4a580537613fe2537fea2aa62815d498It’s a wrap! If I see one more photo of an escort’s iPhone I’m gonna puke! This new-age reality comes courtesy of the current rage: the selfie! For some odd reason, girls think it’s cool to take a picture of themselves in a mirror with their phone cameras. To this trend I say “Wassup wit dat, girls? You don’t have any friends…or any friends capable of centering a subject in a view finder? Do we really have to judge your physical appearance from a picture taken in a mirror with an iPhone covering your face? Totally wack…or ratchet as they say today!

I look on the Gentleman’s Choice website and inevitably, the worst shots are the selfies. And they always seem to have the signature iPhone in the photo. Do any of these girls think these selfies attract cute guys with big wallets? Hardly! For me, iPhone selfies scream one word: GHETTO! Even if a woman is blessed with the body and face of a $500/hour escort, that picture will knock the price down to a hundred bucks. So girls! Listen up! Get somebody to take your photos – and preferably not with a fucking phone which always gives you a grainy off-color shot. Why sabotage your effort? Talk about penny wise and pound foolish! Enough of that! If some girl wants to blow up her own spot with a dumb-ass iPhone selfie who am I to judge?

Let’s move on to (once again) the kitchen at JONY, where I seemingly get all my inspiration for blog posts. So this time I’m in the hallowed area with 3 or 4 girls…mostly of color…and the conversation trips to All Star Week. Typically, the girls slur their inside jargon either to see if I know what they’re talking about…or more likely…it’s just the way they talk. And me being as old as I am…how would I understand?

So they’re on this All Star Week tip and I’m trying to figure out what the fuck they’re talking about when I suddenly realize they’re talking about NBA All Star Week which is coming up soon…and will be held at MSG and the Barclay Center in Brooklyn. And of course, all the girls want to be part of the festivities which generally means…they’re hoping to bed an NBA star!

I’m befuddled! Why they want to fuck one of these guys is beyond me. I mean…what self-respecting girl would chase a six and a half to seven foot tall tattooed athlete with the body of an Adonis…a 12 inch dick…and a 36 inch wallet when they could have one of a division of pot-bellied, aging dickheads who come to see them on a daily basis? I told you these girls make no sense!

I kid of course. I’ve been well aware that escorts love athletes – especially basketball players. And it’s not just the American escorts of color! A while back an Asian girl whipped out her phone and showed me a shot of a nude Beckham. Apparently, the fetish crosses cultural and racial lines. Chicks like a rich, handsome, big dick athlete. Go figure!

Actually, a Jewels girls works at one of the venues! Talk about a fortuitous second job! She’s black and has a big chest to boot! I fully expect her to be walking bow-legged and in a certain amount of pleasure/pain for a month after All Star Week. I’d be disappointed with anything less! And I say “Got get ‘em, girls!” What’s the point of being young and beautiful if you can’t lie down with a rich stud and live his charmed life vicariously – if only for a few minutes. I’m hoping to hear some juicy stories. I’ll report back when I do!

…which ethnicity is the most popular of them all? We’ve all heard the “different strokes for different strokes” cliche. And we’re similarly well aware that New York’s escort rank and file is as diverse as the cab driving community’s. So which group garners the most attention? Is it latinas…or Asians…or Americans…or Indians…or Eastern Europeans? That is the question of the day!

To discover the answer to this most momentous of interrogatories, I turn to JONY and GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE simply because they’re the two places which hire women of all races, creeds, ethnicities and nationalities. And the answer might surprise you!

From all indications, it’s Eastern Europeans – and especially Russian girls – who attract the most attention. Now I’ve known women of all ethnicities who have made pots of gold in the escort business. But it seems whenever a new Russian gets a job at JONY or GC, they get very busy immediately. This surprises me because Russian women have a reputation for being cold and money-hungry. Yet my eyes do not deceive me. Girls like INA, ELENA, NADIA, YZA and (omg) SOPHIA are always in demand. And sometimes who I consider to be very beautiful American black girls sit!

Maybe it’s the exotic accent. Or the mystique of a girl from halfway around the world that is so fascinating. It’s difficult to say. Asian girls (as in Oriental Asians) seem to be almost as popular – which supports that theory about women from far off lands. Me? I go for women of color mostly. Or as TINA MARIE says…”Billy likes girls with flavor!” Why? Beats me. I don’t worry about it.

Regardless, I like to observe in general. And my observation is that at least with the guys who patronize JONY and GC (whom I have to think are representative of the NY male), it’s Eastern bloc women who attract them most.

Moving on…there’s a new-to-NY Asian cutie named JULIE over at BLUE SKY ASIAN (646-455-8682). In fact, their site indicates that she’s just arrived from the motherland and is new to the USA! No doubt, there are a few guys out there who want to give her the good old American welcome – which will hopefully meet with her approval. Sometimes Korean girls come over…get homesick…and go back as quickly as they came. Others like it in their little insulated KMP and Flushing/Bayside communities and aspire to stay! Like NY guys’ tastes in women…you never know. But I can tell you one thing: Korean girls like the anonymity and opportunity to earn big bucks in the USA. Hence, most would rather stay. Whichever way it goes with JULIE…here she is!

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imagesHere’s one of my top 10 favorite posts! It’s been over a year since I repeated this. And with nothing to say today, I remove it from the moth balls and present it today.

Popsicle (my father) was part of The Greatest Generation. That’s right. He was in the navy for The Big One – WWII! But he never shipped out. Daddy was the band leader on a base out in Brooklyn. Thus the joke “Daddy fought the war on the BMT,” the train that ran to the base. Regardless, after my parents’ divorce, I found a lot of old, dusty navy gear down in the basement which the old man had obviously somehow commandeered during his service.

Most of it was high tech shit like oscilloscopes and other even more unrecognizable stuff. But mixed in all that electronic/techy crap of the day was this big-ass/battleship gray/hundred pound metal box with a huge multi-band dial. The sucker looked like a radio…so I brought it upstairs to check the monster out and sure enough, one of the bands was AM – and I had me a new “music box.”

What separated this radio from all of the other “transistors” of the day was that to go from one end of the dial to the other took like twenty turns of the wrist. Thus, you could really fine-tune this bad boy to the exact frequency desired. And that meant late at night, I could pick up WOWO from Fort Wayne, Indiana…WKBW from Buffalo, NY…and WBZ from Boston…among others. This was completely awesome because in that era, only proven hits would make the playlists in NY. But out in those hinterlands lay the cutting edge of rock and roll. Classic records like “You’re Gonna Miss Me” by “The Thirteenth Floor Elevators,” “Hey Joe” by “The Leaves,” “The Urge For Goin'” by “Tom Rush” were the gems which lullabyed me to sleep every night.

By that time in my life, Daddy was gone…my brother was off at Amherst College….and the house was inhabited by just mom and me. It was a crappy little domicile but given that only two people lived there – and our rooms were as far from each other as possible – I could operate more or less with impunity in my little radio dial-lit sanctuary! Yeah, it was a cramped little room with angular ceilings so I’d bump my head half the time when I awakened in the morning. But just so I had my daddy’s navy radio – and all the music that came out of it – I couldn’t have been cooler (unless I was getting laid – which I never did in high school).

Buying those out-of-town hits I loved so much was another thing entirely. Sometimes, the stuff I heard and liked would eventually make it to the New York market. And then it was easy to buy. But for whatever reason, many of my favorites never aired on local radio! Invariably, those records were NOT for sale in New York unless months later, I’d occasionally find the returns in a bargain pack at a department store. Thus, going to Green Acres Mall was like a mining expedition. I’d head straight for the bargain racks to see if I could find any of those records. And when I did, it was like discovering gold nuggets in a river! To think that in 2015, anybody can go on You Tube and not only find any record that’s out today – but those same obscure records from over 40 years ago. Times sure have changed.

Anyway…I tell you all this because an in-earnest Russian music journalist called my home phone yesterday – looking to interview my father about some record he produced in 1962. Daddy told me a million stories about the music business – but not one about this Buddy Greco guy the Russian dude was so intent on hearing about. So I dismissed the man courteously assuring him that Daddy was really dead – and that I had no information with which to help him. But maybe the story about Daddy’s radio would have been more interesting. I just didn’t think of it until he got off the phone.

ts2Boy oh boy! What a fucking hype! Last night New York City became a police state. If you were caught driving a non-essential vehicle after 11 PM, the City actually threatened to issue you a ticket. And why? Because we were about to have the snowstorm of all snowstorms.

So yesterday, I rode off the GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE on a photography mission at about noon. It was cold – and windy – and a little icy. If that was a harbinger of conditions to come, it wasn’t looking good.

By 3 PM it was time for another visit. I went downstairs with the bike but turned around immediately. It was snowing and blowing for real. So I walked to my destination (which was fortunately only about 3/4 of a mile away) and then returned about 5:30. There was already significant accumulation. Just as I got home my phone rang with the news: The Mayor was shutting down the city. Nothing would be open on Tuesday. The good citizens of NY were ordered to sit out the catastrophe.

But then a funny thing happened. At 6:30 this morning I arose to walk over to Tompkins Square Park figuring I’d bask in the momentary glory of what a snowstorm is while I had the chance because as we all know, once it stops snowing and it all turns to black and grey slush, the snow morphs from pristine to disgusting in just a few hours.

That’s when it hit me. This ain’t no fucking snowstorm. It doesn’t look any deeper than it did 12 hours ago when I came home! Why no subways? Why no schools? Why no anything?

I’ve seen many worse snowstorms than this one. Oh well! Just the Mayor covering his ass so he doesn’t catch the flak for somebody getting stranded. But in the meantime, the entire city economy will be shut down for a day – behind what turned out to be less than a foot of snow.

Oh well! I’m glad I don’t own a restaurant or something similar. At least, I don’t take the financial hit that many others will. So let me stop.

On to another subject! I let the boss at GC know that there’s a girl there who does not like me. She won’t even acknowledge my existence. I barely know this woman so it can’t be anything I’ve done.

Upon hearing this little bit of  “who cares” news, the owner responded that there’s a rumor going around the place that if a girl is black, I’ll make sure she has great pictures. But if she’s white, I take no time to make her look good. And that might be why this individual (who is white) doesn’t like me.

Just in case anybody from GC is reading…that is complete bull shit! I do my best for every photo subject regardless of her race. Some girls turn out looking better in their photos than in the flesh. And some not as good. But I always do my best – even if my best isn’t always that terrific. Look at Sophia’s pic. Or Ina’s and tell me I do better work for black girls than white. You’re blind if you really think that. Witness below! And check out the new girl BROOKLYN. I include her as well.

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RoomforManoeuvre1An unnamed manager and I are in agreement. Neither of us can figure out why one of our favorite girls doesn’t make as much money as we feel she should based on the woman’s physical appearance and reputation in the room. It just doesn’t make any sense or it didn’t – until yesterday.

I was hiding in the corner of the house’s meet and greet room as a prospective customer walked in to “meet da goils.” From my vantage point I couldn’t see the guy – but I could see the girl I referred to in the first paragraph as she said hi to the man who could have been her benefactor for the next hour. And in that moment, I suddenly understood why the girl underearns relative to her colleagues.

Betty’s (fake name) presentation was just a little lacking. In fact, it was a lot lacking! With shoulders slumped and eyes peering off into space, the girl muttered “Hi, I’m Betty” in what I can only describe as an extremely guarded and disinterested manner…her implicit message screaming “If you pick me, you will not have the time of your life.” Hardly a way to make the money flow your way I think we can all agree.

Now I understand that girls don’t want to be overly enthusiastic when introducing and lead the guy to think something is about to happen that isn’t. It could put a lot of pressure on the rendezvous. But on the other hand…they’re there to make money – and not to convey the message that “You’re about to have a not-so-good time with an attractive but on-the-defensive woman if you pick me.” There must be a happy medium somewhere in this equation!

Had I been able to stop time and jump out to coach Betty, I would have given her this advice – more or less the same suggestions I give when photographing the girls: Shoulders back…stomach in…and butt out. Shake hands in a sensual but strong manner and look straight into the man’s eyes. Engage your prospective client and let him know he will enjoy his time with you.”

Of course with photo sessions, I replace the “Shake hands in a sensual but strong manner and look straight into the man’s eyes. Engage your prospective client and let him know he will enjoy his time with you” with “Engage the lens with your eyes…seduce the camera…and think about money at the same time.”

You’d think that all these suggestions would be intuitive – and I wouldn’t need to make them but alas…you’d be wrong. Presentation in the corporate world when interviewing for a job or entertaining a current or prospective client is paramount. So why would it be any different in the escort world? The answer is that it isn’t. It’s just that some of the girls don’t realize this – Betty being one of them.

A funny story in closing: Back when I worked for Action mag, the boss called to tell me that Chris (the tranny telemarketer for the publication) would be coming to New York for the weekend…and it was my and her job to go to Edelweiss, NY’s premier transsexual hang out and pick-up club, to try to sell some ads for our paper. I’d been to Edelweiss before on a writing assignment and thus, the prospect didn’t freak me out. I knew what time it was in the joint and had no trepidation.

But I can’t say the same for Chris (the telemarketer). She wasn’t ready until very late and we didn’t arrive at the club until 2 AM, which was about the time trannies pulled a full court press on getting guys to adjourn to corners and/or bathroom stalls to earn a few dollars. And thus, the ladies we tried to introduce ourselves to were very squirrely. Essentially, they broke all the rules I just listed about presentation. No smiles…fishy handshakes…and thousand-yard stares were the order of the day as Chris and I attempted to familiarize the crowd with our boss’s publication.

Finally, one girl gave me a firm handshake and looked me in the eye as I introduced myself and I distinctly remember thinking “Finally, a human being in this odd collection of freakazoids” figuring tranny or no tranny, these girls should show some mainstream social skills.

No sooner was I done with my sales pitch and the girl had wandered off behind me when Chris’s stare went agog and she gasped “Oh my God! Billy…look behind you!” So I turned around to see the one girl who’d just acted human wagging what must have been a 14″ dick at two guys who were virtually drooling and seemingly attracted to the sight like a moth to a flame – irresistibly edging closer and closer!

Once again, the tranny’s and my eyes met long enough for me to smile and muse “Oh! is that one of those enlargement jobs I’ve been reading about?” out loud.

Whatever…I thought that story would be entertaining. Should I assume that every girl who knows how to introduce according to society’s standards is hiding 14 inches under her skirt? Probably not. It was just amusing that at this one point in time, it fell that way.

And no, although Kiara did become my customer at a later date after we met in some tranny house or other, our swords never crossed in some David versus Goliath encounter. The size of my sales commissions took precedence. And with Kiara, those were much smaller!

It turned out that in the great scheme of things, the big sales commissions at Action came from Korean women – which is why (you might notice) that there are so many Koreans on this site. I have my priorities and like my escort friends, I’m more interested in the size of a client’s wallet than I am in anything else. You get the idea.

Apropos of nothing…check out the new photo of LISA from HIYAKO SPA (212-679-3681). Outstanding!

