All language subtitles for The Esco

Subtitles by explosiveskull
www.OpenSubtitles.org

Eric?

Veronica?

That's so sweet.

Thanks, babe.

Please follow me.

So how was your journey?

Pleasant, thanks.

Was parking okay?

I took the train.

Do you have a car?

An electric.

I'm learning to drive myself.

Late, I know.

I try to take lessons on my day off

but it's hard when you're taking

a business management course as well.

You're studying business?

Part-time and I do it online but

I'll have a degree at the end of it.

This is us.

Do you have something for me?

Thank you for your... donation.

What's that?

What?

A donation.

Well, if you paid me for a service,

that would make me a pro.

You're just tipping me for my time.

Shower's upstairs.

Feel free to get cleaned
up before you leave.

I'm sorry, I can't...

Too soon?

Are you nervous?

A little.

I like men who are shy.

It's cute.

Is this your first time?

For what?

Why don't you get comfortable
while I go freshen up a bit,

and when I return we can
discuss how to settle you in?

Sounds good.

I'll be right back.

I thought I'd slip into
something more comfy.

Brandy or a prosecco?

The merlot's run dry.

Neither, I'll stick with
an orange juice, thanks.

Let's make it for two then.

Are you feeling more relaxed?

The music's not too loud I hope.

Considerably, and no.

Good.

I need you feeling limber

if we're to live out your dreams,

of which I'm sure you have many.

Please, allow me.

What a gentleman!

You must be a stud with all the ladies.

Care for a cookie?

What kind do you have?

Oatmeal or spritzgebäck?

Are any gluten free?

Come on, I'm not that niche.

Neither am I, I just don't wanna fart

in the middle of our session!

I'll take oatmeal.

Thanks.

Let's get some ground
rules out of the way first.

An experience with me

will make full use of
our senses as we lose

all knowledge of time
and reason to explore

each other's bodies, and
extract intense pleasure

from one another to
reach emotional heights.

Now I'm no clock watcher

but I do need to keep track of time

which is why I've brought
my little friend here.

You've paid for 60 minutes
so that's what I've set

and when the hour is up
let's look back fondly

at our time together and
not abuse its length.

Agreed?

Sounds fair.

So how do you wanna start?

With a promise that by
the end of our session

neither of us are going to have sex.

That's fine, I have clients
who are inclined like that.

I can play with myself
while you watch or...

I mean nothing R-rate.

No oral, no finger-bang, handjob, blowjob,

just quality conversation
between two people

as one tries to convince
the other of a truth.

What truth is that?

That you're underselling yourself

and I don't just mean price.

You're too beautiful to
be in this line of work

and I don't just mean looks.

I fulfill men's fantasies
at a discounted cost,

who loses out?

Everyone.

If you're not paying me for sex

what do you want me for?

There are 58 minutes and 56 seconds

left on that clock.

That means that's the time I have

to convince you to quit your day job

and pursue a new line of work.

You're wasting your money.

- And buying an opportunity.
- Why?

The phrase 'Love at first sight'

is a saying with romantic connotations

which I've never fully understood,

a line signifying our basic desires

through attaching a romanticized

notion to the idea that good looks

are more important than any other trait,

and that one's charm, wit,
or personality come second

to wrinkle-free skin and a good selfie.

You're making no sense at the moment,

and did you really write
'selfie' in your speech?

Bear with me, it's a work in progress.

My understanding of the phrase

changed a few weeks ago
when I was scouring the web

and came across your profile.

You were looking like
you are right now, calm,

rosy, with just enough make-up on

to accentuate your features.

You have amazing eyes by the way.

Thanks.

But what drew me to your photo

was the trait that won't lie, your smile.

It was honest, pure, beautiful

and that's when I realized
the meaning of the term

which wasn't to romanticize
lust like I originally imagined

but the ability to see beyond
the lens and appreciate

the beauty others fail to address.

So you see my beauty.

You and every other guy.

But with one major twist.

There are three key attributes that define

a man's attractiveness to a woman,

money, status, power.

Sure a guy can have good looks,

strong abs, and nice hygiene

but they don't hold nearly as much weight,

otherwise Ryan Gosling would
be swimming in more tail

than Bernie Sanders.

You're saying Bernie Sanders has sex?

The guy gets laid more
time than porn stars.

So when a guy uses a
combination of all three,

he does it in accordance
through a set of principles

designed to lower her inhibitions

and get her body into bed.

Or wherever they decide
to have intercourse.

Today I find myself in
the unusual position of

not needing to jump through
hoops having already paid

for the service to have sex with you.

Correction, you paid for my time.

The sex is inconsequential.

Fair point.

But when I tell you I'm
not looking to connect

for a quick screw, you
know I'm telling the truth.

Have you ever seen The Wizard of Oz?

In black-and-white and color,

what self-respecting a girl hasn't?

I love that film.

To me the movie was ahead of its time

not least because of its frank depiction

of homosexual life.

Judy Garland was the lesbian.

So was Dorothy Gale.

The character was 12!

