Man About Town: The Life of a Post-grad Gigolo

Where Have I Been?

2011-05-11T18:20:00.000-04:00

Much has happened these past few months. I’m working at a new PR firm, one that’s even more prestigious than my former employer. I couldn’t believe when my new employer agreed to interview me, let alone when I received the job. My new position includes a bevy of goodies, among them a higher salary and more prestigious account work.

There’s more, too. You see, I’ve also taken up escorting again. I know, I know -- gasp! Shock! Horror! The naysayers must be right: Once a sex worker, always a sex worker. Guilty as charged, I suppose. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My breakup with Simone was tough. Despite my efforts, we simply grew apart. A three-way with Noah didn’t change that. After our breakup I was left with a nagging feeling that I would always have to live with two separate identities: “Julian” and the “real me.”

After all, how could a marketing professional ever live beside a sex worker?

The answer hit me like a slap in the face: The only way I could make both identities “work” is if I finally realized that “Julian” isn’t a separate persona -- he’s part of me, and he always has been. My clients back in Miami weren’t paying to spend time with a stranger. They were spending time with me.

Who cares if it was under a different name? Was I not there in mind and body during all of those bookings? Did I not make them laugh? Listen to them commiserate about their lives? Have sex with them, or just hold their hand and dine and drink and laugh under the beautiful night sky?I missed escorting. I missed the sheer variety of women; the way it padded my bank account; the feeling of excitement that comes with walking into a hotel or a private home and not knowing who or what would await me on the other side.

So, the outcome of my decision? I feel better than I have in months, and I’m making more money now than I ever thought possible. I keep my bookings limited to nights and weekends, and usually average about four to five per month. This is strictly a part-time venture of mine -- but good God does it pay handsomely.

I’m back, folks. And while I can’t make any promises… I think that my blog might be back, too. Stay tuned.

Gigolos

2011-05-10T09:33:00.002-04:00

Seeing how I'm home with a case of allergies (don't laugh; it's terrible!) I thought I'd finally update my blog. Life has been hectic, but there is a topic out there that people have been asking my opinion about: the new Showtime series Gigolos.

People, I am at a loss for words.

The experiences of the men on Gigolos is very, very different from my own. For starters, I didn't have many other male escorts to mingle with. There certainly wasn't a community in Miami, and I don't really think that there is one in Las Vegas, either. The "brotherhood" was something created solely for the cameras, as most escorts operate alone.

In addition, I have something else to say: I think that at least half of the men in Gigolos are gay. And no woman in her right mind would pay money to have sex with that orange-skinned leper who looks like he's in his mid-forties.

And really, what the hell kind of name is Brace? That's right -- a fake one.

I will, however, give my seal of approval to one gigolo in the group: Jimmy. Here is a man who is good looking enough to have a real career as a sex worker. More importantly, he has a personality. No pseudo-machismo like Nick, who I truly believe is gay and is just playing straight for the cameras.

Now, what are some things I agree with on the show? I've been paid to have sex with women in front of their husbands, escort elderly women around town, and have sex with a woman who's divorced, has kids, and doesn't have time for a relationship.

All in all, I do with the men well, particularly Steven, who really does seem to put his son's welfare first and foremost. Unfortunately, many people are in sex work to support their children. It's not all single people living fancy-free, and I respect that.

But really... Brace? Lay off the self-tanner. Vin, stop calling yourself a feminist. And Nick, it's OK to come out. You'll probably be in a Corbin Fisher movie sooner or later.

Last thing: I am glad that the series is on television. Why, you ask? Because it finally proves something I've been saying for years: women can and do pay for sex -- they just don't do it enough. Perhaps if the business can produce higher quality gigolos like Jimmy, more women would be willing to give it a try.

And that, my friends, would be good for all of us.

Welcome Back...

2011-01-28T18:24:00.002-05:00

I know, I know. Bad Julian!

I wish I had a good reason as to why I haven't been updating the blog lately. Truth is, I don't. But between the holidays, Simone and I breaking up and even more projects at work, I've been a bit of a bore lately.

The latest snowstorm took care of that. Manhattan is awash in the stuff, and the trek I made to Central Park was well worth it. Th entire area was covered in white, fluffy flakes -- from the park itself to the rooftops of all the surrounding building. When the sun peeked through the clouds at dusk and cast its orange shadows over the land, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

So, what of my personal life? Several girls at work offered to fix me up with single friends of theirs upon hearing that I'd broken up with my significant other. Not quite sure if that violates any company policy, but even if it didn't, I turned down the offers for now. For the first time in awhile I'm enjoying being single again.

Noah and I have been spending more time together -- platonically speaking, of course. Oddly enough the fact that he went down on me in the midst of the threesome hasn't compromised our ability to be friends. Perhaps men are just better at compartmentalizing things like that.

I haven't heard from Simone since Christmas day, when she sent me a text wishing me a happy one. I replied, and we left it at that. Of course she still reads this blog and knows my true identity -- but I'm not concerned about her "outing" me. She's too good for that. Not to mention, she was an escort herself, after all.

If there's anything I hope to accomplish in 2011, it's to continue growing professionally, and that unfortunately means less time to update this blog and goof around on my Twitter feed. Still, rest assured that I love you all. Every last person who's read this blog and emailed or Tweeted me.

I'll try to be better with updates. And should I accept any offers for a blind date, I'll be sure to write all about it here.

Cheers!

Back to Work

2011-01-02T16:44:00.002-05:00

It's almost 5 p.m. on Sunday, January 2, 2011. I arrived back in New York City earlier this afternoon, and I'm currently in my apartment, going through my work emails and putting together an action plan for my first day back at the office tomorrow.

I'll be forever grateful for my boss, who decided to give us, her staff, a one-week vacation in addition to the two weeks we're given as part of our benefits package. I needed this break, I really did. Especially since Simone and I ended up parting ways.

It's not bad, really. Like I mentioned before, we'd been growing apart for some time now. With my work in advertising/PR taking up an increasing amount of my time, we didn't get together as often as before. My boss is pleased with my work, and as such, has increased my role at the firm, as well as my responsibilities.

Simone is still working as a dominatrix, and is doing well. On the train ride from my hometown back to NYC, I couldn't help but think that perhaps sex workers and those on the "outside" just aren't meant to be together. Sad, but true.

Oh, but there have been good times to share recently. Both Adam and Bailey were in New York City over Thanksgiving, and I was so, so glad to see them. We went out, drank, and stumbled our way into a cab like a couple of college kids. To this day I look back fondly on my time in Miami -- and having them here only solidified my view that Miami represents some of the best times in my life.

But I'm a big boy now, making my way up the corporate ladder in the most competitive market in the United States. So far, I like it -- but that could change. Maybe one day I'll return to the Miami, the Magic City, or perhaps even Chicago or San Francisco or Los Angeles.

The New Year is all about possibilities, after all. And after years of whining and pining over the life I thought I deserved, I find myself stunned, for I'm living the very life I wanted to have for so very, very long.

So stay tuned, dear readers. I realize this blog isn't as exciting as it used to be. how can working in an office compete with having sex with strangers for money several times a week?

Still, I'll keep writing. And I hope that you'll keep reading, too.

Happy New Year.

All Good Things...

2010-12-31T00:48:00.002-05:00

Simone and I have decided to part ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About Last Night

2010-12-12T12:21:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

"Are you out to them?" I asked.

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Horizons

2010-11-22T22:40:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confronted

2010-11-17T21:52:00.002-05:00

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

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

"She thinks we're having an affair?"

"No -- she wants a threesome."

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm in," Noah said.

"Sorry?"

"The threesome -- I'm in."

"I thought you were gay?"

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

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

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

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

Sting Operations

2010-11-14T15:32:00.003-05:00

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

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

Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bedroom

2010-11-08T19:12:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

"This works too," I muttered.

