All Good Things...

Simone and I have decided to part ways.

The threesome between us and Noah? It wasn't meant to be an adventurous romp in the bedroom -- it was an effort to revitalize the spark in our relationship. We'd been growing apart for quite some time, no matter how much I didn't want to admit it.

The cause of our separation? Simply put, we're in two different worlds: her in sex work, me in "mainstream" business. That doesn't sound like much on the surface, but I assure you it is a profound challenge. Consider the following scenarios:

Do I feel like going to a swingers' party after working 10 hours at the office? Not really.

Did she want to come to a cocktail party for my office? Not really.

The split was amicable, and fortunately we didn't live together. She'll be remaining in New York, as will I. I have nothing but fondness in my heart when I look back at the times we shared together. I opened up to her in ways i never thought I could -- and after the split with Rebecca, I was concerned that I'd never find someone special again.

Oddly enough, starting 2011 as a single man feels oddly fitting. A clean slate, romantically speaking. I don't know what the future will bring -- and I like it that way. I have goals, certainly. I have the chance to work on some great accounts at work, and I want climb the corporate ladder now that I've finally broken into the industry.

Personally, I think it might be nice to date someone who's never had a background in sex work. Of course that opens up the possibility that they'll pass judgment on me, refuse to date me, or break things off as soon as they discover my past. Scary, but possible. But if there's one thing I've learned about myself these past few years, it's this:

I'm a fighter. Life's kicked me in the balls on more than one occasion -- and hurt as it did, I eventually recovered. So whatever the Fates have planned, all I say is, "Bring it on." It's the curveballs that keep life interesting.

About Last Night

Life after the threesome has been pretty normal. I get up, take a shower, go to work -- and often stay at the office too late. Such is the life of a marketing professional, especially during the holidays when everyone is trying to fit in last-minute meetings, projects and deliverables before going on break.

Noah and I saw each other for lunch this past Friday, in fact. I typically order in, but after a particularly a morning from hell I needed to get away from my desk. So, there we were, at an Italian Bistro, chatting over a meal fit for two kings.

"At least you like the people you work with," he told me, after I vented about a project whose deadline had been moved up. "My co-workers, not so much."

"Are you out to them?" I asked.

"God, no. That would wreck my career for sure."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," he said. "In my industry, it's all about appearances in a lot of ways. One of those is being a 'family man.'" He recoiled as he said that last bit. "Funny thing is, the men with families work so damn much they never see them."

"I see." I twirled a bit of pasta on my fork, then washed it down with a glass of wine. Yes, I drank during my lunch hour. Sue me.

"And Simone?" Noah said. "How did she enjoy our... rendezvous?"

"Very much so," I said. "I wouldn't be surprised if... if she asked for another rendezvous in the future."

I watched as Noah's face lit up like a freakin' Christmas tree, before he regained his composure and attempted to play it cool. Still, he couldn't hide his enthusiasm, and let me just say that I don't think it was about Simone.

"After the holidays," he said. "We could probably work something out then -- if you were okay with it, that is."

"Given my previous career, it's not like I'm all that shy about anything."

"No," Noah said. "No, I suppose you're not."

New Horizons

Hang-ups be damned. Taboos as well. For the first time in years, I've pushed my boundaries and experienced something new -- and I'm here to tell you it was pretty amazing.

The threesome occurred at Noah's apartment, that sexy, professionally-furnished loft in Manhattan's Financial District. Simone and I arrived together, condoms and lubricant included. No handcuffs or blindfolds, but there's always round two.

After a bit of wine, we settled into kissing. Simone and I, that is. For what felt like the longest time, Noah just sat there and watched. Soon, however, he inched over, smoothed a hand across my chest before pushing me away, then kissing Simone himself.

Soon we were both kissing her, touching her, cupping her breasts and licking her neck and unbuttoning her jeans. Her clothes dropped to the ground one by one -- top, jeans and eventually her bra and panties. Noah's eyes widened at the sight of her bare breasts, though he managed a smirk when I snuck behind Simone and (gently) pinched her nipples.

"Is this amusing you?" I asked him. "We haven't even gotten to the good part."

"Just not something I'm used to seeing on a regular basis," Noah replied.

Simone cleared her throat and said, "Undress each other, please."

We obliged her wish. Part of me found this arousing, performing with another man for the sake of Simone's whimsical fancy. There we were, two love slaves for her to command, to use as she saw fit, to embrace or discard or shower with all of her sexual repertoire if she so desired.

Noah led me by the wrist, then sneaked behind me and began to unbutton my shirt. The feel of his hands was foreign to me -- large, cold, a bit rough but expertly aware of where on my chest to linger. Next came my pants, then my boxers, until I was as naked as the day I was born.

I hadn't even noticed that Noah had stripped down as well. Naked, together, we turned our attention back to Simone. In what felt like the blink of an eye we were in bed, with Noah kissing Simone's mouth while I ate her pussy. Hearing her gasps and moans and feeling her nails scrape my scalp was all the confirmation I needed to know she was enjoying herself.

Next came a shudder, then a moan, her hands seizing the sides of my head as she cried out. That was the first orgasm -- but she wanted more.

"Enough," she said. "Now, you two."

For a brief second, it really hit me: I was doing this was Noah. No more pondering or weighing the pros and cons. This was it. This was real.

He reached out and kissed me first -- my lips, my cheek my neck. His hands grazed my shoulders, fingertips intertwining with the hair on my chest. His mouth worked over my own in a persistent yet gentle manner, with just a hint of tongue pushing through my lips.

So strange to feel a man working over me. Gently, he pushed me flat on my back and then kissed down my abdomen, then finally took my cock into his mouth. And yes, the old adage is true: Gay men give great head.

He let me go right before I came. I opened my eyes to see the smirk on his face, like the cat who ate the canary. Ah yes, but there was still Simone. To make a long story short, I fucked her from behind while she sucked Noah off.

Soon enough, we all came, and collapsed into a panting and sweaty heap. I fell asleep pretty quickly, and I'm sure Noah did as well. Funny thing happened, though: Simone must have been awake, because she caught a cab back to her place. She left us a note, saying that her family was going to be in town the next morning (which was indeed true) and that she couldn't show up looking like she'd just had a three-way.

That left Noah and I, in bed, together. We woke up together. Had breakfast together. And, he even walked me down to the lobby of his building as I departed.

My apologies if this entry is a bit dry compared to my usual writing. Between work (as you know, I work for an advertising firm and we do work with several high-end consumer brands, all of whom are in the midst of the Christmas rush) and life, I haven't had much time to write this blog.

But stay tuned, everyone. Something tells me 2011 is going to be a very, very interesting year.

Confronted

"What are you really after?" Noah said to me. "Come on, tell me."

"Simone is interested in you," I said. "Well, you and I. Together."

"She thinks we're having an affair?"

"No -- she wants a threesome."

What I thought would take a fifteen-minute explanation was revealed in just four sentences. Noah seemed amused, amazed, and just a little incredulous. Simone was beautiful, he said, and most beautiful women are very territorial over their partners.

"Simone isn't actually your average woman," I reminded him. "She and I were both escorts, remember? Besides, it's not like I haven't had a threesome before."

"Really?"

