Candelit Dinner

Simone and I went to a French restaurant we both know and love. Nothing too fancy, but it is the kind of place where one keeps their voice down. She looked stunning -- tight black dress, just enough cleavage to be alluring and not slutty. We both ordered some red wine to start, and given the nature of the conversation, I'd say we both needed it.

"Why are you leaving now?" she said. "I mean, all of a sudden, you're just gone. Back at Christmas, you said you didn't want to leave escorting at all."

I set down my glass and pondered which question to answer first. Finally, I said, "It's a good opportunity. One that I didn't have back at Christmas. It was all so sudden... and I just said yes."

"But don't you care about what you have down here?"

"Of course I do," I said. "And I certainly care about you. But Simone..."

"What?"

"I just don't want to end up like some of the escorts we both know. The ones who are a little too told to be in the business, but don't have any other skills or interests. They can't leave."

Simone nodded, took another sip of wine. Our appetizer arrived and we nibbled silently for a moment before I continued. I was careful to keep my voice down, less we invite the rest of the restaurant to learn about the oh-so-complicated lives of sex workers.

(Not that they wouldn't be interested, but you know...)

"I never stopped loving [what I studied at university]. And thanks to the freelance work I did, I had a big portfolio to show the firm. They were impressed -- impressed enough to bring me on full-time."

"I guess what I'm saying is, I don't appreciate you leaving me," Simone said.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's a lot to dump on you -- developing our relationship only to have me leave so soon. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to see me at all, but this is the way it has to be."

"Because it's not like I can just pick up and follow you."

I shook my head. "No, that's not what I'm asking. Well, not now, anyway. I mean, of course I'd love to still have you in my life..."

Folks, when I'm nervous, I began to ramble and/or stutter. Perhaps that's because I'm nervous so rarely, that I just don't know how to compensate for it. A client never really made me nervous, nor has my agent or any other business associate. Simone, however, is enough to make my heart race. That's why she's so incredible.

"Julian, shut up," she said. 

I laughed. Our main courses arrived, and the both us changed the subject to lighter fare. She has some travel plans for summer, whereas I'm still in the process of apartment hunting. I may in fact get a roommate, but only if I can trust the person completely. I'm not one for psychos -- especially not the kind of psychos in and around New York City.

"Take out an ad in the paper," Simone suggested. "Even if you do get a nut case, I bet you can turn the story into a screenplay and make yourself a boatload of money."

"Ever the opportunist," I teased. "No, I'm hoping to find some Wall Street workaholic, or maybe a lawyer. You know, someone who works such long hours I'll never actually see them."

Dinner ended, as did dessert. And while I'm leaving Miami soon, and should know better than to continue to be attached to Simone, I went back to her apartment. Into her bed. Into her arms. Into her...

Well, you get the idea.

Two Weeks' Notice

I've told several of my clients that I'm leaving escorting.

Their reactions have ranged from surprised to disappointed. Everyone has congratulated me, of course, but more than a few were saddened to learn that I wouldn't be a part of their lives come May.

How do I feel about leaving my clients? Well, I certainly enjoyed some of them more than others. I've been with doctors and artists, English professors to stay-at-home wives and mothers. Now, what I'm about to say isn't mean to discredit the stay-at-home crowd, but I've always found I enjoyed women with careers than those without.

Perhaps it was just conversation, or the fact that I could always break the ice by asking them a question about their job -- assuming I knew what they did. It was an easy way to get them to lower their defenses and talk about something they were knowledgeable about. 

So yes, I will miss spending time with some of my clients. More than anything, however, I'll miss the sex. I know how crass that sounds, how alpha-male. But folks... sex is great. Having it five, six times a week is even better. Of course sex with a client is different than, let's say, sex with Simone. Still, I've never gone without for very long, and that is going to be something that will take getting used to.

But what does it really mean to leave my clients? It means that they'll have to find someone new to confide in. Someone new to have sex with. Someone who will give them a massage, draw them a bath, let them go on and on about their lives. Much as I expect my new life to be a culture shock, I can't help but think that my clients may find themselves equally as adrift.

More than anything, I'll miss my friends. Adam and Bailey are like brothers to me. And Simone, well, I've written enough about her on this blog to illustrate how much she means to me. Tonight, in fact, we're meeting up for dinner. I will return with another entry tomorrow...

Man About Town: The New Beginning

The reception over at Twitter has been wonderful thus far. People congratulating me, wishing me well, and asking a few questions about what my new job will be like. Much as I'd love to reveal all -- my identity, what my degree is in, the firm I'll be working for -- I'm afraid I can't do so.

Still, that doesn't mean I can't give you a little information.

My new job is an entry-level position in the communications field. I really, really enjoyed the people at the firm. They were kind, eager to get to know me, and not to mention their offices were beautiful. I'll be working in downtown Manhattan, with easy access to the subway and commuter trains.

The firm has a specialty as well. Again, I can't say what, but just as certain communications firms specialize in, let's say, travel/hospitality or pharmaceuticals, my firm has a niche as well. I made it a point to walk into my interview with several magazines that covered that niche, to make sure the senior partners knew I was taking the job seriously.

Besides finally being able to do what I studied at university, there are other benefits as well. The biggest is health care. I've been paying out of pocket for awhile now, and while I was able to get a good deal due to my age, it's one expense I won't miss at the end of each month.

