NY Hotties provides links to escorts and BDSM providers in the New York area. The list of erotic adult erotic entertainers includes massage, tantra, exotic dancers, strippers, dominatrix, female erotic dancers, escort services, female strippers, male strippers, escort agencies, male escorts, gay escorts, shemale escorts and other adult erotic entertainers.
Here are some of the areas covered by NY Hotties.
- Manhattan Escorts
- Brooklyn Escorts
- Staten Island Escorts
- Long Island
- Queens Escorts
- Bronx Escorts
- New Jersey Escorts
- Connecticut Escorts
- Westchester Escorts
By following the links on NY Hotties, you'll find photos, rates and contact information for adult erotic entertainers such as escorts, dominatrix, strippers, erotic dancers, female strippers, male strippers, and escort services who can satisfy your every fantasy and fetish in New York City.
A New York Escorts Confessions
Wasn’t it great when school used to close on snow days? Well, snow sucks when it makes a client cancel. J cancelled earlier tonight because he didn’t want to drive into the city in the middle of a snowstorm.
So instead of sampling electable dishes at Babbo, I ended up watching Americann Idol on TV. It’s been a couple years since I saw my last episode. The singers generally seem better, but what’s up with Sling Blade??? He’s like totally scary looking. If I went to one of his concerts, I’d need his security to protect me from him…
Carnival of Sin #14
Step right into the Carnival of Sin, Red Sneaker Edition! Red has graciously selected a cornucopia of posts for your enjoyment. For any girls interested in “pussy-strengthening Smart Balls,” be sure to read Red’s most recent review.
Next week, Tasty Trixie will host the Carnival of Sin. As anyone who’s seen her site will agree, she’s one tasty tart!
The Oscars are my Super Bowl. I turned down a client engagement tonight so that I could attend an Oscar party at my girlfriend’s apartment. I don’t know what I like better — finding out who wins the awards or looking at all the gorgeous dresses. Of course, seeing and cackling at fashion disasters is a lot of fun too. :)
While “Million Dollar Baby” largely deserved to score a knockout, my only gripe is that Clint Eastwood and Morgan Freeman played such standard roles for them — a crotchety and silent old man with a dark secret a la “Unforgiven” and an uneducated yet wise black philosopher a la “Shawshank Redemption”.
Speaking of crotchety old men… Sean Penn needs to simmer down. Jude Law may be hot, but he’s not one of the greatest actors. :P
Finally, I’m glad that Cate Blanchett finally won her Oscar. She’s so beautiful! I’m still bitter about the year when Gwyneth robbed her. How could the Academy have possibly thought that Gwyneth in “Shakespeare In Love” was better than Cate in “Elizabeth”?!
Happy Fun Pics II
J, who recently discovered my blog just sent me this photo. After reading Ebony Fantasies, J realized that he had a picture of my gorgeous black model. Thank you for the lovely picture!
Now, it’s time to retire to my boudoir with my trusty little vibrator and to fantasize about what could’ve been…
Happy Fun Pics I
As my client and I are walking back from a dinner in midtown last night, we spy a Girls Gone Wild bus parked right in front of some club.
“Hey, what do you think about going to that party?”
“Why not? I’ll pay you for a couple more hours.”
“You couldn’t pay me enough to show my boobs on camera. But… I’ll definitely show you a party you won’t forget tonight.” I flash a wicked grin.
The last thing that I want is for some embarrassing videos or client to pop up after I’ve changed professions. Can you just imagine your husband or children finding some Internet video of you baring your boobs? Or worse? :)
It appears that some people have misunderstood me.
In response to Spanking, a reader wrote a comment to which I’d like to respond.
I’m not sure if Garrison Steelle adheres to the orthodoxy of political correctness. As you can see from my previous admiration of the redneck wedding, however, I certainly don’t. White, black, man or woman. I’m an equal opportunity mocker of stupidity.
Nor did I say that Larry said that. Let’s be very clear, though. Larry advanced three hypotheses. First, he said that women might be less likely to succeed in challenging careers because we often choose family over work. Second, he said that women might be less suited for becoming math/science professors because we’re inherently less intelligent than the smartest men. Third, he said that discrimination or cultural factors may be less of an influence than the first and second hypotheses.