"Yes," I said, and told him the time Adam and I met with a client. Noah sat back, wide-eyed and mouth open, as I recalled the details of double-penetration and the feeling of Adam's arm, leg and other body parts brushing against my own. The sweat, the moans, the veil of heat over all out bodies -- I remember it like it was yesterday.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Noah asked. "This Adam, was he--?"

"He was an acquaintance first, then a friend," I explained. "And it wasn't the worse night at work I ever had, no."

Only after a pause in the conversation did I realize where I was: Noah's apartment. It was a studio-come-loft in downtown Manhattan. Clean lines, dark cherry wood floors and exposed beams were proof enough that Noah was quite successful. No help from mommy and daddy here -- he earned this place fair and square.

"I should get going," I said, and rose from my leather chair. "Work tomorrow..."

"I'm in," Noah said.

"Sorry?"

"The threesome -- I'm in."

"I thought you were gay?"

"Most of the time," he replied, grinning like Cheshire cat. "On this occasion, I'm willing to make an exception."

He walked me to the door, then to the elevator, and ended our night with this:

"I never forgot, you know. That night, at the party. I never, ever forgot."

Before I could make my reply, the elevator doors shut. I caught a cab, slumped into the back seat, and pondered my life on the ride through the light and sound of the Manhattan night.

Sting Operations

I, for one, think that sting operations set up by police departments for the purpose of trapping prostitutes are a monumental waste of time.

Oh, but they're doing a good service, the police will claim. We're catching prostitutes! We're luring them to motels and videotaping it, and then sending said tapes to the evening news for the purpose of entertainment!

Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.

In today's day and age, there are much scarier things than prostitutes meeting a client at an off-highway motel. For instance, there are terrorists, bankers who gamble with our 401(k) savings, and even a certain (former) politician from Alaska who refuses to go away.

But no -- the prostitutes are out there, and they need to be stopped.

Pray tell, why is that the police never seem to humiliate the John who beats and rapes an underage girl? Where's his judgment day? Why is his face never plastered on the evening news? Is it because unlike the girls trapped in these sting operations, he's actually committed a crime and is deemed innocent until proven guilty?

Let's not forget: soliciting sex isn't the same as actually having sex for money. These girls didn't really get "caught" having sex for money -- only offering it to an undercover police officer. So if they haven't really done anything, why is it they're allowed to be shown on the evening news?

This is fucked up, people. I'm tired of seeing girls who obviously aren't at the high-end of the business paraded around like some sort of sideshow for the puritanical masses. And as for the cops, well, they're mostly a bunch of fat, middle-aged buffoons who wouldn't know how to solve a real crime if it grew a pair a teeth and bit them right in the ass.

How does this make the world safer? How does jailing a girl who needs the funds form prostitution improve her situation? Why does this whole scenario reek of patriarchal tyranny?

Your thoughts are welcome at JulianKaye@hushmail.com. For the record, inspiration for this post was a piece on the evening news that was, by far, the biggest piece of journalistic trash I have seen in years. The reason why the police did it is even worse: they needed the PR after a very, very big screw up the previous year.

Girls, keep your heads high -- even if you get caught. You're earning a living, paying your bills, staying off public assistance and keeping your house in order. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Don't ever forget that!

The Bedroom

For some reason, Simone isn't eager to slap me in face, even though I ask for it.

"I could leave a mark," she said. "How will you explain that at work?"

"I'll tell them that I asked my girlfriend to do it," I replied. "That will teach them to ask questions when they aren't prepared for the answer."

She laughed. Mind you, I was lying in bed, fully naked. Simone wore nothing but a pair of panties and was straddling me. After tying me wrists to the headboard, she bent down and kissed me on the mouth, her tongue flicking against my lips in a way she knew drove me crazy.

"This works too," I muttered.

She said nothing in return -- just reached down and squeezed my cock. Hard. Squeeze and release, squeeze and release, before she dragged her nails against the shaft. I let out a moan, only to have her bit my lower lip with her teeth.

She let go of my lip, then my cock. I felt almost naked without her bite, her grasp, the feeling of her breasts against my naked chest. 

"Are you sure you want me to? Because if I leave a mark..."

"Just fucking do it."

She grazed my cheek with the back of her hand before she struck me with an open hand. The impact made a soft crack. Immediately the right side of my face -- where she'd just slapped me -- warmed and tingled. No less than 10 seconds later, I could feel my lips spread into a smile.

"Again," I said.

She slapped me once more, this time against the left side of my face. Then back to the right side, and then the left.

"Happy now?" she asked.

"Very. OK, untie me."

"No."

"Still have some more punishment in mind?"

She smiled, and did in fact untie me. She rolled me over on my stomach, then went into the closet. I could hear the jingle of the belt buckle as she came back in bed, then spanked my ass until it was as red as the paint in her bedroom.

By then, I'd had enough. Once my cock was securely wrapped in a condom, we fucked on the bed, on the dresser, and ended up on the floor. And while I'm not sporting any marks on my face, her fingernails left several indentations on my back.

Simone might have fantasies about me with another man -- but my fantasies revolve around her and her exclusively. Allowing her to slap me, spank me, bite me and squeeze me, it's all rooted in trust. Only when I feel loved can I willingly ask for pain.

I'm planning another entry about this soon. Stay tuned...

Dinner

I was surprised when Noah called me. I was even more surprised when he asked me out to dinner.

"Just as friends," he added quickly. A soft chuckle followed. "I know you're taken."

We met at a restaurant close to both our workplaces and settled into a leisurely punctuated by bouts of laughter and disbelief. For you see, I finally let Noah in on what I've really been up to since graduating from university back in Florida. He didn't believe me until I pulled up Simone's old profile at our former agent's website, as well as some photos of her and I together.

"Are you shitting me?" he said. "Are you absolutely shitting me?"

"No," I said plainly. "I'm telling you the truth. No shit whatsoever."

"I would have never suspected. I would have never thought... You were so low-key back in high school. I mean, how did you even get involved in all this?"

I gave him the Cliffs Notes version. Soon, however, I got tired of talking about myself and asked him to fill me in on his life. He lost his passion for team sports during university and is glad that he finally came out to his friends and family. He had a few boyfriends in college -- nothing serious, though he and an older guy (and by older I mean mid-30s; not truly old, just older than Noah at the time) had a thing for close to two years.

"I guess that does it," he said, after a second glass of wine. "Anything else we should talk about?"

I couldn't muster myself to bring up Simone's request. Too much, too soon. However, Noah did share that he and his latest squeeze were no longer together. It was a mutual decision, he said. Nothing worth getting upset about, really.

"Let bygones be bygones," I added. "I've had my fair share of those."

"Really?" Noah asked. "What was her name?"

"Rebecca. Another escort, believe it or not. She lives in _______ now. I still think of her now and then. I mean, Simone is great, but Rebecca was first, the most serious..."

Noah smiled. "The one?"

"Like you said, let bygones be bygones."

Noah didn't buy it -- he told me so himself. I couldn't help but chuckle. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two attractive young women giving us the eye from the bar. I smiled politely, then turned back to Noah. He didn't notice, which isn't surprising. I suppose not noticing women goes hand-in-hand with being a homosexual.

"So what, they're hoping to get lucky with the both of us?" Noah asked.

"Not necessarily sex. They probably just want to talk."

"Hmm. Talk. Sounds kind of boring."

"Yes, well, best we ask for the check then," I said.

