Sex Work: Fact & Fiction

Before reading this blog post, please watch the following clip on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glA0R8OfHrk

Finished? Good. I stumbled across this clip last night, and still don't know what to think of it. Garren is a great looking guy, sure, but he comes across as more of an actor that a genuine escort.

That, and no escort worth the condoms and lubricant they bring to the appointment would reveal themselves on television. Why, you might ask? Well, the IRS can wreak havoc on one's life, seeing how escorts aren't usually the keenest about filing their taxes honestly.

Secondly, there's the whole matter of letting one's family and friends know they're a sex worker -- let alone any future employment outside the sex industry. Parents can be especially touchy, thinking they've "failed" their children when they found out that they've become whores.

So what is this segment of the Tyra Banks show really about? If anything, it proves that women are far less judgmental of men than they are of each other. It's a shame, really. The general population of women could learn a lot from female escorts, if only they'd let go of their preconceived notions and just listen up.

Me? I'm just here for the ride -- literally. And what a ride I had last night at work...

Women Who Need a Gigolo

Many women in the world could use a gigolo in their life.

The following list was compiled while I was stuck in traffic this past week. While the beach was heavenly, traffic on I-95 during the ride home was not.

But enough complaining about traffic; it’s not as if I live in Los Angeles. Hell, I haven’t been there since I was sixteen. Onto the list!

Jennifer Anniston.

Ms. Anniston is also one of the women over forty I would gladly spend the night with. Unfortunately for her, she seems to have a hard time keeping hold of a man. Lucky for her, escorts such as myself are hired on an hourly basis, meaning we can just have our fun and part when the hour is over. I’d gladly help her rehearse her lines for any upcoming film projects, too.

Ann Coulter

I never said I would take the booking -- just that she needs one. After watching her on FOX News (or is that Faux News?) this past weekend, it’s quite clear she needs to get laid as soon as possible. True, her vagina is probably more barren that Sadam Hussein’s palace, but sex releases endorphins, which help cultivate good emotions. A little kindness would go a long way with her and the rest of the radical right-wing of the GOP.

Jessica Simpson

Not sure if I would take this booking or not. If one were to read the tabloids, they would surmise that Jessica is a needy, insecure and downright suffocating partner. While I’m sure that Nick Lachey was no real prize either, he really did emerge from the divorce in a better light than Jessica did. But she seems to have a good heart, and as long as that creepy father of hers was far, far away, I’d probably accept the booking.

Do Nice Guys Finish Last?

Do nice guys really finish last?

If one were to follow pop culture, nice guys go through hell before finally landing the girl -- once she realizes her mistake, of course. The plot is simple: Girl falls for some macho idiot, sacrificing her friendship with the kind, dependable and loving man she’s known all along. Then, right as she’s about to marry the aforementioned idiot, she realizes her mistake, and returns to the friend (who’s been in love with her the whole time) and lives happily ever after.

And in the real world? I’ve been an escort long enough to hear plenty of women lament marrying their husbands. Some did it for money, or to fulfill some sort of social expectation (more often than not, marrying a man because he was in the proper social class, came from a “good family” and would provide her with everything she thought she needed in life).

Needless to say, if these women are paying several hundred dollars an hour to have sex with me, the state of their marriages is rather poor. Eventually, many do in fact divorce their husbands. Most receive either alimony or a lump-sum settlement, even if they’d signed a pre-nuptial agreement. Unfortunately, this often leads them to move away, which means I no longer see them.

I wish them well, of course. But it wasn’t until this happened more than once that I realized that my career is dependent on women being unhappy in their marriages -- and staying married to their douche-bag husbands in the process. Where does that leave me? It seems the best thing for these women to do is file for divorce, but that also means I will (in some cases) lose them as a client.

Divorcées provide steady, well-paying and surprisingly enjoyable sex. Most are in their mid-forties, know what they want in terms of sex, and are far more experienced and skilled than their twenty-something counterparts. In sum, I enjoy seeing them at work, and welcome the chance to be with as many of them as possible.

But once they find true happiness -- or rather, reclaim their marital independence -- it’s time to say goodbye. And while “Time to Say Goodbye” is one of my favorite songs (Sarah Brightman’s entire catalog is quite impressive, actually), sometimes it’s hard to face the music.

