Finally…a big cheesecake entry with none of my tired bull shit! Hoorah! Or huzzah as they used to say in the early days of the republic (this republic). So here we go.

Over at ASIAN FLOWER (646-639-1195), CHERRY has gone on vacation and in her stead are COCO (a little hot high yellow chocolate) and MIMI (formerly of VIP ASIAN), to go along with the rest of the crew. A little slice of HEAVEN has returned to DREAM GIRL (646-276-6229). And over at HIYAKO (212-679-3681) I met their two new girls (CELINA and YOYO) both very cute and innocent. Celina’s picture looks totally fake but in fact, she and her photo are extremely pretty and real! And her English is good as well. Sorry about YOYO. She has no pix yet. But trust me…she’s cute and geisha-like. And for all the breast men out there, you’ll note that NAUGHTY NATALIE (347-595-4518), one of my favorite firecrackers, has her very own button below the header.

And now without further ado…here’s da goils!

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antm-1280X1024You’d never know it looking at me now…but I was a cute little boy (I’ve seen pictures)….a reality which many years ago launched me on a modeling career which lasted all of one day!

After Pop took off with his 18 year old stripper, mom went to work and by the time I was in the 4th grade, had landed a job at some shitty little advertising agency or other writing copy. One day, the agency needed a cheap boy model to don a client’s line of hats on the RICHARD WILLIS SHOW. And I got the nod.

So I was given the day off from school (no doubt the inducement that convinced me to do this bull shit in the first place) and mom drove me to the studio to stand on the set like the little douchebag I was, modeling 8 or so different hats as the host cracked wise about the headgear they placed on the head of this hapless little boy. “That one looks like a nose bleed” was one of his quips I distinctly remember.

Well…they gave me a whole dollar for my work and that was the beginning and end of my modeling career. Just a few years later after I hit puberty, mom’s friends would come over and say shit like “Wow! Billy was such a cute little boy. What the fuck happened?!?!” Such a rip off! Here I finally get a dick, balls and a patch of hair but unfortunately along with that came a new look which said “Good luck getting somebody to help you learn how to use that equipment now that puberty has robbed you of your good looks!” What are ya gonna do?

Fast forward say….56 years. Cute little Bill is now Dollar Bill (Hey! Anybody ever hear about inflation? I got a dollar 56 years ago and I’m still Dollar Bill now? WTF?!?!) and I’m sitting down for a sumptuous meat loaf meal at the soup kitchen before hitting the spatula to serve up 300 slabs of meat loaf to a potpourri of indigents, when a tall, white chick in a baseball hat sits down across from me and uncharacteristically (for volunteers), asks me some fairly personal questions the first of which is “What to do you do for a living?”

Now I’m part of a clique of regulars who show up every Saturday. All the recidivists know me – but not too many  are aware of how I make a living. And here, this woman who is not one of the regulars, dives in where most have not tread even after knowing me for a year. Whatever…I told her the truth…gave her the url which she put in her phone…and then segued to other subjects one of which was the near-miracle cortisone shots I got two weeks ago that have so enabled me to do some heavy lifting down at the factory (the soup factory) at which point she revealed that she herself has had cortisone injections the necessity for which comes part in parcel of her employment. That job turns out to be (drum roll) supermodel! And when she gets a hint of acne on her face, the girl goes straight to a sawbones for a facial injection to rid her skin of any imperfections!

Up to that point, I really hadn’t checked this girl out. I was more intent on mixing up the corn and green beans with the meat loaf (the quirky way I eat..I call it “diner style”) which by the way, seems to bring a smile to all the black female’s faces. For some reason only they could tell you, I somehow morph back to that 9 year-old who was so cute when I’m eating the meal that all the volunteers enjoy before we get to work feeding the masses.

Back to America’s next top model…I begin to ask her relevant questions about her profession along the lines of “Are you offended by the stereotype that you’re all bimbos…and do you find it to be true of your colleagues?”…to which she responds “Two thirds of the girls are morons and the others try to dispel the mythology.”

