Memory Lane

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Missing Sex Work

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry Mate

He eyed me at the newsstand of Barnes & Noble this afternoon. I noticed him, of course, but thought nothing of it. Well, not until he came up and started making conversation.

"Hello," he said. "So, are you a psychologist?"

I was reading a copy of Psychology Today, so I can't fault him on using that as a kind of pick-up line. Still, I knew better than to entertain any ideas of romance on his behalf.

"No, not a shrink," I said. "Just a little messed up in the head."

"Aren't we all?"

"I think so."

"Are you here with anyone?"

"No," I said. "Just got off work."

"Really? There's a cafe nearby -- better than the Starbucks they serve here."

"I'm seeing someone," I said. "And she's cranky if I'm not home by seven."

His face twisted into a grimace. "Sorry to hear that."

"No problem, mate. Have a good one."

The moral of this story? I find it highly amusing that as a former escort, I get hit on by men -- even if it's an innocent case like this. I wasn't fearful at all, at least not of him. IF anything, I was fearful for him. Because if Simone saw him lurking near her "territory"...

Well, let's just say the whip isn't just for me.

HIV-positive prostitute arrested

A sad, sad event.

In Lakewood, Wash., a 22-year-old man by the name of Olibeiro Moreno has been charged with knowingly exposing other men to HIV. Moreno had been working as a prostitute and took no actions to inform his clients of his HIV status. Read the full article here.

He didn't use condoms either. As I've said before, anal sex without condoms is just asking for trouble. Please, everyone, male or female, gay or straight: Wrap it up!

Why am I so saddened by this? For starters, I feel for the men Moreno had sex with. I don't believe that just because someone has sex with a prostitute that they should accept being exposed to diseases. Likewise, I don't believe that prostitutes should be subjected to rape and/or physical violence just because they're working as prostitutes.

Respect is a two-way street, one that many people in sex work don't seem to follow.

In a time when sex work is out in the open, I feel that for every step forward we take in terms of acceptance, we take two steps backward as well. Unfortunately, social conservatives and law enforcement will pounce on Moreno's crime as a reason for keeping sex work outlawed.

What's my opinion? Well, it's simple: If sex work was legal and regulated, Moreno would have been identified as HIV-positive as a result of mandatory testing. Cops would have known to be on the "look-out" for him if he was indeed still working. And perhaps they would have stopped him from exposing his clients to HIV.

Then again, this kind of story isn't all that uncommon among street walkers and the people that use them. I was tested regularly during my time in escorting, as were the girls at the agency. My agent didn't give me a pass just because I was a man; I was held to the same standards as the girls.

Isn't it time that everyone in sex work was held to a higher standard as well?

Secrets

Up before noon on a Saturday! I am turning into a square...

I thought I'd write about secrets. Everyone has them, after all. Whether it's a wife who cheated on her husband with a co-worker, a student who cheated on an exam, an oil company lying about their preparedness to tackle a spill.

I'm really not that different from anyone else. Yes, the whole having-sex-for-money thing sets me apart from most of the population, but having secrets certainly does not. I am a firm believer that everyone -- from my boss and co-workers, to the readers of this blog and all those in between -- have secrets.

Why do we hide things, then? Simple: we think that there are some truths better left untold. The truth hurts -- that's the cliche, and sometimes it's true. My parents would be devastated if they ever found out I was selling sex for money. Similarly, my new-found career here in New York City would be damaged beyond repair.

We keep charades going because we've grown comfortable with the arrangement. Why on Earth would a husband admit that he's cheated on his wife, when she's the one who cooks his meals, cares for the children, and probably brings in additional income from a job of her own?

Oddly enough, secrets can also be comforting. Hypocritical as this sounds, sometimes being an escort and keeping under wraps felt good. There I was, doing something that was technically illegal but rarely prosecuted at the high-end of the spectrum. I had a life and an income that would be envied by many, and it was my secret.

Yes, I was a bit of a smug bastard at times. Sue me.

I knew things most people didn't -- from what women really want to do in the bedroom, to why some of their husbands were woefully inadequate at giving it to them. These secrets were mine, and aside from this blog, I really didn't share them. Selfish? I think not. But still highly satisfying.