Noah and I bid adieu in front of the restaurant, and on the walk home I couldn't help but think of having to tell Simone that her plan was a no-go. I just didn't get the idea that Noah was into women in any shape or form. Simone would be disappointed, I thought, but she'd get over it.

Me, on the other hand... I got the best deal of all: a new friend.

And when Adam and Bailey visit during Thanksgiving, things will be even better.

The Request

Simone recently asked me how she would feel about us having a threesome. Like any guy, I assumed she meant bringing another woman into the bedroom -- but I was wrong. Instead, Simone wants to bring in another fella, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it.

Notice how I said "not quite sure" and not  "completely opposed." We talked about the idea, particularly why she wanted to do it in the first place. It wasn't about my being inadequate in any way, just a fantasy she's had for quite some time.

"I would have told you about it sooner," she said. "But I wanted to make sure we were in a good place, you know?"

"A good place?"

"If I had asked earlier in the relationship," she continued, "it might have made things messy. Threesomes are best for established relationships, not new ones."

She did have a point. Ask your man to bring another guy into the bedroom too soon and you'll risk offending him. A bit immature on his part, perhaps, but true. But the story doesn't end there, folks. Remember Mr. Jock? Well, I've decided to name him Noah. So, he has a name now. No more monikers. Highly fitting, considering Simone would like to invite him into our bed.

I've no idea is Noah's into women or not. Or how he'd react to my asking him. Or how he'd react to the idea of sleeping with two former whores. For now, I've told Simone that the idea is "under consideration" and that I'd let her know one way or the other.

Funny, this whole thing. First running into Noah, then Simone sharing that she'd like to share our bed with him. You want to know the funniest part of all, though? Noah is messaging me on Facebook right now...

Coming Out

So, Mr. Jock is apparently out of the closet, seeing someone going on three years and very, very happy with his life. Perhaps if I had kept in touch with anyone from high school I would have known this, but Julian being Julian, I was just too cool for school ;-)

Am I the only one fascinated by seeing how people turn out years after we've last seen them? Stoners turned into witty lawyers, student athletes discovering they prefer the arts to sports, and yes, heart-breaking Lotharios realizing that they prefer the company of men.

As for me, well, going from the quiet and unassuming teenager I was, to a male escort, now to an advertising/PR professional... that's quite a journey. One that I'm not quite ready to share in public, at least not outside this blog. I'm continuing to draft ideas for new entries, though I'll admit my "real job" is taking up more and more of my time.

Without giving away too much, I happen to be working with a rather well-known retailer here in the United States. That's all I feel comfortable saying, but for those who have worked retail, you know that September through January are the most important months of the year in terms of sales. Subsequently, there's quite a bit of work to do with this account.

I hope all is well, dear readers. Never think for one minute that I've forgotten any of you, or any of the emails or tweets we've shared. I might be a retired escort, but on the inside, I'll be a whore forever ;-)

PowerPoint "Fuck List" Hits the Web

A bit too long since my last post, for which I apologize. Fortunately, I have some great news. Well, more like a great topic. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Duke "Fuck List", courtesy of Dead Spin. Click the link below: The Full Duke University "Fuck List" Thesis From a Former Student.

For those of you who are too lazy to click the link and read the story, a recent graduate of Duke University named Karen Owen recently found her personal black book on the internet. It seemed that Ms. Owen had sex with many athletes during her time at Duke. In an interesting turn of events, she made a PowerPoint presentation detailing her horizontal life, giving each athlete a rating and a rather detailed description of his body, personality, performance, etc.

This is very, very interesting to me. For starters, this type of behavior -- rating and chronicling one's sexual conquests -- is almost exclusively reserved to men. Men are pigs. Men are assholes. Men make posters with girls' names, and attach the appropriate grade (A+, C-, etc.) or a number of stars (four-stars for a great fuck, two for a lousy one) to rate her prowess in the sack.

But not Ms. Owen. No, Karen turned the tables, embarrassed the hell out of a lot of men, as well as their parents and the university as a whole. Should she have known better? Probably. Is her PowerPoint presentation and interesting read? Yes, but only to a certain point.

I'll admit: When I first read the presentation, I thought it was a hoax. The writing was so... crass. A bit hurried. Frankly, it seemed like something a guy would write. Conspiracy theories aside (mine being that the athletes actually created this presentation themselves, and that it was all a work to make themselves look good while ribbing a few others), it seems that Ms. Owen is indeed the writer.

The second reading improved my view. Good for Ms. Owen for enduring some really great fucks, some really lousy ones, and being able to chronicle it in such alarming detail. She really seems to have liked a few of the men, in particular a blonde-haired, blue-eyed god from the lacrosse team. I must say, he is an awfully good-looking fellow.

As entertaining as the fallout from this ordeal has been (at least from an outsider's point of view), I wouldn't really categorize Ms. Owen as a sex writer -- at least not yet. But hey, the potential is definitely there. She tapped into something very raw and primal with her presentation: the desire for women to even the playing field when it comes to having sex and giving men the God's honest truth about their performance.

A tip of the hat to you, Ms. Owen. If you get an offer for a book deal or even a movie, by all means, take it. Invest the money wisely and reward yourself with a financially-secure future. And though some of the players are upset, believe me, the ones who got good "grades" are loving it. You practically just made them a star.

Mr. Jock: He's Back!

Do you all remember the time I kissed another guy? Well, technically, he kissed me, but it's all in the past now. For those who don't remember, check out the appropriate entry by clicking here.

So, by now you know that I was kissed by another guy at a party back in high school. He didn't make any mention of it after the fact, and remained quite distant for the rest of our years in high school. The idea of running into him again was always in my mind. From what I'd heard, he was living in New York City.

Lo and behold, I saw him yesterday, having lunch at Cosi with the rest of the masses. It was his meal -- pepperoni thin-crust pizza -- that really gave him away. At first I thought it might have just looked like him, but once I saw the pizza (pepperoni and thin-crust being his favorites) I knew that it was the genuine article.

I walked over, said his name. He looked up, his eyes widened, then a smile spread across his face.

"Holy shit," he said. "How long has it been?"

"Almost ten years now," I said. "May I?"

I took a seat on the chair opposite his, and we talked for as long as our respective lunch breaks permitted. He was working in a stressful though high-paying field, and for the most part enjoys it. For a moment I figured him for a corporate type -- but no, he had in fact gone backpacking in India this past summer.

"So, what happened to you after high school?" he asked.

I chuckled, wondered if I should make a whore joke for the hell of it, just to see his reaction. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one's view, I kept my answers pretty standard. Went to school in Miami. Stayed down there for a bit. Moved to New York City when I was ready for something new.

"I miss Miami, but New York isn't half bad," I said. "Besides, having my girlfriend here helps matters, too."

Then, it happened: a flicker of the eyes, a brief flash of recognition across his face. Yes, he knew that I remembered our last encounter. I didn't mention Simone as a way to proclaim my heterosexuality. In all honesty, the mention of her just kind of slipped out.

"Right," he said. "Well, I'm glad to hear your happy."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment, no. Work and everything... I just don't have the time."

"I understand that one, believe me," I said. "Been there, done that."

We exchanged contact information, and I'll admit right here, right now that I friended him on Facebook -- a request he accepted. I'm sure he was browsing through the contents of my life just as I was browsing through his. Curiosity and even borderline voyeurism in other people's lives is perfectly natural from what I understand about human behavior.

