Summer Vacation

Well, it's official. I'll be heading to Vancouver this Thursday, staying until next Tuesday. Even with the Canadian dollar doing so well in the currency markets, I'm still excited. I've never been to the Pacific Northwest before (although during middle school, I became fascinated with the area due to watching The Real World: Seattle), but it looks like a beautiful slice of country.

I'm hoping to eat some good Chinese food, check out some of the museums, and because Rebecca is joining me, check out the shops in Yale Town, one of the city's trendiest neighborhoods. While she enjoys clothing, I'm more into music and books. After reading up on the area online, I'm sure we'll be in for a good time.

Rebecca, in all her wisdom, even suggested visiting a strip club. We did this before while dating -- although in Miami, the topless women on South Beach are often better looking than the ones you'd find in a club. Canadian strip clubs -- especially those in Montreal -- are almost legendary. Let's just say the acts can be more explicit than what you'd find in the states, which delights men the world over.

Should Rebecca have too much to drink and end up on the pole herself, she owes me twenty dollars. A silly bet, for sure, but one that I stand to profit from if our past is any indication. And while she's definitely an exhibitionist, I pity the man who tries to get too close. He may very well get a Jimmy Choo heel in his groin.

Until then, I have a two-hour booking with a client tonight. It's times like these I'm grateful for entering the world of sex work, for it's given me a fine living and the ability to travel the continent.

Secret Agent Man

Sometimes, being an escort is like working for the CIA.

Well... not really. However, I do find spy novels / movies / television to be very entertaining. I've been watching the first season of the ABC series Alias on DVD. Starring Jennifer Garner, it's about a woman who thinks she's working for the CIA, only to discover she's been working for a terrorist agency that is bent on world domination.

Garner's character -- Sidney Bristow -- then goes to work for the real CIA, all the while keeping her position in the terrorist organization known as SD-6. Acting as a double agent on the CIA's behalf, she's working to take down SD-6 and avenge her late fiance's death (when she told him about her career, SD-6 had him killed).

Bristow and I have a few things in common -- late nights, spontaneous phone calls and ever-changing locations. Several times a month I'll get a call from my agent saying she needs me at such-and-such location for a last-minute booking. Nine times out of ten, I accept the offer and earn my fee. All of this involves acting quickly, hailing a cab for what's often a one-hour meeting, only to return home.

So while I'm not dodging gunfire or saving the world from SD-6 (who, in the third episode, came dangerously close to obtaining a nuclear weapon), I can relate to Sidney's double life. Lying to friends isn't easy, nor is having to make up a multitude of excuses every time something strange happens. For me, it's having a lot of "meetings" related to "work" during the night.

It never surprises me just how little people ask, though. Most of the time, they just accept whatever lies they hear and move on. Perhaps they know something is a miss, perhaps not. My theory is that with life being as difficult and hectic as it is, many people just don't have the time to question and / or investigate the lives of others.

Lunch

Is there anything more innocent than a lunch date?

Though I normally prefer evening affairs, work can get in the way. Keeping that in mind, the girl I've been seeing offered to meet up in the afternoon. Not that I told her about my job -- far from it. She had a family gathering to attend, eliminating the possibility of a dinner / movie.

"Besides," she said, "meeting my family is a torture I don't want to subject you to. Well, at least not yet."

"I'm sure they're not that bad. Everyone thinks they come from a family full of circus performers."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I have an uncle that was actually in the circus."

She went on to tell the story, how her father's brother was always an amazing gymnast and always threatened to walk out and join the circus. One day, he did just that, and traveled with a crew for years and years. He's retired now, but still has a lot of memorabilia around his home.

"So you see, my family really is a bit different."

Continuing on with our meal, we spent most of the time rehashing our pasts, from high school traumas to our more pleasant time at college. When I said that college is God's way of apologizing for high school, she laughed -- loudly. Nothing like having a restaurant full of people staring at one's table.

We kissed before parting ways, just as another round of thunderstorms made its way into town. Nothing makes me hornier than rain, so I couldn't help but be a little disappointed that we didn't end up in a more intimate situation. Still, I can't wait -- it's not like I don't have a lot of sex in my life, but sometimes it's nice to have it without being paid.

You see, "Julian" is a creation that I use for work. Who I really am, well, that's another man entirely. And while "Julian" is quite happy, sometimes the real me needs some validation, too.

