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A New York Escorts Confessions
Selling Out Redux
I’ve decided to interview with the agency after all.
A Wall St trader once told me, “Baby, trading’s all about balancing greed vs. fear. Guys who get too greedy blow up when the market tanks, and losers who can’t make a bet eat my dust when the market takes off. Me? I’m the fucking king.”
In my case, it’s all about greed vs. independence, and greed’s winning — at least until I learn more.
I’m going to call Kathryn to set up an interview for sometime next week. Working for the Man might not be so bad if I get paid enough and can maintain my own clients on the side.
Talking about working for the Man, have you been watching The Apprentice? I totally love that show and would gladly service serve work with The Donald! OK, so his hair needs some major lovin’ from a good gay hairdresser. But where else can you watch a bunch of real sexy AND smart women having knock-down catfights on a weekly basis?
I just loved how the guys whored John’s hot bod in front of a bunch of gay customers just for the sake of getting higher ratings for their restaurant. The team told John to bend down in front of the customers so that he could show off his cute ass. They couldn’t get enough of that tasty little morsel!
Jimmy Swaggart, eat your heart out.
|Here’s another great example of evangelical Christians spreading god’s love around the world.
Evangelist Jimmy Swaggart apologized Wednesday for saying in a televised worship service that he would kill any gay man who looked at him romantically. In the broadcast, Swaggart was discussing his opposition to gay marriage when he said “I’ve never seen a man in my life I wanted to marry. And I’m going to be blunt and plain: If one ever looks at me like that, I’m going to kill him and tell God he died,” Swaggart said to laughter and applause from the congregation.
Um, hate to break it to you Jimmy, but no gay guy will ever look at you like that. What’s up with ugly heterosexual guys who are paranoid that some gay guy will pinch their ass? Most of my gay friends wouldn’t be caught dead consorting with someone who doesn’t have chiseled pecs and the skin-tight ribbed T’s to show them off.
On Wednesday, Swaggart said he has jokingly used the expression “killing someone and telling God he died” thousands of times, about all sorts of people. He said the expression is figurative and not meant to harm.
“It’s a humorous statement that doesn’t mean anything. You can’t lie to God — it’s ridiculous,” Swaggart told The Associated Press. “If it’s an insult, I certainly didn’t think it was, but if they are offended, then I certainly offer an apology.”
Someone should hit him upside the head with the bible — I think that one of those pesky ten commandments is “Thou shalt not kill.”
Humorous, my ass. I’m constantly amazed at how people can just state bald-faced lies in the face of undeniable facts. Sort of like Omarossa.
Who are those thousands of other people anyways? Probably blacks, jews, asians (er orientals) and injuns. It’s attitudes like this that spawned all kinds of killing sprees in the past like the Inquisition, Crusades and the Holocaust.
I’m no longer religious, but I’m all for religion for those who truly believe as long as it’s about love, peace, redemption and acceptance. Jimmy is no better, though, than those fundamentalist Islamists beheading Americans in Iraq today. He really disgusts me.
And here’s the ulimate irony and hypocrisy…
Swaggart was a popular television evangelist during the 1980s until a 1987 sex scandal involving a prostitute that he met in a seedy New Orleans motel. Swaggart never confessed to anything more than an unspecified sin. A few years later, he was stopped by police while driving in California with a suspected prostitute in his car.
Maybe Jimmy was just trying to emulate Jesus, who associated with prostitutes in his day. Of course, I don’t think that Jesus ever communed with or condemned them in the way that Jimmy did. Not that there’s anything wrong with that… Unless you preach against it and spread hatred and intolerance.
You know, this whole story would be comical except for the fact that this money-seeking, power-hungry, megalomaniacal sex addict still has a healthy following.
Mile High Club
Returning to New York tonight, my client and I again sat in different sections to be as discreet as possible. Ordinarily, I might have minded, but this time I didn’t because I spent most of the time spying on another naughty couple in the center of the plane.
Although most people would’ve only seen a couple with a single blanket drawn across both of their laps, they couldn’t fool me. I’m a platinum member of the mile high club! Those little undulations of the blanket gave them away.
Clearly, the couple wanted to make a visit to the little boy’s and girl’s room to “freshen up.” The only problem was the stewardesses kibbitzing in the galley and acting as sentinels for the bathroom.
Wanting to be a good Samaritan, I hail the stewardesses and create an opening. The couple notices. Good. First, the woman gets up and goes to the bathroom. A couple moments later, the man follows. A while later, both file back to their seats — the man mischieviously grins, the woman giggles and I wink.
Watching this couple, my thoughts wander back to the night that I joined the Mile High Club.
Three rules to remember:
1. Wear a skirt and no underwear
2. Watch your position: one foot on the toilet cover, one stepped up on the sink, with your man taking you from behind
3. Leave the high heels behind (unless you want to hurt your back)
Have any of you gotten kinky in the air?
Jeanne & Me
Ever been in a threesome where the extra wheel takes the whole fun out of the evening? The howling winds of hurricane Jeanne decided to join my client and me for our otherwise romantic jaunt in Miami. Just my luck to travel in lock-step with the hurricane itself!
We arrived in Miami on Friday morning, a day before Jeanne. From the airport, we went straight to South Beach.
I love Miami, a town full of sun, sensuality and sin. Some of my girlfriends work in the clubs that line Collins. Whenever I fly into town, we all shop and party throughout the night. There’s something about the intoxicating combination of Latin rythms and beautiful people with glistening bodies that makes you throw all of your inhibitions out with the warm ocean breeze.
With Jeanne’s approach, though, South Beach felt more like a ghost town than Madonna’s playground. A few people dotted the beaches. Collins and Lincoln Road were virtually empty — only a small band of determined revelers remained.
Without the ever present crowds, even the ordinarily posh hotels and clubs appeared run down and a bit cheesy. The art deco signs and pastel colors all looked as if they were straight out of the 80’s. I half expected Crockett and Tubbs to rocket down the street at any time.
It was surreal.
The only real activity on the beach revolved around some volleyball tournament. Of course, my client and I had to stop and watch the action for a while, especially since I just have this thing for hot volleyball girls! Even the volleyball players lacked energy, though, without the usual crowds egging them on.
As my client and I watched TV at the hotel on Friday night, I learned for the first time about Jeanne. I remember hearing something about Jeanne before leaving New York but didn’t pay any attention then. How stupid was that?
After learning that everyone would likely be evacuated on Saturday at 5AM, we moved late Friday night to another hotel about an hour southwest.
We may not have had sun, beach, or clubs, but I made sure that my client had a pleasurable time. So much so that he extended our stay by one day…
Off to Miami
I’m packing for a weekend trip with a client to Miami. My client’s wife suddenly left town for family reasons. So naturally, he calls and orders me to pack my bags and to get ready for a quick weekend trip to Miami, right?