He's a good guy. Handsome, well-educated, employed in a competitive field. Come to think of it, Adam might enjoy him a lot. Then again, perhaps not -- Adam is still escorting, after all. Though I'm pleased to announce that he'll be traveling to New York City over Thanksgiving. So get ready, everyone. The adventures of Julian are bound to continue!

The Fall of Advertising and the Rise of PR

I'm on a business kick lately. Forgive me if you don't find these posts interesting. I can go back to writing about sex if the numbers for the blog start to taper off -- but one of the things that I think makes my blog special is that it's more well-rounded than other blogs by sex workers.

Without further ado, let's talk about the Fall of Advertising and the Rise of PR.

Is advertising dead? Some think so. Between TIVO, DVRs and OnDemand, traditional advertising vehicles -- mainly commercials -- aren't as effective as they were even five or ten years ago. Unless one has a captive audience that's receptive to advertising (during the Superbowl, for instance) many consumers just tune ads out.

What is a company to do? Easy: increase their PR efforts. The benchmark of PR is the idea of a third-party endorsement. What the is that, you ask? Well, traditionally, advertising is a two-party system. You have the advertiser, and the viewer. PR, on the other hand, uses a third party to inform the viewer of a product and/or service.

OK, that was a little murky. Think of it this way: Ads talk to you. They tell you to buy something. PR, on the other hand, uses a third party -- a journalist, a blogger, etc. -- to inform you of a product or service without necessarily making a hard sell. Let's examine this more in-depth.

Say you're a teenager, and you have acne. You desperately want it to go away. Will an infomercial for ProActiv solution convince you that ProActiv is the way to go? How about a commercial or a print ad for Neutrogena? Come on, you don't believe those ads, do you? They're just after profits!

Now, let's take a PR approach. A representative for Neutrogena decides that many teenagers aren't watching TV live -- they catch up with OnDemand, DVR, or even streaming online. So, in order to reach the audience, they need to meet teens on their own turf.

The PR executive decides to reach out to beauty blogs and offer them free samples of their products in exchange for an in-depth review complete with photos and links to Neutrogena's website, as well as details as to where the products can be purchased. A few bloggers take Neutrogena up on their deal. Acne, after all, can plague all of us.

Hopefully, the products work. Maybe the blogger even includes before-and-after photos to detail how the product worked over the course of four to six weeks. So, what does Neutrogena now have? A third-party endorsement!

People will trust that blogger. He or she will disclose that they were given the products for free, and that they clarified with Neutrogena that they would post an honest review and NOT take any type of payment. Now, let's say a teen suffering from acne finds this review and decides to purchase Neutrogena. Bam! Sale!

Traditional advertising looks almost old-fashioned and boring by comparison. As a rule, people are suspicious of ads and big business. Companies need to stop talking at consumers and begin talking with them in order to succeed.

My own career in escorting with built on one of the other benchmarks of PR as well: word of mouth. I was sure to have references available for potential clients who perhaps were a little hesitant about hiring a male sex worker for the first time. So, if that client took the plunge, enjoyed herself, she often told her friends about her experience. Some of them would, in turn, call my agent for a booking of their own.

It's marketing. It's sales. It's PR. And above all else, it's what I'm passionate about. This is the real me, folks. And for the first time in a long time, I'm feeling like my future is as bright as the skyscrapers of a Manhattan evening :)

What Am I Doing Now?

If you follow me on Twitter, you'll see I made a recent revelation about my current work. After a lot of thought, I came to the realization that this blog isn't that big a deal. Nowhere near the level of Belle de Jour or other sex workers, certainly.

With that in mind, I can safely reveal a bit more information about myself. For instance, what am I doing now that I've left escorting? Easy: I work at a communications firm. We offer advertising, PR, and digital marketing solutions.

I mainly work on the PR side, but write the occasional print ad as well. So, how does a male escort end up being a PR executive? Easy: it's what I studied at university. And, all the while in Miami, I was doing freelance projects to build my portfolio.

(In PR, a portfolio mainly consists of writing samples such as press releases, fact sheets and the like, as well as media placements in both print publications and online.)

With a strong enough portfolio to prove that I could write well and secure coverage for a client, breaking into the ultra-competitive NYC market was much easier. And yes, the economy has mended somewhat, though everyone is still a bit tight with the purse strings.

But enough about the past! What do I do day to day? Mainly, I try to get coverage for my clients. "Coverage" can include anything from a feature story in a newspaper, blog or magazine. Other avenues include having the client on-air on a morning news show, or inviting a TV crew to an event that the client is hosting.

I've worked on a a few press kits as well. Press kits are a bundle of documents that include biographies of senior management, a fact sheet about the company itself (date founded, annual earnings, etc.), and a few press releases along with accompanying placements (placements, again, referring to stories that have run in the media).

I've written copy for websites, helped brainstorm promotions with in-house marketing departments to get consumers' attention, and even wrote a print ad when someone in the advertising department was out sick. 

Basically, I help my clients cultivate and project an image onto the world. It's up to me to convince the media that my client is worth paying attention to. My past in escorting is helpful. In fact, my boss tells me I'm one of the most confident people she's ever met. She thinks that's because males are encouraged from a young age to be assertive in business.

I, on the other hand, credit my confidence to escorting. How else could I have managed to look a woman dead in the face and request money for sex? The meek don't last long in sex work, that's for damn sure. And the confidence, assertiveness and competitiveness I learned while escorting has crossed over into the business world quite nicely.

So, there it is folks. In the coming weeks I'd like to discuss a bit more about my current work life, and how my views on sex influence how I approach various projects. Again, if there's anything you'd like to see or now, email me at JulianKaye@hushmail.com and I'll see what I can do.

And to answer the most common question: Simone is doing fine, and we are very happy together!

Goodnight :)

Watching Porn -- Together

"The beer was already there," said my cousin. "So we ordered some pizza, caught up on everything. Oh yeah -- we watched a porn too."

"Come again?" I said. "You watched a porn... with your frat brothers?"

"Yeah. What, like you've never watched porn with your guy friends?"

"Can't say that I have."

And so I discovered that guys -- particularly those in fraternities -- watch porn together. This cousin of mine, obviously he's not the one who came out to me last Christmas. I have quite the extended family. He's only a sophomore (second year of university) and at 20 years old isn't even old enough to drink beer.

Yet he's been watching porn since he was about 17.

This was a pretty startling revelation. Not that teenage boys watch porn, but that when they go to university, it becomes a group activity. Never once have I watched porn with other guys. Never. To me, porn is for private consumption and, most often, masturbatory aid.

My cousin insisted that the viewing didn't turn into a circle jerk. "No gay shit" were his exacts words, I believe. OK, so if watching porn with other men didn't lead to a circle jerk -- meaning no one had any intention of masturbating -- then what was the point of it all?

"Just to see it," my cousin said. "Chill out with your bros, talk about what you'd like to do to the girl on the TV."

Still not quite I understand the whole thing, but here goes: I believe that watching porn together is a way for young guys to verbalize their sexual frustrations and desires with one another. Whether they want to "bang that bitch in the ass" or "blow my load on her face," it's about... recreation.

