Candelit Dinner

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Julian, shut up," she said. 

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

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

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

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

Well, you get the idea.

Two Weeks' Notice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man About Town: The New Beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to Leave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come Away With Me

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need all the luck I can get.

Haunted

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

Quite simply, she asked me about my professional background.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sex, Sex, Sex

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

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

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

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

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Sure."

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

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

"Are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Flatterer."

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

"Really?" she asked.

"Absolutely."

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

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

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

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

"Oh, please do!"

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

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

Life is just full of surprises.