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A New York Escorts Confessions

The Crypt

No one here is having sex…

There was a feeble attempt at a threesome. She came out in a gorgeous La Perla jeweled teddy and heels, looking tall, commanding, and well, totally hot. Unfortunately she kept ruining the effect by pulling a white terry cloth robe around her like she was horribly embarrassed at the whole exercise. That in turn made P look ashamed. I sat down on the bed and motioned for the two of them to join me.

Hmmm. This was going to be like a math problem. How to break the tension? I figured it was probably more threatening to have me act on P than on her, so first I put my hand very very tentatively on her cheek. She didn’t move. I ran my hand softly down her neck to where her hair was pinned up, then unfastened it. I had actually been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw her. Her hair fell down softly about her shoulders. I ran my hand through it, then grazed her neck with my lips. She let me, even leaned into me. I kissed her shoulder, her chest. I then brought my mouth to her lips. I heard P’s breathing change behind me. He began nuzzling at my shoulder. When I looked up at Mrs. P, she looked…well, a bit shellshocked. But she wasn’t making a beeline for the door either. I turned to P and began to kiss him. He tried to undo my strap but I stopped him and kissed Mrs. P again this time harder. Then I brought them together. They hesitated at first but suddenly P moved her toward him. She kissed him hard, bit into his shoulder. Then she reached down and grasped his cock. He jerked back and froze. A long moment passed. She tentatively touched him again. He looked like he was holding his breath. I grabbed his cock and began to gently stroke him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them I began fumbling with the clasps on Mrs. P’s teddy. It was useless. Even as I managed to undress her with my teeth, P would not, could not get aroused.

It looked like there was nothing to do but well, go and be tourists. First we went to the Prague Hradany Castle, the jewel of the city. While we were wandering the halls P suddenly grabbed me and pushed me behind a massive antique stove.

“I’ve got to have you now.”

“Get off of me,” I said.

We then entered St. Vitus’ Cathedral. After touring the main floor we ascended a narrow winding staircase to go up into one of the towers. About one hundred steps up P reached underneath my skirt and grabbed me. He startled me so much that I went careening into a group of Japanese tourists and knocked over a four-year-old girl who of course began crying. Mrs. P turned around, looked at me and glared. Then for the briefest of seconds I saw a look of pure despair. As soon as she turned the corner I laid into P. “I thought you didn’t want to fuck up your marriage.”

“I’ve got a big one for you. Look. Look” He started to take it out. I turned and kept climbing.

Once we were at the top of the stairwell I managed to sneak myself next to Mrs. P. She let me stand there but didn’t say anything. I listened to the eveness of her breathing. “You know, ” I ventured quietly. “He’s not in love with me.” Her eyes welled up. She took in a sharp breath.

“And he won’t sleep with me.” She walked away.

I ask you, could this get any more awful?!

Finally we went down to the lowest level of the castle to the crypts of the kings. The air was dank the ceiling low. Before I knew what was happening P had pushed me into a dark tunnel. I could feel cold metal bars behind me like those from a jail cell.

“Suck me.”

“No.”

“C’mon baby. You’ve got me so horny.” He tried to push my head to his pants.

“Jesus Christ. What is wrong with you? A thousand years of death make you horny?”
“I brought you here. I paid for you, you whore!”

I slapped him as hard as I could across the face. I heard bone breaking, heard him gasp in pain. Then I ran, ran like hell. Out of the crypt, out of the church, out of the castle, down the hill, running running running running. I ran right into some poor girl, pushed her aside and kept running. I ran and ran. Then I stopped. Someone was calling my name.

“Alexa? Hey hold on. Alexa! Is that you?”

I’d know that tiny breathy little girl voice anywhere. “Ruby?” I turned around and saw her in all her East Village finery. Glittery eye-shadow, black lace tights, a long black wig and a henna tattoo on her hand and forearm. “Dear God. Tell me you’re really here. Tell me I’m not making this up” Before she could even answer I had her in a bear hug. Then I started crying.

Comments

Geez. Sounds like the trip from hell, hon. At least it's all manageably bad, though. Here's hoping the end comes soon.