Every Man's Fear

Bailey recently returned from a family vacation with his parents and new girlfriend. He stopped by my place to catch on and borrow a few DVDs of mine, and had a somewhat alarming tale to share. Well, alarming for him. Whores like me, well, we're not so easy to surprise.

"I need to ask you something," he said, in a soft, almost nervous tone. "Have you ever... I mean, have you ever let a girl...?"

I honestly had no idea what he was getting at. I let him continue stuttering over his words before I started throwing things out there. What was he so fazed over? Did the new girl want to try some BDSM? Piss on him? Meet her own dysfunctional family?

"She wanted to use a vibrator -- on me."

Oh, dear. Anal penetration is a -- pardon the pun -- sensitive issue for many guys. Plenty don't even enjoy anal, given its (at times) messy nature and need for plenty of lubricant and patience. But to be penetrated themselves... that's an area many a man will not venture into.

"Can't say that I've ever been penetrated," I said. Once again, I spoke of Rebecca, of how she once used a vibrator to massage my balls. It was a tickling, arousing experience, one that I wouldn't mind repeating. Bailey, I take it, was a bit more hesitant about the entire ordeal.

"I told her no way," he continued. "She seemed disappointed, and we didn't have sex after that. Just rolled over and went to sleep."

"And this is the same girl who wanted to see us make out, correct?"

Bailey nodded. "Is it normal for women to have these guy-guy fantasies?"

"Some of them do. Seems it's rooted in the idea to see a man relinquish control. That, or experience something that puts them in the hot seat for a change."

After Bailey left, I spoke on the phone with Adam, rehashing the tale as he laughed out loud. It seemed all sympathy was lost on him, as the idea of a straight guy taking it in the ass was something he approved of. After calling him a perverted sodomite (something he seemed quite proud of), I told him I needed to get going.

"Work?" he said.

"You got it. Whoever would have thought that my life in escorting would be tamer than Bailey's adventures in dating."

Like a Virgin

Wow. I mean, just... wow.

Last night at work, I had a two-hour booking. Such bookings are nice, seeing how I don't have to shuttle from place to place, often barely arriving in time. The client was young -- far younger than I normally see. Hell, I'd say she was two or three years younger than I am, putting her in her early twenties.

Her apartment was nice but nothing extraordinary. Simply put, she wasn't the wealthy baby boomer I was used to being with. Still, she handed me the white envelope, complete with my pay. After offering me a drink, we settled onto the sofa, where she began stroking her hand against my cheek.

"Are you ready, then?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, I think so..." Her tone was quiet, almost nervous as she led me into the bedroom. It was a young, feminine space -- pink sheets and white walls along with a stray Hello Kitty stuffed animal.

Instantly, I began to panic. Thinking she was underage, I asked for some ID. A driver's license, or a student ID from whatever college she attended. Red-faced, the client agreed, adding that she knew she looked young.

"I just... didn't want to be alone," she said. "After looking online, I saw that there are certain people who are... available, for this kind of thing."

I verified her ID then handed it back to her. Seeing how she lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment, it wasn't like she was some teenager out to have some fun. As I took off my clothes, she sat on the foot of the bed, just staring. Taking her right hand, I kissed it then let her graze my chest and abdomen.

After undressing her, I crawled into bed and began getting to work. Somehow, I instinctively knew to go slow -- that anything fast and hard wouldn't please her. Once the condom was on and I entered her, I had to take even more care to take things nice and slow.

It was then I realized she was a virgin.

I can't really explain it, but I just knew. Something about her body language, her closed eyes and frequent gasps. This isn't a case of me being some sort of sex god -- it's a case of her having sex for the first time, feeling a man inside of her. And while I think she had an orgasm, I did not.

Lots of guys might think sleeping with a virgin is a badge of honor, but as I've said before, I'm not most guys. After dressing and catching my cab downstairs, I couldn't help but think of what she thought of the whole experience. With rain gently pelting the against the car window, I leaned back into the leather seats and wonder if I'd done her justice.

Would she remember me for the rest of her life? Would the experience be thought of as a good one, or a bad one? Why on earth did she need a gigolo in the first place? True, she wasn't a knock out, but she wasn't homely, either. Surely she could have found a guy to do the deed without paying me.

Even if she doesn't remember me, I'll remember her. For while I never sough out to de-flower a virgin, being with one was truly a memorable experience. In a way, I almost feel protective over her -- strange, I know, considering all the other women in my life are strong characters, in no need of my protection.

And as the weekend begins, I'll be seeing my usual stable of clients. None of which, I suspect, will be virgins.

