Escorting and Self Esteem

Just in from another night of work. So, does my job give me a good boost of self esteem? Does having sex with women for cash provide me with an added dose of self confidence that other men might lack?

I'm not really sure. Allow me to reiterate the fact that Julian is like an alter ego that only surfaces during working hours. Beyond that, I'm far more ordinary than any reader of this blog might suspect. I don't go around Miami thinking I'm God's gift to women -- not by a long shot.

There are men far better looking than I am. And wealthier, too. Some are both better looking and wealthier, which really makes me feel inferior. Most of the time, though, I feel pretty good. Better than most other men, I suspect. But it's not the idea of being desirable to women that makes me feel complete.

Folks, it's all about the money.

Money is freedom. Money gives me the luxury of waiting until a 9-5 gig worth taking comes around instead of slaving away in some temp position or equally soul-crushing job like most other graduates. Money enabled me to stay in Miami while many of my peers had to move back home.

Escorting provides money -- but it's what I do with that money that really makes me feel good. I pay my bills, save most of the rest, and even invest a bit here and there. And yes, I splurge now and then, most recently during a vacation to Vancouver, Canada last summer.

So any moments of "I'm-one-bad-ass-mother-fucker" aren't really from the sex, but rather the freedom and confidence that the money from sex provides. No one from HR or recruitment is going to take advantage of me or treat me like dirt, because I just don't need them. And that is a better feeling than bedding over 100 women as I have.

For those considering getting into escorting, please consider this: Doing it for cash is fine. Need extra money to supplement your studies? No problem. Doing it because you think you'll become more confident and it'll boost your own personal love life? NOT OKAY.

Having sex for cash is great, but at the end of the day, all you're really left with is that white envelope. If gaining nothing else but money from a job doesn't sound appealing, then escorting really isn't the way to go.

Miami

I realized I never properly introduced readers to my city.

Miami: the Magic City. The American Riviera. Home to world-class beaches, the nation's worst drivers, and (according to some) ground-zero of the mortgage crisis. The state of Florida as a whole seems to boom and bust about every 10 years or so. Still, it's where I call home.

For starters, let's head over to Wikipedia, shall we? Miami has its very own entry.

Done reading? Good. Now let's clear up some common misconceptions. What most people see on TV -- white-sand beaches, art deco architecture and topless women galore -- isn't located in the City of Miami. In fact, all of this is located across the Causeway (MacArthur Causeway, Julia Tuttle, etc.) in the city of Miami Beach.

Still with me? Miami and Miami Beach are two different cities, with different mayors, zip codes and schools. I'll be perfectly honest: I didn't know this when I first arrived in Miami -- and it still amazes me just how poorly the city is portrayed on television in terms of geographical accuracy. The only shows that come close are Dexter and Burn Notice.

As for mainland Miami, there are three main areas that I hang out in. First off is Brickell, also known as the financial district. There are quite a few banks in the area, but not too long ago the place was deserted after 6 p.m. Now, glittering sky scrapers and shops, restaurants and clubs are making it one of the city's hottest places to live and work.

Next up is Coconut Grove. Once known as a bohemian artists' colony, the area has gentrified in some respects, though unfortunately there still exists an impoverished area known as the West Grove. I always hate saying this, but it's really not wise to be in this area after dark -- even by car.

Last but not least is the beautiful suburb of Coral Gables. Known as "The Gables" to locals, it's one of Florida's wealthiest neighborhoods and a city in and of itself. Several of my longtime clients live in the Gables, and even though I don't often venture there during my non-working hours, it is a beautiful neighborhood.

So, there it is, a brief introduction to Miami. Though the recession has dampened the mood the past year, dare I say spirits are (slowly) starting to lift. Recession or no, boom or bust, Democrat or Republican in the White House, Miami will always remain America's most vibrant and exotic vacation destination.

I certainly hope the city continues to grow and evolve beyond a tropical playground for the wealthy and tourists from the northeast. Only time will tell, I suppose. Still, the Magic City will live in my heart forever.

Teeth

So, do men like it when women use their teeth?

It's certainly a sensitive subject. Oral sex may very well be most men's favorite sex act -- one that women control and ultimately decide when to give out. Usually, teeth aren't part of the equation. Not unless the man has done something to deserve it, anyway.

Most men fall into one camp: those who thinks the use of teeth during oral sex is completely out of the question. Typical reasons include a fear of pain, discomfort or even permanent damage to the penis. All reasonable objections, I might add. However, there also exists a small subset of men who are willing to at least entertain the idea of teeth when it comes to oral sex.

(For the record, I'm not one of them. I enjoy a bit of pain now and then, but seeing how my cock is directly related to my ability to earn a living, I'm not inclined to "risk it" in any shape or form.)

Other men, however, might welcome the use of teeth -- at least when they're used correctly. Less is more, folks. Gently grazing the teeth along the shaft of the penis can cause pleasure for some men, apparently. Again, the key word here is gently. A penis is not a chew toy. I repeat, a penis is not a chew toy.

For my female readers, allow me to make a somewhat reasonable comparison. Ever have a guy who either grabs your breasts too roughly or sucks on the nipple so hard you feel like grabbing a lamp and hitting him upside the head? Of course you have. Now, imagine he's doing the same thing, only to your genitals. Yeah -- now you want to stab him with the nearest sharp object.

Part of the appeal of oral sex is that it puts a man's most vulnerable and sensitive body part completely in a woman's control. Let's face it: At any point during a blow job, the woman could clamp her jaw shut and ensure that her sex partner never has another erection again. One might characterize this as an element of danger, even.

Seeing how most men at least subconsciously fear castration (really, it's true) they understandably have an aversion to any woman using her pearly whites during oral sex. So, my advice to any couples looking to try this? Please, proceed with caution. And women, never, ever do this without asking your man if it's all right beforehand.

And with that, I am going to sleep. Goodnight.

Adam's New Boyfriend

Seems Adam has found himself a proper boyfriend.

Simone and I double-dated with them last night. And yes, I know the term "double date" is likely to induce cringes on those who shun such terms, but I really don't know how else to put it.

I have no idea whether or not Adam has told his new boyfriend about his profession or not. Probably not. I sure didn't when I was seeing Brianna briefly, and Rebecca had kept it hidden from me as well, even though we were not longer dating at the time.

Needless to say, it was an eventful night.

Adam's new boyfriend, who will remain nameless until I'm sure he'll stick around, was eager to meet me -- mainly because Adam had mentioned me several times. To the point where he (the boyfriend) was worried that I was actually an ex-boyfriend instead of a platonic friend.

"You two would make a cute couple," Simone said. "No offense Julian, but I can easily see you going the other way."

"Thanks," I said, then kissed her on the neck. "Will most homos do that?"

"Wow," Adam's boyfriend said. "You and Adam are close. Most breeders don't use words like 'homo' so freely."

"Hey," Adam said, slapping his date's arm. "Just because they reproduce without the use of a surrogate doesn't mean they're breeders."

"Actually," Simone said, "that's exactly what it means."

We all agreed on that one. Seeing how Florida bans gay adoption for now, it's not as if Adam or his new love could entertain the idea of having children. Adam theorized escaping north to Canada, preferably Vancouver where it wasn't "cold as fuck" for nine months out of the year.

"It's a pretty city," I said. "Rebecca and I visited last summer." I immediately regretted bringing it up, especially when Simone kicked my chin with a a high-heel. Seems there's still no love lost between those two, even if clients are known to try someone new after a period of time.

Adam's date excused himself to the bathroom shortly after our meal, leaving us alone to talk about him behind his back. Adam was eager for the feedback, and Simone found his date to be perfectly charming. Tall, handsome, educated -- the usual things that make straight women so mad.

"Plus," Adam said, "he has one hell of a cock--"

"Hello, we're in public," I said. "And like you'd ever date someone less-than-stellar in that department? Size queen."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," Adam replied.