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

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

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

"Just fucking do it."

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

"Again," I said.

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

"Happy now?" she asked.

"Very. OK, untie me."

"No."

"Still have some more punishment in mind?"

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

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

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

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

Dinner

2010-10-28T23:24:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Noah smiled. "The one?"

"Like you said, let bygones be bygones."

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

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

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

"Hmm. Talk. Sounds kind of boring."

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

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

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

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

The Request

2010-10-24T23:07:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

"A good place?"

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

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

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

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

Coming Out

2010-10-10T15:27:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

PowerPoint "Fuck List" Hits the Web

2010-10-03T15:42:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Jock: He's Back!

2010-10-02T02:45:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you seeing anyone?"

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

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

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

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

The Fall of Advertising and the Rise of PR

2010-09-22T17:52:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Am I Doing Now?

2010-09-19T02:37:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodnight :)

Watching Porn -- Together

2010-09-11T17:01:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

"Can't say that I have."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grooming

2010-09-08T22:29:00.002-04:00

Wow, I never wrote a post about pubic hair?

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

My answer? I have no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky

2010-09-07T17:02:00.002-04:00

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

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

The same cannot be said for another memoir.

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

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

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

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

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

New Friends

2010-09-02T22:59:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what not?"

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

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

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

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

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

Practice Makes Perfect

2010-09-01T18:14:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Call

2010-08-21T11:05:00.002-04:00

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

"Hey stranger."

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

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

"Busy, hot. And Miami?"

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

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

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

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

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

"In fact, she is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bloke at the Train Station

2010-08-17T20:56:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" she asked.

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

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

New Careers

2010-08-16T19:09:00.002-04:00

Did I mention Simone is now working as a dominatrix?

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

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

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

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

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

Montreal

2010-08-15T16:09:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers!

Testing

2010-08-01T11:43:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

How many people can say the same?

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

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

The Next Generation

2010-07-30T11:11:00.004-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? You actually miss escorting?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Return to Escorting

2010-07-26T21:20:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're the boss."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sex

2010-07-12T21:46:00.002-04:00

I am so glad Simone is back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Very Brief Update...

2010-07-09T01:07:00.002-04:00

Simone is finally here.

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

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

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

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

Memory Lane

2010-06-30T21:28:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-29T18:54:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-20T16:30:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-18T21:13:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-13T10:49:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-12T10:33:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-06T17:05:00.003-04:00

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

2010-06-04T21:41:00.003-04:00

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.

Memorial Day Weekend

2010-05-31T19:56:00.003-04:00

Right, I'm back from my very last booking.

I'd seen this client before back in Miami -- several times, in fact. Even so, this weekend was a strange experience. Not that she had changed at all; she was still the same person, although the same wasn't true for me.

I really think I've put Julian to bed, folks. Spending a weekend with a client just seemed... arduous, really. Having to feign interest in whatever she was talking about; socialize with her friends and acquaintances; have sex with her when I really would prefer to bed Simone.

Yes, Simone. Good God, I can't wait until she is here in July.

Is it completely pathetic that she and I have been having phone sex and web cam sessions since I left Miami? Even worse was the fact that she wrote a list of things she intends to do to me when she arrives in New York -- all of them sexual, of course.

Perhaps it was knowing that Simone will be here in July that made taking this last booking so much of an effort. With Simone, there are no false airs, no need to put on a plastic smile, no need to go out and charge a bunch of clothes that I have no intention of wearing again on my VISA card.

OK, I'll stop whining now.

Work has been going well thus far. Business is starting to pick up steam -- at least according to my boss -- and I've been able to manage my 9-5 job and my freelance work adequately. I've adjusted to urban noise of the city, and I love the fact that I can take the subway most anywhere.

In sum, things are turning out just how I hoped for them to be. The only thing that saddens me is that this blog isn't being updated as much as it used to be. I'll try and keep it going as long as I can. Someone has to provide erotic tales from a man's perspective.

And folks, that man should be me.

Competence VS Attractiveness

2010-05-25T20:44:00.003-04:00

Competence: the very foundation of what makes a good employee. He or she will show up to work on-time, complete their assigned tasks and generally be a nice person to spend time with.

They may not be terribly interesting, or someone you may socialize with outside of work, but as long as they get the job done without too much in the way of distractions and/or disruptions, they're deemed a good employee.

In the "real world" employees are judged based on competence. Sure, there are other factors, but really, is a company going to keep someone around that doesn't get the job done? Maybe in Europe, but not here in the United States.

American labor laws are quite loose, and "at-will employment" means that either the employer or the employee can end the working arrangement at any time. Most people think of employers giving employees the boot, but I've read plenty of blogs by office managers and HR execs who've been blind-sighted by losing someone they had no idea was at-risk of leaving.

So, what does this have to do with me? Plenty, actually. The 9-5 working world is still relatively new to me, as are its quirks and practices. In escorting, all I had to do was provide sex, companionship and conversation for anywhere from one to three hours. True, this does involve "competence", but far less so than in an office environment.

Think about it: an escort meets a client, has a bit of smalltalk, engages in sexual intercourse, then leaves. How hard is it to screw that up? There are no office politics, no annual performance reviews, no filing monthly reports or making sure so-and-so received the proper documents in time.

Sex is quick and easy. It's why sex work is so hard to leave for some people. But there's something else that sex work demands that traditional work doesn't. That, my friends, is attractiveness.

I won't bother saying that beautiful people aren't given more advantages in life, because that's not true. But with my first week of work almost complete, I'm a bit surprised at just how little looks really matter. I mean, I've seen people stumbling out of offices and onto the train looking like a disaster.

Unkempt hair, oily complexions, wrinkled clothes? None of that would have been acceptable in escorting. I made sure that before every booking that I was showered, shaved, in clean clothes and had fresh breath. That last bit -- fresh breath -- was particularly important. Yet after I stood a bit too close to someone on the train the other day, I discovered that plenty of people ignore oral hygiene.

Is this because so many office environments are self-contained? Are people comfortable letting their hair done with their co-workers? I'm still in the process of finding some answers.

For now, I still dedicate a lot of time to my appearance. People treat you better, take you more seriously, and think more highly of you when you've got it together in the grooming department. I never would have that that escorting would benefit me in the business world.

Just goes to show, I still have a lot to learn.

First Week

2010-05-23T14:04:00.002-04:00

What have I learned from my first week as a member of the "real world"?

For starters, I'm a bit more experienced than the other junior staffers at my firm. No, not in terms of sex -- you perverts!-- but in terms of my actual job. Freelancing forced me to develop skills, strategies and habits that those in the traditional 9-5 world don't have to learn.

Multi-tasking? Check. Following up with deadlines and rewrites/redesigns? Check. Knowing when to step back, take a break and let one's creative batteries recharge? Check.

Outside of work, I learned that I do enjoy the urban environment more than I'd remembered. Having everything from public transportation, shops and restaurants all within walking distance is very, very convenient. Miami is walkable -- at least to a certain extent -- but it pales in comparison to New York City. Up here, one truly doesn't need a car.

I also enjoy socializing with my co-workers. We all had a group lunch on Friday afternoon, and it was wonderful. Of course I had to lie a bit about when I was up to in Miami. Even so, being able to talk to people about work -- to commiserate, brainstorm and compare notes -- is something I didn't get much of while in escorting.

I'm excited, folks -- excited and content about my future. I took the long way, perhaps, and God knows my parents would faint if they learned I was having sex for a living, but I don't regret a thing. Here's to my past, present and future, and all the adventures yet to come.

And Simone, just in case you decide to read the blog today: I can't wait until you're here with me. The Big Apple might be the center of the universe, but it's not the center of my universe until you're in it as well.