By watching porn and saying what they'd like to do to the girl being fucked on-screen, these guys can solidify their masculinity and assert their heterosexual desires. Of course, actually having sex with a girl would do both -- or would it?

As I've said before, no one in my family knows what I do for a living. And having sex with women, professionally speaking, isn't about making myself out to be a man. It was about paying the bills. The fact that I've slept with hundreds of women still doesn't seem "real" to me. It's just a consequence of the job.

I also have another theory about why I don't necessarily like porn, and would never want to watch it with anyone. Porn, in many cases, is about casting women in a submissive role. Escorting, on the other hand, is a much more collaborative effort.

The client and I, together, come to an agreement as to what we'd like to do while I'm on the clock. In comparison, porn just seems to one-sided. Watch oral, anal or vaginal sex, masturbate until ejaculation, turn off DVD and repeat next week. So dull, so lifeless. But for some guys, I suppose that's as good as it gets.

Furthermore, I doubt frat guys would like to watch BDSM movies in which the woman is in charge. Seeing Simone dressed in leather with a whip in-hand is more arousing than watching Jenna Jameson, Tera Patrick or Sasha Grey get a facial. Could it be that men who prefer a dominant woman aren't turned on by the submissive nature of women in most porn?

Could be. I'm not an expert -- I'm just an ex-escort with a blog.

Does anyone here have any thoughts and/or experience with watching porn as a group? If so, shoot me an email and I may write a follow-up entry to this one. Until then, let's all enjoy the cool, crisp days of fall :)

Grooming

Wow, I never wrote a post about pubic hair?

A reader asked via email what length women seem to prefer most. He, being a generous boyfriend, was considering trimming or even waxing completely if it would please his girlfriend.

My answer? I have no idea.

When I was escorting, I did make an effort to keep things neat down there. A weekly trim of the scissors did the trick. Now, understand that I'm referring to the area of hair below by navel but above my penis. What about the testicles, you ask? I never could stomach the idea of waxing them. For lack of a better term, I'm a big baby.

So, the balls were trimmed as well -- but never waxed. And for God's sake, don't use Nair on your balls, boys. The skin is far too delicate and besides, that stuff smells like a rotten cucumber or something.

Besides the pubic area, I shaved my face fairly frequently. Not to say that I was clean-shaven for every appointment, but I never showed up with any scruff, either. Women rarely enjoy kissing a man who's face feels like sandpaper. I never waxed my chest, either, and never received any complaints.

Fingernails and toenails were always to be trimmed as well. No exceptions. It only takes the slightest flinch of the hand or foot to cut someone. These are the areas I've often told male readers not to regret: their hands and feet. A nice set of paws will go a long way in impressing a lady.

I hope this clears up any misconceptions about what women want. Very rarely will a woman for her man to go completely hairless, if for no other reason that women don't want their sex partners to look pre-pubescent. Just stay neat, presentable, and there shouldn't be any problems.

Oh, and one last tip: Less is more when it comes to cologne. No one should smell their sex partner coming from across the room!

Lucky

Every now and then, like all people, I whine. And given my knowledge of social networking, sometimes I whine in front of a global audience. Sometimes it takes looking at other people's experiences in sex work to remind me that despite everything, I am pretty damn lucky.

David Henry Sterry writes about his experiences as a hustler in the 1970s in the amazing book Chicken: Self-Portrait of a Young Man for Rent. He experiences things that I never did: abandonment by his parents, violence on the job, even a disturbing encounter with a woman who vomited. True, Sterry's account isn't without its laughs or enjoyable parts.

The same cannot be said for another memoir.

Rick Whitaker's Assuming the Position: A Memoir of Hustling is a decidedly darker tale on his life as a male prostitute. Whitaker experiences something that many people assume plagues all sex workers: drug addiction. I wouldn't wish chemical dependency on anyone, and Whitaker is no exception. One of the worst parts about sex work is that there are, in fact, people who are forced into the profession -- sometimes to fund a drug habit.

So what is the moral of this post? Both books are engrossing and certainly worth reading -- but they also served as a wake-up call of sorts for me. Much as I ignore it on this blog, there are sex workers who are both unhappy in the profession and only in it because they have to be, not because they want to be.

Many sex workers who are in the business by choice seem to ignore that fact. I don't blame them; who wants to read a blog or book with a moralizing tone? I suppose I just wish there was something I could do to help the less fortunate in my former business.

Are free clinics the answer, complete with medical and psychological treatments? A change in laws and legislation to bring the abused out of the shadows so they can get help? I vote yes on both counts.  

I realize this entry might not make much sense. Even I don't even know why I decided to write it. But the next time you see a street walker or a teenage hustler, don't write them off as trash, OK? They're people too. And if the two memoirs featured in this post are any indication, they have more going on inside of them than we will ever know.

New Friends

It's taken me awhile, but I've got a nice circle of friends here in New York City.

One of them lives in my building, actually. I'll call him Micah. He's a illustrator/graphic designer and has his own business going. Very, very talented guy. It's inspiring to see how he can switch from different visual styles -- from the art deco of the late 1930s to the more modern and streamlined styles of today.

Want to know something amazing? When he asked me what I did for a living, I was able to answer honestly. Of course, when he asked what I was doing back in Miami, it was back to the usual lies and half-truths. Still, being able to say, "I work at a _____ and I enjoy it so far" was pretty refreshing.

Not much else to report, I'm afraid. My parents had a great time in Vancouver for their 25th wedding anniversary, and I suggested they visit Montreal next. Of course, I regretted my saying that seconds after the words left my mouth. Why, you ask? Because my mother suggested I join her and my father.

"We haven't had a family vacation in ages," she said. "You can take off the time from your job, can't you? That's the whole point of working in an office. Health benefits and vacation time!"

"I'm honestly not sure," I replied. "Besides, Montreal is freezing during the winter. Maybe you'd just like to go back to Florida instead--?"

"What, with all the old people? The hell with that!"

My mother's a doll, but a bit of an ageist. Should she walk into an establishment where the clientele is older than 45 she very well may turn up her nose and leave.

"So, are you seeing anyone new?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," I said. "She's great. You can't meet her yet, though."

"And what not?"

"She's a bit of a wild one. I'm not done taming her yet."

"Well as long as she's not a tattooed stripper I think we can deal."

Tattooed? I thought. No, but she has worked a pole in the past...

"Tell dad I say hello," I said. "Have a good weekend."

We hung up just as Simone IM'd me. Would I mind trying on the nipple clamps again? she asked. I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer irony. But of course, I couldn't say no.

Practice Makes Perfect

Greetings, readers. September has arrived, it's still bloody hot, but I can already smell the sweet scent of burning leaves and apple cider. Autumn, as I've mentioned before, is my favorite season. In fact, I may just have to take a weekend trip to my hometown to enjoy the foliage.

But enough of that sentimental rubbish! You came here for stories, and I intend to deliver :)

Simone is enjoying her newfound career as a dominatrix, but it isn't without its challenges. Mainly, she needs someone to practice certain techniques and/or products on. Guess who she considers to be the perfect guinea pig?

We set up some boundaries early on. I don't mind the handcuffs, blindfolds, paddles or whips. Liberal as I may be, however, I just can't bring myself to use to cock rings, anal plugs, vibrators or dildos. Not that there aren't men out there who enjoy being anally penetrated by a leather-wearing mistress. If reading the blogs of Mistress Lera or Mistress Matisse are any indication, it's downright common.

