Erotica VS Pornography

I've been meaning to write this entry for awhile. As usual, I came home from work tonight, showered and changed into my pajamas. Alas, I never seem to get to sleep before 3 a.m. on weekends anyway, so I might as well get my blog post over and done with.

So, what is the difference between erotica and pornography? Some deem that anything pertaining to sex (or rather, depictions of sexual relationships) is indeed pornographic. Others believe that the difference between erotica and pornography is all a matter of taste -- that is, erotica is classy while pornography is tasteless.

My views on the subject? Well, they're certainly complex. Allow me to say that I don't believe my blog to be pornographic -- despite its graphic written depictions of sex. I believe (and hope others do as well) that my writing is good enough that it transcends "prurient interest" and gives the reader something more.

True, many of my blog entries don't have any sexual content at all, but honestly: this is a blog about my career as a sex worker. From fisting and rimming to anal and oral, there's a lot that minors shouldn't (necessarily) be reading here! So, is it possible that something can be both sexually graphic and not pornographic?

I think it all comes down to presentation and execution.

Jenna Jameson, for instance, made a career as a pornographic actress. Her films, in my opinion, are pornography. Jenna has sex with men on-camera and the subsequent intercourse is then filmed and distributed via the Internet and DVD. There's no real art to them. Jenna is penetrated in a variety of orifices to stimulate sexual arousal in men (and perhaps women) around the world.

So yes, Jenna Jameson's body of work can be deemed pornographic -- specifically because the films show actual sex. That is, the viewer can witness the man's penis enter Jenna's vagina. That's sex, folks. Nothing more. As such, that meets my personal definition of pornography.

Now, if a film with an actual plot were to also feature actual penetrative sex, would that be deemed pornography as well? I truly don't know. I vaguely remember hearing that Chloe Sevigny of HBO's Big Love performed oral sex on a man in a independent film. As far as I know, this independent film has remained an independent film. It's not being sold any adult video stores or anything.

Other sexually graphic films include Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut and A Clockwork Orange. I also believe that David Lynch's Blue Velvet was subject to controversy during its release, as were the classic French films Last Tango in Paris and my much-beloved Belle de Jour.

Still, these films have artistic merit. That can't be said for the works of Jenna Jameson or Tera Patrick. Understand that I'm not aiming to degrade and/or criticize these ladies' work. All I'm saying is, "Not everything that involves sex is necessarily pornography."

But let's have a visual aid, shall we?

Now, I'm not linking to any hardcore porn. Cheesy as it sounds, I want to keep this blog relatively clean. So let's take it down a notch and talk about "softcore" images, the kind of thing one would see in PLAYBOY magazine. Full disclosure: the following photos are full nudes and should not be viewed at work.

Janine Habeck (Miss September 2006) -- Photo 1

Janine Habeck (Miss September 2006) -- Photo 2

Janine Habeck (Miss September 2006) -- Photo 3

So, these photos are certainly stylish. Tasteful, even. And, obviously, Janine is a woman who looks great naked. However, let's compare it to what some might deem to be more artistic nudes -- ones that aren't created for the purpose of arousing men.

Artistic Nude 1

Artistic Nude 2

Artistic Nude 3

Notice a difference? While neither of these photos are obscene -- in fact I think they're all beautiful -- one can easily discern which ones are for men and which ones are for artistic expression. The fact they all three feature a female in a state of undress seems almost besides the point. It's the presentation and/or execution that makes a difference.

In sum, I hope this post was a worthwhile foray into the debate of Erotica vs Pornography. And now, my dear readers, I am going to sleep!

Slept With My Friend

Simone and I had sex. That, however, was expected. It's the circumstances that it occurred under is what's really interesting.

If you go into the archives of my blog, one will find an entry called Insomnia. This entry explains how I got involved in escorting -- the Cliff's Notes version being that a friend of mine named Rebecca used me as a sex partner for a man who wanted to watch two people fuck in his bedroom.

Voyeur fantasies aren't that uncommon. I had sex, got paid, and liked it. I've been sleeping with women for cash ever since.

