Swine Flu

It just occurred to me that being an escort leaves me vulnerable to the H1N1 virus -- also known as the Swine Flu.

When it comes to close physical contact, there's not much closer than sexual intercourse. Thankfully, I haven't experienced any sick clients or even the hint of a sick client. My ladies are as healthy and effervescent as ever, even if some are already suffering from stress from the upcoming holiday season.

So, would I turn a client down is she appeared sick? Probably. I know that might sound harsh, but I have to keep my own health a top priority, you know? Such is the life of any freelance worker. Sure, we can take all the sick days we like, but they will be unpaid ones.

Not much else to report. Catherine and I will be meeting one last time before she heads back to California, so I'm brainstorming activities for us to do. Perhaps we'll go to Vizcaya, a historical bayfront mansion that's open for tours. There's also Fairchild Tropical Gardens, which is just as lush and lovely as it sounds.

I've taken my parents to both attractions and they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Speaking of which, my mother is already pestering me about the holiday season. Seeing how I won't be returning for Thanksgiving -- one couldn't pay me to fly on that day -- she's extra adamant about me being home in December.

I keep telling her I'll be home, even if it's a brief visit. As I said before, any time away from work means a loss of income. And if I'm going to visit Montreal like I want to, I need to take as many bookings as I can get. Fortunately, the approach of winter in Miami means that there will be plenty of snowbirds arriving soon.

That, my friends, bodes very well for me indeed.

Happy Anniversary!

I never imagined being an anniversary present for a married couple.

Now, I realize I've been a little inconsistent regarding how I feel performing for a couple. If one were to read my post entitled "Law & Order SVU: Folly", they would surmise that I'm against performing for couples.

Well... not so much.

After being contacted by the couple in question -- and speaking with them at-length, therefore determining that they're decent people -- I agreed to go along with their request. See, the husband wanted to watch his wife have sex with another man. Little did he know the wife had similar fantasies herself.

We met at the hotel bar. She pretended to "pick me up" and then we headed back to her hotel room where the husband was waiting. For the duration of the night, he watched as I fucked his wife. After I was finished, he joined us in bed and took over, at which point I occupied the small sofa in the suite.

It was strange watching a married couple have sex, if for no other reason that they were so comfortable with each other. No awkward fumbling here, folks -- they were fluid, graceful and clearly knew their bodies well.

Of course the best part of being an escort is being paid, and as I opened the envelope back at my apartment, I realized they'd thrown in a handsome tip as well. So, what does this lesson teach me? Well, perhaps some of my "rules" can be relaxed from time to time if I feel comfortable with the client(s).

I was surprised to receive an e-mail from them. It'd been sent to my agent, then forwarded to me. The couple thanked me again -- particularly the husband, who said he'd learned a few things from watching me fuck his wife. He didn't know she liked having her nipples pinched, for instance.

Thanks to me, now he does.

Details Details

It seems there's been some interest in the post I wrote awhile back, titled The Other Woman.

I've decided her fake name will be Brianna. She and I met during Halloween, when I was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera and she was dressed as Lara Croft from the Tomb Raider series.

We got to talking, and even snuck away for some more one-on-one conversation. Please understand I mean that literally -- we snuck away to the roof deck where we could actually hear each others' voices. No sex on the beach yet, folks.

I asked for her number and got it. A dinner date soon followed, as did a lunch date after that. It wasn't until we slept together that I really felt the desire to be with her on a more permanent and honest basis. I know that sounds ridiculous -- seeing how we've only known each other for a brief time -- but it's true.

While I know astrology is regarded as pseudoscience by some, I do believe in its basic tenants. I myself am a Cancer. Yep, a bleeding-heart, hopeless romantic who is supposed to shun casual sexual contact (ha!) in favor of more steady, monogamous relationships.

Well, astrology got one thing right, at least: I have a habit of falling in and out of love all too easily. Never with a client, but with women outside of work. I'd label this trait of mine as an occupational hazard, but seeing how it never occurs while on the job...

Once she'd completed her graduate degree, she'll be returning up north to look for a job. And after receiving word from my own interview that I'm still under consideration and that the power-that-be will be in touch with me as soon as possible, I think it's safe to say I'm good for a second interview.