Played by a seventeen year old,

and if you've read the books you'll know

she marries Princess Ozma at the end.

Now with that info in mind
you start to re-evaluate

the story in a completely different light.

Dorothy was a teenager coming of age.

She just found out she liked girls.

The cowardly lion was
her fear of coming out,

the brain-dead scarecrow
was her fear of being gay,

and then the heartless
Tin-Man was her front

for society to show that she didn't care.

What about the Wicked Witch?

The bad witch was condemnation,

the good witch affirmation.

Wait, are you calling me a dyke?

No, I'm saying there's
a lack of disparities

between faking being
straight and being an escort.

It reminds me of the Tin Man

because what's the use of
a body without a heart?

If life is like The Wizard of Oz,

let me be the wizard.

I mean I talk bullshit most of the time

and I stand behind a curtain,

but I'll do everything in my power

to grant you your wish.

That sounds like a pick-up line.

There's 55 minutes left on this clock

and I'll be using every
one of those seconds

not in pursuit of your
body but to win your heart,

because that's worth fighting for.

If you say you're in love with me,

I can give you the girlfriend experience...

The girlfriend experience
is designed to deluding fools

into thinking there's
meaning where there's none.

I want the real thing.

No offense but you base your
opinion of me off a photo.

Everything I am is a fantasy.

I'd like to say as intuition.

You paid for the hour so I'm
not gonna stop you wasting it

but if you really want to win me over,

you might want to start
somewhere besides discussing

the homosexual undertones
of a children's book.

What's your favorite color,
what movies do you like,

where do you like to eat?

I jumped the gun.

You did, so what's your next play?

This isn't a game.

Everything's a game
when gender's involved,

you just need to pick the right sport.

What sport would you pick?

Fantasy football.

Or any sport that doesn't
require actual skill to win.

I don't think fantasy
football counts as a sport...

It's not.

You're digressing.

Would you mind if I changed
out of these clothes?

It feels weird having this conversation

when I'm dressed like a whore.

Sure.

Thanks.

Have you ever considered the possibility

I might like what I do?

Why would you?

Why wouldn't I?

90% of people don't like their jobs,

I'm just playing the odds.

90% of people
don't cum for a living.

When what you love becomes a job

it can no longer be what you love.

My father taught me that.

Your father makes no sense.

My father makes perfect sense.

It sounds like a palindrome.

Besides your dad and my dad

sound like they wouldn't get along.

How come?

He believes
if you love what you do

then it's never a chore
and if it's never a chore,

you're always having fun.

I don't think when he said it,

he had escorting in mind.

You have the
Richard Gere syndrome.

What's that?

A First Knight complex.

The knight in shining armor
saves the damsel in distress.

I'm a little lost.

Whether Richard
Gere is playing a client

in Pretty Woman or an
escort in American Gigolo,

you'll still side with
him no matter what he does

because he's just so
damn likeable doing it.

The same couldn't be said
if he was played by a woman.

You can't scream sexism
when he displays chivalry!

Why not?

It's misogyny at its finest!

Why is it that if a
man cheats on his wife,

screws his colleagues, and
generally acts like an asshole

to others people desire him more,

whereas if a woman wants to be an escort,

society condemns her for
the sole crime of liking

to suck dick?

You don't hear Don Draper
being scorned for his morals.

I don't believe that.

You don't
agree with society's views?

That you like to suck dick.

I'd be a pretty poor escort

if I didn't enjoy giving blowjobs,

what makes you think I
don't enjoy giving head?

Easy.

Your profile.

I ticked
the box for fellatio.

It doesn't matter.

It's not your list of
do's that convinces me

but how you describe yourself.

Care to explain?

Sure.

Do you remember what you
wrote to describe yourself?

You were flirtatious and erotic,

using words typically found
to describe a fine wine

with a touch of class
and a shroud of mystery

designed to attract people
into wanting to know more.

But then it came to your physical traits

and class became crass as you described

yourself in ways no-one should.

Such as?

Of your complexion you said you had...

A fuckable face.

And dick-sucking lips, and
I don't care if you need sex

like fucking oxygen,

no-one should demean themselves that way.

Which is why I came to the
conclusion that a lot of alcohol

and a touch of self-hate went
into writing that profile.

What can I say?

I advertise myself like an eBay listing.

And if a guy's seeking an escort,

he's not looking for class.

- Companionship.
- Bullshit!

That's what Rent-A-Friend is for!

Guys don't wanna talk, they wanna bang,

and they wanna do it the
way they see it in porn.

You think they care about
someone's beauty or intellect?

Bullshit!

Asia Carrera was in Mensa,
Tera Patrick studied biology,

who gives a shit?

Guys just want someplace
to stick their dick into

because Pornhub and
Brazzers desensitized them

to what's normal and the flick of a wrist

won't do it anymore.

The easier we've made sex available to us

the harder we've made it for us to enjoy.

Now let's cut the subject and move on.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...

Yes you did!

And criticizing someone
for their choice of work

isn't gonna help them quit.

If you don't like what you
do then why do you do it?