I move on to how she feels about dating men shorter than she (the girl is 5′ 11″) and my new friend says it’s not a huge issue but reveals that her current boyfriend is 6′ 4″. It was at that point I realized that this woman wasn’t trying to pick me up. In fact, she was afraid I was trying to hit on her which as everybody in the escort business knows…is preposterous. I’m neither into tall or white women. The meal ended shortly thereafter and I was off to orient my crew as to their respective jobs – as none of them were regulars and thus needed direction.

No love connection notwithstanding, I enjoyed my 5 minutes of verbal intercourse with America’s Next Top Model (by the way, she abhors that show). Ya never know who’s gonna come down to volunteer at the University Soup Kitchen (its official name). Two weeks ago, I had a middle school Assistant Principal and a 7th grade History teacher on my crew. It’s all part of the fun of working for no money.

And by the way…to date, guess how many escorts I’ve convinced to volunteer! If you guessed zero, you win the prize. Unfortunately, that prize is a sandpaper hand job. Sorry to burst your bubble. But I continue undaunted trying to get somebody from the escort world to show up for the function. Alas thus far…no takers.

Here’s an offer: Any girl who makes it down to the soup kitchen and does even a halfway decent job of helping gets a full entry on this blog (with pictures) dedicated to her…and a t-shirt which says “I’m a giver” on the front. And with an inducement like that how could anybody resist? We’ll have to see. As usual…I’m not holding my breath.

american-historyYahoo has a seductive component – which when I think about it – is why they’re currently the most visited website in the world. Like just for example – NY Post style news is not my thing. I never read the Post or Daily News for that matter. Yet somehow after checking my yahoo mailbox, I’ll find myself seduced into the site’s “news” (and I use the term loosely) section, just checking out the headlines for something that interests me. And yesterday I found a 30 question multiple choice American history test typically given to 8th graders which Yahoo states has sufficiently challenged the American adult public to the point where 92.4% of us fail it.

Well anyway…I took the test and scored a 97. But that shouldn’t come as a shock. I’ve always been interested in American History and in the past few years, I’ve done a significant amount of reading on that subject. Confront me with a modern pop music quiz and I have no doubt virtually every 8th grader would beat me! Or give me a test about designer clothing and bags and virtually every escort would smoke me!

Regardless…it started me thinking about how well the American-born escorts I know would do on a subject so academic (the American History test)…and moreover, how they would measure up against the guys who patronize them. Now that would be interesting. I’m really not sure how it would all work out!

I look at it this way: The buyer and seller in these two groups (escorts and the guys who pay to see them) both make a lot more money than your average American! Any guy who drops $200 – $250 for an hour every week obviously has a considerable amount of disposable income. As for the American girls (I’m discounting any escort who wasn’t born and educated in the US for obvious reasons), they’re good for 6 figures themselves – which puts them in the Upper Middle category at the least. Would they know more than a lower to mid-income adult? The general consensus is that people who make more money have a better education – which would lead you to believe that a lower percentage than 92.4 would fail the test.

Hard to know…but I’ll tell y’all one thing: Judging by the girls’ ad text and guys’ comments from the old blog, both were passing notes, sleeping, or firing spitballs in their respective 8th grade English class. That couldn’t be more obvious.

I guess it all comes down to academic smarts versus street smarts in this world. Which serves you better is a matter for debate as is the question “Is this entry worth the paper it wasn’t written on?” Again…difficult to say. All I know is I aced the the 8th grade American History test, so allow me to bask in the glow this morning. And now I’ll go watch the episode of Wicked Tuna a DVR’d last night ’cause like…you never know when Yahoo is gonna throw a surprise quiz on The American Fishery. And I don’t want to find myself unprepared!

I received a call this morning warning me that I’m in deep shit with one of the owners whose employees adorn the sidebar. “OK! What did I do now?” I asked having no idea where the problem lay. I’d seen the boss just a few hours before and everything was hunky dory!

Well…it turns out that in a past entry from a couple of weeks back, I outlined a strategy as to how to gain admission to the great majority of Korean places which use data bases to screen their callers…the essential issue being…if you aren’t included in that data base, how does a guy get on – and in (so to speak).

After outlining what some thought was a flawed strategy, I offered three alternative places to contact which do not use a data base and do answer all calls as a second option. One was hers…and another a competitor’s. This was apparently a problem. She didn’t like being mentioned in the same breath as that competitor. What the fuck?!?!