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obesityOK! I looked it up (which means I googled it) but there is no word in the English language which describes a certain phobia which a certain somebody expressed last night while I was hanging out at a certain place (and the phobia wasn’t fear of reading a meaningless blog post which uses the word “certain” too often)!

We guys constantly wonder what goes through the mind of an escort as she sits around with her colleagues waiting for a customer to come over and break the ennui. Well, last night, a girl answered that question while I was killing time at one of the houses whose employees adorn the sidebar of this site.

“OMG! Can you imagine what it would be like if a 300 pound guy died on top of you and you couldn’t get out from under?” asked the girl out loud to her friends.

“Really? This is what you guys think about while you’re not in the room?” I thought to myself. But out loud, I observed that there really wasn’t much chance he’d have you pinned like that – especially given that you’d get an adrenaline rush with an accompanying flood of the sweat glands – which would enable you to slide the guy off. And if that didn’t work, a girl could always grab her lube and start slathering between the two bodies – which would accomplish the same mission!

Whatever…what a strange thing to worry about! But then again…when you think about it…obeseophobia is a mental affliction which would make sense given the woman and the environment in which she labors.

I think I’ll submit the word to Webster and see if it flies! Hey! If Beyonce can enter the hallowed literary portals by calling a girl “bootylicious,” why not me – or actually, Brittany? Stranger things have happened.

Anyway…here I thought that when girls sat around all they thought about was how to graft Mandingo’s dick on Brad Pitt’s body and then entice him into some sort of sugar daddy situation. But it turns out that obsesophobia is what preys upon their minds most. Go figure. You learn something every day!

…I’m in a terrible fix…as the old show tune (from Oklahoma) goes. When I go to take pictures of a particular girl for the boss and somebody else wants her picture taken (even if it’s for the second or third time), I can’t find it in my heart to refuse her. It would sort of be tantamount to saying “You’re ugly! Taking your picture is a waste of time.” And I don’t want them to feel the sting of rejection even though I’m aware that when I visit a multiple girl place for some fun, half the girls in the joint hide under the couch thinking “Oh, no! Not that Dollar Bill guy. Hide me!” At least, they have a chance to hide!

So anyway…with not a lot to do yesterday…I rode over to JEWELS OF NEW YORK (347-595-4518) to take pictures of NATALIE (as promised). Nat already had photos but they were glow in the dark joints taken by a phone camera and thus not very good. Plus once upon a time, Natalie actually thought I was a cool guy (by the way…that ship has sailed) so what the hell. It’s not like the trip is prohibitively far. Personally, I think Nat has a great body. Her tits are the tops (great song title). All the girls acknowledge her blessing in that realm. So what’s not to like?

For whatever reason, getting Natalie ready to take a pic is like pulling teeth! “Billy! Do you like this top…or this bra…or these shorts…or this dress?”…she went on and on until I couldn’t help but explode “Stop the bull shit already and take a fucking picture, for Chrissakes!”  And then to get the old girl to emote, I constantly have to patter away…”Wow! Look at those tits! Awesome. Those are the best tits ever! What guy wouldn’t line up to see you? Excuse me while I wipe my brow. You’re makin’ me sweat!”…all to get a decent pose from her. Clearly, photographing escorts isn’t all fun and games.

I don’t generally shoot girls topless…but with Nat I couldn’t resist. Check out a couple of her best shots:

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Somehow, nobody else wanted photos at JONY so I was home free – but just for the moment. On my way to a Midtown visit at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281), I stopped off at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723) to shoot IMAN, who similarly wanted new pix and who similarly, I have yet another soft spot for. And this is where it got crazy.

Adjourning to room #5 which doubles as dressing room and entertaining room when the place is busy, I ran smack dab into shift change. And that meant many girls in various states of dress and undress…bags of crap lying all over the place…and even a slop/mop and bucket exactly the make we use at the soup kitchen. In other words…not exactly the ideal setting to take pictures.

And worse…literally 4 girls (2 of whom already had photos done by me) wanted to rock the lens! Before it was over, I’d taken pix of CHERRY and MERCEDES, both for a second time, and ASHIETTE (the new Eastern European star at GC), and JENNIFER, a crazy bootylicious new dominicana. To complicate the affair, neither speaks English terribly well. So the communication was more sign language than words (at least with the Hungarian girl).

When I was finally done with the quartet, guess what! IMAN (who had been in the room when I arrived) was already gone and thus, you don’t get to see her incredibly seductive new hair-do (bangs and a pony tail) which renders the women even more gorgeous than before (and that would be difficult).

Beating a hasty retreat before anybody else wanted to pose for the lens, I finally made it up to Blue Angel where I can tell you that BONNIE is indeed a most stunning beauty. And there was yet another girl who knocked my socks off but apparently, she’s there on the downlow and not even on their site! But trust me…if you go see the mystery girl, you will be very gratified!

Finally…back home to work on all the pix and to watch the Knicks win their third straight! Will wonders never cease! Here are ASHIETTE and JENNIFER…the new girls at GC to wrap this up. Enjoy.

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KTn5nyqTqUp until a couple of years ago, I worked 18 hour days. It was insane. Sleep deprivation was the bane of my existence. But now? All that’s changed. I don’t do a whole lot. Tending to this blog is not a full time job! Regardless, every so often I have a busy day – and yesterday was one of them.

I visited 5 different places…taking photos at three of them. Actually, just two. ASHIETTE at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723) was apparently the apple of many guys’ eyes! She was indisposed when I arrived so that was a dry run.

Anyway…the first stop was DREAM GIRL NY (646-276-0229). LUCY answered the door with her straight-as-can-be hair tied up in some kind of palm tree configuration and her ample and natural bosom falling out of her top. Very nice. After our brief meeting, I asked to meet the girls. I should have taken a picture. They were all eating lunch in their pajamas. Too funny! Not exactly donned in their war gear but still…very cute. I wasn’t sure about Bonnie’s photos when they were sent to me. They looked too good to be true…but I’m happy to report they’re real. And for you spinner fans…she’s your girl. Maybe she’s bigger than GINIE – but not by much.

Next stop was the A-TEAM (347-741-1741) in Midtown, a cozy little spot for all you office types. CHEYENNE (the new girl) needed photos. You’d think from her name that C-Money” (a name I just made up for her) would have some native American blood in her lineage. And maybe she does! But it would be Dominican native American blood. Bear in mind that Columbus didn’t actually discover America in 1492. He landed in what is now the Dominican Republic – and the island did have natives. So I guess she classifies.

Whatever…Cheyenne is a cutie – though not as photogenic as say…a stripper. Still, her natural beauty comes through. Check her out!

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Back home I rode to collate, photoshop and post CHEYENNE. No sooner was I finished with that task than I was summoned to JEWELS OF NEW YORK (347-595-4518) where I found INA (Putin’s pride and joy) seated next to NADIA (Putin’s princess) the latter of whom awaited my arrival so I could take her pictures. Nadia is a lanky milf type who I understand is quite popular with guys who are rushin’ to see a Russian!

Ina asked if I do portfolios. I responded that I’m not really a photographer but I’d do what I could if she wanted. Funny thing: It seems like all the Russian girls want me to shoot pictures on the outside. I don’t feel confident that I’ll do that good of a job for them but they seem to think I will. And so…perception is reality.
If they think I’m a pro, then I am a pro! Go figure. Judge for yourself. Here’s Nadia.

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Back to the crib to hook those shots up and it was off to Gentleman’s Choice to discover that ASHIETTE was booked solid. Rather than wait around, I went and got laid. Work day over. Fuck it! Retirees can do only so much in one day. We have to save for the next.

It is now 6:30 AM and today’s activity? Nothing so far. And that’s a good thing. I did too much yesterday. I need to recoup! But I should track down Ashiette as I didn’t get everything done yesterday – even if it wasn’t my fault. Hey! I showed. Responsible Bill. That’s me.

 

I got a few mini-requests yesterday in my e-mail box asking if I’d photoshop a some pictures of girls who shall we say…don’t have perfect bodies. The images themselves (as opposed to the subjects in the image) had their own problems. Only one was properly centered…all had poor lighting…and most were poorly posed.

Surprisingly, this is a task I don’t mind doing as opposed to say…writing phony reviews (which I truly hate). So I dug in cropping, changing tints, saturation, lighting, contrast and smoothing…doing the best I could with a picture shot with a phone camera.

It was “all good” until it came time to alter the photo subjects themselves. Two of the girls were hopelessly fat. And I don’t mean “phat.” I mean lumps and rolls of flesh. And I couldn’t help thinking “What the fuck? Who hired these girls and what makes them think they’ll make any money with these “rubenesque” bodies?”

Once upon a time, fat women were considered attractive. But that was hundreds of years ago on another continent. Here in America in the 21st century, that shit don’t fly! The great majority of men do not prefer that their women be overweight.

So I did the work modifying these shots – but not to the point that guys would walk if they somehow requested one of these girls. And predictably, nobody picked them. Not a big surprise.

Maybe they figure that since we’re such an obese nation that fat guys like fat girls who mirror their own image. But that’s not the way this works at all. It doesn’t matter if a guy is buffed or an overweight slob. He’s still not gonna want a fat girl.

It seems unfair. But then again…it seems unfair that I don’t look like Brad Pitt…don’t think like Einstein…and lack Mandingo’s endowment. So fuck feeling sorry for them. “Girls: Enough of McDonald’s! You wanna work as an escort? Go on a fucking diet! And if you were cursed with a body that will never appeal to the majority of guys…go do something else for a living.”

After the shift was over and one of these individuals made nothing, she broke into tears and the boss (who has a heart) gave her 50 bucks to take a cab home and buy herself dinner. And I wouldn’t be surprised if that dinner had 2000 calories! Regardless, the point is…”Girls, don’t take a job for which you aren’t qualified.” And to owners…”Don’t hire girls who you know aren’t going to make any money.”

For me it’s irrelevant. I get paid for my work either way. But it just seems like a waste of time. Yup! The old “lipstick on a pig” syndrome. Today’s message? Know thy strengths and weaknesses. That’s all I’m sayin’.

hammer_sickle_star_wreath-1331pxI’m smack dab in the middle of a book about the fall of the Berlin wall and the democratization of Eastern Europe – a fascinating subject I’m sure we can all agree. Oddly, I actually dated a woman who saw her first paying customer while a citizen of the German Democratic Republic! While most of her stories were as banal as they get…this one was fascinating and worthy of repeating – which is why I’m repeating it today. Enjoy!

Over the years, I’ve known a few escorts who grew up behind The Iron Curtain. But none has ever told me stories about what it was like to live in a Communist regime…that is…until just recently, when a long time friend opened up and gave me a bird’s eye view.

Whatever the political system and the dogma attached, you can always count on the existence of a privileged class – and an abused class. Andrea was born into that privileged class. Daddy was a military man…mama a schoolteacher – and both…members of The Communist Party. As a child of the elite, she was subjected to piano lessons, swimming classes and team competition, none of which she would have chosen given the opportunity to say no. Just not her style at all (not that it mattered). People of a certain age remember how dominant the GDR olympians truly were. There was a reason. All East German youth was expected to excel at athletics and Andrea was no exception.

In school, all the children were taught that The West was dog shit and people of color were inferior. The idea was to keep all the citizenry “barefoot and on the farm” so they’d never want to live anywhere but behind The Iron Curtain.

>Anyway…just like you can always count on one class of people abusing and profiting from another regardless of the political system, you can count on guys in that political system craving the companionship of hot girls. Andrea was (and is) a hot looking blonde and of course, guys wanted to spend time with her. But if you thought that The Communist system would keep the prices down and the work undercompensated, you would be as far from the truth as you could possibly be – at least when it came to and escort’s wages. The girl made a fortune as an East German escort! And her first sale served as the flagship for the rest to come.

At the tender age of 20, Andrea had a boyfriend who was a singer in a band. The boys had a cushy gig at a fancy hotel where it just so happened that West German politicians were attending their annual convention. And while her boyfriend sang and she sat in the audience watching, several of the horn dogs approached her asking if 500 marks was adequate for an hour of her time.

When she told her boyfriend what had happened, he apologized profusely and vowed never to bring her to a place like that again. But as they say…”how ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree?” And sure enough, Andrea circled back the next night…alone…ready to make some dough. Sooner than later, a West German propositioned her and coughed up 500 West German marks for what turned out to be five minutes of her time.

Communism is a political system that does not reward people for their hard work and industry. In theory, everybody shares the wealth and the fruits of his and his neighbor’s hard labor. But that’s simply not an ethos that works in the real world. Hence, the black market, a place where hard working proletarians could reap the benefits of their labor, was in full effect. Without that black market, the West German marks her first customer gave her were worthless. But with it, they were extremely valuable. And Andrea’s 500 West German marks netted her 5000 East German marks in trade.

Asked how much she paid in monthly rent to understand the value of her first customer’s payment, Andrea’s response was…”89 marks for a comfortable one bedroom in a high rise…and an additional 10 marks for health insurance.” WTF?!?! So doing the simple math, the girl was compensated the equivalent of over four years of rent and health coverage in exchange for 5 minutes of her time. NICE WORK IF YOU CAN GET IT!

Well…that night, a star was born! Given the outrageous rate, why would she want to do anything else for money? Of course, there would be no price high enough for some women to do what she did. And for others, they wouldn’t be good-looking enough for anybody to pay them that kind of money. But with Andrea, the blonde belle of the ball? No problem – for whatever reason. And according to her, she lived like a princess before the wall came down.

Residing in a Communist state, a citizen like Andrea wasn’t allowed to save any money. If she did, the inevitable questions would follow any kind of bank deposit. And so….Andrea had to spend the money as rapidly as she earned it. And that meant expensive black market clothing and trips to live it up in super fancy hotels in Budapest and Prague. Just so she stayed behind The Iron Curtain, East Germans were allowed to travel.

As a person who grew up during The Cold War fearing annihilation at the hands of The Russians, I find these primary source type insights into Communist society fascinating. I always figured that behind all the stiffness The Red Machine portrayed, guys still did stupid shit and spent crazy money on hot babes. Political system notwithstanding, that’s one reality of the human condition that cannot be controlled. And as a result, a pretty East German girl who didn’t mind being an escort could make a fucking fortune despite the oppressive regime which ruled the country she lived in.

Come 1989, virtually all the Eastern bloc communist countries became democratic republics. And all the citizens were ecstatic. Freedom was finally theirs! Hardly a dissenting attitude could be found – except Andrea’s. The fall of the wall and unification sounded the death knell to her outrageous wages. Alternatively, she traveled to Cannes to sell her service (suddenly East Germans could travel and the money was good there) and eventually ended up in the States on a shopping spree only to stay for 15 years! The GDR is long gone but the sweet memory remains for our contrarian. Life was never so good for our anti-hero as when she “entertained” in East Germany. Go figure! Only a twisted sociopath (a personality type one can find in the escort rank and file) could entertain such a view!

And that’s my bedtime story for the day. I hope everybody enjoyed.

It’s late and who wants to leave the house or wait for a girl to arrive when video chat with this and many other girls is just a few seconds away? Check it out! And every time you hit the refresh button, you’ll see a different girl. Or click the girl’s pic and the sound comes on.

