Saturday, March 26, 2011

Well that could have gone better

I was very nervous and my my phone kept cutting out during my interview with Neal Mayhem so I was not the greatest guest. He is absolutely adorable though; I could eat him with a spoon.

He asked me about any upcoming appointments I might want to share and I think I forgot to answer. I do have appointments scheduled, a few of which are bound to be freaky deaky because a few always are, but most of the time I don't know about it until they spring it on me during our session. Just so happens that "Mr. Sweaty" wants to see me again on Tuesday. I wish I would have talked about that. Maybe next week or the week after, if   he even lets me back on the air. hahaha

Y'all can listen to the podcast *Monday* on iTunes or go to the Minutes of Mayhem website for links.

UPDATE: Apparently the way it works is Saturday's show is available sometime the following Monday. So I guess I'll be hearing it for the first time on Monday. In the meantime, you should subscribe and check out previous podcasts. He's very  naughty; right up your alley, if you're reading this blog.

I will now attempt to fall asleep again

Regardless, I will lay with my eyes closed until my alarm goes off.

Tune in to Minutes of Mayhem today at 11am EST, where the hilarious and delightful Neal Mayhem, who assures me I am in good hands, will relieve my performance anxiety, attempt to understand my thick, American southern drawl, and coax the funny.

It's a comedy show. I am not a comedian. When I'm funny, it's not on purpose. I'm just me; all laid back and shy. So, it's a damn good thing that the stories I have to tell are funny as hell on their own. As long as Mr. Mayhem steers me back on track if I start to ramble, I'll do fine. It's going to be great fun.

If I don't suck, it'll be a regular feature on the program called "The Spuff-Mate Update." Fun, huh?!

I'll time my Saturday visits to the gym so that I can do my guest spots from my car in the parking lot after my work out. If Mr. Sweaty knew about this, he'd probably ejaculate on the spot.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

My ten freakiest clients to date, #6

Calling mid-afternoon to arrange a date for early the following morning is not an unusual thing to do. His reasons, however, were very unusual. This fetish was a new one on me:

"Do you work out?" he asked. Not really is the truth, but I wasn't about to spoil anything so instead I just asked why. "Well I was hoping you could work out right before our appointment."

OK, so he wants me sweaty. Not only that, he then went on to ask me to not shower after my last appointment the day before and if I could eat Taco Bell for dinner. Then he wants to know if I have special work-out clothes. Again, not really -- I have yoga pants and a tank top, but he wants me to answer the door all sweaty and wearing stretch pants and a sports bra. A white sports bra to be exact. "I can do that." And why not. The ensemble is about fifteen bucks at Target and I should have them anyway. I aim to please!

I did shower after my last appointment because fucking ew but I used unscented feminine wash and did not wash my armpits. I ate dinner at Taco Bell, as requested, bean burritos with extra hot sauce and nachos, did my shopping, then went back to the hotel, knitted for a bit before setting my alarm. I could not fucking sleep. I'm not used to spending the night away from home. My daughter was spending quality time with grandma for a few days so I decided to work out of town where I could make more money. The bed was nice, but it wasn't mine. I tossed and turned all night and ended up falling back asleep after my alarm went off. I woke up at 8:15. FUCK! I shoved a banana in my mouth, threw my new work-out clothes on real fast and went to go to the hotel gym to work out. I didn't have any water so I decided to get a bottle from the vending machine. Sold out. Every vending machine in the entire hotel, all four floors, were SOLD OUT. Great. I settled for that awful vitamin water. At this point, I have maybe 10 minutes to get sweaty before he arrives. I go to the gym and, of course, both treadmills and both elliptical machines are being used. Ugh. So, it's back up to my room on the fourth floor, via the stairs. I see that he called while I was running around trying to find water, but I am not going to call him back until it's time for our appointment. Being early is so rude. So my hotel room....just picture this: jumping jacks, sit ups, push ups, jogging around in circles, more jumping jacks. Still not super sweaty, so I held a complicated yoga pose until it was time.