(I actually don’t dispute his first hypotheses. We often choose to raise families and these choices often adversely impact our careers. Some women I know are successful enough to hire a staff of nannies and housekeepers so they can have it all — career and family. Most aren’t, though. Whether it’s right or wrong, I agree with Larry that choosing family can put a damper on your career.)
You pre-suppose that women have a genetic disadvantage vs. men when it comes to math and science. How do you know that women are disadvantaged? Perhaps women actually have a genetic advantage. Perhaps the cultural stereotypes and biases undermine rather than reinforce genetic pre-dispositions.
I argue that it is impossible to attribute women’s successes or failures relative to men in this arena to a general genetic pre-disposition. Exactly how do you propose to determine whether genetics plays a role? When examining a 30 year old women’s life, exactly how do you separate the influence of nature from nurture? Unless you ensure that many women and men are raised exactly alike, unencumbered by the cultural cues that steer them in one direction or another, you simply can’t prove that women are genetically better equipped or worse equipped than men.
My problem isn’t with political and cultural sensitivity. I really couldn’t care less about sensitivity. Trust me. When you work in my profession, you see everything.
My problem is with the very real consequences that so-called “scientific examination” can have on the lives of women. While it is impossible to prove the validity of Larry’s hypotheses, the very fact that the president of Harvard advanced such hypotheses gives ammunition to all the misogynists out there.
I’m so happy that Larry hopes that he’s proved wrong, especially since such a task is impossible. I’m so happy that he’d like to divert attention from the very real problem of discrimination and bias.
In the meantime, why stop at examining differences between men and women? Let’s examine the differences between whites, blacks, Hispanics and Asians. If anything, differences between the races are more stark than the differences between genders. While we’re at it, let’s revive Hitler’s experiments to create the perfect Aryan race by selectively breeding Germans with attractive genes…
“Come here Larry. You’ve been a bad boy and need to be spanked very hard.”
“Please, Miss Alexa! Anything but that!”
As you’ve probably heard by now, Lawrence Summers, the president of Harvard, recently ignited a controversy by suggesting that women were inherently not as smart as men. Usually, I try to refrain from judging other people until I’ve seen the evidence.
Now that I’ve read the transcript of his speech, though, I believe that the earlier reports treated him too kindly. Larry said that women don’t do as well as men in science and engineering because women want to have families and are inherently dumber than men.
(I only wish that I’d founded the Cliff’s Notes version of the transcript.)
Larry’s position is patently offensive because there is no way to prove or disprove his hypotheses.
No one will dispute that far fewer women go into science and engineering. But how can you possibly prove that this discrepancy is caused by “intrinsic aptitude” rather than other factors such as differential expectations? I’m no rocket scientist, but I would guess that most women are discouraged from studying math and science and that truly separating the influences of nature vs. nurture is impossible when examining the entire life of an adult.
My brother and I are perfect examples. I hate math and science. He loves them. But my parents also pushed us in very different ways when we were kids. While they told me that I should concentrate on writing because “girls aren’t as good as boys at math and science,” they encouraged my brother to study engineering because “engineers make more money.” Who knows what would have happened if they’d bought me those chemistry sets rather than writing pads with pretty rose petals?
The only purpose that Larry’s statement serves is to bolster misogynists everywhere. If Harvard’s president says that women are dumber, then it MUST be true, right? But why stop with women? Why not include Blacks or Hispanics? After all, Blacks and Hispanics are also disproportionately underrepresented.
As if misogynists and racists needed any more reasons to validate their hate…
I just wish I could spank Larry with a paddle and make him write 100 times on the chalkboard, “Girls are smarter than boys. Girls are smarter than boys.”
I’m baaack. My friends and I returned yesterday afternoon from an impromptu weekend snowboarding trip to Killington.
Come back tomorrow to read about how I want to spank a very naughty student.
In the meantime, I leave you with these wedding pictures. There are so many things wrong that I’m simply speechless. Come up with a clever caption, though, and you get one of those yummy Twinkies…
Carnival of Sin #13
Next week, Red will be publishing the Carnival.
Pen Pals: Epilogue
Remember the Brit who had a special friend he’d been dating for a month? He recently sent me an email describing what happened after he received my advice. Here is our subsequent conversation.