The night ended with Adam and his date getting into a cab, presumably to return to either of their apartments where they would fuck their brains out. Good for them. I just hope that the new boyfriend doesn't run screaming when Adam finally lets him know what he does for a living.

As for Simone and I, we parted ways after a cup of coffee. She had work, I had some more details to iron out in terms of another job interview. I don't know what the hell is going on, but things are starting to pick up in the jobs-that-don't-require-condoms department. I've got one this Thursday.

Stay tuned, kids. My bet is that by this spring, I'll be entering into a brave new world.

Pegging: Part Deux

Remember the woman who dominated her husband right in front of me? She bought herself a second booking with me. This time, we were alone.

The sex was pretty standard. It was the discussion afterward that was the most interesting. Against my better judgment, I asked her about pegging her husband -- from how he first requested it to if she enjoys the act herself.

"He first requested it not too long ago, actually," she said, answering my first question. "We've done plenty of other stuff before, don't get me wrong. But pegging was something different altogether."

"Were you hesitant?" I asked.

"A bit at first. I mean, I wanted to really understand what I was doing. I didn't want to do it wrong, or hurt him. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

"I'm sorry?"

"I assume you've had anal," she said. "With women, that is."

I smiled. "Guilty as charged."

The client continued to tell me her story. She and her husband attended a class and even bought an instructional DVD on how to properly peg. The first time wasn't that great -- nerves and all that. The second time was better. The third time was the charm.

"What's the appeal for you?" I asked. "Role reversal? Feeling powerful?"

The client crossed her arms over her bare breasts in mock anger. "I am powerful. Hell, I earn more than he does. But yes, I do like taking a more dominant role in the bedroom from time to time."

So that's it, I thought. Role reversal. The wife gets the power, the husband gets to be submissive and not have to worry about performing.

The client must have seen my inner dialogue being played out across my face, because she asked me what I was thinking. I rehashed my theory to her, and was pleased when she said she mostly agreed.

"I've seen this before," I said. "Well, not pegging, but the whole role reversal. It's kind of what fuels my career."

"How so?"

"Any woman who pays for sex is engaging in role reversal whether she knows it or not," I said. "Men have been paying for sex for centuries, but it takes a modern woman to do it for herself."

The client agreed and approved. If anything, she said, I was a "present" for the both of them. The husband got to fulfill a fantasy of sharing his wife with another man, while the wife got to fulfill the desire of having a man watching her as she dominated her husband. Complicated, yes. Unfathomable? No, not at all.

Learning about people's sex lives is an unintended bonus of my job. One that I'll truly miss if I ever leave escorting for good.

Lower Merion Spying Scandal

This post has nothing to do with sex, escorting or even Miami. Still, it is a pretty interesting topic, so read on.

Lower Merion School District, a well-to-do district outside Philadelphia, has been accused of spying on students by activating the Webcams on school-issued laptops. The story broke when 15-year-old Blake Robbins was apparently reprimanded by assistant vice principal Lindy Matsko for "inappropriate behavior" inside his own home.

So, how was this "inappropriate behavior" discovered? It seems that Harriton High School (the 2,300-pupil high school within the Lower Merion School District) has the ability to activate the Webcams on all school-issued laptops as they see fit. The school district claims this is only used to track down any stolen laptops.

Was Blake Robbins's laptop stolen? No. However, that didn't stop the Webcam on his laptop from being activated. On Nov. 11, assistant principal Matsko tried to reprimand Robbins for taking pills that she assumed were drugs. Robbins has denied the charge, saying the "pills" were actually candy.

Blake's parents, Michael and Holly Robbins, have filed a class-action lawsuit against the school district. I'm not a lawyer, but I would like to say two things, one to Blake himself and another to his parents:

1) Blake, I am truly sorry to hear of this invasion of privacy.

2) Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, don't worry about paying Blake's university tuition. Once the school district settles (and if they have any intelligence at all, they'll settle in lieu of going to court) he'll be able to go to any university he wants.


I know I have some teen readers on this blog. Perhaps I've even been read by a Lower Merion student. So, if any adolescents are reading this post now, understand that NO SCHOOL, at ANY TIME, has the right to monitor you outside of school grounds, or dictate your behavior at home.

What happened to Blake was a horrendous violation of privacy, and the Lower Merion School District deserves to pay dearly for it -- both in monetary terms as well as the sea of negative publicity they've been receiving all week. And that's a best case scenario. What's the worst case scenario?

If there is even ONE picture of a minor in a state of undress, the district will likely face child pornography charges. Possession or even the search of child pornography is a felony punishable by jail time. And if my research into the world of true crime has taught me anything, it's that those who peddle the flesh of children -- physically or digitally -- are targeted in prison more than any other class of criminal.

How dare Lower Merion think they can get away with this. Spying inside of students inside their own homes? Who the fuck do they (the assistant principal, school board, etc.) think they are? I've said it before, and I'll say it again: High School is IRRELEVANT post-graduation.

As someone who had to deal with a creepy encounter with a teacher at my own high school (read this past entry for all the details) I for one think it's time that public school teachers and administrators are held to the standards that every other working professional is.

Minors shouldn't have to go to school with criminals or perverts. Unfortunately, this news story proves that at least one public school outside Philadelphia has both.

Link: New York Times coverage.

Stealing Clients

I found out why Rebecca dislikes Simone.

True, they were both escorts for only a short period of time. Simone was gaining traction just as Rebecca was preparing to quit. Still, that didn't stop Simone from "stealing" one of Rebecca's long-time clients.

Simone told me so herself as we lay in bed together, having had sex. I know, naughty naughty. So, as Simone and I lay naked in bed, our bodies intertwined, Simone brought up Rebecca's visit.

"I can't believe you let her stay here," she said. "After she just left before."

"You know I can't say no to a woman," I said, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Occupational hazard, I suppose."

"She's mad at me because I 'stole' the banker she liked to spend time with. But what am I supposed to do? Shit happens."

"Indeed. Not that I blame the banker, of course." I let my hands wander around her waist, then reach up to her breasts. I cupped them, brushed my thumbs over the nipples. "You do have great tits."

"Is that why you insist on sucking them during sex?"

"You'd be insulted if I didn't."

"Very true," she said. "Very true."

What was and should have continued to be a nice moment was tainted on my behalf. Not that I ruined the moment for the both of us -- just myself. See, I've received a few more emails this week, and it now there is an additional firm that's interested in seeing me about a full-time job.

That, and another firm wrote in just to let me know that my resume has been received and I'm in the running. We'll be in touch, the email said. Interviews are in the process of being scheduled.

Is this the beginning of the end? Part of me thinks so, another part thinks that this is just another blip on the radar before the firms hire another, more experienced person in their early to mid-30s. It's happened twice before already. Why should I believe this time should be any different?

Just as I was pondering my future I noticed that Simone had reached beneath my navel and was stroking my cock. I was hard again, she said. Was I up for another round?

I rolled her over on her back and reached into the bureau for another condom. She smiled, then spanked my ass.

"Careful," I said. "Keep doing that and I'll be ready for rounds two and three."

"Bring it."

And so I did. Just the second round, though. Even I don't have the energy for three rounds of sex, at least not consecutively. Again, part of me fears that if I quit escorting, that means Simone and I will have to end our relationship. Will I be as comfortable "sharing" her sexually with other men?

Will leaving escorting mean I'll become a sexual prude and expect sexual exclusivity? I'd like to think not, but who knows. Only time will tell.

Come What May

"I don't come from having anything inside of me," the client said. "Really, I don't. Just from having, you know... oral."

I wish she'd told me before I arrived. Before I arrived at her home, I realized I was out of condoms and had to make a last-minute stop to the pharmacy to pick up a fresh box. After getting a weird look from the pharmacist, I made it to the booking with not a minute to spare.

A punctual whore is a successful whore, and I for one think being late is simply unprofessional.

Alas, it seems like the condoms wouldn't be used. But before I continue, allow me to be honest about something: Part of me thought of trying to talk her through the process of penetrative sex. Well, not so much talk her through the process of it so much as try to determine what she didn't like about it.

