A Fresh Start

Well, it seems the cold followed me home somewhat: With highs in the mid-60s and lows in the 40s, Miami is going through a cold spell, at least by Florida standards. Still, my mother tells me its only in the low 30s back home, with wind-chills in the teens.

So yes, I'm glad to be back home.

I've been weighing the pros and cons of moving to Los Angeles should the agent I had lunch with in New York City decide to make me an offer. I've never lived out west before, so that would certainly be a new experience. True, the beaches aren't as nice and the smog can be stifling, but the City of Angels does have a lot to offer.

Perhaps I'd write a screenplay and to sell it to a studio? All right, that idea is pretty trite, but one can't argue that I don't have a lot of unique... um... life experience. That, and sometimes a new environment can invigorate one's sense of creativity.

As for my primary line of work, well, I can only assume that sex in Los Angeles would be just as good as it is here in Miami -- perhaps even better. Of course I'd miss my clients here, but chances are we'd both have moved on given enough time. One can't go around getting attached in this business.

One major caveat, however, is that I would feel bad about leaving my current agent here in Miami. I know that it's all "just business" and that she would probably understand, but still. If it weren't for her and Rebecca, who knows what I'd be doing now.

Taking on a huge student debt for grad school? Living at home with my parents while working a part-time job for minimum wage? Having to take a part-time for minimum wage along with an internship in my field from university -- assuming I'd be able to find one?

The mind boggles at the possibilities -- none of them good, either.

Time well tell where my life is headed, I suppose. I've also come to the decision that if anyone calls from New York or Boston or Washington DC -- the cities I've had talks with regarding a "real job" that uses my degree -- they won't be receiving a call back.

It's all about respect and courtesy, folks. Lots of people think that job hunting is like prostitution -- that one is essentially a "whore" for anyone willing to even give them an interview. Well, I'm here to tell everyone that is simply not true. Not even close.

I know this because I am a whore. I have sex for money and only for money. My body, personality and sexual prowess are what earn me a living. Time is valuable. If you're not willing to just make a decision and pay up thereafter, don't even bother contacting me.

My clients know what they want: Sex, conversation, someone to talk to. I provide it for them and I do my best to provide it well. Sometimes I think the business world could learn a lot from the sex industry. There are no cat-and-mouse games in my field, nor are there any false pretenses or bullshit communication practices.

The clients call my agent. After being screened, chances are I'll go where they wish to meet me, at which point we'll have a bit of wine and have sex. Afterward, I leave, along with a white envelope with my payment. Cash only.

I realize a lot of people think that what I'm doing is terrible -- an abomination that deserves to be shunned, ridiculed, and even outlawed. Well, tough shit, because I'm proud of what I do and am not going to stop.

As Belle de Jour herself put it: The first thing you should know about me is that I'm a whore.

And that, my friends, has made all the difference.

Body Painting

Sex. Body paint. Shower.

That was the order of activities this past evening. After spending the holidays up north, I returned to the gorgeous Miami weather with one day to relax before going back to work. While normally the end of December and beginning of January is a bit of a lull, a few clients are known to schedule in last-minute bookings.

The Artist happened to be one of them.

Ever since she painted a nude portrait of me, we've been keeping in touch via e-mail somewhat regularly. I don't mind, really, since building long-term relationships is vital to any escort's career. The more regular clients I have, the steadier the work, the more secure my monthly earnings. Understand?

The sex happened fairly quickly. After a quick greeting, a kiss on the cheek, and a quick glass of wine, our clothes came off and we all but fell into bed. Funny -- it didn't last long, either. Now, most men wouldn't admit that, but the client herself didn't seem to mind. Sometimes a good, twenty-minute fuck is better than an hour-long session.

Really -- that's what many women tell me. None of them really want to have a sweaty, thrusting man on top of them for more than a half hour. After all, they're the ones being penetrated. Things can get uncomfortable after awhile.

But now for the body paint. I wasn't quite sure what to expect from this little adventure, but it was certainly one of the more unique experiences I've ever had. The paint was thinner than I expected, almost watery. And as for splaying my body against an oversized canvas, well, seeing one's butt cheeks on a canvas is pretty amazing.

After a the "portrait" was complete, I showered in a spare bathroom and washed myself clean. Unlike the other painting, the Artist requested to keep the body paint one. She said she'd like looking at my ass from time to time, which didn't surprise me. She certainly enjoys pinching it.

Fiction Excerpt

Another bout of insomnia has caused me to do something rather unusual...