Posted by scribecalledsteff on Oct 20 02:29PM

He is a the lowest form of life. What is his problem. He has severe issues. Needs to feel some kind of power and emotional detachment from someone to have sex with him or something. Can't have sex with his wife. WHAT?!?!? Ludicrous!?!?!? I dunno what the deal is but he is a real monster. First offers to DRUG his wife and then treats you like some possession. Would he tell a plumber to how and when to do his job? Fix my pipes at midnight, I own you! He is an animal. I feel most sorry for Mrs. P.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUT...now you can enjoy some time with a real friend in Prague.

Posted by Jeregano on Oct 20 02:56PM

i feel really bad for Mrs. P. at least (it seems that) she's starting to realize that you're not to blame for this situation (her marriage)... it's all on P.

and i can't believe the nerve of this dude. he puts the fate of his marriage on your shoulders, but he's still trying to fuck you w/o his wife knowing?

and then he pulls the "I paid for you!" shit? please. you're an escort, not a slave.

Posted by mikey on Oct 20 03:01PM

wow... sounds like a novel... your life is definitely quite interesting! Well it's a lucky escape I guess.

Posted by d on Oct 20 04:45PM

Are you all drinking the same kool-aid? Please spare me the self-righteous drivle.

Alexa, you are a prostitute, apparently a high-priced prostitute, but a prostitute nonetheless. I don't think being a prostitute is something to be ashamed of, but I am perplexed and slightly amused by the fact that you and many of the previous commenters are shocked that Mr. P treats you like nothing more than a gold-plated cum receptacle. After all, hasn't he grown accustomed to renting you by the hour? Now you may say that you're a companion or an escort or some other feel-good derivative, but the fact is you have sex with men for money, which makes you a whore. Embrace it, but do so honestly, please.

If you don't like something a client does, end the session and send him packing. In the instant case, you were entirely justified to slap his face and run away. I can only assume you were equally astute enough to have insisted on an open-ended round trip ticket so that you may return home at a date and time of your own choosing.

Posted by Clear Thinker on Oct 20 05:16PM

Wow, I don't know why this never jumped out at me before, but the whole deal with whether it's appropriate to call a prostitute a prostitute (or any of the derivative terms) reminds me so much of Mal and Inara's relationship in "Firefly"...

Posted by Dan on Oct 20 06:55PM

wow.
i gotta say: this has really turned into quite the story.

Posted by Guru on Oct 20 07:24PM

I find Clear Thinker's words hypocritical. He (I presume it's a he) pretends to defend Alexa by saying that he thinks that there's nothing wrong with being a prostitute yet his image of that is someone whom you can do anything to, without regard for decency. And nothing says condescending attitude more than "gold-plated cum receptacle". Is he actually describing what Mr P thinks of Alexa? Or more believably, what he (Clear Thinker) himself thinks? Because the afore-mentioned phrase is not something that springs to one's mind readily...not unless it's been there a long time.

Posted by Ben on Oct 20 07:29PM

Just saying I agree with Ben. A professional is a person, a human being, that offers a service. NOT someone you can buy and sell like a toy or car. A mechanic is not a machine that works on a car are they? It strikes me that Clear Thinker is a guy who treats his secretary like a slave and forgets to ever remember that she is indeed a person. He is the person that screams at the cashier when an item rings up a different price than it said on the shelf where a previous customer placed it in the wrong place, I mean why not it is their job to please your whim, despite how you refuse to read the label you look at.
On a seperate not, Call, you may be right, (I am sure most of us beleive that at one time or other on some level) and in that case, well, it is good fiction. Read it like an ongoing novel and enjoy. The truth is it doesn't matter it is kind of like a continuous book club where we can comment on the charecters. What I do not like about that point of veiw is the chance that the charecters are flesh and blood that can be offended by our veiws. Don't like what you read? Don't like it passing itself off as "truth" when your CERTAIN it is not? Close the book. There is no need to be rude.

Posted by Jeregano on Oct 20 10:20PM

I can't fully blame Mr P, personally i had been in the situation where you are phisicaly atracted to one but emotionaly drawn to another person. I know it's not right, but its a fact. In this case, P will just have to chose or at least seperate you two. I definately dislike the idea of getting the two women in his life together in one roof..... thats a very bad idea and i'm sure he knows thar (what a cruel man).