What it Means to be a Minority

So, it's no secret that men make up a small number of the sex workers in America. A vast majority are women -- some as young as eighteen, others much older and in dire need of a new career. Being a man in escorting is like being a man in nursing, public relations, elementary education, basically any female-dominated field.

In addition, I feel that I'm also a minority within a minority, as most male sex workers service other men. Not to mention, I'm also much younger than the male escorts that do in fact serve women. While the average range of a straight male escort is lowering, a majority of them are actually in their mid-thirties.

This seems to be a sweet spot for women. Old enough so that he knows what he's doing, young enough to banish the memories of their fifty-something husbands. Around six months ago, I had a client tell me that she expected someone older -- to the point where I was worried she might refuse my services (of course, I would still get half of my fee, as stipulated from my agent).

Though we still had sex that night, the experience made me ponder two things: Just how long I could stay in this career if I wanted to -- seeing how I'm in my twenties -- and when would be the appropriate time to stop.

There's nothing sadder than yesterday's whore. Eventually, my expiration date will surface, and then it will be time for new ventures. Most of the women I've spoken with in this business rarely stay longer than few years. It seems that escorting is a quick way to make good money, until something more fulfilling or "traditional" comes along.

For some, that's a nine-to-five job where one moans about the boss and their lack of pay. For others, it's starting a business that allows them to continue growing their entrepreneurial spirit. And yes, a few of the girls just marry rich men and pretend that their careers in escorting never happened. Dishonest? Certainly. But also quite understandable.

For now, I'm comfortable with my unique position, as well as sharing my experiences anonymously over the web. As for sharing my occupation with others, well, that's a bit more complicated. Hell, not even my parents or some of my good friends know what I do at night. But as I watch the way they look at me, pride in their eyes and happiness in their voices, I know it's for the greater good.

Sperm Donation

Honestly, sometimes I don't know what to think.

The question of donating sperm to a (hopeful) mother came from a client, no less. She theorized that seeing how I have sex for a living, I would be willing to aid in the reproductive process. Now, let me add that she wasn't requesting any of my sperm, but had a girlfriend that was recently inseminated via IVF with a sperm donor.

Should a woman ever request my sperm, the client asked, would I be willing to give it?

"I never really thought about it," I replied. I slipped on my underwear, suddenly feeling naked and almost vulnerable as her questioning continued. "I don't think I would ever donate to a clinic, if that's what you mean. But if a friend asked..."

"So you would want to know the woman, then?"

"Yeah, I think so. Not to say the people who use reproductive clinics are somehow unworthy. But if I was going to contribute to a child being brought into the world, I'd want to know the mother was decent."

The client then explained that her girlfriend had, in fact, approached a male friend for a donation. He refused, which unfortunately strained the friendship. It seemed he was worried over somehow being liable for money in the future, or even being left custody of the child should something ever happen to her.

"So he wanted peace of mind that his friend couldn't provide," I said. "I understand that, actually. Children have a tendency to freak men out."

The client nodded, adding that she just wanted my opinion. She tried asking men she knew -- including her own husband -- but none had provided a concrete answer. It seems sexual discussions (even ones that focus on reproduction rather than relationships) make men clam up.

"That's what my female friends always say. Obviously I don't have the same hang ups about sex. I don't think I could, given my occupation."

After a chuckle from the client, I was off into the night. First sex, then a bit of questioning, followed by the obligatory cab ride home. All in all, a fairly good night.

Freudian Questions

As mentioned on Twitter, I've been receiving some interesting e-mails lately. Some have just been "read the blog, it's cool" to slightly more graphic correspondences. Just as an aside, potential clients go through my agent, not this blog, Twitter, or my e-mail address. Simply put, I'm not about to accept a request for sex online, therefore revealing my identity.

Escorting thrives on anonymity. Never forget that.

Moving on. One of the e-mails had to have been written by a college student studying psychology. In this e-mail, the young woman asked me if I felt my career in escorting was somehow related back to Catherine. Meaning, did my failed relationship with her somehow provoke me into having sex for a living -- often with older women, many of whom are married.

Um, not quite. Catherine was / is wonderful, don't get me wrong. But to say that our relationship and subsequent breakup is responsible for my career choice is stretching it. If anything, one can point to Rebecca as the primary influence, as it was her offer to have sex in front of that doctor in Coral Gables that introduced me to sex work directly. Before that, being paid for sex was rather abstract -- something I knew in theory rather than by practice.