My time as a punter (UK term for client) however is over. That
client you mentioned, the only one you ended up having to tell ‘its
for the money only’, well that’s going to be me six months down the
line. Talking to you kinda flushed it out for me — what I need just
ain’t for sale, if indeed it can even be bought.
I told my friend I wasn’t going to be seeing her again, I gave her
my number & email…
You probably won’t be shocked to hear she has used neither.
The money was never the problem, Alexa, I’d have quite happily paid
till the cows came home. It was the moment she left my house, and I
really didn’t want her to go, all the time knowing she wouldn’t be
giving me a second thought.
Time to find something else to spend the cash on!
I’ve got another year before my divorce comes through, so it’s just
me and Palmela Handerson for now :-(
Take care of yourself,
Here’s to the beauties of Pamela Handerson…
Several people seem to have experienced quite a violent reaction to my last post Caveat Vendor — Part II. As anyone who visits regularly knows, though, I generally have a laissez faire attitude towards comments left on this blog. Que sera, sera.
Sometimes, I’ll pick on a particular hater just for sport as I truly enjoy participating in spirited debates. Parrying or thrusting with words can be a lot of fun, especially when you skewer an opponent in style.
In this case, I have little interest in debating because the story brings up painful memories. Writing about it was cathartic. Debating would simply debase the whole thing further.
I am genuinely perplexed, though…
If the lifestyle or choices described here bother you so much, why do you keep returning? For someone who “has a decent legit job,” who does “community service EVERY WEEK OF THE YEAR,” and who is clearly disturbed by what is written here, why keep coming back since at least last November?
Believe it or not, I don’t actually mind that you disagree with my choices or even that you judge me. Working in my profession requires a strong constitution and thick skin — it’s a matter of survival. In fact, I respect that you and I have diametrically opposed views on certain issues.
What surprises me, though, is that you keep coming back for more. I’m blown away that you invest the energy needed to essentially post an essay through your comments, especially since you believe this whole affair to be bull shit.
Given your self-description, I wonder if you have some long-repressed desires that you vicariously satisfy through reading blogs like mine.
If I’m right, then embrace your deviant side — it’s much more fun! If I’m wrong, then perhaps you should stop punishing yourself by returning here. Maybe you can add another community service commitment?
Finally, if neither of those options works, then I can only pass along a bit of wisdom from Ice-T, that rapper turned Law & Order star turned philosopher…
“Don’t hate the playa. Hate the game.”
Carnival of Sin #12
On another note, here is a great story from Mexican Mud about Solo’s wild experiences in the Tijuana red light district. It wasn’t included in the official Carnival because Solo emailed it to me over the weekend, but I think it’s a great story.
Caveat Vendor — Part II
“So I saw your ad in the _____”
“Is that really you?”
“You didn’t use some pic from Hustler or nothing, right?”
“No. That’s really me.”
”___ per hour.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“No, that’s what I charge.”
“OK. Whatever. Can you come over in the next hour?”
As you might have guessed, I experienced some real misgivings about the appointment with Bill. When he told me his address, my doubts increased because he lived in Hell’s Kitchen.
Hell’s Kitchen has undergone a recent wave of gentrification with lots of hip new restaurants popping up on 9th Ave. As young professionals moved into new luxury apartments on 8th Ave with floor-to-ceiling windows and a fleet of doormen in crisp uniforms, the crack whores, pimps and other undesirables retreated to the peripheries.
Pockets of seediness still exist, though, especially around 10th and 11th Ave and close to the Port Authority. Runaway teenage girls still get off the buses at Port Authority and run right into the arms of waiting pimps every day.
Hard up for cash and new clients, I ignore my doubts and agree to the appointment.
Stepping out of the cab, I’m immediately struck with the oh-so-lovely fumes of rotting garbage — someone had ripped open a white garbage bag and had scattered the contents on the sidewalk. Navigating around the rotting food, I ring the buzzer.
Seeing Bill allays some of my mounting doubts and fears. Based on our conversation, I had half-expected to be greeted by some balding fat man in a stained wife-beater and with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Instead, Bill’s a fairly normal looking young guy, at least as far as I could tell. He has a bit of a beer belly, but he seems otherwise fine. His old but clean blue jeans and black polo shirt fit well with his tall frame.