I’ll be back on Monday and will give a full report then!
Oh, one last thing. He’s flying business and I’m flying coach. Wonder if that means anything…
“Are you Alexa?”
A woman’s voice. Does she want to arrange a threesome with her boyfriend?
“Yes, who is this?”
“Hi, my name is Kathryn and I work at the E agency. One of your clients told us a lot of good things about you and we want you to come in for an interview. When can I schedule the interview?”
“Actually, I don’t work with agencies. Sorry.”
“We can make it worth your while…”
So that’s how my first conversation with the agency began.
According to Kathryn, the agency can provide me access to very rich businessmen and potentially some celebrities — men who would pay more than my current clients. When I asked more detailed questions like how much the clients would pay or how much the agency would get, she just laughed and brushed them aside. They would answer those questions and more if I first met their “exacting” standards.
I told her that I’d think about it and hung up. Right now, I’m not really sure what to do.
On the one hand, working for an agency would be like selling out. Working for the Man (or Woman) sucks.
I started working as an escort to be independent. Even now, with my current clients, I make three or four times what I made in my previous life while working a lot less. Most importantly, I control my life. I set my hours and schedule my own appointments. If I don’t feel like working for a day, I don’t. I’m afraid that working for an agency would limit my independence. Also, why should someone else get some percent of what I make for doing no work?
On the other hand, working for E could work out well — if what Kathryn says is true. Maybe I can make a lot more or get access to a different group of people. That would be good, I guess.
So what do you guys think I should do?
No matter what, I’m not going to call Kathryn back for a week or two — she’s gonna learn that I’m no little girl desperate for clients.
|Clearly, these girls are young and dumb. Or maybe their bushes are just too big… Go to CollegeHumor.com to see other fine (and more explicit) examples of kids putting mommy and daddy’s money to good use!|
Poops!… I Did It Again!
Oh my god, the most embarrassing experience of my life happened last week!
The whole affair started out well enough. My phone rings at four, while I’m inspecting the newest baubles and clothes at Henri Bendel on 5th Ave with my girlfriend. Still in the pair of Paper Denim jeans that I was trying on, I answer. There’s no time to finish buttoning the shirt. The voice on the other end of the line has a slight European accent, and I’ve never heard it before.
He introduces himself as a friend of one of my clients and tells me that he’ll fly into the city a couple days later. He wants to schedule a 3-hour session that will include dinner. I happily agree — now my jeans and earrings are paid for — and take his cell phone number so that we can finalize the details later.
I arrive at the Soho Grand Hotel promptly at 6PM because I hate waiting for other people who are late and thus try my best to be on time when meeting clients. I find M sitting in the Grand Bar. Although we’d never met before, M provided me with a very good description — how many men still wear bowties? After sipping a cosmo and making small talk about his favorite places in New York, we walk to a small Italian restaurant in Soho and return to his elegantly appointed room.
M pleasantly surprises me upon our return with a chilled bottle of champagne and a single rose. That’s when my problems begin.
While drinking the champagne and cozying up on the couch, I feel a slow buildup of gas in my stomach. I try my best to suppress it.
Earlier in the day, my friends and I ate lunch at an Indian restaurant. We all love curry and chicken tikka masala, but I usually eat the milder versions. Today, my friends convince me to try them with more spices. Although quite challenging, the spices add a nice kick to the food. Now, those spices are coming back with a vengeance.
I feel the pressure continue to build, clench my butt and silently pray that it will just go away, but all of those hours working out my butt at the Equinox are useless as the pressure gets stronger. Thoughts of escape crowd out all other thoughts. I can’t focus on anything else and instead excuse myself to the bathroom to freshen up.
Over the toilet, I peel off my stockings, hike up my mini skirt, drop my thong and pull my cheeks apart to minimize any sound. Thankfully, my body silently releases the gases. Relief at last!
While I was busy, M had turned down the lights, lit several candles and started playing a quiet jazz CD. Normally, this atmosphere would put me right in the mood. I’m still tense from the little bathroom run though. M senses my tenseness and massages my neck and back to relieve the pressure.
Then it suddenly strikes again, but I have no time to run to the bathroom. A small fart escapes from my body with a low hiss. M doesn’t hear the hiss but grimaces when the cloud of noxious odors hits his nose. Mortified, I flee to the bathroom and return to the toilet.
This time, I’m not just releasing gas. Rather, I’m now suffering from a real case of the runs and it burns my ass on the way out because of those damn spices! In a vain attempt to conceal the toilet splashing, I perform a couple courtesy flushes.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, the lights are on, the candles are no longer burning and the room is silent. Red-faced and flustered, I let M know that we should probably continue some other time. He agrees and I retreat to my apartment in a taxi.
I hope that M didn’t use the bathroom for some time. The toilet may have been clean when I left, but the whole bathroom reeked!
Note to self: never ever eat Indian food before a date…
Big Beautiful Women
Here is an excerpt from an article by Matt Katz on big and beautiful women.
I watched a man putting on his shirt outside the bar, and my eyes were magnetically drawn to his belly.
I was here for a singles event sponsored by the Delaware Valley chapter of BBW and Admirers — that’s Big Beautiful Women and their admirers — and I was trying to find out who was part of the group and who was here just hanging out at the bar. And that’s why I was checking out bellies. I didn’t want to approach someone and say, “Hey, are you here for the BBW event?” It would be offensive to insinuate that someone is heavy and looking for other similarly heavy partners, right?
Actually, not really. I soon learned that the heavyset amongst us have absorbed our stares and snickers for so long that they now have the moxie to seek out other similarly sized folks at events specifically for them. These people do not get offended easily. And because of that, they turned out to be a lot more fun than the heroin chic-types I usually find myself drawn to.
At 5’6” and 110 lbs, I haven’t quite achieved the big and beautiful stage yet, but I have to largely agree with Matt. Big girls can be more fun — maybe not when it comes to picking up guys. But they’re definitely a lot more fun to be around because they have big hearts, have a sense of humor and are much less catty. I admire these girls for being comfortable with themselves.
One of my best friends is very overweight, but she is the funniest person I know. She really cracks me up with her wry little observations and uncanny impersonations whenever we get together. Often, guys hit on me when we’re at a bar and completely ignore her. We just pretend then to be lesbian lovers and start fake kissing — you should see the look on their faces! =) Most importantly, my friend is one of the few people who knows what I do and is not judgmental at all.
The men who go to BBW events are sometimes BHM, Big Handsome Men. Others are like Larry Geltzer, 37, who weighs in at an unimpressive 184 pounds. Larry’s got rules: “Below 225, forget about it! Below 225 is miniature! Below 175 is dainty!”