Secondly, the firm does offer a nice 401(k) contribution plan. And of course who can forget the three weeks paid vacation, half-day Fridays during the summer, even the occasional dinner out. How on earth they managed to keep these perks going in the midst of a rotten economy is beyond me, but they did.

Oh, and for those who think I'll be leaving all my lovely clients behind, you're right. What I will gain, however, is a great group of co-workers -- nearly all of them female. It seems no matter where I go or what I do, women are part of the deal. My immediate boss, the senior partners -- all women.

But for right now, I'll be honoring my clients here in Miami for the month of April. My agent already knows that I'll be leaving, and as of right now, I'll be starting work in New York City on the second week of May. So between now and then, I'll be searching for an apartment, perhaps a roommate. 

It's all rather exciting. For those who enjoyed my stories as a male escort, don't despair. I'll do my best to continue this blog. While there certainly won't be as much sex, I think I can replace it with something equally as interesting: How an escort transitions from sex work to the "real world."

Stay tuned, everyone. My real life has just begun.

Time to Leave

Well, it's happened folks: I've accepted a job offer and am making arrangements to leave both escorting and Miami.

It won't happen all at once, of course. I need time to save a bit of money, find a new apartment near New York City, sell my car, and tie up some loose ends here in Florida.

The news that I'd been chosen for the job came via phone. I could hardly believe what I was hearing, for full-time work in my field of study from university had been so elusive thus far. But I suppose there's some truth to the fact that if one tries hard and long enough, something will happen.

After I finished the phone call, I went out on the balcony of my apartment and stared at the water. I surely didn't cry, but I did feel a pang of sadness over realizing that my life in Miami was coming to an end. I would miss the Cuban Sandwiches, the world-class beaches, and most of all the friends I've come to know and love.

I broke the news to Adam and Bailey earlier this evening, and they were both ecstatic. Simone, however, was a different story. It's not that she was unhappy. Rather, my imminent departure from Miami cemented the fact that our relationship wasn't meant to be.

I'll miss her dearly. I'll miss her companionship, her comfort, and yes, the sex. Kinky as our sexual escapades have been, I wrote them to illustrate how comfortable she and I had become. I don't let my guard down that often -- and when I do, I really like to take advantage of the situation.

Sudden as all of this is, there's still one last bombshell to be revealed. Remember when I bemoaned the fact that Rebecca left me? How she was moving up north -- and that I meant north as in Chicago and Tallahassee? Well, Rebecca did indeed go up north, but it wasn't to Chicago.

She's in New York. And soon, so will I.

Come Away With Me

If I do leave Miami, I want Simone to come with me.

I came to this realization when I was contacted by a few other firms regarding interest and/or interviews for full-time employment. The thought of packing up my belongings and moving to New York City, Boston, or even Los Angeles fills me with excitement. Alas, it also fills me with sadness.

Miami has been home for more than five years. I went to university here, transformed from a boy into a man, met my first love. I love the energy of the city -- the warm weather, the neon lights on Ocean Drive, the feeling of driving over the MacArthur Causeway with my stereo blaring and the warm night air rushing all around me. 

Are there downsides to living in Miami? Of course. Pay a visit to City Data and you can read people gripe about the city to no end -- even if they live in Wisconsin. Still, to me, Miami has been kind. Bailey and even Adam have grown into very, very good friends. And as for Simone, well, this blog speaks for itself.

We were lying in bed together when I asked her if she would entertain the idea of leaving with me. She was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. Then, she finally said what I didn't really want to hear.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?" I said. "Are you not sure you want to leave, or is it the idea of leaving with me that makes you--?"

"I don't know because I don't know how I feel about our relationship. I mean, is this for keeps? Can two escorts really call it quits and start a new life together just like that?"

I agreed that I didn't have an answer, either. It's not like there's a blueprint for former escorts who wish to start over with regular jobs and a much tamer sex life. Yet the more I think about it, the more I think the time might be right. Despite writing what I did at the beginning of 2010, I can't help but feel that things are going to change very, very soon.

I suppose the real question is would starting over in a new city mean giving up everything I have worked hard here to build. I do have a career -- albeit an illegal one. I have wonderful friends, and a woman that I see exclusively outside of work. While many would scoff at the idea of having sex with people for money and then trying to maintain a relationship outside of escorting, I've been able to do it fairly well thus far.

Sure, I have sex with clients. But non-paid sex on my own time? There's only one woman I share my bed with in that regard, and her name is Simone. No one else. Nobody. And this past weekend, I uttered three words that I haven't said to anyone since Rebecca and I split up.

"Simone," I said, just as we were both falling asleep. "I love you."

There -- I said it. Feel free to analyze it, deconstruct it, send me emails asking if I really meant it. I've only just admitted it to myself, really. And if there's anything that fills an escort's heart with dread more than anything, it's love. 

Excited as I am over everything that's happened this past month, I'm really in uncharted territory here. Oh, and just as an added tidbit, I did indeed call the firm that my spring-break client works at. They asked for my resume, a few writing samples, and professional references.

Then, they called back, and said they would like to conduct a video chat. I've got my dress shirt ready for tomorrow afternoon. Wish me luck, everyone. Professionally, I've got it all worked out. Personally, however...

I need all the luck I can get.