Choices

2010-05-22T11:30:00.002-04:00

Life is all about choices. Whether they're about who we sleep with, where we work, or what we have for breakfast each morning, each decision we make ultimately affects our future.

I had choices. I didn't have to be an escort, after all. Like many other university graduates, I could have moved back home with my parents, waited tables, and waited for the economy to improve. I made the choice to have sex for money. I figured, "If it's good enough for Rebecca, it's good enough for me."

And have sex for money I did -- but I kept up with my field of study from university, too. Even with a recession, there were plenty of firms that needed to get their work done, and were willing to pay a freelancer such as myself for doing it. In reality, I had the best of both worlds: Having sex paid the rent, while the freelance jobs helped me built a portfolio of work in the event that I wanted to leave escorting.

Unbelievable as this may sound, I figured I would continue with escorting for at least another few years. Finding a full-time job just didn't seem possible or even feasible. I'd have to take a pay cut; work for someone else when I'd worked for myself; deal with inter-office politics and other nonsense.

And yet, here I am.

Allow me to share something else: I had two choices to make this year. Without mentioning specifics, another escort agency wanted to add me to their stable. I met with the woman and she was pleased with what she saw. True, I didn't want to leave Miami, but this was a very, very attractive offer. This woman -- the agent -- didn't see me so much as an one-hour fuck machine as a kind of male courtesan.

Weekend bookings, a higher hourly rate, celebrity/VIP clients -- she promised me all of this, and I believed her. Hell, if she could do for me what she did for her girls, I'd be one happy camper.

So why didn't I take the offer?

Simple: I wanted to try something new.

That sounds overly simplistic, I know, But one of the drawbacks of being an escort is there really isn't anything new or exciting after awhile. Yes, clients are varied, but having sex day in, day out... it can get dull. There were more than a few times when I really had to feign interest in both my client and bedding her.

Taking a full-time job here in New York meant a pay cut -- or so I thought. With some careful agreements and negotiations, I am still doing freelance work. How am I getting away with it? Well, my freelance work isn't something that the firm really does in-house. There's no conflict of interest.

Because of this, I don't think I'll need to escort in order to leave a comparable lifestyle to what I lived in Miami. I do have one last booking, however, over Memorial Day weekend. The only reason I'm doing it is because I know the client well, and I quite enjoy her company. But after that... I really don't see myself returning.

Time will tell. Thank you for reading this message, and I wish you all the best.

Coming Soon: Simone

2010-05-20T21:09:00.002-04:00

Long story short: Simone is moving to New York this July.

She told me so herself as I was preparing to leave Miami. No, I didn't pressure her into it. In fact, I had no idea she was planning this at all. It seems that she too tired of escorting, and when I made arrangements to move on with my life, it seems she got the necessary inspiration to do the same.

I'm certain I can lost two months without her -- but I still miss the girl, you know? Not since Rebecca have I really clicked with someone so well, so fast. The idea of having to adjust to life without her was something I really didn't want to do. And now, I won't have to.

There's still one caveat, though: Simone isn't leaving sex work -- but rather, she'll be working in another capacity. I'm not sure I can say too much about it now (not until she gives me the OK to post on the blog), but suffice to say she won't be having sex with men. She won't be stripping, either. She tired of that long ago.

I suppose the next challenge in our relationship will be fact that one of us is still involved in sex work, while the other is working a traditional 9-5 job. Thankfully she's not concerned that I'm working in an all-female office. In her words, "It's not like any of them could satisfy you like I could."

Conceited, perhaps -- but also true.

I can't help but feel like the luckiest guy on Earth right about now. Here I am, about to finish my first week off work, in a wonderful city, with one of my most beloved companions about to join me for the summer. Honestly folks, it doesn't get any better than this.

First Day of Work

2010-05-18T20:22:00.002-04:00

How was it, then?

Nothing I didn't expect, really. I arrived at the office at 9 a.m., made small talk with my new co-workers (apparently my arrival is something the all-female staff had been talking about for a week beforehand) and then headed to speak with my boss.

"Enjoying this weather?" she said, and pointed to her window. Rain pelted against the glass, the sky a dull slate of gray. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," I said. "But this weekend should be lovely."

And lovely the north has been thus far. True, it's raining. Yes, it's a bit chilly. But the complete absence of humidity is a blessing indeed. And once the sunny skies and temperatures in the upper seventies, low eighties return, I'll be on Cloud Nine.

But enough with the weather! What did my first day at the office entail? The first half of the day involved getting to know the place in general: how to work the phone, the proper passwords for our Blogger and Twitter accounts in order to make the proper updates, as well as which files were in which folders in our shared network.

Last but not least: Under penalty of death, I will not drink my boss's coffee. It's a special blend from France that she imports from Paris. Should I excel on my job, I'll be rewarded with a cup and accompanying croissant.

All I can say about the work is that it falls under the umbrella of "media" and that my client is a high-end jeweler that wants to get into the public eye, as well as the "social media sphere" (blogs, Twitter, viral video -- the kind of things you don't pay for but can really increase one's business).

Still, a good day. But to tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to the weekend. New York City during the spring is a beautiful, beautiful time. The tourists are still at home and the nights are getting longer as time goes on. Come the Summer Solstice, it won't be dark until after nine p.m. How cool is that?

Oh, and because I can't keep this secret going any longer: Simone will be joining me by the summer. Yes, that's correct: Simone is moving from Miami to New York. It seemed neither of us were ready to let each other go. I'm a lucky, lucky man.

The Rest of My Life

2010-05-17T21:12:00.002-04:00

Right. I'm in New York, sitting on the sofa while the TV plays in front of me. I'm fortunate that most everything that a man could want -- cable, internet, etc. -- was up and running when I got here. Caring property managers are rare these days, so it's nothing short of incredible when one does their job well and makes you feel right at home.

Tomorrow is when the real magic happens: the first day at my "real" job. I never thought I'd see the day. Miraculously, someone thought me good enough to bring me on-board at their firm. I'll go to an office, have a desk, along with a phone, a computer, and even a microwave and a mini-fridge in the kitchenette across the hall.

To those who've always worked 9 to 5, these details might seem inconsequential. But to me -- a former escort -- they're rather extraordinary. Just the sheer domestication of it all: the idea of going to an office, day-in, day-out, where you see the same people and work with them cooperatively. The closest I ever got to that was pairing up with Adam so he, the client and I could have a threesome.

I'll try to update the blog as much as I can, and I certainly hope my new material will be as enjoyable as the last.

Oh, and you're all probably wondering about Simone. What happened to us, then? That, my friends, is the biggest surprise of all. So stay tuned. She and I are not over.

No Politicians!

2010-05-10T16:26:00.003-04:00

True, George Rekers isn't a politician. However, he definitely made a life and career in the world of politics -- namely by campaigning against gay marriage, gay rights, and basically anything that would make the LGBT community safer and more equal in the United States.

Like many a Christian right-winger, however, Rekers had a lot of emotional baggage. Clearly, a man who publicly condemns gays only to go on a 10-day trip to Spain with a rent boy isn't right in the head. I won't waste any time wondering why Rekers did what he did -- it simply isn't important.

(OK, I lied. Personally, I think Rekers has been gay his entire life, but for some reason, never left the fire-breathing Baptist religion he practiced. As such, he was unable to have a stable partner and was left with rent boys. A sad situation indeed.)

So, what's the moral of this story? Simple: Don't sleep with politicians -- especially if you're an escort. Politicians always get caught, especially if they're high-profile hypocrites. The rent boy in question -- professionally known as "Lucien" though I think his real name has been released -- is now in dire need of a PR team.

A good PR team can protect him from the media, set up a few choice interviews, and make sure his online reputation gets a good spring cleaning. He seems to be safe for now, though I can only imagine how hard the papers here in Miami have been hounding him this past week.