So kids, just remember: secrets often remain untold because it's truly the best thing for everyone. And sometimes, our secrets keep us company when no else will.

Sexual Harassment of Men

I haven't been harassed at work -- but a co-worker of mine had a story to share.

When she first mentioned that she had some experience in the area of sexual harassment, I assumed she had been subjected to it herself. That wasn't the case. In fact, it was her brother who found himself being pursued by a female supervisor more than fifteen years his senior.

"It was horrible," my co-worker said. "My poor brother, he had to put up with all her comments, her groping him, all when he's just trying to do his job."

"Did he bring it up to anyone?"

"He went to HR, but they didn't really do anything. Eventually, they all had a meeting, and his supervisor agreed to stop. And she did, at least for awhile."

"Not permanently," I said.

"Bingo."

I'll admit the sexual harassment of males in the workplace is new territory for me. I never gave it much thought. Seeing how my previous career as an escort was built around the idea of sexual intercourse -- the idea that sex and work were one of the same -- I never really thought of what it would be like to be subjected to advances and not want them.

My co-worker and I chatted about the whole thing for awhile longer, and inevitably she asked me what I would have done in her brother's shoes. Tricky territory for certain. I shrugged, said I never really thought about it, but eventually came up with an answer.

"I'd probably find her husband," I said. "Assuming she had one. I'd talk with him, befriend him, try to make a connection."

"Really? Why?"

"Adulterers thrive on anonymity," I continued. "If my boss was looking for sex outside of her marriage, chances are her husband doesn't know about it. Once he does -- or once the object of her desire is now involved in her married life -- the advances should stop."

My co-worker looked surprised, impressed. Me, on the other hand, I was quite nervous. I don't mean to talk down to people who aren't sex workers, but sometimes "regular people" can be so naive when it comes to sex, adultery, etc. We escorts (current and former) are a bit more savvy. Or jaded. Perhaps both.

Escorting might be in my past, but sex and relationships are still very much a part of my present.

After-work Drinks

Eek -- only 11 entries for the month of May. That's less than I was hoping to post, but not too bad all things considering. I've settled here in New York City quite well, though I still miss Adam, Bailey and Simone dearly. 

Simone will be here permanently in July, and both Adam and Bailey hope to make a trip before the end of 2010. I really can't complain, though. Things could be worse.

But enough blathering. What have I been up to, you ask? Well, working. Each morning I get up, shower, dress, gather my documents and put them in my messenger bag, and walk out the door with the rest of the masses. On the train, I'm one of those guys that's in his own world -- paperback novel, iPod, and the occasional cup of coffee.

This evening, my co-workers and I went out for drinks to celebrate the end of a particularly hectic week. We were all under pressure, but the project was a success and everyone is pleased with the results. As we sat in the bar, nibbling on appetizers and drinking (some had wine, others beer, others mojitos and cosmopolitans), the focus of the conversation eventually turned to me.

"So, do you miss Miami?" one of my co-workers asked.

"A bit," I said. "There's less space up here -- that was an adjustment at first. And not having the beach nearby takes getting used to. But other than that, I'm pretty damn happy."

This seemed to satisfy everyone, but yet another inquisitve co-worker asked if I was seeing anyone when I made the decision to move. I answered her honestly -- well, as honestly as I could. Yes, I was seeing someone. And yes, I missed her. I left out the whole part about Simone being an escort, though I got the distinct impression that some of these girls wouldn't have objected to her profession at all.

Putting it mildly, some of them like showing off some of their more ample assets.

Oh, screw being vague: they like to show off their tits.

I made up some bullshit profession for Simone, one I can't recall at the moment. I have no idea if any of my co-workers are interested in a romantic context. After years of having women being up front about wanting me -- after all, they called my agent and paid us both -- my radar is a bit out of tune.

We all parted ways at around 7:30 or so. With no other plans, I wondered around the city for a bit, passing through the Flatiron district and smiling when I looked up and saw the Empire State building. New York, New York: she's a hell of a town. One that I'm now privileged to call home.

I'm a lucky man. And even if this blog isn't updated as much as it used to be, rest assured that I'm just as grateful for my readers as I am for my new job.