First time in a Brothel

So I broke one of my rules. I have a list of '10 Commandments' that I adhere to strictly when I work. They're sort of a common sense don't do that because doing that would be f$cking stupid code by which I govern my behaviour and prolong my well being. One of those rules is, don't work with Brothels or Pimps. Ever. It's a bad idea no matter how you look at at it. In the first place you don't want to be on file in some one's list of customers or clients in case they ever get raided by the IRS and coming looking for you. Also, one of the perks of this job is you get to work for yourself so why would you compromise that by working for someone else? And finally, working at a Brothel generally means two things; you can't find work on your own and you really are an uber whore. So neither of those two things are true for me it's just that... well someone offered me a lot of money to be in this 3-some but the other 3-some participant is this Chinese chick (re: sex slave) who only works through her Madame at her Brothel and so I find myself in this decadent penthouse on the upper east side between Park and Madison. This is also my first time having a 3-some. I don't like 3-somes. I never do them but... well, 10 G's is 10 G's... listen to me, I sound like a rapper or something. I don't mind that she's a chick- I bang chicks all the time, but 3-somes make me feel like I have to compete and we all know I HATE competing. Things went well until it was time to go; the girl got really emotional and wanted us to stay longer because we (I think she meant just me actually) were the only good looking mean with whom she ever got to interact and with us going, it meant she might have to work again that night. Sigh; I hate Brothels. I hate sex slaves and I hate being involved. So I left. And called the police and reported a disturbance, but not before I bought a bag of cocaine and smeared it all over the entrance to the brothel... I hope that girl gets the help she needs. I hope things turn out okay, but mostly I hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass.

My War against Rent Boy dot com

So there is this website where young nubile (or old and haggard) hookers can post there ads and pictures to secure clientele. It's EVIL!!! EVIL I TELL YOU! EVIL! Why am I morally opposed to this site you wonder? It's competition! And I hate hate HATE competition. Someone had the audacity to write me last night and then not go with me at the last minute because he found someone who was willing to do the same things for cheaper on Rent Boy! Nothing pisses me off more than a cheap potential customer than a cheap trick. So johns are price comparing now?! Is this really what we've come to as a a society; trying to get off as cheaply as possible? When will people learn that it's not the money, its' the quality! I blame Rent Boy for this shift in common sense and Rent Boy... I won't forgive you! It's on like Donkey Kong! How will I secure my revenge you wonder? Well, I've offered to 'sponsor' a young poor whore I know on the site out of the kindness of my heart and because I know he's got a few STD's floating around in his system and because he also happens to be a Christian Scientists, well he thinks praying to Jesus is all he needs to do. Keep sucking on that Jesus juice I tell him. I've even offered to help him get a few customers... prominent officials I know within NYC's judicial and legislative system who can't help taking a bite out of a young blond twink's @ss (Don't ask me why. I hate hate blonds.) The thing is, once said officials' wives realize they've been given something more than a little kiss there will be hell to pay and I do believe the heat will be on for Rent Boy and all of it's operating business partners (at least within NYC). Sure I have to make a sacrifice of my little friend but... well, I believe in ascending to the top by stepping on the spines of as many people possible. Can you blame me? There's a recession going on and I can't have people cutting into my profits!

How to be a Whore during a Recession

Times are hard- heh. Especially for people in my line of work. With more and more people out of work and with fewer people possessing disposable income I am faced with the two greatest risks in my profession. No; not Herpes or Cops, though those are rather annoying the risks of which I speak are Poor Cheap Bastards and Competition (the Bane of my Existence)! I saw a guy posting on Craigslist last night who used to be one of my customers. F$cking ungrateful bastard, trying to cut in on my money! And the idiot posted his actual face pictures. You never show your face, even when you're sending pictures of yourself, you make sure that it's a picture that could be you but that could also be your less good looking cousin. So how am I surviving during these difficult times? The name of this A game is subterfuge. First I flag as many postings as I can manage every half hour or so; most of them are multitple posts anyway. Then I call or write to people who have posted and set up fake dates with them. When your competition is cutting in on your territory, distraction is the best way to go. Another game of distraction I play is writing as a concerned 'reformed whore' who has contracted herpes, Gonnorhea, or worse... scabies from sleeping around. I warn of the dangers inherent in this profession and plead with people to back out and find 'honest work' before they come down with something like I did. This also has the terrible side effect of scaring off some potential customers but... well, you have to sacrifice a few to get a few, and if they're that easily scared away then they don't really want it, do they? I also make use of my handy dandy digital camera to post pictures of my @ss or d%ck in different poses so I can post repeatedly as many different people. People don't like seeing the same advirtisement posted over and over again- it makes them think no one is buying and for a good reason, or that the person is just your run of the mill pathetic tired old (ie 25) slut which no one wants. My final stroke of genius is recording myself masturbating with numerous toys and condiments and putting it on X-tube with a link to it in my displayed prominently within my ad. That really gets people hungry. Really, this and setting up fake appointments with other whores have been the greatest weapons in my campaign to stay on top and not go broke or lose out against the competition but dealing with cheap bastards? Well those guys, I report to the cops or tell them to meet me somewhere where I've also sent another whore. The results are always unhappily confusing and sometimes explosive. Even better it makes it so that the cheap bastards are no longer looking on line. Thin out the competition and liquidate the low quality customers means that the cream of the crop are left for the cream of the crop and that is how how I am surviving the recession. It's a bit Machevellian and I think I might be going to hell but... at least I'm on the top.