Err, still being unclear. Okay, I wanted to know what about vaginal sex failed to give her an orgasm. Were her past sex partners too fast and quick? Or was it something else entirely, such as a lack of sensation within the vagina? Her clitoris, she told me, responded to stimuli just fine, though.

"You think I'm a freak, don't you?" she said.

I shook my head vigorously. "No. No, of course not. I'll do whatever you tell me to. That's what I'm here for, after all."

She smiled. "I wish more men shared your point of view."

"Well, I suppose you could try paying them."

The client laughed quite loudly. Again, I love making women laugh -- especially when it's a loud, unexpected burst of laughter. We'd had enough awkward conversation for the evening, so I decided to fix us both a drink. And by "fix" I mean let the client show me how to make a Mojito using her own liquor in the kitchen.

After the alcohol, well, it was time for her to get her money's worth.

I started off slow, kissing her abdomen and licking her stomach. I followed it by traveling below the navel, then hooking my thumbs into her underwear and pulling them down to her ankles. I spread her legs apart, but didn't go in right after. I wanted to keep building momentum, so I kissed up her thighs while rubbing her calves and tickling the backs of her knees.

I then broke my mouth free and said, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she answered. "Yes..."

I licked my thumbs and index fingers and started rubbing the lips before spreading them open. Next was my tongue, licking her in long, slow strokes instead of the normal flicks most guys do. The taste was... well, I'm afraid I can't describe it. Perhaps that's because every woman is different.

Understand that when I perform oral sex on a woman, I will take breaks. I'll kiss her breasts, her mouth, but should she specifically request I try to make her come from oral sex, then that's what I'll do.

In the end, it all comes (no pun intended) down to the clitoris. Licking it, kissing it, sucking it -- whatever. It's a process of trial and error, while keeping an eye on what provokes the best reaction. In this case, it was all of the above. She just wanted me to lavish her clit with all the affection I could muster.

When her hips bucked against my mouth and she pressed my head in further, I knew I was doing something right. Her thighs closed around my cheeks and I could feel the heat pressing against my face. My hands reached around her lower back and grabbed her ass, giving me a more solid grip.

"Almost there," she said. "Almost..."

After a few more strokes of the tongue, she came. I held on for just a little bit longer before sliding my mouth off. My tongue was tired, but mouth hot and wet. A quick blot with a tissue cleaned things up, though I was also hard as a rock and already dripping through my boxers.

Then, ladies and gentlemen the client did something that really warmed my heart. As I lay on my back, she yanked my boxers down and finished me off with a hand job. I came on her breasts and then we both showered to clean up.

So, that was my Wednesday night. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Most of the time, I love my job.

Glamorization of Prostitution

I am not glamorizing prostitution.

This whole topic irks me. Should a sex worker share his/her experiences in the field, suddenly we're somehow "encouraging" young people to become prostitutes themselves. Somehow, this only seems to happen to high-end escorts -- you know, the ones who enter sex work under their own free will and perhaps even view it as a decent way to spend a year or so before moving on.

Look through the archives of this blog. I got into escorting through an ex-girlfriend. I wasn't trafficked. I wasn't coerced. I'm not paying off any drug debt and I'm not an illegal immigrant that was placed in some sort of sex trafficking ring by an unscrupulous westerner.

And yet the accusations continue. Most of the emails and tweets I receive in response to this blog are wonderful. I appreciate each and every one, and have even kept a few emails as a reminder that my writing seems to brighten people's days. Once my career in escorting is over -- whenever that may be -- I'll have the archives of this blog and those emails to remember all of my adventures.

Other emails, however, aren't so keen on my sharing my experiences. Should a young, impressionable teenager read this blog, what then? Will he/she think that skipping university and becoming an escort as soon as they hit legal age will be a good idea? I hate to take the wind out of anyone's sails, but teens are already sexting and fucking and doing God knows what else these days. They're not innocent creatures in need of protection.

Furthermore, I've already taken take on this blog to warn any teen readers of what a life in escorting truly entails. It's not all five-star hotels and breezy sexual encounters. Lying to friends and family, keeping up with clients' demands, and trying to have at least one Saturday night off a month are all challenges in this field.

(Never mind the fact that sex in and of itself is a demanding physical act. And as Adam tells it, satisfying women is much harder than satisfying men. Seeing how he has sexual relations with both genders, I'll take his word for it.)

I realize and sympathize with the fact that a majority of sex workers are indeed streetwalkers that have substance abuse problems. I live in Miami, folks. A quick drive down Biscayne Boulevard or some of the more unsavory parts of South Beach is proof enough of the existence of such degenerates. Even so, that doesn't change the fact that some of us are in this business because we chose to be.

Sharing my experiences at the high end of the business is not glamorizing prostitution -- it's simply giving another side to the story that people are apparently fascinated about. I am not apologizing for the choices I made in life and I will not succumb to viewing myself as a victim, especially when I earn several hundred dollars an hour for having sex with women who, by and large, I enjoy the company of.

All right, rant over. Thanks for reading, and I wish everyone a good day.

Pegging

Why do couples like having me in their bedrooms so much?

I'd just finished having sex with another man's wife when the husband crawled into bed along with us. After waiting a few minutes, he began stroking his wife's shoulder, kissing her neck, all things I had assumed meant he wanted a turn for himself.

"All right," the wife said. "Just hold on a minute..."

I knew my place in all of this. I gave them some room, and even offered to get out of bed completely. I'm sure the chair the husband had been sitting on was still plenty warm. After all, he'd spent an entire hour on it while I performed oral sex on his wife before fucking her.

The wife and husband both agreed I should get out of bed. Once I was on the chair, the wife asked me to reach into her dresser drawer and take out the strap on. Thinking I'd misheard her, I asked her to repeat what she'd just said, only to have her tell me to get the strap on.

"Um, all right," I said. "Listen, I know a lot of guys are into that, but I don't happen to be one of them--"

"It's not for you, silly," the wife said, smiling. "It's for my husband."

I was speechless for a moment, as the reality of the situation began to set in. Not only did the husband want to watch another man fuck his wife, but now he wanted to have that "other man" watch his wife fuck him in the ass with a strap on. Good God, even I didn't see this one coming.

"I see," I said, once I regained the ability to speak. "Well, let's get to it, then."

The strap on wasn't too large. In fact, it was one of the more realistic depictions of a man's penis I've seen in recent years. These days, most strap-ons and dildos and vibrators are either freakishly large or full of extra features that a regular, old-fashioned penis looks dull in comparison.

"Here you are," I said, and handed it to the wife. I slipped on a white robe they said I could use, and settled into the chair. Understand that watching a man being pegged by his wife isn't my idea of a good time, but I was being paid to play the part of audience member. No matter what, I always strive to please my clients to the best of my ability.

The wife put on the appendage with ease, and then reached into the bedside table and took out a tube of lubricant. Seeing how I'd fucked her missionary, we didn't need any lube. Her husband, like all other people on the receiving end of anal sex, would need plenty.

First one finger, then a second, then a third. Once she had four inside, she began to fuck him in a rhythmic and methodical manner. Just enough force for it to be felt, but not enough to cause any discomfort. Next came the strap-on itself, which entered the husband slowly and gently, until she was inside.

The look on his face was... well, I don't know how to describe it. I wouldn't describe it as painful, but it didn't exactly look like ice cream and puppies, either. After ten minutes or so, however, he seemed in better spirits. More interesting than the physical details were the verbal exchanged throughout.

"You like it when I fuck you?" the wife said.

"Yes," the husband answered. "Yes -- fuck me, fuck me like no one else can!"

I am not making this up.

The husband came with a cry that was damn near primal in its energy. He collapsed onto his stomach and lay there for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom. As for me, well, I must have looked completely shell-shocked, because the wife asked me if I was all right.

"Fine," I said, realizing that this couple had just succeeded at shocking me. I used to think that shocking a whore was like trying to out-sleaze a lawyer, but I stand corrected.