The same reason as
your 90%, to get paid.

Become a waitress.

And earn an income at
minimum wage while your company

takes most of my tips?

No thanks!

There must be another way.

There will be, once I
get my business degree.

You keep treating me as
if I'm some kind of victim

and I'm not.

The real victims are the thousands
of people earning minimum

wage who can't afford
to put food on the table

because they've paid it all in rent.

The landlords get richer,

the tenants go to food banks,

and the government won't lift a finger

because unemployment figures are low.

You guys just lie there
while you take it up the ass.

If somebody wants to fuck me in the ass

at least I charge extra.

I'm sorry,

- I didn't expect to...
- No!

You don't get to do that!

You don't get to waltz in
here and condescend my work

and then apologize for being a prick!

You based your opinion
of me off of a photo?!

Let me tell you what I see.

Your collar's sweet scented with a strand

of graying brown hair.

It's too long to be yours
and it certainly isn't mine

so it must belong to someone else.

Noting your proclivities
don't include cougar prowling

I'm betting it's your mum's.

Round your feet, cat fur from
when one nuzzled your leg,

likely a pet because
it's also on your suit.

Cymric or Chausie?

Snowshoe.

An American cat, huh.

Your jacket, cashmere
implies you come from wealth,

the silk lining suggests
you have a lot of it.

Do you want me to continue?

Veronica, I...

Veronica's not my name, it's Kimberly!

Kimberly, I'm sorry.

- I shouldn't have...
- No, you shouldn't.

You're polite with your words
but not with your actions

having failed to rise both
times I entered the room,

and though you claim to
be here to win my heart

the fact you're pressed against
the other end of the sofa

suggests you're afraid
and couldn't be further

from the truth.

Which makes me think you're a virgin.

A virgin who browses escort's websites

instead of searching for love on Tinder

says you're either
eager to pop your cherry

or you're the biggest creep of all,

because you know what you're
doing is morally wrong,

but as long as you
pretend you're saving me,

you don't have to give a damn.

Am I right about any of this
you sanctimonious prick?

Bang on.

Of course I am.

I know your secrets.

Every fantasy you've kept from your wife,

every lie you've told your child,

I know where you've been
and where you'll go,

how to build you up or break you down.

I know this because I am an escort.

Now do you have any other questions of me

or shall we agree to call it time?

That's why we stayed apart.

My last client had a cream fetish.

It's something...

I don't care whether it's cream or cum,

you shouldn't have to
degrade yourself in that way.

You're better than this.

You left your coat.

I'm going to the bathroom.

Can I come in?

I'll be out in a sec!

I'm sorry about what I said.

No, you were right to get angry.

Still, I shouldn't have

confronted you like that.

I insulted you in your home.

You have every right to feel offended.

Why are you being
so nice about all of this?

And why pick me?

You know why.

And it's my job to convince
you to ignore the why not.

As for picking you over someone else,

let's just call it serendipitous fate.

This isn't the type of conversation

we should have through a door.

I thought I locked it.

Maybe your mind's playing tricks.

Why are you here?

Freshening up.

Gathering my thoughts.

Does it matter?

Just because you lost the first round

doesn't mean you can't make the second.

Now cheer up and let's try again.

I'm Kimberly.

I'm a paradox.

Really?!

One false move and you turn Emo on me.

It's the first time that counts.

Anything more is just
the waste of an hour.

I didn't kick you out, did I?

So I'm saying there's a chance.

Tell me about yourself.

Help me fall in love.

Fine.

Tell me something Kimberly.

Do you like Christmas?

I don't think you're

getting second chances down-pat.

I mean it, do you like Christmas?

Santa Claus, mistletoe,
getting drunk on eggnog,

high on good cheer.

The Grinch?

Sure, everyone loves Christmas.

Do you celebrate?

Not religiously but yeah,

I like to give and take gifts.

Why?

I love Christmas.

To me there's nothing
more magical than those

24 hours that bring people together.

What about New Year's?

A New Year in America

is different to a New Year in China.

No, forget its pagan origins

and Christmas is the one festivity

people can get behind regardless of faith.

Do you know what I like
most about Christmas?

The run-up.

Christmas cards, advent
calendars, candy canes,

and Coca Cola's Santa campaign,

there's so much activity going on.

It's almost as joyous
as the big day itself.

Carol singers don't go out on Christmas,

and Santa's grotto isn't open,

but you know what happens
when it's all over?

Good TV returns.

The food's been eaten,
the gifts are unwrapped,

and you're just left with a hangover

and a huge mess to clean.

The same could be said about sex.

I'm not innocent,

in this century who is?

I haven't cum in over two years

and I don't stick my dick in a hole.

Easy buster, you're upping
the creep factor to 11!

There's a point to all this.

I prefer foreplay, but being a virgin

and being inexperienced
aren't always the same thing.

You asked me why I went to
those sites and the truth is

it was to find an escort,

but my vice isn't food
porn or dogging or pain.

It's a sensual massage
and what that entails.

Not with you though,

never with you.