Haunted

It's late, I know. Still, there's something that's been haunting me since my last booking. There's something I specifically didn't mention because I was so shocked that it happened. I compartmentalized, decided that I would deal with it later. Now, late at night, unable to sleep, I have to vent.

Quite simply, she asked me about my professional background.

This might seem inconsequential, but not to me. And when I say "asked" about my background, what I really mean is "grilled" me about it. Not because she was nosy. Not because she was a journalist out to expose me (hell, this blog isn't popular enough for anyone to bother).

She did it because it just so happens she works in the same field.

Well, not exactly. Still, it's safe to say that there's use in her firm for someone like me. She happens to be a senior partner -- meaning when a position opens up, she has some pull as to who is interviewed. Meaning, if she were to mention my name, maybe -- just maybe -- I would be interviewed.

It's not like I haven't had an interview lately. Quite a few, in fact. What makes this scenario different is that I never had a connection to the interviewer. It's clear she enjoyed our one-hour fuck, but enough to bring me back with her to the west coast?

It's that last part that gets me. Let's say I interview. Perhaps I even get the job. Does she expect me to be her little in-house gigolo? Or is her act of generosity due to the fact that she thinks I can be something "more", rather than "just an escort."

I have her business card along with a telephone number and email address. Email her my resume, she told me. Oh, and toss in a few freelance projects. I see a few problems with her requests. Big problems, in fact. Problems that could be disastrous for me personally and professionally.

• Sending her my resume would reveal my identity. This is the most glaring risk. She'll have my real name, address -- everything. My one saving grace is that this blog isn't nearly on the level as Dr. Magnanti's, so there would hardly be any interest from the media should she pass the information along.

• Despite looking for work, I'm still unsure about uprooting myself from Miami. This city has been fairly good to me. Sure, I couldn't find a full-time job, but escorting pays the bills just fine. Better than fine, in fact. Am I really ready to give up the money and freedom, let alone move to a new city?

• I care about Simone more than I'm willing to admit -- and I doubt she'd make the move with me. After Rebecca left, I was pretty empty. Simone brightened up my life. She's the one person who knows everything. My kinks, my desires, what I do for a living -- the works. There aren't many other people that do.

What's that old phrase, "Be careful what you wish for?" I think that one came true. Here I am, with an insider connection to a great firm on the west coast. Too bad I couldn't just meet her in a cafe, but instead performed oral sex on her before penetrating her completely. 

Will she respect me as much as another candidate? Or am I just a piece of flesh she wants to take home with her? I realize these questions might seem melodramatic or even childish, but one of the occupational hazards of escorting is people thinking they own you.

Clients pay for an hour and get an hour. It's when they think one's entire life is for sale that the real trouble begins.

Sex, Sex, Sex

Enough with the philosophical stuff. Let's get back to sex, shall we?

Some nights, I really do look forward to work. The thrill of meeting a new person, the idea of having sex and probably never seeing one another again -- it's intoxicating. Yes, sex work is illegal, and yes, many of my clients are married. Still, I just can't bring myself to care.

Spring break is in full swing here in Miami, which means that I've fucking like a bunny rabbit all this week. My last client was another winner. She's from the west coast and works in the entertainment industry. No time for a regular relationship, she told me. Hiring me is just easier.

"Glad to be here," I said. We toasted as the waves crashed onto the shore. The view from her balcony was dynamite -- and I say that as someone who has a pretty nice view from his own apartment. 

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Why do you do this? I mean... Look, obviously you enjoy having sex with women -- what man wouldn't? -- but is there a greater reason?"

"I'm getting revenge on all the girls who turned me down in high school," I said flatly, hoping she'd catch my sarcasm. "Kidding."

"Are you?"

"Well, not completely. But I'm a little old to be thinking of the past. I've been out of high school for about six years."

Her eyes widened. "You're that young?"

I nodded. "For awhile my agent was worried that someone in his early twenties wouldn't get much work. Thankfully, I've proven her wrong."

When the sun finally set, the time for questions was over. I scooped her up into my arms, carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. I mounted her, kissed her on the mouth and grinned as she reciprocated. Before long, her fingernails were digging into my back, before she started fumbling with my belt and pants.

"Hold on," I said. "Let me." I stripped down to my underwear, then took one of her hands and smoothed it down my chest. She let her hand linger on my abdomen, at which point I took off my underwear and then let that hand grasp my cock. She squeezed it, stroked it, dragged her fingernails along the shaft in a way that made me shudder.

"I love that," I said. "Don't stop."

But stop she did. I had an idea of what she wanted: oral sex. This time I wanted to try something different. I undressed her, but only from the waist down. Her white blouse was still on, though she was naked from the navel south. The sight of a woman's naked sex and covered chest is arousing to me -- don't know why.

"Spread your legs," I told her. "Show me."

She did as I asked and, after teasing her with my tongue, I finally went in. I wanted to taste her, see what made her different from all my other clients. I would take a break, kiss her inner thighs, then start again. Again I felt the heat as she closed her thighs around my face.

She came once, but I wasn't finished. I blotted my mouth with a napkin, then took of her blouse. Surprisingly, she got up from her back and then got on top. After kissing me again, she collapsed her breasts around my cock before she took me into her mouth. I damn near came but held on.

After that, I knew I had to close the deal, so to speak. It only took about fifteen minutes of thrusting before we both came. We lay in bed thereafter, listening to the sound of the ocean from outside the balcony.

