A glimpse of Heaven

He doesn't want anything from me. We meet for coffee and I tell him how I'm doing, then he pays the bill, slips something into my bag and is off until the next time. That's the pattern of our life. It all started as a simple date. He was a bit older and I liked him well enough but I didn't know if it was going to go anywhere because... well whores can't really afford to date, now can they? This had been going on for about 2 weeks with no sex, no demands, just perfect gentility, and I was really enjoying myself with how human being with him made me feel when suddenly out of the blue he stopped calling all together. I tried to pretend that it didn't bother me, but the truth was that it crushed me. When you've never had any one treat you well you don't think much of it, in fact you don't even know that it's a possibility until the moment it happens and as soon as it does... you get hooked. You start to think that you might be worth something, that you're not just a bag of tricks and dirty moments. My friends all took the tough love route; it was only 2 weeks after all, so why are you crying? They meant well but it didn't help one bit. This was half a year ago. Things resolved themselves in the strangest of ways. He called me and begged for forgiveness and asked to see. Like a love struck puppy of course I said yes, and as usual we had a wonderful date only this time he asked me back to his place and promptly proceeded to tell me what he knew about me which is to say, everything. I thought that this was his way of being cruel and clever; inviting me over as a friend or lover and then making me perform as his sex slave but no... he didn't want to have sex with me. He didn't want me to be his slave at all. In fact he told me that he wouldn't have sex with me and the possiblity of a romance was nil... instead he would become my patron... to give me an alternative to doing this. I didn't understand, I don't understand, I just cried and sobbed and cried some more. And so that is the way it is between us. We meet every other week for coffee or supper and he slides me way too much money, pays for dinner, and then he's off. Before he departs he always tells me that I am worth more than this and he's looking forward to the day that I stop. I smile and say, 'Oh, getting tired of being my benefactour?', and he responds, 'No, not that, I look forward to the day you stop seeing others in that way.' And then he's gone. I don't understand him. I certainly appreciate him and on some level think I love him... I don't know what I am or feel anymore... not that I ever did, but I think on some level had convinced myself that I had it all figured out... Knowing him has sure made doing this much more complicated than it ever was before. What to do, what to do, what to do, what to do?

-The Tart

Oh Me of MY! Fucking Size Queen Cry!

Size Queens of the world Unite! So this fucker keeps going on about how beautiful my dick looks in my pic and I'm like do you want to get together or not, but he's all like, only if it's 9 inches or bigger, which it's not which I clearly state in my ad, and besides I think if he likes the way it looks so much why does it even matter, even more so, why did he fucking bother writing me in the first place. Now, my first instinct is that this is a fake Fucker just writing to waste my fucking time and fuck with me, but I haven't had anyone write me yet so I figure I'll take the bait and see if it cums to anything. In the first place while not 9 inches my dick is quite ample; it's a full real 8 incher and very pretty. In my head I say, 'what the fuck does an inch matter, it's not like it's going to matter much once we get into it'. And in the second place people who go on ooh and awing about dick can never take it anyone. The second you get pumping they starting whining about how big it is and to go slower cuz it hurts. 'Well bitch, you wanted it now you're going to take it!' I end up lying to this guy and as soon as I show up and whip it out, true to Size Queen wanna be form he starts going on about how he doesn't know if he'll be able to handle something that big, and if I'm not sure that it's actually a 10 incher. Yeah right. I ended up just letting this dude suck and jack me off (which I hate... masturbation does nothing for me.); I ended up face fucking him actually, which he sucked at too... ha. But at least I got my fucking money. Long story short; don't be a size queen in you can't handle the thick dick.

Thank God I Get paid for being Pretty

I was on the train and I heard this really bitchy man tell his gal pal, 'Sweet heart, nobody ever got laid being beautiful on the inside. You heard? Let me say it again loud and clear for ya honey; being beautiful on the inside never got nobody laid.' I nearly died of laughter and then I thought, 'He's right!' Thank God I'm a whore... and really really obscenely pretty. Smiles. I wonder if ugly people feel empty on the inside like I do... well, being beautiful on the inside probably makes you ugly on the outside and I'm not willing to sacrifice my magnificence for ANYTHING! You dig? How is it that song goes? God must spent a little more time on Me? Yes; that's it! Well God Did. And thank her for it.