As I prepare to ask him for my fees, he says, “Suck my cock, bitch.”
“I said, ‘Suck my cock! Bitch.’ “
Bill slaps me hard across my left cheek. He quickly follows up with another hard slap across my right cheek. Before I can react to his initial attack, Bill grabs my hair and yanks it so hard that I fall to my knees. Weighing only 105 lbs, I’m no match for him.
Still holding a fistful of my hair in his hand, he opens his zipper with his other hand and whips out his cock. While I’m gasping for air, he jams his now hard cock into my mouth.
At first, I’m so disoriented that I don’t even realize that he’s face-fucking me. My only thought is that I can’t breathe. When I start gagging, he pulls his cock out and lets me take in some air. Finally, I realize that I’m being raped.
As Bill continues to ram his cock in and out of my mouth, I panic. Although my brain knows that I have to get out of there, my body remains frozen. He keeps yanking my hair and pushing his cock into my mouth.
Finally, some primal instinct forces me to act. Without thinking, I bite down on his cock and squeeze his testicles as hard as I can.
Bill shrieks. He lets go of my hair and falls to the ground. Doubled up in a fetal position, he rocks back and forth with his hands on his crotch and moans.
I bolt for the door.
When I get to my apartment, I’m a complete mess. With my disheveled hair and makeup running down my eyes, I look like some cheap-ass version of Tammy Faye Baker.
To this day, I still can’t remember how I returned to my apartment. I’ll never forget the metallic salty taste of Bill’s blood on my tongue, though.
The next day, I go to the clinic to get tested for AIDS. More importantly, I call Allison and ask if I can work for her again. And so my education in the business begins.
OK. Who wants to have hordes of visitors cumming to their blog on Valentine’s Day? Submit your stories to this week’s Carnival of Sin then! Some blog owners have reported a sudden surge of hundreds of unruly new visitors.
I know that many of you are naughty sinners. Don’t by shy…
Will You Be Mine?
I just wanted to say that I love your blog. I’ve been reading it since it started, and I can’t get enough of it. If only I had the guts to do and say half of the things that you do!
I have a general question for you, with Valentines Day coming up. Is this a busy holiday for you? I’m sure there are tons of guys out there wanting to take you out and wanting companionship on this day, so I’m just curious if you get great business.
Also, how do you decide who you are meeting with on the day? I’m sure that you have had many people calling for the actual night of V-day, so how did you decide on who you were going out with?
Thanks, and I hope you have a great Valentines day no matter what you do!
Muah — Laura
Thanks for your sweet email. I hope you have a fabulous Valentine’s Day yourself!
Valentine’s Day isn’t as busy a night as you might expect — most of my clients are married. Not having the phone ring off the hook for a specific night isn’t all that bad either since I can only service at most a couple clients in a day. Anyway, I’d much rather have a steady number of clients call than to have a huge burst where I have to turn down most. In the last two years, I’ve only had to be with a single client on Valentine’s Day because they both wanted me to stay overnight.
The nicest thing about Valentine’s Day in NYC is that many of the top restaurants have amazing prix fixe dinners with multi-course tasting menus. Often, a different glass of wine will come out with each course. So even if your client is boring you to death by talking about some tax or business deal that he just closed, at least the alcohol can help numb your stupor. Once, a waiter cut a heart into our souffle before pouring the Godiva’s chocolate sauce into it. Too cute!
Client booking is strictly first-come, first-serve with a slight twist. (Unlike most other nights, I require at least a multi-hour session.) Of course, some clients have asked if they can send me gifts on that day. While I hate turning down nice baubles and flowers, I invariably say no because I don’t give out my address. I’m an outcall-only girl.
Caveat Vendor — Part I
I still remember the first time I tried to strike it out on my own. Now that a little over two years have passed, I don’t think about it as much. But it’s never far from my mind. As much as I’d like to just forget it, I can’t. To forget could be fatal.
Tired of giving Allison half of my fees, I decided to go independent. Handing her stacks of twenties in little sealed white envelopes while sipping lattes at some cafe in the Upper East got old real fast. Why should she get all this money when I did all the hard work? I’m the one who went out there and performed night after night. Pathetic, attractive or just plain blah — I always had to please. All Allison had to do was to take phone calls. What a mooch, I thought!