“Once you date a BBW, you never go back,” he added. “Once you hug a BBW, you never go back. Once you get that much lovin’, you never go back.” (He does have his limits, however. A 538-pound woman he dated, he said, “was a little bit too much”).
I hope not. Otherwise, girls like me will go out of business!
On the surface, I have nothing in common with these girls. After all, my only struggle with my body has been trying to get rid of a teensie bit of baby fat by working out like crazy — it’s a pretty resistant little bugger. While we may be on two ends of the spectrum, I also have real issues with the fact that most men simply won’t or can’t look past my body.
Some clients kill me with their cockiness — they automatically assume that I’m stupid because a girl can’t be both hot and smart, right? Most don’t think or talk at all. A select few actually treat me like a real person and those are the prized ones for whom I reserve the best levels of service…
When we were kids, my mom instilled in my brother and me the belief that we could do anything that we really wanted to do. She constantly exercised our brains by making us read all sorts of books and discuss current events at home. He became a lawyer and I became an escort. So Mom probably didn’t mean for me to become an escort. But c’est la vie.
Writing my blog has been an amazing experience. A month earlier, I didn’t even know what a blog was and no one cared about the real me. Today, I share my most intimate thoughts and experiences — you see me for who I am rather than what I look like. I can finally be me. Thank you.
An L.A. “Pick-Up” Story
Here’s a great L.A. booty story from my friend Maven about picking up a stripper in Trader Joe’s. This story’s a real classic, especially since it’s all true.
If you want to send me any other stories, please feel free to email me (alexanyc @ nospam gmail.com). I love reading great stories and would be more than happy to share them with others.
Maven first published the story on his friend’s blog LA Dating but told me it’d be OK for me to post the story on my blog as well. Check out LA Dating as well — the owner has some really great articles on knowing your league in online dating
As promised, my buddy who’s trying to start an LA Dating weblog has
posted one of my stories: An L.A. “Pick-Up” Story.
Please let me know what you think. Writing about booty is sort of a
new thing for me, I might need some practice (at the writing, not the booty). Plus, it was only after reading your site that I felt
compelled to write something up. Cheers to your influence!
Thanks for the kind words, Maven! :) Now, without further ado…
An L.A. “Pick-Up” Story
I picked up Tracy at the Trader Joe’s on La Brea. She was bending over, examining a carton of eggs when I first noticed her, dressed in a white wife-beater with her bra showing through it, holding up her beautiful breasts. I’d been out until 6:30 a.m. the night before, and perhaps she mistook my prolonged attempt to focus my hung-over eyes on her chest as some sort of sexy stare, because when she caught me looking she returned the gaze. I made a few awkward attempts at friendly conversation, at one point recommending some canned pink salmon, yet despite my bumbling she agreed to give me her number. I walked Tracy and her groceries to her car, a brand new white Mercedes S-Class. Score, I figured, the girl is loaded.
A few days later we talked on the phone. She asked what I did for a living, I told her, and then asked her the same. “I don’t like to tell people that when I first meet them,” she said – an odd answer.
“Why not,” I said, and trying to be playful, asked, “are you a stripper?”
A pause. “Well,” she replied, “I prefer to call my self a ‘dancer.’”
Oops. Turns out she worked in Vegas every weekend buy lived in Hollywood. After I managed to remove the foot out of my mouth and smooth out the awkwardness that ensued, she invited me to meet up with her and a friend at the bar at the Four Seasons on Doheny the following day. I told her I’d think about it.
The next day I called my buddy Clay at the last minute and told him we had to go meet up with a couple of strippers. He agreed, and we headed to the bar. I forgot I told Tracy I’d call her beforehand, and by the time we arrived at the Four Seasons, she and her friend were on their last drink. They apologized, but they’d already planned to grab some sushi. They assured us they’d call when they were done.
Clay gave up and went home, I went back to my house. An hour later, my phone rings. It’s Tracy. Her friend “got tired and went home.”
She wanted to hang out. She didn’t want to go to a bar. She wanted to come to my place.
Perhaps every guy wants to hook up with a stripper. Maybe it’s the taboo dirtiness that’s so attractive, maybe it’s the unattainability of the whole endeavor, I don’t really know. All I know is that I no longer was just in this for myself. Guys everywhere were counting on me to be a hero. So naturally, under all this pressure, I started off trying too hard. While Tracy was on her way to my apartment, I lit candles, put Sade in the stereo, and even straightened up a bit. Poor girl didn’t know what to do with me. After half an hour of trying to throw the mack down and her just sort of squirming away from me, I gave up, told her “fuck this,” replaced the Sade, and hopped out onto the patio for a smoke.
Somehow, this got her attention, and Tracy asked to join me. She asked me to help her down from the window ledge. I lifted her up by her hips, and when I lowered to the ground, her legs wrapped around me and she slid down like I was a pole. She kissed me lightly on my lower lip (cigarette dangling from my mouth) and made out with me. I lit her a smoke of her own, we chatted for a bit, and suddenly she claims, “That cigarette made me a little light headed — can I go lie down?”
“Sure,” I replied. I felt bad. That harsh American Spirit made her lightheaded, how could I not have anticipated that? Of course she can go lie down.
Already lying on my bed by the time I got to my bedroom, Tracy had changed out of her jeans into a pair of my workout shorts. She asked me to spoon. She wouldn’t kiss me, she kept my hand away from her breasts, which was sincerely frustrating. Then she asked me for a massage. It was the massage that allowed me to take off her shirt, unhook her bra, slip off the shorts of mine she was wearing.
I rubbed Tracy’s ass. She tensed up, but I didn’t care. She had an incredible ass! All I could think about was tearing off her thong and hitting it from behind. But she wouldn’t take off her thong. All the while though, no panties were coming off, and her hands were affixed to her breasts like the suction cups that CIA guys use to climb up glass buildings. I gave up, and lay down next to her, frustrated. I patted her lightly on the butt one last time and told her, “enough of that.”
A pause. “Spank me,” she whispered.
“Spank me.” She said it louder this time, a little more authoritatively. I smacked her on the ass. “Harder.” I smacked her harder. She exhaled and wriggled a little. I slapped her again. She moaned.
Then I went at it, spanking her like a little girl who just stole some candy. “I want to spank you,” she demanded. I had to think about this.
“OK.” Why the hell not?
So I lie down and this stripper I picked up at Trader Joe’s is slapping my ass. While I’m getting spanked, I took a moment to reflect on the situation, one in which I’m not sure I ever expected to find myself. Soon I got bored with being spanked and I flipped her back over and started spanking her again. Then her phone rang. It was 1:30 in the morning.