When I learned that Simone and I had a booking together, I knew we were finally going to have sex. No big deal, really. It's not like I'm a virgin (ha!) and Simone is certainly a good catch. What I wasn't expecting -- not in a million years -- was that the client we would be having sex in front of...

That's right, it's the same man Rebecca and I met with almost two years ago.

Seeing him again was a shock. To quote Dr. Magnanti herself, a "perfect storm of emotions" began to brew inside of me. Nostalgia; hesitation; fear; excitement. Simone herself was taken aback over my reaction. According to her, my face flushed red and I was even beginning to stutter -- not like me at all.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "I know this guy. Don't worry; he's cool. It's just... I'll explain later, all right?"

"All right."

As for the client himself, well, his tastes haven't changed much. He led us into the bedroom and then gave us instructions. Before long, Simone was wearing nothing but a pair of panties and I was down to my boxers. The client sat in his leather chair, still satisfied by merely watching.

"Okay," the client said. "Now, take her panties of and eat her pussy."

He's nothing but honest. I did as he asked. Once Simone's panties were around her ankles, I moved between her legs and parted her lips with my fingers. She was wet, which I suppose was a good sign. And after a few strokes of the tongue, she only grew wetter.

I stroked my hands along her thighs as I continued. And when she bucked her hips against my mouth, I reached under her legs, seized her ass and brought her closer, truly relishing the taste. And when I puckered my lips around her clitoris -- using just the faintest brush of my teeth -- I was rewarded with the first moan.

When I was finished, Simone attacked me with a vengeance. The first thing she did was kiss me on the mouth, her tongue reaching halfway down my throat in the process. I could only imagine how she felt, tasting my own mouth with her own flavor. Before I could react any further, she flipped me over onto my back, kissed down my chest before closing her teeth around my right nipple.

I cried out. It hurt, but in a good way.

Soon my underwear was off quicker than a freshman girl at her first frat party. Her mouth was warm and wet and gripped so tightly around my cock I thought I'd might ejaculate. She sucked in long, torturing strokes, her tongue moving up the shaft before swirling around the head. She broke off only to use her hand, and then moved her mouth around my testicles.

She wasn't done yet. I firmly believe she was testing me last night -- seeing how much I could take without spilling. After sucking my cock and my testicles, she then proceeded to skim her breasts against my own bare chest (something she knows drives my crazy) before collapsing them around my cock.

The friction was maddening. Still, I held on. Thank God.

Any whore worth the money he/she is being paid will bring all the necessary materials to a booking. For Simone and I, that was condoms and lubricant. As for the client, well, he finally give his final wish.

"Fuck her," he said. "Anal."

I slipped on a condom and then reached for the lube. After unscrewing the cap, I poured a generous amount on my right index finger and then situated myself behind Simone. I worked my way in, gentle, until I finally penetrated her and we worked our way to a good, satisfying fuck.

I came first -- not unusual -- followed by Simone. We fell onto the bed, sweating and panting but still high from the euphoria that sex provides. So, aside from having sex with Simone, what was the highlight of the evening? Why, getting paid of course, but that was a bit different this time.

My agent, in a move of brilliance, decided to charge the client Simone's rate times two. This means that I was able to pocket what one of the girl's makes in a booking, which is higher than my normal rate.

I got laid, got paid, and got paid damn well. What's not to love about this job?

J.D. Salinger Death

In honor of J.D. Salinger, author of the The Catcher and the Rye and Franey & Zoey, I figured it's time for another post about my adolescence. Specifically, how my best friend and I fell out of touch -- something I still regret to this day.

As readers of my blog well know, I lost my virginity in a blur. No dramatic music or candlelight -- just a bit of alcohol and a willing partner. She was more experienced than I was, of course. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: For a young guy, having a more sexually mature partner is great. Takes the pressure right off. She told me what she wanted and I did my best to give it to her. Simple.

The not-so-simple part was that this partner happened to be my best friend's sister.

