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A New York Escorts Confessions
Recovery
Thank you so much for your love! Suffering from food poisoning was no fun, but reading your very supportive comments helped me feel better. After alternating between toilet and bed for the last couple days, I’m still a bit weak but solidly on the road to recovery.
On another note, my Carnival of Sin is on! S, my friend, was nice enough to put together a page where you can submit your blog. I’m super excited to read all of your articles.
So, golden, brown or Roman showers anyone?
Bad Sushi
Sick. Food poisoning. Bad sushi. Blech.
Carnival of Sin
Do you want to put your blog out there?
So many of you have showed me kindess by visting my little blog. More importantly, so many of you opened yourselves up on your own blogs. Now, I’d love to return the kindness.
If enough of you are interested, I’d like to start a weekly post where you send me excerpts from your own blogs. I’ll publish anything and everything that you send me. No discrimination. After all, I’m an equal opportunity lover (except when it comes to Republicans.)
So please post a comment and let me know if you want to play with me in my Carnival of Sin! =)
Innocence Lost
Although I had no desire to save myself for marriage, I always dreamed that the first time would be special. Fragrant rose petals. Flickering candles. A hot bubble bath together followed by a long sensual massage in front of a crackling fire. My body heating up as he planted hundreds of delicate kisses on me. Slowly opening my legs and feeling his strong shaft penetrate me as I offered myself to a man for the first time. That’s how it was supposed to be…
Jimmy and I started dating at the end of my first year in college, when one of my friends set us up on a blind date for his fraternity formal. Normally, I would have said no to a blind date, but my friend convinced me that we’d be a great fit or, at least, that I wouldn’t have too bad a time because she’d be there with her boyfriend.
On the night of the formal, Jimmy showed up at my dorm with the biggest and brightest sunflower that I’d ever seen. Bowing deeply, he said “bonsoir, ma princesse” and kissed my hand. I had to try to my best to stop from cracking up — Jimmy’s French was so bad that I couldn’t help thinking about Pepe Le Pu. Try as I might to flee, though, he hooked me in with his crooked smile and antics.
That summer, we became inseparable. We often slept over in each other’s rooms and invariably ended up fooling around in bed. We went down on each other. We touched each other. Only sex was off limits.
I had promised to myself that I would wait until the right time. More importantly, I told Jimmy about my dream and he promised many times to also wait until he could treat me to the perfect date.
One night, as I was stroking Jimmy’s penis, he shifted his body on top of mine. Although the head of his hard cock started rubbing against my pussy, I didn’t worry because we had done this before. I knew that this really turned him on and wanted to please him. He had always pulled back because of his promise.
That night was different. He didn’t stop even when I whispered, “No. Jimmy, No.” After coming, Jimmy said that he loved me, kissed me and promptly fell asleep.
I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy it. My body definitely felt pleasure as we went through the motions. But I still cried while Jimmy snored next to me. This wasn’t how it was supposed to have happened. On a creaky bed in some dirty frat room with empty beer bottles and heaps of smelly, unwashed clothes scattered around the room.
We continued dating for another couple months and even slipped into a routine of having sex all the time. For some reason, I never mentioned my hurt until we broke up.
Maybe I was too naive to expect that the first time could be so perfect. Maybe I was just too young and dumb to know any better…
Update: Now that I’ve had sex a fair number of times, I’m not sure that trying to have the perfect first was worth all the fuss. Although I still would’ve preferred a different introduction to sex, I realize now that it would’ve never been perfect because I just didn’t know how to have really good sex. And Jimmy definitely didn’t either!
I’m sure, though, that I was naive for expecting a guy to pull out before he even put in. That’s like asking a dog in heat not to hump. ;)
So what was your first time like? Was it what you expected?
Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!
How annoying was Stacy R on the Apprentice this week? I’m SO happy that The Donald fired her! According to her newly published web site (www.stacyrotner.com), Stacy “practices corporate law at a top law firm in New York” and “is an active member of various bar associations and charitable organizations in New York.”