“Hello? No. Are you drunk? You want me to cover over where? Not a fucking chance.” Etcetera. Tracy hung up. “Fucking asshole.”
“Who was that?”
“This guy — some actor. Jared Letto or Lee-toe or something like that.”
“That was Jared Leto?”
“Yeah, do you know him?”
“How do you know Jared Leto?”
“I met him at a gas station.”
“Jared Leto picked you up at a gas station?”
“He didn’t pick me up. Besides, I didn’t even know who he was. He just sort of leaned out his window and started cracking jokes at me.”
It was just now sinking in: Jared Leto had just interrupted my little spankfest with a Vegas stripper, making a booty call. “I went over to his house.”
“You went over to Jared Leto’s house after you just met him at a gas station?”
“Yeah, that’s why he was just calling. He wanted me to come over again. We didn’t have sex or anything.”
“He kept trying to have sex with me, kind of like you. But I wasn’t into it.”
“So what the hell were you doing at his house?”
“I don’t know.”
“He must have been frustrated.”
“Yeah, he was.”
“No fucking shit.”
I rolled over, faced away from her. She started to touch my arm, she began to kiss me again. I tried to touch her breasts again, and she wiggled away. I thought about the situation, about how I had to be at work in the morning. “You’re going to get a ticket if you’re parked on the street past 2:30,” I told her.
Then she got dressed and left.
Almost every guy with whom I’ve slept invariably asks, “Did you have a good time?” And just as invariably, I smile, hug and whisper in his ears, “Of course, sweetie. You made me feel really good…” Most of the time, I’m telling the truth — I really do enjoy having sex in many different forms, even with complete strangers. It feels damn good. Besides, I have to keep ‘em coming back for more, right?
Some men follow with other questions about the size of their penis. “Do you think my penis is big enough?” or “How does mine compare with other people you’ve been with?” My response varies depending of the peron who asks. For those with a large one, I say “Yes. Yours is really huge and I love how you filled me up.” For those with an average one, I say “Yours is the perfect size. I really hate dicks that are too big.” (figuratively as well as literally!) For those with short ones, I tell the truth.
Contrary to common wisdom, I love spreading my legs and riding a man with a short and fat penis. My G-spot is very close to the front of my vagina; and when I mount a man and move my hips in just the right way, I can feel his penis rubbing all over that little magic inner spot. Sometimes, my clit gets stimulated too as I get into riding him and gyrate my hips and mash my pussy all over his crotch. Watch out when this happens!
I don’t like really big penises too much — they often make me sore downstairs. I can’t afford to have that happen too often.
My worst experience with long penises happened when I had sex with a charming distinguished older gentleman on Viagra. As hard as it may be to believe, I didn’t mind his wrinkly and crinkly face or his sagging muscles — as a long as a man treats me with respect, I can deal with most anything. (OK, if he’s morbidly obese, I’d probably have a hard time.) He was just so sexy in a Sean Connery sort of a way. Little did I know, though, that he had taken Viagra shortly before meeting me. He just kept on ramming his long pencil of a penis, and I’m not kidding about the pencil part. His penis was as stiff and skinny as one of those yellow number 2 pencils from elementary school. Even after an hour of continuously pounding me and often hitting my cervix, he stil hadn’t had an orgasm. We finally stopped because he ran out of steam and because I didn’t want to explain to anyone how he had died of a heart attack. By the time he finished, my vagina actually hurt so bad that I had to take a break for a couple days!
Thanks for all of your great feedback!
I gave S a little lovepat with my velvet-lined paddle for making the site incompatible with Apple computers and such. (I had no idea that people used so many different types of computers and browsers.) He promised to not do it again.
Besides making the site look cleaner, S also added a new email newsletter feature for me. If you sign up for it, I’ll send you an email whenever I post a new personal story. Don’t worry. I’ll never give your email to anyone else — girl scout’s honor. After all, a girl in my business just doesn’t discuss her little black book with anyone else…
As you may have noticed, my site’s look-and-feel has changed a bit. A lot of you sent me suggestions on how to make my site better. My really good friend S, who is a computer techie guru, incorporated your suggestions — he’s such a sweetie pie. :) Hope you like it! Please let me know what you think.
By the way, sorry about not posting any personal stories for a couple days. I’ve been really busy since Wednesday. I’ll be back on Saturday and will start posting then.
Bye Bye Belle
Belle de Jour quit her blog today.
Sundown is the start of Rosh Hashanah. I’m afraid, darlings, the time has come for me to go. When this blog started it was with no expectations. I’ve never lived my life to a plan aside from enjoying myself and have (for the most part) enjoyed doing this.
All things pass. For instance: Harts the Grocer, I am saddened to note, are now Tesco Metro. But that is the way of things. I’ll miss this. The time will never be right to finish the diary — so I am ending it now.
I’m going to miss her as I truly enjoyed reading about life on the other side of the pond. Bye Bye Belle. :(
A Boy and His Toy
Continuing on the theme of masturbation. Check out the Boy and His Toy blog for a very cute yet slightly disturbing picture. I wonder how many moms had to stop their sons from doing this… Love ya for the pic! :) *smooch*
Beauty and the Beast
Isn’t Heidi Klum just gorgeous? Can you believe that she had a baby only 4 months ago? When I have a baby, I’d absolutely kill to have a body like that 4 months after giving birth! Check out this article from The Sun to see more pictures of her, including a semi-nude one. Apparently, GQ is publishing a story about her with more pictures. I know, you boys are going to buy the magazine for the article, right?
OK. So you may be thinking that he’s not so bad. In fact, he sort of reminds me of Fabio. Except that he’s a she. I can’t believe that this is Amelie Mauresmo — I saw her beat Francesca Schiavone in the US Opens and she wasn’t quite as handsome then. With those manhands, is it any surprise that he’s now the number 1 women’s tennis player?
3 Months Jail Time for Unapproved Sex
Proving that the US isn’t the only country where the government is in your bedroom. At least they didn’t chop his penis off. From what I heard, they cut off your hands in some of these countries if you’re caught stealing a piece of bread.
A Sri Lankan maid and her Pakistani lover have been jailed for three months after admitting illegal trysts in her employer’s home. The 25-year-old maid would let the barber into the house in West Akar late at night, when her Bahraini military employer was out, the Lower Criminal Court heard. Polic caught the couple naked in the bathroom.
Christianity and Masturbation
After reading all the comments to yesterday’s post, I decided to do some Internet research on masturbation and the church. Ran across this very stimulating and illuminating discussion thread. Here are some excerpts…
Then Juda said to Onan, “Go in to your brother’s wife and perform the duty of a brother-in-law to her; raise up offspring for your brother.” But since Onan knew that the offspring would not be his, he spilled his semen on the ground whenever he went to his brother’s wife, so that he would not give offspring to his brother. What he did was displeasing in the sight of the Lord, and he put him to death also.
