!

If you are a SWing writer or writing SWer, I encourage you to follow @swerwrites (and me, if you don’t already, @sensememories!) on Twitter–or whatever it’s called now–for more details and information on how to join the weekly SW-only writing circles. I’ll also hold another SW-only writing workshop in August. See below for details!

For clients who are interested in one-on-one writing coaching, proofreading, or editing, please feel free to inquire about my services, including client references, by emailing madeleineblair1919@gmail.com.

As always, if you have enjoyed reading and would like to send a tip (to help me fix my beloved whip), you can do so to Venmo @cookiegoogleman or Cash-App at $madeleineblair – Thank you as always for your consideration!

What do you think?