Essentially, I was giving her an editorial boost…and she should have been happy about it. Yet, I am now in hot water over this insanity. There’s an old saying with religious roots which states “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.” And now I want to amend that adage by adding “An addled mind is the devil’s workshop” because nobody in their right mind could have read that post and been offended had they been one of the owners whose places were given a boost.

I knew going into this business that I wouldn’t be dealing with the world’s most well-adjusted individuals. But this is crazy! If anybody should be offended, it’s me. But I have a feeling that when I finally talk to this person, he or she won’t see it that way. Ya see…this is why I never miss a Saturday at the soup kitchen. My fellow volunteers are rational people. You get the idea!

Moving on…it’s Sunday and what better day for a little reflection? Back to the Aretha Franklin bio I am now halfway through – and getting more and more bored – and enlightened – by the minute. Bored because while I like Aretha, I’m not in love with her as a singer or songwriter. Thus, the endless praise of her string of hits is getting tired – as I’m not familiar with the majority of those hits.

The enlightenment comes from the reality that Aretha’s first husband and manager was a fucking pimp! And while Aretha wasn’t in his stable, he did abuse her emotionally and physically. Apparently, he had no qualms about beating her in front of other people so there isn’t a lot of doubt about the physical abuse contention.

Plus, he had a bad habit of putting his name as co-writer on Aretha’s songs even though he didn’t co-write them. If you read this blog habitually, you know this is a subject near and dear to my heart.

Reading this bio, I got the impression that Aretha was a damaged, irresponsible and egotistical beast. The author tries to sugar-coat all the dysfunction but I can’t imagine that Aretha liked this book when it was published as it doesn’t paint a pretty picture…and one that I see a lot on this job. Aretha is a woman with serious issues. What separates her from the many women I know with serious issues is her huge talent.

Whatever…reaching the midpoint of the bio, I found a picture section I didn’t even realize was included in the book at all. Page one showed a poster advertising one of her father’s sermons (he was a very famous preacher) with his daughter singing as an added attraction. And then I turned the page and was figuratively slapped in the face with three separate photos of Aretha in the studio with John Hammond, Clyde Otis, and my father! It was a little freaky to say the least. Hammond looked so young! I knew him as a dottering old man who used to take the 57th Street crosstown bus to the office while carrying his crap in supermarket shopping bags – even though he was a multi multi millionaire! Clyde looked much younger than I remember him as well. And the photo of my old man was one I’d never seen before. And here I sit blogging every day while all these guys have been dead for at least 20 years! I felt like a part of me died when I saw those three pics in one glance!

I don’t know but lately, I’ve been feeling like I better start writing again and finally have my hit record before I get old and die. Time waits for no one…and the sands are rapidly sifting from one side of the hour glass to the other! And here I am writing this stupid fucking blog and getting my stones busted by somebody who I’m betting didn’t even read that entire post so she knew what the fuck it was about!

Anyway…time to stop complaining and wrap this up so I can get back to Aretha and marvel at how similar she is to some of my “friends” in the escort business. As I’ve said before…”I’ve made my bed so now it’s time to sleep in it.” Complaining will get me nowhere.

images-1 What with being as old as I am…and being single for all that time…and the people I deal with to make my living…you’d figure I know a lot about what makes a women tick both emotionally and physically. By now, I should have the keys to all the locks. But I’ve discovered something new about girls in the past month or so.

Savvy guy that I am, I’m aware that women take longer to reach orgasm than men…and it generally takes much more foreplay and loving care for a guy to satisfy a woman than it does for a woman to satisfy a man. Yeah, it’s a rip off on girls but hey…it wasn’t my decision. Go pray to your favorite deity for the answer.

I’m also aware that certain women need to be in certain positions to achieve orgasm. I know…some don’t cum at all or with great difficulty…and other lucky lasses can cum multiple times in multiple positions. But the largest segment of the adult female population has their one favorite position in which they can hit the jackpot.

OK! So now the epiphany: I consider myself to be fairly tame in the sack. I don’t go for hugely kinky stuff or try to rewrite the Kama Sutra. I’m more interested in demonstrating how well I can make this blog work versus say…the awesomeness of my equipment! Well anyway…I’m not a stranger to doggie style interactions. But lately, I’ve noticed that once in that configuration, girls tend to lay flat and lead me to what some guys call “lazy doggie,” a misnomer if you ask me. It may be lazy for them…but not necessarily for me!