-The Tart

The Cleft in My Chin...

is a sign of how much my father loved my mum. Loved my mum, but not me that is. If he had, he would have had more patience and waited. My father died in a car accident the day I was born; he was so eager to get to my mum that he ran a red light and plowed right into a garbage truck. Idiot. We never had a chance to sit down and talk about the important things men like to talk about like, basset hounds and motor boats, but I was able to meet him a few times before I was born. Do you know how cleft chins are made? They happen when a man has sex with his wife while she's pregnant. The nuns at my school feel sorry for me. 'Poor Bastard DL,' they say, 'He hasn't got a father; he's a f^cking bastard.' I don't really mind. Maybe I never got to spend more than a few abrupt minutes with the man but I figure that was more than enough time for him to scar me, or at least my chin for life. Maybe it's better this way... now I only have to deal with one F^cked up parent... and her post op tranny lover and only then when I bother to call them which is admittedly not that often mind you. People say you spend your entire adulthood getting over your parents; I figure this way I'll finish up twice as fast and move right on to getting over myself. With all the fucked shit I pull I figure I'll done in no time... I just have to find my Daddy Father Figure to cure me of my cock obsession and I'll be fine and over the terrible scar I walk around with every day. I think I'm actually straight; it's my Daddy Chin Issues that make me a gay whore... Maybe reconstructive surgery can help... I wonder how many dudes I'll have to fuck to pay for that....

Imminent Sex

Why is it that second I approach a client's house I instantly begin praying for an accident; fantasizing that something will go terribly wrong or in this case terribly right; well nothing too serious, just enough to make it so I won't have to go through with it. Preferably to my customer... honestly, I hate pain and can't stand the idea of coming to harm. You'd think that by this point I'd have become more accustomed to what I'm doing but the truth is behind my 'devil-may-care-it's-just-a-job' veneer I'm terrified. I worry that when I show up the guy will be an undercover cop or a wacked out coke head and I'll have to fight for my life. Sometimes it gets so bad that I just don't bother to show up. I walk up to the house, sometimes even take the elevator up and just as I'm about to ring the bell, I turn and high tale it for the streets. Lost money sure but peace of mind in knowing that nothing went wrong... this time. God I need more peace of mind. Hell, I don't even believe in God but I will if it will give me back peace of mind... Zeus, Poseidon, Thoth, Set, Hera, Athena, Buddha, Loki, Freya, somebody Give Me Back The Peace of Mind I Crave! Send me a consistent and caring Patron who'll spoil me and take care of me and never think to hurt me. Is that too much to ask? Today I'm heading to a flat in Gramercy Park and I'm hoping the guy will be cool; I think he's loaded; with an address like that he must be and people with money are always secure and generous... maybe he'll be the one for me. I'm getting tired of dealing with 7 different guys a day with only 2 of them coming of anything worthwhile and even then being really kooky when I show up. We'll see how this one goes. Keep Your Fingers Crossed!