"That was great," I said. "And I don't say that to all the girls."

"Flatterer."

"No, I mean it. You know what you're doing. It's more than I can say for some women I've been with these past few years."

"Really?" she asked.

"Absolutely."

She smiled, but I could tell part of her was still skeptical. How did she know I wasn't acting? I could have rehearsed and planned this whole thing. I laughed, and said that she was giving me too much credit. Escorts are a lot of things -- performers being one of them -- but even I'm not that slick.

"You could probably make it in Hollywood if you tried hard enough."

"You think?" I said. "Do you think my escorting career would hinder my chances?"

"Ha! Trust me, there are plenty of actors -- male and female -- who were escorts in the past. I could name a few names, but..."

"Oh, please do!"

She did. Much as I'd love to post them here, I'm afraid I can't. Still, I was shell-shocked over who she claimed had fucked for money before their respective screen careers took off. And I don't doubt the client's claims for a minute, either. She works in the industry, after all. What reason would she have to lie?

And on a more personal note, I always did want to be a movie star when I was younger. Never in a million years did I ever think I would meet a high-powered Hollywood executive. Let alone when I was working as a escort. Trite as the saying is, I can't help but repeat it here and now...

Life is just full of surprises.

Julian and the "Real Me"

I'd like to write about how Julian and the "real me" are increasingly becoming one.

For a long time I believed that Julian and I had to remain separate entities entirely. Lately, though, I've been tempted to change my mind. The most recent instance came during my job interview in New York City. 

I prepared for this interview as I would prepare for a client. I showered, shaved, and dressed in my favorite escorting clothes: a blue/turquoise dress shirt, black slacks, polished leather shoes and a platinum watch. Of course I brushed my teeth, flossed, and topped it off with a mouthwash and a breath mint.

I still wasn't finished. My skin looked a bit dry, so I put on a dab of after shave and smoothed it across my face until I was dewy-fresh. Next came my nails: Were they clean and filed? I clipped them and smoothed out the edges with a nail file. Just as good as any salon if I say so myself.

And how can we forget about hair? It was shampooed, conditioned and smoothed out further with gel. I saved the cologne for last, and only used a bit. Anything more would have been overpowering.

The moral of this story? I wasn't some corporate stooge in the typical black suit. Julian's way of dressing and preparing himself resulted in several women at the firm complimenting me on my "beautiful skin", "nice shirt" and "dark, thick hair!" 

Folks, no matter who you are, no matter what you do, putting effort into your appearance is never a bad idea. When I was walking through the halls of the building the firm was housed in, I noticed I was slouching a bit. Julian, for the record, stands with perfect posture. With that in mind, I sucked in my stomach, pushed my shoulders back and lifted my back up straight.

Entering the loft-like office was quite like entering a client's hotel room or home. I was somewhere I had never been before, but had to exude confidence at every turn. And exude I did, settling on a mineral water as the first executive sat me down and began reviewing my resume and writing materials.

During the interview (in case you haven't read the entry, I spoked with both senior partners at the firm as well as two senior-level executives) I was sure to make small talk, smile frequently and even crack a joke or two. Is that typical interview behavior? Maybe. But I'm thinking not.

Again, it seemed to work. One executive perked up when it was revealed we are both fans of a certain BBC show, while another was eagerly taking notes when I began reciting restaurant recommendations in Miami (seems she's planning a trip in the near future). 

Escorting is good for a lot of things -- easy money, frequent sex, the chance at having plenty of free time to pursue other goals and interests. But most of all, escorting taught me how to interact with people I've never met before, and how to do it well. Showing up impeccably dressed with a bright smile and a confident attitude can only help one's chances at gaining employment.

So for those who read this blog that have no interest in sex work but still want to take something away from it, I say this: Carry yourself like you were selling sex. Really. Not a streetwalker, obviously, but a high-end escort. Believe in yourself and your abilities and desirability. Dress the part. 

Once you have confidence in yourself, it's amazing how many other people will too.

Balance

How do you continue to see clients when it's obvious you've developed feelings for Simone?

I figured someone would ask this question sooner or later. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I've come to the decision that while I do in fact have "feelings" for Simone, I'm still able to see my clients as well.

How is this possible? Compartmentalization plays a part -- being able to keep a level head and a clear mind about what I do for a living. Wonderful as my clients are, they're just business. They pay for my companionship. They don't know my real name. And, eventually, we'll both move on to different things.

Is there anything I do with Simone that I don't do with clients? Certainly. I don't allow degradation or any type of BDSM with clients. I mean, giving a client a light spanking if she so desires is one thing, but allowing a client to tie me to the bedpost while she drips wax on my chest? No. Allowing her to take me into the bedroom, demand that I drop my pants and allow her to belt my ass? No.

Simone, for the record, does both of those things. In addition, there's also one thing I share with Simone that I don't share with clients: eye contact during orgasms. 

Not to say that Simone and I always look into each others' eyes when we come, but it's happened on more than one occasion. For some reason, I don't do this with my clients. It's not that I don't care to see what they're experiencing, or that I'm somehow ashamed or disinterested in the act of sex itself. It's just... I guess the fact that I'm being paid makes me think, "Well, this is just work. I don't really care for the intimacy."