Well, it turns out that she’s not even licensed to practice law in the state of New York.
Here’s a picture of Stacy’s site. Aren’t you glad that she’s even more annoying on the web than she is on TV? If you’d like, you can hire her to host your party and to give a talk about the following topics from The Apprentice: “Feistiness Counts” and “Dating Lessons Learned from the Apprentice.”
Personally, I’d like to hire her to shut up. Also, is she delusional or what? Stacy, honey, you never dated anyone on The Apprentice. In fact, all the guys couldn’t stand you and The Donald fired you for talking too much.
You know that you’re really stupid when even Katie Couric calls you ridiculous on the Today Show! (Click on the free video on MSNBC’s page to see the Today Show segment.)
So how did I find out that Stacy isn’t a registered attorney in New York? My friend who is a real New York lawyer and I are talking about the show and I tell her that I can’t believe that Stacy is actually a lawyer. We decide to look her up on The New York State Court’s directory of attorneys. (Click on the “Attorney Directory” link on the left side of the page.)
Lo and behold, no Stacy Rotner is registered in the state of New York! Maybe Mark Burnett should talk to Dan Rathers…
Damn, am I an Apprentice junkie or what?
Believe
I’m a sucker for stories about the underdog overcoming unbelievable odds. I’m an even bigger sucker for stories about people having blind faith in the face of the impossible — so long as they’re not about Dubya and his idiotic and quixotic Crusades. But I digress…
I usually don’t care for commercials. Companies use them to manipulate viewers and to create artificial desires. But this Nike ad is different. It made me tear up by perfectly capturing the essence of human longing.
So just do it and go watch it!
Johnny B. Good
Can you believe that the Red Sox won tonight? What an amazing series. I’m normally a total Yankees fan, especially since so many of the Yankees are real hotties. Derek, I love you!
Those scrappy Red Sox started winning my heart, though, with their improbable wins in Games 4 and 5. By tonight, I was really hoping that the Sox would win. What can I say? The Sox and their fans really inspired me with their “Believe” campaign. Of course, Johnny Damon also helped clinch the deal because he’s a cutie and he hit a bunch of home runs tonight.
Well, the Sox go on to the World Series this weekend. Here’s hoping that they finally win one. After hoping and dreaming so fervently for a win for 86 years, those Sox fans finally deserve one.
By the way, have you heard about the kid who may have lifted the curse of the Bambino? Apparently, he lives in Babe Ruth’s old house and had his teeth knocked out by a foul ball during a Sox game.
Now I have no idea if there ever was a curse on the Sox or if this kid had any part in removing it. But, I do know that he probably won’t have any problems getting some from Boston girls after tonight! =)
My Secret Garden
Some of you have asked me how much it would cost to become my client. While I’m flattered by your requests, I need to keep my online world and my offline world completely separate.
This blog has become my little secret garden. A place where I can share my innermost thoughts, rant against the machine or just act silly. Each of you comes back (I hope) because of who I am rather than how I look. You want to know me rather than to simply have me.
Although I’m a complete attention whore, I’m sick of men talking with me only to get it on with me and of women hating me because of how I look.
I won’t lie. I love the baubles and the money. But selling myself based only on my pretty face, flat stomach and nice ass is slowly killing me — the real me who thinks, dreams and loves. Sometimes, I just want to scream, “look at me! ME!”
Whenever I’m with a client, the mask I put on goes far deeper than my makeup. The client may be paying me for my companionship, but he almost never wants a true companion. He wants a pretty little plaything who merely reflects back his ideal woman or his darkest fantasy.
Now that brings me back to my blog, my little corner of the world wide web…
I’ve finally found a place where I can be me in the purest sense. By writing, I completely bare myself. Whether I’m being serious or frivolous, each of my posts shows you who I truly am. By reading, you penetrate me deeper than any man I’ve ever been with.
To meet would spoil everything. By getting to know each other, we would actually grow farther apart because I could no longer be brutally honest.