Thanks, I guess.

Imagine the year is
represented by a circle.

And Christmas makes up less
than one degree of that.

That leaves the rest of the year

to indulge in the
excitement and the build-up.

That's what a body massage feels like,

regardless of the approach.

I'm tainted Kimberly.

I've done everything short of penetration,

I've practiced every kink

that doesn't involve 4th base.

I'm a living proof that being
a sexually active virgin

isn't an oxymoron.

But I'm past all that now,

and my intentions for
you are nothing but pure.

How many women?

18.

And what makes me so different?

Because you're perfect,

and it saddens me to be
the only one who sees it.

Bullshit!

That's fuckin' bullshit!

You're not a virgin!

I could be.

You said so yourself.

I was being mean.

You're being perceptive.

If you've gone so long
without getting any.

Did you ever consider you might be gay?

- You should try out Grindr...
- I'm straight,

thanks for asking.

I'm just saying.

I could be celibate, though.

While getting lingam massages
from Taiwanese hookers!

I prefer Romanians.

Let's head back downstairs.

Do you want a bite to eat?

I ate already.

An ice-cream then.

I'm lactose intolerant.

You're talking shit, aren't you?

It's a real thing.

I know but I can tell when
you don't want to share.

I don't have any cooties
that I'm aware of.

I might.

Suit yourself.

I guess it means more ice-cream for me.

So...

What's on your mind?

There might be a way
for you to get paid doing

what you do without having to
sell your body if you do it.

You're not going to
suggest webcams, are you?

No, but at least you won't get pawed

by some fifty-year old overweight guy.

I like my privacy.

You fuck strangers for a living.

So does every twenty-something year old.

Just because a guy can
stick his dick up my ass

doesn't give him the right
to take screenshots of it.

I want to be in control.

But your pictures are already
on adult sites anyway.

Non-nude, I can handle that.

So if it's not webcams what's your idea?

Dating.

Literal dating.

Bring back the meaning of the term escort

as a guide rather than a
euphemism of some sort.

Dating guys for a free meal

doesn't sound like much of a career.

And escorting is?

Hey, people love sex.

It's the oldest profession for a reason.

So's slavery but you don't
see that on people's resumes.

Non-transferrable skills.

Why didn't you try Pay For
a Date or What's Your Price?

You might get paid dating
guys you actually like.

The reason I don't do online dating

is because when guys pay me
they know what they're getting.

There's no lies, no deceit, no notion.

It's something more than it's not.

It's a straightforward transaction.

Have you ever felt
anything for a client?

No.

I don't get it.

To me sex is the most
intimate experience two people

can have, am I right?

Sure.

How does it not muddle your feelings?

Because it's not me
they're not sleeping with.

If their cocks are in your pussy,

it's you they're sleeping with.

No, they're fucking me.

There's a difference?!

A technical one.

Who I am,

who I really am

is a business student and a girl.

I like art, good books, French brie,

and playing Tetris on my own.

I am shy and romantic and
don't sleep with married men.

Veronica was created to be the whore

so I don't have to.

But you are Veronica!

It's your lips that do the talking,

your pussy that takes a pounding,

how can you not take ownership of that?

Do all teachers like kids?

What I think and what I do
aren't always the same thing.

- It's different with them.
- How?

It's their profession.

Mine too.

Plus at least mine's in the dictionary

which is more than I can say
for a Pizza Entrepreneur.

Their words are echoing the company's.

And no CEO's ever lied before?

What you do, it's unethical!

So's being a lobbyist for tobacco

but I don't see you picketing them.

You sleep with married men

and destroy their families.

How can you separate yourself from that?

Easily, I'm not at fault.

You're kidding me.

If they're coming to see me,

their marriage is already on the line.

I'm just the catalyst that
tips it over the edge.

But you're not giving them
the chance to make amends.

What's to amend?

Sex isn't chemistry, it's biology

and men were programmed to mate.

I wouldn't blame a man for
stepping out on his wife

any more than I would a
cat for eating a mouse.

I'd really hate to think
you actually believe that.

Why not?

Because it means you're a lost cause.

Don't worry, I'm not.

It was Veronica's turn to speak.

Out of sheer curiosity,

do the spouses keep their ring
on when they pay you a call?

Most do.

Some don't, but you can
always tell by the indent.

So they're consciously aware

of what they're doing is wrong
either visually or sensually,

which makes you temptation.

And if you aren't there,
if escorts aren't there,

then they'd be no one to cheat with.

Save for neighbors, friends,
in-laws, and strangers.

And when an emotional attachment develops,

then they'd be really screwed.

I'm a sex doll with a heartbeat.

The only meaning I bring is with my body

that's why I'm the safest bet.

But you're being used.

I'm not!

By your own admission, you're being paid

to be someone's cum bucket.

What do you call that?

- Feminism.
- Bullshit!

You're saying a woman can't enjoy sex

without losing her feminist card?

I'm saying you lost your card

the moment you decided to
get abused for a few bucks.

Post-millennial feminism.

I'm still the one in control.