Guys who visit the girls who inhabit the sidebar of this blog barely consider the fact that all these places have support staff in the personage of phone girls, managers, momesans, kitchen mommies and maids. And sometimes, it’s not just the floor girls who catch this guy’s fancy – but the support staff as well!

I’m not a geezer who lives to bed women 1/3 my age – even if that’s the demographic with whom I generally find myself mingling. Indeed, many of the Asian phone girls are in the 50-something category and not entirely over the hill. I’ve never actually dated any of these women – but that doesn’t mean I don’t find them attractive. It’s just that at some point I decided to stop seeing Asians. It kind of evolved that way. Today’s agenda is not to explain how.

Rather…I raise the subject because of a funny thing that happened recently within this realm. Jewels of New York has a relatively new maid (the old one was Korean) who caught my eye. She looks to be West Indian and in her 40’s maybe – and very beautiful to my eye. Yeah, she has a gaggle of kids and a protruding stomach but her shape is very curvy and her chest even more pronounced than her midriff.

One day while hanging out in the kitchen with the girls, I confided to Natalie that I was “feeling” the house maid. Nat smiled in approval that I didn’t necessarily need one of the young chickadees and agreed that her namesake (the maid’s name is also Natalie) is pretty hot.

Well…I guess floor girl Natalie was tickled and told the maid Natalie that Dollar Bill was popping a boner behind her charisma. It wasn’t exactly a revelation. I’d already told Natalie the maid I thought she was hot – and that she reminded me of some girl I was in love with many moons ago. I was mostly flirting – but I’m not sure she didn’t take me seriously.

The next time I went to visit…Nat the maid whipped out her phone to show me some pictures. After thumbing through what seemed like hundreds of shots, Nat finally arrived at the folder she sought to do her little show and tell. And quite an eyeful it was!

There lay Nat the maid on her back with her arms folded and bolstering a huge set of DD’s topped by about the most succulent and turgid buds I’ve ever seen! Add the come hither expression on her heavily made-up face and the final effect was striking! Whoa! I was almost speechless – but not quite. “Nice juggs, honey!” I voiced my admiration. And with that she gave me a big hug…grinding her sublime endowment against me.

This is all very scandalous as she’s well aware of my role in the scheme of things. But then again…this is an incall – and not a place where societal mores are necessarily respected. Whatever…I have no doubt that if we became an item the girls at Jewels would be too tickled…as in “We’ve lost Bill to the maid!”

Not likely to happen, mind you. But I’d love to publish that picture she showed me. I have no doubt that the phone would ring hard if I did! Sexxxiness is not the exclusive province of the young. And Natalie the maid is living proof!

Edward_Jones_Dome_endzone_viewThe 2014-2015 professional football season has drawn to a very unsatisfying close for this fan. When your favorite team is the Giants (and they sucked)…and your second favorite team is the Jets (and they really sucked)…and then you adopt the Packers (who choked beyond belief)…like how much worse could it get?

First, the Giants. When does somebody get the memo that Tom Coughlin is a geriatric hump who got lucky twice with not-so-terrific teams? Anybody remember the pre-Coughlin 1986 club? They were dominant and won it all because they were the best team in football. But our recent Coughlin-led winners? They emerged victorious only because the opposition dropped passes and interceptions at crucial moments – and not because the teams were the best in football. Even a longtime fan understands that!

To the quarterback! Eli’s a nice guy – but was never an elite player. Dude is as slow as molasses flowing uphill. And he’s inaccurate as a passer. I was never impressed with him.

To the Jets. Terrible! Gino Smith is a loser. Mark Sanchez is a loser. And Rex Ryan is a loser. No wonder the team never wins anything. Management picks losers. Hello!

To today’s nightmare. The Pack played your quintessential 55 minute game. Two boneheaded plays stand out in my mind. One is obvious: Butterfingers Bostick who couldn’t catch a simple nubber. Talk about a choke artist!

But there was another play I found emblematic of the meltdown – and a harbinger of things to come. Intercepting a pass with 5 minutes left, d-back Burnett chose to sit down rather than run with the ball. Clearly, there was daylight in front of him and he could have scampered into field goal range for his kicker. Instead, Burnett chose to lie down assuming that the game was over at that point so why risk fumbling?

My immediate reaction was “That mistake will come back to haunt the Pack.” And “Why are football players so stupid?” Anybody remember Leon Lett or Garo Yepremian? Legendary morons! It boggles the mind that men can be so gifted in one area and so deficient in another. All that schmuck Burnett had to do was run the interception back and hold onto the ball. “Yo! Shit for brains! There are 5 minutes left in the game. Your interception did not end it. Run asshole!” What a loser!

So now we get the Seahawks against the Pats for the Superbowl. I don’t like either team so how can the final game come to a satisfying conclusion for me? One of them has to win! And thus…my terrible season! The worst in recent memory! I wish I still drove a cab so I could be out making money on Super Sunday and not wasting my time watching the debacle. Gum-chomping cheater and NCAA rulebreaker Pete Carrol versus no-personality spygate Bill Belichek. What a fucked up choice! Alas, it’s the old “Wait till next year” cry! But not really! With Eli and Coughlin still around, the Giants are sure to suck again. What are ya gonna do? Watch the Knicks? Please, I’m gonna throw up. Gotta go!

 

I woke up this morning to an e-mail that turned my thimble into a steam pipe. It came from jpmorganchasedeptoffice@gmail .com. Apparently, I’ve inherited $7 million. In their almost grammatically correct correspondence, the “bank” indicated that all they need is the following:

Full Name………………..

Home Address……………..

Age/Occupation…………..

Valid Phone number…………

Country/State……..

Any Of Your Identity Card……..

Piece of cake, baby. I gave them all the information so I can get my 7 mil ASAP. Here’s what I sent back:

Suck Mydick

12 Cuntwell Avenue

13″/face defiler

1-800-fuck-you

Upyoursville

Chummy lap dance ID: 696969

And now all I have to do is wait for my dough!

Back in the real world, I’m sorry to report that I am officially an orphan. Mom died yesterday at the ripe old age of 93 1/2. Unfortunately (for me), she blew her inheritances being “high society” as one of her caretakers so accurately put it. And in fact, I lose on the deal.  According to my brother who is more familiar with her finances than I, the amount of money I’ve spent keeping her in the lifestyle that so defined her existence surpasses what I’ll be inheriting when it’s all over.

But hey! I’ve taken financial hits before and I’m sure I will again. What’s important is that the woman (and the father) who gave me this wonderful life are both gone from this world. Thus, I am an orphan.

As for mom…she passed without pain – which is remarkable given that she had lung cancer. And the old girl died exactly as she lived…in the lap of luxury surrounded by minions catering to her every whim.  Saint James (my brother) made sure of that much more so than I did.

In the end, her greatest accomplishment was giving birth to my brother, the doctor and saint who as I said, bore the heavy lifting. He was primary…I secondary…and anything else incidental.

My brother has decided (with my seal of approval) that mom should be cremated (her request) and her ashes spread over the golf course in her backyard (our idea). Seems fitting. Mom just loved to play golf – even though she couldn’t afford it. That’s why she gave birth to two sons: So we could pick up the tab.

Some people inherit lots of money when their parents die. And some have to support them in their later years. While I fall into the latter category, I’m still thankful for mom. She held my head when I puked my guts up with a 24 hour virus. She gave me enemas when I couldn’t crap. And she taught me how to shake hands so people would know they were dealing with a person of strength and character when they met me. And how could you not love a woman like that?

May she ascend to yet another cushy life and find benefactors even richer and more generous than my brother or me. Bye, mom. I love you. I’m sorry we couldn’t get along!

from BBS uploadEven though I call myself Psycho Bill, I’m actually one of the most level-headed people you’d ever want to meet. And given that I operate in a world full of let’s just say…not so level-headed women…there are times when I become a confidant of sorts to some of the girls who will tell me the most intimate details of their life. Now I’m not talkin’ lovers who divulge their innermost secrets during pillow talk. I’m talking platonic friends who have known me for years and have come to trust my judgement, discretion and friendship to the point that they will tell me almost anything. So…I was on the phone with one of these individuals a couple of days ago and somehow and why I can’t remember, she described the where and when of her first orgasm.

In fact, orgasm can be a tricky deal (no pun intended) for a lot of women. For some it’s difficult. For others…not quite as hard. And for still a third segment of the population, simply unattainable. It’s a cruel quirk of evolution that orgasm is so easy for men – and not-so-easy for women. Why it’s that way I can’t explain but clearly, it is what it is and the fact remains. The great majority of women have more difficulty reaching orgasm than men.

Back to my friend. She became sexually active early in life and shall we say…a professional not much later. So by the time she busted her first nut, 10 years and a division of partners had passed under the bridge before it happened.

Hmm! So after all that time and all that experience, wherein lay the magic that did the trick? Was it true love? Or some fantastic technique? Not hardly! One day the woman was just doing her job when all of a sudden, she got a bumblebee kind of sensation “down there” and then exploded! Before that, my friend enjoyed sex and wasn’t really sure if she’d ever had an orgasm or not before – having no point of reference. She’d never masturbated to the top so the woman simply had no idea until that amazing moment when there was absolutely no doubt.

My confider confessed to the relative stranger what had just happened (though she left out the part that it was her first) and guess what! He refused to believe her! How’s that for an O’henry twist? The world is full of women who fake orgasms…and men who fall for the ruse. And here, this veritable magician had accomplished a task that no other man had in 10 years and countless attempts and this would be the one modest guy who didn’t understand the dexterity of his magic wand. My friend reported that the guy’s technique and size weren’t even part of the equation (though they must have played some part in the miracle). It just happened! But once it did, the floodgates opened. She didn’t cum at the drop of a hat, mind you. But the girl was able to achieve orgasm thereafter and no doubt, had thousands after that first one.

Ms. Honey has long since retired. But at the beginning of my adult ad selling career, she was legendary in her field. To think that the icon didn’t understand or know her own body well enough to have an orgasm until 10 years into her sex life says a lot! Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly what it says. I simply observe for the masses (or accurately, my two devoted readers).

Moving on…pictures from yesterday! Both heartthrobs can be convened with at JEWELS OF NEW YORK (347-595-4518). The first is a “shorty” (if she reaches 5′, I’d be surprised) named SELENA, who took a break and has now returned. And I gotta say that the vacation did her good! Selena dropped a few pounds…got a new hair-do…and is looking very hot!

Number 2 on the hit parade is an outrageously bootylcious boriqua by the name of MARISSA. And a friendlier and more affectionate girl you’d be hard-pressed to find. My nominal skills as a photographer elicited hugs, blown kisses and a pledge to stay in touch. How’s about that?!?!

Anyway…here’s da goils from yesterday. Enjoy.

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selena32

marissa1

marissa4

 

underworld_incorporated_241x208I’m a big fan of the National Geographic Channel. I actually watch their programming more than occasionally. So when a producer from the network e-mailed me requesting an interview for their upcoming documentary series UNDERWORLD INC., I was at least slightly jazzed (it takes a lot to make me really jazzed). This is the previously cited show that aired last night – sans yours truly’s contribution.

I and my phone girl/buddy both stressed the same theme. The girls in the Asian escort community we know come and go as they please…have no brokers, pimps or controllers…and make a lot of money doing what they’re doing. Well…if the producers were receptive, that point of view was apparently, not what the network wanted to feature for whatever reason. Thus, I hit the cutting room floor and my friend’s responses to the questions were taken out of context to fit their theme.

Just for example…at one point Sara (fake name) told the producers (as did I) that the girls contract to stay in one place for six days…don’t leave at all…and make a substantial amount of money for themselves while “signed up.” And…she added that after the six days are up, the girls are free to move on to another place – which as we all know they often do seeking the busiest house or most comfortable work environment.

When her interview aired, all that was boiled down to Sara telling the camera that the girls work 6 straight days and can’t leave the place – with the part about all the dough they make and all the freedom they have to move around omitted! It was really a showcase for pulling bits and pieces out of context to fit a network’s point of view.

On the plus side, I have to say that the show was beautifully filmed. One morning when the crew promised to call and didn’t, the producer explained later that they’d been out all night until dawn shooting Manhattan from the Brooklyn side. Those shots (as it turned out) were breathtaking – and the best thing about the show. And there were others, too. Gio (the cameraman) turned out to be a master. I had an idea he was good at the time. Last night I found out I was right about his talent.

But as far as their slant on the subject matter? Nothing new there! I’ve seen the same old thing in numerous docs about the escort industry. Plus, I didn’t know any of the New York people who made the cut. So mostly, it wasn’t that interesting to watch.

One subject of note I’d like to impart if you watch the show: While I believe the Korean broker they found in Seoul when he claims to be compensated $2000 for each girl he finds and sends to the States, I can tell you with no reservations that none of the women you see on the sidebar of this blog come to NY via brokers. Immigrating to the USA from Korea is not difficult at this point in time. There is no visa requirement. Girls come in on a 90 day tourist deal with very little bureaucracy. They don’t need some nefarious hustler to make it over here. Only the extremely naive get caught up in answering ads on the web to make the voyage.

Well anyway…if I was looking for recognition or to become famous via my appearance on Underworld Inc., it didn’t happen. As I said…not a problem. I’m good to go – except that my bike got vandalized last night. That pisses me off – especially given that I think I know who did it!

P.S. Check out the publicity shot of a NY madam wielding a shotgun! I’ve been a part of this business for 18 years and I have never once seen anybody with a shotgun. That ought to tell you something right there.

Often I’ve noted that the majority of escorts you see on this blog display a sense of entitlement which leads them to expect their actual boyfriends to be handsome, built, rich and hung all at the same time even if they themselves aren’t all that. Guys keep telling them how awesome they are to the point that eventually, Brad Pitt will do – and nothing less!

But the truth is that guys get spoiled, too. Once you decide to pay for a girl’s companionship, a guy can hang out with some really beautiful woman in exchange for a mere fraction of his weekly or even daily salary. No work involved. Just pay the toll and you’re in! That’s what makes the “hobby” so attractive.

Hey! You’re a smart guy…so you make a lot of money. But you never dated the homecoming queen because God gave you more brains than body – or looks. I needn’t draw the obvious conclusion and thus, guys get as picky as the escorts they see, rejecting women with whom they wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in the outside world.

I submit the following picture for your perusal and ask “Would you pay this girl for her time?” Personally, I wouldn’t. Her booty is a little bony for my tastes. Her legs are a little heavy…and her chest doesn’t look like all that. Dismissed! Not my type. Now here’s the picture!

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NEWSFLASH: This is not a shot from an escort ad. This is a pic of LADY GAGA working out! So in effect if you’re like me, you’ve become so accustomed to getting what you want that you would actually take a pass on a huge pop star/sex symbol. How’s about that?!?! See what I’m sayin’. Guys get spoiled and entitled just like the girls. Go figure!