So I hope that you will understand why we can’t meet. And I truly hope that I haven’t turned you off or driven you away…
Fugly is the New Pretty
Platinum Tiffany Hearts necklace? $7,500
Manolo Blahnik pumps? $485
V-string from Victoria’s Secret? $12
Getting irrefutable proof that Britney Spears is white Trash with a capital T? Priceless.
After my little run-in with Kathryn, I decided to lay low and stay in. The yucky rain hasn’t helped much either.
So you can imagine my joy when I stumbled upon Fugging It Up today! Every day, Heather and Jessica pick a picture of some fugly celebrity and make wickedly funny comments.
Here are some pics of Britney Spears and some quotes from the site. She’s been my idol ever since she gyrated in that sexy Catholic school girl uniform in the “Baby One More Time” video. You’ve come a long way, baby!
So now go fug yourself and give some love to Heather and Jessica!
Britney’s got a new single coming out, the cover of Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” that’s attached to her Greatest Hits album — the premature appearance of which suggests that nobody really believes wholeheartedly that she’ll have a “great” hit ever again, so they might as well strike while the Frito Pie is still hot.
As such, it’s nice to see Britney already thinking ahead about her future, and turning to alternate sources of income — specifically, what one can only assume is preparation for a gig as a Clearasil spokeswoman:
It’s like she rubbed her chin in Crisco, which might well be close to the truth if she was anywhere near the loins of her new husband.
Zits are tough. And what’s a girl to do when she can’t find her legendary wrinkled cut-offs, probably because they’re wadded up on the balcony underneath a pile of empty Colt 45 bottles, three used condoms, and a spittoon?
Why, she turns to her very best distressed grass-stained pants, that’s what:
And for good measure, she gets a gigantic Coke stain on her shirt.
I can’t wait for The Best Letter I’ve, Like, Totally Ever Written, Y’All, because I’m eagerly anticipating the chapter wherein she explains her apparently unquellable impulse to communicate through bawdy t-shirts and trucker hats. “Carpe Assum — Seize the Ass,” her hat proclaims. Okay, Brit. We get it. You’re edgy. You’re nobody’s princess. Neither am I anyone’s princess, yet I still find time to clean my clothes, wash my hair, and actively not wear trucker hats with “clever” messages on them. Why don’t you give me a call? I can show you how.
Selling Out (Part IV)
Thank you all for the advice. You’ve really touched my soul with your support and concern…
So I’ve decided to “politely” decline Kathryn’s offer. She can keep her free boob job, weekend trips and Russian goon to herself!
Even after sleeping on it, I’m still pretty shook up by the interview. Kathryn is probably not a member of the Russian mafia — part of me tells me to stop being paranoid. At the same time, it would be complete idiocy to ingore the fact that she might be involved in the mob. No money in the world is worth getting mixed up with those kind of people!
You know what sucks the most? Kathryn has extracted her price from me even though I’m not going to work for her. I’m changing my phone number tomorrow and will only let my most trusted clients know about my new number. I’m also taking a bit of a break from my work to collect my thoughts. (Don’t worry, I’ll still be blogging.)
Selling Out (Part III)
Skirt? Calvin Kleins.
Purse? Prada.
Pumps? Jimmy Choos, of course.
Running out the door, I did a quick last minute check of my hair and makeup. Although I wasn’t sure about working for an agency, everything needed to be perfect. If a girl in my profession doesn’t maintain her image, she doesn’t have anything.
Upon my arrival at Kathryn’s Upper East townhouse for the interview, a very tall man with a close-cropped head greets me at the door. He’s wearing all black — pants, shirt and leather jacket. “Miss Kathryn’s expecting you,” he says in a heavy Russian accent as he turns and leads me into a sitting room lit with the largest chandelier that I’ve ever seen. Light dances off the giant pear-shaped pendant hanging from the center.
Kathryn enters the room wearing skin-tight pants tucked into her equestrian-style boots. She’s pulled her hair into a severe pony tail — you can almost see individual strands of hair on the side of her head crying for help. Although thick layers of makeup conceal her true face now, she was probably a real hottie back in her day. She’s certainly done a great job maintaining her body. The only hint of softness comes from her baby blue cashmere sweater.