Denial of Profession on my Ass

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

So how have you been?
Swell; things are finally looking up.
Nice. Got a new job?
Something like that.
Well, whatever you're doing it must pay well.
How do you figure?
Don't bullshit me; New Dolce and Gabbanas, the Tony Lamas, Diesel; either you won the lottery or your earning some major dough.
I'm a smart shopper. What about you; how are you doing?
Well this is a tough market.
Yeah.
A lot of people are losing their jobs out there; luckily not me yet but- you know.
I hear ya; I'm glad I don't have to worry about that right now.
Yeah... Are you an escort?
No. No! Why; do you need one?
I'm not a gay man.
Escorts can be straight too.
Hmm- I'd never considered that.
Why do you ask?
Well, I just don't see how you're affording all this new shit.
Not that it's any of your business-
You're right, it's not-
But it could be that I'm just really good with managing my money.
I suppose.
Or I'm a drug dealer. Is this because I'm black?
Oh definitely. It's because you're black and I'm a racist against other black people. Cause that makes total sense.
It happens all the time. What; you're saying black people can't be racist against black people? That's racist.
No retard; I'm saying I'm NOT racist.
Then why do you assume I'm an escort?
Because I'm an idiot. How's that?
Oh. Okay. Would it bother you if I were an escort?
Of course not. I'm a Christian; we NEVER judge.
Maybe I should become a Christian.
I don't think Jesus allows other drug dealers into our club.
Oh.... makes sense. Then I'll stay a Satanist.
Good idea. You guys have a better health plan anyway.
Yeah; I never got that begging Jesus to heal me thing.
I don't think anyone ever has.
Maybe you should become an escort; I hear it's good money.
I don't think I could sleep with myself-
You're not sleeping with yourself dummy; you're sleeping with other people.
That's what I mean doof; I couldn't sleep knowing I was a whore.
Escort; not whore.
Same difference.
Well, I think it's a swell idea... in fact, I'm going to look into it.
You do that; tell me how it goes when you've figured a few things out.
Will do buddy.

Tricks of the Trade

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.
You're given money to do a service only the thing being asked of you is something you'd really rather not do... what's to be done. The easiest thing is to simply grab the cash and run but you've got this bit of integrity in you that says you can't just steal so instead you try to cheat and trick your way into the money. Like giving a blow job instead of getting fucked. You're still providing a service, and an amazing one at that, just not the one they thought you'd be providing. And the conversation is always brilliant, and the experience a delight... is it so wrong to swap one trick for another? What happens when the person gets upset that you've 'tricked' them? They've already cum and there's no going back; a guy can't just reverse time or undue an orgasm, and when you're 40 it's not exactly possible to get back up and going again- Personally I don't see why he was so upset. So things didn't go down the way he wanted them to but is that any reason to try to cheat me out of my fee. He had no way of knowing that I did it on purpose. To tell you the truth I was shocked that he came so quickly; I was at least expecting another 5 minutes, but a few minutes in he's already blowing like Mt. Saint Helena and looking at me as if I've murdered his mother. He should be so lucky to have had my lips wrapped around his cock, but this dude- he didn't want to see it that way. In his mind, I had taken advantage of him and he was resolved to not let me get away with it. 'What are you going to do? Kill me?' I already had my money (Rule Number 1 is always get the money first or know where it's going to be or leave. No, ifs, ands or buts about it.) This guy wanted me to give him back part of the money. I offered to give him a massage but he wasn't interested. Ultimately I ended up giving him a black eye and smashing his table. I got a cut from a piece of the glass that came off of the table... I'm not proud of it but you can't let a punk bully you around. It's either stand up for yourself or get stomped all over every day for the rest of your life and I... I've still got a lot of living to do even if it is as a tart. I don't expect that this guy will try to press charges, I mean if any sort of investigation of it opened up, he wouldn't be able to keep his role in the entire affair secret and I would certainly raise bloody hell. Still; I don't like that he has my number... I wonder if he'll try calling me again. Maybe he secretly gets off on having his ass handed to him... Nah. I doubt it.

-The Tart

Make up your God Damn Mind!

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.