I know, I know. Not that big a deal, right? Somehow, it was. I'm a firm believer that friendships and sexual relationships can and will combine when the timing is right. How many of us have ended up in bed with someone who was only one or two degrees away from a friend, family member or loved one?

Moving on. My best friend was a girl, as was her sister, obviously. So, after I slept with the sister (it didn't last long, trust me) the best friend walks in on us. Not exactly what I was hoping for. Hell, at the time I think I would have even preferred her mother to have walked in than my best friend.

She closed the door immediately. I got dressed, then ran out into the hallway saying I could explain. As for what exactly it was I would have explained, I have no idea. I'm assuming that "Hey, your sister's hot and it's about time I had sex" wouldn't have cut it.

To her credit, my best friend was understanding -- to a point. She said she was surprised, shocked, a little creeped out. I don't know why, exactly; she and her sister are fraternal twins, so we were all the same age. Now, I know what everyone must be thinking, so allow me to explain:

No, I don't believe my best friend was interested in my romantically.

Understand that she and I, on many occasions, had actually slept in the same bed without any sex happening. In fact, some even assumed I was her obligatory Gay Best Friend. Perhaps she thought that I would extend the amount of kinship to her sister -- which obviously didn't happen.

I haven't spoken to my former best friend in almost three years. Sad, really. As for her sister, well, we dated briefly but it fizzled out shortly after. And while I like to think that I haven't been "scarred" or "damaged" by any relationships I've had in the past, I can't ignore the obvious.

Is it a coincidence that most of my relationships after high school have been with older women?

Am I somehow trying to avoid the "trauma" of my first time? Do I subconsciously harbor negative feelings about what happened? Do I fear that should I get close to someone in my age range, that it could end up costing me something?

I don't have a Ph.D in Psychology, so I really can't say. All I can do is continue to write until I feel like I have nothing left to share. So stay tuned, everyone. Because tonight at work, things are going to be very, very interesting.

Something New

Let's talk about interracial dating.

No, Simone isn't black. A few people have asked me that, but she isn't. Still, many people assumed as much, and then asked me how I felt about interracial dating, if I had dated outside my race before, or even if I "prefer" one race to another.

First of all, I don't like the word "race". It's scientifically inaccurate, because we humans have far more in common biologically speaking than most want to admit. The word "race" should really be replaced by "ethnicity" or something along those lines -- but I digress.

I've dated outside my race quite often, particularly with Asian- and African-American women. Of course when I came to Miami, I also dated plenty of Hispanic girls as well. In each of these circumstances I experienced something new, whether it was food, holidays or other customs different than my own.

It's always interesting to see how others react when the prospect of interracial dating comes up. Some embrace it, others say nothing, while another small demographic crack crude jokes. An additional segment ask questions, asking whether I'm "frustrated" with members of my own ethnicity or purposely seek out women that are "exotic" in some way or another.

I answered no on all accounts. Dating has never been fueled by frustrations of any kind, and ethnicity is the last thing on my mind while choosing a prospective partner. That being said, dating outside my ethnicity is an interesting experience -- one that I do recommend to others. Yes, you read that correctly, I recommend it.

I firmly believe that the more we learn about one another in this world, the less prejudice there will be. Simple as that, really. So please, my dear readers, remember color is just that -- color. And if you enjoy my blog, well, what if I were to tell you that I happen to be of a mixed ethnic background myself?

Violent Girls

Simone reads this blog; I know that for certain. My agent, however, does not, nor does she know I have one. At least not that I'm aware of. I suppose if she knows I'm blogging she doesn't really care -- but Simone does.

"I know what our agent was talking about," Simone said. "The event in my past that has her worried."

"Oh? Well, let's hear it, then."

Simone took a breath. "I mean, I'd never do it to you, because you're not that kind of person. And I was angry at the time, and I completely regret my actions--"

"Simone, really, just stay it."

"I kind of broke a beer bottle over my ex-boyfriend's face."