Without saying a word, Kathryn methodically examines my body for a while — it feels likes a couple minutes. (I had unconsciously stood up when Kathryn entered the room.) Finally, she says, “You’ll do.”
Before I can respond, she continues by saying, “You need a boob job. Nothing too big. Just up to a C. And it has to look natural — we don’t need balloons attached to your chest. Don’t worry. We know just the doctor who can do it.”
I think about telling her that my boobs are just fine. Sure, they’re B’s but they’re nice and perky! I decide to hold my tongue, though, when I notice that Kathryn’s right hand is missing a pinky. Only a little stub is there.
I find it difficult to focus on the rest of the interview. My mind keeps imagining all sorts of scenarios about Kathryn’s missing pinky.
Here are some facts that I gathered, though:
1. I’d probably get about the same from the agency as I currently get on my own for normal one-hour sessions. They charge twice what I normally charge, but I’d only get to keep 50% of the fees.
2. Weekend stays are the real jackpot because the agency’s clients pay a lot for an entire weekend — sometimes up to 3 times my normal fees — and many of their clients like to reserve a girl for a whole weekend.
3. The agency’s clientele mostly consists of ultra-rich businessmen who like to take us girls with them on social functions as well. Having a brain is a bonus — just not too much of one.
4. Although the agency doesn’t like its girls to be too independent, it’s OK if I keep some of my own clients on the side. I just need to be available when the agency calls.
As I get ready to leave at the end of the interview, Kathryn says, “Oh, one other thing. Don’t think about setting up ‘private’ sessions with our clients.”
“Oh?”
“Some girls did that before. Of course, they don’t work for us any more. They’ve found it hard to work for anyone else too. It’s a real shame because they were such pretty girls.”
OK. Now I’m officially weirded out.
I thank Kathryn for her time and tell her that I’ll call her back. She seems a bit miffed that I didn’t accept on the spot. She says, “Take your time. Just don’t take too long.”
So what do you think? Should I give it a try?
I never got a chance to ask about benefits. Somehow, I don’t think that Kathryn is the type of employer who provides a full healthcare or 401(k) plan.
Mission Accomplished
I finally lost that pesky 5 lbs and hit my goal of 110 lbs. Yay!
Looking in the mirror, though, maybe I should try to lose a bit more…
Update: Thanks for your comments. Some of you have asked how tall I am. I’m 5’6”. I know. I know. I really shouldn’t try to lose any more weight. :P
What Do Women Want?
According to Jason Feifer, a reporter for Salon, women want most everything. His insightful and highly entertaining article speculates that women may be naturally bi-sexual because they are aroused by more forms of erotica than men. Apparently, researchers at Northwestern University showed erotic films to gay and straight men, women and male-to-female transsexuals with a probe attached to their genitals.
Porn. Transsexuals. Genital probes. Who can resist?
If you’ve read about my first lesbian experience, then you already know how I feel about these topics. Jason and I both want to know your thoughts, though. So boys and girls, here’s your homework:
- Read Jason’s article on Salon.com. You can get free access by clicking on the “Day Pass” link and watching an innocuous ad for some bookstore called Powell’s for about 15 seconds. Be sure to wait until the very end, when a link to Salon appears. Don’t be turned off by the need to subscribe. [Get your mind out of the gutter — it’s not that kind of site! :) Salon is actually owned by Microsoft, the Evil Empire. Oh, wait, that’s Slate.]
- Come back here and post a comment about whether you’re turned on at times by members of your own sex, even if it’s just when you watch porn.
FYI, here’s an email that Jason sent me. Check out Jason’s blog Happyscrappy for other articles.
Hey Alexa
Thanks for taking the time to read though some of my stuff. Funny that you related to the women in that study, but not all that surprising: every female I’ve described it to has laughed, but nobody’s outright distanced themselves from it. And I was just hanging out with a lesbian friend of mine who told me some of her lesbian friends get off on watching gay male porn, and she’s pretty sure they’re not too atypical. Interesting, huh?