Last evening was dedicated to the art of restraint. Simone wanted to get an idea as to how tight was tight enough for handcuffs, dog collars, etc. We found that a snug fit is best, but not so tight that the area turns red and eventually tingles with numbness. Blindfolds are fine, and really should be bound as tight as possible.

But what of the paddles, you ask? There's something to be said for being spanked while on all fours, wearing a dog collar and fully naked. Then, there are the men who want to recreate fantasies of being spanked by their seventh-grade history teacher, in which case bent over a table while still fully-clothed is best.

Paddles that strike a naked rear end can be slightly smaller than those that strike a clothed one. Unless, of course, the submissive truly is a masochist, in which case bigger is better no matter is his ass is clothed or bare. Always be sure to strike the buttocks and not the small of the back, though.

Then there are the psychological elements. I'm a fan of low lighting, either with drapes over lamps or even candlelight if one's dungeon permits. Conversation should be kept to a minimum during the acts themselves, whether it's spanking or penetration or nipple-pinching with a pair of clamps.

Between acts, however, conversation can be tailored to however the submissive wants it to be. Whether it's sensual or demeaning, it's really up to him. I prefer a bit of both -- but that's just me.

Simone's taken notes on my likes and suggestions, saying it's a world of help in figuring out the male psyche. Seems the XY set are as mysterious to women as they are to us. But it's always nice to find some common ground, yeah?

Until next time, I hope everyone had a wonderful summer. Considering temperatures were scorching across the globe, let us welcome autumn with open arms.

The Call

I rolled over in bed and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey stranger."

It was my old agent in Miami. I opened my eyes, sat up. "Hey, how are you?"

"Fine, thanks. How's life in the Big Apple?"

"Busy, hot. And Miami?"

"Hot as a desert and humid as a swamp. So, listen..."

"Oh come on, you know I'm not escorting anymore."

She laughed, told me to relax. She just wanted me to make the offer as courtesy. A former client of mine is at her summer home in Martha's Vineyard, she said. I've been to this client's summer home before, in fact.

"I appreciate the sentiment," I said. "But that part of my life is over."

"It's Simone, isn't it?" my agent said. "She's the reason you quit."

"In fact, she is."

My agent chuckled, almost cynically. "And you're fine with her working as a dominatrix? My friends tell me she's setting up her own dungeon."

"She's quite good at beating people," I said. "She tanned my ass last night."

"Be careful with that one," said the agent. "And if you ever need any extra money, you know who to call."

The agent hung up after that. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell just happened. Had the Martha's Vineyard client really remembered me? Or was my replacement in Miami not working out to my agent's liking?

Why is that sometimes, I feel like sex work haunts me like a ghost? It follows me around, whispering in my ear, tempting me to come back. The money is there, after all -- and apparently, so is the demand from some old clients. Before I quit, I'd have been all too happy to hop on a plane from Miami to Boston, then relax in a chauffeured car to Martha's Vineyard.

I changed my life, got a "normal" job. But is the old adage about sex work true? One a sex worker, always a sex worker? I'm not sure. And I won't lie: the idea of my past being revealed is scary. Not because I'm ashamed of it, but because I have a low tolerance for BS and judgmental people -- both of which would erupt if my past as an escort came out into the light.

No worries, I guess. I can't go back. What would Simone think?

The Bloke at the Train Station

Like many other people in major cities, I take a train to work.

Each morning I notice a man on the platform -- dark-haired, handsome, medium build. I'd say he's in his early-to-mid 30s, about a decade older than me, give or take. For reasons I can't quite describe, I keep thinking that he's a male escort.

It's stupid, I know. Judging from his formal attire of sharp suits and polished leather shoes, I doubt he's working in my old field. Well, I shouldn't really say that -- there were plenty of times I donned a suit at a business woman's request.

It's the brief case that does it, really. No male escort ever carries a brief case. They're so bulky and unattractive. A messenger bag, sure. But an honest-to-goodness brief case? Not so much.

I've told Simone about this bloke, and she thinks I'm just a victim of my own overactive imagination. And even mentioning another man gets her all hot and bothered. Seems that Simone harbors a fantasy of her own: watching me get it on with another guy.

"It's not compeltely unheard of," she said to me. "Plenty of girls do."

"I just don't get it," I said. "What pleasure could you derive from watching some guy suck my cock -- or vice versa?"

"You wouldn't be in control. You'd be outside your comfort zone. You'd be doing something you've never done before -- and you may even like it."

"Ah, so that's what it is, then?"

"What?" she asked.

"You've always fantasized about having a three-some with another guy. By having me fool around with one, well, that would give you easy access to a third party, wouldn't it?"

Her silence meant I was on the right track. I leaned in, kissed her forehead, then refilled her iced tea. That girl of mine -- always thinking, always scheming. Most boyfriends would be repulsed at her candor, over her somewhat kinky fantasies. But me? I'm a lost cause. Because even now, I'm still in love with her.

New Careers

Did I mention Simone is now working as a dominatrix?

It was a natural progression, I suppose, given how often she's tanned my hide in the past. She'd grown bored with escorting and was ready for something new. Beating men into submission seemed as good a path as any.

Of course I know it's not that easy. There's more to it than just a quick spanking or tying a bloke up with rope. It's personal, psychological, and Simone herself is the first to admit that she's still learning. She suspects it'll be months -- perhaps years -- before she can truly consider herself "good" at dominating others.

My thoughts on her new job? I support it. And, strangely enough, I find myself turned on at the thought of her dominating another man. Does this arousal come from the same place as men who enjoy being cuckolded? Both involve seeing their significant others engaged in intimate acts with another.

Simone was never one to want to watch me with another woman. She did, however, admit to passing thoughts about watching me with another man, but such a fantasy was never realized. It's not that I don't love her -- it's just that I'm not into men.

All right, that's it for now. I really am going to try and update this blog of mine more regularly (I know, I know: you've all read that so often it probably doesn't mean much anymore, but I'm trying, folks!) Until then, take care, be well, and browse through the archives. My professional life in escorting might be over, but I and the rest of the internet can cherish the memories forever.

Montreal

Again, I'm so sorry for the lack of posts. Between work, vacation and spending time with Simone, I just haven't been able to put my ass in the chair and type up a proper entry.

So, what's been going on with me? For starters, I visited Montreal, Quebec Canada for a summer holiday and had an amazing time. Everything I'd heard about the city was true: the clean streets, gracious citizens and beautiful architecture. I so loved my time there that I didn't want to leave -- and that's really saying something, considering I now live in New York City!

Simone joined me on this holiday, and to say we were making out like to love-sick teenagers would be something of an understatement. Funny how in the states, such PDA is frowned upon, but in Montreal, Simone and I received more than a few compliments, if not hoot-and-hollers.

My regular job is coming along well, too. Fall is typically our busiest time of year, so but my co-workers are lovely and the work itself is varied and interesting. Do I miss escorting? Sometimes. Are there a host of new  benefits to working in the nine-to-five world, too? Certainly.

And, on a more sentimental note, my parents recently celebrated their 25th anniversary. Can you believe they actually went to Vancouver to celebrate?! Funny how my mom emailed me, asking where they should go and what they should do. For a brief moment I stared blankly at my laptop screen, remembering how much fun I had with Rebecca.