Moving on…BLUE SKY ASIAN (646-455-8682) called to say they have a new to NYC girl named LILY. She’s much thinner and more waifish than the girl above (Gaga). I guess it depends on what you like. Anyway…here’s LILY.

lily

Those who read this blog on a regular basis might recall that I was interviewed by a production company to be part of a special they were putting together for a major cable network. The subject was and is centered around the worldwide underground “sex” economy and somebody told them I might be a good guy to interview. Well…that show will be on that major cable network (I can’t say which as I could get sued for doing so) tonight. I know this because the producer called me to let me know.

To be honest, I was kind of hoping the special would never air after I was done with the taping. I know how producers can edit down 2 hours to a couple of minutes to spin the subject however they want – and turn the interviewee into something he or she might not necessarily be! And I was uncomfortable with that reality. You might ask why I ever went for the deal in the first place. And the answer is…the chance to let the world know the truth about the escort business…and a payday (I got paid).

Well…after listening to their message (I didn’t answer the phone when they called initially), I logged on to their site to discover that the slant on the subject was diametrically opposed to what I’d revealed in the interview. My take was that 99.999% of the girls in the Asian escort community are doing what they’re doing of their own volition and making a good living at it – and all the “to do” about trafficking and coercion is way overblown – at least in my experience.

But as I said, the hype on their website painted a very different picture. The special is all about pimping, trafficking, and turning the girls into a commodity. And I wondered (albeit briefly) why they would take that route until I realized that people are more interested in watching a muckraking production about girls being trafficked – and conversely, not interested in discovering that the great majority of escorts do their work voluntarily. And thus, we get this bull shit managed news because the network is more interested in ratings than they are in presenting the truth about the matter. Anybody out there surprised? Not me. That’s for sure!

So anyway…here’s the funny thing. It turns out that I hit the cutting room floor and will not be seen on the show tonight while the Asian phone girl I recommended to them did make the cut! The phone call from the producer was really about letting me down easy. She was afraid I would be angry upon discovering I wasn’t on while the person I turned them on to was.

What the producer didn’t understand is that I’m actually more relieved than disappointed that I’ve crashed to the cutting room floor…told her so…and added my opinion that the network spin on the subject was catering to ratings and not the real story. She completely agreed and admitted to not being happy with the final spin.

I called the phone girl to let her know she’ll be on tonight to which the woman responded a) “My heart is pounding”…and b) “You did all the work and I’m the one that’s on? That seems strange!” That’s show business, baby! What can I say?

Whatever…the doc will be aired twice tonight…and no doubt repeated several times in the future…all without me, thankfully. It was an interesting experience…and I did make a few bucks on the deal. But trust me…I really am more relieved than disappointed that I won’t be appearing. Not all publicity is good publicity. At least, that’s my take on the subject. I’ll be happy to watch (actually it’s being DVR’d) in the knowledge that Dollar Bill’s two cents will not be part of the presentation. Anonymity is not such a bad thing after all.

I love hanging out in the kitchen with the girls of JEWELS OF NEW YORK. Boy oh boy! The stuff I hear! So anyway…today OLIVIA wanted a frosty from Wendy’s. (I can relate. Those frosties are some tasty mother fuckers. I had one on the bus ride going down to Florida and it hit the spot!) But Olivia’s watching her weight and wanted NATALIE (who’s also minding her calories) to go halvsies on the deal.

Nat didn’t necessarily like the peer pressure. But then again… she considered getting some 151 rum as a mixer for the frosty…a concoction I got the idea she’d already sampled and stamped with her approval before. Hmm! Talk about a witch’s brew! As in “How’s about a cold rum frosty and then some hot action, big boy? Can you handle it?” I pondered the riches that lay in store for the guy who catches Natalie’s eye! Whew! One thing about the girls of Jewels. There are no shrinking violets up in that joint. You wanna man up around there – or those girls will eat you alive – in a good way (rim shot)!

OK! Enough of that. Shift change at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409) this week. Boss called to let me know. Firecracker GINIE is in the house (all 4’11” and 95 pounds of her) plus two girls by the names of JESSICA and NICOLE who I may or may not know. Too many Nicole’s and Jessica’s and too little time! What can I say except…here they are! Enjoy.

ginie33

jessica

nicole

 

 

Like it or not, the truth is that many escorts suffer from a case of raging narcissism. They’re just too sexxxy for themselves. (And insufferable as well!) But then again…some are almost worthy of their self-absorption. They’re that hot! For me, when it comes to escorts, I’d rather adjourn with a full-of-herself beauty than a humble woman I don’t find physically attractive. I mean…that’s the whole idea of the one hour at a time deal. Once the fun is over, you don’t have to lie around pretending you have any interest in what she has to say or what interests her.

OK! Enough of that! I mention this today because last night, I found a photo on an Internet ad that is so narcissistic it almost strikes me as high art! It’s just the ultimate! Check it out! I don’t think she needs a man (or a woman for that matter). The girl has herself!

image

Moving on…my sister KAYLA over at GC (917-547-0723) has been promising (or threatening) to take a new picture for literally months as her current ones are from like 10 hair-so’s ago and not all that indicative of her seductive aura. So I checked out her old photo shoot and found a discard I actually like. The exposure isn’t that great but her thin legs, tiny waist, muscular arms and phat booty definitely do it for me. So here it is! Enjoy. Now I don’t have to worry about taking more shots of her.

kayla4

 

What’s Sunday without a little Korean cheesecake in the form of a K-POP video? What I like about these videos (and this one in particular) is how successfully they portray South Korean youth culture. In just three minutes, you get the entire picture (and an incredibly pretty one it is for sure). Admittedly not all that deep, there’s no denying the sweetness that is this unique Korean confection. Enough! Here’s the video!

Moving on to even more profligate stuff…I became MADISON AVENUE BILL this week when a house owner asked me to come up with a name for her place…a tag line (not the way she worded it)…and a banner/logo for their website. So essentially, I became Ad Agency Bill tasked not just with copywriting duties – but ad design as well. Generally, these two jobs are done by different people as rarely is a writer talented in the graphic design realm or vice versa. But this ain’t no Madison Avenue – and I’m not a Forbes 500 ad agency. So I do both jobs myself. Here’s the result:

“Come live the dream with THE A-TEAM. Somewhat obvious but functional and catchy hopefully. I’ve seen worse. And the banner/logo? Here she comes!

ateam-header5

And finally…DREAM GIRL NY (646-276-0229) has a new girl named BONNIE. And here she is.

bonnie

A week or two ago in my “acknowledgments” entry, I conspicuously did not include a certain American phone girl on my list of friends – to which one of her friends had to laugh and then ask me why (as if she doesn’t know). I answered as honestly as anybody who’d been asked that question could: “She doesn’t like me – and I don’t like her. And that’s why she was omitted.”

But that wasn’t good enough. “Why does she hate you?” continued the blog’s one reader. “Because she thinks I’m a misogynist woman-hater,” I again answered in all candor. “Really!?!? I don’t get that at all around here,” she ended the conversation.

In actuality, the woman who “doesn’t get that at all” is much more familiar with how I act around women than the girl who thinks I hate women. But that’s besides the point. It’s just interesting to note people’s perceptions and how diametrically opposed they can sometimes be. Ya know…like some people think Cosby is a fucking rapist and others cry “Leave the man alone! It’s all a conspiracy!” Whatever, let me not expound on that topic again.

Moving on to something more important…I took pictures of a new girl yesterday (hooray)! In a subculture full of Asians, latinas, Afro-Americans, Russians and on and on…it’s always refreshing to photograph an all-American girl. Trust me…there aren’t all that many of them! I mean…represent! It’s almost like hanging around a taxi garage. One thing’s for sure: Not too many Americans in the house!

Anyway…her name is MELODY…she’ll put a song in your heart (corny – I know)…and Ms. Honey can be found at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723). It’s a wonder that more houses don’t have me do their photography given all the coverage the few that do get on this blog. I guess it’s because my pictures suck. Therein lies the only rational explanation. But I digress. Here’s Melody and her fabulous leggzz!

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I’m not the only guy who’s ever experienced this phenomenon. You read about it in ads all the time: “I’ll leave you with a sweet memory for a lifetime.” Mostly, it’s bull shit…but it does happen occasionally…that special moment during the most primal of interactions that is so sublime and so perfect that it pops into your daydreams over and over again seemingly till the end of time.

It could be something she (or he) said. Or a special twist…or even a moan that says “You’re the best. Nobody can replace you. Thanks you for this supreme moment of carnal pleasure.”

I mention this today because I myself had one recently. Now it wasn’t one of those love things where your special person reciprocates her true feelings showing you that indeed it is a two way affair. And it wasn’t even a fabulous fuck or blow job! It was a hand job of all things! Go figure.

We’d already done all the oral stuff the woman lives for. And even some intercourse which made her day (if not mine). Oddly, it was during the denouemont hand job that she left her indelible mark!

Now this woman is an excellent performer. And very enthusiastic as well. She goes into a trance while satisfying her oral fixation…and explodes like a sailor during intercourse. But her hand jobs are just a millimeter off. I can’t explain exactly why…but hers are generally disappointing compared to other skilled practitioners of the act. And thus, I generally try to save the climax for one of the other two aforementioned activities.

So considerate guy that I am, I figured to leave well enough alone and summit the peak on her terms. Fair is fair! She’d knocked it out of the park on balance. The hand job went as expected…just a millimeter off. I said nothing. But then as I approached the usual half-assed and somewhat forced orgasm I’d grown so used to with her in the past, the woman somehow breached that millimeter which had always seemed as wide as the Grand Canyon!

And bang! I stood at attention throbbing like a 21 year-old as she verbally observed her creation and then squealed with delight as my usual dribble morphed into a porn-movie like geyser (not really – but everything is relative) from her deft touch.

Really…it shouldn’t have been anything. I mean…it was just a fucking hand job. What’s the big deal about that? Yet, I relive the moment over and over again – and have been for the past week and a half. And it’s not like I’ve been celibate since that day. But it seems that nothing can  erase or replace the memory.

And that’s what rules about that special memory. It’s irreplaceable and cannot be topped. You might have a few of them knocking around that addled brain of yours. But they all reign supreme.

So glad I had one recently…and thought I’d share. I guess all that’s left is for y’all to go out and find your special memory. I know I’ll be looking for my next one real soon.

For today…a repeat – at least until I think of something to write. It’s about a woman with whom I haven’t spoken for a couple of years. But the theme and message are timeless. So away we go!

One of my favorite escorts is a total road warrior! I don’t see her as much as I’d like because the girl is always moving around. One week she’ll be in New York, and the next? Could be Long Island…or Washington…or Miami,…or Hartford! Your guess is as good as mine. It’s the old “Have lap top…will travel” deal. She doesn’t have to know anybody wherever she goes. It’s simply a matter of booking a hotel, flight and upon arrival, opening up her laptop to post an ad.

Often, girls will travel with a “partner in crime” when they do this. But not ROXANNA. She goes it alone! This strikes me as strange. I go to the mountains alone. But that’s just a day trip. She’ll be all alone with nobody to relate to -hundreds or thousands of miles away from anybody she knows – for days at a time. And not only that…the girl is doing something dangerous…ya know…meeting up with strangers in a hotel room. No pun intended…but that’s gotta be a rough row to hoe!

I received a text message yesterday which read “I miss you.” So I wrote back “Igualmente.” She continued “Muah.” That was it. Roxy had a lonely moment and just wanted to connect. At least, that was my interpretation. Last week before leaving NYC, she asked me what I thought about Las Vegas. Did I think she’d make money? Knowing the girl would be out there all by herself, I suggested she work for HOF. Why risk life and limb in a town you don’t know when you can work legally? So I called DENNIS, assured him she was hot, and asked what sort of documentation she needed to work for him.

Roxy had what she needed but did not talk to him again to firm things up before hopping on a plane and flying out! When she got there, the wheels fell off the wagon. Her Eros ad didn’t work. Her Backpage ads barely worked… and she couldn’t buy a drink at the bar nor work for Dennis because Ms. Einstein has an expired drivers license. And she called to report this sorry state of affairs to me yesterday afternoon.

I feel for her – even if she is an idiot. The woman has two children in school – and a mortgage to pay on a house that isn’t worth nearly as much as it was when she bought it. And last week (when she was in New York), the Roxy had difficulty working because her wannabe model daughter was in town and of course, has no idea what mama does to send her to school and keep her in fashion threads. So Roxy lies like crazy to keep the girl in the dark. I don’t know…but this sounds like a fucked up life. By her own admission, she’s tired of what she calls “The war in the room.” So clearly, she is not one of those “I love my job” girls.

Escorting is apparently not all fun and games. Police, freaks, woman-haters. loneliness? They all come with the territory. But that’s the life of The Road Warrior. One guy at a time Sweet Jesus. Vegas today…Miami tomorrow? And so it goes.

Back to the present…I forgot that I did a photo shoot yesterday (silly me). The debutante’s name is BARBARELLA. She is brand new to the business…is quite attractive (especially facially)…and friendly enough. The beautiful boriqua can be found at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723). And here she is!

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I’ve known for a long time from being a cabby that the service industry’s business is very weather-dependent – and that all the service industries benefit or suffer similarly. Like when I was a taxi driver…I’d often pick up restaurant workers at the end of their shifts and without fail…their slow nights were my slow nights – and their busy shifts were my busy shifts. Even when it came to very rainy days, both would be adversely affected. Riders couldn’t get a cab during rainy rush hours all right…but when 2 AM rolled around? Nothing for us cabbies. Dead zone like a mother fucker!

Getting to the point…cold weather like yesterday’s will also affect the service industry. And adversely! While it might get busy during the rush hours, it’s over quickly. Once people get home? They tend to stay there. And thus, it comes as no surprise that everybody on this blog suffered a business lag because of the weather. I can tell you that last night when I rode off at 1 AM, it was cold! it was not a ride I wanted to take!

During the day, I managed to mostly avoid having to go out – especially what with the snow. Bike-riding on ice and snow presents special challenges. You can go down in an instant and be sliding on your ass in the middle of the street before you even realize it. Trust me! Been there and done that! Plus, it’s hard to see glass in the street under the snow…so you get a lot of flats riding in snow and ice. And finally, the bike gets all gunked up from snow and especially salt. I find myself constantly cleaning the the iron stallion during winter time.

Even though I did have to venture forth, there’s one job I managed to avoid yesterday. A new girl named CATALINA arrived at GC (917-547-0723) with no pictures. Not really in the mood to charge the batteries and ride off, I called ahead to make sure the girl was ready. There have been a few times I was summoned to the house only to find out the photo subject was not in the mood. And yesterday wouldn’t have been the day for that nonsense!

Whatever…Catalina declined the shoot and instead took a few selfies which they forwarded to me immediately – and which I posted within 5 minutes. Modern technology! Within say 15 minutes, eager dudes could in this day and age see the new girl’s picture on a free medium! How ’bout that?!?!

And I gotta tell y’all. This girl took a pretty good fucking selfie! A few more like her and I’ll be out of a job! Wouldn’t be the first time, mind you. Anyway…here’s Catalina’s selfie. Judge for yourself!

But before I go…take note that this cold weather snap presents an opportunity. If you brave the frigid temps, you’re not going to get caught up in any rush hour bull shit at your favorite place…especially the first day of a cold snap. After a while, guys will adjust and venture out regardless. You get the idea.

