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.

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.