That being said, if anyone is "responsible" for me choosing to be an escort, it's me. I was the one who enjoyed the money. I was the one who met with Rebecca's agent and accepted her offer for representation. And presently, I am the one who has no real interest in looking for another job. One day, maybe, but not now.

So there it is. Rather opportunistic, perhaps even cold or detached, but that's really how I feel. This past weekend (when I had the rare Saturday night off) reminded me that I much prefer not being one of the masses. If only these people knew how pleasant it is to go out during weeknights.

Keep the questions, coming though. E-mail address is JulianKaye@hushmail.com

What does a Gigolo Want?

Much of the attention these days seems focused on what women look for in a man. That's understandable, given the fact that women seem to have a harder time finding (suitable) men to date. Men, on the other hand, will usually be satisfied with having sex peppered with the occasional movie.

So, what do men want? More specifically, what do I look for in a mate?

That's a difficult question to answer. Physical attributes are fairly typical. Like many men, I like breasts. Not too big, but a full C-cup will definitely catch my eye. And asses? Again, big not too big. That's a vague declaration, I know, but guys will know what I'm talking about.

Hair and eye color are far less important, as is race/ethnicity. In fact, race / ethnicity is hardly important at all -- I'll gladly date anyone from any ethnic group.

When it comes to personality, I tend to get a bit more specific. More than anything, I don't like a doormat of a woman. Dare I say I even prefer a more "dominant" personality, or at least one who is comfortable wearing the pants from time to time. If she wants to pick the restaurant we're eating at, fine. Does she have an idea for a weekend vacation? I'm cool with that.

Education seems to be a common denominator as well, given that the more educated a woman is, the more confident she is in her behavior. I've also noticed that women from certain fields -- law, PR, advertising, etc. -- tend to appeal to me. I even dated a woman involved with law enforcement (pre-escorting, of course) who had a slew of interesting stories to tell.

Above all, I need a woman who's going to keep me interested. And then, there's sex.

Sorry to say, I can't deal with prudes. Girls who have hang-ups about oral sex or doggie-style sex are not my deal. Given the nature of my job, liberal sexual politics are a must-have. By that I mean the use of sex toys, light BDSM, even the use of softcore (and preferably European) pornography can't be a problem.

Given the description I've just written, the only woman who seems to embody them all is Rebecca. But seeing how that ship has sailed, it's time to find someone else. The girl I've been seeing lately is promising, but I still fear how she'll react if and when I tell her about my job.

Only time will tell. But for now, I need to make sure the other women in my life are cared for, too. By that I mean my clients, whom I'm required to fawn over whether I find them attractive or not.

High School Years: Part Deux

After work tonight, I saw a group of high school kids out on the street. They only looked slightly inebriated -- more of a gentle buzz -- as they exited the house where I assume the party was held at. I only saw them for a brief second as the cab drove along the street, but it was enough to make me think back to my own adolescence.

If I'd known in high school that I was going to earn a living as a prostitute, I very well may have dropped out. A grave mistake, surely, as a high school diploma is needed for college admissions. As I've said before, my college education is in fact an asset in my escorting career, because my clients are looking for something more than a tiger in bed.

Was I a Lothario in high school? Far from it. I'd been stood up on dates, if not flat-out rejected. While such traumas certainly stung, I can't say I was too disappointed. Simply put, girls my own age didn't interest me all that much. They always struck me as vain, insecure, demanding, incapable of acting as their own person instead of following the herd.

It wasn't until after high school that I had my first serious relationship -- with a married woman, no less. Catherine was lovely, and I still think about her sometimes. While most of my male peers were trying to bed slutty sorority sisters (and yes, I know that every girl in a sorority isn't a slut, which is why I'm referring to the "slutty" variety instead of the more mainstream kind), I was in bed with an older woman.

Rather prescient, don't you think?

As the cab continued through the nighttime streets, I wondered what those kids were up to. Were they just happy to be out of school? Wishing they could be up north where the temperatures are cooler? Nervous and anxious about the college admissions race, which seems to get tighter and more cutthroat each year? Whoever said high school was the best time of one's life must have had a very, very miserable existence.

Furthermore, how does one go about explaining my kind of vocation to a teenager? Doesn't selling sex go against everything they've been taught about what is proper and respectable in the world? Oh, but they'll soon discover that the world isn't nearly as black and white as it appears. In fact, I think that most of them already realize that. Take academic honesty, for example.