Oh, and before I forget, things look good for a second interview for that “real job” I mentioned before. As soon as I make the flight reservation up north, I’ll be sure to make an announcement.

The Rush

Last night, Tuesday, November 3, 2009 was my first night back at work since my job interview up north.

It felt good to be back in the heat of Miami, hearing the ocean roar in the distance, as the wind pushed through the palm trees overhead. There's truly nothing sexier than South Beach at night, with the neon lights glowing in a florescence of blue, pink and yellow.

Candles flickered on the tables of the restaurants at Ocean Drive, as the young and the old and the beautiful of all ages drink, eat and laugh to their hearts' content. Walking through this urban playground en route to the client's hotel is nothing short of inspiring.

More than anything, I get a rush from this job that can't be replaced. What will the client be like? What will I be doing with her, sexually speaking? Maybe I'll get a nice tip, sometimes as large as my fee itself.

I arrive at the hotel and take the elevator to one of the upper floors. Locating the client's room, I take a deep breath, knock on her door, and see that again, she's pretty attractive. After kissing her cheek and entering the suite, I help myself to the bottle of wine she had delivered to the room, pouring us each a glass of Merlot.

"Cheers," I said, and click her glass with my own. "So, you mentioned you're on vacation? How are you liking Miami so far...?"

Before long, we're naked, sweaty, rolling in the sheets like a couple of college kids after a bout of midterm exams.

I relished her cried as I spread her legs and went down her, sucking her clitoris and licking her in long, lazy strokes. Moving my mouth away, I penetrated her with my fingers, gesturing for her to "come here" in a rather well-known technique. I couldn't help but lick my fingers clean after the act was finished, and made a put of making her watch me do it.

Right as my knees were beginning to burn from being on the carpeted floor for too long, I was about to mount her when she pressed a hand against my chest. Then, with a smile more wicked than any witch of the west, she rolled over and told me to fuck her from behind.

Not doggie. She wanted anal.

"Are you sure?" I asked. A lot of women think anal will be something it isn't. It takes time, patience, lubricant.

"Yes," she replied, almost impatiently. "I'm ready."

The lubricant was one of the better brands available. I took things slowly, probing with one finger, then two, then three. By the time my cock burrowed inside of her, we'd found a mutual rhythm, until we both finally came -- almost in a rapture, actually. Quite the climax.

We lay in bed for awhile before I went to the bathroom to clean up. With the condom disposed and the lube washed from my fingers, I returned to the bedroom and began to dress. The client seemed a bit disappointed, but she knows the drill: I only stay for the hour.

Beach Day

Celebrated my return to Miami by spending the earlier part of this afternoon at the beach.

There's something luxurious about laying out in the sand, gazing at the turquoise water, knowing that many other parts of the country are experiencing the first frost of the season. Still, the autumn weather back home was quite nice -- though I don't envy them come winter!

I invited Adam along to my little beach day, as I tend to get bored if I'm out there by myself too long. He joined me, and wanted all the details about my job interview. I told him what I could -- that if they want a second interview, I'll hear from them within the next two weeks -- and then turned the tables to him.

"Anything new with you?" I asked.

"Well," he said, avoiding eye contact. "I've been seeing some new clients."

"Really? So, who are the lucky women?"

"Not women," Adam said. "Men."

That was something I didn't expect to hear. Though Adam is gay, he's been seeing women exclusively since he began escorting. The way he explained it, the money offered from men was too good to pass up. And seeing how he "likes dick" anyway, it's not as if adding men to his client list is a burden.

"It's been pretty good so far," Adam continued. "Most of the guys are either married closet-cases, or just guys with no time for a steady relationship."

"That's what Rebecca used to say about her men," I said. "Either they were married or no time for a girlfriend. I guess that's true of men in general, regardless of sexual orientation."

Adam shared a few more details -- mainly that his agent wasn't opposed to his seeing men, but that there was no real mention of it on his online profile. Should the men call the agency and request Adam, he would oblige, after the obligatory screening process. However, he wasn't actively advertising the fact that he's know a bisexual gigolo.

Most likely, his female clients would be upset -- and as I well know, angering a woman is a stupid thing to do.

"Have you ever thought about it?" Adam asked. "Seeing men, that is?"

