Caller: Yeah, do you meet people?
Well, it would be silly to have an ad in the paper if I didn't eventually get in the room with my clients, now wouldn't it?
However, the phrase "meet people" has a particular connotation in this context. What I know from long experience is that this caller is asking me if I will meet with him for free. The idea is that we'd meet in public somewhere, and this tire-kicker would get to look at my tits, ask me a lot of leering questions, try to bargain me down on my fee, and either have a session immediately or—more likely—just go home and jack off thinking about me.
Slicker guys will try to spin this as a safety measure for the ladies. Yeah, because certainly no woman has ever been assaulted by a guy she first spent 20 minutes talking to in a bar or a coffee shop. That never happens, right?
I don't know anyone who actually does the free-meeting thing, and the notion that I would do it is particularly laughable, because the implication is that the sex worker must prove her good faith (and good looks) before the customer commits to the gig. This guy clearly doesn't know whom he's talking to—I don't have to pay those sorts of dues anymore.
Since there are no advantages to this that outweigh the downsides, my short answer is hell no. However, let's just give this guy a tiny benefit of the doubt, because I am a kind person.
Me: Yes, I meet with my clients. My rate is $300 an hour.
Caller: No, I mean, do you meet with people first.
Told ya. The idea that I could play with someone without actually meeting them first is a semantic riding crop I could beat this guy with, but I'm guessing the verbal illogic of that would be lost on him. Let's try to get him off the phone, since I'm quite certain I will not be meeting him in any context.
Me: Did you have any other questions?
Caller: I'm really hardcore. Are you really hardcore?
Possible interpretations of this: He's in a punk band. No wonder he can't afford me. Or, he's a male porn performer. No wonder he can't afford me. Or maybe, just maybe, he's trying to convey to me that he feels his kinky tastes are on the extreme side. But if you look up the word hardcore in the dictionary, it does not give a list of BDSM activities. This caller might mean needles through his scrotum, or he might mean getting hand-spanked while wearing women's panties. I have no way of knowing, and I really don't care to find out. Meet-me callers are guys who assume you're lying to them. I pride myself on professional integrity, but sometimes a little dishonesty is clearly indicated.
Me: Nope. Not at all. Very tame.
Caller: Oh. [Hangs up.]
Truth may be better, but lies are often so much quicker.
Mistress Matisse writes a regular column for The Stranger, called "Control Tower," which is where I discovered her. Her personal blog is an added treat, and if you're itching to dial her professional number yourself, (now you know what NOT to say!) give her a ring.