"Are you sure?" the wife continued.

"I'm a prostitute," I said. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

That last bit was a lie. I left the home shortly after. This experience was just... different. Not at all what I was expecting. Not something I'm sure I'd seek to repeat. The husband and wife were lovely people, though. The wife even handed me a nice tip in addition to my hourly fee. Can't complain in that respect.

Still, what's the appeal of fucking one's husband in the ass? Is it about power? Turning the tables? Did he outright request it?

The mystery continues...

Making Decisions

It's late, and I should be asleep. Well, asleep or reading. But instead I'm curled up on my sofa, typing a blog entry that I hadn't planned on posting before. Hopefully it'll be worth it.

Writing this blog has been a great experience for me. It's enabled me to share my experiences, thoughts and occasional frustrations in escorting. Having sex for a living isn't without its downsides, of course. But soon, things might begin to change.

Within a few weeks, I should know if I will have the chance to leave escorting behind for a job opportunity in my field from university. Well, not so much a job opportunity as a trial run at a company that sounds pretty decent. I met with the owners; they're nice people, and both seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of working together.

For the record, I wasn't looking for this opportunity. If anything, it found me.

Still, am I really ready to leave escorting behind, or even cut my hours? I'm not so sure. Ever since that one fateful night with Rebecca and the masturbating doctor, I've been sleeping with strangers for money and have grown accustomed to both the work and the nature of sex work in general.

The money is good. The hours are strange, but not that demanding. Sex work is a field in which age and experience -- things employers value -- aren't important. Hell, being too old and too experienced is bad for one's career. So, in those respects, escorting makes perfect sense, at least for now.

I know the idea that the idea of leaving sex work makes me nervous is absurd, but that's how I feel. It's not just the sex -- though that's part of it. It's the idea that once I take that "real" job, my career is no longer in my hands. I'll answer to a boss, have to make compromises, deal with co-workers -- things I haven't had much experience in for a long while.

Not to mention, there's something else. Or shall I say, someone else.

Should I leave escorting, I fear that my relationship with Simone will be irreparably damaged. Could I truly continue a relationship with an escort without being one myself? The fact that Simone and I both sleep with other people for a living seems to cancel out the fact that we aren't exclusive to one another.

Assume I quit escorting. Suddenly, I'm not having sex with multiple women a week. Simone, however, will be -- meaning she and I are no longer on equal footing. Will I grow jealous if I continue to sleep with her, knowing that she's continuing to see clients?

I'd like to think not, but who am I to predict my emotions? Hypocrisy is something everyone partakes in eventually. Could I be next?

On a more philosophical note, I'm also nervous about letting Julian "die" completely. Of course I'd keep writing the blog, and who knows, maybe I'll keep escorting, at least on the weekends. But still, Julian has been my dual identity for some time. And I'm not sure I'm ready to let him go for good.

I don't know whether it's possible to combine Julian and the real me. Julian, for all his glory, is someone who rarely shows himself during non-working hours. The real me isn't nearly as striking or interesting. How could my "regular self" compete with my "escort self" and come out on top? Julian has far better stories to tell.

So, dear readers, time will tell where my life is going. I still have a full schedule for the next two weeks. And rest assured that whatever happens, this blog will continue. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't see myself going cold turkey immediately.

Sex is like a drug -- meaning I'd have to wean myself off slowly. I just hope that whatever happens, I don't lose either side of myself in the process. Julian is part of me, no matter what. And thanks to this blog, I suppose, he will live on forever.

Guys Night Out

After having to deal with various women in my life -- clients, Rebecca, Simone -- I decided it was time for a guys night out.

Bailey was game, as was Adam. Joining us were a few friends of Bailey, none of whom had any idea as to what Adam and I do for a living. All the better, I suppose. Both Adam and I have pretty convincing cover stories when people inevitably ask what we do. For Adam, it's earning his Master's in Education (funny for reasons I'll explain later) while I'm doing freelance advertising and graphic design gigs.

Wonderful as Coconut Grove is, I couldn't help but remember just how miserable dating in Miami can be. Between pimped out "guidos" (Adam's term, not mine, and he's Italian-American) and equally terrifying girls, sometimes I think being an escort is actually a plus.

Of course, we always find what we're looking for when we no longer want it. Last night, that adage came true in the form of a gorgeous Asian-American girl who was flirting with me across the bar. She'd look at me, smile, then turn away. She followed it up with a twirling of the hair and crossing and uncrossing her legs -- all classic signs that even the densest of men can pick up on.

"Go over and talk to her," Bailey said. "Come on -- you can use it, all things considering."

Adam disagreed. "She looks young, doesn't she? She probably goes to UM. And you still prefer older, don't you?"

"I don't know what the hell I prefer anymore," I said. Still, she was pretty. I'd feel like a twat if I didn't at least make some basic conversation. So, with the encouragement of three of the four males I went to the bar with, I walked over and pulled up a bar stool.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Julian."

She took my hand and complimented me on my watch, which had slid down my wrist and nearly fell off. Time to get it re-sized.

"You're here with your friends, I assume?" She gestured towards the testosterone-filled table where I'd been sitting. "They seem like good guys."

"That they are."

She took a sip of her beer then looked down, almost nervously. I was trying to figure out what went wrong when she finally looked back at me and laughed. There had been a misunderstanding, she said. She wasn't smiling at me. In fact, she was flirting with Adam.

"Oh," I said, because I couldn't think of anything else. "Um, look, I don't know how to tell you this..."

"He's seeing someone else?" she said. "I mean, that's fine. I don't like guys who cheat anyway, so if he's with anyone--"

"No, not that." I bit my lip and decided to give Adam up. "Look, he's gay."

That made her eyes widen. She looked over my shoulder at the table, then back at me. "No, no that can't be right. I mean, my gaydar is great. I would have known."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But look, all the other guys are single, so if you want me to say anything to them..."

"Are you and him together?" she asked.

"What? No -- we're just friends."

The girl glanced back at the table, then shook her head. "Thanks, but the others just aren't my type."

"To each their own."

I walked back to the table, noticing that Bailey's two friends had left. I assumed they were somewhere else in the bar chatting up girls, and I was correct. When I sat down, Bailey was all questions about how my little conversation went. Adam was disinterested, ironically so. When I told them what happened, Bailey damn near choked on his beer while Adam was dumbfounded.

"What do you mean, she was flirting with me?" he said. "That... that doesn't make any sense. I mean, Julian, she was looking right at you."

"And you were sitting behind me, still in her line of sight," I said. "But hey, if you're interested--"

"I do that at work, not in my spare time," Adam said. "No thanks."

Bailey rolled his eyes and ordered another beer along with a basket of hot wings. As we continued to eat and drink, I could see the girl back at the bar continuing to look at our table -- particularly at Adam. Her eyes would narrow before shooting down at the floor when either Adam or I would catch her gaze.

"All right, this has gone on long enough," I said. "Bailey, go over and talk to her."

"What? But she likes Adam, not me."

"So?" Adam said. "You can change that. Just show her how much of a hunk you are." He reached out and pinched Bailey's cheek before having his hand slapped away.

"Fine," Bailey said. "This won't take long..."

I suppose Bailey thought he would be rejected, but that wasn't the case. In fact, within ten minutes' time, he and the girl were laughing and closing the empty space between each others' bodies. This made me happy for some reason. Not sure why, really, but it did.

"Maybe I should start a matchmaking service," I said. "Can't say that I don't have relationship experience."

"Very true." Adam waited a beat. "Look, I hate to do this, but some friends of mine are actually hanging out nearby..."

"Go," I said. "I'll head home myself."

"You sure?"

"Definitely. And be sure to use a condom."

Adam punched my arm before leaving. I finished Bailey's beer and wings, and left a few bills to cover my portion of the bill. After getting up, I sent Bailey a text that I was heading out early. Don't worry -- I'm glad he and the girl were hitting it off. Still, I'd be lying if I didn't feel completely alone at that time.