As I've mentioned before, I write fiction in my spare time. One novel is complete and is currently being edited before I begin querying to agents. This next piece is unrelated to the first one.

Now, the plot might offend some sensibilities, though given the fact that I'm a whore blogging about my experiences in sex work, I don't expect to have any prudish readers. Sex and violence, however, are two different things. This current fiction project I'm working on is much more violent than sexual.

The plot thus far: Seventeen-year-old Adrian Troy is a killer. Living in Seattle, his latest victim is a college student at the University of Washington, a young man by the name of Trevor Brown.

Read on for more. And please, go easy -- this is a first draft, something I literally wrote on the plane ride down to Miami this afternoon. Cheers!

CHAPTER 1

Adrian Troy was a seventeen-year-old killer, and Seattle was his hunting ground.

He’d followed his victim to Mt. Rainer National Park -- quite an unusual spot considering it was nine o’clock at night. Mother Nature had blessed the Pacific Northwest with yet another day of rain, which suited Adrian just fine. Rain had a great way of washing blood clean and destroying any potential evidence at a crime scene.

After turning off the engine to his car, Adrian cracked his knuckles and sighed, wondering if the kill would be worth it. As feared as sexual predators were, Adrian knew first-hand that they paled when were face-to-face with an equal instead of some meek girl.

Oh, but he couldn’t let this one go. Not Trevor Brown -- the University of Washington student who’d partaken in the gang rape of a teenage girl. Sexual assault was par the course for many fraternity brothers, but normally they targeted fellow students. Drugging a high school girl with Rohypnol and then “sharing” her with the brothers upstairs was especially pathetic.

Patrick exited his car and entered the park, the light of his cigarette acting like a beacon for Adrian to follow. When the small, orange light grew dimmer, Adrian knew it was time to exit his car and follow Patrick on-foot, less the risk losing his prey inside the vast preserve.

Hopefully he won’t scream, Adrian thought. Maybe I should just slit his throat, just as a precaution. But then how can I get him to confess? Shit -- why does killing people have to be so complicated?

Right when Adrian thought he might lose sight of Patrick, his victim was kind enough to take out a flashlight and give him an even easier way to track him. Patrick, for all his preppy attire, appeared quite drunk. He staggered along the trail as if he might fall at any moment. Cursing under his breath, Patrick was totally oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.

For Adrian, it was almost too easy.

When Patrick finally stopped, Adrian rushed up from behind and plunged the hunting knife into Patrick’s back. It wasn’t a killing blow -- no, that would have been merciful. Instead, it pierced Patrick’s kidney and caused him to collapse, the blood already seeping out of the wound and onto the wet, brown earth.

“Don’t bother moving,” Adrian said coldly. “I just punctured your kidney.”

“Who… who the fuck are you?!” Patrick cried. “What are you doing--!”

Adrian grunted then kicked Patrick in the ribs. The twenty-one-year-old cried out again, this time in pain instead of shock and anger. His face was glowing from the flashlight he’d dropped during the ambush, its twisted grimace oddly satisfying to Adrian’s sense of justice. Funny how Patrick could look so innocent, even when Adrian knew damn well he was guilty.

“I’m here for Dana,” Adrian said. “You know, the girl you and your fraternity brothers raped last August? But then I’m sure your father had all of that taken care of.”

Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but Adrian flipped him over onto his back and planted a foot onto his chest before he could utter one word. Picking up the flashlight, Adrian pointed it at the hunting knife he held in his hand before directing the light right into Patrick’s eyes.

“You think fucking a girl who’d just been drugged makes you a man?” Adrian asked. “Do you? Come on, tell me. Have one iota of fucking decency for once and confess your crimes.”

“They… They made me do it,” Patrick whispered.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Adrian snapped. “You’re the goddamn president of the fraternity. Just like your father before you.”

Patrick had no reply. The guilty usually don’t. Adrian was still marveling at how child-like Patrick looked in the radiance of the flashlight. His blonde hair was wet and dirty, matted to his face in a series of messy locks. Tears were streaming down his eyes, though that did little to provoke sympathy on Adrian’s behalf.

“Dana would have cried too,” Adrian said. “I guess drugging her was a twisted act of mercy on your part. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to kill you.”

A bit rushed, I know, but hopefully effective. How will Adrian kill Trevor? And bear in mind, this is just the opening chapter. There's something far more sinister at work in Seattle -- a serial killer that begins targeting teens at Adrian's high school.