In simple terms, cheating is wrong -- but then again, what's a plagiarized paper here and there? Especially for a course they have no interest in pursuing in the future? The same goes for glancing at a neighbor's paper during an exam, or faking ADD / ADHD in order to get both medication and additional time for said exams.

Perhaps I'd tell them that selling sex -- at least in certain circumstances -- isn't so bad. Like I've mentioned before, it's a very practical career choice in some ways, one that pays well and leaves me with a lot of free time. While its illegal status is definitely a drawback, I'd say it's much less draining than other jobs. I'm rarely with a client for longer than two hours, and I never have to deal with much competition, at least not directly.

But would I go so far as to recommend it? Of course not. If there's one thing I can say about escorting, it's that it's not a job for everyone. The juggling of two identities alone can cause psychological exhaustion, not to mention the sex. But for a few of us, scattered in every major city in the United States, it's what pays the bills.

Twitter

In the interest of expanding this blog, I've signed up for an account over at Twitter.

Hopefully it will allow me to share my story with a broader audience. But for now, it's time to shower, shave and get dressed for an evening of work. I'll probably blog late tonight once I get back.

Until then...

NYC Prep

I don't know what it is about this show, but I'm certifiably obsessed.

For those that don't know, NYC Prep is a "reality" show that documents the lives of wealthy Manhattan teens. Though the producers claim the kids are Upper East Side (UES) residents, a little internet homework shows that isn't true. Some kids live on the Upper West Side (UWS) while others live on -- gasp! -- Long Island.

After watching the premiere, I've been hooked each and every week, making sure to be in front of my TV each Tuesday night at 9 p.m. on Bravo. From homoerotic adventures in Cancun, Mexico, to this week's episode involving a dinner party gone awry, the "reality" show has made for compelling viewing.

The two characters that strike me as the most interesting are Peter "PC" Peterson, and Camille Hughes. For one, Camille one of few kids that actually goes to a prestigious prep school on the UES. Secondly, she speaks well, appears to have ambition (even if it is limited to getting accepted to Harvard or another Ivy League school), and has the occasional moment of humor.

As for PC... well, the poor boy (and I say poor in the figurative sense, as his grandfather is a self-made billionaire) is a walking cliche. His behavior at a dinner party on the July 14 episode was either the result of medication gone wrong, or a cocaine binge. Perhaps much of his discontent stems from the fact that he seems to be struggling with certain issues -- mainly his repressed homosexuality and/or bisexuality.

Before anyone gets cranky, understand that this was pointed out to be by Adam, who knows a "non-heterosexual" when he sees one. Should PC feel genuinely compelled to stay in the closet due to familial and/or society pressures, then my heart goes out to him. Sexual liberation is a wonderful thing. He should try it some time.

So while there's a lot to be envied about these kids' lives -- namely the fact that they are blessed with family money that most people are not -- it's not all ice cream and cake. While I like Camille so far, the girl has got one wicked case of academic superiority -- meaning in her eyes, anyone who isn't Ivy League-educated is somehow less than admirable.

The fact that she managed to bash two different universities while on her date was amusing, especially when she referred to them as "party schools". If anything, going to a "party school" might do her a world of good. High-achieving high schoolers such as herself are often exhausted after senior year, leading them blow off some much-needed steam when they arrive at their new school for freshman year.

If I could say anything to these kids, it's that there's a world outside the one you grew up in, and to try and invite a little spontaneity in their lives. Being born wealth is a huge blessing, enabling them to take risks and go to places that other people might not. The fact that these kids won't be burdened with the trivial expenses that weigh most people down is nothing short of incredible.

Take some time off school, kids. Go to university where you think you'll be most happy. And for Camille: be aware that high school boys are in fact stupid, and that your not being attracted to them is actually a good thing.

I have no words of advice for PC, but perhaps I'll let Adam guest blog. That could prove to be very interesting...

Law & Order SVU: Folly

Thanks to the wonderful "Watch Instantly" feature on Netflix, I've been catching up with some old episodes of Law & Order Special Victims Unit, one of my favorite shows. Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay are outstanding in their roles, and the inventive plots, sharp writing and stellar performances from the supporting cast add to the overall quality of the program.

When browsing through the episodes available on Netflix, I noticed one episode entitled "Folly". It dealt with the serial murders of male escorts in New York City. It appeared that a gigolo would meet a woman at the hotel bar, get her room key, then meet her upstairs for sex. After the deed was done, however, this poor guy would end up dead -- usually from blunt-force trauma to the head.