"Of course," I replied. "I just don't think I'd be able to bring myself to do it. Even with the money -- I mean, I could double my income -- I just don't know If I'd be game. And the last thing anyone needs is another lousy lay."

"If an escort can't give a client an orgasm, who can?"

"Exactly," I said. Then, because I am in fact quite juvenile and just had to ask: "So tell me, who's on top?"

No Respect

Forgive me while I rant for a moment.

In an era when everyone and their mother likes to gripe about how entitled young people are today, I'd like to know what exactly us members of Generation Y are entitled to. Jobs? Yeah, tell that to the Class of 2009. Health insurance? Nope -- young people under the age of thirty are the largest group of uninsured in the country.

A future full of possibilities? For many, the advent of globalization has eliminated such rosy predictions -- especially in the fields of engineering and computer science. Bill Gates can talk about education reform all he likes, but as long as Microsoft continues to import workers using H1B Visas, Gates is nothing but a bloody hypocrite.

For those who are new to the blog, I got into escorting when getting a "regular job" after college became too elusive for my liking. Thanks to my friend Rebecca -- herself a former escort -- I was able to get an agent who sent me out fairly quickly. The money was (and still is) good, the clients nice, the sex constant and surprisingly varied.

Still, the fact that I ended up having sex for a living when I am so "entitled" and "demanding" and "narcissistic" should indicate that something is amiss in how people view Generation Y. And no, I don't think blogging is evidence of my alleged narcissism. If anything, blogging is vital to my psychological well-being. It's not as if I can talk openly about my profession. I lie to most everyone I know -- including my own parents.

Lastly, I consider myself fortunate. That's right -- the gigolo with a heart of gold and a reasonable command of the English language thinks he's lucky. Lucky that I managed to find steady, well-paying work that leaves me with enough time to at least entertain the idea of reentering the job market if and when the economy improves.

I'll know within the next two weeks if the firm I interviewed with last week is interested in a second interview. If so, I'll certainly oblige them. If not, well, with winter coming up, I'll have plenty of clients here in Miami.

(Bailey, in his infinite and hilarious wisdom, suggesting going to Little Haiti and getting a Voodoo course against the company should they not hire me. An interesting proposition to say the least -- one I may try just for the hell of it.)

But seriously, folks, give young people a break. By and large, they're unemployed, burdened with student debt, living without health insurance and preparing for a future without Social Security and employer pensions. It's a brave new world out there -- and it'll be up to them (or rather, us) to live in it.

Back in Miami

I'd never flown before on Halloween, and as I expected, it was business as usual at the airports. Upon arriving home, I showered, shaved, then changed into my Halloween costume and headed to South Beach for a night of fun.

For the record, I was the Phantom of the Opera -- minus the disfigured face, of course. As the night wore on, my cape became more and more burdensome, until I finally took it off and draped it over a chair. I would have left without it had a kind bartender not reminded me to pick it up.

But onto the real meat and potatoes of this past week. As I mentioned before, I had an interview for a "real job", and I think it went reasonably well. Of course, people in Human Resources are notoriously hard to to read -- and with good reason, I suppose. However, the woman was kind enough to give me her card and tell me that she had just begun her first round of interviews.

If the company is interested in seeing me again, she added, they would let me know within the next two weeks. So, I suppose all there is to do now is wait. Of course I sent a thank you e-mail, reiterating my interest in the position and (briefly) stating how my skills and background would be suited to the job.

So, should the position be offered to me, does that mean I would leave escorting permanently? Perhaps not...

While I was in the city, I received a call from a regular client of mine. Normally, she spends January through June in Miami, while the rest of her time is spent up north. She just wanted to talk. See how I was doing. She never expected that I would be in the same city as her.

And so she asked if I was available for sex.

I obliged. Sitting in the cab after the night was finished, I pondered whether or not escorting part-time would be feasible, assuming I moved up north permanently and began working at a nine-to-five job. The additional income would be great. As would the constant sex.

Still, the potential hazards are also present. Keeping my dual identities separate would be a challenge, let alone what would happen if my two personas were to ever meet. Having sex with a client one night and then waking up to realize that same client is also a client at the firm I'm working at would be a total nightmare.

A total nightmare, but not all that likely. And after working as a gigolo for over a year now, I don't feel I'll be able to abandon the profession completely. At least not immediately. A man has needs -- that's all I'm saying.