Now here’s Catalina and her selfie from GC!

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Paps2010.051542845175-f365-4c09-8acb-c270896c535fIf Time Warner Cable is good for anything (and that would be debatable), it’s their NY1 channel and its daily “IN THE PAPERS” segment. If you haven’t seen the presentation…every morning one of the anchors spends roughly ten minutes going though all the local papers for juicy tidbits. And guess what one of today’s was!

SANDY RUBENSTEIN, Jewish lawyer to the murdered and maimed Afro-Americans masses, will not be charged with rape after all. Alas, Sandy can continue crashing on strippers and what-not with relative impunity. But here’s the best part of the salacious story:

The Viagra found in Sandy’s apartment during execution of the search warrant was in actuality, a prescription written for of all people…AL SHARPTON! Yup! It appears that Sandy borrowed Al’s boner pills! Too funny. Now with old Jewish guys, you’d expect them to have Viagra. But Al, that paragon of black power? Apparently, he’s debunking the super-virile black man mythology! Al, baby! Say it ain’t so! And please don’t let me read or hear he’s only got 4 inches! I’ll have to kill myself.

In another story from today, BESS MYERSON hit the papers posthumously concerning whether she and Ed Koch were ever to be married! Really?!?! Show me one New Yorker who buys that bull shit.

Bess was quite a piece of work herself. After being crowned Miss America in the 50’s, Bess went on to more fame as a panelist on “I’ve Got a Secret,” and then entered the political realm as Ed Koch’s head of Consumer Affairs.

But our Jewish beauty had a few quirks. Like she was accused of bribing a female judge to lower her boyfriend’s alimony payments to his ex-wife. And when jilted by her lover, Bess allegedly made several threatening phone calls to his family members and was rumored to have sent the guy a couple of smelly turds in the mail to let him know in no uncertain terms how she felt about getting dumped.

And get this one: Bess pleaded guilty to shoplifting Duracell batteries from a store in Williamsport, PA at a time when her net worth was $3,000,000! See what I mean when I call her a piece of work? I expect to hear that shit about girls who work at an American incall or a strip club…not from the ex- Miss America or the head of NY Consumer Affairs.

Lovin’ it! That’s why I like to watch “in The Papers.” It keeps me sooo informed!

If you’re like me and have read a book titled “The Meaty Truth,” chances are good you’ll never drink another glass of milk or eat another hamburger for the rest of your life. Cutting out red meat isn’t a huge problem for me as I don’t eat very much of it anyway (if you look in my pantry, you’ll find at least 20 cans of Bumble Bee solid white tuna). But milk is a different story! Recently, I’ve been buying it by the gallon and finishing it off in three days!

It turns out that milk is bull shit – and actually has bull shit in it! It causes cancer and inflammation! And given that my shoulder is an inflammation showcase (as well as my back), I got the idea that maybe I need to do something about all that milk consumption. But it’s not that simple.

Vicodin causes constipation in almost everybody who takes it. And so when a doctor prescribes the drug, he (or she) will also include a prescription for a heavy laxative. Now I’m not a guy who likes to take pills. And I only take Vicodin because it helps with the chronic pain I’m afraid I’ll be living with for years – if not the rest of my life. So I’ve opted for Metamucil (or the CVS brand of the same stuff) and lots of raisin bran instead of the prescription written by my doctor to get the job done. And to eat raisin bran, you need to douse it in milk! Therein lies the conundrum!

The prescribed alternative to cow milk in the aforementioned whistleblower’s opus is (among other options) almond milk. Sounds weird, right? So I went to Metfood where I usually score a gallon of bovine milk for $3.79, and scored just a half gallon of almond milk for $4.79…effectively negating my entire budget-shopping ethos. And as I type right now, I have a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch marinating in the fridge.

I took a taste of the almond milk before I poured it in the bowl and I gotta tell y’all…it is strange! Anyway…for all you doctors out there, I’ll let you know if I feel better physically…and whether my shoulder pain abates thanks to opting for almond versus cow milk. I figure I’ll give it a couple of weeks and if nothing changes, I’ll go back. I’m not holding my breath, honestly. I can’t imagine much if anything is going to change. But hey! It’s worth a try for the few extra bucks.

P.S. The shit is nasty. I’ll have to find a better way!

compositeFor those unaware, the theory of “six degrees of separation” states that everyone is by way of introduction six or fewer steps away from anyone else in the world. Basically, it says we’re all related.

So anyway…among the reading materials with which I entertain myself is not just American History (one of my favorites) but show biz and especially, music biz biographies which might contain references to and anecdotes about people I used to know! So of course, I like reading them.

And I wasn’t 20 pages into GEORGE BENSON’S just-published autobiography when Mr. Benson related a story about the first guy who ever hired him to play on a real live New York City recording session. He went on to describe the man…his resume…and then coughed up his name: LEROY KIRKLAND.

And right there was my “six degrees of separation/holy crap” moment. Leroy was one of the first guys to hire me to play guitar on a real union session (for Mainstream Records)! And on another occasion when he gave me the call, I met Stephanie Mills’ piano-conductor – which is how I ended up on the road with Stephanie! To think that a guitar player of George Benson’s caliber and I are in that six degrees together boggles my mind. I’ll bet if you asked Leroy who was the more promising prospect, it wouldn’t be me! Oh well! When it comes to George Benson, I’ll take second place every time!

Anyway…enough of that. Moving on to the relevant…The game of musical chairs goes on and on in the Korean community. Usually, it’s about money or whether one owner gets along with another girl. But it can also be about friendship and sharing in some sort of symbiosis that escapes me. Whatever…here’s today’s changes. REINA has now moved from BLUE SKY to ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) and STAR once of DREAM GIRL can now be found at ASIAN FLOWER (646-639-1195). And once again as a reminder…here’s da goils!

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stock-footage--wheel-truck-on-the-road-with-sunset-in-the-background-large-delivery-truck-loopable-animationNo, I never actually drove a truck (I don’t have the license and wouldn’t even know how) but there was one point in my life when I found myself wondering whether I was a truck driver or musician.

The occasion for this introspection dates back many years to when I was a “Starlighter” accompanying Joey Dee, a cantankerous little mother fucker who capitalized on the twist craze in 1961 with a hit tune titled “The Peppermint Twist.” The record rated #11 for the year…and combined with “Shout” (a lesser hit as a follow up), Joe was poised to work the oldies circuit for the rest of his goddamn life! And for six months (until I quit), I got caught up in the madness.

Joseph DiNicola was the only road warrior. After a close call on a flight back in his hey day, Joe absolutely refused to fly anywhere…though accepting bookings as far away as Miami, Texas, and Iowa wasn’t a problem for him. Joe just hopped in his van (with band) and drove to the gig!

Around month #4 of my employment, we returned home to play a few venues in the tri-state area only to face the next leg of what seemed like an endless journey…one night in Louisville, Kentucky…two nights in Des Moines, Iowa…and then back home for a few days off. And of course, we would be driving the entire trip.

In the meantime, I’d just about had it with the whole fucking mess. For one thing, the band sucked. Having played with real musicians while backing Musique, Carol Douglas and Stephanie Mills, I wasn’t feeling the hacks in Joe’s band. And for another…we all took turns driving to the jobs…and I knew too many times, guys were one second from falling asleep at the wheel. I wasn’t ready to die on the road. At the time, I had a friend who’d told me that just a few months after leaving Billy Stewart’s band, the entire outfit bought the farm in a car crash when one of the musicians fell asleep while driving. Plus…I wasn’t getting paid enough! Joe wasn’t the kind of guy who split the gig money evenly.

Considering the circumstances, I decided to crack on Joe for a raise. I figured he’d refuse me and that would be that. Summer was ending and I didn’t want his job anymore anyway. But to my surprise, he acquiesced and met my demands…and re-enlisted me for what would be in the neighborhood of 2 hours of playing the bass – and 50 hours of driving/riding. It was at that point that I asked the drummer “Jesus Christ! Are we musicians or truck drivers? This is insane!”

Regardless, the next morning, I hopped the #6 train to Bronx Park East (where Joe lived) and once everybody had gathered, we were off to the Kentucky State Fair where Bobby Lewis, Mary Wells, Bobby Vee and our band would be performing at The Louisville Redbirds AAA baseball facility.

Except for the fact that the stadium had astro turf and the temperature was over 100 degrees on the field, we actually had some fun. For one thing…the band dressed in the team’s locker room, which had a vending machine with Coke, Pepsi and Miller High Life as the beverage choices. I got a kick out of the hand-written sign that limited the players to two beers. Yeah, right! I’m sure the Louisville Yahoo’s obeyed that rule!

While the sign warning the team not to get drunk in the locker room was makeshift, the ones that said “Do not assault the umpires” were very official-looking. Obviously, triple A players had anger issues and the league didn’t want the boys kicking the umpires’ asses over a bad call.

So anyway…we sweated through our gig and then went back to the hotel to hang out with the Bobby’s! The next morning our vacation was over and it was back to truck-drivin’ Bill. Next stop? Des Moines, Iowa and the Iowa State Fair!

A few things about Iowa struck me as unique. First was the 110 miles of corn we saw out the window once we hit the state line! Yo! They got a lot of corn growing out there! And second, was the wide-open space feel of everything. The first night we arrived…the promoter took us out to a sports bar that was so big there was actually a regulation basket right inside the bar where a dude could shoot hoops in between sips of brew! Try that one in New York!

The sidewalks in town were as wide as 10th Street in New York…and the bathroom in our hotel room was bigger than my entire apartment in the East Village. Clearly, space was not at a premium in Iowa. If nothing else, Iowa had space…and plenty of it!

The next morning it was off to the fair, a festival complete with ferris wheels and hog-catching contests. Whoa! Click your heels, Dollar! This might not be Kansas…but it was pretty darn close! To the stage to set up…where I discovered why Joe had given in to my demands for more money. He forgot to mention that we would be backing the Chiffons…and knowing that I was the only guy in the band who could read music, he was gonna need me for the job!

What a nightmare. Imagine the sound of three girls singing their hits with nothing but a drum beat and a bass part backing them because the rest of the musicians were befuddled! But no problem! This was commonplace in the oldies game. Bad musicians were always fucking up gigs for moldy acts on that circuit!

Whatever…we muddled through the concert which featured not only Joey Dee and The Chiffons…but Rick Nelson (just before he died) and Johnny Rivers as well…not to mention 8000 screaming fans (admission to the fair included the concert so virtually everybody came to watch)!

A couple of go-rounds on the ferris wheel with Joe’s son…back to the bar for a hula hoop contest (which I won)…on to our spacious hotel room…and then up the next morning bright and early to drive the 1000+ miles back to New York. And for the entire trip…225 1985 dollars in my pocket! Not exactly a windfall!

I piloted the last leg from Pittsburgh to the city hoping that Joe would let me drive myself home to 10th Street when we arrived in the metropolitan area. But it wasn’t to be. Joe was a prick like that! Even though I’d done all that driving, he saw no reason for me to not ride 27 stops on the fucking #6 train after riding/driving over 1000 miles from the middle of the country!

After that, we did a few more jobs within 100 miles of home but when Joe decided we were going to drive to Texas for a one-nighter…that was it. No more boppa shoo wop…bop boppa shoo wop’s for me! I was out! Next stop? From the frying pan right into the fire with the fucking Belmonts!

Now you might ask “What the fuck does this have to do with escorts?!?!” And the answer is…absolutely nothing! I’m just jerkin’ myself off here. But it’s Sunday and some guys like the music stories – and it only took me 30 minutes to write this. So why not indulge myself as that’s really what blogs are all about anyway.

With nothing to say today, I posted a slightly edited repeat and then turned on the boob tube for a little mindless entertainment. And the instant I saw an 800 pound woman on the Learning Channel, I had something to say. This story goes back over a decade to my Action days when it was my job to answer every call and try to sell every would-be advertiser an ad that was bigger than they needed. 

Anyway…my phone rang with some guy in New Jersey who wanted to advertise and like the good employee I really wasn’t, I rode to Penn Station on the bike and then hit NJ Transit to some horrible ghetto town over the Hudson. To my utter revulsion, my prospective client lived in one of the dirtiest houses I’ve ever seen. The girls were all hood rats (I met a couple on the way up the stairs) and the boss? A 1000 pound blob! I thought I was gonna throw up, honestly. Between the fucked up town…and the ghetto-ass girls…and the filthy domicile…and then finally, the morbidly obese boss…it was just too much!

Ya had to see this scene to believe it. This guy was flat on his back in bed (where I’m sure he stayed 24/7) answering six phones all built into a rack above his bed so he could run his business without ever moving! And after each and every phone call, he screamed at some girl at the top of his lungs ordering her to do something or other. Brutal!

Somehow, I got through the photo shoot without one of the many caged animals on the premises sneaking into the shots…and collected the money for a full page ad wondering all the while “Do I really want this job? I could be driving a cab for a living!”

The next day I called up my fellow salesman Howard to gush “I sold an ad to the fattest, dirtiest fuck ever last night…” and before I could say another word, Howard interjected “had to be Bob York!”…whereupon he related a story about Bob getting busted a few years back and the police struggling to get his massive body onto a gurney and down to the jailhouse.

Whatever….I can’t remember if I ever went out there again…though I must have because he advertised for a while. Regardless, I’ve dealt with some pretty disgusting people working out of some repulsively dirty places. But Bob York took the cake.

Actually, he wasn’t a bad guy or client. It was just all the dirt… and fat…and him screaming at all those hood rats. Yuccccch! It makes my skin crawl as I type!

Mario_CuomoPretty much everybody in New York knows that ANDREW CUOMO is now in his second term as Governor of the State. But people of a “certain age” revere his father MARIO just as much (or probably more) as a beloved role model for the common man.

After all, Mario was born the son of an immigrant butcher who worked 15 hours a day to raise his family. From those humble roots, Mario grew up to be Governor of New York State and very nearly a candidate for the Presidency.

Among the many memories he left behind is a letter Mario wrote congratulating me on a piece I’d written for the NY Times in praise of immigrant cab drivers. The day I received it and told mom she instructed me to frame the correspondence immediately  – something I don’t think I’d have done had she not made the suggestion.

Regrettably…Mario died yesterday of heart failure and because he really was an excellent Governor, a good man, and actually wrote to me, I sing his praises today. Following is the congratulatory letter I received from the Governor of New York State. May God speed Mr. Cuomo! Amen.

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Fox_News.svgOK! Considering that I’m somewhat left of center politically, you might ask why I’d give a shout out to FOX NEWS on this blog (or anywhere for that matter). Well, there’s a reason. Last night I had a “New Year’s” visit from my old pal THE AMAZING LEAH (347-357-8211) for a little reunion of sorts. I hadn’t seen her for almost a year and Leah offered to give me a massage (a real massage – one of her areas of expertise) for old times sake – or (as I said) for the New Year.