Exploiting your body isn't empowerment.

And just because you charge for services

doesn't make you in charge.

It does, depending on what you do.

Do you know what I love
most about being an escort?

What?

Being a dominatrix.

Take a look at this.

How many clients do you have?

I see five a day.

I'm saving for a trip.

- Where to?
- Disneyland.

Here.

How may I serve you, my queen?

Clients like him who pay to be my slave.

Drive me around, buy me
gifts, carry my shopping,

and some even became my friends.

If a man pays for your company,

he can never be your friend.

Being a domme is liberating.

The pay is good.

I don't sleep with my clients,
plus there's the added bonus

of getting to kick guys in the balls.

What if they turn violent?

That's why I always
look through the peephole

before every appointment

to check they're not drunk
before letting them in.

Besides, I have a boyfriend.

Wait, you have a boyfriend?

Uh-huh.

And you didn't think to tell me?

Why ruin the moment?

It's the best girlfriend
experience I've done in months.

What's his name?

Does that matter?

In my shoes, it does.

Dov.

Does Dov work?

He does.

He's between jobs.

But happy to share the spoils.

He is.

Does Dov spend a lot of
time on the couch watching TV?

- Don't do that.
- What?

Insinuate I'm being used.

It's too catty for you.

I guess I'd rather be
a bitch than his ass.

This was a mistake.

Fucking Dov or fooling me?

Debating with you.

You said you're in love,

but you're just like every other guy.

Judgmental and a hypocrite.

The reason I'm with Dov is
because he's comfortable

with what I do.

And while most men can't bear the thought

of their partners cheating on them,

he's confident enough to trust me

in the choices I make.

But not smart enough to
challenge the shitty ones.

Get out of my flat!

I'm sorry for what I said.

No you're not.

If we keep going back and forth,

we're gonna end up in the same place.

Help me understand why you like this man.

I said I was with him,
not that I like him.

But your heart belongs to him.

It's an expression.

In a Hallmark card.

I'm not having this discussion with you.

Please leave.

No, no, no.

Look, I'm sorry.

You gave me a chance and I blew it.

I apologize.

You gave me another and I blew that.

Just, let's veer away from the topic

and talk about something else.

Just so you can repeat yourself.

My heart's been toyed with
one too many times already.

There are guys I refuse because
they wanna defecate on me

who make me feel less shitty
than you did just now.

Now, leave, before I have
my flatmate throw you out.

I'll go because you asked,

but let's not make talking
through a door our thing.

Trust me, I won't.

I won't give up on us!

Go away!

The man you'll send to
kick me onto the street,

is he Dov?

Yes!

I'd like to meet him.

Fuck you!

I'm guessing he protects you

in case you get harassed.

Am I right?

Every night!

Then he must
wait in the other room

in case you sound the alarm and listens.

How you can protect a guy

who lets other men abuse
his girl is beyond me?

I mean, call me old-fashioned,
but I believe monogamy

still has a place in the world.

Where is your boyfriend anyhow?

He oughtta have kicked my ass by now.

Stop it!

There's a guy I once knew, Mike Atkins.

My best friend since childhood.

And if you can support
each other through puberty,

you can help each other with anything.

Anyway, Mike has a vice.

It's his craving for meat.

And like most junkies, he
doesn't realize he's obsessed.

His family try talking him out of it,

I try to talk some sense
in, but Mike doesn't listen

until eventually, that's all he eats.

I still remember the last time I saw Mike.

We're at my place binge watching TV

when he up and tells me
he's going to Taiwan.

Why the fuck not, I say.

It's only a million miles away.

But Mike, ever the pragmatist,

decides to answer my question.

He tells me that he's met a girl

and that he's fallen in love.

He wants to relocate to spend
the rest of his life with her.

How long, I asked.

Six months, he says,

mainly online through MeetMe and MeowChat

with occasional encounters
on Second Life as well.

What the fuck I'm thinking to myself.

This is more terrifying
than an arranged marriage.

Then Mike tells me the following words,

which I'll never forget.

He says, love isn't reflected
by a person, but a symbol

measured by the sacrifices
we're willing to make

to keep it in our hearts.

At first, I didn't wanna believe him, but

when Mike tells me he's
turned vegan for her,

that's sealed the deal.

Great, I tell him.

I'm sure the cows are delighted
to hear it, but why Taiwan?

Why not bring her here?

Temptation was his response.

You tried to change my ways,
so did everyone I love,

but look at you.

You love Turkish food,
you order sirloin steak.

You're the one who takes me to meat fests.

And as long as I stay with
you, I'm never going to change.

Mike left the following day
and took his baggage with him.

He's getting married next
April with a baby on the way.

Now, I don't know Dov.

For all intents, he could
be a real-life saint,

but if staying with him means
you'll end up like this,

then the guy is as bad as gluten

and you need a detox from him.

As for me, I know we've only just met

and I know it sounds crazy
to profess my love like that,

but you're the symbol
I've been searching for.

The woman I'm willing to compromise

my principles to be with.

