Checking on the Bubble

Don't you take pictures of your junk as the tub is filling up?





I was on my way to another job when I decided that maybe,
just maybe I should make sure the booty was still looking tight.







You see, I recently had a dream that my @ss had suddenly gone flat... As if someone had deflated it... let the air out if you will. I know it's not exactly possible... but still- dreams of having a flat @ss are frightening.




Here are the impromptu, in water results... Never fear! I think we can safely say that things are still quite tight. ;) And even better, clean! Delicious plump juicy booty. Take a bite out of that bubble.

Servicing Barack Obama

No I haven't actually had sex with the big man in the White House... yet. Nor do I exactly expect to... Michelle Obama may look dainty and demure, but she also looks like a 'sista' and unlike those other politicians' b!tches, if word leaked that Barack was hitting it on the DL, on the up high, or anywhere else that wasn't in her punani and I bet she'd have his balls (and mine) on a kebob so fast it'd make your head spin. So this is all 'fantasy'. This is a picture of Barak Obama's penis (or as I imagine it to look). As you can tell, his white mama decided to leave him intact... yes that's right. Beautiful and uncut. Michelle says he has B.O. in the morning, so I'm going to guess he doesn't 'manscape' down there, but I don't mind. When you're riding the President's cock in Lincoln's bedroom, you're not exactly concerned about how much he's sweat in those tight undies he's wearing... no you don't. I'm going to take a wild guess and say he's swinging around an 8 and a half or a 9, maybe even a 10. Michelle's a tall lady and she always looks so smug and satisfied when ever any white women (or boys) come along. It's like she's saying, 'that's right b!tch, that's all mine. All 10 inches of that raw uncut dick digging up in me, and you ain't gonna get any. You either Newt Gingrich, so back off fatty McFatt Fatt.'
Barack is always tired after a hard day of working, so he likes it when I crawl into the Oval Office between meetings and take him under that desk... sometimes Hilary comes in and he just sits there smiling... she doesn't know what's going on, why he doesn't say anything, why just drools and rolls his eyes at her. If, she didn't know better she'd say she was turning him on... Sorry Hil, it's not you. It's my magik mouth working it's mojo on that fat cock. As soon as she's done blabbering about whatever, he grabs me by my wrists, pulls me up onto the desk and fucks me right then and there. He's tall, so loves to do those long strokes... nice and deep, but I'm not passive bottom so when I feel him about to cum, I knock him back into his seat and ride him into the sunrise of.... mmm. We sit there after he finishes as his juices drain out of me until his cock slips out or grows hard again. Depending on what's next on the agenda, I either make him take me doggy style facing the windows, or I squeeze him, and work that fat cock over with my hole until he's gushing again. No matter what though, even if it's Sarkozy outside waiting, he insists upon taking my freshly seeded ass and tasting the beautiful work he's put into me before I go... Mmmm. Of course this is all fantasy. Like I said, I have not yet serviced Barack Obama (so back the fuck off Michelle!) But a boy can dream.... and cream... can't he?

A kind Man...

I love those men. They shower me with kisses. They understand the meaning of sex and joy. None of this fetish bullsh!t. Just pure good ole fashioned f^cking. What a relief to be free of the guy who can only get off while wearing his mother's bustier. How novel an idea it is; having sex without pain or tears. Imagine being in someone's arms while smiling, truly smiling if only for a moment. It may be for pay, but does that mean it can't be mutually enjoyed? I wish everyone were as kind. Even if it got a bit dull and vanilla... I'd love to have a kind man for a boyfr- . It's funny; finding a great guy in this capacity. He wants you because he can do all the things he can't do with his wife, partner, mistress, or girlfriend. He appreciates you more than he can ever appreciate any other them because you understand each other. What it means to take, what it means to give, what it means to have joy with out judgement. What it is to smile in the moment, and afterwards, even as you're washing the smell of that moment from your flesh, you still retain that smile. A kind man's smile. I'll carry him with me for a moment longer before I return to... Hi; yeah. I can do that. Nothing to rough though. I'm not a pussy- you'll see. Show me what you had in mind and... Smile.

We re-connected on Wednesday

It was great. I was walking through the tunnel towards the 7 train (had a client in Sunnyside Queens) when I spotted him walking in the other direction. It was one of those double take moments when you see something you like, turn back, smile and stop. We didn't say anything, we just walked right towards each other and with a nod walked towards the exit. 10 minutes later we were going at it, playing the doctor who lost his thermometer up his patient's bum (a favourite past time ;)) Before you knew it I was blowing my load and he was quick to follow. I don't like being f^cked too much after I cum- I get sore, you know? And he remembered. I collapsed on him and we lay there stewing in our juices and silences. He pulled me up towards him and kissed my forehead and said, we should do that again, only next time- lets use a condom. I mean, I don't normally do this sort of thing but- you got wrap it up- you don't have anything do you? I looked at him and smiled for a second. He had no idea. He didn't remember me at all. To him I was just some pick up f^ck; even better he was feeding me a line. The last time we f^cked we went at it 'unwrapped too'; I guess he forgot that too. For a second I was going to say as much but- I suddenly felt dirty and wanted to be out of there, so I told him what he needed to hear, grabbed my stuff and left. I wonder why people have sex and lie about it. Not so much lie about it to their partners, but lie about it to themselves. I wonder if it helps them sleep at night. The next time I see someone like that... I think I'll just keep walking. I wonder if I'm lying to myself- crap! My client!