Remember: An escort must take care in selecting their clients. Why? Because escorts thrive on anonymity. It's one of many things that separates us from street walkers, and enables us to live a relatively anonymous existence. Without out, we're ruined. No one wants to be publicly seen with an escort. We work best under the cover of night.

That being said, I'm glad that Rekers was outed. He's a miserable bastard, and he deserves every bit of misery this scandal brings him.

George Rekers

2010-05-08T22:57:00.003-04:00

So, I'm packing up my apartment and preparing for the move up north. Still, I couldn't resist typing up a new blog entry, this time about outed anti-gay activist George Rekers.

For those who aren't in the know, George Rekers, 61, of North Miami, was spotted at Miami International Airport with a "rentboy" (aka gay prostitute) after returning from a 10-day trip to Spain. The rent boy, who's been identified as "Lucien", had a profile listed on rentboy.com (a website that caters to gay men), which is where Rekers apparently found him.

Rekers, a Baptist minister, had requested that Lucien provide him with one-hour nude massages during their vacation together. Well, at least that's what Lucien says. Rekers, however, maintains that he was trying to counsel Lucien away from his deviant homosexual lifestyle. You know, on a vacation in Spain. And after trolling for him on rentboy.com -- a site so trashy that even I, another honest-to-goodness whore, is put off by it.

Folks, where do I begin?

There's really not much to say for Rekers. He's campaigned against gay marriage, gay adoption, gay rights -- the works. And now, it seems, the old twisted bastard was a homosexual himself all along. Pathetic. Truly, undeniably, pathetic. It's sad, too, but I simply don't feel any sympathy for the man. He's a sad individual and he deserves the public humiliation he's currently enduring.

Lucien, however, has my respect. I know I've spoken poorly of rent boys in the past, but for some reason this kids gets to me. Perhaps it's because he's younger than I am. He's only 20-years-old, and he's currently experiencing something I couldn't imagine. Thankfully the press has been kind to him thus far, but I can only imagine the kind of hateful response that's sure to come from the Christian right.

Everyone check out the article here.

And while I'm not sure about doing this, I think I'll go ahead: Lucien, if you want to email me and talk about anything, go ahead. I do have some experience in communications, and I'm happy to give you some free advice.

Women Paying for Sex

2010-05-03T16:43:00.003-04:00

While searching for news articles about male escorts (because I like to stay abreast of what's happening in my field) I saw this article in The Age, an Australian newspaper. Read the article online here: No money, no honey.

The main thesis of the article is the fact that women are increasingly paying for sex -- or at least curious about the opportunity to do so. In my own personal opinion, there are two reasons for this: First, women are starting to make real gains in the corporate world, which means they're left with more money but less time.

Secondly, women simply aren't as sexually repressed as they used to be. Is hiring a male escort for the night any more deplorable than attending a class on how to give a good blow job? I think not. In fact, escorting is discreet and personal -- a far cry from fellating a dildo in a room full of strangers.

Women might also be attracted to the idea of having a man who will truly take the time to listen and commiserate with them, even if it is for a fee. One of the most frequent complains I received during my escorting career was that men didn't know how to listen. Or, any time they did listen, it was only to get into a woman's pants. No sincerity whatsoever.

Male escorts can provide anything a woman needs, emotionally or sexually. Well, that's assuming he's good at his job. I won't pretend that all escorts are created equal -- male or female. But when it comes to combining sex, conversation, and a good time, I think we're a damn good option.

Times are changing, folks, and I believe that male escorts will only continue to get more popular in the future. Think of it: Would a woman in her early 20s really have a problem hiring a male escort? Probably not -- though due to all the options at the bar and the club and her place of work or study, she doesn't really need to.

Fast forward, when that 20-something is now in her 30s. Perhaps she's still single, or divorced. She wants a man to talk with, to go out with, to sleep with. She might just be willing to pay for it.

Storyteller

2010-05-02T14:24:00.002-04:00

When it comes down to it, I think that's what I really am.

It sounds a bit haughty, I know. Some people will read this blog and come off thinking, "Where does this man-whore get off calling himself a storyteller?" I really don't have an answer to that -- only that in addition to escorting, job hunting and doing all the other mundane things in life, I never stopped creating stories.

Clients are always interested, too. Recently, during one of my very last bookings, I brought a story with me at a client's request. It was a novella / short story, about thirty pages. Fantasy, in fact. After we slept together, I read it to her -- all thirty pages, in fact. I was flattered when she asked to keep it.

It's no secret that I've said I would love to be a novelist or screenwriter one day. Perhaps a mix of both. I'm only in my early twenties, but this blog has given me plenty of practice in the world of writing -- and come the end of May, I'll begin writing professionally in a business capacity in New York City.

But where does the inspiration come from? It can come from anywhere, really. Other novels, comics, films, or just an idea that pops into my head after reading the Miami Herald or the New York Times. I specialize in fantasy, horror, a bit of science fiction, too.

More than one person has said that my soon-to-be-past career in escorting was the perfect training ground to be a romance novelist. I'm not sure if I agree with that. Escorting isn't so much about romance as it is about companionship -- particularly when it comes to servicing women. Still, I do know a lot about relationships. Perhaps combining that with a certain fantastical element could prove successful.

Escort. Storyteller. Communications professional. I'm all of these things, really. It's a shame that I don't get to share each side more often. Only Simone, Rebecca, Adam and Bailey have ever really seen all three sides, all at different times and circumstances, of course. God only knows how I grew to be this way. With escorting about to be over, I guess I'll just be a storyteller and communications professional.

Still, it's the "storyteller" identity that I hope works out in the end.

Maybe then, I'll finally be able to write under my own name. Which, incidentally, also begins with the letter J. A hint? Once, there was a voyage in Greece led by a man, who was looking for something golden. I think that's quite enough ;-)

Hopes & Fears

2010-04-30T20:51:00.002-04:00

"Are you sure about all of this?"

Simone kissed my chest after asking that question. I pulled her in closer, ran my fingers through her hair, and kissed her in return. I thought about my answer for awhile, unsure as to whether hers was a trick question or whether it was sincere.

"As sure as I can be," I said. "It feels right, at least."

"You're braver than I am. And I don't say that often."

My lips spread into a smile. Of course, my biggest worry in leaving Miami is losing my friends and finding that escorting was a more rewarding career than I realized. Then, of course, there is Simone. What else is there to say about the one person who understands me so well?

"I suppose we'll see."

"It's not all or nothing," Simone continued. "You could always come back."

I agreed, then rolled over on top of her. And then, we made love, after which I told her I loved her. I meant it, too. Every last bit. It's times like these I wish she was going with me.

Guys Night Out

2010-04-27T21:42:00.003-04:00

Finally, a proper guys night out.

With Adam now fully recovered from the flu and Bailey having pushed through the last bit of work at his job, both had the time to socialize with me. I'm aware of how needy that sounds, but I really was disappointed that our last attempt to get together was thwarted by life's unfortunate events.

The restaurant wasn't too crowded, at least not at first. Soon, however, diners began to arrive, and the noise level rose to the point where we could talk about whatever we wanted.

"Did you get a facial?" Adam asked.

"Excuse me?"

"A facial," he repeated. "You know, spa treatment?"

I laughed. "Sorry -- I guess I've been in the business too long. When you said 'facial' I thought you meant something else."

Bailey groaned. "I'm surrounded by perverts."

"You try doing what Julian and I do for a living without developing a dirty mind," Adam said. "I'm just asking because his skin looks so smooth..."

Adam reached out and mockingly stroked my cheek. I slapped it away, then took a sip of beer. It wasn't that I objected to him touching me. But seeing how he'd just enjoyed a round of buffalo wings and still had greasy BBQ sauce on his fingers, I wasn't eager to have him touch me at that specific moment.