Feel free to post my article and my e-mailed comment about the lesbians and the gay porn. I’d also be interested in seeing what people have to say about it.
Thanks!
Jason
Indecision 2004
I’m all politcked out. In the last election, I only watched the presidential debates on SNL. In this election, I’ve not only watched all the presidential debates but also the veep debate as well.
(OK, so I watched them on The Daily Show too — Jon Stewart’s a cutie! But I’ve given up on SNL and on all the network news shows I never watched in the first place.)
Although I’m glad that the debates have raised the collective political IQ of America, I’m also glad that they’re over. Stuffing any more facts, policies, “exaggeRATIONS” and lies into my little brain would make it pop.
Watching the debates has reformed my image of Bush, though…
Before watching the debates, I thought that Bush was only a dim-witted puppet being pulled along by big corporations and the unholy triumvirate otherwise known as the “True” Axis of Evil — Cheney, Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz. After watching the debates, I now believe that Cheney is to Bush as the Emperor is to Darth Vader. Those who misunderestimate Bush’s intelligence do so at their own peril.
Seriously, though, the last couple debates have added one more topic to the heaping list of “Things I Hate About Bush” — abortion. (The list went beyond 10 things a long time ago.)
Did any of you catch Bush’s reference to Dred Scott in the last debate? I had no idea what he meant when he said that he wouldn’t appoint some judge who supported the Dred Scott decision. It turns out that Dred Scott is an infamous decision by the Supreme Court to support slavery and that the pro-life movement equates Roe v. Wade with Dred Scott. In other words, Bush will only appoint Supreme Court justices who would try to overturn Roe v. Wade. Don’t believe me? Check out this article. Bush confirmed this perspective by squirming last night when asked if would appoint a justice who would overturn Roe v. Wade.
Who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my body?!
So anyways, for those who haven’t registered to vote, you’re an idiot. For those who have registered to vote, please vote for Kerry. He may not be the best, but he’s a hell of a lot better than Bush. And for those who are Red Sox fans, sorry but my boys are better!
I Love Pineapples
“You’re really sweet.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I meant your cum.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I drink gallons of pineapple juice. Gotta keep my girls happy.”
Count me one very happy girl!
Girls Gone Wild
I should’ve known that last night would be crazy when the drunk man started peeing into the toilet, completely oblivious to the fact that my friends and I were watching him.
We started celebrating my friend’s birthday at Bar 89 on Mercer Street. The most prominent feature of this trendy Sex and the Cityesque lounge bar is the unisex bathroom with the transparent toilet stalls that magically become opaque when you close the latch. The only catch is that you’ve actually gotta close the latch.
My friends and I were lounging on the couch in the bathroom while waiting for a stall to open up. A drunk man stumbles into the bathroom. With his bowling ball gut hanging out of his pants and his constant shifting from foot to foot, he looks like a cross between a Weeble Wobble and an Oompa Loompa. Ignoring the fact that we’ve been waiting, he rushes into the first stall that opens up.
Normally, I’d object and maybe even yell. I may only be 115 lbs dripping wet, but nobody pushes this New Yorker around, especially if you’re pushing in front of me in line! :) But objecting or yelling wouldn’t do any good in this case.
Forgetting to close the latch, Drunk Oompa Loompa opens his pants and starts the geysers for all the world to see. I wonder if he sees his penis underneath his gut or operates his equipment through feel only.
After a couple more drinks, my friends and I decide to meet up with another group at a bar on 7th Ave South. This is when everything starts to become hazy. My memory comes in only disjointed snippets.
Tequila shots. Don Julio. Only the best. Lots of them.
Lips and tongue numb…
Making out with a couple of my girlfriends.
Room spinning…
Head throbbing as little Ooma Loompas pound what remains of my brain into itty bitty pieces of chocolate…
Puke. Damn! Missed the toilet.