Well, that certainly made for an awkward pause. The way she tells it, Simone caught her ex-boyfriend stealing money from her. Cash, using her credit cards, he even took a few gold rings and pawned them at a seedy joint downtown. When she found out and confronted him about it, he denied it.

"That's what really set me off," she added. "The fact that I had all the evidence, practically caught him red-handed, and he still denied it."

"Some people will lie until they're blue in the face," I said. "But go on..."

"I told him to get out of my apartment and not come back. I was going to call my super, have him barred from the building. I'd mail him his stuff. And of course I was going to call the cops and my credit card companies."

"So I'm guessing he freaked out over that?"

"Pretty much," Simone said. "It was the last time I dated a fucking musician, I'll tell you that. As for the beer bottle, well, it just sort of happened. When he wouldn't leave, I picked it up and started waving it at him."

"And he didn't back down."

She shook her head. "He came rushing towards me and I kind of just swung my arm. I caught him right across the face and the glass shattered. He had a few shards in his cheek, and obviously there was a bit of bleeding."

In sum, Simone called an ambulance and let the EMTs take him to the hospital. She got the charges canceled on her credit cards, and her boyfriend was slapped with several charges ranging from fraud to identity theft. And, after a few thousand dollars' worth of cosmetic surgery, his face was fixed.

"Where did he get the money?" I asked.

"Probably his enablers."

"Enablers?"

"Parents," Simone said. "So, there you have it. My big, dark secret."

"Well, I certainly know to never commit credit card fraud with your name."

"Damn straight."

Horrible as this situation sounds, I still can't help but be intrigued by Simone. This little petite girl, so smart and apparently with a lot of fight with her, working as an escort just like me. And while I appreciate all the compliments about my intelligence and all that, trust me: Simone's the smarter one between us.

"So, are you excited for this Friday night?" she asked. "Sounds like a lot of fun."

I nodded in agreement. "Sex, money, good co-workers. What more can I ask for?"

Lunch With the Boss

Right, so I met with my agent this afternoon to discuss anything and everything pertaining to my career. Business was picking up, she said, which meant I may become busier in the coming weeks. I definitely didn't object. If anything, an uptick in clients would be good for libido and my bank account.

"You and Simone are working together this Friday night," the agent added. "So remember, be at [a specific meet-up point] by six o'clock."

"I have it in my Blackberry," I said. "You know me and punctuality."

"There's something going on with you two, isn't there?"

I had just bitten into my sandwich when the agent said those nine words. Like a teenager who'd returned home past curfew, I played it coy. No, nothing at all. Just friends, actually. Similar interests in books, films, that sort of thing. Nothing for her to be worried about -- goodness, no!

"Julian, stop it," the agent said. "I don't object to it. I just want you to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into."

"What do you mean?"

The agent paused, took a sip of water and then continued. "You have a habit of getting involved with other escorts. Rebecca, now Simone."

I rolled my eyes, wondering if Adam had secretly spoken with my agent. Unlikely, as he works with another agency in another part of town, but still. So, in lieu of acting like a teenage boy any longer, I simply told me agent what I told Adam: That friendships and relationships with other escorts are simply easier for me to maintain.

"I don't have to lie or hide anything," I added. "Surely you understand."

"Of course. But Simone... she's a tricky one. There's a lot about her you don't know."

"Really? Well, feel free to--"

"Actually, I'd rather not. You should really find out for yourself."

It wasn't like my agent to be this cryptic. Normally she either calls, e-mails or texts me the information for my clients. I meet them at a predetermined location, get my money, then have sexual relations with them. I pay my agent her commission on a weekly basis. Other than the occasional lunch, it's not like we see each other all that often.

"Okay, now you're making me worried," I said. "I know you wouldn't have hired Simone if she wasn't safe to be around."

"Of course not. Still, her past... Look, I've said too much already. Oh, and don't worry about the bill. My treat, all right? Just don't tell any of the other girls."

And so we ended it there. Again, I have no idea what the agent was alluding to, and I'm certainly not going to bring it up with Simone. I suppose I'll find out eventually -- perhaps this Friday night, when we meet up for another joint business venture.

