My grandfather died this morning. We were told he had weeks but he really only had hours. It’s hard for me only because it’s hard for my mom, who I love and worry for. He was my last living grandparent. 

I worked anyway. I got my hair cut. I overtipped one taxi driver and undertipped another one. I thought about how terrifying it will be when my father dies because I’ll either be full of regrets or feel nothing, and both are equally horrible. 

The client I saw was someone new to me, a delicate elderly man with a face like an open sandwich. I don’t know what that means, but it’s what I kept thinking. He was incredibly gentle, and I had a long, perfect orgasm under his fingers while he held a glass dildo in me with his other hand. We talked about Buenos Aires and he told me he shared my aversion to leather and regularly reads the New York Times obits because it’s a great way to learn things you’d never otherwise know. He kept calling me a lovely girl and saying, “Charlotte, you’ve got to a put a picture of this smile on your website. That smile is just killer. A thousand watts.”

When I’m working, I look in the mirror more times in one day than I do in a regular week. And every time I do, I make faces at myself. I puff my cheeks and flair my nostrils, like I’m signaling: I know, Clown Face. I know that’s not the normal you. I don’t just look at myself, I stare. I lean my weight on my wrists and rest my palms on the bathroom counter, and swing my body from side to side while I twist my lips. I talk to myself very quietly. Today, I touched my first two fingers to the fine smiles lines at the left of my lips and thought “you’re not a baby anymore.” It was one of those hyper-self-conscious, affected moments in which you’re not sure whether you’re behaving in an authentic way or if you’re just imitating something you think a movie character might do.

I get a lot of men who want me to dominate them. The new client mentioned this to me and said he didn’t see me in that role because my touch was too tender.
“Well, rough is not my default mode,” I said. I was sitting on his chest and twisting his nipples. He was looking into my eyes.
“I know what your default is,” he said. “I can see it behind that smile.”