So a reporter contacted me

Asking if he could do an interview into this life style? The conditions; total anonymity for both of us, (no actual names or images would be used), we would meet over dinner and discuss what goes on in these situations, and most importantly this would be unpaid. So basically this mother f^ker is a creative bastard trying to get his fucking rocks off on my God D@mned dime. Well, I agreed to meet with him because I'm a dick. I played my part perfectly; I was charming, witty, enjoyable- basically everything he wanted me to be but as dinner drew to a close I had a little ace up my sleeve. I had hired a hooker myself to come and bust up our dinner- basically some queen to throw a hissy fit over his cheating man and after everything he's been through- it's one thing when it's your WIFE but scoring on some other trick behind his back- I don't think so punk @ss b!tch cum guzzling punami munching hooptey... I don't know what any of it meant but the guy was mortified and in the ensuing drama I very gracefully extracted myself from a sticky situation... I wonder if I remembered to pay my whore... Minor detail; I'm sure my reporter won't mind covering me IF I didn't. ;)

What do you do when you find yourself on X-tube?

I know who did it. I even had a feeling that he was taping it which why I insisted upon wearing a mask the entire time- but I didn't give him permission and I certainly didn't think he would actually post it! Is that even legal? I mean technically I could bust him because I'm only 17 but- oh fuck; 17's the age of consent in NY state... but is it for commerce and porn? Where's Traci Lords when you need her? Ugh... I should sue him... No, I should... fuck. I hate this. It's a total invasion of my rights and- I didn't agree to it and you can totally tell that it's me! I'd go to the cops but... fuck. Fucking bastard fucking taping his fucking me. Though this doesn't have to be a bad thing... I could use it. Send it to people who want to know how I am in bed. Let them know what they have to look forward to. Genius. Why didn't I think of this before? Still... I'll get him- I'll send a hooker to his house- no! A cracked out hooker and tell him I've got toys and goodies for him to play with. Never mess with a Tart's image. Whether you're nailing close up, or giving it to him from behind, you should always ask before recording a fuck. It's only polite.

His name was Don

Like Don Juan and he made Love to me better than I thought you could make and after we were done he held me in his arms and laughed in my face. 'Look at you. So sweet; so delicious; so innocent except you're not. Get out of here kid. I've got shit to do.' I'm not used to being the one kicked out of bed but what am I supposed to do? Cry? Beg? Ask for more? It's a job and I roll with the punches even when I want to punch back. So I jump from beneath the covers, grab my envelope which he has so insultingly left waiting for me on the banister, grab my clothes and head towards the door. 'Aren't you going to- ' Before he can say another word, I fling open the door and yell into the hallway of the hotel, 'Thanks Papi; and so generous too would you mind- uhh! Cleaning that up? Ciao.' And off I go skipping down the hallway leaving my trickling shower of gold on the floor for the bastard Don Juan to clean up. I really should grow up but... c'mon, he was baiting me. What was I supposed to do? Swallow his shit with a smile? I'm not into scat.

Smart, Juicy, Fit and...

Old enough to be my father which I don't mind except now he wants to be more 'boyfriend'. Boyfriend; what the fuck does that even mean? I have to stop fucking other guys? I have to be in bad at a certain hour? Why not cut the bullshit and call it slavery. I mean what's the point? I still have to pay my bills; I still have to responsibility for myself. Or what; is he going to give me a little allowance now too, and call it even. I don't get these guys. Either way you look at it, it's still the same thing. I could even cheat on him and keep it up. That's what this is really about pride... and arrogance, and hubris too, or something. He wants me to crawl to him and say, 'Yes, Daddy the dick is that good. So good, I'll give everything else up and stay with you in your arms and cry and scream harder Daddy, give it to me Daddy, just make me your boi-pussy Daddy, that's all I want.' Insolent. To think that any one man could satisfy me- could be my everything- could Love me in a world where you buy Love... and at a discount too. Sorry Daddy; you're fucking with the wrong... sex worker. I'll miss you, and the money, and the kindness but... it's this much nicer of me. You won't have to worry about the heartbreak that's surely to come or drama you're inviting into your bed and... I wish I could be what you think I am but I'm... Goodbye.

The Tart Date

Ugh! Huh- huh- eow! Agh! Agh! Don’t stop pumping! Yes! Yes! Agggh!
Here, turn over. Ugh, Ugh, Fuck! I’m Coming! Ugh! Do you mind if I wash up?
Not at all. (He exits for the bathroom.) That was great.
(From the bathroom.) Yeah. I needed that.
Me too. Things have been so stressed with work lately; you know?
Yeah. (He comes back in and begins dressing.)
I’ve been working on these new designs for this dress but nothing comes-
That what you do?
Yeah; design; fashion. Nothing major but-
Cool.
What about you?
I freelance. Videography; photography; stuff.
Sounds fun.
I like it. I like getting off more though.
Yeah.
You’ve got great lips.
You too.
Very full.
Very passionate.
Ha-ha. Thanks.
No really.
Well it is sex. I mean why bother if you’re just going to lay there
True.
Can I get your opinion on something?
Sure.
(The Tart pulls out a dress.) What do you think?
Well I don’t wear dresses.
C’mon.
It looks nice. I’d let my girlfriend wear-
You have a- ?
If I had one.
Ha-ha. Right. Sorry about that. Forcing my designs down your throat.
It’s cool.
I mean, that’s why we pay focus groups and-
You wanted to show me something you were proud of it’s fine.
Thanks.
So, I gotta get going.
Oh? Uh- you didn’t want anything to drink, or to shower-
I’ll do that when I get home. Thanks. Where’s my jacket?
Oh, I hung it up. (The Tart goes to retrieve his jacket)
Great manners.
(The Tart returns with his jacket.) My parents raised me well.
(He smiles as he takes his jacket.) So thanks.
That was my first time- my first time since I broke up with my-
Oh.
Yeah.
I hope it was good.
Am I- will I see you again?
If you want to, you know where to find me. G’night. (He exits.)
Wow. That was… I might as well be a whore.

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.