As for you my dear, I believe you just have to make the most of your trip. If posible, i encourage you to move to another hotel. I believe in profesionalism, i do not agree you have to get hurt or abuse along the way. There is always another way around.... always.... =)

Posted by Mike@Mono on Oct 21 01:42AM

I really hope you held on to your return ticket.. and are using it right now.

Posted by jason on Oct 21 01:44AM

You gotta publish a book on this! I'll be first in line for a copy..

Posted by Elynne on Oct 21 01:58AM

Who cares if it's fake or real. It's a great story...believe it or not. The woman does have a talent for writing...

Posted by B on Oct 21 02:39AM

Hmmm...I must admit that this story is starting to sound rather far fetched. It's an interesting read, but really...you just happened to find a friend while you're in another country? What are the chances of that happening?

Posted by Toni on Oct 21 03:16AM

Toni,

You would be surprised at how small the world is...

When I used to travel, I would always meet up people along the way all over the world. That shocked me.

Alex,

I am so sorry that this is going so wrong. I really hope you and Mrs. P can find a nice bog to leave Mr. P and that y'all can finally have some fun.

Posted by Charles on Oct 21 05:56AM

This blog has struck me as bad fiction since day one...everything borders on the generic and nothing takes place that couldn't be learned off the internet. Plus certain things that "Alexa" says or does are just too twee. In the story about her parents' divorce, she wrote that her mother had skills, "but that making the world's best chocolate-chip cookies didn't hold up in court." The whole "I dress up like a pregnant lady" episode was clearly concocted; "Alexa" just happens to have a friend who is a top costume designer who can outfit her at will? Sounds like something out of Mrs Doubtfire.

She also miraculously has friends who fit every stereotype, a Bret Easton Ellis-flair for name-droppping labels, and no identifying individual characteristics. Oh, and she's found her crazy but beautiful and loving East Village friend in the middle of big bad Prague! I hope that ice queen Mrs P doesn't get her!

It is appealing in a sort of sordid way, though; that's why I'm reading. Just don't mistake it for a real sex-worker blog.

Posted by Oksana on Oct 21 07:55AM

Oksana, I'm not sure if what Alexa writes is real or not. But then again, who knows if anything we read is 100% real unless we've witnessed it?

I personally believe that Alexa writes the truth, at least most of the time. Could she be stretching the truth? Maybe.

But I'm one of those starving actors in NYC and I personally know some people who are crazier than Alexa's friends. When I tell my friends in Idaho stories, they sometimes think I'm full of shit! And like Charles, I've bumped into several friends while traveling in Europe. Isn't it weird how all us Americans sort of clump together when we're overseas?

I like coming to this blog, though, because Alexa really opens herself for us and it takes guts to write about your life or experiences in the way she does.

Alexa, the P's are crazy and dangerous. You should really take everyone's advice and come back to the States!

Posted by danny on Oct 21 09:25AM

Alex, you did the right thing.

I like the idea of dumping Mr. P in a bog and then you and Mrs. P going off and having fun, whether it be exploring the city or something more naughty.

Heck, take Mrs. P for coffee with Ruby, and talk. Really talk. If he's expecting you to make an impact on his marriage, then he has to expect that you should get to know his wife, too. And you may not have the impact he expects.

Posted by Andy on Oct 21 10:15AM

I've had similar thoughts to Oksana, especially since the postings about the trip. Don't take me wrong, I think Alexa (?)is a good enough writer to keep me checking for new posts. The sequence of events on this trip someone don't connect for me. Flying all night, drinking too much alcohol, arriving at a hotel and composing a new blog entry from the business center, thoughts well composed, conversations rememberd, quotes cited, whoosh.

But hey, a love the description of some of the sex acts, she can get my engine running. Checking back for chapter XXX.

Posted by Tennis player on Oct 21 04:17PM

I kinda agree with Tennis Player and oksana, this all sounds fake. But the writer writes well. for all you know its a guy.....lol.
Oh well lets c how this Prague Story ends.
Maybe the person she met knows Mr P's Wife and they will have a foursome.

Posted by bystander on Oct 22 03:46PM

"Gold plated cum receptable" ---- Good lord ! What language!

Posted by kathleen glyde on Oct 23 01:05PM

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I'm a twenty-something New York escort. I love Prada, Seven jeans, and Jimmy Choos. I'm also totally addicted to Starbucks' grande non-fat white mocha and working out.

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