While there are at least two possible interpretations to this passage, more fundamentalist Christians (including the Catholic church), believe that this passage clearly states masturbation is a sin.
This is the version that I learned in church.
I was raised as a muslim and was taught (or read somewhere) that masturbation is ok, only if you were offered sex by someone other than your wife. But other people have told me that when you get your jerk on..12 angels watch you or something to that affect, meaning its not ok. Either way, I can’t, I won’t and I don’t stop.
If the angels are watching me when I’m getting off, then I better put on a good show. And finally…
Originally posted by JStrider mirevolver there is a passage in the bible about it being a sin to spill your seed on the ground…
That passage is often misinterpreted. The way I see it is it is a sin if you penetrate and then ejaculate after pulling out. It becomes much clearer if you read the passage in its entirety.
It’s definitely a sin to penetrate and not ejaculate — I love the feel of my man’s hot sticky juices shooting into me! ;)
(For any of you grammar afficianados out there, the spelling and punctuation in the quotes are solely the original authors’ work and not mine!)
Bloggers:1 Sixty Minutes:0
I jumped for joy when I first heard the news about the Bush National Guard memos. Even after some rumors circulated about potential forgeries, I wasn’t too worried. After all, Sixty Minutes said that all of its experts verified the authenticity. Now, we learn that they are all fake.
Although it sucks that the memos are fake, the amazing thing is that the blogging community completely outdid the media establishment on this one. Apparently, bloggers proved within a day that the memos are fake. I’m so proud of my fellow bloggers. :)
Check out this post on Little Green Footballs. The author compares the “original” memo to a version that he typed on Microsoft Word. The similarities are striking. In fact, the memos are identical.
These memos are going to be a complete disaster for the Kerry campaign. Makes me wonder if the Bush campaign planted them just so they could win sympathy points while making Kerry look like a liar…
You Say Tomato, I Say Tomatah
Some of you have kindly pointed out a typo in the spelling of my site’s name — “A New York Escorts Confessions” should actually be “A New York Escort’s Confessions.” I purposely spelled it without the apostrophe because I didn’t like the way it looked. I’m not sure why I don’t like how it looks — I just don’t. Just call me a grammar rebel.
Anyways, I’ll conclude with lyrics from one of my fav When Harry Met Sally songs…
You say “either” and I say “either”
You say “neither” I say “neither”
“Either” “either”, “neither” “neither”
Let’s call the whole thing off
You say “potato” I say “patattah”
You say “tomato” I say “creole tomatah”
Let’s call the whole thing off
Oh, if we call the whole thing off
Then we must part and
Oh, if we ever part
That would break my heart
I say “ursta” you say “oyster”
I’m not gonna stop eatin urstas
Just cause you say oysters,
Let’s call the whole thing off
I say “pajamas” you say “pajamas”
Sugar, what’s the problem?
For we know we need each other so
We’d better call the calling off off
Oh let’s call it off, oh let’s call it off
Oh let’s call it off, baby let’s call it off
Sugar why don’t we call it off,
I’m talking baby why call it off
Let’s call the whole thing off
Please don’t call the whole thing off just because of a little apostrophe before the s. Instead, help me spread bad grammar practices around the world by leaving out the apostrophe when you put links up for my site — let’s call it our own form of grammatical graffiti! :)
Come n’ Get It!
So it looks like a lot of you already have Gmail accounts. I now have 5 invitations and have decided to just give them away to the first 5 people who ask. Leave a comment to get your Gmail account.
Daddy’s Little Girl (Part II)
My transformation from girl of god to sexual libertine began in 9th grade, when I discovered the pleasures of masturbation one night. Although I always had one boyfriend or another since elementary school, they never got to go beyond kissing because I wanted to be a “good girl.” I don’t remember what got me started that night — maybe it was just curiousity?
Under the covers that night, I gently touch my virginal mound with my right hand. At first, I just stroke the outer lips. While my body is toasty from being under the goose down comforter, my pussy is dry. The lips are closed. As I stroke my lips, though, I feel a warmth develop inside. Then, I discover my clitoris, which had been hiding. Gently petting the area around my clit with my fingers, I feel the warmth intensify. Like an oyster, my lips slowly open and reveal the full pearl of my swollen clit. Now, a strange wetness develops and I start slightly panting. The wetness drips all the way down my ass and makes it even easier to touch myself. I start to put my fingers inside but then pull out — I’m afraid of giving up my virginity. My strokes intensify. Up, down, around. My fingers glide easily over my glistening hot lips. My legs tighten. My breathing gets really heavy. Although I’m a little afraid because I don’t know what will come next, I can’t stop touching myself. Suddenly, a tsunami of pleasure washes over me and my body trembles under its intensity. The initial intensity slowly subsides as several smaller waves of pleasure follow. I’m crying because it feels so good.
In the morning light, shame and guilt replace the previous night’s pleasure. Sex is sinful and masturbation is just as bad — god once killed a man just because he “spilled his seed.” I promptly get on my knees and pray for forgiveness and promise to not do it again. By the next week, I’ve already broken my promise and prayed for forgivenss yet again. This cycle continues for many weeks because my drive is too strong, and each time the guilt becomes deeper and the promises become emptier.
Meanwhile, I begin to dread going to church because I’m such a dirty hypocrite. How can I lead bible studies and, more importantly, how can god continue to forgive me when I’m purposely seeking out opportunities to sin against him?
At first, I start leaving church earlier than the rest of my family. Eventually, I stop going altogether.
The transformation that began that night in the 9th grade completed in my first year at college, when my dad deserted my family for a young piece of ass.
While writing a paper on Crime and Punishment, I get a call from Mom. She softly sobs as she tells me that my dad left her for his secretary. I can’t believe what I’m hearing because my dad had been the most fervently religious one in our family. He simply couldn’t have done this.
It turns out that my dad had been having an affair with his secretary for several years. Usually, they met in motel rooms or in his office. All those late nights working at the office were just a bunch of lies. But this time, my dad brought his secretary home because my mom had left to visit her sister for a couple days. Mom returned a day early and walked in on them fucking on her own marriage bed.
Even after uncovering my dad’s infidelity, my mom offered to forgive him if he would just end the affair. Instead of working towards re-conciliation, my dad decided to move out of our home and to move in with his secretary, a PYT (pretty young thing) barely 8 years older than me. I had met her several times before and while she may have been pretty, she sure was pretty dumb in all ways but one — she knew who had the money.
