Hopes & Fears

"Are you sure about all of this?"

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

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

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

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

"I suppose we'll see."

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

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

Guys Night Out

Finally, a proper guys night out.

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

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

"Did you get a facial?" Adam asked.

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Point well taken."

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

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

Cross-dressing

How did I never write about this?

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

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

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

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

"Really? Why is that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pass the Torch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sad about leaving my friends? Absolutely.

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

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

Goals of an Escort

Let's get back to business, shall we?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Next Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost There

Hello all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Settling Down

It's not what you think.

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

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

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

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

In fact, one of them has already requested it.

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

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

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

Keeping the Peace

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

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

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

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

"How is it so far?"

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

"Reflexology involves the feet, babe."

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

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

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

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

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

"Suit yourself."

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

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

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

"All the more reason to do it not."

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

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

No Regrets

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those Left Behind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Responsibility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never Fear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New York, NY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you like diamonds?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Was she?"

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

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

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

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

Boy Toy by Barry Lyga

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

High End

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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