I suppose it’s time I wrote about Mr. Ferrari.  Mr. Ferrari is the Tgirl Admirer/Chaser/Lover who would be universally hated by all the rest.  He is the one who ruins the game for every other chaser.  When Mr. Ferrari calls, my heart skips a beat.  For Mr. Ferrari is the epitome of straight male success:  he’s filthy rich.

I met Mr. Ferrari about a month after I first became Cassandra.  Yes, he was one of the very early ones.  Back when I still posted on the casual encounters section of CL.  Back when I used to ask them to buy me either a “dress” or “dinner” for our dates.

Mr. Ferrari said sure when I asked if he could buy me a dress.  He asked , how about I buy you two? 

By the time we were done with our first date, Mr. Ferrari gave me money to buy four dresses.  He also left with me the rest of the cocaine he brought.  Mr. Ferrari said, wow, I feel like I won the lottery tonight when you opened the door.

Mr. Ferrari sure knows how to flatter a girl.  I don’t know if it’s because he has so much money that gives him such an effortless sincerity or if it’s his ability to fake sincerity that got him so much money in the first place.  It’s a dangerous combination.  I keep thinking he looks like a cross between Robert Redford and David Carradine but perhaps he looks nothing like them.  I know I see him through rose tinted lenses.  Wealth, not just merely wealthy like a senior partner at a prestigious law firm but the kind of wealthy that hires the law firm, is intoxicating to be around. 

I remember watching him as he tried to park his Ferrari in front of my apartment.  He had plenty of space.  But he could not parallel park to save his life.  When I saw him give up in frustration after the umpteenth time I thought that was the end of my date and the money for two new dresses. 

Little did I know he couldn’t park because HE WAS SO FUCKED UP ON COCAINE.  And that was the gist of all our dates: cocaine, cocaine, cocaine.  Mr. Ferrari may be a cliché of sorts – the recent divorcee going through a midlife crisis.  But whereas other men react to their existence by sleeping with their secretaries Mr. Ferrari sold his technology company, bought a Ferrari, plays golf all day, and discovered his inner lust for Tgirls (which he satiates nightly).

Not a bad midlife crisis if you ask me.  If you must go through this stage in life I’d say this is the right way to go about it. 

We’ve had some interesting conversations while very coked up.  I remember one time I was telling him about my failed taqueria.  Mr. Ferrari said why don’t we start a restaurant together, Cassandra.  He asked me to come up with some numbers.  Just like that.  That’s what it’s like for rich people: they can do whatever they want.

The only thing nicer than being a really wealthy tranny chaser is to be the tranny being chased, don’t you think?  

You know, the cute young ones never have any money.  And the 30’s to mid 40’s are saving up for something special.  A house?  A new toy?  I don’t know – maybe they still don’t have any money.  But the 50’s and up… that’s when the right ones surface. 

I see why smart, successful women prefer older men.  It’s hard to bet on someone who’s young – unless the woman betting is young and naïve as well.  If you’ve gained any wisdom from experience, you know that talk is just talk.  Dreams are just dreams.  Guys with “potential” are a crapshoot, really. 

Nothing beats reality like the cold refreshing taste of success.

I had some of my most glamorous nights as Cassandra with Donnie.  It was everything I expected of being a prostitute.  I feel a story arc coming up. 

Stay tuned.

Tags: intro