How much?
$300.
Oh... can we make it $159. All I want to do is-
It's $300 straight up.
Let me think about it.
Okay. But I'm worth it and just so you know, that is the going rate, unless you're dealing with a crackhead.
Okay- no big deal. Can you host?
Sure, but only for the next 3 hours.
That's not a lot of time.
I thought you said you had to be done by-
You're right; what am I talking about? That's plenty of time. Sorry. I'm just-
No problems. What were you looking to get into?
I don't know. This or that. I don't do this a lot.
Neither do I. Still; you kind have need to have some idea of what you-
What do you like to do?
Well- Rim, suck, fuck, kiss- as long as it's safe it's all good.
You clean?
Yes, and I don't do any drugs either.
How do you look again?
I sent you my picture-
I know but is that really you?
Yes.
Sorry I just-
Why would I send you a picture of someone not me?
Sorry- yeah, you're right it's- you're not a cop or anything, are you?
No; are you?
No. No. Just had to ask for-
Yeah. So?
You know what- actually, um. Never mind. I- maybe another time.
...
I get it. I could be a cop, or a crazy person, or have a billion diseases, or a total misrepresentation of who I say I am. This is scary stuff; I get that; I really do, but it you're just going to flake on me or decide that you're not into it at the last minute why don't you just save us both the trouble and go rent a porn instead; leave me out of the equation all together. Ugh! Some guys; I swear all they want is the thrill of talking to an actual 'hooker' online; such narcissism galls me especially when it comes into my livelihood. What amounts to a 'cheap' thrill for others is my life and I don't appreciate being toyed with. That's why I've developed a sort of protocol with communication. I call it the 3 strikes and you're out edict; if after 3 emails we haven't set anything up or at least exchanged contact information I stop responding all together. Usually really chatty dudes are just fat fucks with nothing better to do than lead a poor college student on anyway. It's when you get married guys on the down low that you start to run into problems. They run the gamut between being extremely forward and excited in one breath to being frightened sheep fretful of being busted in the next. One guy kept asking if I wasn't sure that I was a police officer; I finally got so frustrated that I forwarded his info over to the local precinct 'anonymously' and set up a date between him and a certain Sergeant Blanks. I hope they a grande time. Another time I spread a guy's contact info and our correspondence all over his neighbourhood and work place. The idiot didn't realize that his outgoing emails listed his addresses and contact numbers. You should have seen his face when he walked into the lobby of his office and apartment complex and saw his face and 'sexy' pictures with his name and number and letters posted all over them, hell you should have seen his wife's face. I'm not normally that petty with everyone... just the ones who lead me on. Time is money and if you keep me waiting for a half hour without any form of compensation, especially if I lose other work over you, be prepared to for me to take my pound of flesh out of you by other means. I'm a scary bitch sometimes... but if you pay the price, I treat you right in a night full of delight. ;)

-The Tart

Push my Face in it Nigger!

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

I hate being objectified but lately that's all I get. Because I'm 'Black', because I have a big dick, because I'm... well I guess it's just because I'm black- because I'm Black I have a whole slew of bastards writing begging me to humiliate and dominate them; make them choke on my fat dick and piss all over them when I'm done. Really put them in their places like the little pig slut boys they are. My favourite is when people tell me to make them feel the way my ancestors did. Now that one is a bit much. I have no racial hatred within me; I'm really not into the whole reparations bullshit; as it is I'm just about as fresh off the boat as you can get; there are no African American slaves in my background and still they keep on with the 'Beat me down like the white piece of shit I am.' None of these racially guilty fuckers want to hear anything but 'Death to whitey, honkey!'. They want to feel like shit and they want me to do it to them. Racism sucks. As I'm standing there face fucking these idiots and making up none sense about how this is for 'Pappy Joe, and Kunta Bengay', I always think what a waste of space. My last few sessions with one specific fucker has culminated in him getting on his back, while I rub my feet all over his face, as he furiously jacks off screaming, 'Yes Master, put me in my place- Goddamn Fucking Cunt- I'm a pussy, please God-Fucking yes Nigger YESSSS!' And as soon as he cums, he remembers who he is; a Pillar of Society working on Wall Street in the midst of humiliating sexcapades and just like that he slips me 500 and I'm out the door until next week. How much does it cost to sell yourself out to a racist bastard too stupid to see how humiliating it is for you to be doing this as well? Does he know; does he care? Is the 500 dollars worth it? That's what I wonder as I walk down the hallway towards the elevator. Stepping on the train I finally let it all go and say, 'It doesn't matter; be it for sex or for humiliation, 500 dollars is 500 dollars.' With that in mind I go home, brush my teeth, and smile at the black face looking back at me and mirror. It really is okay. Isn't it?