So, where did I end up? Not alone at my apartment. What began as a guys night out turned into the exact opposite, in fact. Guys nights out are supposed to be group gatherings were females weren't invited -- at least not initially. They weren't supposed to be one-on-one dates between two people of the opposite sex.

But that's just what Simone and I did.

Rebecca

She came back.

Rebecca, my ex-girlfriend, the person who got me involved with escorting. What began as a five-day trip to see old friends in Miami and escape the cold weather up north turned into an extended vacation due to the snow. Her hotel reservation was only for so long, and seeing how pricey everything is on South Beach...

Yes, folks. She stayed with me.

She caught a flight back home this morning. Her presence was why I needed to take a bit of a hiatus from the blog. It's not that I'm still pining over her -- Simone cured that -- but I wasn't ready to see her quite so soon, either. Let alone having her stay in my apartment, curled up on the sofa where she'd crashed before.

Why is it that I can sleep with a perfect stranger yet seeing Rebecca again was enough to make me feel like a complete idiot when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex? I honestly don't know. Whatever romantic feelings I had for her are gone -- at least I like to think so. Perhaps it's something deeper, then?

In fact, I think I know what that "something" is. You see, Rebecca and Simone had met before. I didn't know that. And of course, they didn't care for each other. Simone considers Rebeccca uptight while Rebecca thinks that Simone is certifiably "insane" and that I'm equally crazy for seeing her, be it professionally or personally.

Women have a way of turning a man's life upside down. Trite, but true. I'd made an effort to get over Rebecca, to focus more on work, and to try new avenues in dating -- namely Simone. Having Rebecca and Simone in the same city, trading verbal barbs behind each others' backs... it was more than I anticipated.

I know all this sounds hypocritical. After all, I did let Rebecca stay in my apartment. If I was that torn up over hre being back, would I have let her do that? Understand that I am a fairly loyal person and still feel I owe a lot to Rebecca for saving me from moving back in with my parents and tempting or taking another shitty retail job.

That, and I'm a sucker for a woman who says please. Gets me every time.

(And just for those who are wondering: No, Rebecca and I didn't have sex. Had I not slept with two women during the day for work, I'll admit I may have tried something.)

I don't want to get into the specifics of what we really talked about, if for no other reason that it wasn't very interesting. She'd doing well in her new life up north, and even took the time to ask a few questions about Adam and Bailey. Send them her regards, she told me. And say hello to the agent, too.

So, there it is -- the reason I took a hiatus from the blog to figure out why the hell Rebecca coming back had made me so... I don't know, is emotional the right word? Christ, emotional. What am I, a 15-year-old girl?

Don't answer that.

Young People and Sex Work

So, why do young people enter into sex work? Easy: it's the one field that they'll always be welcome in.

Go online and look at what young university graduates are facing in this job market. Really, look. Notice a common theme? They send out resumes -- either to specific job postings or to companies -- only to hear nothing in return. Sure, this can be attributed to the sheer amount of crappy resumes and cover letters produced, but there's something else to it as well.

Now more than ever, university graduates are competing with their more experienced counterparts for the same openings. Should a 30-something professional be laid off from their mid-career position, well, they're going to apply for whatever is out there, even if it's beneath their professional station.

So, when a 30-something and a 20-something apply for the same job, who's really going to win? That's right, the 30-something, because they have more experience and qualifications. Why wouldn't an employer hire the 30-something over the 20-something? Really, they'd be an idiot not to.

Now in sex work, well, things work quite differently. That fresh-faced graduate in their 20s is going to have a significant advantage over the escort in their 30s, at least when it comes to getting signed by an agency. I'm not sure where I heard this adage, but escorting is one of the few fields where the younger and less experienced a girl/guy is, the more she/he can charge for their services.

That's not to say there aren't successful escorts out there who are no longer in their 20s. But honestly, is that high-earning professional who wants to have sex for an hour really going to choose someone closer to his age than a cute little thing in her 20s?

So, allow me to close this entry by saying this: Escorting is a quick, easy way for young people to make money. I know that sounds like a gross generalization, but in many ways it's true. Age and experience may be rewarded in the corporate world, but when it comes to sex... well, that's our territory.

Also allow me to say that I may take a bit of a hiatus from the blog. Nothing long, just a long weekend perhaps. I have lots of entries that need to be sorted out before posting. Feel free to browse the archives and email me with any questions you may have -- and thanks for reading!

The Manny

I worked as a manny during my time at university.

For those who aren't familiar with the term, "manny" describes a male nanny -- that is, a man who takes care of children in the way a woman traditionally did in the past. It's becoming a more and more popular vocation as time goes on, particularly among the wealthy.

With many husbands and fathers putting in 10- or 12-hour days at the office, their children (often sons) need a "male figure" to spend time with them. This is usually something a mother deems necessary rather than the father. It's not like the uber-powerful bankers and lawyers and CEOs are going to admit that they're falling short on anything at all, especially parenting.

So, how did I get the job? There was an ad printed in the student newspaper saying that a couple was looking for a male college student to help out with their young son and daughter each day between the hours of, let's say, 3 and 6 p.m. I called the number, spoke with the mother, and arranged an in-person interview later that week.

This meeting was really my first introduction into the world of the wealthy. I was only 20-years-old at the time, and still several years away from my first night as a sex worker. Meeting the mother, well, it wasn't that different from meeting a client for the first time. She offered me a drink -- water -- and we got down to some smalltalk before the big stuff came up.

"We'll do a criminal background check, just so you know," she told me. "Other than that, we'd like some references as well. Professors, former employers, stuff like that."

"No problem," I told. I flashed a grin, something that I still do to this day. "So, what can you tell me about the kids?"

She went on for quite some time, before we finished the interview and she said she would be in touch within the following week. To my surprise, she actually got back to me just a few days later. She talked with my professors and that was enough for her. Smart, responsible and funny Julian would make a great manny.

I did enjoy my time with her and her children. Especially the kids -- they were great. One boy and one girl, one three-years-old and the other five-years-old. Little hell raisers, but so damn cute. I especially loved the time the five-year-old thought it would be funny to sneak up behind me, plant her little hands on my backside and try and push me into the pool.

Is it pathetic that due to a slippery edge, I damn near fell in?

To answer the question of everyone's mind: No, I didn't sleep with the wife. Honestly, I didn't. It's not that I didn't want to. However, this job of mine was cut short by one person: the husband.

He saw me in his home and didn't like it. About two months in, he called and told me I wouldn't be needed anymore. No explanation, though I would get the rest of my pay. The wife called back a day later and was deeply apologetic. It seems the husband was irked over something that happened earlier that week. Something that I still remember to this day.

The little girl, face smeared with chocolate from the cookies we'd baked earlier, had looked up at me and said: "Are you going to move in with us?"

"No," I said. "Do you think I should?"

She nodded. "Mommy says she misses you when you're gone, because Daddy doesn't listen to her. She says whoever marries you is gonna be a lucky, lucky lady."

I didn't know what to say. Again, I was only 20-years-old at the time. Men take longer than women to mature, and even I was a little rough around the edges at that point. Now what I didn't know at the time was that, apparently, the daughter repeated these comments to her father's face.

The poor girl, saying she hoped that a 20-year-old university student could move in and essentially take his place. When I found out, I wasn't surprised that I got fired. The money was good, but that wasn't what I missed the most. Those kids grew on me, damn it. I'd gotten into such a routine with them -- come home, snack at the kitchen table, bit of TV before homework -- that my life felt empty without them for awhile.

I mean... it's not like I ever thought of them as my own. At least not at first. Err, scratch that. I knew they weren't my own, but that didn't mean I didn't appreciate the fact that they were in my life.

And now thanks to this blog entry, I'm feeling all nostalgic. Crap...

Men & Women: The Difference in Escorting

So, why is being a successful male escort different than being a successful female escort?