Times are a changin', folks. Sometimes, I feel like I'm not really the one in-control of my life. In fact, sometimes I feel like I'm just along for the ride.

The Return of Catherine

She's back.

Catherine -- with whom I had my first serious relationship -- is in Miami on vacation. We'd spoken about a month ago, though I had no idea she was planning a visit. Much as she loves California, South Florida really is beautiful this time of year. Funny -- right when the rest of the country gears up for winter, Miami and the rest of Florida is gearing up for the most beautiful time of year.

I met her at her hotel in South Beach. After spending some time on the sand, we showered, changed and then drove to Coconut Grove for dinner. For those readers who aren't familiar with Miami, Coconut Grove is on the mainland, about a ten or fifteen minute drive from Downtown Miami.

The Grove, as it's called by locals, is a bohemian village situated on the Biscayne Bay, known for its art galleries, restaurants and popularity among students at the University of Miami. There are a few clubs, but many more bars, ranging from upscale to dive.

Knowing Catherine's tastes, I took her to a French restaurant called Le Bouchon Du Grove. Allow me to give this place my sincerest recommendation. The food was excellent, the French waiters attentive and friendly, and the atmosphere was more New Orleans than stuffy Paris. Here is a link: Le Bouchon Du Grove

As we dined on our meals, she asked me what I'd been up to. I told her I'd tell her when we got back to her hotel. She paused, then insisted I tell her right then and there -- and so I did.

Her face was blank, then white, then red.

The drive back to South Beach was tense. But as we entered her hotel room, we spent the next two hours talking (ha -- but you thought I was going to say something else!) things through. She's still not completely happy with my career of choice, but understands why I'm doing it. I even gave her a little card with my blog address on it.

So Catherine, if you're reading this, you're the first woman I ever loved, and I will care for you forever. My career of choice is no one's "fault", and eventually the time will come when I'll leave it for greener pastures.

That time, however, is yet to arrive.

So with Belle de Jour (aka Dr. Brooke Mangnanti) now officially outed and retired, it looks like I'm one of the few anonymous, high-end, blogging escorts left. Belle's shoes are certainly big ones to fill, but I'll do my best to entertain, enlighten and arouse.

Cheers, everyone. And if you're in Miami, stop by Le Bouchon Du Grove!

The Other Woman

Gigolos aren't supposed to fall in love.

It ruins our careers -- literally. Having sex with other women when all you want is the waiting for you at home is enough to send a Man About Town into the unemployment line. I don't want that to happen. I can't let that happen. My apartment and bills and other expenses don't pay for themselves.

Still, that doesn't stop me from actually meeting someone that I really do want to spend more time with. Perhaps that contributed to the bitchy tone of my last blog post about the mermaid woman. Ordinarily, I would be just fine with a client being a little eccentric.

This girl -- I haven't thought of a fake name for her yet -- she's beautiful. University-educated, and currently in a graduate program. Olive skin, long black hair, and no, she isn't Hispanic, but rather Filipino.

And while I'm not truly "in love" with her, the feelings are strong enough for me to wish that I was either employed in a real job or had some other way support myself other than escorting.

Now you know why I took the interview for the "real job" up north.

So for everyone out there who thinks that I'm just a misogynist who somehow managed to make a career out of having sex with wealthy middle-aged women, rest assured that I have problems, too. Perhaps not as dire as other people in the midst of this rotten economy, but problems none the less.

And yes, just for those who were wondering, I have work tonight. Beautiful.

Mermaids

My most recent client seemed to have a mermaid fetish.

Her bedroom had a nautical theme -- blue walls, maritime paintings, a few sea shells on top of the dresser. I've never really encountered this before. Sure, plenty of women like things like candles or fluffy pillows or even a four-poster bed.

But an actual fetish based on a mythological creature? It takes a lot to surprise this whore, but the client definitely succeeded.

"So, mermaids, huh?" I asked, gently touching a sculpture to my left. It was bronze, I think, and was in fact a very nice piece. The mermaid was upright, her hand reaching out, as if reaching for the surface of the water, hoping a handsome human would pluck her out of the sea and take her away forever.