Hourly Schmourly; My Favourite thing about this Business

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

The rate! We do any of that by the hour bullshit. It's a set rate for x,y, or/and z and then you go from there. It works out because once the dude cums you're free to go cause I mean it's not like you're going to hang around afterwards... though sometimes the dudes do want that, in which case you sort of have to set an hourly rate and go from there- but then once again, if you say 2 hours and it's an hour and a half they're typically not going to try to stiff you. That did happen once. This dude wanted to blow me but he was awful and any time I'd try to face fuck him he'd start gagging which is really not a turn on when the guy's mouth isn't very big in the first place... you get the point. Anyway so I couldn't get it up until I started sucking him off and then he wanted me to fuck him which I did but because he couldn't suck me off he couldn't cum. So after all that, this dude is like, 'Can I just pay you part of it since we didn't get to do everything I wanted?' All I could was laugh. I ended up getting my money, but it took a bit of strong arm negotiating on my part. That's the worst part of this work; money negotiating. Some people don't realize how hard it actually is to find someone who's willing to shell out the appropriate amount of dough for what they want. In loose money terms it translates to $80 for a blowjob, $200 for pure fucking, and $400 and upwards for flipping and romance. This is hard skilled work equivalent to and beyond rocket science. It's the science of love and pleasure without all the messy strings and that has to be properly compensated. I wish someone like the President would point that out; it would sure make my job a hell of a lot easier.

-The Tart

Hot Black Boy Hungry for Hot Sex

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

That's usually my angle. Hot. Black. Boy. Hungry. Sex. It drives people nuts... though it just doesn't always get me the best results. Many people are willing to write gushing over how HOT they think I am but when it comes down to sealing the deal... not so much. And that is where the 'Cat and Mouse' game comes into play. You have to be a little bit coy, a little bit sweet, not too threatening but not too keen or they'll get that you're pandering. It's a fine line; it's like having to scale a wall- The way I see it, Spider-Man has nothing on me. I think any person who's ever been in this line of work is a perfect candidate for the diplomatic service. We have to communicate better than anyone else, be smarter, sexier, calmer, and completely cool or it's not going to happen. Scaling walls indeed.The most frustrating bit is when you've got someone on the line and then they suddenly freak out on you. In those instances all you can do is sigh, move on, and try again all the while hoping that your ad hasn't seen too much play; no one likes a whore who's seen too much action. It's hard... I need an agent but the idea of having a Madame/Pimp or being attached to a brothel... No; that would make this too real- it would brand me a prostitute and that's not what I am. I'm just someone who's screwing around with willing customers for the moment. It's sex and everyone's enjoying themselves; some people enjoy it more after they've paid for it, and some people enjoy it more after they've been paid for it... I fall into the latter category obviously. Oh- gotta go; looks like I got another John. Hopefully he won't be too much work.

Black on Black Sex

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.
Never had it and it's not for a lack of trying, trust you me. I LOVE the idea of having sex with black men... they're just not willing to pay for it. That's not meant to be a racist statement; I suppose I should qualify it by stating that I've personally never come across any black men who were willing to pay me money to have sex with them but I'm sure that they do exist somewhere in the world out there. Whenever I get a response from a potential client who just happens to be black, I'll admit I get a little excited! It's just so rare; you know? Well, invariably it turns out that the dude writing doesn't quite get that this was pay for play and it always turns into this, 'I don't have to pay for sex when everybody else is giving it away for free.' For a while I thought black men just couldn't read (well except for me of course... I am 'Black'... well actually I'm brown but we don't have to get into that right now) but then one of my clients pointed out that the 'Black Men' who write me aren't illiterate they're just stupid and unthoughtful; clearly someone as good looking as myself must be for sale and furthermore I shouldn't lament my dearth of 'Black Clientele' as it leaves me open for more appreciative White Men like himself. He had a good point... still, I can't help wondering what a little Black on Black action would be like... I wonder if I'd be able to go back.