He looked like a mama's boy. They always do. This is why I don't flinch at the raunchy guys... Get them alone and they're happy with a nice blow job and missionary, maybe the occasional ass-fuck, but hey who doesn't like that. But I'm telling you this, and you can take it to the bank, the most normal looking men you've ever seen; the ones wearing neutral colors and sensible styles and fabrics; the ones who probably cut the crusts off of their sandwiches and floss every night without fail: FUCKING FREAKS, the lot of them. Trust me on this.

For an entire hour, he sniffed my armpits and ass, licked my crotch through my sweaty stretch pants, and masturbated while I made him smell my dirty underwear.

Then, after all that, as accommodating as I had been, he asked if I would give him a discount next time because, and I quote, "we seemed to have a connection." Well, dumbass, the reason it seemed that way is because I WAS ACTING. My job is to fulfill fantasies. So, by his rationale, he should receive less pay for the days that he enjoys his job? What an asshole. I told him no. No discounts. If you want quality service, you have to pay for it, bucko.

I let him keep the undies.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Truthful Tuesday

I know it's Saturday morning, I just want to start next week with fresh posts so I'm doing this while I have a few moments. This is the last of the posts from Tumblr I'm bringing over to Blogger. Is Truthful Tuesday just a Tumblr thing? I'm not sure. I participated four times though and I'd like to share them here. I have to. I'm so sentimental where honest writing is concerned and the stuff I have written about my life as an escort is as honest as I've been since becoming one. I'm looking forward to writing again. About these Truthful Tuesday posts, I'm not sure when I wrote them, which Tuesdays of which months... yet another example of Tumblr's suckage; they don't date/time stamp your posts for you. Yes, you can find it but it's extra steps and not worth the hassle. And that's the last thing I say about Tumblr here, though I will say that the themes there are nice. I'm especially going to miss mine. It was perfect. Okay, that was the last thing.

Now for Truthful Tuesday posts:

Truth #1 - I am boring
The whole point of Truthful Tuesday is to reveal something honest about yourself that might be surprising, I gather?

With that in mind, I’ll tell something that doesn’t fit the stereotype most people have of sex workers, but would probably be a *yawn, whatever* type post for people who really know me:
I am the youngest member (by 25 years) of a knitting group. We get together every other Friday, rain or shine, come hell or high water. We show off our latest knitting projects and accomplishments. We have tea, cookies, and scones (I bake the scones: plain, orange, and cinnamon-raisin.) We talk about everything you can imagine from relationships and sex to politics. We respect each other’s opinions and have a great time.
I would rather knit and dunk scones with these women who are old enough to be my mother and grandmother than go to a crowded, noisy club full of drunk fools any day.
Truth #2 - If I could get away with it, the only man I'd let have my breasts would have to win my heart first
Even though I understand why my clients want to touch, caress, squeeze, lick, and suckle my breasts; I resent them for it and it makes me want to puke on their disgusting face while they’re doing it.
Truth #3 - I may be a whore for money, but I am definitely not one for attention
When I’m not working, I wear baggy clothes and floppy hats so that men won’t look at me.
Truth #4 - I want to love and be loved, but now is not the time
I’m not totally unhappy being single, but I am not totally happy either. I mean, I haven’t had what I would consider to be real sex in several months. Sex with clients isn’t the same. Most of the time I’m just trying to please them and get them out the door because I don’t really want to be with them. I don’t have a friend with benefits either. So, I masturbate a lot. I haven’t had time to date and I definitely don’t have time for a relationship. Then there’s always the dilemma of me not wanting to lie about being a paid sex provider, even by omission, and there being no way on God’s green earth I would date a man who would be OK with me doing this. Nor would I want to date someone who would insist I quit, even if he offered to help out financially: 1)I’m too independent for that and 2)I don’t like being told what to do. No, even though I hate it sometimes, what I need to do is just be by myself until I finish my degree next year. Once I can finally get a job that pays enough to make a decent living, when I’m settled into that new way of life and have more time and energy to give, I’d really love to meet someone and have a normal relationship. It won’t be easy though. I’m a single mother of a young child and have to be so careful about who I allow into her life. Any man interested in me would also have to be open-minded and non-judgmental enough to be able to handle that I have been a prostitute without ever holding it against me or throwing it up in my face or being jealous. That kind of worries me, to be honest. 