As a guy who lives with pain, I figured “why not?” I’ve been prescribed physical therapy and drugs but for some reason, no massage therapy. So anyway…the massage was excellent (though I can’t honestly tell you it did anything for my back or shoulder problems) but more important to this entry, my old buddy revealed that one of her customers is a big admirer of $ Bill – or at least my writing style. And…he’s a celebrity of sorts! The guy is apparently a pundit for Fox News.

Not surprisingly, Leah could only come up with the man’s first name and a description of his on-air attire and appearance (he showed her a tape). So I googled “Fox News personalities” and when I clicked on a full name which included the first that she used and his pic popped up, she bellowed “there he is. That’s him!”

When Leah dropped my name to the guy during their time together, she reported that the man was well aware of my existence…and that he’s a recidivist reader of this here mess. Tickled that he knew me (or of me)…and that the guy thought I was an intellect to be reckoned with…she went on to claim I have a PHD from Harvard! Talk about a little hyperbole!

Whatever…that’s not the point. The point is I’ve always suspected that I have closet readers in high places and this just substantiated my suspicions. I’m gratified – even if my reader is a Fox News commentator. I’ll take my audience where I can get it!

Moving on to some more shout outs…I say “hey” to AQUA and LUCY of VIP ASIAN (646-391-2639) who were so cute and deferential to my dumb ass yesterday…and BECCA of ASIAN FLOWERS (646-639-1195) who I saw for the first time in several years while I was visiting yesterday.

I met Becca many years ago when she first came to New York City and was immediately taken by how perfect she is from head to toe. And apparently, I was not alone in that opinion. Becca became a big-time A-lister in short order. Everybody loved Becca (btw…that wasn’t the fake name she used at the time).

Well anyway…while I was at Asian Flower, I heard the plaintive call of “Billy-ah” from the wings and discovered that it was Becca herself calling out to say hi. There’s an old expression which says “Time stands still for nobody.” But I’m not so sure in Becca’s case. The girl is just as beautiful as ever. For Becca’s part, she said I didn’t look any different either. But that’s not true. She’s the one defying the old expression. Not me!

Just for fun, I asked Becca if she still wanted to marry me and the girl responded with some oblique comment about me having too many girlfriends. Now that shows you how far back we go. Becca hasn’t gotten the memo that I don’t fool around with Asian girls anymore…and haven’t for years!

Regardless, I’ll tell ya what: I’d break my fast on her account in a second. In fact, I’m considering exactly how and when I might do exactly that. Becca was very touchy/feely and flirty and suddenly, I found myself wondering why I’d written off Korean girls as lovers in the first place! What was I thinking? I was thinking that the owners and phone girls are more comfortable with me not stalking the girls – and not to shit where I eat! That’s what I was thinking!

Coming to the pictorial part of the presentation, I offer an old shot of Becca…one more recent of Leah…and omit the guy on Fox in the interest of discretion. Enjoy!

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Oops! Not done yet! I just got a text message from ASIAN PARADISE (347-267-8137) telling me that they have two new girls (JINNY and SHU)…and that EVE has a lot of return customers. Check out the old beat box in Shu’s pic. Odd prop for a Korean girl photo. Whatever…

I also include a shot of MIMI from VIP ASIAN (646-391-2639) who is also new on the scene (as far as I know). And here they all are!

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Ya know…pecking orders aren’t just for birds in a flock. It’s also for girls at an incall. I’ve been aware of this reality for a long time…ever since a petit and pretty girl named Lala got run out of a house by a jailbird named Kima.

Lala was “tits on a stick with a brain”…a college student who sucked out loud in the room (figuratively – not literally). Kima wasn’t bad-looking. But she was hard…and her breasts were neither as large nor beautiful as were Lala’s. And thus, Lala was getting picked too much. Even though nobody came back to see Lala a second time, she was affecting Kima’s bottom line. And whenever the boss wasn’t around, Kima intimidated Lala physically until the submissive simply quit to get away from her schoolyard bully. It was the moment that the owner told me this story that I labeled the syndrome “incall pecking order.”

And now once again, the social phenomenon is rearing its ugly head. This time it’s two girls – one very pretty but with a pot belly –  and another, very busty but decidedly milfy – who are intimidating a very gorgeous (in the face) latina they don’t want around. The latina went to the boss seeking help and the owner asked me how I would deal with the situation.

My initial response? “Either you separate the girls out so they work different shifts or tell her she’s gonna have to fight!” Physical violence in an American, latina, or even Asian incall is not an unknown threat. The built-in stress of the constant beauty pageant wherein guys are constantly choosing one girl out of the bunch will occasionally boil over and shit will break out.

After my knee-jerk reaction and answer to the question as to how to resolve the situation, I reconsidered. “Ya know…you could just fire those two with the excuse that too many happy meals have rendered them undesirable in the first place. Do you really need them?”

Whatever the solution, I observe that the door swings both ways with the incall pecking order. Sometimes girls bond – rather than fight – to relieve the stress. Like just last night, I was in the kitchen with three girls when a 4th walked in to greet the woman with whom I’d just been in the room whereupon my playmate snuggled up to her friend, burying her head between the girls’ breasts while placing one hand squarely on her friend’s chest. The snuggler is actually far bustier than the receiver of all that adulation and affection. It was her way of taking her exalted position and breaking the social order.

As I’ve said in the past…sometimes they fight…and sometimes they fuck to shed the stress. If you ask me, fucking is better. I’ve seen girls duke it out…and I’ve seen girls snuggle up. I’ll take door #2 every time. I mean…once I found myself breaking up a cat fight between two latinas, one of whom was wielding a broken glass! Hey! I coulda got hoit! And given a choice between coming between two girls who are fighting versus two who are snuggling up on each other’s tits? Again…door #2. Just sayin’.

 

Yesterday wasn’t the first time that a friend told me it’s time to get a real girlfriend and to stop fucking around with escorts. Well…it’s not exactly on the top of my New Year’s resolutions list…but I have finally settled upon a believable story that would excuse this blog if I were to go that route.

To actually date a “square” (I love that term), I feel that omitting this intellectual pursuit from a description of the true Dollar Bill would be tantamount to hiding an essential facet of my personality. And that would definitely constitute a breach of honesty – and a poor way to start a relationship. But I think I finally have that solved!

Asked what I do for a living, here would be a bull shit story which could pass muster as the truth…as there is some truth to it! OK! Time to role play! Prospective date: “So what do you do for a living?” My answer: “Actually, I’m a blogger! I used to be the adult advertising sales rep for the Village Voice. But when they cut my pay, I called all my accounts and told them ‘I’m starting a blog. Come advertise with me. I promise it will work’…and it did. And that’s how I now make a living.”

Check it out! I am a blogger for real! I did work for the Voice. And I did quit behind a pay cut. It’s all true! Fortunately, when she goes to read this blog, there’s no indication that I do anything but write about the industry. Whether I do or don’t partake is in question as there is never a review of anybody’s performance behind closed doors. And if anybody asks if I fool around with the girls? I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

I think it will work. Plus the clever concoction makes me look edgy without appearing dangerous. I’m the kind of guy who seizes opportunities when they present themselves. And what could be more attractive to a lady than a quality like that? I’m a go-getter who reaches for the brass ring on life’s merry-go-round! Magic. I’ll have to tell y’all how it goes in the year to come…if it actually becomes a resolution for the New Year.

Back to the real world…ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) has a new girl named KATIE. here’s her pic!

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imagesNot only are all vaginas and penises not the same…but all lubes and rubbers differ as well. This I have come to appreciate (or fallen prey to) in the modern era.

Back in my “free love” youth, neither condoms nor lube were the order of the day. Birth control pills had just been developed and virtually every college girl was on them. As far as diseases went…yeah, you could catch something but if you did…it wouldn’t kill you. And thus almost nobody used a rubber. And as for lube? Never even heard of it!

Obviously, that has all changed. Unless a couple is married or in a committed relationship, out comes the wrapper at the crucial moment. And that wrapper is not only no longer the “one size fits all” raincoat of yesteryear…but it is often bathed in some chemical or other which may or may not agree with your constitution.

When it comes to the chemical component, public enemy #1 is the nonoxynol-9 rubber! Then ya got your condoms with lubrication either on the inside or out which could set a guy off (and not in a good way). And finally…your warming or icing rubbers may also disagree with some users. And I can tell you from personal experience, my delicate apparatus is adversely affected by a lot of these substances.

As mentioned, the worst is nonoxynol-9! Wow! If I stick my stuff in one of those deals, I will immediately feel a stinging pinch at the end of Mr. Bill. And if I do not heed the warning and continue until completion, I will inevitably experience what I can only describe as a pin prick feeling which sends me through the roof every time I urinate for the next week. Brutal!

But it’s not just the nonoxynol-9 joints that cause problems. A few months ago, I neglected to ask my partner what kind of rubber she was using. And though it wasn’t the “killer,” there was something in the unit that hurt me. And once again I asked myself “Why didn’t you check first?”…a rule I’ve adopted over the years for my own comfort. The problem is sometimes while in the throes…I forget!

Then ya got all your different types of lube…yet another gauntlet to run! I used to be big on receiving hand hobs – or “squishies” as we used to call them at Action Magazine. And it didn’t take long for me to realize that Astroglide (among others) was a no-no! Wet was (and is) cool as well as simple body lotion (some kinds) and KY liquid. But Lifestyles lube? Bad news. It became a trial and error thing with me taking careful notes so as not to be afflicted twice by the same “battery acid.

So not only do I have to check on the type of rubber…but the kind of lube as well! Talk about killing your hard-on. Dayummm! And the reason for all this drama is that all lubes are not the same. They all use different chemicals to accomplish their mission. Just for example…paraffin-based lube caused problems in so many men that the good people at Astroglide eliminated the chemical from their product. So it’s come down to this: As a result of my being such a “tender” guy, I’ve opted for carrying my own rubbers and lube to the party!

Here’s a funny story from just a week ago. When the moment came, my partner pulled the tubular safety net from her purse whereupon I had the good sense to ask what kind of rubber she’d be using on me. Obviously, from what you’ve just been reading, I was hoping for a dry joint…or at least one doused in a familiar chemical. And ya know how she responded? “It’s regular size.” Too funny. That’s like back in the old days when a phone girl would ask a caller “Where did you see our ad?”…and the guy would answer “at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue” rather than say “the Voice” or “Action Magazine!” Geez! At least she could have said “it’s a magnum. No problem!”

Anyway…do I get a round of applause for actually writing on a subject I’ve never before broached 2500 entires later? Aaargh! Probably not. Just like with the old men’s sophisticate magazines…nobody reads anyway. It’s just about the cheesecake (the pictures of girls). So who cares?

The soup kitchen where you’ll find me most every Saturday afternoon doesn’t just serve up a hot meat loaf meal…give away fruit, pasta and canned food…and feature a clothing locker where the “guests” can get pants, a shirt, shoes, a belt or most other articles of clothing. There’s also a computer corner set up to help guests find a job! I’m not clear if they’ve ever found anybody work but regardless, there it is…manned by a black dude, a pretty girl, and a nun.

I barely know these people as our paths don’t generally cross – but I have spoken to the nun on occasion – though not in any depth beyond hi and goodbye. Then yesterday, she engaged me in a conversation recruiting me for the New Year’s Eve protest march being organized behind what I call “The I Can’t Breathe Movement.” As all who read here on a daily basis know, I’m four square for that initiative.

During our verbal intercourse (couldn’t resist), the nun dropped the f bomb more or less like a fucking sailor: “Why’d that cop have to strangle the fucking guy?” asked she. “It’s a fucking travesty of justice that the grand jury didn’t indict!” I was flabbergasted. I don’t know a lot about nuns…admittedly. But the last time I checked they don’t curse like sailors!

Well anyway…it turns out that the nun isn’t a nun at all. She’s a muslim wearing a burka! And silly me…I didn’t understand. Whatever…that should hardly matter when you really think about it. She’s lending a helping hand every Saturday and marching for what she believes in. And by me, that’s righteous enough. The fact that she worships Allah rather than another version of The Deity…or is an Atheist for that matter is irrelevant. She’s giving of her time to help the community. That’s what counts!

Moving on…I stopped off at GC the night I got back for a little R & R and got a pic of their new girl GIA for posterity – and y’all’s edification. The caption under her photo reads “slinky latina.” Not exactly original but an apt description nonetheless. And here’s GIA!

gia2

As the new year approaches, it’s always time to look back and reflect on the friends who have “made your day” in the past year. Or at least, that’s the way it is for me. So here goes with my personal A-list for 2014.

A kiss and a hug to AMBER LYNN at JEWELS for being my number one fun girl. It’s rarely that a guy gets to laugh his way through a session…or a girl either for that matter. But AL and I did just that. Unless your head is firmly planted up your ass…you know who actually likes you and who’s just turning a buck. Whenever I go to Jewels and Amber is there, she never fails to give me a kiss. And if I crack wise, her laugh is always the loudest. Watch out for her booty-shaking video in the coming year. I got a preview. It’s hot.

Next up is KAYLA from GC. Major spine-tingler. She’s a hot pen pal, too. I love e-mailing or texting back and forth with Kayla. Girlfriend’s got some demons she wants to unleash with me…and vice versa I might add. Whatever…Kayla’s a heartthrob all the way. Her 4 AM text messages after the shift is over make my night! And whoever she ends up with (she’s in school and won’t be an escort forever) will be one satisfied mother fucker. She was simply born to turn a man into a quivering mass of fetal jelly.

PEACHES from Jewels is about as sweet as they come. And she also has an amazing athletic, toned and proportionate body. But Peaches is a natural who wears her feelings on her sleeve – and sometimes pays the price. Like Aretha Franklin, she’s a tad unlucky in love. Some people have a bad habit of falling for inappropriate partners…and she’s one of them. Hopefully, the new year will bring her a new perspective – and the right guy. Nobody deserves a smooth sail more than my favorite southern belle.

GINGER (also from Jewels) is my favorite spice girl. She’s hot to the touch (and taste) and somebody who appreciates me for who I am. Ginger’s not in love with me or anything like that. I know for whom she has those feelings. And I don’t blame her. While the three of us have never been together like that, I have partaken one at a time so I know what I’m talkin’ about!

While we’ve had our differences…and the girl can be a diva…I’d be bull-shitting y’all if I didn’t admit to having a special feeling about NATALIE (also from Jewels and/or GC). She reminds me of Johnny Walker blue. Talk about a smooth operator. That’s Nat. We fell out and I haven’t seen her for the past half year. But I intend on repairing our friendship for the new year. And that should tell you something right there!

I’d like to tell you that IMAN resembles her namesake supermodel but she doesn’t.The model Iman would be all over GC’s Iman, wishing she was as blessed!Too much booty and too many curves for the real Iman! I tell a lot of girls the old bull shit “Someday we’ll really be together.” But with Iman, I actually mean it!

This list would not be complete without an honorable mention for the girl who was closest to being my girlfriend in 2014. ANIIKA is a German nazi with a really mean streak. But she can also be the world’s sweetest woman. The doc wasn’t kidding when he labeled her bipolar. She is the poster girl! Not that any of this matters at this point as she’s gone home to Germany and I’m not expecting to hear from her anytime soon – if at all. But as I sit here typing, I wear underwear she bought for me…and pj bottoms she bought for me. And the t-shirt I’m wearing underneath? A gift from her as well. Need I say more?