Now I have to clean up. Ugh. Better stop procrastinating.
Note to self: Tequila shots evil. Stay away. You’re not in college anymore!
Christmas Dreams and Fantasies
So if you can get me this $10 million Victoria’s Secret Christmas Dreams and Fantasies bra, then I’m all yours to do with as you wish! =) By the way, isn’t Tyra so delectable? I could just run my soft pink tongue all over that tasty body of hers…
In case you’re wondering about how a bra could cost $10 million, here’s the scoop.
Tyra Banks (news) models Victorias Secret’s 2004 Heavenly 70 Fantasy Bra by Mouawad, featuring a 70-carat flawless pear-shape diamond in the center, in this undated publicity photo.Inspired by Victorias Secrets Angels Collection, the Fantasy Bra has been created with a delicate angel-wing motif. Adorned with 2,900 pave-set diamonds and weighting a total of 112 carats, this years bra is set in 18-karat white gold.
The one-of-a-kind bra is worth $10 million. Over 275 hours of labor went into the construction of this original lingerie design, making it one of the most labor-intensive creations Victorias Secret has ever introduced.
The bra will be featured in the company’s annual ‘Christmas Dreams and Fantasies’ catalog, arriving in mailboxes starting mid-October.
The Apprentice Undercover
Last night, I got the scoop on some juicy Apprentice dish while servicing an attorney in his Upper East Side apartment. I even managed to get my hot little hands on a neat pic of Jennifer M!
I try to engage most of my clients in at least some conversation before beginning a session. It’s good for business. Escorting is like all other professional services – developing and maintaining good client relationships is critical to generating repeat business. I hope that The Donald would approve.
Some of the friendlier clients really like to open up. They’ll talk candidly about their jobs, friends, and, even sometimes, their family. These are my favorites, especially the quirky ones like the investment banker who trades in his Brooks Brothers suits on weekends for a head-to-toe leather outfit to ride in Harley rallies. He dressed up for me once and looked just like one of the Village People.
Most clients, though, get a little squirmy when the talk gets personal. Maybe they’re paranoid that I’ll show up at their office or home someday armed to blackmail them with some personal tidbit?
Some don’t talk and just get down to business.
This particular client was one of the worst. Once he dropped the “H” bomb, he just went on and on about his experiences at Harvard Law School. I bet you didn’t know that most of The Simpsons writers started out as writers for some Harvard humor newspaper, huh?
Meanwhile, I’m only hearing “yadda, yadda, yadda.” Doesn’t he get it? You don’t need to impress me. You’re paying me to be your friend. Hmm. Maybe that’s why you need to pay me.
But then he starts talking about the Apprentice. Yay! Finally. An interesting topic. I love The Apprentice.
It turns out that he went to school with Jennifer from the current season and had friends who went to business school with Kwame from last season. (What’s with all the Harvard people on The Apprentice?)
Just to prove it, Harvard boy whips out his Harvard Law School yearbook and shows me Jennifer’s picture. Remember all of your embarrasing yearbook pics from high school with big hair, horibble clothes and awkward smiles? Forget about it. Jennifer looks just as good in her yearbook photo as she does on the show. I just gotta figure out a way to get this pic cuz my friends will never believe me…
Inspiration strikes as I reach into my little bag for some “equipment.” I forgot to remove my tiny Sony camera earlier in the day and now have the perfect way to get a pic if only I can figure out how. So I convince my client to take a shower. We escorts like really clean clients, you know?
While he’s scrubbing down, I pull out my camera and take a quick shot of the yearbook that’s still lying opened on the coffee table. I’m like a Bond girl with her little spy camera! :)
Here’s the dish on Kwame and Jennifer that I got from Harvard boy. Although he may have exaggerated a bit, it’s still good stuff.
Kwame — He’s smart, sexy and sleazy. While in business school, Kwame slept around a lot. The only problem is that he was engaged to some girl at the same time. Overlooking his serial infidelities in favor of his hot bod and big earning potential, she marries him anyways. It all ends later in divorce. Do you think that Apprentice groupies had a hand in the divorce?