Friday, March 18, 2011

While on the subject of the unfortunate side-effects of unhealthy habits

Let's talk about how artery plaque affects your ability to achieve the raging hard-on of your dreams:
I take a lot of massage appointments, mostly cater to older gentlemen, fifty plus, in one of the fattest states in the country. This means lots of heart problems, lots of blood pressure meds, and therefore lots of limp dicks. Sure, they can still cum. It just takes longer and you have to be more creative. [I don't think I spelled out enough just how hard it is on the arms and hands to jack a limp dick. There is nothing more tiresome.] By Thursday evening, I am feeling the burn and by Friday afternoon I am counting the hours ‘til the start of my weekend and my arms are ready to just fall the fuck off of my body. 
If you are a male under the age of 40, please, I beg of you, don’t let that happen to you. Exercise, eat healthier, don’t smoke. Who cares about what you look like, just do it for your sex life. I’ve met 90 year olds who have lead a healthy life and still get rock hard erections. Be them instead. :)
The above was an excerpt from one of the posts of my soon-to-be-defunct Tumblr. I have one more thing I want to cross-post from there before I shut it down and begin writing fresh posts for my new blog here. I can hardly wait. Blogger is superior to Tumblr in every way, as far as I can see, and I am really looking forward to posting regularly. That is, whatever my time and mental energy will afford me in the future, I have no idea, but my intent is to post regularly. Look for my first brand new post on Tuesday evening. ox 

Smokers and oral hygiene

I cannot bitch about this enough.
Smokers, don’t delude yourselves: your breath fucking stinks! (and your clothes, your hair, your fingers, your skin, your every fiber of your being…) Don’t think you can just put a stick of spearmint or peppermint gum in your mouth and make it go away. It doesn’t work. In fact, it MAKES IT WORSE! Don’t just take my word for it, the Food Detectives on Food Network also found that spearmint gum intensifies bad breath. If I recall correctly, Ted Allen likened the odor to “doggy do-do.” If all you have is gum, your best bet is Big Red™. 
You know what’s better though? Fucking quit. It’s disgusting. That’s not really my place though, so I’ll tell you the next best thing: Brush your entire mouth. With a liberal amount of toothpaste containing baking soda and peroxide. Brush your gums, the roof of your mouth, the inside of your cheeks, and for God’s sake YOUR TONGUE. Rinse thoroughly. Rinse your toothbrush. Repeat, this time letting the toothpaste sit in your mouth for two minutes. Now, use mouthwash and GARGLE. Don’t smoke again until after our appointment. Start sucking an Altoid or Tic Tac five minutes prior.
Your breath is still going to be unpleasant, but only mildly so.
And gentlemen smokers, unless she also smokes, keep your tongue off your provider’s body. I’d rather my dog lick me after cleaning his ass than be licked by a smoker and I think most non-smokers would agree.
Obviously I dealt with smoker’s tongue today. It was so nasty. Wet, stale cigarette kisses all over my neck and chest. I couldn’t keep from gagging. The moist, stale cigarettes and old burnt coffee smell hovered over my face, like a fog. Christ, I want to throw my guts up just thinking about it.
If it sounds like too much effort for you, choose a provider who doesn’t advertise that she is a non-smoker, providing a smoke-free environment. Even better, choose one that discloses that she smokes. This requires that you actually read the ad, yet another pet peeve of most providers, and a good place for me to end this particular gripe. For the moment. (Trust me, I will bitch about this again in the future.)

Men, here's a tip: sex is much more enjoyable for the woman when she can fucking breathe!

If you don’t know how to fuck a woman without putting your entire weight on her chest and diaphragm, especially if you have a gut resembling a pregnant woman in her third trimester, you don’t get to be directly on top. Get up on your knees and rest her feet on your shoulders, get behind her, scissor, whatever — get creative.