And I wanna spend what time I have left

trying to enrich yours

because I love you and...

Come inside.

Thank you for giving me another chance.

I didn't want my landlord involved.

Does he know what you do?

It's an unspoken rule.

Everyone on my floor are escorts.

So, what next?

You still have a few
minutes left on the clock.

What do you wanna do?

You can start by telling me your name.

I told you my name.

Your real one.

You told me it's not Veronica

and you don't look like a Kimberly,

so what is it?

Janice.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Janice.

We can sit here and talk if you'd like.

Talking is what got me into this mess.

I think I'll be wise and
hold my tongue for a bit.

What do you wanna do?

It's up to you.

It's usually the
clients who make demands.

That's kinda how escorting works.

But let's see what happens
if we change the rules.

We can listen to music if you'd like.

I've got Bluetooth on my stereo.

Why don't you sync your phone
so you can play me a track?

Why not one of yours?

I know my taste, I'm
curious to see yours.

What sort of music do you like?

Choose something we can dance to.

Dancing is my kryptonite.

You have two left feet?

More like no feet at all.

It's fine.

Pick a song you know the
lyrics to and follow my lead.

The beat will do the rest.

Do you wanna see the other room?

Eric,

now that you remember
what I do for a living,

what do you think of me?

I feel sorry for you.

Sit down.

This is where the lady becomes a whore.

Why are you telling me all this?

Because it's what clients wanna hear.

I don't.

Do you remember your first time?

I told you, there's never been a first.

I mean, your first time with an escort.

Whether it'd be a lingam
massage or full-blown sex.

Everyone remembers their first
and it's always about loss.

It's part of growing up.

But not on your terms.

Can I tell you what my
first time was like?

Please.

Like a Russian doll.

Layers unveiled until your
inner child is exposed

for strangers to touch.

Then why did you do it?

The money.

It's always the money.

You could've done
anything else in the world.

You didn't have to take this path.

There wasn't any other path to take.

Here's a story.

Tell me if you've heard it before.

A country girl moves to
the city to make it big.

Unable to break into the music industry,

she becomes a bartender to make ends meet.

But property prices move up
and the landlords get greedy

and soon, the young girl
is priced out of the city.

Only she doesn't leave.

Her brother looks up to
her and her father is sick

and she's the only chance they
have of keeping their home.

So she goes back to work,
taking two jobs to pay for rent

and using vouchers and food
stamps to keep costs low.

But the saving she's made

is outweighed by the rises in price.

And three months later,
she's back where she was.

Now, this young girl has a flatmate

who never leaves her room
and every week, seems to have

a new pair of Louboutin shoes.

And on the eve of her eviction,

she decides to ask for advice.

Become an escort, her flatmate says.

Suck and fuck for bucks.

And at first, the girl
is morally outraged,

but three hours and two whiskeys later

and she's set up a profile on Adult Work

and is awaiting her first client.

Hey,

you don't have to tell me the
rest if you don't want to.

But I do.

His name was Mr. Singh,

though his driving license read otherwise.

50, bald, sweating like a
pregnant nun with a face for radio

and a voice for silent film.

There was no talk, no
chemistry, just business

as he sat on my couch and pulled
out his tiny, bulbous penis

from a pair of crust-infested undies,

the most revolting I'll ever see.

And then told me to suck.

Giving oral to that bean
while his flabby stomach

rubbed against my head

was the most sickening
experience I'd ever felt.

Until moments later when
he violated me with it.

By the end of the night, I was
curled up in a ball, crying.

Wanting to Skype my mother

and beg to come home, but I didn't.

And the next day, I did it again and again

until I numbed to it.

My pain stopped mattering anymore.

Money has a way of doing that to people.

You know something's
gone wrong with your life

when the movie that best
describes it is fuckin' showgirls.

What does your family think you do?

That I'm a waitress who makes good tips.

Don't you lie to yours?

Why would I?

To account for all the
times you're being milked

by Romanian girls.

Not really.

They don't care at this point.

Do you mind if we let some light in?

I kinda feel like I'm
drowning in the '80s.

That's a bad thing?

It is if you're black and
living in South Africa.

Or if you're black living in America.

Or if you're black.

I didn't think we could make jokes

about the Apartheid just yet.

We can't, but it's a
representation of the '80s

like Dry Ice or Gleaming the Cube.

I like Dry Ice.

But in small doses,

otherwise, you risk being
in a scene from Flash dance.

I like Flash dance.

Who doesn't?

But if we're comparing '80s dance flicks,

then Footloose takes the cake.

At risk of running this
conversation on dead,

didn't the Berlin Wall
come down in the '80s?

'89 and Empire Strikes
Back came out in 1980,

so two tail ends of the decade, yeah.

Then it's not all bad.

Two success stories in
a brain fart of a decade

hardly constitutes as
a cultural renaissance.

But it did give us
Schwarzenegger and Stallone

and that makes the '80s a glorious gem.

I can agree with that.

We're running out of time.

And you're nowhere
nearer than when you began.