With Simone, however, I do care for intimacy. I let her do the light BDSM stuff because I know she cares, and I can trust her to never do anything that would actually hurt me. That kind of trust isn't really possible with an escort/client scenario.

And yes, let us not forget that Simone sees other men as well. Still, it seems that no matter what, she and I find time for each other each week. If there wasn't something "more" between us besides sex, I doubt we'd make the effort.

Three Months Pregnant

Ladies and gentlemen, the unthinkable has happened: I had a pregnant client.

As best I can tell she was three months along. Part of me felt like asking for an exact date, but I thought that might have been rude. After all, what business was it of mine? It's not like I was the father.

"How are you this evening?" I asked, because I knew I had to say something instead of just gawking her stomach. "Beautiful weather we're having."

"Fine, thank you. And just to answer your question, I'm almost four months along." 

"Oh," I said, nodding my head. "I... I mean... That's wonderful. Congratulations."

At this point the questions were swimming through my mind like Michael Phelps at the Olympic games. Did the father abandon her? Did she go through IVF by herself? Again, I wanted to badly to say something, but decided against it. Part of what separates an escort from a street walker is a sense of gentility. 

(Okay, perhaps "gentility" isn't the best word to use when having sex for money, but you get the idea. I'm not crude about it.)

"Would you like something to drink? Obviously I'm sticking to water, but if you'd prefer something else..."

"Water's fine."

In reality, I needed water -- if for no other reason that I could feel my face flushing red. For the first time ever in my career, I was truly nervous -- not a good thing. If this woman wanted a nervous man to go to bed with her, she would just try her luck at a bar. 

We found our way into the bedroom soon enough. I stripped down to my boxers first, with the client sitting on the edge of the bed. After I laid her down on her back, I took my time undressing her, all the while glaring at her baby bump. It was then I noticed something: I wasn't nervous about the bump. In fact, I was turned on by it.

"Can I kiss your stomach?" I asked her. 

"Yes."

I took the rest of her clothes off, starting with her shirt and pants, finishing with her bra and panties. She lay nude on the bed, nipples erect and stomach round. I kissed her on the mouth first, then finally kissed her abdomen. Once, however, wasn't enough.

I wanted to rub my hands over her stomach, kiss it again and again. Only after a bit of gentle prodding on her behalf did we finally have sex. Afterward, however, my hands found their way back to her baby bump. With her permission, I even pressed my ear against the abdomen, trying to see if I could hear anything.

"You've never been with a pregnant woman, have you?" the client asked.

"No, never. I'll admit I was a little shocked at first. But now, afterward... I mean, you look beautiful."

I truly meant it. Her breasts had swelled and her baby bump struck me as something of a miracle. A life growing inside of another human being? No, that can't be! But that's just what it was -- and being in such close proximity to her made it all so real. 

Pressing my hand against that bump and knowing there was another life inside... I don't know if there are words for such a feeling. I was simply in awe. Alas, when 9 p.m. rolled around, I had to leave. Still, I know that I will remember this booking for the rest of my life.

The cab ride home was when the first pang of melancholy hit. Was she, the client, alone in the world? Did the father of her child leave her? Judging by her apartment I'd say she was well-off, but still. It seemed cruel to see something so beautiful as a pregnant woman only to think of her raising the child alone.

Will I have children of my own one day? Only time will tell. But after tonight it's safe to say that I would treat the mother of my child like a queen. And should I have a daughter, well, I'd probably love her more than life itself.

Cribs

An escort's apartment isn't like other apartments.

The differences aren't obvious at first sight. Like many other people, I have a kitchen table, a sofa in the living room, a TV and stereo system, even a little work desk for my computer and printer. 

The bedroom is a different story. My bathroom cabinet can look like a pharmacy -- at least one that specializes in condoms and lube. Rarely do I go without a box of Trojans or a tube of lubricant. I've got a few massage oils as well. Oh, and not to mention the regular things like toothpaste, mouthwash, facial cleanser and deodorant.

Trite as this sounds, I do divide my work clothes from my everyday clothes. Dress shirts, slacks, collared shirts -- I don't wear any of that in my daily life, just for clients. My everyday attire of jeans, t-shirts and cargo shorts mostly resides in my bureau, while work clothes are left hanging in the closet.

As to what else lies in my dresser... goodness. Handcuffs, a riding crop, and now that Simone is more comfortable with spanking me, an increasing amount of paddles and belts. My bedroom bookshelf also includes an array of books, ranging from Story of O and The Kama Sutra to Playboy's Complete Centerfolds -- that last one being a gift from Bailey.

Part of being an escort is recognizing and accepting the fact that sex will become a part of your life. Your apartment will reflect it, your reading choices will reveal it. Will this potentially turns some people off? Absolutely. Am I ashamed of anything I own, paddles and all? Hell no.

Readers continuously tell me that the most interesting aspect of this blog is how sex work influences and/or affects my daily life. Having an apartment that's part bachelor pad, part sex shop (though isn't bachelor's fantasy pad a sex shop?) is just one of many ways my job comes home with me.

Measuring Up

How large is your penis?

An reader emailed me this question earlier this week. I was about to write back personally, but instead I believe I'll address it here. There's a lot of chatter about what's more important in terms of penis size. Width versus length, for example, or even girth.

