Years ago I was dating a guy that I really liked. I'll call him Tom. Tom and I had been seeing each other for a few months and I was excited about him and the relationship. He left town on business and I received an e-mail from a friend of his. Tom's friend stated that he was interested in producing adult videos and said that he would pay me for my time if I could give him some information about the business. I responded that I'd be happy to answer any questions that he had and indicated that he did not need to pay me anything. In his next e-mail the guy told me that he was looking for a hooker who would work for somewhere in the range of $300-$500. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

All of a sudden I realized that his initial e-mail had just been a more indirect way to solicit me for prostitution. He thought I was a hooker and when I hadn't taken the bait the first time he had made a more explicit request the second time. This guy was a fairly good friend of Tom's. They had grown up together. I felt angry and humiliated. How could Tom's friend ask me something like this? He had actually put it in writing. Evidently he did not fear any negative consequences. It was not as if he'd just said it and he could deny it later. I had it in writing.

Of course I blasted Tom's friend in a return e-mail, but I was still shocked. He was friends with the guy I was dating, the guy I really liked. I told Tom about it when he returned and tried to stay very calm as I explained what had happened. I could not keep the emotion out of my voice as I told the story because I felt humiliated. I stared at the floor as I explained the details and then looked up at Tom's face. Clearly he had noticed my embarrassment and anger but he seemed to be trying to maintain a neutral expression. I left shortly after because it was late.

Several weeks later Tom and I were eating dinner and he mentioned that he had run into this same friend and commented that the guy was going through a rough time. I ate silently and listened. Was Tom trying to elicit sympathy from me regarding his friend's misfortune? Why was he even telling me this? Why was he even talking to the guy? I thought Tom liked me. We were together all the time. How could he not understand how inappropriate his friend's behavior had been? I was shocked all over again. I had really thought that Tom would address his friend's offensive actions or just stop talking to him or something. Something. It really hurt me that he was hanging out with his old buddy and did not even care that this friend had tried to pay me for sex. It really hurt. I told Tom that and, honestly, I don't remember him coming up with anything worthwhile to say about the whole situation. He said his friend was probably drunk when he sent the e-mail. I wanted to cry. I think I may have but I can't even remember. Inexplicably, I continued to see Tom for another month or so. I'm a complete fucking idiot sometimes.

Of course the issue did not die. The last time we saw each other I sobbed and told Tom how much it bothered me that he did not even care. Didn't he understand how humiliating it was for me? I asked him how he would have felt if his friend had sent his sister an e-mail offering her money for sex. What would he have done? Tom wouldn't answer me and that was answer enough. As I walked out his door for the last time I passed his roommate's bedroom. His roommate's kids were in there. They had heard everything. I could just see it on their faces. I had not known they were there and it made me feel bad. When I said goodbye they just looked down at the floor.

I climbed in my car, hit the freeway and started sobbing. I cried the whole way home. As I blasted through the night in my 10-year-old Honda it occurred to me that it would have been satisfying to be at the wheel of a high-performance vehicle so I could really let it loose on the highway and power through some of my angst. Maybe I'd also feel better if I had better clothes, a more "respectable" job, and a nice haircut. Some makeup probably wouldn't hurt either. As it stood I was rolling through the night in my reliable old car wearing some beat-down jeans and a cheap T-shirt and remembering that I had an early call time for my bondage shoot the following day. That car had always been good to me and there was no way that I would trade it in. Or get new clothes. Or change my profession at that point in time. Let people think what they wanted. Let them think that I was desperate for money. Or would do anything for it. Fuck them. Fuck everybody. Still, it killed me that someone I liked so much had cared so little about my feelings. I felt like an idiot. Just a complete fucking idiot. I sobbed even harder and kept driving.

Tom tried to call me several times as I drove, but I did not pick up the phone. When I got home my phone was ringing. I knew it was him and I answered. He seemed happy that I had picked up and he asked if I was OK. I told him I was not OK, but I would be OK. I'd be fine but now I realized that he thought I was a cheap fucking whore and evidently it was OK with him if any of his friends wanted to say or do anything to me. He laughed uncomfortably and told me to stop thinking crazy thoughts. That was the last time we ever spoke. The next day I went to my shoot and tried to block the events of the previous evening from my head. Jewell Marceau supplied the wardrobe and tied me up. I became very absorbed in the shoot and relished the feel of the latex garments, the tight blue ropes, and Jewell's playful/painful prodding of my body. Sometimes fantasy is the best cure for life..


You can see the entire "Bad Tanya" gallery inside The Bondage Room of my Playhouse now.

- XXOO Tanya