"So, excited about the big move coming up?" Bailey asked.

"I guess you could say that," I answered. "Excited, nervous, wondering if I'm doing the right thing. All of the above."

"You know," Adam said, which is how he begins one of his long-winded lectures. "I think the only reason you're taking that job up north is because it was something you couldn't get."

"Come again?" I said. "I think you had one too many, my friend."

"Please, I'm not drunk. What I mean is, you're used to getting everything you want. Money, women -- the works. The only thing you couldn't get was a full-time position in [my field of study from university] and that irritated you."

Adam leaned back, pleased with his impromptu psychoanalysis. Me, on the other hand, I was less than convinced. I downed the rest of my beer and planned my rebuttal, though Bailey actually beat me to the punch.

"Really, Adam?" he said. "That's it? He's taking a pay cut and leaving Miami over something that trivial?"

"Absolutely," Adam said. "Come on, can't you see it? And don't give me that bullshit that you're done escorting. Once a sex worker, always a sex worker."

"Thanks," I said. "Maybe you're just mad that Matthew is taking all my clients and you're not."

"Vagina isn't for me," Adam said.

"For the right price it is," I reminded him.

"Point well taken."

Again, Bailey shook his head and laughed. Surrounded by perverts, he repeated. Still, he wouldn't have it either way, really. And considering the fact that he had quite a few questions about fisting, I'd say there's a bit of perversion inside of him, too.

We parted ways later in the night. The weather is heating up here in Miami, though from the weather reports it's still blissfully cool up in New York City. I'll experience it for myself soon enough. Until then, stay tuned.

Cross-dressing

2010-04-26T16:43:00.002-04:00

How did I never write about this?

The request was simple: A woman wanted me to wear her panties. Why? Because her ex-boyfriend used to, silly! Be aware that the word "silly" was what she actually said to me -- as if I was a six-year-old asking a foolish question in kindergarten class.

I didn't oblige her request. It's not that I have anything against cross-dressing, or those who engage in it. I just didn't feel comfortable. Had the panties been washed? Had anyone else other than her worn them in the past? Was a pink g-string really necessary?

"Plenty of guys do it," she said. "Why not give it a try?"

I smiled politely. "Listen, I'm the last person to judge anyone's sexual activity, but this just isn't my deal."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Well, to tell you the truth..." I trailed off and thought of a viable excuse. "Because I only do this with my girlfriend."

That struck the client by surprise. She opened her mouth, then closed it, whatever words she planned on saying having obviously escaped her. She sat up in bed, adjusted the straps of her negligee. I could tell she was irritated, but I also knew I wasn't wearing her underwear.

"I'm sorry if that ruins the fantasy," I said. "My having a girlfriend and all that."

"No, it's fine. I always wondered about that -- whether escorts have relationships outside of work."

"I try. So, we can have sex any way you like it -- just no cross-dressing, I'm afraid."

What happened next wasn't completely out of left field, but slightly unexpected. Turns out the whole time her boyfriend had been wearing her panties, she'd wanted to try on some of his clothes: dress shirt, trousers, that kind of thing. After stripping nude, I handed her my clothes, then let her go to the bathroom and try everything on.

She returned wearing my dress shirt and no bra, along with my tie. That's it. The shirt opened to reveal her nude body, the tie swaying between her breasts. Is it wrong that I actually got off on this? I'm not quite sure. All I know is I talked myself out of having to wear a g-string, and still left the client happy.

If that isn't a valuable skill, I don't know what is.

Pass the Torch

2010-04-25T23:27:00.004-04:00

I think I've found the young man to take my place.

Matthew, as I'll refer to him, hit it off with my agent this afternoon. I set up the lunch date between the two of them, even though my agent said she wasn't interested screening for new candidates as of yet. I pressed her until she agreed to meet him.

Judging from the phone call I got later, I'd say the meeting was a success.

So, how did Matthew and I meet? Dare I say, he's a reader of this blog, and a sex worker who recently arrived in Miami from another city. Only after a series of emails, IM chats and a phone call did I agree to meet him in person. I wasn't disappointed with what I saw, either.

I might be straight, but I'm not narrow. If I was gay or a woman, I'd totally fuck him.

He has the face, the body, the personality. Add a college degree to the mix and previous experience in sex work, he's the perfect package. I could easily see my clients getting it on with him, both sexually and socially. True, his look is a bit different than mine, but diversity is the spice of life, is it not?

Matthew's due for a little photo session this week, featuring the same kind of photos my agent used to promote me. I found that three shots work best: formal in a suit, casual in jeans, and finally a shot at the beach in a bathing suit -- preferably one that's a snug fit.

(Women like ogling men from the privacy of their home computers, though they're not that inclined to admit it.)

All this is quite wonderful, actually. Matthew is a great guy, and my agent will have someone to keep her female clients happy. Good times all around. And yet, I have a few pangs of sadness lingering in my stomach. Am I sad about leaving Miami? Certainly. Sad about leaving my clients? A few.

Sad about leaving my friends? Absolutely.

And no matter how much people may detest me for it, I am going to miss being a escort. A gigolo. A prostitute. Call me whatever you want, but this job was damn fun. Not exactly the most traditional of callings, but a good way to bide my time until something came along and piqued my interest.

There's a saying out there: "Once's a sex worker, always a sex worker." This summer, I suppose I'll see if it rings true.

Goals of an Escort

2010-04-23T09:14:00.003-04:00

Let's get back to business, shall we?

Every escort should enter sex work with goals in mind. Is escorting a way to pay for school? A chance to earn great money between jobs? Something you want to do indefinitely? In order to be a successful sex worker, one needs to know what they want out of the job to begin with.

Once that goal is defined, they can begin building the necessary foundation for a safe, profitable career.

Starting with an agent is the best way to go. She (the agent) will likely have a pool of clients that she's known for some time. The agent can then introduce the new girl (or in my case, the new boy) to these clients and begin growing a schedule for her. The agent will take a commission for her trouble, and be there in case anything should arise.

So, this new escort has been at it for six months, perhaps even a year. She knows her clients and isn't taking on many new ones. Should she wish to go independent, this would be the ideal time to do so.

What do I mean by independent? Well, I realize I just praised the advantages of having an agent that the beginning of an escort's career, but the truth is any escort with half a brain can learn how to juggle his/her own clients once they know the ins and outs of the business.

See, one of the benefits of being an escort is that once you've been in the game long enough, you don't have to see new clients as often. You deal with your regulars, and only occasionally invite new people in. This makes work quite safe. Oh, and there's another advantage of going independent as well: The escort gets to keep more of his/her money.

It always surprised me to see that so much about sex work is focused on the sex, while the business aspects are somewhat left out in the cold. All right, I suppose that sex trumping business shouldn't be all that surprising, but like any other business, there's a degree of practicality in sex work.

Being able to maintain successful working relationships, allocating one's time appropriately, and knowing when to leave sex work behind and set aside some time for the "real you" are all important. Unlike other jobs, there's no real handbook to escorting, nor are there many websites or professional organizations were we can turn for help.

So if this blog has any purpose, I hope that it can help those who are in need of it. Perhaps an escort in the beginning of his/her career is a bit lost, then finds my blog and picks up a few things? Much as I love the compliments about my writing and sense of humor, it's helping people that I'm proudest of.

I may be leaving escorting behind, but this blog will be with me, and the world, forever.

The Next Girl

2010-04-22T21:49:00.002-04:00

With Simone and I about to part ways soon, Adam asked me if I had given any thought as to who "the next girl" is going to be. Because, according to him, it seems there's alway some girl complicating my life.