For one, being a man in this business is harder than being a woman -- at least when it comes to getting established. Go online and see how many agencies there are dedicated to providing male companionship for women. Go on, do a Google search. Notice anything strange?

There aren't that many agencies out there, you say? Well, just the gay ones -- not that there's anything wrong with that. So, how does a straight man go about having sex with women for cash? Well, he first needs to do a bit of introspection. The following questions are most helpful:

• Do I get along with women? This might sound like a no-brainer, but honestly, if women don't like you in your regular life they aren't going to be willing to pay for your companionship, either. Some men get along marvelously with women. Some men feel like their whole lives are dominated by women -- myself included. Those who are most comfortable working with women day-in, day-out will have the best chances for success.

• Am I sexually liberal? This isn't a business for prudes, and you'd be surprised how many male prudes there are. If a woman is paying for sex, she very well might just want missionary. Or anal. Or being spanked. Hell, she may even want to bring food into the bedroom. A man can't panic.

• Do I look all right? True, everyone has a different definition of beauty. Still, being a good-looking guy is pretty much a requirement. That's not to say every guy has to be at Brad Pitt's level, but really, Dustin Diamond (aka Screetch from Saved by the Bell) isn't going to cut it.

All right, now that the questions are out of the way, let's get to the real meat-and-potatoes of the business. As I've said earlier, there are very few agencies that provide male companionship for women. Gay men have a much, much wider pool to choose from. So, what's a breeder to do? Simple: Find a female escort who's willing to introduce you to her agent.

It's what Rebecca did with me. Her agent was skeptical at first. Sure, she saw a photo and knew I'd succeeded in fucking Rebecca for the voyeur doctor's pleasure, but hiring a man? Is there really a market for such things? The answer has been a resounding yes. And I never would have been able to access that market without the agent's guidance.

Well, not so much guidance as her pimping me out to her rich friends, but still. One client talks to another. The second client talks to a third. The agent make some calls to those group sex parties in the Florida Keys I talked about. Things start to snowball and grow. Soon escorting pays as much (and now, more) than the freelance graphic design jobs I do on the side.

Of course female escorts rely on their agents to get work, but it's even more so for men. Any crafty female can pay to have a website designed, have it listed in the various online venues for sex work, and began wading through the Emails offering for money for sex. For men, no such venues exist. A man truly needs an agent -- preferably a woman -- to succeed.

Quite a role reversal, isn't it? Most men don't like to admit they need anyone for anything, but as this blog proves I'm not most men. Clearly. I also have something else most men don't have either -- a sense of loyalty.

The agent from Los Angeles called. She still wants to meet with me. And I don't know what the hell to say. Moving to Los Angeles would be long, complicated and expensive. However, the opportunity to take my career to the "next level" would be quite amazing. If being a sex worker is what I'm meant to do, well, might as well take it as far as I can, right?

Keep reading, folks. Something tells me that 2010 is going to be one hell of a year.

Prostidude

A 23-year-old college dropout known only as Markus has become the country's first legal male gigolo. Based out of the Shady Lady Ranch in Nye County, Nevada, Markus aims to service women and make them feel good about themselves in the process.

Still, that's not to say that Markus isn't without his critics.

A disastrous interview in Details magazine had Markus comparing his entering the sex industry to Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus. Wisely, the owners of the Shady Lady Ranch have now decided that Markus will not be doing any more press. A wise move indeed. Really. This guy is a dolt.

I know that as a fellow sex worker, I should feel a bit of camaraderie for this guy. Live and let live, right? But I'm afraid that just isn't possible. Markus isn't physically attractive, or even intelligent, and his former career as a two-scene porn star doesn't inspire confidence in his ability as a prostitute.

So, why would Shady Lady Ranch even take him on to begin with? To explain that, there's something you should know about girls (and guys, I suppose) that work at brothels. To quote the fabulous Mistress Matisse: Most of them are either dumb as a rock or crazy as hell. Why, you ask? Well, because any worthwhile sex worker will be either working independently or with an agent.

It's what I do. It's what Brooke Magnanti did. And it's really the best route to go for consumers. Agencies before brothels -- always. So, with that in mind, brothels don't exactly have the best pool of prospective employees. They have to take what they can get, which is often people on Markus's caliber.

My personal predictions for Markus? Well, I think his "career" will last about one year, tops. Bad press in Details and the New York Post isn't doing him any favors, and without management to introduce him to the proper clientele...

Yeah, it doesn't look good.

You see, being a successful male escort is different than being a successful female escort. This is something my agent and I have learned together during our professional relationship, and it's something we're still discovering today. So, what are the differences? That, my friends, is another story.

Haunted House

"I'm telling you, this house is haunted!"

The client's eyes shifted from left to right, as if a ghost might appear if she wasn't careful. As for me, well, I was standing there naked like a right idiot. True, I haven't put in my time with Torchwood or the cast of Ghost Hunters, but the house seemed normal enough to me.

"Can't you feel it? There's something strange about this place," she continued. "I hear these noises in the middle of the night. A few times it was just my husband's snoring, but other times..."

"I'm sure it's just the feeling of being in a new house," I said. "Miami is a strange city, especially from someone who just came from Kansas City."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, Miami is really lovely this time of year, actually. I certainly don't miss the winter, and neither does my husband. My sister and her husband, God, they're still shoveling snow I think--"

"Shall we get started?" I asked. "I mean... I'm sorry, I don't want to be rude, but if you just want to talk I can put my clothes back on."

The client blushed so hard her face looked like a fire truck. I really wasn't trying to be a smart ass, but sometimes I have to take the dominant role. Given the opportunity, some clients will run their mouths until the hour is over, then try to negotiate a quick fuck before I leave without paying extra.

"We can start slow, if you like." I crawled into bed with her, then kissed her on the mouth before making a trail along her neck and collar bone. Women love this -- the idea of a man doing nothing but tasting their flesh with his lips and tongue. And taste I did, my taste buds catching the slightest hint of Coco Butter.

"You moisturize," I said, whispering in her ear. "Your skin tastes good."

"I try..." She trailed off as I slipped my right hand across the small of her back, letting my fingers knead into the flesh as my other hand stroked in the inside of her thigh. Still kissing her, I let my hands travel up her abdomen and over her breasts, until I gently pushed her down on her back.

"What now?" she asked.

I smirked. "Just wait."

I took her clothes off garment by garment, then laid them down beside the bed. She tried to get up, but I gently led her back down. I then did what I like to call "lips to lips", meaning I kissed her mouth, then her breasts, then her abdomen, until I was working with that other set of lips.

"Jesus Christ," she said, and almost convulsed. "God... don't stop."

"Are you sure?" I said. "Because I can do something else."

"No, just--"

"Trust me."

I licked her one last time, then let my middle and index fingers slid inside of her. I moved them lightly at first, teasing her with little flicks and turns. As for my left hand, well, I pressed it down on her abdomen and at the same time, moved both my fingers forward inside of her.

She cried out in response. Eyes shut tightly, she gripped her breasts and cradled them as I continued fingering her. I assume she had an orgasm, especially after she let go of her breasts and swung her arms wildly, nearly knocking over a lamp in the process.

"We're not finished," I said. "Assuming you want more."

The client was beyond words. Instead, she reached forward and yanked me by my cock as if I was a... well... something that's accustomed to being yanked by its genitals. I barely had time to get the condom on before I penetrated her in one smooth thrust. And what did the client have to say?"

"Oh... Oh... Oh FUCK!"

All right, this one really needed it. I pinned her down by the shoulders, pressed my mouth against hers and pumped in and out like my life depended on it. In and out, a few circular motions, slow then fast then slow again. Grabbing my ass, the client pushed me inside of her even in further, resulting in a climax for us both.

We lay in bed for a few minutes after. After showering, I dressed and began laughing as I brushed my hair in the bathroom mirror. The client, still naked in the bed, asked me what I found so funny.

"Still think this place is haunted?" I said.

"Hmm? Oh, whatever. At this point, I really don't give a damn."