What does he want from me?

I wonder what movie we'll watch this time. Every time he calls me, it's to watch a movie or to have a glass of wine, not that I mind. It's nice having a night off from f%cking. Still... I wonder how long he's going to keep this up- this whole, 'I really enjoy your company' thing. I can't imagine that he's paying me to sit around and watch movies with him all night long or to talk about how wonderful the tannins are but when ever I try to get things started he excuses himself or pulls away. It's almost like he's not attracted to me which couldn't be true because- well I'm hot, or at least most people think so and who pays a hot guy to just sit around being hot? Last night I came over and I took off all of my clothes and just smiled the entire time and once again... nothing. We watched, 'It Happened One Night', which I took to be a clever hint but... I love that movie. Claudette Colbert is a genius. I love tha scene where she shows a bit of leg and- Still. I swear to God I can't believe I'm actually complaining that someone isn't trying to f%ck me for once. I wonder if he's a serial killer. Oh God I can just see the headlines now- but there probably won't be any headlines, this son of a bitch is that good. This isn't even a door man building and I didn't see any cameras in the lobby so no one knows I'm here and- I should leave... but I want the money. What am I talking about he isn't a serial killer, he's too nice.... it's the nice ones you have to to watch out for! Oh God he has a knife! Help me Mary, Jesus, John Smith, Buddah-oh it's for the cheese... well now I feel stupid. He's asking if I liked the movie... This is so stressful; I wish he would decide what he wants from me and just come clean with it. He's giving me a hug and apparently this is the last time he'll see me- but I don't want him to go! This is the best gig ever and what did I do wrong?! Oh, he has to go back to his wife in Germany and- I don't understand some people. He's had me over this entire time for no sex, just my beautiful sparkling company. Hell, it's not like we ever even really talked about anything but tannins and that's all he- sigh. Whatever. Stupid Germans. I thought Germans were supposed to be perverted freaks. At least he could've asked to tape me taking a sh#t or something. I must be losing my touch. Can't complain too much though... money is money is money is money and I don't have to bother smelling like him... I wonder how he smells. I wonder if I'll ever see him again. I hope he'll call me the next time he's in town... Humphf.

Got My Number

I was walking down the street by the Lincoln Center when this man stopped me and asked if I would like to go to dinner. I'd just finished working with a beautiful infertile middle aged man who could only get off when he was being beaten and spat upon- but that's another story- anyway, I'd just finished working so I thought, 'a free meal, why not?' We dined at Fiorello's and then he took me to the movies, Broke Back Mountain of all things, just in case I didn't get the hint, and then he very surprisingly asked for my number. No sex offers, no objectifying, just, 'May I call you sometime?' I told him he could have my email address and if he was really interested, well then he would write and make it happen. Of course he never wrote again and I begin to wonder as I walk to my next appointment if I shouldn't have just given him my number outright but- Ah, enough of that; worrying about 'dates' isn't a sensible occupation for one such as me. I should have told him to 'disappear and never show your face before me again' but one does get up hope every once in a while for... Anyway, I'm at my next appointment... oh, look at who just answered the door. It seems he he had my number after all.

The Wonder Year Return

I love the women and men who want to care of me. They see my pretty little face, my charming little smile, and hear the big 50 cent words coming out of this young buck's mouth and they think, 'I want to save this precious child; rescue him from the horrible path he's taken.' What they mean is save me for themselves so no one else will drink of my nectar. Salvation is funny that way; it's selfish and it doesn't want to share, so it smothers with money, and awful tender kisses, and 'love' until you're too weak or confused or stupid to runway. They hold me tight, wrap me with kisses, and take me into their homes and I let them keep me for a little while- well as long as they can- for as long as I can bear their touch and then I run away, back to my lonely bed reaking of their smell- the smell that never comes out. It's a terrible thing, being loved by someone you can't love, someone who mistakes lust for love. You can never wash away the stench. No matter how hard you scrub it is always with you. The only think one can do is replace that smell with another. So you go out and smile and look deep into another man or woman's winking eye and you let them into you for a little while or until you can forget what it is to reek of that person sweat, and then you run away back to your bed again reeking of the stench that comes with a thousand sweaty kisses. I wonder how I smell now.