Whatever…while I kind of like the position (though it isn’t my #1 with a bullet), I can’t say the same for the girls. They fucking love it…and it’s obvious in their response. When I ask what the fuck happened that they were so animated and enthusiastic, their response refers to the position I put them in – or more accurately, the position they led me to! With this new knowledge under my belt (so to speak), I intend to continue on my pedigreed path. Who knows? Maybe with this new knowledge, somebody will finally find me irresistible. Stranger things have happened…though I’m not holding my breath.

At this point, whenever I sleep with a woman, I ask myself if I could be monogamous with her and forgo my current (and habitual) lifestyle. And the answer I’m coming up with is yes…in at least a case or two. That doesn’t mean you’ll be hearing wedding bells tolling in the near future. But you never know! In the meantime…it’s walkin’ the lazy doggie from now on if my recent past is any indication!

I really have nothing to say about the escort business today because with the exception of going to the supermarket to buy some V8 (it was on sale), I didn’t even leave my humble abode yesterday. And thus no contact with the girls yesterday = no stories for today.

So after finishing a book about the history of Washington D.C. (most of which was centered around all the corruption and drama involved in creating the capital – like what else is new?), I dove into a 480 page biography of Aretha Franklin. I have never met Aretha Franklin…but I do remember hearing her name way before the Queen of Soul became a star. As it turns out, my very own father was one of her first producers. (For those unaware, Aretha Franklin was not an overnight sensation. She essentially languished at Columbia Records for 5 years and 8 albums before anybody but gospel or serious jazz fans even knew who she was.) On one of his very infrequent visits to see the children from his first marriage (that would be me and my brother), Pop brought a demo of Aretha and shared his opinion that she was an incredible talent who was going nowhere because the lily white promotion people at Columbia didn’t know how to handle a black act.

Well anyway…I knew the book would have some references about my old man when I saw it at the library a couple of weeks ago. So along with 4 other books (all of which I read first), I checked her bio out as a little light reading to counterbalance a book by an Eliot Spitzer advisor and the aforementioned graduate school type reading material about our nation’s capital.

Because Aretha was signed by Columbia when I was just 11 years old, I didn’t expect to know anybody from her early years personally (besides my father) but came to discover that I was more than familiar with her other two producers at Columbia (they switched around trying to get her a hit record). One was a guy who signed me to his label twenty years later (John Hammond)…and the other was a man I wrote a song with (Clyde Otis). The composition I wrote with Clyde never went anywhere. But my experience with John Hammond is noteworthy for anybody interested in the machinations of the music business.

In the early 80’s I had a crappy little songwriting deal with Chappel Music which allowed me to use their studio (to make records) in exchange for half my publishing on whatever I recorded there. The first session netted “Cash Money,” a rap record virtually every label wanted – and a B-side which was OK – but did not receive as positive a reception as what I considered to be the A-side. In the end, I sold the A-side to some upstart in Detroit because they gave me 3 grand up front (more than anybody else would). It was probably a bad move. In the hands of some other outfit, it would have done better (it couldn’t have done much worse) but I figured that whoever paid the most up front would be the label that would spend the most on promotion. It didn’t work out. What can I say?

But I still had the B-side which wasn’t  as good – but marginally marketable (hopefully). I figured I could unload it on somebody! Anyway, that somebody turned out to be John Hammond, the guy who discovered Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen. Hammond was leaving Columbia but had negotiated a distribution and label deal when he departed. I knew one of his executives who upon hearing my recording, offered to release my B-side. He couldn’t give me any front money…but he did offer me a desk…a phone…a Pitney bowes machine (for mailing)…and a list of Billboard Dance Music Chart reporters I could work to make my record chart. With not a lot happening, I took the deal and reported to my desk every day to call through the list and try to convince those reporters to chart me in their weekly Top 25! Quickly, I discovered that shipping 5 or 10 records to DJ’s (which they could sell at the local record store) was the payola that would convince the DJ reporters to put me in their Top 25.