Do everyone a favor and embrace the fuzz

To shave or not to shave? Listen, sometimes we have to accept the lesser of two evils.
Men, we ladies understand you men with a lot of body hair being self-conscious what with all of the unrealistic images being shoved down your throats via ads, porn, etc 24/7. Women aren’t the only victims of this. You guys are told that to be desirable you must be athletic, ripped, have a Ron Jeremy dick and, with the exception of your head, which should be as full of hair as it was when you were twenty, your body should be completely bald. You’re told that this is the ideal. Some of you become so obsessed with this image, you actually shave yourselves from head to toe.
STOP IT.  Or at least be willing to shave as often as necessary to not develop any stubble whatsoever (and good luck with that.)
I just fucked a porcupine. The entire front of my body and my pussy is one big rash. My skin is irritated and it burns.
Men, take advantage of the fact that women are not as visual as you are. Sure we like to look at pictures, but what it all boils down to in the real world is whether or not you are a good person. Even for a casual encounter, we need to feel comfortable with you. How can we feel comfortable with someone who isn’t even comfortable with themselves? Liking yourself and your soft body hair is much more attractive to us then a stubbly chest and crotch. Speaking of comfort, do you want to know what it feels like to have 1,000 prickly needles poking into your pussy during sex? No? Well neither do we. 
All Women!

My ten freakiest clients to date, #7

As soon as “Mr. S” walked in, he asked to use my restroom. “Of course,” I replied. This is not unusual. Most men want to wash their hands and maybe take a little bird bath to freshen up, which I appreciate.  So when I did not hear the toilet flush, but heard the water run, I thought nothing of it.  He emerged from the bathroom with a big smile on his face, all ready for his rub down.  After the happy ending, I had to go to the bathroom.  To wash my hands, obviously, but also I always run a fresh washcloth under hot water and put a little soap on one side so I can clean the client. So, I walk into the bathroom and OMFG. That fucker left a big, nasty shit just sitting in my toilet.  And talk about stink.  I gagged.  I’m gagging again just thinking about it.  Though I will say, it was a perfect “S” shape.  I remember thinking to myself well, at least he is getting plenty of fiber.  Oh, stop it. HE LEFT A BIG, NASTY SHIT JUST SITTING IN MY TOILET!  So, why is he a freak and not just somebody who was possibly nervous and forgot to flush the toilet?  I’ll tell you why.  Because I could smell his stinky ass during the massage.  He did not wash up after he shit, as most normal, considerate men would.  He wanted me to smell and see his shit. He is a nasty scat fetishist.  One of two nasty scat fetishists that have made my top 10 list. But not to worry, I will not do two nasty shit stories back to back.  I would not do that to you.  But somewhere down the road, prepare to be completely grossed out again. Sorry. :)
I did not confront him, by the way.  Nor did I give him the satisfaction of hearing me gag.  I simply flushed and behaved as if nothing had happened so he never called again. To think I went through the trouble of assigning a special ring tone for him: the theme from “Jaws.”

Thursday, March 17, 2011

My ten freakiest clients to date, #8

Number 8 is devoted to all of the men who have entered my hotel room, copped a feel of my boob, some even having the cajones to actually lift up my top and gawk at them as well, told me you left your wallet in the car, and then fled the scene.
Get help.

My ten freakiest clients to date, #9

Unlike “Chaps”, with “Muu muu” I knew what I was in store for ahead of time. His email was very specific. Usually (for obvious reasons) I don’t allow any prior discussion of what is going to take place during our session, but since his didn’t involve any sexual acts, I felt comfortable replying with an agreement. His words were “make me pretty and then show me off.” By showing off, he didn’t mean in public (that would be a different freak that we’ll get to further up the list), he just wanted me to take pictures and upload them onto his blog.
Both of Muu Muu’s references tried to warn me. One said, and I remember this verbatim, “remember John Travolta’s “Edna” from Hairspray? Like that, except uglier and less convincing.” The other said, “it was hard for me to keep a straight face, but he’s a’ight.” There was no way for them to fully prepare me though.
“Muu Muu” stood about 6’3”, weighed at least 300 pounds, and arrived wearing the uniform from a popular pest control company and carrying a duffle bag full of the following:
  • 2 wigs - one beehive, one bouffant, both brunette
  • Make-up - it was all orange and blue. Orange blush, orange lipstick, foundation with an orange undertone; blue eyeshadow, blue eye liner, and blue mascara
  • Clip on earrings and bangles - gold, turquoise, and HUMONGOUS
  • Shoes - Classic pumps in black and fuchsia (he said, “I just love fuchsia, turquoise, and orange together, don’t you?” Me:”Oh yes, it’s beautiful. You’re going to be SO PRETTY!”)(I told you, I’m a pleaser.)
  • Pantyhose - You guessed it, all suntan
  • Lingerie - White grandma bras with rolled up socks for stuffing and girdles
  • Stretchy belts to match his shoes
  • And his dresses, I could have died - all muu muus, cut off and hemmed into mini dresses
I teased and styled his wigs and dressed him up pretty. I feel kind of bad calling him a freak, because he was actually a really nice person. He just wanted to be dressed like a woman and told he was pretty. Who doesn’t want to hear that they’re pretty? I’m rather indifferent when it comes to appearances - I’ll go anywhere with no make-up and wearing my pajamas, yet tell me I’m pretty and you’ll make my day. So, can I blame him? The only really freaky thing about him was that he was this huge guy, dressed like his grandma, in the ugliest clothes and make-up I have ever seen on a person, pretending to be a high fashion model while I took his picture.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

