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A New York Escorts Confessions
Let’s Talk About Sex
So I found out over Memorial Day weekend that my friend Cass is truly a lucky girl. According to reliable sources, she’s now seeing Rich, this unbelievable guy who we all know from our college days.
Rich was, in a word, smoky. Hazel eyes with a dark Italian complexion. He had a furrowed brow, an expression like his wheels were always turning, intense-like.
And a butt that should have won itself a Levis contract.
As soon as Tash told me the news, I practically bounded for the phone. “You’re seeing Rich?!”
“Yeah.”
“As in ‘now that’s Rich’? That Rich? ‘From college Rich?’
“Yeah.”
“Oh. My. God. You little weasel!”
“I know.” And she began to giggle like a school girl.
“Sooo…what’s it like?”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh believe me, I do. I have several.”
“Well, do you remember how he used to work at Morgan Stanley?”
Um. How was this pertinent? “Sure…yeah.”
“Well he was doing really well, kept getting promoted, raises, titles and one day he just quit. Like that. Pretty great, right? I dig that about him. And now he’s working as a ferrier. You know, one of those guys who shoes horses?”
Oooh. I could work with that. Rich as a cowboy, with some shit-kicking boots, wiping his brow in the sun…
“So, without knowing any of this, I decide I want to take horseback riding lessons again. So I go out to the ranch and as I’m gearing Calistoga up for a trot—”
“Cass. This is all great. We can get to all of this in a sec, I promise. But come on, tell me already? How is he in the sack? What does he look like naked?”
“Alexa!”
“What? It’s all we talked about in college. When we’d go to his school to watch him play soccer with his shirt off, don’t you remember? We fantasized about tag-teaming him, wrestling him to the ground, so we could check out his—”
“Will you stop it?!!!”
Her tone was emphatic, shrill and above all incensed.
“It’s different this time. It’s private. I think…I think I’m in love with him.”
Again, I wondered how this was relevant.
This was so not Cass. Cass was always the first one to talk about sex. No matter what kind of relationship she was in, be it a fling or long term. How the guy kissed. How quickly he got hard. Which fingers he’d use to touch her nipple the first time. How many times she came and in what positions. She would always have us rapt, giggly, enthralled. There was no detail she wouldn’t provide.
I remember one time she was dating this real guy’s guy, Kip. He rowed crew, drove a pick up, smoked like a Marlboro man. And apparently had the smallest dick in the history of mankind. Cass went to no end to give us metaphors. Smaller than the cork from a ‘98 zinfandel. Thinner than a penne pasta. A head the size of a nipple on a badminton birdie.
And now she was taking away all the fun, all the bonding. Because this time she was apparently ‘making love’ instead of having sex.
I wanted to cry foul. I didn’t begrudge her her feelings in the least. I was happy for her. In fact I did want to hear the movie version of the first meeting, the courtship, the weak in the knees first kiss. All of that.
But first I wanted what was mine. The porn movie version of events.
As Cass went on about their sweet night of miniature golf, the stolen kiss in the rain, the bouquet of freshly picked lilacs, my mind started to wander. I started to wonder if maybe I could make up my own story using everything she was omitting. That night at the golf course? Maybe he used his club to lift up her skirt? The lilac bouquet? Did he go into a bush to collect it? Did the prickly branches tear at his t-shirt, exposing his lovely brown flesh? One thing was for certain though.
I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a small dick.
new york escorts
confessionsComments
Ah, the magic of falling in love, it often makes storytelling prudes.
Though, I feel your pain.
Hmmm, your site looks great. It's been awhile since I came by. Really Hot!
Posted by Hustler on May 31 11:52PMLOL! Alexa! OK, though I'd never admit it in public, but I would so ask for the sex stories first and the mushy-gushy stuff later. Cuz really, the sex is all I'm looking for. Like when Monster's Ball came out, I totally fast-fowarded that part to when Halle and Billy Bob got their freak on. So yeah, like Rich, you're a bigger man than I am. Or woman. Whatever. LOL...
Posted by David on Jun 1 10:48PMPost 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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One upsetting thought here...
I don't think the head of a badminton birdie is actually that small. I think I'm actually sort of competitive with that.
But if that size is considered small, maybe I'm in more trouble than I thought.
Or maybe I haven't played badminton in a long time, and it's actually smaller than I remember.
I went by some neighbors the other day, who were playing badminton on the front lawn. How do you think they would react if next time, I grabbed their birdie and did a comparison, right there in the yard?
Posted by Steven D on May 31 03:32PM