Cumming is money

I hate fun. Well, not really, I hate customers who want to see my enjoy myself. I hate it when they want me to get off too. I try to get around with the line, 'There's more in it for me than a simple orgasm', but then that gets some of them thinking that I'm calling them shallow- or worse some of them just don't care and need me to get off so they can get off. 'But I get off on getting you off.' B$tch, then get a f#cking boyfriend. I ain't here for that Sh$t. God; whatever happened to 'wham bam thank man that was big'!? I blame Obama and his bullsh*t, 'Yes we can' politics. What the H#ll does that even mean? Yes we can... reform the whore, turn the whore into a friend, conquer the whore, make the whore love me? I don't know but I think it's a stupid game and I don't want to play anymore but... sigh... I should just carry a tazer and shock the hell out them once I've finished f#cking the hell out them, take my money (plus an extra 10 percent for tithing purposes of courses) and be on my merry little gay way. The thing that no one seems to get, that I can't actually say to anyone is, I usually have a whole line of customers lined up (remember, I just got back from traveling, and though you wouldn't expect it, Africa is quite expensive) and the fewer times I blow a load, the easier the night is for me. I should start making them pay extra for my cum... yeah- I'll be f$cking them and then I'll stop and say, 'I can get you off, but if you want me to cum too... well that's an extra 300 cuz cum is precious in my religion and I like to save it for when I'm confessing or saying my prayers at night.' I wonder if they'll buy that.

You only have so much of it

A loss of innocence is no small thing. It's not a terrible thing either but once it's gone... it's gone forever. I have this feeling that I lose a little bit more of myself every time I have sex- well, sell myself for sex. It's not such a terrible thing but once it's gone... like I said, there's no getting it back. And so I wonder, how long can I do this thing? How long can I be a- ? Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I wonder is this really my life? I have a beautiful apartment in Gramercy Park, a brilliant college education, and more talent than I know what to do with and how do I spend my days and nights? Searching for men and women who want to buy sex. What would my parents think? F*ck them anyway. I don't know if that's such a terrible thing... It's a job, and a well paying occupation. If only for a moment I bring a bit of joy to lonely men and women who wouldn't know what to do without me and still I wonder... is the money I make worth the loss of- ? Ha-ha, what am I going on about? I hate it when I get like this. Time to jump in the shower, rinse off, oil the body up, and take a pill of Viagra. It's not just for old people you know. Sometimes I'm so disgusted with myself and what I'm doing that I don't think I could get a hard on even if I were offered a million dollars. But that's what they're paying me for; to get hard. So I take the pill and I sell them a little bit of my innocence. It's not such a bad trade. Like I said, I have a nice apartment and... and I get to attend all the social events of the city, I even donate money to charity and- and I wonder... will they still want me, that is- will they be able to tell when I'm all out? Will they still want me once I've run out of innocence? Ahem; I have to go to work now.

It's been a while...

I've been a way having adventures around the globe- continuing to 'Whore it up' of course but now I'm back and... I wish I could say refreshed, and freshly renewed to continue my adventures anew but truthfully I'm a bit pooped. I think I need a vacation from my vacation and... why did I return to the city in the middle of the freaking winter? Do you know that it's summer in Australia right now? I just flew in from Sydney and allow me to say that contrary to popular belief, 'The Mile High Club' is really not all it's chocked up to be. For one thing, the freaking bathrooms are two small, and you keep getting interrupted every 10 minutes by losers trying to take a piss- well piss of f$ckers, I'm busy, you know? And then, no one actually plans to be a member of the The Club. It just sort of happens spur of the moment like and since you're not allowed to carry liquids or gels on board, (apparently Lube is a weapon of Mass Destruction) and since they don't sell (or condoms) on the air plane (I asked and got a suspicious look from the flight attendant) we were forced to improvise with hand soap and a mini plastic bag... long story short I got impatient and ended up turning him over and f^cking him before I pulled out and shot all over his hair. He needed product to fix his hair anyway. So now I'm back and... well if I'm not ready to go, I better get ready 'cause, traveling's expensive even when you're Whoring your across the globe. Anyone know anyone who's buying? The economy has me worried and... well, nuff said. On with the show, yo.