My ten freakiest clients to date, #10

I'm not posting these in any particular order, as “Chaps" here deserves to be in the top five for sure; but I can’t begin to move on to the other freaks until I get past him.
He gave no indication of his freakiness prior to our appointment whatsoever. His telephone demeanor was pleasant, polite, charming even. His references on P411 checked out; none of them thought it necessary to mention what I was in store for, so I assumed him to be your ordinary, vanilla-type hobbyist.
He arrived promptly, wearing a long trench coat and carrying a small suitcase, kissed my hand, exchanged pleasantries for a minute or two, again everything seemed normal, and then got real serious, threw down an extra $200 on top of the donation, clapped his hands together one time and said, “OK, this is what I want.”
My mouth dropped open as he emptied the contents of his suitcase on the bed and lined it up: nipple clamps with various weights from lightest to heaviest, a ball gag, rope, a paddle, and two dildos (one small, one porn-star sized strap-on.) Then he gave me the run-down. His instructions were very specific. I was to tell him to remove his coat, then he would act embarrassed and refuse, I would insist, then he would pretend to cry while slowly revealing that he is wearing “my bra” and a pair of chaps. His punishment would be a verbal lashing, several swats with the paddle, then I tell him to remove “my bra,” bite his nipples hard and make him put on the weighted nipple clamps. Then, I tie his hands behind his back, gag him for being a bad, mouthy boy, more paddling, heavier nipple clamps, small dildo, even more paddling, heaviest nipple clamps, then fucking him with the strap-on “really super hard” and then, because he’s been “such a good boy”, go a little softer, reach around and stroke his dick until he cums.
“Alright, I can do that.” 
It took two short walk-through, um, rehearsals (for lack of a better word) for me to get it, but it all went down without a hitch. Like an actress who hit all her marks, I was feeling pretty proud of myself after.
No, I’m not into that shit at all, but who am I to judge? Dysfunctional as it may be, that was what made him happy and that is what I’m here for. I’m such a pleaser.

I'll tell you about the other nine as I am able.

Men, would it kill you to read the provider's full ad and listen to her voicemail greeting?

Why do you guys skim ads and ignore the information on voicemail greetings? It takes more time to have the provider answer those questions for you than it would if you just paid attention. Not to mention the fact that many times our ads and voicemail contains information about exactly when we are available.
Around 6:00 in the morning, this man left me a message asking for a 1pm appointment. I didn’t answer because I don’t turn my phone on until 8. My ad and voicemail both state this clearly, but he didn’t pay attention. He became irritated that I wasn’t returning his call right away and he left four more messages, each one more hostile and condescending than the last. My ad and voicemail also request that you leave ONE message and let me get back to you (otherwise my voicemail gets full. Not to mention the fact that if you don’t have the patience to wait for a call back, you aren’t the type of man I want to spend time with.) My voicemail also says that I am no longer available after 11am because I have to check out of the hotel. I called him back shortly after 8, just as soon as I turned my phone on and got my messages, and I told him I was leaving at 11. He became very rude and I had to set him straight. If only he had bothered to READ MY AD.
This type of thing happens all the time. Hobbyists, please take 2 minutes to read the ad and listen to the information provided in the voicemail greeting. It will save both of us a lot of time and hassle.

Why do I hide the large-size condoms from my clients?

