I woke up that morning to a house full of young women my husband had picked up at the rave the night before. One of them was eating the tiramisu I had prepared for our dinner together. For a moment, I felt silly for thinking he was going to care about Italian desserts. But instead of feeling the same kind of sadness and shame that I used to feel, knowing that I had willingly put myself in a position of being used, I decided to put my game face on and to greet the day with complete acceptance. The night before I had decided to turn off my preconceptions and to just embrace being a human. This is how I ended up in an orgy of female bodies pleasuring each other in a trance of psychedelic drugs and alcohol, which left a pile of bodies on the floor of my studio apartment. I carefully stepped over them, turned the stereo on and sat down on the porch to smoke a joint. One of the girls asked me if she could have some and I gladly shared all that I had left of the one thing that was still capable of making me feel calm days before. In fact, I felt that sharing myself, my husband and my joint with her gave me a kind of power I hadn’t felt before. I felt this great sense of contentment. Like I had just beaten my fears. Like I had freed myself from all that had been holding me down. It was a wonderful morning.
The escort service was called ‘The SLC Dollhouse’. How cliché is that? I had gone on a few dates with rich guys from Park City. Once I went to a bar with this guy who introduced me as his wife. That is all he wanted. And I ended up hanging with Kiefer Sutherland at the bar, talking about the fact that the pretentious abstract painting on the wall did not match the log cabin atmosphere they had going at the establishment we both found ourselves in. This guy, the one who wanted me to say I was his wife, was most definitely gay. I am sure he was, because he showed zero interest in any woman we encountered, especially not me. This was definitely my favorite outing for the service. I was working under the table. The social security number and ID that these Mexicans provided me with was of such bad quality that the owner of the place immediately told me he would rather have illegals working for him because it works out best for him in the end. So I just ended up coming and going as I pleased and whenever I needed money. I called him that morning and he told me that there was this guy asking for a blonde European and that it would be perfect if I could do it. He told me he was a Mormon and wasn’t interested in sex and that he would just pick me up at my place, take me to dinner and drop me off after that. So I got ready and waited for this guy to pick me up down the street in the parking lot of Liberty Park. One thing I won’t forget about this guy is that he drove an Audi, which reminded me of my family back in Germany. I got in the car and we had some very light superficial conversation about Germany although he seemed to have very detailed knowledge of German culture. This was usually the topic with these guys. They loved the fact that I was ‘different’ in some way. From an unknown place. Like I was some kind of exotic fruit they had never tried. And I always ended up indulging them because I felt like I needed to keep the interest up as to not get a bad review and lose the money I so desperately needed. So we talked about Advents calendars and he told me that he had once tried German Leberwurst, and that he liked German techno music and how his mother was German. He even knew about celebrities who were part German and able to speak German. He seemed calm enough. He complimented me on my breasts and my hair and told me that he uses the service often which didn’t match up with what Jared told me. But I thought he probably just didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable. Then he asked me if I was willing to have sex with him later and that he was pretty easy to please. Most guys tell Jared that they aren’t interested in sex when they are so I was pretty much prepared for it all. I said yes.
While we were still in the car on our way to the restaurant he received a phone call. He didn’t seem distressed by it. It was short, with him only saying a few words. Then there was this moment of silence after. And when it got awkward I tried to make small talk. He didn’t respond. Then he made a U-turn and began driving really fast down State St. before he turned into what I am pretty sure was 13th South, which is when he began to slow down until we reached an alleyway of some kind in front of what looked like a Catholic church. This is where he stopped the car, turned off the lights and grabbed a big what looked to be some kind of hunting knife from his glove box. At this point I was already scared out of my mind. The first thought I had was “How fucking stupid can you get? I am an illegal immigrant, alone in a car with a guy who for some reason knows details about German culture and all I see is dollar bills?” My husband would not have even known where the fuck I was because I didn’t inform him of my side-job. I tried to get out of the car under the pretence of needing some air. The door was locked. And he just sat there, quietly. There was nobody outside. I decided that it was more likely that I would get hurt if I screamed. So I tried hard to calm my mind. In what felt like at least 10 minutes of silence with him just staring at the steering wheel with the knife in his hand, I thought back to that morning, how I felt and I decided to accept that whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Once again I beat that fear inside of me that was pushing to prevent the inevitable. This guy was planning something and I was an object in his plan. So I asked him to please look at me. He wouldn’t. I told him that whatever was going on didn’t have to be. And I moved his head to look at me. He had this aggression about him, this kind of fearful insanity. So I stroked his face and asked him to please reconsider. I told him that I had felt the way he is feeling before in my life and that I managed to beat that fear twice today. He forcefully moved his face away from me and started putting his hand under my skirt. I didn’t fight him. But I kept looking him in the eyes. He tried several times to prevent me from doing so by slapping me and choking me. I didn’t say anything again. I just looked at him. And I tried over and over to stroke his hair and face. So he pushed my body against the window, proceeded to choke and finally grabbed the knife. I didn’t stop looking in his eyes. At this point I was convinced I was going to die. He told me he was going to rape me and then slice my throat. I was still looking at him. But it was what I saw that scared me more than anything: I saw so much fear. A little boy who was scared of something terrible. And a tear rolled down my eyes. I am still not sure if that tear was for me or for him. But I was not scared anymore. I was completely ready to die. I felt an incredible amount of relief.
When he finally decided to stop choking me he moved closer to me and pushed me toward the car door. My head was banging against the cold window. The discomfort of the position I was in added to what he was doing with his hand. Still holding the knife in one hand but no longer pressed against my throat, he began to force the other hand into me, faster and faster. I could feel his dirty fingernails scraping me and my pelvis trying to accommodate what was happening. I still proceeded to look him in the eyes. Then suddenly, he stopped, opened the car door and pushed me out. I can only theorize what happened, but would rather not. I hit my head on the side of the car and fell into a kind of shock. The dizziness overwhelmed me to a point where I could neither talk nor move for several minutes. He drove off. And I was alive.