And though I only saw her in the room once, I include SOPHIA from GC for being the superwoman who was actually nervous with me behind closed doors. Sophia wasn’t sure she could measure up to my black girl-loving reputation. Can you imagine? We’ve become like brother and sister now. She tells me everything. It’s kind of cool.

Moving on to friends in the phone realm…I acknowledge all the Korean phone girls who look out for me. MJ, NINA, JENNY, ANGIE are all the best. Ditto for MARY BETH, MARNIE, and CANDACE, their American counterparts! And for all the owners who advertise on this blog? I won’t mention your names (for obvious reasons)…but a heartfelt thanks for your patronage.

And the final shout out goes to my favorite owner who I’ll call the patron saint of all jailbirds and junkies. Nobody I’ve ever known has been more generous nor saved more losers in their lives than “the saint.” She is truly remarkable! Law enforcement probably wouldn’t get it…but the world needs more people like the patron saint. It would be a much better place if ii did!

Well that’s it for 2014. I had a list of douchebags but I decided to delete it. Better rename the blog to $ Bill’s Not So Psycho Roundup.

The return trip was about as good as it could possibly have been given the circumstances (the bus) until 3 AM, when I discovered that the guy behind me is the only sleep apnea poster boy. Talk about the Tasmanian devil! OMG! He kept a few people up all night as he apparently has no problem sleeping for 8 straight hours – even on a bus. Anyway…I’m home for better or worse (mostly better)…as I don’t like Florida in the first place.

Check out this video a reader sent me. He wants to know why it was banned. I assume he’s joking. What puzzles  me is why any ad agency or advertiser would think they could get away with this. Personally, I think it’s totally hot…but if I were either of the previous two entities, I wouldn’t have spend 2 cents filming this knowing that no way was it gonna pass the censors.

And now for a little yearly Christmas cheer:

Twas the night before Christmas I was pulling my crank
Not a creature was stirring not even a skank
The stockings were “hung” by the chimney with care
But nary an escort to hold me was there
The cuties were nestled all snug in their beds
With visions of slave boys giving them head
And mama in her kerchief and I in my hat
Checkin’ her booty yo dat shit’s phat!
When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter
It was Cherokee Da Ass with her shit even phatter
Away to the window I flew in a flash
As tired as I was I just had to see dat ass
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Made the perfect setting for that phat-bootied ho
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
She’s clapping her booty for some fucking queer
With rock hard rapier he pounded her good
As she screamed her approval and woke up the hood
He stuffed her insanely and spewed all things racial
And then he withdrew and gave her a facial…

That’s enough of that! A Merry Christmas to one and all!

LUSITANIA[1]I used to love PAWN STARS on the History Channel until I just couldn’t take that idiot Chumlee anymore – nor Rick’s son pretending to know anything about history. It just got too fake for even me! Regardless, I know enough about reality tv to know that people line up around the block hoping to sell their family heir looms to a) make some money and b) get on television. And from TAXI CONFESSIONS, I know all about appearance fees and what it takes to make the grade. And I think I have something that they’ll want.

So my brother was going through the bottom shelf of a huge bookcase in the condo and found several bound editions of classical piano music from 1885 in reasonably decent condition. Not quite as impressed as he was, I was still nodding my head in amazement. But then…there it was: A ream of stationary from THE LUSITANIA!

Really! Blank stationary from the Lusitania?!?! Now that’s fucking awesome! My first reaction? We’re goin’ to Vegas, baby! One look at this and Rick’s gotta put us on the show!

I don’t know which old relative had the forethought to keep this souvenir from what is probably the second most famous ship ever. But that’s pretty cool if you ask me! At the time, he (or she) had no idea that a German submarine sinking the ship would eventually plunge the USA into WW I. Yet somehow…there it was!

Thirty years ago, the New York Times ran an entire page featuring baby pictures of all 48 NY GIANT SUPERBOWL WINNERS from 1986. My mother cut the page out of the paper and gave it to me the next time I saw her. And when I got home, I enclosed it in a Ziplock bag to keep it pristine for posterity. Somewhere in my apartment it will be found – most likely by whichever relative who cleans the joint out after I die. And probably, that person will be almost as impressed as I am with what my brother found today.

I guess it’s all in the genes, baby – and/or a human trait which seeks to honor history – and keep one’s memory alive. Hmm! Stuff that makes you reflect! Whatever! The fucking Lusitania! Crazy!

P.S. We found a diary of my Grandma Rose’s voyage to Europe dated 1912. It was she who took the Lusitania. And Rose was the kind of person who would walk with some free stationary. So now it all makes sense.

Note to all my sidebar friends: If you need me, I’ll be out by the pool!

So we left my brother’s downright opulent condo in central Florida…to visit my mother in what used to be our – but is rapidly becoming my brother’s condo just south of Palm Beach! Explanation: My $65,000 investment…oh never mind! You don’t need to know the sordid details. I’m fucked! No further explanation would be discreet!

But it ain’t all bad. My mother apparently has 6 24/7 nurses taking care of her so she’s never alone. And that don’t come cheap – which is part of the reason I can kiss my investment goodbye. But I digress. The first nurse I met is about the most handsome milf I’ve ever seen. Totally doable! But here’s the bad part: She shifted out while we were at a restaurant…and won’t be back until I’m gone. Oh well! Scratch that fantasy!

Despite my brother’s prediction to the contrary, my mother doesn’t look like she’s about to move on – even if she’s bed-ridden. She knows who everybody is and currently spends her day being catered to hand and foot while she watches TCM on her 50″ HD Smart tv! This ain’t the poor house!

Down the road a piece (like 50 yards) is the complex’s pool…shared by maybe a dozen condos none of whose inhabitants I’ve ever seen there. Yesterday was no exception. Picture this: It’s a sunny 85 degree day and I had the entire pool and pool area to myself! Pretty good. The only downside? The maintenance people were buzzing away on machinery…cutting and trimming whatever to legitimize what I come to find out is an extremely exorbitant maintenance fee. Apparently, nobody wants to live here because it’s such a rip-off deal! But hey! I didn’t pick this joint. I was just the schumck who made the down payment on what has to be a real estate speculator’s worst nightmare. Not that I was speculating at the time.

Oh well! Easy come easy go. As I said…if you need me, I’ll be out by the pool…or sitting with mom watching old timey movies with the sound cranked up to 120 decibels because she can’t “hear shit” (her words – not mine).

On a more sensitive note…I’ve been looking through ancient pictures of the entire family. I see my mother and my father dancing on their wedding day! I see me at age 4 sitting on the pot taking a dump! I see a picture of the only hot milf (mom) holding the hand of her sullen little 6 year old boy (me). I see a photo of me at age 5 playing with my toy soldiers. And there I am at age 2 rocking in the crib with a big wise-ass grin on my face.

I see my mother and her sister on mom’s wedding day looking like two 40’s movie stars. Mom was a hell of a looker. No wonder she had so many boyfriends over the years after my parents split. And finally, I see a picture of me at age 19 attending my brother’s college graduation dressed in a tie and jacket with Jesus hair down to my shoulders.

Jeez! Where’d it all go?

 

 

 

1181-1I don’t have to tell you. Riding the bus to Florida…you won’t encounter the same demographic as you would flying first class on United Air. But this round on the Chinese bus to The Sunshine State was downright ridiculous!

Bad omen # 1 came when a fat black lady cut the line in front of me while boarding. I mean…what the fuck! We all had seat assignments. What was the point? It turned out that she was actually part of the Jesus crew! More about that later.

So we got settled in and things were looking copasetic. My seat partner was a civilized black guy in the 30 something age range with a fancy iPod and a book. I was impressed. He looked like somebody who might actually fly first class on United! In front of me was a very young Puerto Rican couple…also civilized and reasonably friendly. Trust me. Given the close quarters, it helps to be surrounded by decent people.

But one row up across the aisle was member #1 of the Jesus crew. Therein lay the problem. It wasn’t about her religion. It was about her consideration! Go figure. Last time I checked there’s no Thou Shalt Not Annoy Your Neighbors commandment. In retrospect, Jesus should have taken people like this scum belle into account. Some of His children needed a memo!

Almost from the first mile, I could hear the faint cry of gospel music in the bus. But I couldn’t really tell where it was coming from in the dark. As far as I knew, it could have been from my partner. I just wasn’t sure. After an hour or two, it stopped. I guess whoever was the source went to sleep.

The overnight hours weren’t too bad until dawn broke over North Carolina and we stopped for a rest. “Fifteen minutes” called the bus driver in his heavy accent. Thirty minutes later we were finally on our way after the driver finally found three stragglers. One was the fat lady who cut ahead of me in line. No surprise there!

Once under way, the bus came alive with activity. Now on a Greyhound, the driver generally admonishes the passengers to use their cell phones sparingly…and that music must be enjoyed in head phones. But this is a Chinese bus. There  were no relevant admonitions…and not everybody was as considerate as they could be!

First a hassle breaks out between a fat black woman and the Chinese girl sitting in front of her. The black woman doesn’t like that the Chinese girl has her seat back. “I have long legs,” she claims.

I looked over. Her legs didn’t look that long to me. The Chinese girl offered to switch seats. That made too much sense – especially given that if she’d switched…the person in front of her was yet another fat black lady – with her seat all the way back…and who probably couldn’t be bullied. So that wasn’t gonna work!

The hassle got to the point where the black lady threatened to knock the Chinese girl’s head off. Nice! The threatened party went to the driver and he actually had to stop the bus to quell the riot. It was then that I discovered that the black lady’s riding partner was her 3 year old granddaughter whose legs didn’t even reach the floor. Thus the loudmouth had plenty of leg room all along. What the fuck!

No sooner had that episode drawn to a close when the same woman got on her phone for 15 minutes shouting at somebody about some stupid fucking drama all while dropping the f bomb like 50 times for her granddaughter’s edification. Classy! Nice!

Things quieted down for a while but then came the surreal crescendo which gives this entry its title. The couple in front of me decides to share a set of headphones to listen to a rap track. I know this because I can hear the sizzle of the drum beat from their headphones. The male member of the couple begins rapping along with the track – out of tune – if that’s possible given that rap lyrics have no melody in the first place. I don’t know the name of the track but it could very well have been “my nigger” from the number of times he repeated the line.

Simultaneously, the Jesus lady fires up her laptop…turns the volume all the way up…and I’m hearing “I love you Jesus” from the left. Too tickled at the absurdity I’m thinking “Can we combine the auditory onslaught into one tune titled “Jesus loves niggers?'” But really…it wasn’t funny! The kid’s performance lasted only a few minutes. But the Jesus lady’s went on for hours with everybody abiding the noise level without comment. Why I’m not sure. I wasn’t the only annoyed individual.

Anyway…by the last hour of the trip, guess who moves up behind the Jesus lady! The fat bitch who tried to cut the line in front of me and kept the bus waiting at the rest stop like some sort of diva. They were friends! Apparently, there were another two commandments Jesus missed for His stupidest of children: 1. Thou shalt not keep the bus waiting and 2…Thou shalt not cut in line! I just couldn’t imagine Jesus loving either of these two douchebags! Regardless, they sang along with the laptop for the duration. Needless to say, I was happy to get off that fucking bus my attitude being “I’ve been saved enough for a lifetime. Now Jesus! Save me from this fucking bus!” To my recollection, it was the first time I ever prayed to Jesus!

Whatever…here I am in sunny Florida safe and sound. Did I say “sunny?” It’s been raining steadily since the moment I arrived. Gotta go. More later.

 

 

46904It should come as a shock to nobody that all the reality shows we watch on the boob tube aren’t entirely realistic. And that would be putting it mildly. The bull shit is so staged it can almost be laughable at times. Like just for example…one of my fellow Grand Jurors told me during recess that he worked on “ICE ROAD TRUCKERS,” and actually took part in staging an accident. The show was becoming something of a sleeping pill and in the absence of any drama, the network had to do something to liven it up…all of which brings to mind my experience with “TAXICAB CONFESSIONS,” yet another dog and pony show produced for the entertainment of the totally naive.

Back when I was a cab driver and salesman/”hack” journalist for the industry rag, a prospective advertiser called in. But it wasn’t the usual ball joint/grease pit operation that wanted to advertise. It was HBO! Round 1 of TAXICAB CONFESSIONS had been a huge success and the network needed to audition new drivers for the next edition. Cool! I was actually excited about booking an ad with a TV network and decided I’d try out for the show. Here’s how the bull shit worked:

First, applicants called in and were given a time and place to interview for the job. The instant I walked in the office, a secretary handed me a contract to sign. I hadn’t even said a word and already they wanted me to sign something? WTF?!?! I don’t know how many drivers actually read before signing, but I know I did. And what that contract said was (paraphrased) “We’re going to tape your interview…and we reserve the right to use this tape however we see fit in perpetuity in exchange for which we will compensate you nothing!”

As a once-upon-a-time pre-law student, it didn’t take me long to decipher the legalese – or to register my discontent once I had. But the girl insisted “if you don’t sign the paper, you can’t audition.” And schmuck that I am…I signed figuring if my interview ever aired – and it was that entertaining – I’d be discovered and paid for whatever lay in the future. The first one would clearly be a freebe. There was no way to avoid it.

So I did the interview and was then called back. For part 2 of the audition, the producers wanted to watch me drive around in a cab! Fair enough, I thought. Tell me where to meet you and I’ll drive your taxi around for an hour or two on my day off. But oh no! They actually wanted all the auditioners to supply their own cab – and stop working and earning – while they checked us out. This I found totally bush league! They already had a hit show and (I assume) a budget..and I saw no reason for me to lose money so I could audition a second time.

And that wasn’t my only objection (besides the contract hustle). Through the process, I’d become aware of exactly how little freedom I would have to find passengers to light up the screen. In fact, the driver was not left to his own devices – nor free to roam late night New York at his own discretion. Rather, the producers would follow the cab in a van and tell the driver each and every word to say to the passenger via a hidden earpiece supplied for the driver. So essentially, they instructed the driver on every move – including who he would pick up and what he would say!

This I really didn’t appreciate. I figured I knew how to find the freaks and elicit bizarre responses much more effectively than the producers ever could. And so…in typical $ Bill style, I told the girl on the other end of the phone to go fuck herself. And that was that.

But my boy Mikey was cagier than I. He’d already heard that a lot of drivers were quitting behind having to supply their own cabs for the audition. And instead of joining the boycott, he avoided HBO’s calls until the network realized they had to go out and lease or buy a cab – or they wouldn’t have any drivers to abuse! So Mikey waited and got the gig! And here was the financial deal once he made the audition:

For 12 hours, the drivers would work the city – with the van right behind – and the earpiece in place. They would be compensated $125 by HBO and keep all the fares, which obviously would be far fewer than on a normal shift unburdened by all the production stoppages. But still a pretty good deal!

If the producers liked what the fare had to say and wanted to use the tape for the show, they would jump out of the van with a contract…inform the rider what he was part of…and offer him $800 to sign the release for use on the show. And if the driver happened up on a winner HBO wanted to use, he would get an additional $400!