I really want to know why.
I’ll explain:
I have on hand two types of condoms: regular and large (I’d love small ones for my older, obese, and Asian clients, but haven’t found them yet.)  I keep the condoms in a bag in the nightstand drawer. Today, after I massaged my very-well-endowed client and we had some touchy-feely time (a quick aside; men do like to cuddle. A lot. They just like to do it all BEFORE the sex), he had a huge erection and was ready for some oral fun. So, I opened the drawer, reached into my bag, but instead of pulling the condom out to open it like I always do, I opened the large condom with my hands still inside the bag so he couldn’t see that I thought his dick was big. Then I realized something: this was not the first time I’ve done this. Concealing the large condom wrapper is what I do.
First of all, it’s doubtful that he doesn’t know he needs a large condom already. He’s (presumably) bought condoms before. And much the same as I definitely notice when my jeans are too snug and I need a larger size, he must know that the regular condom is too tight, right?
Is it that I don’t want him to feel self-conscious? Maybe. Though that doesn’t make much sense. My experience with men has been that the one thing they are most self-conscious about, their biggest fear, is that their dick might not be adequate. So dumb, by the way. I am definitely Team It’s-What-You-Do-With-It-That-Counts. Well, within reason. If it’s too small to keep the condom on, that’s a problem. On the flip side, I’m running the other direction from a porn star dick. Anyway, in what capacity could I possibly be protecting his ego? None that I can reasonably see. But being that this isn’t a conscious thing I’ve been doing, reason wouldn’t factor into my behavior at all. I could have been sub-consciously protecting the part of him that wants to be the same as everyone else. The facts are that I only use one large condom for every 20 regulars so, though men consider being well-endowed a good thing, it is the minority.
Maybe I don’t want him to feel too good about himself. That sounds wrong. I mean, I love making clients feel good about themselves and I base my entire session with them around that, but maybe somewhere deep in the back of my brain is the fear that he’ll suddenly, upon realizing he’s in possession of such a fine specimen (his thoughts, not mine), start getting ideas that he shouldn’t have to pay for sex and doesn’t need me anymore. Also ridiculous considering most men who pay for sex don’t do it as a last resort, but rather because it’s less complicated. But silly fears are not rational, ever, and since my ex-husband who had a huge dick and was so proud of it, he thought it was such a shame to waste it all on only one good woman, decided he didn’t need me anymore, they could, too? 
Am I even making sense? Good thing this whole Tumblr thing is for me because I would pity the person attempting to make sense of my ramblings. I’m no writer.
Anyway, I can think of a few other reasons why I hide the damn Magnums, but after analyzing each of them, I can’t think of a single logical reason to continue this practice. It is silly and stupid and I’m making a conscious decision to stop it immediately. Well, starting Monday. I don’t work weekends.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Promptness is key

Gentlemen, there are many appointments that you can show up early for.  Your appointment with your escort is NOT one of them!  Showing up early on a lady is generally a bad idea to begin with, then factor in the possibility for overlaps.
Your doctor, lawyer, dentist, insurance agent, even Fido’s veterinarian all encourage you be fifteen minutes or so early to fill out paperwork or just in case there’s been a cancelation, they can squeeze you in a little early.  They also have a waiting room and there is no need for discretion.  If you see your neighbor there, it’s all smiles and friendly chit chat.  Being early to these appointments is good.
Your escort, on the other hand, books her sessions with the need for discretion in mind and also (I hope) to allow herself enough time to bathe, put down fresh linens, and make everything nice and cozy for you.
Two or three minutes early is fine.  Up to five minutes late is fine.  But any more than that either way could create a real problem.
My advice is this.  Get to the location up to five minutes early, but wait until it’s time for your session to call and let her know you are there (or knock on the door, depending on your arrangements.)  If you are going to be more than five minutes late, please call her ahead of time so she knows what’s going on.
Also, if you’re late, don’t expect her to lose her next appointment for you.  She was there ready and waiting for you, pay her in full and expect to depart at your originally agreed upon time.  She’ll make sure you’re still satisfied.  And if she’s anything like me, she will give you your full hour if she is able to do so, just please be understanding if she can’t.
Providers, be on time for your clients.  Nobody likes a flake.  If you want repeat business, treat your clients with the same respect that you expect from them.  It’s about consideration.  As they say, “it ain’t rocket science!”