It got me thinking. With my plans to retire from escorting and work a "real job" like the rest of society (or those who are lucky enough to either be employed or find meaningful work in such a rotten economy), what complications could I have?

I know that sounds incredibly naive. But think about it from my perspective: Not having to hide the fact that I have sex for a living will make things much, much easier. With that skeleton no longer in my closet, well, my future significant other and I will have to settle on arguing about normal things.

Where to eat. Friends and exes we don't like. Whether one of us is giving more in the relationship than the other. Still, I'd like to think that whoever I meet in New York will be getting a good deal. After all, I've been having sex professionally for quite some time. At the very least, I'm good for some regular, moan-inducing oral sex.

Tongue before hung, folks. Tongue before hung...

So, who is this girl that I'm pondering hypothetical fights with? I have no idea at this point -- but I can't help but wonder. I'm thinking about dating someone who isn't involved in sex work, actually. My own age, too. I'd just like her to have a certain spark, you know?

Maybe she'll be a martial arts enthusiast fully capable of kicking my ass. Or a intern at a hospital well on her way to being a surgeon. I like women who are hands-on and not afraid to take the lead every once in awhile. After being in charge so often during my work hours, it's nice to be able to kick back.

One thing is for certain, though: I cannot and will not have sex with my boss. Bailey jokes about it often, after I showed her a picture that was posted online. Even I know better than to mix business and pleasure. Well, scratch that. Pleasuring women was my business, after all.

However, one cannot mix business and pleasure when they see someone day in, day out, five days a week. My clients here in Miami only paid for an hour or two of time per week. And after we had sex, well, I'd usually leave. Having sex with the boss at a proper 9-5 job? Yeah... that's not a good idea.

And coming from me, that's really saying something!

Almost There

2010-04-21T16:27:00.002-04:00

Hello all.

Well, I've secured myself an apartment outside New York City. It's nothing fancy, believe me -- in fact it's a bit of a step down from my current place here in Miami. Still, it'll do. And besides, who really spends a lot of time in their apartment when they're living in New York, anyway?

I've received confirmation as to what I'll be working on in my new job, as well as the pay schedule, typical hours, and other miscellaneous information. I feel good. I feel confident. But I'm still sad over leaving Miami, even though I know it's really time to go.

It all comes down to my friends, really. My friends and Simone. Adam and Bailey are two of the best guys I've ever met. Simone is, well, I've written enough about her on this blog for everyone to know how I feel about her. And then there are other people I don't see that often -- my agent, for instance -- that I still care about.

I'm fortunate that with one door closing, another is opening. It's not like I'm being laid off from escorting. Rather, I'm leaving it under my own volition in favor of a new opportunity. As I said before, my new boss and my co-workers are really, really nice, and I respect both the work and the culture/values of the company itself.

There are other benefits, as well. I'll be closer to my family, more able to swing by for birthdays and other events. And hey, I've wanted to visit Montreal for quite some time, now. I hear the city is lovely during the summer, even with the crowds.

I'll continue to update this blog as best I can. By the end of May, things should be back to a more regular schedule. Cheers!

Settling Down

2010-04-18T12:41:00.003-04:00

It's not what you think.

Part of my "growing up" process means moving to New York City, working a proper job and having sex for free. It's that last bit that's been giving me pause lately. Why is that, exactly? For starters, sex has become into something of a commodity these past few years.

True, I sleep with Simone for free. We engage in light BDSM activity for free. Plus, there is that whole naked rubdown thing, but you know what? Simone is something special. I don't mind having sex with her free of charge, because it's always fucking fantastic. I'm not to sure I'll find that anywhere else. At least not for awhile.

Sex is also a quick, easy way to make money. It goes without saying that by taking this job in New York, I am going to be taking a big pay cut. I'm bracing myself for it as best I can, but still -- having sex for some extra income would definitely be a nice cushion.

Obviously I wouldn't be able to escort full-time and work full-time. So, what is an escort to do? Easy -- he should settle down. Not with one client, but with a handful. Dare I say, I'm beginning to think like a courtesan. Plenty of my clients are in Manhattan and/or the Hamptons for the summer. A few more are in Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard. Assuming my weekends are free, I could always pay them a visit.

In fact, one of them has already requested it.

That's right. Already, a client made me an offer I can't refuse. Memorial Day Weekend in fact. I'll be somewhere in New England at a beach resort, keeping her company in a way her soon-to-be ex-husband never could.

I'm going to use this weekend booking as a trial run. If I can take a client a weekend and still remain in top-form for my weekday job, that's what I'll do. It goes without saying that I've raised my rates a bit, seeing how New York is more expensive than Miami. All in all, I'm pretty excited. The next part of my life starts soon.

And to think, I'm only twenty-four.

Keeping the Peace

2010-04-14T16:11:00.002-04:00

I've been Simone's (willing) slave lately, probably because I feel guilty over leaving soon.

Sure, she knows how to crack my neck, shoulders and most other body parts -- but that doesn't mean she'd object to receiving a massage herself. Particularly in her apartment, with the windows open to the ocean breeze. And if she happens to be naked, well, that's just an extra for the both of us.

"Not too much oil," she said. "Just enough to make things glisten."

I poured a small drop of massage oil onto my right palm, set down the bottle, then rubbed both my palms together. Once they were lathered in a glistening slick, I spread the oil onto Simone's body, starting with her back shoulders and traveling down to her back, ass and legs.

"How is it so far?"

"Not bad," she said. "You could use a reflexology book or two."

"Reflexology involves the feet, babe."

"I know," she said. "The two body parts you always ignore." She waited a moment, then added, "Unlike my tits."

I rubbed Simone's feet next, showing her that I wasn't completely useless in the world of reflexology. She was silent at first, but the moans and whimpers came soon enough. I love hearing those -- the verbal cues that tell me I'm doing a good job. Not that Simone was a job. But the escort in me just always aims to please.

"Roll over," I said. "Need to work the other side."

Simone protested but eventually did as I asked. The length of her nude body was as beautiful a sight as always. I worked her neck some more, then massaged her arms, hands, calves and abdomen.

"It's hot in here," I said. "I'm taking my clothes off."

"Suit yourself."

It felt better to be nude as well. And when I planted the first kiss on her lips, my cock was erect within seconds. Approximately five minutes later, I carried her from the table in the living room and laid her down on the bed in the bedroom.

"Are you up for it?" I asked. "Because I am."

"You'll miss the sex when you're in New York."

"All the more reason to do it not."

And "do it" we did. She was right about me missing the sex once I go to New York. Hell, I'm not even in New York yet and I'm getting nervous about the distinct lack of sex in my new career. Not to mention the lack of sex with Simone. I don't really want to think about it.

Still, 'tis bitter to have fucked and lost to have never fucked at all.

No Regrets

2010-04-12T16:35:00.002-04:00

Just to be clear, I don't regret a damn thing.

Not any of it. Not going to university, not dating Rebecca, and certainly not becoming an escort. Do I go screaming on the rooftops about my profession? No. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't admit it if push came to shove.

Selling sex has been around since the dawn of time. Some say it even predates agriculture. Most sex workers, as many like to point out, are victims. They're trafficked or otherwise coerced into selling their bodies, usually to someone else's benefit. But for a select few of us, escorting is a choice.

Getting paid several hundred dollars an hour to have sex almost sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? Meet a client at their home or a hotel room, chat for a bit, have sex and leave. Fork over some money to your agent for making it all possible, and go about your day.

Oddly enough, sleeping with over 100 women isn't what I'm most proud of. Neither is paying my own rent and other expenses with money to spare in my early 20s. No, what I'm the most proud of is this blog -- of sharing my life story with the world. The emails are the best, as are the discussions on Twitter.