Just as I suspected. Being an escort has taught me a lot of things, but one of them has always remained true: There are few things a good fuck can't fix.

Ask an Escort

It's not that I've been ignoring Simone since we had sex. In fact, we've spoken on the phone several times, but given our strange work schedules, meeting up has proven difficult. Both of us need to work out, run errands, keep up with the bookings from our agent, and a multitude of other mundane tasks.

Simone, it seems, has busier schedule than I do. Besides escorting, she also offers sex therapy services to couples. She's not a proper doctor, true, but that doesn't mean that with the right kind of advertising she can't help those with shitty sex lives rekindle the bedroom flames.

Again, she requested my presence. Why exactly she did this I'm not sure. However, I arrived at her mid-rise, Mediterranean-style building just blocks away from the beach. I couldn't help but notice just how beautiful it was -- and clearly more expensive than my high-rise across the Causeway.

"Thanks for coming," she said, after opening the door from the inside. "Come on; our clients are waiting in the living room."

"I bought condoms and lube, but if you have any other ideas--"

"Julian!" she snapped. "This session is talk only. No sex, got it?"

"What do you mean, 'talk only'? You mean we're actually counseling them? Like... counseling isn't a euphemism for sex?"

"That's exactly what I mean, so behave yourself!"

Walking into the living room, I quickly saw that Simone was serious. Seated on the sofa were a couple in their late-30s, early-40s, both of them looking rather embarrassed and nervous. I doubt I did anything to quell their fears; the husband gave me a brief glance before looking back down at the floor, while the wife's eyes lingered a bit longer before gazing out the window overlooking the courtyard.

"Right, thanks for waiting," Simone said. "This is my friend Julian. He'll be helping me get to the root of the problems you're facing."

I winced at Simone's candor. Shouldn't these things be addressed a tad more delicately? Apparently not. With the couple still on the sofa, Simone and I took a seat on each of the chairs oppposite the coffee table, and began the session in earnest.

Here's the lowdown: The husband is angry, hurt and ashamed that his wife has been faking her orgasms for the past year. Seems the only way she can climax is either with her own hand or vibrator, leaving her husband feeling rather useless. In an act of retaliation, as the wife puts it, he's taken to pornography, and isn't even making an effort to hide it.

And yes, they have two children.

"Have you ever tried telling your husband what you want?" Simone said to the wife. "Perhaps masturbating in front of him?"

"Yes," the wife said, "but he gets so offended at the idea we never went through with it."

"I don't need anyone telling me what to do," the husband hissed. "Least of all a woman."

"Don't be so sure about that one," I said. Simone shot me a look over my icy tone, but I continued anyway. "Up to one-third of women fake their orgasms regularly. We as men are doing a pretty shitty job at keeping them satisfied. Anything that can help end this embarrassing cycle is better than perpetuating it."

The husband had no reply. Simone, trying to be charming, continued to ask the wife about what exactly her husband was doing wrong. The husband, for his part, sunk into the sofa and began petting Simone's cat. The wife was candid, honest, refreshingly so.

"I don't have an orgasm from just thrusting," she said. "And it's all too fast, too soon. I like a buildup, you know? And..."

"Yes?" Simone said.

"I like being on top," the wife said. She took a deep breath, as if she'd just made some sort of earth-shattering revelation. "God, I never said that out loud before."

"Now, would you be willing to let her try that?" I asked the husband. "Going slower at first, then letting her finish on top?"

The husband grumbled something that sounded like a "Yes." Simone was pleased, the wife relieved, and I was slightly bored. Relationship therapy isn't something I take much interest in. Now, had the husband and wife asked for a foursome, well, that's right up my alley.

It didn't end there, though. Not surprisingly, the husband asked for more blow jobs and less nagging when he wanted to go out with his friends after work. Seems leaving the kids with his wife and the nanny was just fine by his standards.

"Oral sex is reciprocal," I said. "Gotta give a little to get a little."

"Thanks, kid," the husband said. "How old are you, anyway? Twenty-three, twenty-four? How many women have you been with?"

I turned to Simone and asked if I should answer that honestly. She hit me with a pillow, causing the wife to chuckle a bit. The husband, however, remained confused. It's then I realized what was going on: The wife knew what Simone and I did for a living, but the husband did not. Beautiful.

The session wrapped up after an hour. After the husband and wife left, I took Simone's cat into my lap and petted her until she was purring like a motorboat. I resisted the urge to make the obvious pussy joke and allowed Simone to explain herself.

"Yeah, the wife knows," she said. "We get our hair done at the same salon."

"Very nice. I love all the side projects you have going on. Lap dance lessons, couples therapy. Good stuff."

"A girl has to diversify. You have your freelance jobs, too."

"Yeah, that's because male escorts don't earn as much as female ones."

"True -- but you can work for much longer."

So what happened afterward? I had asked the agent for a Thursday night off, and Simone had clients in the afternoon. So, like two "normal" people, we went out to dinner, browsed the shops on Lincoln Road, and returned back to her apartment and lounged by the chairs near the pool.

It was a beautiful evening. Unfortunately, my life is about to get a lot more complicated. Details to come...

Snowbirds

Plenty of people own second homes in South Florida. Wonderful as New York and Boston and Chicago are, the winter months in these cities are pretty dreadful. From shoveling snow to dealing with blistering wind chills, those who can afford to escape to Florida until summer often do.

I'm familiar with all the luxury buildings in South Beach, the beautiful waterfront homes in Coral Gables, even a few funky lofts in Brickell or Coconut Grove. My last client was in Coral Gables, an upscale suburb about twenty minutes south of Miami Beach. It's also the home of the world-class University of Miami, as well as the upscale shops at the Village of Merrick Park.

Really, it's a beautiful neighborhood.

I'm continuously fascinated as to what these bored, wealthy women do all day while their husbands are either at work, lunching with clients, or goofing off on the golf course. Plenty have hobbies, be it pilates or yoga or even taking a class or two at the nearby university. Sex, however, it something they desire as well. Fortunately for me, they just don't desire it with their husbands.

"Let's take a bath," the client said. "Are you okay with that?"

"Sure. But you should know, bathtub sex isn't what it's cracked up to be. I know what Hollywood shows you, but still--"

The client laughed. "Honey, I've been having sex longer than you have. You think I don't know what's doable and what isn't?"

She did have a point. We undressed, waited until the tub was filled, and relaxed into the pool of warm, pine-scented water. That's what the bath smelled like, by the way -- pine. For once I didn't smell like Jasmine or Lavender or Patchouli or God knows what else. What amazed me about this booking in particular is that I almost felt like that she was the escort and I was the client.

She rubbed my shoulders, washed my back, even ran her fingers through my hair (thick and dark, just the way they like it) as if she were a hair stylist. Before I got too spoiled I broke off contact and kissed her on the mouth, cheeks and neck. Her soft moans and the tightening of her hands on my shoulders were cues that she appreciated what I had to offer.

"We can move to the bedroom if you like," I said, before kissing each of her breasts and circling my tongue around the nipples. "It's time to get what you paid for, don't you think?"

"Hmmm mmmm ooohhh," was her reply.

"I'll take that as a yes?" I slipped my hand between her legs and began to rub the inside of her thighs. Then, I gently brushed my fingers against her pussy, but didn't penetrate her. Had to keep the suspense going.

"Stand up," she said finally. "Here in the tub -- do it."

I did as she asked. My cock was like an arrow, though it didn't stay visible for long. After a few strokes of the hand, her hands gripped my backside and brought me in closer, after which she engulfed me entirely. She didn't give the best blow job I ever had, but was serviceable enough.

I thought of coming on her breasts, but decided against it. Not everyone is comfortable with it, and I'm not working for my own enjoyment. I caught my breath, then gently pushed her away. Afterward I lifted her into my arms, and, still dripping wet, took her into the bedroom. We didn't make it to the bed, however. We fucked right on the carpeted floor.

"Never did that before," I said, dressing after the fact. "Fuck on the floor, that is."