The melancholy didn't last long, however. Especially not when Simone walked by naked after just getting out of the shower. 

So, that's pretty much it, folks. I'll try and make the next entry more exciting -- perhaps summarizing some of the graphic sexual discussions the ladies at work have on our lunch breaks. I don't know if they forget I'm there or just don't care. Perhaps a mix of both.

Cheers!

Testing

Back when I was escorting, I was frequently tested for STIs. Monthly, in fact. Now that I'm on the "other side" I haven't been tested since I left escorting for good in May. 

I feel... strange. Like I'm letting something go, like I'm being irresponsible. Why, you ask? It's not that I tested positive for anything. I'm a freak about using condoms and only having anal sex (the riskiest form of intercourse) with clients I knew and trusted. 

Perhaps it's because, in many cases, sex workers actually have better safe sex practices than "regular" people. The more I think about it, the more I believe it. While sex workers are, by and large, loathed and pitied and dismissed as unfortunates in society, we're ahead of the pack in many ways.

Yes, I spent nearly two years picking up strangers and having sex with them. But pray tell, readers: Wasn't I safer about it than most people? For instance, my agent always knew where I was, and who I was with. I always used protection, and had previously agreed as to what exactly the client and I would be doing.

How many people can say the same?

I still think there's a lot that the general public can learn from sex workers, at least the ones at the high end of the industry. For instance, regular STI testing is so very, very important. And yet, so many people fail to do it. Herpes, gonorrhea, HIV/AIDS -- all terrible conditions, but preventable and manageable with the proper precautions and treatments.

So with that, I'd like to make a plea: If you haven't been tested within the past year, please do so now. If you enjoy my blog, if you enjoy my writing, then do it in my honor. It's truly the best gift you can give yourself!

The Next Generation

I'm not playing hookie, just in case you're wondering. However, one of the benefits of my current job is that I get to telecommute a few days a month -- and today is one of them.

Right. This week, I was surprised to receive a phone call from a 305 area code. For those who aren't in the US, that happens to be the area code for Miami. I picked up, wondering if it was a past client. To my surprise, the call was from the guy who replaced me for my former agent.

You know, the one I found so that my agent wouldn't lose any income once I left escorting and Miami for New York.

"I'm in Manhattan," he said. "Just for a few days. Want to meet?"

We met at a sushi restaurant and caught up over tuna rolls and a bit of sake. He's loving his life, obviously. My clients in Miami were some of the best, and I'm glad to hear he's treating them well.

Still, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic. Yes, the artist painted a nude portrait of him. Hell, he even went for a ride with the woman who had a penchant for speed racing through I-95. He talked about the Four Seasons in Brickell, the Loews Miami Beach, all the hotels I used to prowl en route to the client's guest suite.

"Are you okay?" he said, after I was silent a bit too long. "You look a bit--"

"Nostalgic," I said. "It's because I am."

"Really? You actually miss escorting?"

"Sometimes. The 'real world' has its advantages, but a sense of adventure isn't one of them. That, and the pay per hours worked is pretty fucking good in escorting. Not so much on the other side."

"So?" he said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Start doing it again part-time. I doubt anyone would ever know. And hey, didn't you say you work with all women at your new job? Maybe they'd ask for a booking themselves."

I couldn't help but laugh. Yes, the thought of escorting part-time for shits and giggles and even a bit of extra money has crossed my mind. But how could I do that and still keep a relationship with Simone? Not likely. 

"The grass is always greener," I said. "I should know better than to whine."

"Well, if you ever do want to go back, you know what to do."

"Yeah. Just like riding a bike..."

Return to Escorting

Julian isn't dead. And on Saturday night, he was out and about in New York City.

I arrived at the client's apartment at eight o'clock. I shook her hand, then pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek. Believe it or not I actually recognized her perfume -- it was Obsession by Calvin Klein. I told her it was one of my favorite's on a woman.

"Really?" the client said. "I didn't know men paid attention so such things."

"They don't," I replied. "But then again, in my line of work, it pays to pay attention to such things."

She slipped me the white envelope quickly and discretely. I tucked it into my pocket, sure that it was all there. We settled on the sofa where she'd prepared a snack tray of sorts: wine, cheese, sliced pepperoni. Very rare, and just as considerate.

"Forgive me for making a pig out of myself," I said. "But I just love pepperoni."

"The wine is good too," she said. We toasted to what would be a good night, for that was what I was paid to provide. I won't lie -- I loved the feeling of being back in the game. The anticipation, the lingering glances... and yes, the sex.

We made our way to the bedroom. She lay down on the bed, lowered her panties to her ankles and told me to leave them there. Don't take them off. She liked it when a man ate her cunt when she was still dressed.

"Gladly," I said, then plunged my tongue inside of her. Her taste was delectable -- neither bitter not sweet, just hot and wet and filling my mouth. When I finally came up for her I pressed my mouth against hers and gasped when she plunged her on tongue deep into my mouth.

She wanted to know what she tasted like, I gathered. Plenty of women do.

But then again, Simone isn't what I'd call "plenty of women."

I treated her like I would a client. I was assertive, aggressive even, letting my hands do the talking. The idea of role playing had come up last week, and she very much liked the idea of me resurrecting Julian in order to see her as a professional, and not a boyfriend.

Finally I did manage to get her out of her dress. The bottle of wine we'd brought in from the living room stood on the nightstand; I picked it up and poured it over her breasts, then licked each of them clean. I sucked her nipples and then cried out as she did the same to me.

"Fuck me," she said. "But I'm on top."

"You're the boss."

She mounted me slowly, delicately, but quickly gained momentum. She cupped her breasts then let me suck the remnants of Merlot off her fingers. We came together, as always. She fell on top of me, kissed me once more, then let me inhale the sweet smell of her hair.

"We have to do this more often," I said. "Once a week at least."

"Deal," she said. She slid off of me, took the condom off my cock then tossed it in the trash can beside the bed. I was still hard, though that wasn't unusual. Seems at my age erections have a habit of lasting -- something I won't complain about, ever.

"Do you ever really miss it?" Simone asked. "Escorting, that is."

"Of course. The money, the hours -- or lack thereof, however strange -- and being with so many different women."

Simone laughed. "This coming from the man who waxed and waned on his blog how much he just wanted to have sex with me when he was still escorting. Now you're going back on your word."

"Am not," I said. "And don't pretend that you don't miss a few of your clients, too. We all do -- it's part of being an escort." I paused, brought her in close. "Besides, you still get to see yours."

"Yes, but now I beat them instead of fucking them."

"True. But for some guys, that's just as good." Though my eyes were closed, I could practically see Simone smiling.

"Very true," she said. "So rest up, then get ready for round two. My leather belt is waiting."

Sex

I am so glad Simone is back.

After I picked her up from the airport, took her out to dinner (kudos to my boss for the great recommendation), we returned to my apartment at a little past eleven o'clock. True, my place here in New York City isn't anywhere near as glamorous as the pad I had in Miami, but it'll do.

Besides, it's not like either of us were paying much attention to the decor.

"Have you missed me?" Simone asked, though she knew damn well the answer was yes. "I've missed you."

I didn't bother answering with words. I grabbed her by the waist, brought her close to my chest and kissed her like it was my last night on Earth. We tore at each others' clothes until we were both clad in our underwear. Simone pushed me back onto the sofa, then stripped down for me herself.