-The Tart

I Really Hate Water Sports

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

So I said no. It's not a fetish in which I indulge. I think it's derogatory and unsanitary; I may be a Whore but I'm not a Chicken head. But of course the guy kept whining about it and it was a lot of money... but no; I just couldn't. Then he said, 'What if you do it to me first, and if it's okay I can try it to you afterwards.' Hmmm... effective compromise. 'Why not?' Okay, so here's the funny part; when he said 'Water Sports', he didn't mean in the Nasty Fetish Sense; he meant with water guns and super soakers and stuff. It was AWESOME! We even took it to his backyard (he was in White Plains; I know; I need to stop doing traveling engagements, but they pay SO much!), and he took it a step further by pulling out costumes. It's true that I wasn't so keen on having a mohawk for my costume but... he threw in an extra $400 bucks. I have the greatest job in the world; people pay me to have sex with them and play with them! Sure, I lost my hair this time around but when you're playing with someone who's willing to dress up as Wonder Woman and tip you extra... how can you say 'No?'

My Obsession with Karaoke...

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

Is really just an obsession with my own voice. Narcissism is the name of this A game. Watch out American Idol, here I come; I'm thinking about launching my own version where people can actually sing (imagine that) called, 'Naked Karaoke'. The brilliant idea came to me as I was finishing up last night. The John and I'd gotten really worked up and sweaty and he asked if I'd like to take a rinse. Since he wasn't trying to turn it into 'Shower Sex' (which we all know I HATE!), I said sure. Funny thing about me; the second I step into a shower I start singing (unless I'm choking on a dick... damn shower sex). As I was finishing 'Over the Rainbow' (Pattie's version, not Judy's; I'm not THAT gay.) I heard the John applauding. He was gushing over how good I was and all I could say was, 'You were expecting less?' Yes, I know; I'm very humble. Well the John thinks I should leave whoring behind and turn to singing full time; he even offered to help me get a record deal (he knows a couple of people.) I don't know if music is the wayto go for me, but it certainly can't hurt especially if my 'Naked Idol' idea takes off. I think I'll get a webcam and start broadcasting... can you imagine? Me singing 'Hit Me Baby one More Time', Naked AND in the shower? I just hope no one steals the idea before I get a chance to put it into action.

-The Tart

So I was sitting on a picnic table out in California...

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

When this guy came up to me and asked if I was a love worker. 'A what?', I asked. He had a thick German accent and I thought, 'perhaps I misheard.' No, I had heard him correctly; he was indeed asking if I was a love worker. A 'love worker', for those who aren't up on their German lingo, is person who receives money for favours, better known in these parts as a 'Whore'. I am neither; I am a Tart (or so I tell myself every single night as I cry myself to sleep.) How this man knew I was a 'love worker' I don't know, but I do know that I was not pleased with being called out.

When I'm out and about tarting it up I am quite receptive to being approached by strangers for a bit of fun (so long as they're paying; you dig?) but when I'm on my muther-fucking vacation- Back the fuck up off me bitches! Even Tarts need their days off! So of course, being in a sour and dour mood I yelled at him in my best german, 'Nein doch!', kicked him in the shins, and retreated to my hotel room as quickly as Tartly possible. The incident had me a little freaked out; when people look at me, do they smell, 'Whore' or was this just some freak occurrence? He was German after all and they are so... German. What will happen if I walk into a church? Will I be set a blaze; will I combust into a shower of flaming fabulouslessness; will I go up in a flame of glory... wait, that only happens to vampires. Okay, so what if a nun passes me; will she attack me with her cane, or if a rector strolls by, will he drop to his knees and start blowing? These are serious things to consider... perhaps I should swing by St. Patricks and put this to the test...

-The Tart

I just turned __ years olde...

Whimsical Musings of a whore: An unfiltered walk through the Whore's memories; both recent and long past.