I asked too many questions
and made a fool of myself,

so for now, I'll just like to listen.

Good.

I have a question of my own.

Shoot.

You're dying, aren't you?

That's why we stayed apart.

My last
client had a cream fetish.

It's some lotion.

I don't care
if it's cream or cum.

You shouldn't degrade
yourself in that way.

You're better than this.

You left your coat.

I'm going to the bathroom.

What's AZT?

What?

I ask what you say it is.

What's AZT?

Azidothymidine.

I know, I can read the label.

What is it?

If you've got the vial,
you must've Googled the word,

you know exactly what it does.

Please, just tell me.

It's a drug.

What for?

To treat disease.

What kind of disease?

I'm HIV positive.

Can I come in?

I'll be out in a sec.

I'm sorry about what I said.

No, you were right to get angry.

What, you have AIDS?

I don't have AIDS, I'm HIV positive.

There's a difference.

There's a virus
swimming around your body

that gives people AIDS.

Ergo, you have fucking AIDS!

I'm sorry.

How'd you catch it?

I thought you were a virgin.

You don't need to have
sex to get infected.

Are you gay?

No!

And linking homosexuality
to HIV is a misconception.

You ought to know better.

Well, fuck you and your disappointment

and you had no right to keep this from me.

But we weren't gonna have sex.

I wasn't even gonna let you kiss me.

You should've told me.

But why?

You took my prescription.

You knew what I had.

Why get angry now?

Because I needed to be wrong.

Fuck!

I have no more words to say.

Janice, wait!

Janice!

Still, I shouldn't have
confronted you like that.

I insulted you in your home.

You have every right to feel offended.

Why are you being so
nice about all of this?

And why pick me?

You know why,

and it's my job to convince
you to ignore the why not.

As for picking you over someone else,

let's just call it serendipitous fate.

This isn't the kind of conversation

we should have through a door.

I don't know if what you're
doing is a joyride or a crusade,

but you need to stop, Eric.

You need serious mental help.

I have reasons for my actions.

What are they?

I'm just trying to
save your life, Rachel.

What did you just say?

Janice, Kimberly, Veronica, Rachel.

They're all aliases created by you,

but only one of them is real.

You're mistaking me for someone...

Else?

Take a look at the letter on the counter.

R. Childs, Rachel Childs.

You might've changed
your name on Facebook,

but the world knows exactly who you are.

And who are you?

You know who I am, I
never lied about that.

The real question is why am I here?

You wanted me to quit.

That's my purpose.

But what's my motive?

To be pretty fucking creepy.

You have AIDs.

HIV, there's a difference, you know.

You like erotic massage.

Lingam, and that's right.

You hate the '80s.

Wrong train of thought.

And you're in love with me.

But why is that?

I don't know.

We've only just met.

First time in person, yeah,

but how can I be so sure about you?

Because you follow my Twitter?

And Pinterest and Instagram.

Let's not dwell on details.

It's the details that count.

That's how you know if
a guy is prince charming

or a complete psycho stalker.

For the sake of this exercise,

let's say I'm not Norman Bates,

what next?

You followed me on social media,

that's when you fell in love.

We market ourselves on social media.

It's not your brand I'm
interested in, it's you.

Why can't you just tell me?

Because if I tell you, I
would have failed in my goal.

You're so close to the end, Rachel,

you just need to connect the dots.

You had the disease before you met me.

Before you found me on Twitter,

so you knew we could never be together,

not physically at least.

Right path, wrong logic.

You're so close.

If your feelings grew organically,

someone must've told you about me.

Like Kyle Reese in The Terminator,

I didn't have to meet
you to know how I'd feel.

My mother sent you.

Come home, Rachel.

How did she know?

You've engaged with enough
clients in your office

for word to spread.

Go back to her.

See your family again.

Rachel, everybody has a past,

but it's the future that's yours to shape.

May I?

Do you wanna know how I got involved?

Eating pussy.

Like I said, I'm a virgin,
but I've been abound.

My tongue has been in
and out of so many holes

it practically needs a condom of its own.

Please stop, you're not helping.

I'm serious!

Rachel, I'm a cliche

and evidently, a karmic joke.

But I'm here now to make sure
others don't follow suit.

Getting AIDs through carpet munching.

It's a niche market.

Making a vlog won't work.

And if you warn people about
the dangers of disease,

just gets met with a passive shrug.

If you wanna make a difference,

you have to hit people
with a sledgehammer,

then you'll have a platform to talk.

When Grindr and Tinder made
easy sex the cultural norm,

what chance did I have to change anything?

But then I thought of something.

You don't ask a vegan to convince somebody

to stop eating meat.

Not with education anyway.

They'll berate them with
words, pseudo-philosophy

and show them images of cruelty,

and the most you can hope for

is self-loathing when they eat.

If you wanna persuade
someone to stop eating meat,

get them a cow.

Watch them nurture him, feed him,

raise him like one of their own.

And when the cow comes of age,

you slaughter him right in front of them.

That'll have them convinced.

You make them fall in love.