You know, assuming she could sprout legs and all that.

"My husband hates it," the client said. "Luckily, this is my own personal room. Sometimes, when he's home, I still sleep in here."

Christ. A marriage so poor that even when the husband is home he and his wife still sleep in separate rooms? Why not get a divorce and be rid of each other for good?

"That... must be nice. Having your own space and everything."

"It is. He never comes here, so don't worry about leaving any evidence behind."

What the hell? Did she think I was going to ejaculate on the walls or something? While I normally like my clients, this one was a bit... dim. Not stupid -- just not particularly sharp, either.

Still, she gave a fine blow job. And as for ejaculating on the walls, well, that wasn't a problem. Like her beloved mermaids, the client didn't mind something a little salty in her mouth. But it wasn't over then. Oh no -- that would be far too simple. I should have known the mermaid fetish was a precursor for things to come.

To make a long story short, she wanted to fuck in the bath tub, to which I had to refuse. See, all that water and bubbles and slipping and sliding can compromise the condoms I religiously use. So, we fucked in bed, after which I washed her in the tub, bubbles and all. I believe the exact scent was lavender and vanilla.

I don't want to make it sound like I hated this client. I didn't. She had great, real tits and she one of the better tasting pussies I've had the privilege of licking. The fact that I joined her inside the tub for the aforementioned washing seemed to pacify her as well.

After we departed, I entered the cab, and was treated to this little gem from the driver:

"Hey, buddy, do you know you smell like a chick?"

Teen Readers

Well, I did have a sexy entry all typed up and ready to go, but I'm afraid it's going to have to wait.

While combing through my Hushmail account, I noticed that I had another email from a teen reader. It wasn't the first time a teenager had sent me a message, and I doubt it will be the last time, either. It was fairly standard in terms of content -- though I won't be posting any of it here.

What disturbed me about the email is that this reader thought it was somehow trendy or cool to get involved in sex work. From what I can gather, he thought that by reading my blog, he could forego any form of higher education and just became an escort.

No. No. NO!

At the risk of sounding like a complete hypocrite, I will freely admit that I enjoy my work and am glad to be doing it. However, prostitution as a whole is rife with danger, especially for the naive eighteen-year-old right out of high school. There are other factors that make sex work unsuitable for someone in their late teens as well -- mainly a lack of sexual experience and an even greater lack of emotional maturity.

Kids, having sex for a living isn't always glamorous, and sometimes it's downright draining. There have been plenty of times when I was lounging on my sofa in the midst of a thunderstorm, perfectly content to stay in and watch a DVD, only to realize I had to go to Miami Beach and have sex with a stranger.

And once I arrive at the hotel to have sex with said stranger, God only knows what she'll want. Maybe it'll be something tame like missionary. Maybe she wants reverse cowgirl anal. Perhaps both, along with a full-body massage.

Then there's the matter of being able to compartmentalize one's feelings in order to maintain a professional demeanor. In English, you say? All right -- being able to keep your feelings under control so you don't fall in love with a client.

Last but not least, there's also the cold, hard truth: Not everyone is attractive enough to work in the high-end of the business. Escorts aren't homely or overweight or battling acne problems. And should someone with those characteristics try to enter the world of sex work, well, they're going to find themselves on the bottom end of the business.

And trust me, it ain't pretty.

Without the above-average beauty and a good dose of social grace, a prospective escort is going to realize that the client thinks it's OK to treat him/her anyway they see fit. And what is the first thing an escort has to do when they meet a client?

ESTABLISH WHO'S IN CHARGE -- THE ESCORT.

So, teen readers: Please, pretty please, with a whip cream and cherry on top, don't use my blog as a blueprint. Regardless about what your parents and teachers might tell you about prostitutes, most of us do in fact have hearts. And to be quite honest, I'd say we might be even more sensitive than the general population.

I don't want to read about anyone getting hurt -- physically or otherwise. So keep reading, keep e-mailing, but for Christ's sake, do not go head-first into the industry. Without proper guidance, it's a choice you may live to regret.