I'm excited about this project, and at the idea of working with a teenage serial killer. But don't worry, my blogging will continue on as usual. I just thought this might be a nice diversion, and a way for all readers to see another side of my creative mind.

Coming Out

Had a bit of a bombshell this afternoon.

Remember that young cousin I mentioned before? The one I mentor from time to time? We were out in the city, enjoying what was a cold and windy but also sunny day. Alone at a cafe in the middle of the afternoon, he told me he wanted to tell me something.

"What is it?" I asked. "You look worried."

"It's just... I mean, I know you won't be mad or anything..."

"Trust me -- whatever it is you did, I've done worse."

Still, he remained silent and avoided eye contact -- with me, that is. However, he did appear to be looking at someone in particular. The man in question was slightly younger than I am, and also quite good-looking. It was then that I knew what my cousin wanted to tell me.

"You're gay," I said. Blurted it out, in fact.

My cousin's face went red. Cripes, this is what he was so worried about? There I was, thinking he'd ran someone over and hidden the body, or hired someone to take his SATs and was in danger of being caught. Or perhaps there was someone threatening to pull a Columbine at his high school. My imagination has no bounds in terms of imagining worst-case scenarios.

"Is it that obvious?" my cousin asked.

"What? Oh, no, of course not. You're not flaming or anything." I winced after making that comment. The way Adam tells it, only gay men themselves are allowed to make fun of their more effeminate counterparts.

"Then how did you--?"

"You were pretty non-discrete in checking out that guy," I explained. "That, and I have a pretty keen eye."

"You never suspected anything before, did you?" my cousin said.

"No, not with your never-ending questions about girls."

From that point on, my cousin divulged how he came to discover his sexuality. Essentially, he had sex with a girl and didn't like it. Ditto for eating her pussy. And sucking her tits. Beyond kissing, he really didn't care for girls at all.

I took the time to reassure his belief that he was gay. Err, not so much reassure this belief as support him in his coming-out process. It was fine with me, I said. And don't believe any crap that being gay is either a sin, a crime against humanity, or some sort of deviant act.

"Honestly, if this is the 'worse' thing you ever admit to, consider yourself blessed."

"I'm just a little freaked out about some stuff, that's all. I mean, I went on the internet to try and learn more, and what I saw..."

Eek. I can only imagine what my cousin could have stumbled onto if he had typed in 'gay sex' onto Google and began combing through the results. With Adam's assistance (major kudos to him), I'm in the process of compiling a list of websites that are informative instead of exploitative. Thus far GLAAD and PFLAG have been invaluable.

It wasn't long before he started peppering me with questions, though. Not about having sex with men, but about sex in general -- things like condoms, lubricant, and the topic of anal sex. He'd assumed I'd done it with women, and he was correct.

I waited until we returned to his hotel before getting into the more graphic details. Essentially, I told him, anal sex involves three stages:

• The lubricated loosening. This is when a lubricated finger is inserted into the anus to prep the orifice for entry. It is followed by another finger, then another, until the orifice is loosened enough for the penis.

• The entry. One cannot simply "dive in" after the first stage. The "top" must enter gently, taking time to make sure his penis is able to slip in gently.
  

• Home free. The "top" must work his way up to a steady rhythm in terms of thrusting. Slow and steady wins the race. Time is of the essence -- meaning both partners must be patient in order to fully reap the rewards.

My cousin seemed satisfied with this explanation. Still, part of me shuddered at the idea of him having anal sex -- be it penetrating or being penetrated. It's just so... I don't know, mature for him. But that wasn't the most sweat-inducing part of our conversation.

"You really know a lot about sex, don't you?" he said to me. "Why is that?"

"Oh, really?" I said, suddenly coy. "Just life experience, I suppose."

"You mean you've been fucking like crazy?"

"I've had my fun, I'll admit that."

"People wonder about you, you know," my cousin said. "All this time without a full-time job, yet you have that nice apartment in Miami."

That last part made my blood run cold. What do you mean, people wonder about me? No way in hell does anyone know about my true profession. No -- I'm a freelance PR executive who also dabbles in graphic design. End of story.

"That's enough for today, I think." My cousin's parents would be arriving back at the hotel soon enough, having caught an afternoon matinee. We (my cousin, his parents, my parents and myself) all had a reservation at the hotel restaurant for dinner.

"Fine," my cousin said. "You want to order a movie?"

"Sure," I said. "Oh, and one last thing..."