It went slowly in the beginning as the guys didn’t know me. So they’d get the records and then lie about listing me. Not a big surprise. But I was persistent. I kept calling and calling and eight weeks later, my friend at the label called one morning. Immediately, I could hear the excitement in his voice. “Billboard just called. You’ll be 75 with a bullet on their next dance chart!”

I was overjoyed – but at once ambivalent. After all, I was breaking my hump behind a B-side and felt that if I’d just had “the money song” (which was much better), I’d have a real shot at a hit.

In the meantime, I knew that Hammond’s label was committed to spending 10 grand in payola (err…I mean promotion) for their next release. And I figured if they had 10 grand for that piece of shit, they could spend 10 grand on me as well given all the free-of-charge work they’d seen me do. I was the first charting record at the new label and thought I had a reward coming. In two words, they didn’t! Or if they did, no reward was forthcoming.

Coincidentally, an old partner called to say he’d sold a record we’d recorded four years before and I’d virtually forgotten about…and that he had $500 for me. And so…figuring that the crappy B-side which had just charted wasn’t going anywhere anyway…and it had only charted because of my telephone sales acumen and not on the quality of the record, I abandoned ship and headed up to Harlem where my next record company was located. Without my promotion, the B-side notched downward to #77 the next week and then fell off the charts. I was done. It was kind of like dumping a lousy girlfriend when a new one had come along.

The record that was released by the Harlem boys was a quick stiff. End of story #2 though 25 years later, one of those original pressings sold for $4,116 on eBay. Unknown to me, the record had a cult “northern soul” following in Europe and because so few copies had made it overseas, whatever could be found was going for that astronomical price. Originally, I had 25 of them. Twenty five years later only two remained – which I sold for $2000 not realizing that just a few months before, a copy had auctioned for that $4,116 figure on ebay. I called around to a few people to whom I might have given the record way back when but was unsuccessful at finding any more copies.

Whatever…when everything came out in the wash and I punted the music business, I had but one charting record for all my years of effort and disappointment. A lot of labels made a lot of promises but for whatever reasons, none of my stuff ever hit the big time. Just one made it to the Billboard charts and as it turned out, it wasn’t on the merit of my musical talent – but on the tenacity of my phone demeanor acting as a promotion man for my own record!

On the basis of my new promo man rep, I got another deal at Salsoul similar to the one with Hammond. But that one didn’t even get on the charts. Salsoul Records was on the decline and so was I.

I guess when I think about it…the reason I read these music biz biographies is to relive my own “20 feet from stardom” past. Obviously, I have unresolved issues with the music business. Nothing could be more obvious.

Following are the three records mentioned in this entry, all of which have been uploaded on You Tube. Why? I don’t know. You’d have to talk to the guys who uploaded them…usually DJ’s who want to impress their respective following with how deep they can dig to find obscure releases that fit their format.

Before posting these records, I have a disclaimer. “Shake It Easy” has some sort of glitch which skips a beat and fucks up the intro. It’s not in the original recording. Unfortunately, only one DJ uploaded the song (unlike the others which can be found multiple times on You Tube) so it’s all I can post. And here we go!

BaltimoreOrioles5I called my brother yesterday to see how everything was going (what with his having three pieces of real estate for sale and no buyers) and was glad to hear he actually sold one of his vacant domiciles! Not for what he was asking – or even what his lowest price was when I last saw him in December. But hey! The dude was paying taxes and whatever else on three unoccupied homes which I think we can all agree is three too many.

So anyway…it was obvious that he was on a speaker phone and in his car when I called judging from all the background noise. “I’m driving back from Sarasota as we speak,” said my bro. Just to continue what was mostly an idle conversation at that point I asked what he was doing in Sarasota. Answered he matter-of-factly “I was giving the entire BALTIMORE ORIOLES baseball team physicals.”

My brother is a big baseball fan…has season tickets (or did) to the Orioles…and even attended one of those geezer fantasy training camps several years ago. I assume that those three circumstances added together had something to do with his getting the gig. So of course, I had a couple of questions like “So how much do they pay you?” Answer: $108 per guy. I continued “How long does it take to give a guy his physical?” Answer: About two minutes! I didn’t ask how many physicals he gave but with all the minor leaguers trying to make it to the bigs I have to think at least 50. Not bad! Over 5 g’s for two hours of work.