I give up writing my paper. Writing about some fictional crime in Russia loses any importance it might have had a half hour ago, especially when I need to grapple with a real crime that my own father committed against my family. Trying to comfort my mom, I realize that all the words are worthless — they can’t give back what she’s lost.
My parents got divorced later that year. My dad hired the best lawyers and steamrolled over my mom during the divorce proceedings — she was no match because she had very little practical experience and because she hated fighting. Knowing how to hug your daughter when her heart is broken or how to bake the world’s best chocolate chip cookies has no place in court.
As a reward for her lifetime of devotion to husband and family, my mom got just the family home and a paltry alimony payment. My dad had been transferring most of the assets over time as he practiced his deception and prepared for the divorce.
My dad called me a couple times and tried to explain himself. I hung up each time — I couldn’t stand even just hearing his voice after his betrayal.
After struggling with my own sexuality and then watching my dad desecrate our family, I turned my back on the last vestiges of the church’s teaching. Everything we learned in church clearly didn’t make any difference to him after his secretary sashayed her skimpy-skirted ass by him enough times, and all those nights of torturing myself for being a hypocrite and struggling with myself seemed meaningless now.
Any guilt that I felt about my own sexuality melted away with this realization. Having tried to unsuccessfully repress myself for a very long time, I threw myself with abandon at exploring and enjoying my sexuality for the rest of my college years.
I also resolved to never ever be totally dependent on any man. As much as I love my mom, I will never put myself in a position like hers where some guy can fuck me and then fuck me over by walking out and taking everything away.
Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that my dad isn’t reading my blog. If you are, though… Daddy, screw you.
Daddy’s Little Girl (Part I)
Daddy would kill me if he knew what I did for a living. He’d then kill himself from shame.
Growing up, I lived in a very religious family. I have many fond memories as a little girl of Mom dressing me in frilly white or pink dresses for church every Sunday. The whole family usually piled into the station wagon right after breakfast so that we could get to church promptly at 11AM for the morning service. We’d then spend the rest of the day at church studying bible passages or sharing fellowship with other church members.
On top of going to church every Sunday, my brother and I also went to church retreats in the winter and summer where we sang gospel songs by the campfire and watched bright embers pop and soar towards the heavens. As hard as it may be to believe, I even led a bible study group when I was in junior high school — I can still quote many bible passages chapter and verse.
For a while, Dad also tried to make us all get up at the crack of dawn so that we could have regular bible study before going to school. (Fortunately for us kids, Dad eventually decided that the adolescent need to sleep was one irresistable force that even the bible couldn’t overcome.)
Given my holy upbringing, how did I end up in my current profession? Sex.
More on this tomorrow, though…
Ken Jennings Update
Are you hooked on Jeopardy? I am! Ken Jennings is my idol. Not really. He is sort of cute, though, in a slightly dorky way. Most importantly, I wouldn’t mind winning over a million dollars on Jeopardy like Ken’s done.
I just ran across this post on Ken Jenning’s fate Here’s the text from that article…
Warning: spoilers. I received a tip about Ken Jennings this morning which I have pasted below in black-on-black text. If you don’t want to spoil your enjoyment of Jeopardy for the next few days/weeks, don’t read it. If you want to read it, just highlight the text in your browser. Those reading the site in newsreaders, you’ll just have to close your eyes or something. So here’s the scoop:
“I was at the taping today of Jeopardy. He lost during his 75th game and eventually won 74 games. He ended up with 2.5M. He got a standing ovation by the crowd. I asked the studio if this was supposed to be a secret but they said we could spread the news. Spread the news. The show should air around the end of October.”
Don’t know how accurate this is because it’s uncorroborated, so grain of salt, etc. Thanks to Phillip for the tip.
My First Lesbian Experience
Some of you have asked me why I keep posting pictures of women on my blog. The answer is quite simple really — it turns me on. Nothing is as beautiful as a completely naked young woman’s body, especially if she’s toned and completely bare-skinned.
Am I a lesbian then? The answer to that one is more complicated…
I’ve definitely had lesbian experiences. In fact, my first lesbian experience happened at an all-girls college in Massachusetts.
Some guys probably fantasize about spying on girls in an all-girl dorm taking showers together, having pillow fights in just panties and bras or just having wild sex with each other. Sort of like Girls Gone Wild, Wild College Girls or whatever they show on those late night infomercials. Don’t try to deny it, I know who you are! :)
Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but it never really got that wild and crazy in my school. Most of the girls actually ended up letting themselves go because no guys were around. After the first couple months at school, a lot of the girls started wearing sweats everywhere and I ‘aint talking about no Juicy Couture either! Some also stopped using makeup and styling their hair. (By the way, this might have been because I went to school in the sticks in Massachusetts. I doubt that girls in California would act like this!)
Before you get too concerned, please know that my friends and I didn’t succumb to the forces of evil. We tried our absolute best to look good from working out to dressing up (as well as we could on student budgets) to eating right.
So how did it begin? My roommate Janelle and I stayed up late one night gossiping about our friends and professors, and in the middle of our little dish-fest, Janelle confessed that she had had sex with other girls in the past.
Hearing about her lesbian experiences really piqued my curiousity — I had often wondered what it would be like to be intimate with another girl. Some of my high school friends and I experimented a couple times before at sleep overs — french kissing and caressing each other — but we never really went all that far. Usually, we’d just end up giggling and feeling a bit weirded out.
Now that Janelle had stirred up my memories from high school, I really wanted to finish what I had started then. I wanted to know what being with another girl is like.
Having lost some of my inhibitions that night — drinking a couple yummy wine coolers will do that to you — I asked Janelle if she’d be interested in being intimate. She refused because she didn’t want to mess up our roommate relationship. So I went to sleep disappointed.
The next thing I remember is feeling delicate kisses all over the back of my neck. Half-sleeping, I think that my ex-boyfriend is spooning me in bed and let him caress my body with one hand and cup my breast with his other hand. He makes me completely wet and swollen by slipping his fingers underneath my panties and inside me while nibbling on my neck.
Completely turned on by now, I just want to kiss him deeply while I feel his long shaft glide in and out of me. I want to fuck his brains out. I can feel a warm spot develop in my pussy and start to radiate outwards. I turn then and realize that my boyfriend was never there at all. It was Janelle this whole time — she had turned me into her little sex toy.
Wet, swollen and flushed, I forget all about the inhibitions that I had had in high school. Janelle and I continue to have some of the best sex ever. She knows where all of my secret spots are, how to lay off when they got too sensitive and how to make me climax. I don’t know about her but my orgasm is one of the most intense ones that I had experienced until then.
No giggles this time.