Jennifer — She’s smart, sexy and snobby. According to Harvard boy, Jennifer always walked around law school with that “don’t hate me because I’m pretty” attitude. Of course, it could just be that he was hard up for her in school — a girl like Jennifer wouldn’t have given him the time of day.
Harvard boy finally emerges from the bathroom and almost knocks me out… with his scent that is. He took my advice a little too seriously and doused himself with cologne. Now I have to endure his overpowering scent up-close and personal for the rest of the session.
I’m such a whore for my blog!
Make Love Not War
Sara, a reader, just sent me an email with a link to a f***ing hilarious video. Tell all your friends about this video so that we can all spread the gospel of love ‘round the world!
(In case you’re wondering, I asked Sara for permission to reprint her email.)
Hi Alexa,
Can you please help me understand just what or who is behind our lovely Vice President? He’s such a special man with his glowering eyes. Also, did you notice that he had the pallor of a night crawler?
Here are my two favourite quotes from the debate:
“Mr. Vice President, you are still not being straight with the people.”
“We must be strong and aggressive.”
This made me think of this hysterical video on the future of politics. The Democrats have been taking it from behind for the past four years, now its our time to give something back “Donkey Style.” Make sure your sound is on, the Bush speech is LOL funny!! Make Love not War!
BTW
Do you have any clients in politics?
What do those boys like to do down in Washington?
They shape our country but what are they shaped like?
Cum on Alexa, inquiring minds want to know.
Kisses,
Sara
Golden and Brown Showers
I walked out on a client. I almost never walk out — it’s bad for business — but I couldn’t help it tonight.
Upon my arrival at the hotel room, we opened a bottle of chardonnay and started canoodling. Then it happened. He whispered in my ear, “can you give me a golden and brown shower?” A golden and brown what?!
So it turns out that a golden shower is when a girl pees on a guy. You can probably figure out for yourself what a brown shower is…
At first, I humored him by asking for more details and hoped that we might steer our session towards the more conventional. I was expecting to have a nice conversation and dinner, but he wouldn’t budge though. By the time he got to the part about me squatting and pooping in his mouth, I had to go.
I don’t judge other people’s bedroom practices. But I do draw the line for myself at brown showers — I simply can’t poop on command!
Rice to Riches
The SoHo cafe looks inviting enough with its quirky Jetsons theme. It even has a cute name — Rice to Riches. Once inside, though, everything changes. After all, how many cafes are dedicated to rice pudding? How many of you even like rice pudding?
So my friend dragged me into Rice to Riches last night and forced me to down this vile porridge. She’s into trying new things and we happened to pass it while on the way to Balthazar after dinner. As any New Yorker can tell you, Balthazar has some of the finest French pastries in the city. Their pain au chocolat is just divine!
Rice to Riches has every possible flavor of rice pudding. (I never knew that you could make so many variaties of this lowly dessert.) Unfortunately for me, the addition of flavors doesn’t change the fundamental fact that rice pudding is sludgey and bland. It has the all of the consistency but none of the fun of cum. Doubly bad for me, they only have 3 sizes — solo, sumo and moby. Solo should really be called trio because it’s so big and moby is a huge tub that costs $35. Who in their right mind actually buys $35 worth of rice pudding?!
I think the owners knew that adding flavors wouldn’t be enough because Rice to Riches also offers all sorts of toppings from oatmeal to strawberries to espresso beans. Needless to say, the toppings didn’t do it for me either.
Traumatized by our little excursion, I’ve decided to write this haiku.
Sludgey grains of rice
Mixed in with random flavors
Gag me with a spoon!
Mr. Miyagi and the Land of the Rising Penis
Recovering from a session of “wax on… wax off,” Mr. Miyagi and I lazily draw long puffs from a shared cigarette.
“You know, you can find every kind of sex in Japan?”
“Really? I thought that the Japanese are very conservative.”
“True. But not when comes to sex for men.”
