Someone Call the Winchester Brothers

Let me start by saying this…

I will take a vocal client over an awkwardly silent one any day of the week.

Seriously.

You want to make Tasha completely uncomfortable?

Answer every question with one word.

“How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Got any plans after this?”

“Nope.”

“Doing anything fun this weekend?”

“Nah.”

Congratulations.

You’ve officially blue-screened my brain.

Windows 95 has crashed.

Processing…

Processing…

Fatal error.

One of the biggest reasons I actually love this job is because of the conversations.

I genuinely love hearing people’s stories.

The weird ones.

The funny ones.

The heartbreaking ones.

I meet people from every walk of life, and I honestly find humans fascinating.

So yes…

Please talk to me.

But…

There is such a thing as too much communication.

Or maybe…

The wrong kind.

Because this story isn’t about talking.

It’s about…

The noises.

Now look…

Everybody makes noises during sex.

That’s normal.

Some people are louder than others.

That’s normal too.

But every now and then…

You meet someone who makes sounds so profoundly unsettling that you begin questioning your own religion.

This particular forty-five-minute session left me wondering whether I needed holy water…

Or the Winchester brothers.

This gentleman walked into the studio looking completely ordinary.

Well dressed.

Clean.

Friendly.

Nothing weird.

Picked his service.

Paid.

We chatted.

Honestly…

A completely textbook appointment.

No biting.

No strange requests.

No muttering under his breath.

Nothing.

Now before I continue, can we just acknowledge something?

People always assume this job is easy because it’s “just sex.”

No.

The act itself is awkward.

Even in your own relationship.

Who’s starting?

Who’s moving?

Why is your hip cramping?

Why did your knee just make that noise?

And ladies…

Can we talk about queefs for a second?

Nobody warns you about that.

You spend years pretending your own body didn’t just try to communicate in Morse code.

The first time it happens you’re internally screaming while desperately maintaining eye contact like absolutely nothing just occurred.

Eventually…

You get over it.

Mostly.

Sex is awkward.

It just is.

Anyways…

Back to my accidental demon summoning.

He wanted to start on top.

Perfect.

My hips appreciated the break.

Everything was going great.

Until…

He groaned.

Now I’m not talking about a sexy little moan.

Not even an enthusiastic one.

I’m talking…

The gates of hell themselves cracked open.

This sound didn’t come out of his mouth.

It came from somewhere deep beneath the Earth’s crust.

I’m fairly certain one of his ancestors answered.

The bed vibrated.

My soul vibrated.

I’m pretty sure nearby dogs started barking.

I froze.

Completely.

My face must’ve looked absolutely horrified.

Unfortunately…

I think he mistook my expression for overwhelming pleasure.

Because he doubled down.

Every thrust came with another earth-shattering, soul-leaving-his-body growl.

He rolled me over.

The noises somehow got deeper.

At this point I wasn’t even participating anymore.

I was surviving.

Every few seconds I’d glance over at the mirror.

Not to admire myself.

I was checking for shadow figures.

Maybe glowing eyes.

A small child standing in the corner whispering in Latin.

Anything.

If I’d owned a crucifix…

I’d have been holding it.

I wasn’t picky anymore either.

Jesus.

Buddha.

Zeus.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Whoever was on shift that day…

Please help.

Then…

After what felt like an eternity…

He finished.

One final apocalyptic roar echoed through the room.

Silence.

Complete silence.

I just lay there.

Unable to move.

Unable to process what had just happened.

Then…

In the calmest, quietest voice imaginable…

He smiled and said,

“Well… that was fun.”

Fun?

Sir…

I’m fairly certain I just survived a possession.

He got dressed.

I got dressed.

I don’t even remember offering him a shower.

Let’s be honest…

He didn’t need a shower.

He needed an exorcism.

I walked him to the front door.

Came back toward the room.

And found three of the girls standing in the hallway.

Just…

Waiting.

Staring.

One finally looked at me and said,

“What the fuck was that?”

I honestly didn’t have an answer.

All I could manage was,

“I… don’t even know.”

Apparently they’d spent the last twenty minutes debating whether they should knock on the door…

Or kick it open to rescue me.

To this day…

I’ll happily take a client who loves to chat.

I’ll even take a little enthusiastic moaning.

But for the love of everything holy…

If your orgasm sounds like you’re auditioning to become Satan’s backup vocalist…

Please deal with your demons before booking another appointment.

My blood pressure thanks you.