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A New York Escorts Confessions
Sometimes You Just Gotta Go It Alone.
I don’t know what happened to me the other day. I was inside my own head, ticking off the list of errands I had to do when I walked into Duane Reade. As I moved down the aisle, I saw an African American man with long braids tied back restocking the shelves. I suddenly has this full on vision of me pulling his braids back hard, him arching his back, him turning to me, slipping his hot tongue in my mouth, of us grabbing each other as we sunk down to the floor messily, taking box after box in our wake. I stopped in my tracks. Where the hell had that come from?
Then later in the day, I was walking back up Columbus, trying to avoid the nasty rivulets of ice water that block about half the streets on the Upper West Side post the blizzard. There was a tall European tourist in front of me, characteristically with his backpack in front of him and the straps on his back. Again it happened. I was pulling him from behind. I was grabbing him from the front, slipping my fingerless cashmere gloves down his pants, making him come in front of God and everyone else on West 75th.
Either I was really angry or just really really horny. I opted for the second.
The minute I walked through my door I stood in front of my picture window, tore off my coat, and stripped off my clothes all the way down to my bra and panties. I must have known my state of mind when I woke up since I was wearing one of my favorite matched sets. Fire engine red, sheer, and lacy. Mmmmm. I felt ripe and ready, already having broken a sweat. Then I reached for my private stash. Of really really bad erotica.
I had actually started out with good intentions. I read Anais Nin who got me hot, but also made me sigh with her great literary descriptions. The problem was, sometimes that was distracting. Someone had given me a book called Quiver by an Australian named Tobsha Lerner which was good, but again, very psychological. I don’t know. It just wasn’t doing it for me.
To really get me hot, there was the thing of it having to be well, unsavory. To that end I had stumbled onto a series of books called Eros In ______. Fill in the blank any way you’d like. According to the series Eros was apparently everywhere—In The Country, In Town, On the Grand Tour, In the Far East, In High Places etc. etc. etc.
The stories had two narrators, Sophie and Andy, who alternated chapters. I never could quite place the time frame, maybe the 1830’s? But long enough ago that we were talking about top hats, and bloomers, and corsets. Lots of clothes to remove. Oh and they were English, which gave everything this tension between uncoiled desire, and a proper upright Englishness. Would you like tea with your scrotum? The one I was currently um…enjoying, had Sophie and Andy in the New World. Sophie had a bet with Andy, that she could sleep her way through the signs of the zodiac. Hmmm. That wasn’t such a bad idea actually. I was going to start keeping track in my own life. Who knows if there were patterns for lovers of different signs. Maybe I was secretly a Virgo girl. Though I knew for a fact I didn’t want anything to do with Scorpios. Nope. No way.
While Andy went North, Sophie went south and landed in New Orleans. I had to skip several chapters here because, who wants to get off on anything that has anything at all to do with New Orleans? But from what I gathered, Sophie had managed to save two young slaves from a violent master and now was on the run with them. Sure. Could happen.
I turned to the page where Sophie was alone bathing the young girl. Mmmm…okay. I could see their skin tones playing off each other in the darkened light of the ship’s cabin (oh right—they were escaping by boat). There was something romantic about it. I could see the curve of the young girl’s breast as Sophie washed her, heard her breathing change. Heard Sophie saying she was getting wet sitting there so close to the tub, and wouldn’t it be better if she got naked too.
Just then the young man walked in, saw the two women entwined. Sophie called to him and then it was breast on breast, an eager youth with a sinewy body embracing black and then white. Sophie’s lips on his, then hers, hands tangled, water splashing, moans, hair being pulled, the man with the braids in the store, a quiver, the arch of a back and everyone coming at once.
…good God. I was getting off on slave fantasies. I ran for the shower.
What could my bad taste be about? Is it the repressed memory of being raised religiously? That ho hum idea of sex being naughty? Or am I just quite simply a sick puppy?
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confessionsComments
Your trashiest post ever. Please steer away from writing mastrubation fodder.
Posted by Hero on Feb 15 11:12AM
This is so clearly written by a man. All of the references to how smokin' hot "Alexa" is, her relationship with her body, the ridiculous ideas about feminine biology (the Pill post, anyone?) points to the fact that this is written by a guy who wishes he were a beautiful young NYC prostitute. No real woman who would anything as corny as "... I was wearing one of my favorite matched sets. Fire engine red, sheer, and lacy. Mmmmm. I felt ripe and ready, already having broken a sweat." Yeah, and I bet afterwards she went to the CUTEST shop and bought some more really SEXY underwear and then had a muffin, or something. Anyone with a Zagat's and a copy of Time Out New York could write this.
You have to go with the flow on these things.
Relax, let the fantasies take you where they will, and enjoy the ride.
You may eventually figure out their significance--or you may not. But if you try to ignore them or suppress them, they'll just keep gnawing at you.
The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. --Oscar Wilde
Posted by S on Feb 16 12:11AMI love it! Sick? No way......sane and rather tame. Your MLK adventure...the photo session......the snow storm.......just confirms your alive!
Posted by Rex on Feb 16 10:36AMnow really, who can spend their life without getting off to the taboo and different? i like to think its just a sign of an interesting (mental) life (history) and an active imagination. (combined with sex drive of course)
Posted by n on Feb 17 02:09AMGo with the slave thing! The more terrible you feel about it the more you'll learn about yourself.
Posted by fairest on Mar 8 05:40PM... I still haven't decided whether or not the author of this blog is an Alexa or an Alex. Quite frankly, this post was the most intrigueing. Every woman has had scorching hot sex thoughts. But a cool, chic, and sophistocated escort...one who exudes a certain amount of wit even in his/her blog would know better than to describe something as primal as lust in such a manner... I really don't think any woman has described herself as being "ripe and ready" If this is an Alex... I would say put down the Nora Roberts and try harder to not give yourself away with the cheesy guy ideas of how girls masterbate. If this is an Alexa...get over your anxiety of being politically correct in porn. The idea is that it's a fantasy, honey. It's an erotic, uninhibited, and delicious break from reality...enjoy it.
Posted by sara on Mar 13 04:46PMPost a Comment
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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)
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I think you're just in need of some alone time with some toys or yourself.
Posted by Binky on Feb 15 07:50AM