The Men I Still Think About
After more than 20 years, some encounters become a blur. And others stay with me forever. A personal look at the men I still think about, the strange moments that make me laugh, the vulnerability I never forget, and the small acts of thoughtfulness that meant more to me than they probably ever knew.
After more than twenty years of doing this, you can imagine I've met a lot of men. I couldn't possibly remember everyone. But every once in a while, someone will randomly pop into my head. Sometimes it's because he got a little vulnerable with me. Sometimes he did something incredibly thoughtful. And sometimes? He was just "different" as fuck 😂 Those are usually flash memories.
Like the guy who brought me an MTA Beanie Baby and wanted me to tickle him for an hour. I still think about that little Beanie Baby. Or the man who arrived with a paintbrush and a very specific plan for what he wanted to do with it. There are encounters in this business that are simply impossible to forget where something will trigger the memory and I'll think, Oh my God. I completely forgot about that man.
It's Usually the Little Things
The ones who stay with me aren't necessarily the ones who spent the most money or planned the most elaborate experiences. They're the ones who made me feel special. I think about the client who remembers my birthday every single year and goes out of his way to make sure he buys me something and makes plans to get it to me. Every. Single. Year.
I think about the client who bought me this insanely beautiful, and expensive, wolf robe that I still wear every winter. Every time it gets cold and I pull that thing out, there's a person attached to it. A memory. Someone who thought about me enough to choose something that became part of my actual life.
I think about the client who pays for my pedicures just because. And how genuinely excited he gets when we talk about spending time together or about some new experience he wants us to have.
I think about the client who went on vacation, thought about me while he was there, and brought me something back. That one always makes me smile because that's so freaking sweet. Shit, sometimes I forget to bring my own kid something back from vacation 😂
There's something about knowing you crossed someone's mind when you weren't standing in front of them that hits differently.
I think about the man who doesn't even smoke but was given weed by someone else and held onto it until the next time he saw me because he knew I would appreciate it. Or the one who remembered me saying that onion rings were my favorite chips and showed up with them. Tiny thing. Huge impact. Because you listened.
I Remember Watching You Become Comfortable With Me
Not all of the memories are gifts. Some of them are moments. I remember meeting one client for the first time and watching his entire body shake. He was that nervous. And now? He's so much more confident and comfortable with me. There's something really beautiful about getting to witness that transformation over time. Knowing that someone who could barely settle into himself when we first met eventually learned that he was safe enough with me to relax. Those things stay with me.
So does the person who comes to me carrying something he's been holding inside for years. Something he's wanted to explore but has been afraid to say out loud. And he finds that comfort and safety to tell me. Sometimes what he wants is eccentric. Sometimes it's something incredibly simple that he's built up in his mind for years. Sometimes he just wants the freedom to talk dirty without censoring himself or worrying about how he'll be perceived. Whatever it is, what I remember isn't necessarily the request. I remember the trust. That moment when someone essentially says, There's this part of me I've been afraid to show anyone, but I think it's safe to show you. That's intimate to me. And I don't take it lightly.
I Kept the Drawings
There was a client who used to draw these amazing little pictures on the envelope with my money in it. I've kept them all. I don't think he knows that. But I did. Because that's the kind of shit that gets me. It wasn't necessary. It wasn't something I asked for. It wasn't part of our arrangement. He just took a few extra minutes and made something for me. And maybe that's the thread running through almost every man on this list. You thought about me. Not just my body. Not just what you wanted. Me. You remembered something I said. You noticed something I liked. You thought about me while you were somewhere else. You wanted to make me smile. You trusted me with something tender. You let me watch you become more comfortable in your own skin. You brought me onion rings. You drew on my envelope. You remembered my birthday. You saw a ridiculous little gift somewhere and thought, SiSi would like this. Those things matter to me more than I probably say.
And That's the Part That's Hard for Me to Admit
Looking back also comes with a little sadness. Because there were years when I wasn't as connected as I am now. Years when drinking created distance between me and myself, which inevitably created distance between me and other people too. And sometimes I wonder how many people were trying to connect with me during that time in these small, thoughtful ways... and whether I really let them know that I saw it. Whether I showed enough gratitude. Whether I understood what they were offering me beyond the gift itself. Whether I was present enough to receive it. There are things I recognize now that I'm not sure I had the capacity to recognize then. That's difficult to sit with sometimes. But I also think that's part of getting older and becoming more connected to yourself. You look backward with eyes you didn't have yet. I can't go back and become this version of myself sooner. What I can do is appreciate those memories differently now. And maybe say something I should have said more often then: Thank you.
You'd Be Surprised What I Remember
Twenty years is a long time. Names disappear. Faces get fuzzy. Entire encounters eventually blend into different chapters of my life. And then somehow... I still remember the shaking hands. The birthday visits. The winter robe. The pedicures. The vacation souvenir. The weed you saved for me. The onion rings. The drawings I couldn't bring myself to throw away. The confessions. The strange requests. The vulnerability. The excitement. The effort. I remember the men who let me see something real. And I remember the ones who made sure I knew that they saw something real in me too. That's what stays. So if you've ever wondered what makes a man memorable to a woman who's met more men than she could possibly count... It probably isn't what you think. You don't have to be the wildest. You don't have to spend the most. You don't have to impress me. Sometimes you just have to pay attention. Because twenty years later, I may not remember everything we did. But there's a very good chance I'll remember how you made me feel.
Love, SiSi xoxo