Now here’s where karma and sweet revenge met in a most satisfying moment. Mikey (remember, he’s the guy who stole my Letterman gig) picked up a fare who was actually a cab driver we both knew. And Alex was the ultimate entertainer, so much so that the producers jumped out in jubilation to sign him up. But imagine their embarrassment when they discovered that their ultimate passenger was in fact a cabby they had jerked around hard in the audition process during the first round of the show.

Yup! Alex put on a show for what he must have known was the TAXICAB CONFESSION vehicle, and then issued a battery of conditions under which he would sign, one of which involved him editing his own tape. The producers and Alex went back and forth for weeks – all while Mikey stewed because his $400 payment depended on Alex signing. And finally? Alex never signed and Mikey never got his four hundred bucks!

I thought it was hilarious. I knew Alex was completely jerking those douchebags off – just like they’d done to him, and was never gonna sign the contract. He just wanted to shove it up their asses farther than they’d shoved it up his. And Mikey? Weren’t you the guy who pretended to be me so you could steal my Letterman gig? Ya just got paid back!

Anyway…this is kind of a stupid story, but at least an entertaining one which indicates in no uncertain terms that reality television is as close to being real as I am to being a celebrity. And as far as whores go? I’ve dealt with a lot of ‘em in my lifetime…but never any more egregious than the schmucks who ran TAXICAB CONFESSIONS.

A few years ago, a literary agent found this blog and wrote in to congratulate me on how professional and entertaining he found the presentation. At once complimented and opportunistic, I seized the moment to try to convince him that he should negotiate a book deal on my behalf. Unfortunately, I could not come up with a concept he wanted to sell until finally, the prospect of ghostwriting a book on behalf of one of my friends, who apparently had a more compelling story to tell than I did, piqued his interest.

Anxious to break in on any level, I took the bait and for a hot minute endeavored to write my buddy’s life story. The three of us even went out to dinner on his dime to discuss the project. But it wasn’t long before I realized I’d made a big mistake. There would clearly be a lot of uncompensated work involved before the prospect of any money coming my way would become a reality. And when my homey and I had a difference of opinion on the editorial front, I decided to bow out before I got in too deep. With my consent, the agent sought another writer to pick up my slack.

Just a few weeks later, he found a new ghostwriter and introduced her to my friend – who called to let me know of the development. And so…I googled the woman’s name to discover that she’s a published whistleblower…and not a biographer at all! I suspected that my client would more than likely be a part of some sort of expose that wasn’t entirely about her. I shared my suspicions with my buddy who no doubt thought I was just being jealous and continued spending hours with her new ghosty.

And predictably now that it’s two years later and the book is about to be published, my friend has come to discover that I “nailed it” (her words not mine) when it came to the author’s agenda. In fact, the book is about the business and not her! My compatriot’s story is only a small part of the entire effort. She will be getting no compensation for all her source work. And worse, the author had the temerity to call and ask if she could use the woman’s real name in the book! And my friend wanted to know what I thought.

“Tell her to go fuck herself…and that if she uses your real name you’ll sue her pants off! The fucking nerve. I told you!” Ya know…it’s one thing to be used, abused and discarded like yesterday’s newspaper for a fee (which is essentially what escorts do for a living). But to do it free-of-charge? Outrageous.

I don’t know how my friend will respond to the request as sometimes the brightness of the limelight blinds even the most jaded. But regardless…talk about gettin’ pimped! What a fucking disgrace. The author didn’t even offer any kind of compensation for all the time her source put in or for the privilege of the author using her real name. She just wanted to know if it was all right to leave my buddy flapping in the wind.

No doubt, the book is about the pimping and trafficking part of the escort landscape as hello…the author is a whistleblower! But what of the author essentially pimping my client herself? How wrong is that?!?! File that one under used and abused. Not the exclusive province of escorts but still, no one would deny the girls do know a little something about the subject. Such a fucked up deal. Hopefully, I’ll never get sucked into a hustle so transparent. But If I did…it wouldn’t be the first time. Remember, I toiled in the music business for 10 years. So I know what it is to be used, abused and pimped and thus, I saw the drubbing my client was about to receive from a mile off.

A few weeks ago I got a call from one of my favorite Korean phone girls who is now (or was – I don’t know) working at some place whose revenue flow was fading fast. After asking “How’s business?” she went on to request that I write some reviews for her employer – if I did that sort of thing. Ambivalence swept over my body at the mere suggestion. Now that the (re-elected) New York State Attorney General has made it clear that middlemen in the escort business are breaking the law, I no longer earn anywhere near as much money as I used to – as I no longer function as a middleman. While I absolutely hate writing fake reviews (I assumed she wasn’t going to forward me any sessions with the girls about whom she wanted me to write), I still wouldn’t mind the paycheck.

Regardless, I took the high road and pointed her toward advertising on this blog (which she knows from previous experience works), adding that hiring anybody to write phony reviews is a bad way to do business. She countered with a bizarre piece of logic: “When I was over at Blue Sky, Yuri got like 10 or 12 guys per day from your blog the first week – but then fell off quickly.” I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Ten guys a day for a week is $7000 to the house! This is an ad NOT worth purchasing simply because the response fell off – probably because the girl sucked in the room?!?! Preposterous!

Switching gears, I inquired about the current advertising strategy that was leaving the house devoid of customers…figuring maybe I could sell her on some other course of action (beyond writing fake reviews) that might remedy the situation. She pointed me toward the $1000 per month ads her boss was running on Backpage to outline their current ad campaign. The problems were obvious.

For starters, the photography was awful. The picture taker (I can’t call him a photographer because he’s that bad) is one of those guys who gets too close to the girl when he shoots and insists on cutting off body parts. Plus, the lighting and colors are horrible. In short, the guy has no idea about what he’s doing. Additionally, there is nothing in the advertising that indicates that the girls are Asian…effectively eliminating them from any keyword guys who might type in “Asian” rather than look through all the ads. Yet another obvious error. Obvious to me, anyway.

The phone girl’s other line rang and she said she’d call back but never did. Obviously, my friend couldn’t sell the boss on advertising here. After all…I’d only made the phone girl’s previous employer $7000 in one week! Why would anybody want such an ineffective ad? As I once said about another hapless client from a few years ago…”What can I say? They didn’t all get an MBA from Stanford!” The “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink” syndrome is in full effect.

Moving on…I recently published an astounding picture of what had to be the most beautiful Asian girl ever to grace a New York KMP – if it was real. Trusting the client who forwarded it was my first mistake. It wasn’t two minutes before the mail started coming in claiming that the girl is in fact a Japanese video star. I called the house and at first, they insisted she was real. Nice try, honey!

“Ya know. This blog’s ethos is that of publishing only real pictures. That’s part of the reason guys log on. By sending me fake pix you completely kill the goose who lay the golden egg. Keep doing that and nobody will come to this blog anymore! That’s a totally fucked up way to do business – especially given that you have pretty girls there!” I lectured. To her credit, the phone girl backed off and admitted “The girl doesn’t have any pictures. What are we supposed to do?”

Seeing an opportunity, I offered to shoot her that day and publish the photos within two hours. “If she looks as good as you say she does, it will work,” I reasoned out loud. “And you don’t have to pay me if you don’t get results! How’s that?” I completed the sales pitch, figuring it was worth the gamble. If it worked, word would get out and some of the Asians might hire me to shoot pictures. And if it didn’t? Nothing lost but a little time – of which I have a lot. Whatever….out came the truth: “The girl doesn’t like it here in New York and she’s leaving on Friday,” lamented the phone girl. Case closed. I went the extra mile. It was a good way to do business for me – even if they didn’t take me up on the offer.

And finally…I do business with a place that actually has not one…not two…but three principal owners…two of which essentially do nothing but live off the third. The two who do nothing but complain to the third never check their website…and never check their Backpage ads. If the place gets slow they simply blame the phone girls for the lack of business. God forbid they understand that their Backpage ads are a mess…or that the floor girls are convincing the phone girls to post phony pictures on their site in a desperate attempt to increase their earnings – all while none of the owners even know!

Let’s see! How’s about they run a bunch of photos with no names on them so none of the customers has any idea who to ask for by name – and then complicate the situation by mixing fake pix in with real ones to further confuse their prospective clientele. Now there’s a great way to do business! And add to that…”Let’s never look at our BP ads or website so we have no idea how bad a job of running our place we’re actually doing!” Better to blame it all on the phone girls!
Amazing!

Given the business that I’m part of, I can’t reasonably expect that everybody will understand the folly of their modus operandi. As I’ve said before, none of these owners is trained in how to do business. They just feel their way through the process. What’s frustrating is that even after discovering unequivocally the error of their ways, they continue to make the same mistakes! It’s a conundrum all right. What are ya gonna do? I know! Start a blog so I can ventilate about the insanity. Oh, yeah! Been there…and done that!

 

cannabis-jointMy mother is 93 years old. The chances she will make it to her 94th birthday 6 months from now are slim to none. Mom is bed-ridden, almost deaf, blind and bald-headed. Seventy five years of smoking cigarettes has finally caught up with her. She’s been diagnosed with lung cancer.

A few weeks ago my brother called to say “It could be any day now!” I called to make my peace with mom, crying like a baby…barely able to tell her “I love you, mom” and “I’m sorry we couldn’t get along” through all my sobbing. And then a funny thing happened. She stabilized! Nobody could believe it!

Yesterday, I received a call from a 561 number I did not recognize. It was my mother’s nurse. She put me on the phone with mom who wanted to know why she felt nothing after smoking some pot the day before…and why did I think it was that she didn’t get high? I was speechless.

Mom is obviously not of the hippy or beat generation. And she wasn’t particularly hip for whichever generation she was part of. I mean…mom didn’t (or doesn’t) even know who Louis Jordan was. And he was the ultra cool, jazz and blues artist of her generation! Show Tune Ma all the way. My mother is as vanilla as it gets.

Moving on…my answer to mom’s question was “What the fuck are you doing smoking pot for the first time in your life when you have lung cancer? Am I dreaming? Or maybe you have some kind of bizarre bucket list thing going on?”

Well…mom’s not in pain…but she has no appetite. So the pulmonary specialist recommended she smoke pot and somehow, mom got hold of some reefer! I was tempted to say “I’ll bring you some decent pot in a few days when I get down there.” But it sounded so weird in my mind. Plus…can you imagine me getting busted for traveling with marijuana and trying to explain to LE “It’s for my mom!”

Anyway…of all the surreal moments, mom’s last request was to pass the joint (so to speak). Maybe when I get down there she’ll say “I’m sorry I picked on you your whole fucking life. After all…it wasn’t your fault that you reminded me of your son-of-a-bitch father!” That or “I’m sorry I blew all my inherited money and had to rely on you and Jimmy to support me in the style to which I’ve grown accustomed.” That won’t happen, unfortunately. So I guess I’ll have to take what I can get: “Pass the joint!” What are ya gonna do?

54757_977After yesterday’s contention that this blog contains all kinds of meaningful editorial matter, I follow up with one long commercial today…refuting my claim that this site is anything but a laundry list of lascivious ladies looking to separate you from your cash. Oh well! My heart (or head) was in the right place for two seconds. What are ya gonna do?

Moving on…so much for this geezer sitting around and doing nothing all day. I made no fewer than 8 stops yesterday including one at 70th Street and Riverside Boulevard! And of course along the way, I saw and or took photos of some sizzling sirens seeking salacious dudes for a little daytime (and nightime) diversion.

For those looking to enter the spin zone, I highly recommend NARI at ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137). Actually, it was STELLA about whom the phone girl sang her praises (and she was cute as well). But NARI was the cutie who caught my eye! Emerging from the shower room in nothing but a towel, I startled the poor girl with my presence. Whatever…NARI couldn’t be more than 5 feet and 100 pounds sopping wet! And the girl is as young as she is pretty. Two thumbs up for both of Paradise’s new staff members.

As usual, NY SPA (212-575-5600) had a totally adorable receptionist behind the counter…and one I’d never seen before. I asked the boss (who was also there) if it ever happened that all 15 rooms were occupied at the same time (the place is as big as it is modern and clean) to which she answered in the affirmative. “Guys come all at once,” said she citing that the hours between 4:30 and 7 PM are very busy. Makes sense to me. That’s when guys get out of work.

And speaking of cute (which I wasn’t)…the boss (who I’ve known for almost 2 decades) is still looking pretty sweet herself. Here’s a racist comment for ya that would offend nobody: Asian girls tend to age gracefully. In fact, you’d be amazed at how old some of the Korean A-listers are. But let me stop right there and not divulge any secrets that might get me in trouble.

Over at LOVELY ASIANS (212-470-0409), I had the pleasure of meeting all three of the staffers of the day. First, OLIVIA walked in to say hi in her jammies! Apparently, Korean girls do not lounge around all day in their Victoria Secret wear. They’ve taken to flannel pajamas which somehow look really cute on them. Go figure.

But fear not! I got the lingerie-style beauty pageant as well when NANA and RUBY popped their heads in to wow a certain almost geriatric bicyclist/blogger. In fact, both girls have sensational bodies. And NANA is tall and all natural with a round booty. (Boss lady wanted me to mention that. Apparently, they get that American guys go for shapely booties.)

In an almost comical moment, the owner stressed that all the girls are of the “nice” variety – and not hoochie-like sluts at all, demonstrating exactly what the girls aren’t by snapping her fingers twice and moving her head left and right just like an American hoochie mama would do. Boss lady must be watching BET videos. She had the moves down to a tee!

And just so you know that it isn’t just pros who look fabulous on the job, the financial officer at my credit union was showing deep cleavage (Indian cleavage – how hot is that?) and the teller had the bangin’est body this side of a medallion loan (it’s a taxi credit union). Geez! What’s the world coming to when a bank teller looks like she just jumped out of a Playboy centerfold?

Traveling due southeast, I arrived at KANA’S (646-366-3203) building to say hi to my favorite Korean GFE indy! Such a cute girl! And she’s sporting a new streaked hair-do with the bangs I always thought looked so good on her.

And finally, it was time to stop looking and start shooting when I arrived at JEWELS OF NEW YORK (347-595-4518), where two girls lay in wait to have their photos taken. First was INA, yet another ravishing Russian with a remarkable and all natural body. After a few shots, Ina stripped down to her birthday suit for a costume change and totally impressed this mutt. Flawless is the adjective that comes to mind when I describe the chassis on this chickee. Talk about blessed.

And then it was ANGEL’S turn to strike a pose for the lens. Angel is tiny! I was surprised that she’s as tall as she claimed at 4′ 11″. It was like…she came up to my belly button! Just like with Vanessa at 28th Street (who got fired), Angel speaks no English! So I instructed her in fluent enough Spanish that she asked me from which country I hailed. Score one for $ Bill and my not-so-perfect Spanish accent.

On an entirely different note…I’d like to say that my book sales are dropping off. Guys! Pull three bucks out of your pocket so you have something to read while crapping in the morning. Humor this geezer. Make me feel like somebody’s actually reading this garbage. I’d appreciate it! And now…to the goils!

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