Monday, March 14, 2011


This should go without saying, but based on what I deal with on a daily basis, it obviously doesn’t.
Gentlemen, just before our appointment, BATHE. Wash yourself thoroughly. With soap. Use a washcloth under your armpits and on your ass. And get deep down in there, too. Yes, wash where you poop from. Because nobody wants to smell your stinky ass! If you can’t do it at home, please ask to use my shower. It’s just common courtesy.
Check your breath. Does it stink? Well, that needs to be remedied. I honestly don’t get why this is such a problem. How can men not think about this? Things you may not have any control over like hunger and nerves can cause unpleasant breath, but nothing that cinnamon gum or a couple of Tic Tacs can’t cure. Please.
I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash your hands after you use the toilet, and yet I am constantly having to do this. Come on, now!
Don’t keep pestering me to kiss you on the mouth. I explicitly say that I am full service, but not GFE. Don’t come here and expect me to compromise my health (and in turn the health of my young daughter) after I have already made it clear that I don’t french kiss. If your escort kisses you, she kisses everyone. I don’t care if she claims you’re the first client she’s ever kissed. She’s lying. And eventually someone is going to get herpes, mono, or even just a common flu… you know we’re most contagious before we even have symptoms. And don’t even get me started on the gall and irresponsibility of some men who actually ask me to not use a condom… It’s just unbelievable. Use the right head on this one, guys!

Sunday, March 13, 2011


I have a regular client named “Jeff”.  He always gets a one-hour body massage followed by an oral happy ending.  Now, I don’t normally get aroused by my clients, but I find him Sexy!  He has this thick body, just the right amount of hair, and the most gorgeous cock I have ever seen in person.  And I’ve seen a lot of cocks.
He’s big enough without being freakishly huge, about 7 1/2 inches or so, just the right amount of girth and circumcised, but with a small amount of foreskin left. It’s a beautiful dark pink, that doesn’t sound too appetizing, but you would just have to see it to know what I’m talking about.  The color is uniform; it is just one gorgeous cock.
But here’s the thing…
“Jeff” can’t “contain himself” for longer than twenty seconds.  I am not exaggerating.  Just the act of rolling the condom on causes him to need a break for a few seconds.  So then I’ll go back to massaging his thighs a little.  Then I’ll ever-so-slowly slide his full length into my mouth and he immediately starts shaking and says “wait a minute.”  We go through this about eight or nine times and finally I get sick of it and ignore his request that I stop.
This is sad.  ”Jeff” is married.  Can you imagine being married to a gorgeous cock like that and not being able to use it for more than ten to twenty seconds at a time?  Poor thing.  I really feel for her.  He had better have one talented tongue!  And do windows!  That is all I have to say about that.

A Typical day #1

Seems as good a topic as any to start off with.

So, I do most of my appointments out-of-town these days.  It's better that way.  Better financially, better in the sense of not having to worry about hearing a familiar voice say "God bless you" when I sneeze in line at Dunkin' Donuts.  Talk about an awkward moment for both provider and hobbyist.  He thought he was blessing a stranger; the look on his face when I turned around could only be rivaled by mine, which was an expression of panic eclipsed only by that of the one and only time I am sure I saw a ghost in my life.  Holy cow!  What else could the two of us do except cooly say, "thank you, sir" and "you're welcome, ma'am," like we would to anybody else and go about our business.  In public, we don't know each other.  We've never met.  Period, end of story. So far I've only had one client either not know or blatantly defy that rule. He was not a crazy stalker, just a guy who had nothing to lose by acknowledging our acquaintance.  I was lucky.  It was enough to make me never want to experience that again though.

So, now I travel to other cities two days a week.  I am totally independent.  I host in my hotel room -- a nice one, always indoors, always very clean, priced to not be unaffordable for business travelers, but high enough to keep out the riff-raff.  I post my ads a day or two ahead of time so that I have a few or more appointments lines up when I get there.
I've been in a beach town for the past two days and have done pretty well.  It did not start off that way though.  Last night was nothing but a bunch of bullshitters on the phone and men wanting to set up appointments for today.  So I went to bed without having earned a single dollar, but was still feeling pretty ok because at least I had an 8am appointment lined up.
And then...