“So what does the physical consist of?” was my final question. “Is it like in high school? Ya know…breathe, breathe, cough cough. You’re good! Next!” Answer: Affirmative. Talk about 20 feet from stardom! My brother had just checked the entire Baltimore Orioles team for hernias! Cool! Sort of! I bet there are a few baseball groupies who wouldn’t mind swapping jobs with my sibling! And no! Before you ask, I didn’t inquire as to who has the biggest balls on the team. I couldn’t name you one Baltimore Oriole so who cares?

Really…I should go down to Florida for what would be the third time in one year (ugh)! My brother suggested we go big game fishing (works for me). And we could hit Sarasota to see a game from the front row…and maybe shake hands (and nothing else) with one of those guys I don’t know. Plus, my old FWB has returned from Europe and is back in Naples. I could go visit her and finally get some rubberless pussy (it’s been a long time). Oops! Too much information!

On a final and completely unrelated note, I’d like to thank my Asian pain doctor. I’ve had 4 different sawbones inject my shoulder with cortisone to no effect until the last round. One of those three shots hit the bullseye! While my shoulder is not 100% or anything miraculous like that…it is significantly better. My back on the other hand seems to be getting worse. But my shoulder is better than my back is worser (I know…not a word). So on balance, I’m improved.

Whatever…can you believe my brother got paid over 5 grand to squeeze the balls of the entire Baltimore Orioles team? Too bad he isn’t gay. He’d sure have a lot of stories to tell his homies if he were! Enough of that bull shit! Now let me find an Orioles logo for the top of this masterpiece. I’m out.

Bunsen burner. (Burning methane in a Bunsen burner.)People who go see shrinks – and the shrinks themselves – use all sorts of bizarre terminology to describe a particular pathology. Here’s an easy one: She (or he’s) in “denial”…meaning the described person pretends to not see the obvious for if she or he did, it would trigger a nervous breakdown.

Or here’s another one: “projection.” Let’s say I tell a girl she’s subtlely pushing me away…but she thinks it’s really me establishing my space. If that were the case, I would be “projecting.” Or what’s really happening is that I’m guilty of exactly what I’m accusing her of!

So anyway…I clicked a link from Yahoo recently and somehow ended up on some sort of Cosmo type site with an article written by a woman enumerating 5 signs which indicate you’re with the wrong guy. And one of those signs was titled “gaslighting.” So what the fuck is gaslighting? Good question.

Gaslighting occurs when your mate (or business partner for that matter) recalls a previous occurrence inaccurately – and in such a way as to manipulate you and the situation. Ya know…the old “I never said that. I said this” even though both of you damn well know what you really said.

I found the new syndrome – and its label — very interesting. Gaslighting rarely infects my social world (thankfully). But it has reared its ugly head in business dealings over the course of time. So now when it happens, I can tell the hustler “Stop with the gaslighting. I ain’t buyin’ it”…as opposed to “You’re full of crap and we both know it. Nice try.”

In fact…not a lot of difference there but the point? The next time the old ball and chain starts with her program, you can now use a new word in your vocabulary which screams “I’m enlightened. I read Cosmo. Cut me some slack here!” So remember the term “gaslighting” and use it judiciously. It could mitigate a problem at some point in the future.

I’d never before heard the expression…but I’d certainly seen the physical act which gives the squat its name. And there it was again up at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE. I’d been directed to room 5 where I was to wait for my photo subject – only to find no fewer than 5 girls – all eating lunch. The black, Spanish, white and Eastern European girl all sat either on the bed – or couch – while they chowed down. But Sunny, the Korean maid, was in the familiar position – crouched down like a catcher with both feet planted on terra firma and her ass almost touching the floor.

Now this is a position I personally cannot achieve. Crouching into the aforementioned squat, I must balance on the balls of my feet. If I go flat-footed just like Sunny, I simply keel over backwards. Call me racist if you like…but there’s something in Korean body construction that makes squatting in this position completely comfortable while it’s an actual impossibility for a caucasian male like yours truly. And in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’ve seen literally hundreds of Korean women sit in Sunny’s exact position while eating a meal. It comes as naturally as say…boom boom hop-si-da or sookie sookie sis boom bah! You get the idea.