Seeing how I don't possess a vagina and have never been on the receiving end of anal sex, I don't know what "feels best." However, I can say that I've never had any complaints about my member, which measure six inches in length -- perhaps a bit longer, depending on how erect my erection. 

Will a woman's eyes automatically widen at the sight of an enormous member? And by enormous I mean eight inches or longer. Usually, the answer to this question is yes. At some of the group sex sessions I've had in the past, I watched as several women all but drooled in looking at one man's particularly long cock. And yet, only one woman had sex with him.

Perhaps the cock that's fun to look at isn't necessarily the best to be penetrated with?

From what I understand about vaginas -- and given my profession, I'd say it's more than the average man -- they apparently are quite sensitive. Prone to pain, even, assuming the man doesn't take care in making his entrance. The act of vaginal sex itself can be painful as well. Not just during the first time, but even after the hymen is broken.

I don't know if there exists a magic number for penis size, but if there is, by all means let me know via email or Twitter. I'm curious to see how I compare with any "ideal" that women have in mind.

And for the record, a client once asked for me to measure. Why she had a ruler by her bed is beyond me, unless she intentionally put it there for me to measure in front of her. Of course I obliged; why wouldn't I? She nodded, smiled, and then we had sex. Oddly enough, I didn't feel uncomfortable during this little process at all.

Then again, if I'm willing to let Simone spank me, watch a client fuck her husband in the ass with a strap-on, and be a whore in general, it's not like I'm that bashful. I never did understand prudes, really. If one doesn't engage in sex, what the bloody hell do they do for fun?

Dr. Kaye and the Women

Please excuse the corny title.

I've pretty much accepted the fact that my life has been influenced, dominated and/or cultivated by women. Strong, independent, head-strong females have been in my life since birth. My mother is no push over, and from my university professors all the way to my current agent, it seems that women are the ones who make the big decisions in my life.

So, it came as no surprise that on Monday afternoon, I found myself in a room with not one, not two, but four women. The firm I was interviewing at was located in downtown Manhattan, within a beautiful building that had a handsome view onto the streets below.

As I waited to meet the senior partner at the firm, I settled onto the red sofa and helped myself to a bottle of Evian water at the receptionist's urging. Oh, and I had a danish as well. Both quite tasty. So when I finally met the partner, well, it was quite like meeting a client for the first time.

Yes, I was being evaluated. The difference was it was a two-way conversation, meaning I was welcome to ask as many questions of her as she was of me. For those who are wondering, yes, I did find her attractive. She was blonde, trim, and wore a flattering black sweater along with dark jeans. I complimented her heels (Jimmy Choo, she told me), which immediately broke the ice.

Next came the grilling part. She tested my knowledge of the business, what I felt the big changes were, and how I would fit into the firm. Judging from her laughter, nodding and agreeing with me on several points, I'd say I did well on all accounts.

Next came the other senior partner. After that, two senior account executives. I was being "passed around" the office if you will, and did my hardest to charm those ladies as I would any client. My sense of humor aids me well; I believe I made each and every one of them left. One big hit was when I mentioned I was contemplating buying the Barnes & Noble Nook.

"Really? one of the executives asked. "Why a Nook rather than Sony's e-reader or Amazon's Kindle?"

"Well, I like the design of the Nook much better. Plus, there are incentives for those who also go to Barnes & Noble's brick and mortor stores. Did you know you can get free cookies?"

The executive's eyes widened. "Really? How? Does a coupon fill the screen of the Nook or something?"

I nodded. "Yup, that's exactly that it does. That way, I can get a cookie with my--"

"Nookie!" the executive said, and all of us started laughing. Leave it to one of the women to make a vagina joke, but a vagina joke she did make. When I bid adieu, I shook all of their hands individually and said I hoped to hear from the soon. The first senior partner I met with was grinning like an alligator who'd just found an antelope for dinner. Was this a good sign?

I certainly hope so.

So, wish me luck everyone. I met with a firm that I liked, full of women I would like nothing more than to work with each day. Hell, the job is even in my field of study from university! A definite plus.

As I walked onto the streets of downtown Manhattan, I felt great. Not that escorting isn't without its fun, but being in a firm full of smart, kind and beautiful women... I could get used to that as well.

I realize I'm eating my words about not looking for work outside escorting. Oddly enough, this opportunity found me -- and I can safely say that I want it. So to those who read the blog, keep your positive energy up for me. And no matter what, this blog will continue.

On the Road Again

I'm back home.

That's right, the great northeastern United States. Home to such world-class cities such as Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Washington D.C. Why am I here, you ask? Well, I had another job interview.

Earlier this year I swore off looking for a job in my field of study from university. And indeed, I stopped looking. What I didn't anticipate  is that some of the firms I submitted my resume and current projects to would contact me. That's right -- I didn't contact them, they contacted me.

Flattery isn't anything, but it is something. The idea of opening my inbox and finding a polite and concise request for my time goes a long way in making one feel appreciated. So, considering I had saved a bit of cash from the holidays, and my parents are always complaining that they don't see me enough...

About the interview itself. In a word, it was fantastic. Not just because I was able to visit New York City (a place that I knew quite well but had neglected in recent years), but because the interview itself last two hours. That's always a good sign. I met the partners at the firm as well as the rest of the team. They even asked for references at the end.