Until then, stay tuned.

Food and Sexuality

Sure, a lot has been said about cherries and chocolate and even oysters and clams. And while all of those things are fine and dandy, they pale in comparison to baked goods -- at least in my opinion.

There were a few unusual things about last night's booking. For one, she told me agent that I could dress "casually", meaning I didn't need to wear a dress shirt, slacks and and a tie. Showing up like that would just make her feel nervous, she'd said. Fine by me -- I settled on a long-sleeved knit top and my favorite pair of jeans.

From the moment I arrived at the client's front door I could tell she was baking. The smell filtered through the hallway of her condominium and made the whole floor smell heavenly. When she opened the door I noticed that she was in fact not baking, at least not at that moment.

"Come in," she said. "I just got done working -- big event tomorrow."

"Are you a caterer?" I asked. "It sure smells great."

"Thanks. Yes, I have my own business, which thankfully is starting to pick up. Last time this year, though... I almost threw in the towel."

We settled on the sofa and, to my surprise, the client had actually prepared a small strawberry shortcake just for us. It was chilled and the icing and whipped cream was just right -- not to heavy, not too sweet. Against my better judgment I had one piece and then finished off hers, and downed a glass of milk in the process.

"The way to a man's heart..." she said.

"Yeah, yeah. That secret's been out of the bag for years now."

"Actually, I was going to say was through his cock, but you know..."

I smirked. I closed the distance between us and kissed her on the mouth, tasting strawberries and whipped cream in the process. Combining that with the natural taste of a woman's mouth, and well, I didn't want that kiss to end. But end it did, and for something much, much better.

We moved into the bedroom. She lifted my shirt over my head, then pushed me onto the bed. After straddling me, she unbuttoned my jeans and hooked her thumbs into the waist band, and then took them down as well.

"Wait here," she said, as if I might actually leave. "I'll be right back." A two-minute absence followed, and when she returned she was wearing nothing but a pair of panties and had a slew of condiments in her hands. Condiments and more cake.

What followed was almost too strange for words. Yes, we had sex, but she would interrupt the process for more food play. And I know what you're thinking, she must have been a real fat ass, right? No! The girl was tiny. What she did with all those calories is the biggest mystery of all.

"You ready?" she asked. "You look a bit..."

"Let's go. Time to get what you paid for."

She put a piece of cake in her mouth and let me bite the other end of it. I tasted chocolate, whipped cream and woman all at once -- a taste I could definitely get used to. But before I could make a move of my own, she yanked my underwear off and poured chocolate sauce over my abdomen and my erect cock.

Her mouth gripped onto me fast and fierce, sucking me harder than any woman ever has before. I cried out, gripped the bedsheets, spewing a slew of profanities. She finally released me and, grabbing the chocolate sauce, decided to take some initiative.

I drizzled the sauce around the edges of her pussy and teased her before finally eating her out. Her cunt was wet and warm -- just the way I like it. Again, the taste of her combined with the chocolate sauce into something I've never experienced before.

The experience was almost too much; I was worried I would ejaculate prematurely and ruin the fun. So, gripped her by the ass, I lifted her onto her back and took out the condom. Once protected, I plunged into her in one thrust and listened to her scream "FUCK!" at the top of her lungs.

I lay on top of her, pumping and thrusting harder than usual, pausing only when her fingernails dug onto my back and ass. I bent my head down and kissed her once more, letting that heady combination of chocolate and whipped cream and woman fill my mouth all over again.

I came in the midst of the kiss, and after another five minutes or so, she did too. I slid out of her and fell onto my back, mouth covered with crumbs, my chest and abdomen caked with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. The both of us looked like a disaster -- but Christ, that was by far the craziest fuck I've ever had.

I showered and left, then called my agent as soon as I was home.

"Everything all right?" she asked, sounding concerned.

I explained what happened and listened to my agent laugh her ass off. "Well, what do you young guys call an experience like this?"

"Sweet," I said, and laughed. "Yes, this client was definitely sweet."