So anyway…I snapped on Sunny for her odd posture (I’m allowed – she does shit like show me a huge yam she’s about to put in the microwave and then ask me “you this big?”) and she referred me to Crystal (for some odd reason – probably because she’s half Asian) for some sort of corroboration on the subject. And Crystal came back with the title of this entry…“Oh! you’re talking about the Asian Squat!”

Now right there is the perfect name for the phenomenon. I mean…it is a squat position…and it is peculiar to high yellow Asians (as opposed to Indian Asians). And come to think of it…I can actually show and tell this one! I have the perfect shot – one of two Korean girls in the off limits area assuming the position as they stream stuff on their laptops. I’m lovin’ the two girls with the accompanying visual cacophony in the background.

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On to a little PAGE 6 stuff…ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) called to say they have a couple of new girls on staff for the coming week. I particularly like the photo of LUNA. And PAMELA is equally stunning. Making the choice would be like six of one or half a dozen of the other. You be the judge!

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Let’s face it! Stereotypes are what cultural exchanges are based on! Let’s say you’re a gentile who meets a jew. The first thing you figure is that the guy (or girl) is good with money…cheap…and educated. Then you find out if he or she fits the mold. Or maybe you’re a white or Asian girl who meets a black guy at a bar. Hmm! Probably has a big dick…jumps high…and will smack me around when he gets angry. And it takes him 10 seconds to shake hands with his homies what with the elaborate ritual and all. I could go on with all my racist views but why bother? I think you get the picture.

So based on my reasonably statistically significant observations, I assume that when I meet a Dominican girl she’s gonna fuck and suck my ass off. Her technique will be expert and forceful. In other words…she’ll knock my socks off in the sack (so to speak). But guess what happened.

Maybe a month ago, I got jiggy with a very beautiful Dominican girl. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself. But it was only because I was in the mood and she very beautiful because really…the woman wasn’t all that remarkable. I saw her again about a week later, which was when the reality came to the fore. Hey! This girl isn’t that great! And so ended the love affair. I didn’t give it a second thought.

Then this past week I was partaking with yet another lady of Dominican descent. Pretty girl…delicious body…but guess what! A repeat performance. Another Hispaniola-hailing woman with lackluster technique. Jeez! What good are stereotypes if you can’t count on them? What’s this world coming to?

But then again…I looked at myself in the mirror this morning with an objective eye and thought “This dude looks jewish. He’s probably educated, good with money and cheap!” And ring-a-ding-ding. Bullseye on all counts. Aha! My faith in stereotypes is now restored. Thank goodness for the mirror!

 

2876Since the beginning of time, the most iconic symbol of a woman’s sexual attractiveness has been her cleavage. Look at those old English dresses from centuries ago. Royal ladies got all trussed up so that their waistlines were cinched down to nothing while their breasts literally popped out of all the lacing on top. The entire style was designed to make a girl’s juggs look as big and delicious as possible. Centuries later and in our modern times, our replacement is the wonder bra. It doesn’t matter in which era you lived, breasts have always been in. And they still are!

But(t) in recent years, the booty has been giving a woman’s tits a run for their money. Rear ends, traditionally hidden behind flowing garments reaching down the floor, are now featured in low rider and/or tight-fitting jeans. Yup! Phat booties are all the rage. Girls blessed in the area are now called “bootylicious.” The word has become so mainstream that it can actually be found in Webster’s!

Getting to the point…often guys will ask me something retarded like “Who’s the hottest girl on your blog?” That is subjective – as there’s no accounting for tastes. But “Who’s the most bootylicious?” Now there’s a question I can answer.

As a guy reputed (by both American and Korean girls) to be crazy for booty, I take notice of such epic and “weighty” affairs. Personally, I’ve decided it’s all in the shape more so than the size. Smoothness is nice. And whether jiggly or rock solid, I’m a great appreciator of both persuasions. Basically, I’m not that difficult to please. Book an hour with me and I’m likely to want to play with your booty!