So, all's well in that respect. I'm catching a late-night flight back to Miami this evening, and Simone was kind enough to pick me up from the airport. Although the next time we have sex, it's her that deserves a spanking. In an attempt to be funny, Simone left a g-string in my briefcase along with my portfolio. The thing damn near slipped out during my interview!

Imagine the partner at the firm thinking I'm sort of of cross-dresser by night. Yeah, that would have gone over really well. I texted Simone after, and she called me back laughing. She would have paid to seen the look on my face, she said.

"And you say I deserve a spanking?" I teased her.

"Absolutely," she said. "Several, in fact."

"Well, I really don't have a comeback to that."

"That's because you know it's true."

She's got me there, folks. Anyway, I promise to keep the blog up-to-date in terms of both escorting, Simone and what this firm has to say in terms of bringing me on-board. Thank you for the continued support via email, Twitter, and visiting this blog each day. 

How to repay you all? Well, I suppose I should write some more sex-filled entries. Or is it the drunken nights with friends that are most popular? Tales of my adolescence? I'll share most anything, so don't be shy in making any requests.

Naughty Boy

Simone wore a pair of leather boots and nothing else.

"So, is this what you were hoping for?" she said.

I nodded dumbly, silently -- the latter of which is rare for me. Simone had never really dressed up for me before. Being the doll that she is, she agreed to give it a try. Even better, she agreed to give me something I'd been wanting for awhile.

"Follow me into the bedroom," she added. "You can take your pants off now or later. Whatever you like."

I did as she asked. Once in the bedroom, I took off my pants, lowered by boxers and leaned over the bed. Simone took out a belt from the dresser and walked over behind me. She didn't bother with any of that stupid shit one hears in the movies. You know, corny lines like "You've been a bad boy" or "I'm going to do something I should have done a long time ago."

She just got on with it.

The first crack of the belt against my bare behind was ecstasy. A small cry escaped my mouth before the belt came down again -- this time even louder. The heat grew on my flesh, the tingling like someone had just sprinkled me with some sort of sexual fairy dust. 

"Keep going," I said. "Don't stop."

Again, the belt came down against my buttocks with a crack. Eventually, though, Simone seemed to grow bored. That's when she stopped, then tossed the belt onto the bedroom floor. Before I could get up, she pressed a hand against my back and kept me down.

"Spread your legs a little wider," she said.

I did as she told me. She reached between my legs and began stroking my cock -- slowly at first, then with a more aggressive hand. I let her continue this for awhile, but soon it was too much. I rose up, took off my shirt and then pushed her onto the bed.

We fucked hard and fast, took a break, then fucked again.

I made us a bath afterward. True, my ass was a little sensitive on account of the spanking (the hot water felt a bit hotter on my rear end than on the rest of my body), but I got over it. Funny, the redness never lasts long, either. I'll be good for work next week for sure.

Simone chuckled as we sat together in the bath. "If I knew spanking your ass could get you this hot, I would have done in awhile ago."

"Can't say that I blame you."

"That, and you need to be put in your place every now and then."

"Who doesn't" I asked. 

We washed each others' bodies, then got out of the tub and headed to bed. And while this sex wasn't the kind I was paid for, it was still damn good.

How to Turn Down a Client

So, have I ever just said no?

Well, not exactly. My agent screens all potential clients, and should she deem someone unsuitable for me to see, she simply won't bother replying to their message. Perhaps she has some sort of canned response that I'm fully-booked and therefore unavailable. I'm really not sure.

Understand that this non-response tactic is only to those emails that are so bizarre that she thinks replying to this person in any shape or form would somehow encourage them to keep writing. Much as my agent loves making money, she knows that without using proper discretion, her girls (and one guy) could leave for a rival agency.

Even with these precautions, however, sometimes crazies can slip through the cracks. Allow me to tell you a story about a time I simply had to walk away.

The woman wasn't obese or smelly or 95 years old. And even though her spray tan made her look like a tangerine, I could get past it. What made me really uneasy was the fact that she was stone-cold drunk the moment I arrived. There were small liquor bottles all over the bed in the hotel room, and I honestly thought she would pass out at any moment.

It wasn't until I saw a bottle of prescription drugs that I told her I had to go. The last thing I wanted to have happen was her pass out during sex, or begin vomiting, or any combination of the two. She was a train wreck, plain and simple. And while I'm open to a lot of experiences, train wrecks aren't one of them.

While she excused herself to the bathroom -- her speech so slurred I only understood every other word -- I called the front desk downstairs. I wasn't familiar with the staff at this hotel, but they knew damn well what I was and what I was arriving to do. 

"She's a mess," I said. "Liquor, prescription drugs... I don't know if this is a suicide attempt or what, but you need to send someone up here."

"Is she still conscious?"

"Yeah, she's in the bathroom. Actually..." I paused a moment as I heard her vomit into the toilet bowl. "Okay, she's puking it all up now. Still, I think you should call someone."

"Her husband is coming back in a few hours..."

"I don't think we should wait that long. Call an ambulance now."

I waited until the EMTs arrived. When they opened the bathroom door, the client was still conscious -- barely. They strapped her to the stretcher and took her down the elevator to the emergency room. I believe one of them said she was dehydrated, while another mumbled something about a suicide attempt.

"Looks like one to me," I added.

"Who are you anyway?" the EMT asked.

"I... This is actually embarrassing. I was supposed to meet her husband here, but the location of the meeting was changed. I guess that's his way of letting me know I won't be needed."