Her naked body was almost hypnotic in its beauty. Seeing her again -- her nipples, her cunt, the strip of blonde pubic hair that I'd grown to love -- it was like seeing into heaven itself.

I carried her to the bedroom, peeled off my boxers and pressed my mouth onto hers once more. I broke away only to make my way down to her neck, then lingered on her breasts. I licked and sucked at the nipples, her fingernails running through my hair, her hands gently guiding my downward.

I went down on her, yes, but not as she expected. I rolled her over onto her stomach, smoothed my hands over her bare ass, then spread her cheeks and used my tongue on her from behind. There's something primal about performing oral sex from behind. It's really one of my favorite sex acts to do.

"Fuck me," she said, after I'd given her a good fifteen or twenty minutes. "Fuck me -- now."

I always took orders well. I rolled her onto her back, then entered her in one smooth thrust. I gazed into her eyes as we connected, joined once more after what felt like an eternity apart.

I pumped in and out of her like a jack hammer, kissed her mouth along the way, until we both finally climaxed in a bed-rattling, profanity-shouting, holy-mother-of-fuck moment.

Soaked in sweat, I lay panting on the bed. Simone draped herself over me, fingers weaving through the hair on my chest. We showered soon after, then returned to the living room for some Netflix.

She moved into her apartment today -- and once again, it's pricier and nicer than mine. I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up spending my weekends there.

Now if I could just get a spanking before this week is done, I'd really be a happy camper.

A Very Brief Update...

Simone is finally here.

She's sleeping beside me as I type this blog post. Yes, we had sex. Yes, it was amazing. And yes, I'm grinning like a bloody idiot that the girl I fell in love with is finally back in my life.

I want to show her the city, maybe even take a drive to my hometown. Not quite ready to introduce her to my parents yet -- but give me time. Oh, there is one thing that is off-limits for now, though: She's not going to my place of work.

It's not that I don't trust her -- it's that my co-workers are quite nosy, and I'm afraid that if they were to ever ask any naughty questions, Simone would answer them all too honestly. I'm pretty honest, but do I want my co-workers knowing that I like my sex a bit on the kinky side? Not quite yet.

But anyway, I'm tapped. After all, Simone and I did fuck. Twice. I deserve a night's rest...

Memory Lane

My boss walked over to my desk. "Could you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. "What's up?"

She handed me a white envelope full of cash. It needed to be deposited into the bank, she said. As to why a client paid in cash I have no idea -- assuming it was payment from a client to begin with. I wasn't busy at the moment, but she had to hop on a conference call.

"Not a problem." I grabbed my bag, my i-Pod, then threw up my away message on AIM. "Be back soon."

Even at half-past ten in the morning, the streets of Manhattan were still crowded. New York never really does die down during the work week. As I strolled through midtown Manhattan, I couldn't help but remember what it was like to deposit and envelope full of cash back in Miami. 

True, this money wasn't from whoring. Well, at least not to my knowledge. But even so, a feeling of nostalgia washed over me. I missed that feeling of walking through town, looking at the "regular" people while I had the satisfaction of knowing I had a job that I loved.

Sex. Money. More sex. More money. It was an intoxicating (if not complicated) time in my life. Now that I'm on the straight and narrow, I look back on it even more fondly than when I was still on the game.

When I returned to my apartment, I even flipped through my old client spreadsheet in Excel. I still had their numbers. Some of them had summer homes in New York, Massachusetts and Maine. And with my escorting clothes still in the closet, as well as a healthy supply of condoms and lube...

No, I thought to myself. You wanted a regular job and you got one. Stop trying to fuck up your life on purpose.

Only time will tell what happens. But one thing is for certain: this blog isn't as dead as I thought it would be. Because even though I'm no longer in the game, escorting will be a part of me for a long time to come.

Missing Sex Work

I left Miami for New York. I left escorting for a traditional, 9-5 job at an office. Like the rest of the masses, I'm paid every two weeks (first and the fifteenth to be exact) and I even receive health benefits, a 401(k) match, and other goodies.

So pray tell, dear readers: Why have I been missing escorting lately?

Is it the monotony of the 9-5 world? Or is it the fact that I just miss having sex with strangers? That may sound crass -- even chauvinistic to some -- but it's partially the truth. I liked having sex and I especially liked being paid for it. Sometimes, the "real world" just seems so... vanilla.

Whether it was posing nude for a client who happened to be an amateur painter, or introducing a curious housewife to fisting, or even when one particularly adventurous client gave me a rim job, escorting was never dull. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was unpredictable. It was fast, sometimes furious.

It paid me well and left me with a lot of free time. All in all, not a bad shot.

I've been entertaining all sorts of thoughts lately. Could I ever go back to it? Could I ever escort during my non-working hours, part-time even, in addition to keeping my regular job? Would this be healthy? Most of all, maybe these feelings are just temporary.

Simone will be here soon. She may provide the one thing that's missing from my life at the moment: companionship -- both physically, romantically and emotionally. Time will tell, I suppose, but let me end this blog entry with a somewhat obvious note:

You can take the sex worker out of the game, but you can't take the game out of the sex worker.

Home Again

I'm back in my hometown for Father's day. We'll be leaving for dinner in about an hour -- long enough for me to sneak in a blog entry about what I've been up to lately.

First off, mom and dad are happy. Thrilled, even. Over what, you ask? Well, having moved to New York City, I'm within two hours (by car) and an hour and a half (by train) of their house. Thus far this hasn't translated into seeing them more often, but that's really my fault, having an all-important job and all that.

Ah yes, my job. I wish I could save more -- even give my readers a link to the firm itself so you could see where I work and what I do. Alas, doing so would effectively "out me" as a former escort, a former gigolo, a former professional floozy. People's attitudes towards sex have certainly relaxed in recent years, but I'm still not ready to come out of the escort closet.

So, I have the job, my parents are happy, and all is well under the sun, correct? Not exactly. I miss Florida, even if being in New York City is fucking incredible. And yes, some days I don't particularly like getting up at 7:45 a.m. in order to get to the office by 9 a.m.

But more than anything (and I know I sound like a broken record), I miss Simone. You see, I would gladly give up all the sex I'd had with clients if it meant I could be with Simone. But with her not here, I'm both celibate and horny, which, you know, isn't all that great.

Rather than tell you how I fantasize but having sex with her at least three times the day she gets here, I'll just say this: I've yet to find someone here in the city that piques my interest as much as she did. Perhaps that's because I'm not truly looking, but rather, waiting.

My mom asks why I'm not seeing anyone -- quite frequently, in fact. I give her the same old lines, that I'm just dating around and not much interested in settling down in a monogamous relationship just yet. Of course she knows nothing of the fact that I used to fuck for a living, which could have impeded my ability to either build or maintain a monogamous relationship.

We all remember what happened when Briana found out what I was, don't we? Yeah, that's right: Julian got the heave-ho. Not fun.

Introducing Simone to my parents would be a very interesting proposition, but not one that I'm opposed to. I love her, damn it. She makes me happy. And despite being asked on a date by a girl at my office this week (true story, folks) I had to decline.

So, Simone, because you read this blog: I can't wait to see you babe. I'm not going anywhere, so hurry up, will you? I'll be waiting.