So begins my education in the delights of Japanese sexual perversion according to Mr. M.
In return for exporting Toyota’s, Sony’s and Pokemon, the Japanese import all sorts of beautiful girls from around the world to satisfy any sexual fantasy or fetish that their hearts might crave. Although some of these girls might be Asian or even African, most of them hail from Eastern Europe — the key criteria being long legs, blonde and big boobs. After being brainwashed for years by Baywatch’s busty bimbos, Japanese men are no different than American men — they now lust for the jugs of Pamela Anderson, or at least her look-alike.
If you have a fetish, then Tokyo is sure to have a club, restaurant or cafe to satisfy it. In one club, waitresses in micro skirts and 6” heels walk around without panties while patrons steal glances at their nether regions from the mirrored floor. In another restaurant, men eat sushi off the backs of naked women on their hands and knees.
Astonishingly for me, the Japanese are very open about sexuality. Mr. M tells me that school boys unabashedly read comic books with explicit sexual pictures on the crowded subways or buses. The Japanese even have several festivals dedicated to the penis where villagers parade large phallic statues.
OK. I had a hard time believing a lot of what Mr. M told me, especially about the penis festivals. But Googling Tokyo penis festival surprisingly reveals that he’s right! Here’s a giant wooden penis from a description of Japan’s penis festivals.
As I get ready to leave, Mr. M invites me to Japan, where he’ll take me to Gas Panics, a hot club in the Roppongi district. Apparently, a lot of gaijin go there. I politely decline for now. (After my last horrific experience with gas and poop, you couldn’t pay me enough to go to a club called Gas Panics!)
So why Mr. Miyagi? I’m a bit ashamed to admit it but, as a little girl, I had a crush on Ralph Macchio. I know. I know. Karate Kid is such a cheesy movie. So let’s just keep this one a secret between you and me, OK? ;)
Lick Bush and Beat Dick
I turned down a client appointment tonight just so that I could watch the presidential debate with my friends.
Four years ago, I didn’t pay any attention to the election. I’m pretty sure that I didn’t vote. I didn’t even care too much about Bush stealing the election because I didn’t particularly like either Bush or Gore. Although Bush is stupid, he surrounded himself with smart advisers. Besides, how much damage could he do in four years?
Today, the mere possibility of a Bush re-election terrifies me.
Watching tonight’s debate, though, has given me renewed hope that we all might be able to lick Bush and beat Dick this November. For the first time, Kerry effectively bashed Bush on his record. Finally! We really need to shift the discussion from what happened 30 years ago to what happened over the last 4 years and what will happen over the next 4 years.
I may not know too much about politics, but I don’t know how any thinking person can possibly support Bush. For any Bush supporters out there, let me break it down in words that you might understand.
Iraq — Wrong war. Wrong place. Wrong time. Was Saddam Hussein an evil dictator? Absolutely. But he didn’t attack us nor did he have any WMDs. Osama attacked us, and Bush let him go. Instead of catching Osama, Bush misled us all into invading Iraq based on a mass of lies and now we’re paying for it. Now that we’ve completely messed things up there, let’s fix it and get out as soon as possible.
Money — Halliburton. No-bid contracts. Tax cuts for the rich. Enough said. From what I understand, Bush will bankrupt this country over the long run. Isn’t it comforting to know that the Japanese and the Chinese are our biggest lenders? If you still think the tax cuts were a good idea, please let us all know what you did with the $300 tax refund check. If you think that I have no right to share my feelings on this matter because I don’t pay any taxes, think again. I pay my taxes just like you. Why work your tail off just to get busted later by the IRS for tax evasion?
So please get off your ass and vote this November so that we can make sure to lick Bush and beat Dick! Check out Jason Kottke’s Voter Information Guide if you need help.
Finally, was it me or did Kerry truly lick Bush tonight? Turning down the client cost me a lot but I would’ve gladly paid more to see Kerry licking Bush like he did tonight.
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about me
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)
friends
raunchy humor
sexy stories
archives
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