Although I had only worked in this industry for a couple months, I had the whole thing figured out. Armed with my cell phone and a new semi-professionally designed website, I was ready. After giving my personal cell phone number to a couple of my favorite clients during my final week, I called Allison and quit.
Surprisingly for me, she made it easy to leave. Allison initially tried to convince me to work part time, and she even offered to help me go independent by teaching me the ropes. When she realized that she couldn’t convince me, Allison asked me if I really knew what I was doing. “Sure,” I replied. “How hard can it be to take phone calls?” She simply laughed.
When the calls didn’t come in, I started to learn how hard it could get.
Escorting is no different from any other business — you’re nothing if you can’t market and sell your services. Once you establish a stable of regular clients, life can and does get much easier. But finding all of those clients on your own is the real challenge. And if you can’t maintain cash flow while you’re building up your clients, you’re done.
In my naivete, I assumed that building a site was all that was needed. Once I built a site and submitted it to some directories, clients would just start calling, right? Not.
When clients didn’t call after the first week, I got worried. Some of my regulars did call, but it’s not like I could build up my little business based on just a handful of clients who saw me once a month.
When clients didn’t call after the second week, I started freaking out. Things were starting to unravel. How was I going to pay my bills? I put explicit ads in The Village Voice and in even more seedy publications.
And that’s how I met Bill…
Several New York escorts have asked if I could link my blog to their sites. As an incorrigible link whore myself, I enjoy sharing the love (and traffic) by helping other bloggers promote their sites through my Carnival of Sin or through other posts here.
Although I’m not sure how much a link on my blog will help, I’m seriously considering putting up some links. (Frankly, I’m surprised that my blog caught the attention of non-blogging service providers.) Knowing how hard it can be to get new clients, especially when a girl first strikes it out on her own, though, I really want to help out as much as I can.
Continuing the theme of men who do stupid things with their body…
After the 11-9 victory in the Six Nations clash, the man is reported to have gone outside and severed his testicles before bringing them back into the club to show fellow drinkers.
He can’t win a Darwin Award because he’s still alive, but at least he cut himself out of the gene pool…
Enema Under the Influence
Some news stories don’t need any comments…
Carnival of Sin #11
Wow. HeroineGirl did such a good job hosting last week that I’m nervous about taking my own baby back this week. As a graphically and organizationally challenged Luddite, I can’t offer any sideshows or auctions. Nevertheless, I’ve managed to find some delightfully naughty gems. So here they are for your enjoyment.
Peer into the psyche of a psychotic teenager who lusts for the touching of his genitalia and the death of his neighbor’s puppy. Though there is no overt violence, G successfully paints quite an eerie picture in his delicious story.
Special Ed teacher who shops at Victoria’s Secret and then takes belly dancing lessons? Enough said. Go read “Lust, Actually.” Now.
In the latest “Friday Pussy Blogging,” Eden Gardner of Just One Bite examines and expounds upon the state of her pussy. Here’s a sample. “My pussy is a wet, moody carnivore. It smells of salt and sweat and slipperiness.” I love it.
The Hustler provides a fascinating glimpse into the world of male gigolos as he recounts the experiences of his friend, who paid for his way through school by servicing women. Unlike many female escorts, with mostly one-off clients, his friend was a ‘kept’ man.
Ever pondered the answer to that deep question? No. Not why am I here? Or who am I? But how many people can I love at once? Well, Garrison Steelle examines the answer to that question in his sermon on polyamory.
In “Erica Part I,” Mr. Grey converts his friend’s impressionable daughter into his personal sex slave. Chock full of delightfully sinful details, this story is quite a read. If you like this hot story, then Mr. Grey continues with parts II and III.
Sabre turned me on without committing a single explicitly salacious act in her story “First Crush.” Just the hint of lustful gazes at a dancer was enough to get me wet. Of course, when you talk about pretty young dancers, I usually get wet anyway…
Continuing with stories by girls and for girls, Nixx writes an evocative story within a story in “A Bedtime Story.” Someone pour some cold water on me. Please. Actually, on second thought, pour some warm oil on me and rub it all over. Mmmm. Much better!