I won't give away any more plot details, but needless to say the episode was a bit chilling. I'll admit I rarely think about physical violence while working; seeing how most of my clients are half my size, it just doesn't seem realistic that any of them could overpower me. That being said, escorting isn't without its risks, which is why safety is always paramount.

First off, a good agent will screen all clients. Should an escort report any ill behavior, that client will most likely be dropped. Furthermore, there are boundaries that both parties -- escort and client -- must set up beforehand. As I wrote before, I don't partake in any violent sex play. For one, I'm just not aroused by it, and secondly, it would be far too easy for things to get out of hand.

I'm also suspicious of any man that wants to watch his wife have sex with another man. True, I was introduced to the business via a request for voyeurism, but that doctor wanted to watch Rebecca and I have sex with each other, not his wife. Again, plenty of escorts might not mind having sex with one partner while the other watches, but that sort of thing just seems odd to me.

There were a few unrealistic things about the episode, mainly that some of these escorts (all of whom worked with female clients) had been arrested for prostitution before, mainly from undercover sting operations. Sure, there are plenty of female escorts who get arrested this way, but usually that's because they're either street walkers or simply careless about screening potential clients.

And on a somewhat sexist note, I doubt law enforcement much cares about men who have sex with women. Now, men who have sex with men is another story. All isn't equal in the eyes of the law, and cops are known to partake in operations that are really thinly-veiled vendettas against gays. Homophobia, plan and simple -- at least that's what Adam says. Just another reason he works with women and not men.

So as the weather continues to be hot and humid here in Miami, I'm sure I'll be watching more episodes soon. While rape is certainly disturbing, watching people bring those responsible to justice makes for compelling programming.

Another Date

Once again, I had a date. With the same woman, no less. She was just as wonderful as our last meeting, perhaps even more so. Furthermore, I discovered just how beautiful South Beach can be during a Sunday night -- especially during the off-season. Getting a table at a restaurant is actually doable. Good times.

We were seated outside, cooled by the overhead fans that sprayed a frosty mist. The Atlantic roared from the storms that were churning off the coast, giving us the nice, natural background music. And when the moonlight began to bathe the scene in white shadows, it was like something out a dream.

"Do you ever just stop and realize how beautiful this place is?" she said. "I mean, I'm from Florida, but Miami isn't like the rest of Florida. Especially South Beach."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I love the north, and I still miss it, especially during the fall. But Miami is an amazing city. The traffic is hell and sometimes the people are a little rude, but..."

"Sometimes?" She grinned. "That's a nice way of putting it."

"All right, so the city's politeness quotient could use a little improving. But hey, at least their honest. There's only so many ways to interpret a middle finger while driving."

Her laugh was great, feminine without being ditzy. After dinner, we decided to kick off our shoes and take a walk on the sand. It was pleasant enough, though I almost did step on a washed-up jellyfish. Thankfully, my date jerked me away by the arm before I got a very unpleasant sting.

"Men never watch where they're going," she added. "If it weren't for us to save you, you'd all be in the ER."

"Very true."

Feeling a tad adventurous, I lifted her into my arms as we headed back. Spinning her around a few times seemed to delight her, something I noticed with a lot of women. After walking her back to her car, we kissed again, though this time it was a longer, deeper kiss.

But before you start thinking we ended up in bed, we didn't. Perhaps if she hadn't had to go to work the next morning, we would have. Beautiful as she is, sex isn't on my mind, at least not yet. Just one of many benefits of escorting. I get all the sex I can handle -- literally. This allows me to approach non-work relationships more cautiously.

Women seems to appreciate this approach, seeing how they normally have to contend with guys who say anything to get in their pants. Being a whore, getting into a woman's pants is my profession. Getting into her mind, her heart, that takes more than a slick line and a meal at a nice restaurant.

As for tonight, Monday night... I have a booking with a client. Though honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing my date again. Dare I say, I'd actually prefer it.

Escorting, not sex.

A lot of prostitutes like to claim they're escorts, not whores. They provide "companionship" in lieu of sex, as if they're as innocent as a chaperone at a high school dance. I, on the other hand, have no problem admitting what I am -- a gigolo, a prostitute, a whore.

That being said, there are times that I am truly paid to be an escort, and not have sex with the client. Most of the time these women are professionals, in their mid-40s, and in need of a man to accompany them for an evening on the town. Whether it's an art gallery opening, a wedding, a show at a theatre, etc.