He did not show up!  Why the fuck do people do that?  Have the decency to call for crying out loud!  It's not like I can  just replace one client with another.  I am responsible.  If I set aside time for you, I will book other appointments around you.  This inconsiderate boob cost me another client who wanted to see me at 8:15 for 30 minutes but I had to decline and offer another time, which was not doable for him.  Argh.  Not to mention the fact that I rushed through breakfast to be ready in time.  Oh well, that's how it goes sometimes.  I did not let it ruin the rest of my day.  I kept a positive attitude and the day did get better.

Client number two was right on time.  It was a thirty minute appointment.  He just wanted oral.  Oral is always done safely.  Condoms are MANDATORY.  Not to get off point here, but gentlemen please do not risk your safety or the safety of your loved ones. Condoms are less fun, true, but how much fun would it be to get herpes? Yes, it can be transmitted that way.  Anyway, I do care that my clients experience the most pleasure possible so I buy the thinnest ones I can get without sacrificing safety.  I was fortunate enough to find a brand that has no bad aftertaste.  Now, when it comes to release, I do give a few options.  They can cum in my mouth or while I am deep-throating them, but the condom stays on.  If they want to cum without the condom, I will finish with my hand (or they can do it themselves if they wish) and release on my body or theirs (99.9% of the time, they choose MINE, of course.)  Breast releases are popular.  My breasts are really big and all-natural (this is how I have managed to continue to do quite nicely even during these trying economical times) and so naturally this client wanted to cum all over them and I can't really say I blame him.

Client number three forgot to call an hour ahead of time to confirm his appointment and I had already told another client that he could stop by.  The client begged, he HAD to see me during his lunch hour, so I called the newer client and asked him if he could wait an hour, that I would compensate for his patience by giving him a little extra time.  He was a doll and agreed.  Client number three shows up, I have to spend five minutes convincing him that I am not a police officer (hint, gentlemen, if the lady is refusing to tell you what you are getting for your money, she is NOT A COP. Cops want to make you agree to pay for sex so they can arrest you.  Don't be stupid.  If the girl is trying to protect herself, she is legit. Sheesh.)  Anyway, so he realized I was legit once I showed him my reviews online and he got comfortable.  Then he whipped out that freak flag and let it FLY.  He must have flipped me in ten different positions while fucking me.  "You were a bad girl.  Daddy has to fuck you now, you bad girl."  And then he was the professor, punishing me with a good old pounding for showing up to class with my cleavage sticking in his face.  Then he asked me to show him my "pretty white teeth" so he could smack them with his cock and I had to pretend to drink his cum.  He stayed the entire hour and got his money's worth.  He was a small guy with a big dick.  You never know about people.

Client four was already in the parking lot when I called to let him know I am now available.  I was still putting my clothes back on when he knocked at the door.  Now, I don't like to rush sessions and generally try to give the client their full amount of time, but sometimes they are in a hurry and just want to get off.  I reminded him he had extra time coming to him, but he didn't care, he just wanted to cum and leave.  Two minutes of covered oral followed by a quick handjob and breast release.  He left whistling and smiling, in less than ten minutes and tipped me an extra $40.  "I'm not sure I earned this today."  "Oh yes you did, sweetheart."  If only they could all be like this.

Client five also forgot to confirm his appointment and called from the parking lot less than five minutes after client four's departure.  I told him I needed ten minutes.  I showered (I always shower after every client), remade the bed, got dressed, and he knocked at the door while I was reapplying my lipstick.  He was another quick one.  Today was bj and breast release day.  My breasts are softer than a baby's bottom from all  that semen.  It's a real shame there is no way to bottle that stuff for lotion.

Mid-afternoon and I finally got to eat something and run to the store for some toiletries I accidentally left behind at home.  My next appointment called to confirm so I finished up my shopping and rushed back to the hotel.
Client Six arrived on schedule, ready for action.  He wanted sex in a thirty minute appointment, which is not usually a good idea because of the rushing involved, but he promised he will get off quick and I was too tired to argue.  He kept his word and was done in fifteen minutes. I offered him a back rub to fill in the extra time --which he accepted (damn him, I was just trying to be polite... I didn't expect him to actually say yes. lol) -- the timer went off and he left.

And I am spent.