"Really? And here I thought men your age were so promiscuous. At least that's what all the magazines say." She took a sip of water from the kitchen, then continued. "Teen sex craze out of control!" She waved her arms around in mock hysteria, making me laugh in the process.

"Yes, well, the American media is known for its hysteria. It sounds cliche, but sex sells. That's the only reason they do it."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Crisis sells papers. Perhaps now more than ever."

"You say that with such authority. Do you... I mean, did you study media or something?"

Eek -- tricky territory. "I went to college, yes. Didn't really study media though." That last part was a lie, but this client was new. Couldn't reveal too much without knowing she was a trustworthy person first.

We bid adieu and I was off in my own car (needed to drop it off for an oil change, which was on the way home anyway). Again, it amazes me just how easy I am "getting away" with my career. I have sex, get paid, and life goes on. According to most pundits, I should be addicted to drugs or contemplating suicide right about now.

In reality, the only thing I'm contemplating are my clients for Friday and Saturday night.

L'Enfant

I don't often post photos on this blog. While my writing includes some strong sexual content, none of it's visual. I like the idea of people reading my blog at work, in their spare time, in public places without fear or hesitation.

This image, however, is neither sexual or even vaguely risque. In fact, it's one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen.

For those who are unfamiliar with this poster, allow me to guide you to Wikipedia for a brief overview. The poster itself is titled L'Enfant, and to date it has sold over 5 million copies around the world.

So, what is it about this image that is just so special? Countless women had it hanging in their bedrooms during the 1980s and 90s. What was it they found so beautiful and/or inspirational? Was it the baby, the man, or both?

My own personal opinion is that the 1980s and 90s represented a turning point in terms of what was acceptable forms of masculinity. As more rigid stereotypes of masculinity were put to rest, men could express more "sensitive" or paternal behaviors without fear of ridicule. When women saw this, it was nothing short of a revelation. Hence, the success of L'Enfant and countless other imitations.

On a more technical level, I think the photo captures what every photographer hopes to capture on-film: a pure, innocent moment. Sure, the model in the photograph (Adam Perry) claimed that he was able to bed over 3,000 women as a result of his fame. But there in that studio, holding that child, he wasn't thinking about bedding women, or probably about the payday he would receive from the job.

No -- he was looking into that child's eyes and thinking nothing but pure, unadulterated wonder.I doubt Mr. Perry was a good enough actor to effectively fake any emotion he wasn't genuinely feeling. Rumor has it he went back to construction work after his modeling career ran out of steam.

So, that's it, folks. I don't have much else to say. I just wanted to share an image I find beautiful and always have. While this blog of mine is the story of a sex worker at its core, I like to include a few deviations from time to time, in order to give you all as broad a picture as possible of who I am.

Take care, and keep reading...

Race and Sexuality

I suppose I should begin this entry by saying I'm not completely white.

Notice I say completely, which implies that I'm of a mixed ethnic background. I've already stated that one of my parents is of Eastern European Jewish descent. My other parent, well, they're what can be deemed a "minority" in the United Sates. As to what that minority is, I'm afraid I'll have to keep that private.

It's not that I'm ashamed; I just have to maintain my anonymity as best I can.

Moving on. So, with one "white" parent and another "minority" parent, where does that leave me? Honestly, it's left me in a pretty good position. Olive skin, dark hair, yet with my Jewish parent's light eyes. For over a year now, people have been telling me that I resemble Taylor Lautner of the Twilight series.

My nose is smaller and narrower, and he's a bit darker than I am, but the similarities are there. And though I'm not nearly as muscular, that didn't stop a gaggle of teenage girls from gathering around my towel one afternoon in South Beach, giggling and pointing and trying to figure out if I was their idol.

"I'm not Taylor Lautner!" I cried out. "He's in Vancouver filming the next movie, isn't he?"

That satisfied their curiosity enough to leave me alone.

I'm writing this entry to try and shed light on a not-so-great aspect of the sex industry: namely, that non-white sex workers earn less than their Caucasian counterparts. While this has never really been the case in cities like Miami or even Los Angeles, it still rings true in New York and London -- at least from what I hear.

Such practices, in my opinion, are bullshit. And really, it's up to the agents to start changing this. Charging less for a Hispanic or African-American sex worker only helps perpetuate the (bigoted) idea that minorities are somehow less worthy than white. This isn't 1938, people. Don't we all agree that all ethnic groups should be treated equally -- even in sex work?

For the record, my agent has never sought to keep me rates down because she thought I couldn't charge more. I'm due for a raise, actually. That's right -- within a few months' time, my hourly rate is going up. I've earned it, she said. The fact that she's Hispanic herself probably doesn't hurt either.

So, how do my white clients react to a mixed-race escort?

They fucking love it. The hair, the eyes, the skin tone -- all of it. Perhaps women are less hung up on race than men are. I really don't know. But I've had more than woman ask to run her hands through my hair, or trace her hands along my chest (I still refuse to wax, by the way, and they don't mind that, either).

By the year 2100, all of us will probably be mixed with something or other. Perhaps I'm just ahead of the curve.

The Drawbacks of Sex Work

There's been an ever-increasing amount of Emails lately, all asking me what it's like to be an escort. At first I really didn't know what to say. Clearly, I write this blog to share my experiences in the field, and I hope that I've done an admirable job thus far at letting people know the ins and outs of the business.

When I wrote someone back asking to elaborate, they apologized, then asked what they really wanted to know: What are the drawbacks of being an escort?

Well, that is a topic I can definitely write about.

First things first: I love my job. Sure, I get frustrated sometimes, but at the end of the day I truly believe that I am treated as good if not better than those in traditional 9-5 gigs. The fact that I have sex several times a week as part of my livelihood is really an added bonus. However, like any other job, there are drawbacks. Let's review them, shall we?

• Lying to friends and family. This is probably the toughest. I'm lucky to now have a good group of people I can share my experiences with. Still, the only person who knows about my job that isn't an escort themselves is Bailey. Well, Bailey and a old friend from university, but still. I lie to my parents. I lie to more casual acquaintances. I lie to family members. It's not fun -- but it's for their own good
  

• Strange and inconvenient hours. Working nights and weekends is common in sex work. Everyone from escorts to strippers to "massage therapists" know going in that giving up a Friday or Saturday night is necessary to have a successful career. That's not to say I don't work on a Wednesday afternoon, but such bookings are less common than the ubiquitous Friday night fuck.

• "Real" relationships are almost impossible. Now, plenty of people my age don't seek out monogamous relationships either. Still, I never liked having possibilities eliminated almost arbitrarily, and escorting certainly does that. Brianna's rejection hurt -- if only for a little bit -- and it's likely to happen again should I admit my job to a potential love interest. The day I find a girl who doesn't care what I do for a living is the day I... well... I honestly have no idea. The mere idea of such an event happening seems so unlikely.

• Judgment from people who don't know the first thing about me. To the few people who have sent me nasty Emails: Fuck you. I really mean that. You are in no position to tell me how to live my life or pay my rent. The idea that a university-educated, disease-free young man would choose sex work over a 9-5 job angers a very small (but very vocal) segment of people. Why that is I have no idea. Do I criticize the accountant who works 10 hours a day to the detriment of his wife and children? Then please, extend the same courtesy to me.

• One day, I'll be undesirable. Yes, I make less money than Simone or Rebecca or any other female escort. I take solace in the fact that as a man, I can work much longer than they can. Even if I hit my mid-30s, who cares? Certainly not women, who are noted for saying that men get better than age. One day, however, I will find myself undesirable, and it'll be time to find a new career. At the present, I have no idea what the career will be. That bugs me.

Well, that's all that I've come up with so far. I hope this post helps illustrate some of the drawbacks that escorts like Adam, Rebecca, Simone and myself experience in our line of work. I collaborated with them on this post (yes, even Rebecca, she and I are speaking) and they all approve. So take notice, everyone, and please: enter this career with the utmost caution.

It's not a job for everyone!