"Yeah?"

I'm not going to lie -- part of me thought about telling him about what I do right then and there. Perhaps it was because he'd just revealed such an intimate part of himself to me. I'm a big believer in equality in relationships, whether they're romantic or familial. Fortunately, my senses got the better of me.

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing..."

Sticky and Sweet

Right. It's approximately 8:52 a.m. on Sunday morning, December 27, 2009. Normally I'd be fast asleep at this hour, but the fact that my father has a footstep like a lumberjack doesn't lend itself to sleeping in. How my mother puts up with this I'll never know...

Speaking of my mother, she's still stuffing my face at every turn -- or at least trying to. Insisting that I'm somehow "too thin," she thinks nothing of offering me cookies and pie at every turn. I deny her, of course, insisting that body standards in Miami are some of the strictest in the country.

"I can't go around looking fat," I said. Especially not when I earn a living selling my body for sex. If women wanted someone pudgy around the middle, they'd fuck their husbands.

"Oh, come on," my mother continued. "This pumpkin pie will go bad..."

Personally, I'm an apple pie man. However, looking at the can of whipped cream makes me think back to one of my first night's at work. The client -- and I've never had this particular fetish requested since -- had a thing for food.

Well, not food so much as condiments, but still! She had whipped cream, honey and even fruit at the ready. Once I suppressed my giggling, I was pretty excited (literally and figuratively) about what lay ahead. But learn this, kids: Sex and condiments ain't what it's cracked up to be.

Don't get me wrong. Licking whipped cream off her tits and sucking the nipple thereafter was lovely. Ditto for pouring honey on her abdomen and the inside of her thighs. It had a way of combining with her natural taste into something completely unique.

She did much of the same to me -- licking, sucking, pausing to place a strawberry in my mouth, too. However, once everything was licked clean, what we were left with was a kind of sticky film on both our bodies. Once we finally got down to having sex, I felt my chest being tacked onto her own as I was on top of her.

"Um, sorry about that," I said. "I guess we overdid it with the whipped cream."

"Hmm? Oh, right," the client said, clearly not much caring. "Don't worry about it. We can shower after...."

She trailed off as the both of us got into the groove of things, so to speak. We climaxed shortly after. As I rolled off of her, that same sticky film almost tried to keep me in place.

"So," I said, still erect. "About that shower..."

Washing myself clean felt good. And when she joined me inside the shower, well, that part was even better.

Getting Started

For all those interested in how some people get started in the business, follow this link: Escort Emergency Start-Up Kit.

The author of this post -- herself an author and sex worker -- has some great anecdotes for what many people do when they get started. It appears this article is for those who wish to enter escorting without the help of an agent/agency, which is something I didn't do.

Confident as I may be, I still wanted the guidance and security of an agent. Now that she and I get along so well, I really couldn't imagine going without her, unless of course I were to leave Miami.

I'll be returning to Florida on December 29, and I actually have a booking the following day. I apologize if my entries have been a bit boring this week, but I promise to spice things up once the holidays are finally over with. Rest assured, this blog is going to continue.

Until then, adios mis amigos!

It's Finally Here...

For all those that celebrate Christmas, have a good one!

Last night was interesting to say the least. My mother's annual Christmas dinner went on as usual -- lots of food, a few drunk relatives, and our annual gift-opening ceremony at 12 a.m. I got some nice new clothes, and my parents seemed to enjoy the gifts I smuggled in from Miami as well.

What does a gigolo buy his parents, you ask? Well, besides some great Cuban coffee for the both of them, I bought some scented candles for my mother, a gift card to Barnes & Noble for my father, as well as another gift certificate to their favorite restaurant here in town.

Yeah, I may have gone a bit overboard, but being an only child makes my budget go a bit further. Thankfully no one's asked where my money comes from. And no, my family doesn't attend Church on Christmas Eve. Seeing how we're pretty non-religious, and I myself am pretty much a mix of an atheist and an agnostic, I would have felt pretty out of place.

Moving on. If you read yesterday's entry, you'll remember I mentioned a cousin of mine who I only see once a year. Well, he and I caught up last night and he's coming along quite nicely. He still doesn't have any idea that his cousin/mentor is a whore, and I'm hoping to keep it that way.

He and his parents are staying in a hotel in the city, and will be meeting my parents I for dinner tonight. Thus far it looks like Chinatown, but things can still change.

Take care, my dear readers. I wish you all a wonderful holiday and an excellent 2010.