That's what happened with Mike Atkins

and that's what can
happen with others too.

So I took a shot and visited escorts,

only this time, I didn't
declare what I had.

I let them draw their own conclusions

to see what could happen
to someone they liked

and how close they'd come to
market themselves to death.

Did it work?

Yeah,

but it's different with you

'cause I genuinely love you this time.

Rachel, your mother saw
one of my YouTube videos

and got in touch.

She told me about your plight.

The more I learned about you,

the more I fell for what you represent.

What do I represent?

Purity in chaos.

The reason you think
you're in love with me

is 'cause you're attracted to pain.

Your parents, my parents,

you're saying they never fell in love?

They made the mistake
of believing, fucking,

and making love to be mutually exclusive

when the only difference is the tempo.

You really think that?

I told you,

the only difference is a technical one.

Now, can I ask you something?

Anything.

Why are you a virgin?

I wanted to give meaning to
an action where there is none.

There's plenty of meaning
to popping your cherry.

For a woman maybe.

For a guy playing Pattycake
or Flog the Bishop's,

all the same.

So I needed to distinguish between

when I actually fell in love.

Not that it's gonna happen now.

I didn't put you down
for the religious type.

I'm not, I just like the concept.

Now, you're willing to lose
your glass slipper to me?

Yes,

but it's a love I'd never
be able to consummate.

Should it matter?

No, but I'd like to know what it felt

like just once.

Try sticking your
dick in jelly and cream.

I don't think wanting to
be celibate's your problem,

otherwise the Jonas Brothers
would be guilty as well.

What I really wanna know

is why you like escorts so much?

Sorry, I'm still stuck

on the jelly and creams part.

Your addiction to escorts
fits a void in your life

which having a girlfriend
won't accomplish.

Don't bother trying to psychoanalyze me.

This session is about you.

No, it's about your
inability to have sex

because you still believe in fairytales.

Please, don't shut me out.

I'm not.

You're gonna walk out of here yourself

when you come to terms with
the reality of your plight.

You're a failure.

You're a person trying
to seek human connection

in an industry where there is none.

Mistaking lust for love
and foreplay for intimacy,

which is strange because
we're a nation built on sex.

In our ads, in our
mags, in the way we walk

and the way we talk.

And I don't blame you for who you are.

You're like this because
you were raised that way,

and I don't mean by your parents.

We're a nation confused,

sending clients like
you to escorts like me

because your sex-ed was learned in porn.

Your CNN is Playboy,
your Reddit is Bang Bus,

and your role model is Sasha Grey.

If life is about sex
and sex is about power,

then being an escort is
the relinquishment of it

and being a virgin means never having it

and that's why we'll never make it out.

Time's up.

I thought you weren't a clock-watcher.

I lied.

Can I say one thing?

No.

What?

I had another friend
besides Mike, Chrissy Hart.

Which wasn't a stage name,
but her Christian one.

Although, she did end up doing porn.

Chrissy was raised Catholic
and she's the religious type.

Went to communion on the
Sunday, took part in the choir.

She would even take offense
if people made jokes

about other Catholic priests.

So Chrissy goes off to college

where she mixes in with the wrong crowd.

Girls telling her way she can make money

without compromising her beliefs.

Financial domination, it's called,

where you text a guy
orders and get pampered

without having to lift a finger.

You're probably familiar
with that already.

But her friends are
making more money than her

and she soon finds out why.

They're selling their undies.

The more soiled, the
better for guys to sniff.

She sees no harm in it, so joins the team.

The first compromise is made.

Then she sees there's money to be made

selling pictures of yourself.

And if God created her body,

who is she to deny the
world of her beauty?

The second compromise is made.

Chrissy soon webcamming in her dorm room,

strutting her stuff for easy cash

till a fellow student reports her

and she gets kicked out of college.

Not before being offered to do porn

and she's gone this far.

So why not accept

compromise number three?

Now, porn is a tough act to break into

as ironic as that might sound.

A few people make it, but
most quickly leave, and

Chrissy wasn't one of
those who succeeded in it.

After few high profile gigs, she,

she ends up falling into fetish sites,

where she's slapped and
abused for guys to enjoy.

So she decides to come home,

but her parents have disowned her.

Her friends want nothing to do
with her, and I take her in.

I know nothing more than pity.

Chrissy tries to rebuild her life

volunteering at a homeless shelter and

over the next few weeks,

it looks like she's getting
things back on track.

But it just wasn't meant to be.

The woman I knew isn't
the same who came home.

She was so screwed up from her experiences

that the only thing
she understood was sex.

As I later found out, she
was escorting on the side.

She caught the disease
of one of her clients

and six months later, she died.

That's about the same time I
started seeing escorts myself.

I thought I'd be stronger than her,

I'd be smarter, I'd be safe.

I thought I'd meet someone like her, but,

well, you know the rest.

I guess what I'm trying to say is

life is a series of
compromises and chances.

The less you make of the former,

the more you can make of the latter.

Don't be Chrissy Hart, Rachel.

You're better than her

because you're better than me.

Wait!

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