Seeing that prostitution is illegal in the United States (well, almost -- it's legal in the brothels of Nevada, but the less said of them, the better), I can't really talk openly about my experiences. This blog was a way to rant, rave and share everything I've experienced in escorting thus far.

As time moves forward, and I make plans to leave Miami for New York, part of me can't help be sad. I'll miss this line of work. I'll miss my clients -- some more than others -- but most of all the freedom that came with being a sex worker. And quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if I kept on doing it in New York, at least every once in awhile.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: After graduating university, I became a whore.

I'll stand by my decision until the day I die.

Those Left Behind

2010-04-10T17:34:00.003-04:00

This blog has been rather self-involved lately. I need to update all of you on my friends.

Adam is doing well. Still seeing the same young man I mentioned earlier. He's still keeping his profession a secret, which is not so great, but I can't blame him. I asked my agent is she would consider introducing my clients to Adam as a kind of replacement, but she didn't think that they would go for it.

"You were really something else, Julian," she said to me. "Plus, you and Adam don't look anything alike. Your clients like your features."

I can't fault her there. Adam and Bailey are both pretty white-bread Americana, whereas I'm a bit more exotic, I suppose. Still, I thought that giving Adam the extra work would be a nice thing to do -- not that he has any problem in that department. In fact, if I wasn't leaving escorting and moving to New York City, I'd worry that one day some of my clients might discover him and leave me.

Bailey is doing well himself. He got a promotion at his job that he really lobbied for, so that was a reason for us to celebrate. And when I say "celebrate" I mean I let him get totally pissed and made sure he got home safely. He sent a thank-you text the next day, though sadly I don' t have any hangover remedies.

But onto the person I know you're all wondering about: Simone. She and I have maintained an awkward kind of peace these last few weeks. Yes, there's tension, seeing how I'll be leaving soon. But I suppose we both settled on the idea of enjoying what time we have left, instead of parting on bad terms.

I still entertain fantasies in which she comes with me -- emphasis on the word "fantasy" since Simone has no connections or prospects in New York. For now, escorting is what works best for her, and I wouldn't dream of being so selfish as to tell her, "Quit escorting and you can come to New York with me."

Still, the loss of her friendship and intimacy will be hard to let go. And while I'm sure there are many incredible young women in New York, that doesn't mean I'll forget Simone. No, not a chance. I'll remember her until the end. She's really that incredible.

Responsibility

2010-04-09T14:24:00.002-04:00

Here's a topic that isn't often discussed in regards to escorting -- responsibility.

What do I mean by that? Well, for starters, my client's well-being is in my hands. Because let's face it, everyone: I'm the stronger one in the scenario. I'm taller, heavier, more muscular, and almost certainly have more sexual experience. True, my clients are sometimes ten, fifteen or even twenty years my senior. It doesn't matter. I'm the one who's in charge.

There's a trite phrase out there, something along the lines of, "With great power, comes great responsibility." For some reason I think it has something to do with Superman, or perhaps the TV series Smallville, but I could be wrong. And while I doubt the creators of either Superman or Smallville had escorts in mind when coining that phrase, it's certainly not without merit in sex work.

It's my responsibility to make sure my clients are calm, comfortable, and have a safe, pleasurable hour or two. I would never, ever, under any circumstances, try anything that Simone and I do in our free time. OK, a quick slap on the ass is fine if client requests it, but beyond that? Nope, sorry. I'm just not that kind of escort.

Of course one can't mention safety and responsibility without mentioning contraception, both on her and on my own behalf. Condoms are a must, and if she tells me that she's on the pill as well, all the better. I also start each booking with a general statement, asking the client if there's anything I should know. This can be related to health, anything sexual they don't like, etc.

All of this might sound rather basic, but in the world of sex work it's very, very important. And not to sound my own horn here, but I truly believe the world would be a better place if everyone -- escort or no -- acted similarly in their own sex lives. Hell, even their non-sex lives. Just be safe and responsible, you know?

A safe and responsible escort is a successful and happy escort. And once we get into the world of BDSM, well, it's even more important. Still, I'm not a member of that community, though I can only imagine how crucial safety is.

I have only a few more bookings left before I prepare for the move up north. I'll chronicle my last few nights as an escort as best I can, but after that, things are going to change.

Never Fear

2010-04-08T17:53:00.003-04:00

I know your clients are women, but did you ever fear for your safety during your career as an escort?

A reader sent me this question and I thought it would make an interesting blog topic. So, Megan from Arizona, thank you!

No, I've never feared for my safety during my career as an escort. As I've mentioned in past entries, there were times when I feared for my client's welfare -- particularly when I stumbled upon a woman who'd just overdosed on alcohol or pain killers, or when another client's husband had beaten her before my arrival.

I always reported what I saw to the authorities, and much to my surprise, I don't think any of the men and women in uniform suspected I was... well... hired help.

There simply aren't as many risks being a male escort servicing women. True, I make far less money than female escorts do, but I also have much less potential for bodily harm. Simply put, my female clients couldn't hurt me if they tried. A woman -- who usually stands no taller than 5'5" tall -- simply isn't a match for a man half her age and nearly seven inches taller.

That, and it's not like I'm completely without backup. No, Simone isn't waiting outside with a handgun. Rather, I studied martial arts for quite a few years. I'm no Bruce Lee, and I don't train as often as I should, but I retain enough to handle myself should anything ever occur. And when I say "anything," what I mean is someone trying to mug me on my way home -- not a client gone bad.

So no -- I've never feared for my safety. Now, please don't take this as a go-ahead to jump on-board the escorting ship. There's an element of risk to this job -- a manageable one if you're smart, which unfortunately not everyone is, at least when approaching this kind of career. Even men have to watch their backs, assuming they're taking male clients.

Safety first, kids. It's how I survived and thrived, and any escort worth his/her loins will say the same thing.

New York, NY

2010-04-06T19:07:00.002-04:00

Apologies for the lack of updates. Once again, I've made a trip up north and am currently staying with a friend in New York City.

Am I selfish for dreaming that one day I'll have homes in both New York and Miami?

I know this drives non-New Yorkers crazy, but there is something magical about the Big Apple. I love it -- its rudeness, its size, its impatience with those who don't know their way. Like any other major city, one can't help but stumble upon landmarks throughout the day. Thus far it's been the Empire State Building, The Dakota Building in Central Park, and of course Times Square.

This trip was to scope out possible apartments, both within Manhattan as well as Brooklyn and even across the bridge in New Jersey. I hadn't planned on meeting with my future employers, but when they called my phone to touch base, I told them I was actually in the city. I was honestly surprised when they invited me to a late lunch.

"So nice to see you again," said the owner, a petite, thin, beautiful woman with enough diamond jewelry to make any woman envious. "Enjoying your time up north?"

"Absolutely," I replied. "Especially during this time of year, when everything is in bloom. Miami will start to get gross in a couple of weeks."

She nodded in recognition. "I grew up in [a southeastern city also known for its humidity] and I definitely don't miss it during this time of year. During the winter, sure. But not during the spring or fall."

We continued to talk, the owner and I. Her business parter had, well, business to attend to, so it was just the two of us. Relax -- nothing inappropriate and/or sexual happened. We were in a restaurant, for God's sake. If there's anything that being an escort for two years has taught me, it's that even if she did want sex, she'd want to finish her meal first.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember -- were you born in Florida?"

"Oh, no," I said. "I'm from __________ but ended up in Florida for school."

"I'm surprised you could keep your head on straight and graduate on time. Florida is a fun place to vacation, but to study..."

"Well, I graduated on-time and didn't flunk any classes, so that's a plus."

Our food arrived, and the Italian place we met at was delicious. I know I ramble a bit about food on this blog, but really, this place was great. Far better than anything I've tasted in Florida. Perhaps that's because there were actual Italians in the kitchen this time around.