The EMT seemed to buy the fact that I was on-business, which wasn't entirely inaccurate. After they disappeared into the elevator, I leaned against the wall of the hotel room in a stunned silence. I stood there, almost dumbfounded, until I shook myself out of it. I then called my agent and filled her in. She was damn near hysterical.

"Relax," I said. "The EMTs have her and she's on her way to the hospital. Still, I'm not sticking around."

"No, don't," my agent said. "You did what needed to be done."

It wasn't until later that I realized I still had the client's money. Seeing how she was strapped onto a gurney, it wasn't like I could hand it back -- and I would have. Alas, I never heard from the client again. No, she isn't dead, but according to the hotel staff, she was treated for alcohol poisoning and then returned home. She never contacted my agent again, either.

If this experience taught me anything, it's that I'm not really at-risk on this job. At least not in terms of being on the receiving end of any physical arm. However, there still exists the possibility that my client will have her own issues. And if I'm the only one around, it's up to me to do something.

I'll never know why that woman did what she did when I was on my way. Was it a cry for help? Did she want me to find her like that? What did she expect me to do? To me, there was no question: I was calling for help and making sure she got it. No ifs ands or butts.

I arrived at the hotel expecting to sleep with a woman. Instead, I very well may have saved her life.

Girlfriend, Best Friend

Bailey has given Simone his stamp of approval.

It's not that I would have ended our "relationship" if Bailey was less than keen on her. However, I do trust his judge of character, as well as the idea that he genuinely wants what's best for me. So, when the three of us met for lunch I certainly hoped that Bailey would take a liking to her.

To quote him exactly: "Julian, she has amazing tits."

Not exactly Bailey's finest moment, but truth be told, Simone's rack is a thing of beauty. Other than that, he said he liked the fact that she was able to hold her own in a debate against him regarding gun control. She didn't back down that yes, the long waiting periods are justified, and that gun shows do in fact contribute to massacres like Columbine.

"I don't agree with her -- especially about that Columbine shit," Bailey added later. "But hey, she had her opinion and backed it up with facts. Gotta respect that."

Leave it to Bailey to take a contentious topic like gun control, speak with an individual who radically disagrees with him on said topic, and then actually like the person afterward. Thankfully when our meals arrived, the conversation was much lighter -- mainly how amazing the film Avatar was as well as on-going rumors about Kill Bill: Vol. 3.

"Now a samurai sword, that's a weapon to be proud of," Simone said. "They're beautiful, too."

"Remind me to never piss you off," Bailey said. "I've never been stabbed with a sword, but I assume it's a painful way to go."

"Most forms of murder are," I quipped. "Not my cup of tea, either."

"Yeah," Simone said. "You just prefer reading about it and watching it on TV."

"Exactly," I said, then wiped a bit of cocktail sauce from her lip. "You'll be just as much of an addict as I am soon."

Bailey returned to work after lunch. Simone and I, well, we returned to my apartment and had sex. Twice. Once in the living room, another in the bedroom. Perhaps I'll go into greater detail in another post, but the best thing about this particular romp was just being together after the fact.

Yes, going down on her, sucking her tits and having her suck my cock was wonderful. Amazing, in fact. But there always is something "magical" (pardon the term) about lying nude with someone you're both attracted to and respect/admire as a person.

Allow me to openly admit that I didn't necessarily respect every person I've ever slept with. Nor did I particularly want to spend the night with them, or see their face the following morning. Harsh -- but true. I'm sure women feel the same way, perhaps even about me.

Simone, however, she's someone who I both want to have sex with, spend time with, and wake to the next morning. It really doesn't get any better than that.

Updates

Hello all.

So, about the job I would find out about? The good news is they wanted me to join the firm. The bad news is the position was downgraded to a part-time one, meaning I had to decline.

It's not that I didn't like the people. The owners were both nice people. But a part-time position... I'm sorry, but I can't fathom working for $15/hour, 20 hours a week, when I can be using that time to escort and making several hundred dollars an hour. It's just not feasible right now.

Live and learn. However, I do have some other interviews lined up in the coming weeks. I really have no idea why I seem to be having more luck getting said interviews than I did before. Is it the freelance projects I do each month? Perhaps they're making me seem more competent. Or rather, more experienced.

I suppose it was going to happen sooner or later -- the idea that with enough freelance gigs and references, I would be able to catch the attention of a recruiter and/or head of a firm. Still, there's a part of me that nags at the back of mind, asking if leaving escorting for good is a wise idea.

Actually, allow me to amend that: Perhaps at heart, I'm an entrepreneur. Given the fact that I've had success in freelance gigs thus far, should I continue to expand my business? Is looking for a 9-5 gig really the wisest move, after I've really been my own boss for so long?

Part of me says yes, a 9-5 gig will give me better access to resources and co-workers that can expand my mind and sharpen my work habits. The other half, well, it tells me that I've made my own way in this world just fine, and that sitting in an office all day won't rest well with who I am at heart.

In any event, I must get ready for work. One of those interviews in the coming weeks is up north, meaning I'll be catching a flight. One that I must pay for myself, might I add. So, if things get a little thin around here in terms of updates, rest assured I'm not ignoring my blog. Rather, I'm fucking my way to a higher pay day to finance my little trips.

Take care, everyone. And thank you for all your continued support.