So, going back to the initial question, am I a lesbian? Does this experience make me one? It’s hard for me to say. Certainly, I’m open to being with other women. Well, I’ll have to explore this topic some other time…
Janelle was right, though. Having sex that night strained our relationship as roommates. We had sex a couple more times that term, but we never could re-create that first session. At the end of the term, I moved out.
Encyclopedia of Sex
You’ve probably heard about spank the monkey. Do you know what population paste is? Or how about greazy? Chris, the proprietor of Encyclopedia of Sex just emailed me and told me that he’s putting together this site as an honors project for his English major. If that’s true, then I definitely went to the wrong school. Anyways, check out his site. There’s lots of interesting words. Some are grosser than others.
Call on Me
If you ever thought gym was boring then think again. Check out Eric Prydz’s sensational new video for the dance track of the year ‘Call On Me’! Featuring a class of stunning gymnasts, these girls certainly know a thing or two about a good workout. Check the video out now!
Many thanks to Attu for this delectable link!
Observing the Sabbath
Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made.
Although I didn’t do anything nearly as intense as creating the universe, I was still pretty tired after last week. The RNC attendees kept me quite busy and, after 6 days, my little kitty needed a rest too! (I know, the RNC ended on Thursday. Let’s just say that some delegates stayed for after-party festivities.)
So my girlfriend Cristina and I decided to treat ourselves to a decadent weekend of relaxation. We kicked off the weekend with a visit to bliss soho spa, where we received a full body massage, facial and mani/pedi session. The spa visit cleansed my body, mind and spirit of all impurities and put us in the right frame of mind for the rest of the weekend.
On Saturday, Cristina and I moseyed into Central Park from 72nd Street and sunbathed for a couple hours in our shorts and bikini tops. Soaking in the sun and simply lying down on the green grass felt especially delicious after constantly moving from one hotel room to another day and night. I also took advantage of this time off to catch up on celebrity dish by reading the latest issue of Us Weekly.
Did I tell you that I’m addicted to Us? I didn’t?! Well, let’s just say that Us almost ranks up there with Prada.
On Sunday night, we both went to Flushings to watch the US Open. Watching the US Open in person was the true highlight of the weekend because I’d never been to a pro tennis match before. Seeing the pros play brought back memories of the pretty little white skirts and polo shirts that I used to wear on my high school tennis team. I was never as good as some of the best girls in my school, but I used to have a pretty wicked set of groundstrokes.
The actual tennis play was quite boring — one player totally dominated the other in both the women’s and men’s matches. Also, the women didn’t look so good. But both men (Lleyton Hewitt and Feliciano Lopez) were complete hotties. Feliciano was especially delectable that night — I just wish I could have run my fingers through those locks of his… *sigh* Unfortunately, Lleyton completely trounced Feliciano. If the match had been decided on hotness, though, Feliciano would have won hands-down! (Check out my picture of Feliciano!) BTW, Lleyton is also quite hot in his own Aussie way, but I have a special place in my heart for Latin lovers, especially for ones that look as good as Feliciano did.
If my current career doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll just become a tennis groupie…
Leaving the US Open unexpectedly spooked me. As we crossed the bridge from the stadium to the subway entrance, I looked to the left and saw all these empty subway trains lit up and lined up. Seeing all these empty vessels of humanity in the night was a bit of an eerie experience. I tried to capture this with my little digital camera but it didn’t come out too well.
We concluded the weekend with a brunch at Norma’s on Monday. For those in the know, Norma’s in the Parker Meridien hotel is one of the best NYC brunch places. They make it way better than Mom ever used to make! Usually, you have to wait forever to get a seat, but we didn’t have to wait too long because most New Yorkers were out of town for the Labor Day weekend.
Can you believe that the total bill for our brunch came out to be almost $200? Well, my food wasn’t too expensive because I only ate blueberry pancakes plus a side dish of grapefruit. Cristina went all out, though, by ordering the gazillion dollar omlette with an ounce of caviar. (The menu actually lists this dish as the gazillion dollar omelette). She was going to go for the 10 ounce caviar omelette, which would have cost her $1,000, but I talked her out of it at the last minute. Getting this $1,000 omelette would have been a complete waste, especially since Cristina never even had caviar before.
I love Cristina, but sometimes she can be so dumb with her money. This being her first convention, I think that Cristina wanted to splurge because she earned way more money than she was used to. She almost acted like a guy! *gasp* :)
So now I’m rested and ready to go back to work. I hope that I didn’t bore you too much with this really long account of my weekend…
Miss Universe Suffers a Wardrobe Malfunction
|Miss Universe gave fans a nice view of her assets down under. Makes you wonder whether this was an accident or not! :)
This was the moment when Miss Universe became undressed to thrill. Aussie Jennifer Hawkins gave admirers a revealing look yesterday when her dress fell off to expose a red thong.
Lap-Dance Protesters Threaten To Photograph Customers
At least both sides have a sense of humor about it.
Male customers visiting lap-dancing clubs could have their photographs taken and posted on a website, women’s rights campaigners warned yesterday. The Newcastle strategy involved placing pictures of the men on a website www.theyhavetopayforit.com. It was abandoned after clubgoers retaliated by deeming the protesters “ugly” and putting their photos on a site called thesewomancantgiveitaway.com
Too bad the links weren’t working when I checked. Has anyone seen these sites?
Reflections on Republicans
Now that the Republicans are gone, I’ve had a chance to finally sleep and to reflect a bit on what happened this week.
Besides the fact that Manhattan had more security forces than Afghanistan, the RNC didn’t really inconvenience us New Yorkers too much I guess. In all seriousness, the demonstrations were much more peaceful than I expected. Notwithstanding the lack of Molotov cocktails, tear gas, rubber bullets and general mayhem, marching among the 250,000+ people last Sunday sent chills up my back because most of the people were ordinary people rather than the fringe element. Seeing all these regular people come out against Bush gave me renewed hope that we might finally clean out the White House this November.
Politics aside, business was good this week — I met a bunch of red-blooded clients from the red states at all hours of the day and night. The only opportunities to really rest came during the prime time hours when the speakers were at the convention.
Most of the Republicans weren’t too bad either. They were like a lot of the guys I’ve met at other conventions — normally nice suburban dads who play when their wives are away. From their reactions at seeing me, though, my guess is that the women in the red states aren’t nearly as hot as the women in NYC!
My only real complaint is that a lot of the Republicans were lame tippers. Maybe they’re not used to dealing with escorts or maybe people in the Midwest or South are just stingier, but a lot of these guys just didn’t give me any tip. Thankfully, my rate is high enough and I saw enough clients that it didn’t affect my “bottom line” too bad.