I've just turned 10; that's where this all begins. On my knees begging for penance from a priest who's eyes hold no mercy. I blink and I'm running away from a home filled with discord, devoid of comfort, wherein only strife and vile machinations reigns; with a sigh a year has passed and I'm on the streets of NYC learning to work a never fading profession; I turn a corner and I'm living the high life funded on the back of my back as I ride my way to... I don't know where; and now I stand here looking intently into a mirror that can only reflect my ever constant false honeyed smile. Always ready and always waiting prepared to turn the world on it's heard towards my favour only now for once that smile reflects the true intent of my heart I think after all this time I've fallen in love... but I know in the blink of an eye another 2 months will have already passed and I'll have fallen out of love just as I've finally tripped into it yet again. It's all over before I can even think to hold on. The world moves even as I stand still; I feel it running by even now. Oh look it's 6:00 pm already... time to go to work.

-The Tart

Photoshoots are Not Fun; AKA: Showing off My Ass

If you're going to find clients you gotta show em what you're working with and that is why Jesus created the Digital Camera (and thank Moses he did too.) In the olden days when I was like 10 I used to have to buy a disposable camera, take pics, and hope that the people developing them didn't notice or if they did, hope they didn't raise a stink. Now that I've got my handy dandy digi I can take all the pics I want in the privacy of my own bathroom... It's convenient but it's really not that fun. First you have to think of something that says, 'sexy and slutty' but not 'reeking of effort', then you have to place the camera and set it on an automatic timer then run and hope you hit your pose before the flash goes off.

Adding further chaos to the mix, sometimes if it's a cock shot you flaccid which sucks cause there's no fluffer and of course someone saw fit to curse me with a dick that doesn't respond to Mastrubation (Curse you Buddha!!) ... you get the picture; it's not fun. For some odd reason, the second I pull out a camera I instantly go limp so I have to keep trying to think sexy thoughts (which doesn't really work either) and pray that I can keep it up until the flash goes off. Not that I have impotency issues; NOT at all, I just don't turn my self on the way other people seem to turn themselves on.

Whatever, I got the damn pictures taken and now I'm ready to conquer the world again... with my ass!

-The Tart

Massaging Feet

No; not with my tongue! I don't get into that fetish shit.

One of my steadies has the worst feet on the planet and wouldn't you know it he loves the way I do his feet. I may be a Whore but I'm also a gifted masseur; imagine that. This guy is famous so I'll give him a 'codename' in case anyone reads this. Lets call him... Flint Westrock. Perfect; so 'Flint' really wants me to do foot massage full time, maybe even open my own massage parlor. He keeps telling me if I ever decide to go 'straight', he'll invest in me. Hell, the way I see it he already invests in me (and my Prada habit).

It is a tempting idea sometimes... going straight. I just don't like the idea of being surrounded by feet all day long. Dicks are one thing, but at least you can suck on those. Feet are smelly and calloused and.... no thank you. Maybe if I get tired of sex... Haha, yeah right; right? I wonder... what would Mary Magdalene have done if Jesus had offered her a Massage Parlor after she sucked off his feet... hmmm.

-The Tart

Sometimes the Sex Just Doesn't Happen

There's nothing worse than a whiny guy who talks the talk and then blames you when he stumbles. It's not my fault we didn't get to do anything. I figure a few more sessions with him and I'll finally be able to get that new lap top. Easy money; that's the best... though- a part of me wishes he could get it up; he is super cute and I am horny and... I guess that's the price of having a horse hung dick. It's too big to get enough blood pumping into it to make it fully solid. Ugh! Thank God he didn't try to fuck me with that thing! There is nothing worse than a flaccid penis. I repeat, there is nothing worse than a flaccid penis... except for being fucked by a flaccid penis. Don't believe me? Try it sometime and then we'll see how traumatized you are. I wonder... what will happen if I spike his drink with a Cialis... maybe he'll be able to get it up... he did mention a heart condition though and I think Cialis causes heart attacks... or am I making that up? Whatever, it's not my problem. The next time I see him, I'll just lay back and see what happens. If he can't get it up, I drug him and leave; if he can... well I'll just have to see what type of fuck he throws. Some guys with big dicks only know how to 'Pump, pump, dump.' Yawn; not having it. If he can keep me entertained... that would be awesome. Otherwise I'll just blow him and go. Okay, I've got a 4 o'clock and it's in the Bronx (gotta stop doing these damn traveling calls.) Catch ya later.