It's funny -- most men would look at going to one of these events as a way to pick up women (or should I say girls, considering most of these rich men date women young enough to be their daughters?), but women are often embarrassed over being single. That might sound like a gender stereotype, but trust me, it's also true.

I've made thousands being a woman's arm candy for the evening, and these gigs are often some of the best paying ones. Sure, pocketing $200.00 for one-hour of sex is amazing, but being a woman's escort for the evening often lasts from 8:00 p.m. to midnight, meaning I can pocket a quick $800.00 for basically enjoying myself.

I'd like to think my education comes in handy as well. Being able to navigate a crowd, mingle with strangers on any number of topics doesn't come easy to many people. I try to stay vague on a few subjects -- mainly politics -- and under no circumstances would I ever bring up religion. Mainly, I just talk while drinking champagne and nibbling on hors d' oeuvres.

This past year hot topics of discussion have been the economy, Alex Rodriguez's steroids scandal, and of course the Presidential Election. Sometimes people will ask a few personal questions of me (where am I from, where did I go to school, etc.) but mostly it's just general chit-chat.

So, while sex does indeed pay the bills, sometimes I really do earn my living as an escort, not a whore. It's during my time escorting -- not whoring -- that I get to show the "real" me a bit more. Much as I love my line of work, having two identities can sometimes be a burden.

A Real Date

So, I had a date.

Not an appointment with a client -- a real, honest-to-goodness date. We met at a restaurant and then went to a movie, followed by coffee afterward. It was nice; the girl was a few years older than I am (something I prefer, actually) and was both pretty and intelligent.

She seemed envious of my work, at least from what I told her. Being freelance, she said, sounded liberating. Of course, she doesn't know I have sex for a living, but that kind of revelation isn't really meant for a first date, anyway. Eventually, though I'd have to tell her. For now, she believes I do freelance PR and graphic design.

Not a complete lie, but those projects alone don't pay my bills. Escorting does.

Would I see her again? Certainly. In fact, we have a second date planned for next week. Both of us seem to prefer going out on weeknights. Restaurants / movie theaters are much less crowded, and she also said she finds a date as a nice way to unwind after work. Her profession is a stressful one, but she seems to enjoy it from everything she said.

Like me, she's a total pop culture junkie. We talked about everything from the death of Michael Jackson to Bravo's new "reality" series NYC Prep, to which I'm completely addicted. My date was adamant that she thinks everything is staged, from the hook ups between Sebastian and Taylor, to the shopping excursions and awkward dialogue between Jesse and PC.

(If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're a much better person than I am.)

After coffee, I walked her to her car and kissed her goodnight, which is obviously a pretty chaste ending for me. Oddly enough, the relative prudishness of the night was endearing, at least to a whore like me. The fact that I didn't sleep with her -- and that I was more interested in her as a person than a client -- was a nice change of pace.

Now would my agent be happy to hear of this date? Probably not. I am one of her favorites, something she reminds me of frequently. But for right now, I'm going to see where this things go. Honestly, the only person I'm really worried about is Rebecca. For being an ex-girlfriend, she is awfully possessive.

And once she reads this entry, she'll interrogate me like a cranky CIA agent at Guantanamo Bay. I better get ready for a water-boarding now...

Democrat or Republican

Over the holiday weekend, I was trying to come up with new, interesting topics for blog posts. It wasn't until I arrived at Bayfront Park in Downtown Miami for the fireworks display that I thought of a post that many would be interested to read.

Are most of my clients Democrats or Republicans?

Truth be told, I don't know. Politics is something an escort should never, ever bring up in discussion. It doesn't take much for people to get caught up in a heated debate, and should either party offend the other, the appointment might be scrapped all together. It would be nothing for me, a liberal Democrat, to anger a female member of the GOP, and loss around $200 in pocket money, not to mention my agent's commission.

That being said, the GOP has had a real problem relating to women as of late. While I don't have any evidence to back up my thesis, I believe that most of my clients' husbands are conservative, but my clients themselves are much more moderate. This is true across the spectrum, really, as women are noted for being more liberal than men.

Rebecca has told me that she suspects a lot of her clients identify themselves as conservatives. Subsequently, most identify with the GOP, which is highly ironic. Think about it -- these "family values" folks deny gays the right to marry, oppose a woman's right to choose, yet see no problem in paying a whore to suck their cock if not outright fuck them.