One Republican was particularly horrid. When I arrived at his hotel room, he started out by showing me his extra special Pioneer cuff links. (The Pioneers are people who have raised at least $100,000 for the Bush-Cheney campaign.) He went on and on about how he had done so much for Bush. If he was trying to impress me, he utterly failed. He then continued by saying that Bush had to win because he is a true God-fearing man. The Democrats simply had to lose because the party was full of God-less people who supported gays and abortion. He was especially upset that Clinton, the amoral adulterer, had left Bush with the whole terrorist mess. The irony of the whole situation seemed to escape him.
All of his hypocrisy made me really want to puke. Being a professional, though, I knew I had to grin and bear it — a task made even more difficult by his immense girth.
Students Asked to Stop Banging Cock Redux
Here’s a follow-up story about horny Thai students and a shout-out to my feminist sisters in Bangkok! Now, I’d like to know if the signs are any good at cockblocking bus sex. I’m still a bit confused about the sign though. Doesn’t having sex lead to more children which, in turn, helps preserve your culture?
Complaints from feminist groups have forced the authorities in Bangkok to replace signs that called on women but not men to remain chaste on city buses where Thai youths are known to have sex.
Rights groups were up in arms this week over the authority’s previous notices on buses calling for female riders to ‘reserve themselves’. The new signs read: ‘Guard your heart, protect your body. Both women and men, preserve your culture.’
|Check out this shirt. There are so many interesting uses for Bush’ name. :)|
A Stiff Dubya Supporter in the W
When “Bubba” called me on my cell phone last night, I initially didn’t want to meet him since he sounded like a complete redneck on the phone. In my business, a girl typically sees a huge variety of men. Most are harmless — just guys who happen to be lonely. Some are cute. But a few are psycho.
Starting out as an escort, I took in all kinds of clients because I was nervous about the well drying up and because I didn’t know any better. I quickly learned, though, that not all clients are equal. Some pay much better than others. More importantly, some should be avoided like the plague because they’re downright freaky or dangerous.
After a while, I developed an instinct about which clients to turn down — call it my Spidey-sense. If something struck me as being off, I would turn a client down. Although making money is great, it’s not worth a couple hundred bucks to put yourself at risk.
Anyways, Bubba set off all of my alarms and I was going to turn him down. But then he told me that he had been referred by a long-time client and that he was staying at the W on Lex and 39th. Both of those things put my mind at ease — the W not so much as the referral from my client.
Bubba completely floored me at the W. Knocking at the door, I expected some redneck with a beer gut and wife-beater undershirt. Instead, I’m greeted by a true specimen of sartorial splendor, who had on a perfectly fitting Hugo Boss suit, Hermes tie, and Ferragamo shoes. In addition to being a superb dresser, Bubba was a fine looking specimen of a man. Imagine my surprise!
Turns out that Bubba is an investment banker from Houston who happened to have a real twang because he grew up in West Texas. He knew my client because they worked on some deals before.
He had to meet on the East Side because he brought his wife and kids to New York. The funniest thing is that his wife called during our session and Bubba surprised me by telling her that he was having a good ‘ole time with his friends at the gentlemen’s club.
Well, the hour passed very quickly and I completely forgave Bubba for his twang. So, I learned 2 lessons from this whole experience. First, never judge a man by his accent. Second, not all Republicans or even Texans are evil — well at least one isn’t.
Exposed! Posh’s sex romp in train
Continuing the theme of sex on moving vehicles… Isn’t Posh Spice just delicious though? Definitely not a “butter” face!
Pop star Victoria Beckham’s ex-fiance Mark Wood is all set to reveal scandalous secrets about their sex life in British TV channel Five’s new documentary titled ‘Victoria Beckham’s Secrets’ , which will be screened later this month. Wood, a burglar alarm engineer, will reportedly disclose how he took the former Spice Girl’s virginity at 17 and how she was addicted to sex and ‘went like an express train’ during an adventurous romp in the toilets of a train.
Bangkok Students Urged to Not Have Sex On Buses
Talk about frisky students. Although I’m a platinum-level member of the mile-high club, I’ve never had the fortune to fuck in the back of a full bus before.
Young passengers on Bangkok city buses are being asked not to have sex during the commute. The plea comes from the city’s transport officials, who posted notices on some of the buses yesterday.
The Bangkok Mass Transit Authority (MTA) came under fire from commuters this week after a study by an academic revealed that scores of college students were engaging in sexual intercourse, usually in the rear seats of the darkened buses, during the evening commute from classes.
Notices in all the Route 12 buses advise: ‘Thai women should preserve old culture about sexual behaviour.’
Clearly some professors in Bangkok have more time on their hands than others.
RNC in NYC
I feel totally conflicted by the Republicans in New York this week.
On the one hand, I hate Bush, Cheney and Co. They’re a bunch of bastards who “led” us into a war where tons of Americans are dying based on a whole heap of lies. They used WMD as a false justification for invading Iraq. In reality, Bush just invaded Iraq so that he could avenge his daddy, make a grab for Iraqi oil and hand over a multi-billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton. (He probably did the last thing at the bidding of Cheney, the true man behind the man.) Although bushisms have provided a good laugh on many a dreary day, the thought of Bush as President for another four years makes me sick.
[turning rant machine off…]
On the other hand, I love making money and Republicans have a lot of it. A Republican dollar is just as green as a Democrat dollar – maybe even greener. Needless to say, they’ve kept me quite busy this week. In fact, I just got back from a “personal debate” about family values with a convention-goer.
I’ll fill you up with behind-the-scenes and under-the-covers observations from the RNC later. For now, must sleep… Very tired… Letters getting fuzzzzyyyyyyyy………..
So why am I writing this blog? I have an inner exhibitionist that just needs to be let out. I've always wanted to bare myself completely in front of strangers but have always been held back by fear.
As strange as it may sound, I've never really truly bared myself in front of any of my clients. For all that they've seen, they've never seen me be me. And for all that I've seen, I simply need to share it with you!
So why should you come? To be tantalized and teased. To get release by knowing the true me.
I promise that I won't bite, and if I do bite, I'll make sure you like it!
my favorite posts
- Caveat Vendor - Part II
- Selling Out (Part III)
- Poops!... I Did It Again!
- My First Escorting Experience
- My First Lesbian Experience
- Daddy's Little Girl (Part II)
- Selling Out (Part III)
- March 2007
- February 2007
- January 2007
- December 2006
- November 2006
- October 2006
- September 2006
- August 2006
- July 2006
- June 2006
- May 2006
- April 2006
- March 2006
- February 2006
- January 2006
- December 2005
- November 2005
- October 2005
- September 2005
- August 2005
- July 2005
- April 2005
- March 2005
- February 2005
- January 2005
- December 2004
- November 2004
- October 2004
- September 2004
- August 2004