Who knew that librarians could be so kinky? In “Sex and the Single Girl,” Kinky Librarian recounts her sexcapades as a teenager prior to losing her virginity. She manages to make sharing a vibrator with Mom sound fun. Better give up my Amazon account and get me a library card instead! =)
In “Another Thing I Didn’t Need to Know,” Artemistress rails against the evils of Cold Stone Creamery. I feel your pain…
I’m not sure that I understand everything that happened in “Here’s Johnny.” All I know is that there lots of sex, booze, drugs and more sex. With lots of different peeps. Sounds good to me…
Casey describes an outing with his girlfriend to buy a condom. While the story itself is interesting, the discussion on flavored condoms most enlightening. While at True 2610, feel free to add your 2 cents in the comments!
Carnival of Sin
OK. OK. I’m a bit late with this week’s Carnival. That’s what happens when you get lazy!
But come back tomorrow. I’ll post links to a bunch of great articles. I promise.
By the way, I haven’t forgotten about all those great virtual kisses from last week’s carnival. I’m going to let the winner know how to redeem his IM chat with me. :)
Blogging is like working out.
When I blog regularly, I get a high from the writing. I scratch my itch. I fill my void. Whatever you want to call it. I get it. Like my psychiatrist says, therapy is fun because everyone gets to talk about their favorite subject. Blogging is like that. Except that I get to write rather than talk about my favorite subject.
When I take a long break, forget about it! At first, I savor the extra time and promise myself that I’ll be back to the blog soon. If I stay away for a couple days, though, coming back becomes progressively harder.
But just like working out, I know that writing on my blog is good for me. As the oracle once said, “know thyself.” Writing helps me get to know myself. Pouring my thoughts out here forced me to confront my own past and the bitterness that I have towards my dad. I now know more than ever that I can be frivolous, passionate and stupid all at once. What a wonderful little mess.
As a workout fiend, I am proud of my body. But my brain is still weak. While I’ve been going to the gym forever, I only started truly using my brain again last year. Most clients are more interested in my boobs than in my IQ. What goes into my mouth is much more important than what comes out of it…
My brain started turning to slush as I took a break last week. And I couldn’t take it anymore, especially since I really missed talking with you.
So, here I am!
Here’s a recent email exchange I had with a reader from across the pond. For all you grammar Nazis (including that idiot Prince Harry), please note that I usually don’t use capital letters in my email. If I miss a work out, though, I might just use capitals to expend those extra calories required to press the shift key…
I have a problem, or I may not I don’t know, & its a very particular problem (or not) concerning a ‘special friend’ I’ve been ‘dating’ once a month or so. I wouldn’t ask but I think I’d benefit from an insight that you are especially qualified to offer (ooh I’m a smooth talker), and at any rate, this sure as hell wouldn’t be a question I’d want to pose to my parents, friends or colleagues you know :-o
It’s not a smutty or salacious question, anything but in fact, I just feel a line has (or not) been crossed & I’m not sure what to do (or not).
I dont know if your up for a bit of email role-play as an agony aunt, so I thought we’d sort the fee out up front before I pose my question — a suitable donation to your favourite charity for your time?
PS That dog stuff on your blog, you were just doing that to get a rise from your readers, weren’t you?. Please tell me that guy wasn’t for real!
unfortunately, doggie boy is real. like i said, i was 99% sure that i wouldn’t do it. i think i kept that 1% possibility to find out more — some might say that i have a perverted curiousity — about his fantasies.
at any rate, i’d be more than happy to try to answer your question. free of charge. i’d have to warn you though that i might want to publish it on my blog if it were good. of course, i’d get rid of any identifying info.
Thanks for taking the time, its appreciated. I insist on paying, so I will make a donation to my favourite charity instead!
When your with a client having some ‘quality’ time, do you draw a line about the kind of personal stuff you are prepared to listen to, or discuss with him? Let’s say for example you really like the guy, and you find him easy to talk to, would you open up to him and discuss personal stuff, like you do with us on your blog, maybe more so, or do you work to a kind of ‘script’ and keep your distance. Likewise, do you try to steer guys away from getting too personal with you, about their wives, colleagues, etc. Common sense suggests it would be all to easy for some clients, especially the married, sexless & lonely ones (like me) to get too close, so its better all round for you to keep a little distance emotionally?
