Where Have I Been?

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

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...

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

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...

Simone and I have decided to part ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About Last Night

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

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

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

"Are you out to them?" I asked.

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Horizons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confronted

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

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

"She thinks we're having an affair?"

"No -- she wants a threesome."

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm in," Noah said.

"Sorry?"

"The threesome -- I'm in."

"I thought you were gay?"

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

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

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

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

Sting Operations

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

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

Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bedroom

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

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

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

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

"This works too," I muttered.

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

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

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

"Just fucking do it."

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

"Again," I said.

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

"Happy now?" she asked.

"Very. OK, untie me."

"No."

"Still have some more punishment in mind?"

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

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

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

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

Dinner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Noah smiled. "The one?"

"Like you said, let bygones be bygones."

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

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

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

"Hmm. Talk. Sounds kind of boring."

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

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

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

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

The Request

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

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

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

"A good place?"

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

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

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

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

Coming Out

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

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

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

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

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

PowerPoint "Fuck List" Hits the Web

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Jock: He's Back!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you seeing anyone?"

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

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

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

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

The Fall of Advertising and the Rise of PR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Am I Doing Now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodnight :)

Watching Porn -- Together

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

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

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

"Can't say that I have."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grooming

Wow, I never wrote a post about pubic hair?

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

My answer? I have no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky

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

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

The same cannot be said for another memoir.

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

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

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

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

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