"Do you like diamonds?"

"I'm sorry?" I didn't think I misheard her, but I didn't trust my own ears. Why would she be bringing up precious stones?

"Diamonds," she repeated. "Jewelry, really. You see, I had an idea..."

All I can say is that once I join the firm, I will be working with a jeweler. A pretty prominent one, actually, but let me say right now that it's not Tiffany & Co. This place is younger, newer, with a rather unique angle as to how they sell their products. I accepted the account -- not that I had any real choice -- and am currently researching diamonds and gems as best I can.

Glamorous as all this sounds, there did come an awkward moment later on. When the check arrived, I instinctively reached for it and took out my credit card to pay. The boss smiled, then promptly snatched it back from me and insisted she pay the bill. No ifs, ands, or butts. It was her invitation, after all.

"I'll leave the tip, then," I said, and put a few bills on the table. "Our waitress was cute."

"Was she?"

"I mean, not that I... It's not like I was checking her out the whole time."

The boss smiled. "In fact, you were. Still, I don't blame you. I'd have a go with her myself."

Honest to God, that's what she said. Why she said it I have no idea. Was it a joke I failed to pick up on? A declaration of lesbianism or bisexuality? More than anything, how the hell do I manage to keep getting myself into these situations?

In any event, I'm off to prowl the streets and probably pick up an Italian Gelato. On a night as beautiful as this, I can't think of a better plan.

Boy Toy by Barry Lyga

2010-04-04T01:40:00.004-04:00

Normally, I wouldn't use this blog to write a formal book review. After all, I'm not a journalist or a critic. But every once in awhile I come across a piece of literature so powerful that I feel compelled to share it with the world.

Boy Toy by Barry Lyga is a novel about an 18-year-old young man named Joshua Mendel. Handsome, athletic and highly intelligent, he's what many would consider to be a "golden boy" -- if not for the fact that he was molested by his history teacher five years ago.

Eve, as she likes to be called, seduced Joshua over several weeks. First in the classroom, then in her own apartment. It wasn't long before she and Joshua started kissing, groping, and eventually engaged in both oral and vaginal sex. Excited as Joshua is by his "relationship" with Eve, it's clear to the reader that she is psychologically unwell, and that Joshua is a victim.

The plot is unique in that it begins when Joshua is 18-years-old and then flashes back to when the affair between him and Eve began five years prior. For all his athletic and academic prowess, not to mention his vast sexual experience, Joshua finds himself unable to have normal relations with a peer. That is, he finds any kind of sexual activity to be traumatizing. Not unusual, considering what he's been through.

After Joshua's parents discovered the affair, Eve was sentenced to prison. I don't remember how long she was supposed to serve, but due to overcrowding and her good behavior, she only served five years. When the news breaks that she's on parole, Joshua finds himself panicked, distressed, yet also overcome with desire to see her again -- to finally put to rest the ghosts of the past that have haunted him for years.

Lyga's writing is sharp and vivid -- particularly when it came to the sex scenes. I know, I know: sex scenes involving a 13-year-old boy and his 20-something history teacher aren't the kind of thing that one should call "vivid," but I can't help it. Lyga really brought the scenes to life in a way that even made me squirm. Liberal as I am, I firmly believe that a 13-year-old boy should not be receiving hand-jobs from his teacher in her apartment. Particularly after watching porn.

Those details might make Boy Toy sound cheap or sensationalistic, but I assure you it is not. There's simply too much good stuff in terms of the prose and voice of the novel that make Boy Toy a cut above other crap written for teenagers. This isn't any shallow trite like Gossip Girl, and unlike Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, Lyga's characters are well-drawn and deeply sympathetic.

At the core of Boy Toy is a young man trying to overcome his past and understand it as well. Without giving too much away, Joshua is very, very confused over what happened between him and Eve. Whether their relationship was his "fault" or if he was even a victim at all. Only after these questions are answered can he begin to lay the foundation for his future -- and despite the blood, sweat and tears throughout the novel, Boy Toy manages to end on a realistic yet uplifting note.

I recommend this book for anyone who was captivated by any and all teacher-student sex scandals involving female teachers and male students, especially if they're interested in the victim's perspective. Whenever there's a sex scandal between a teacher and a student, the teacher is the focus. In Boy Toy, we finally get to hear what's going through the teenager's mind -- and what a mind it is.

I'm giving Lyga a solid "A" grade for this one. I tore through the book at a rapid pace, and when I finally turned the last page, I didn't want the story to end. I suspect that Joshua will stay with me, psychologically speaking, for quite some time. He's really that vivid a character, one that has a story that deserves as much recognition as possible.

Seriously folks, buy this book. I guarantee you won't regret it.

High End

2010-04-03T17:04:00.002-04:00

The news about my upcoming career change is continuing to make waves. Some clients -- those with homes up north -- have asked if I would be willing to see them on weekends and/or special occasions if they booked far enough in advance.

I'll admit, the idea of spending a weekend in either the Hamptons, Nantucket or even Martha's Vineyard will be pretty hard to pass up. Still, these invitations are part of something greater that's been nagging me lately. Something that Simone, Adam as well as Bailey have asked.

Once I leave Miami, will I really go "cold turkey" for good?

Part of me thinks that yes, I should leave sex work behind for good, no exceptions. Trying to juggle a full-time job with "freelance" bookings could get very complicated, very quickly. Let alone what would happen if a boss or coworker were to stumble upon a client and I in a restaurant.

But then, there's the money. It always comes down to money, doesn't it? I've worked long, hard (no pun intended) hours at being an escort. And I don't just mean having sex with my clients. I mean building relationships -- forming the kind of long-lasting bonds that enabled me to see new people more and more rarely as time goes on.

I was successful at being an escort, and it's a job that's paid dividends time and time again. Many of my clients are wealthy, and many are from the north. And, it would seem, many of them aren't quite ready to let go of me yet. One woman even suggested that going independent would be to my financial benefit.

"You have all of our contact information," she said. "You could set up the appointments yourself. Not to mention, you wouldn't have to pay your agent a commission anymore."

She did have a point. Perhaps being (unhappily) married to her business tycoon of a husband served her well. But again, I told her I wasn't sure. I need time to think about everything.

Funny how leaving sex work has complicated my life, too. So, stay tuned folks. So long as my life is complicated, it will be interesting. And it's an interesting life that makes a good blog.

Candelit Dinner

2010-03-31T19:14:00.002-04:00

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

2010-03-30T17:06:00.002-04:00

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

2010-03-26T16:36:00.002-04:00

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

2010-03-24T19:14:00.005-04:00

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

2010-03-22T16:52:00.002-04:00

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

2010-03-19T02:02:00.003-04:00

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

2010-03-18T16:45:00.002-04:00

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"

2010-03-16T20:55:00.004-04:00

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

2010-03-15T19:04:00.002-04:00

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

2010-03-13T21:34:00.002-05:00

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

2010-03-11T21:03:00.003-05:00

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

2010-03-10T15:28:00.002-05:00

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

2010-03-09T20:02:00.002-05:00

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

2010-03-08T17:28:00.002-05:00

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

2010-03-06T18:27:00.003-05:00

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

2010-03-04T20:48:00.002-05:00

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

2010-03-03T15:49:00.003-05:00

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

2010-03-01T17:53:00.002-05:00

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.

Escorting and Self Esteem

2010-02-27T23:23:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-25T15:22:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-24T02:18:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-23T15:10:00.004-05:00

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

2010-02-22T14:56:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-20T17:08:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-19T16:45:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-18T01:16:00.003-05:00

"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

2010-02-17T12:36:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-16T15:36:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-15T02:23:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-14T14:31:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-13T15:45:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-10T16:23:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-09T14:08:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-08T11:11:00.002-05:00

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.