We were just talking (I’d had a bad day, so it just ended up being a dinner, wine and chat appointment) when she suddenly started talking about her marriage & she told me, amongst other things, about being repeatedly raped by her then husband. Would you tell a client something that personal? Shes obviously moved on, she’s very, er, talented in bed & a very special lady to boot, so perhaps to her its not a big deal at all?
I’m curious as to whether you would ever get that personal with a client, and how you’d react to a client telling you something like that. There must be some kind of unwritten etiquette regarding this….
And yes, I know I’m just another job to her, hell in the ‘real world’ I’d never get her number, let alone in her knickers, so I’m not kidding myself I’m any different or special to her than any of her other clients, for all I know she talks like this to all of them, I just dont know. I suppose I’m afraid she does what she does as a consequence of the abuse, why the hell that should matter to me I dont know, it just does.
Maybe I should just stop indulging myself in introspective belly-button gazing & just listen to Mr Winky ;-)
Any & all insights &/or advice appreciated.
PS Doggie boy has some serious issues. I hope you launched his sick ass
I’m sorry I didn’t respond to you earlier.
Your email really made me think about my own client interactions since I never end up hearing about how my own clients truly perceive me. Sure, they might write the juicy details of our GFE encounters in review forums like The Erotic Review, but they usually don’t write about the more interesting stuff as far as I’m concerned.
Maybe it’s because they know that I read the reviews. Or maybe it’s because they just don’t care about anything beyond the “juicy” stuff. I don’t know. (IMO, the non-juicy stuff creates the true GFE.)
I don’t draw any artificial lines about things my clients can discuss. Some see me because they just broke up with their girlfriend or they’re unhappy with their marriages. Others see me to celebrate some big new deal. A few might see me just because.
Getting to know clients is good business. Showing real interest beyond the immediate session or opening up with personal topics creates a sense of intimacy, which in turn creates satisfied clients who keep coming back for more. A few men have said that they love me over the last couple years. I usually laugh it off to preserve the charade. Eventually, they simmer down and become another regular. Only in one case have I had to tell the man outright that everything is for money and money alone.
I hope that you don’t think that I’m just some cold-hearted bitch who manipulates men for money. A part of me thinks I should have become a therapist because I genuinely like talking with my clients about their lives. Maybe it’s better that I didn’t though because I’d probably give horrible advice — look how I turned out.
In the end, everything boils down to money, though. Your friend probably likes you well enough. It’s hard to fake that. But ask yourself if she’d be there without you paying. Sorry.
Don’t sweat it, I’m under no illusions my friend is there for the money, no problem with that whatsoever. I sincerely doubt she has a fetish for Dan Akroyd lookalikes circa Ghostbusters 1985. And I wouldn’t be there were it not for the fact she bears a passing resemblence to Kate Beckinsale!
I won’t turn this into a game of mail tag, so I’ll close off on my original question & take my leave. You’ve been a sport for answering anyway, and its appreciated.
See, my friend and I have had some very intimate & personal conversations (the naughty bits dont take too long as I’m crap in bed, but I’m improving. So I’m told, anyway) & I suppose my fear was where this ‘goes’. I got very close to a girl at work once under similar circumstances & that didnt end up too well, so I’m a bit wary of that kind of emotional intimacy. But as you say, there is no emotional intimacy as such, merely the shadow of it, a shared illusion but illusion none the less. The E in GFE. Charade seems a little too harsh a word for it though.
Thats my lot (or load). Thanks for reading, & like our own Belle De Jour, I’m expecting great things of you Alexa, dont go letting me down!
Big manly hug,
Thank you for your sweet email.
Don’t sell yourself short! I know a real hottie who finds Wallace Shawn, the Sicilian from The Princess Bride, attractive. She ended up marrying a guy who looked sort of like a 6’4” version of Mssr Shawn with slightly softer features. I love him (as a friend) because he’s a really huge teddy bear.
You’re right, though. “Charades” is probably too strong a word — I used it to sharpen the contrast between paid relationships and regular relationships. I’m glad that you and your friend have a good relationship, though!
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