Such is the mystery of the male psyche. I'd be willing to bet the contents of my checking account that most right-wing males have hired escorts in the past. Hell, David Archuleta's father (David being a young contestant on American Idol) was supposedly a straight-laced Mormon, only to be caught getting his rocks off at a massage parlor. FYI, massage parlors are gross -- the bottom of the barrel when it comes to sex-workers.

Perhaps conservatives -- feeling the need to project the image of a happy family -- marry too young to women they don't truly love. Then again, we've all see the closet homosexual types. Adam has stories about being cruised by closeted men, multiple times, in fact. Even more disturbing is that it seemed to happen most when he was barely legal.

Part of me feels bad for them (especially after Sarah Palin entered the political scene and pretty much made a mockery out of the party), but not too bad. These people need to get their heads out of their asses and realize that no one is infallible, and that claiming to be so just makes the fall from the top even more devastating.

Oh, and instead of targeting prostitutes in sting operations, how about going after their pimps instead? And for people like me and Rebecca, individuals who are working in this industry by choice and are neither beaten or coerced into doings things they don't want to do...

Live and let live. Better yet, legalize the industry and let us earn a living in peace like everyone else. It's not like politicians aren't familiar with escorts already. Judging from the events in the last year and a half, we've been chummy for quite some time.

Urban Legend

It's about time I share this story.

Like any industry, escorting has its fair share of myths and legends. From the young woman who took a booking only to see the client was her father, to the cheating husband who called an escort and discovered it was his wife/girlfriend.

Well, I once heard a story that would make any gigolo's heart run cold. It involved an ordinary night, and a seemingly ordinary client. It wasn't until this client began to disrobe that the gigolo saw that this "lady" wasn't exactly a real woman -- you know, down there.

So, is there actually a gigolo who found himself with a male-to-female transsexual? So far I've been unable to verify it, but somehow I could see this happening, especially in Miami. Many people who seek the services of a sex-worker do so out of "necessity", meaning they're unable to find suitable sex partners under their own volition.

A male-to-female transsexual who hasn't undergone gender reassignment surgery might find his/herself (what is the proper pronoun?) in that situation. But while the reasoning behind this urban legend seems plausible, I've been unable to verify a few other factors.

One report of this encounter has the gigolo freaking out and leaving. Others, unfortunately, have him beating up the client and once again running like hell. Violence is never the solution unless it's out of self defense, so that last conclusion is quite chilling.

I've discussed this story with Adam, and he told me he'd heard of it in the past as well. Interestingly enough, Adam thinks it's more likely that a client would request a transgendered escort, rather than having the client be in the midst of a gender transition.

Whatever the case, it just goes to show you that escorting is as interesting a field as any. And while I don't hope to have this tale come true (please don't take that as bigotry, but chicks with dicks just aren't my deal, mmkay?) I would be very interested in speaking with the gigolo who experienced it -- assuming such a gentleman exists.

From Whore to Pimp

Is it a coincidence that most agents in escorting were once former prostitutes themselves?

I suppose having a background in the industry would help once one wants to cross over into management. Knowing how to screen potential clients, make arrangements for transportation -- all of these things would come easier (no pun intended) for someone who's been a lady (or gentleman) of the night themselves.

Do I have any ambition to become an agent? No, not at all. While I love my agent -- really, she's a wonderful woman who's always taken care of me -- I just don't think I'd be able to send someone off to a booking.

Being able to compartmentalize is essential in this business. I can sleep at night because, the way I see it, what I do only affects myself. Sure, sleeping with other, often married women could lead to divorce. Perhaps one of my clients will decide that being married to a man who doesn't satisfy her sexually isn't worth it. Would sleeping with me help her reach that decision?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Sending someone else on a booking, however... I just don't think I'd be comfortable doing it. The whole idea of "pimping" is a bit... sleazy to me. Okay, maybe sleazy is too strong a word, but if something were to ever happen to one of my girls or boys, I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself.

Speaking of which, the only way to make any real money in this business is by having a roster of girls to send out. Once again, the idea of me, a man, sending out a bunch of girls to have sex and then taking a cut... it just doesn't gel with me.

Of course, the alternative is running a gay escorting agency, one that sends out young guys to sleep with older, wealthy, often married/closeted man. That's even worse, in my opinion. Man/man sex (at least when it's paid for) has a tendency of going sour. It's why Adam was never interested in it -- despite being gay himself.

So, please don't think that once I'm done with escorting, I plan to open my own agency. Unlike other people in this industry, I have a college degree and some freelance experience to fall back on. Of course, getting a six-figure book deal from this blog would be nice, too.

Hey, even whores have dreams.