But some guys are size kings. They’re all about that “badonkadonk!” Ya know…the biggest most mind-boggling booty in the land. Chicks wanna know who’s the “big kahuna”…and dudes similarly quiver in the face of the “Great Badonkadonk!” It’s in the culture. Whatever…the honor of having the biggest badonkadonk in $ Billville is a tie going to who I now christen THE BADONKADONK TWINS!

MARISSA, a very friendly and light-skinned boriqua, can be found at JEWELS OF NEW YORK. And her counterpart (actually they don’t know each other – I’ve just put them together for the purposes of this entry) is a new dark-skinned latina at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE named BOBBI. This girl’s booty is so huge I actually made it smaller in one of her pix. Can you imagine? I was afraid guys might bust a nut at first glance and goo up their computers!

So if you like a hot latina with a big chest (which both girls also boast) and an amazing booty which is sooo big and round that it almost seems impossible, take a look at these pix and tell me “that ain’t bootylicious”…and I’ll tell you you’re blind – or fronting! Check it out! And btw…neither of these photos has been photoshopped to change the size or shape of these girls’ butts. As they say…WYSIWYG!

marissa1

bobbi1

 

And here’s my favorite LL COOL J video from back when he was still rockin’ a ghetto misogynist vibe. LL pleads with his girlfriend to forgive him as his love is true but it was just that “Tina got a big ol’ butt” so what could she really expect him to do?

Look at the sidebar of this blog. Yikes! Too many Asians…too little time. I remember a while back some wet-behind-the-ears individual asking me “Do you sleep with all these girls?” I virtually laughed in the guy’s face. What about my running an escort blog would imply that I bed every girl on the sidebar? Ridiculous!

Anyway (and to the point)…back to the sidebar and all the Asians who inhabit it. With the exception of one girl (KANA), they are all affiliated with a house. Thus, when somebody asks me about Asian indies, I can’t help but consider the question to be oxymoronic. Basically, Asians don’t go independent. They don’t know how to answer the phone…don’t speak English very well (generally)…and would rather not be saddled with the responsibilities involved. Just part of the culture, I guess. Strength in numbers and all that.

In fact, I’ve often wondered why some of the girls don’t break away and take the solo path. After all, they’re popular enough to still make a lot of money while picking and choosing not just their customers – but the hours they work as well. I guess the “pull of the sisterhood”  is particularly strong in the Asian community. What other conclusion could I reasonably draw?

So now that I’ve expounded briefly on the subject, guess what! Today we have  a new Asian indy – which now makes a grand total of two on this blog. Predictably, the new indy is a friend of the old indy (the previously mentioned KANA). Apparently, they’ve teamed up…which would make them an indy duo, a new classification which bridges the gap between house and independent girls.

Whatever…the term “Asian indy” remains an oxymoron (at least in my mind) until I see a trend in the community. And one exception does not constitute a trend the last time I checked.

Enough with the pontification! So who’s the new indy? Her name is KIKI (929-346-1656)…and I met her today. She’s cute…she’s a spinner…and she speaks very good English. What’s not to like? Here’s her pic. Welcome the new Asian indy! Don’t expect a deluge anytime soon. I think that was my point.

kiki2

theater1So I was on the phone with one of the girls yesterday when during the conversation I acknowledged my own advancing years in what context I can’t really remember. Taking up for me and my mojo, Serenity (fake name) fired back “you’re not old!” I beg to differ but anyway…I offered a happy medium: “Well…I’m a primary source.” Ya know…like if you want to know what it was like in the Stadium the day Roger Maris hit his 61st home run back in 1960…I’m your guy. I was there. Ditto for the 7th game of the 1955 World Series between the Bums and Yanks. Check the videotape. I was there!

Moving on…I was watching Dave (Letterman) tonight when the camera panned the entire audience and I thought to myself  “Have I ever been in the Ed Sullivan Theater?” I remembered a couple of near misses. Like when Diane Wilson (backup singer for Stephanie Mills at the time) used to work at NBC and called to invite me to Dave’s show. But I didn’t go. And then there was the afternoon I was coming from Asian Oasis at 47th Street and 7th when one of Dave’s interns walked up to me and urgently requested “Please…won’t you come to the show right now? We don’t have enough people to fill the audience!” The girl sounded a little panicked, actually. How could Dave not have enough people? And then I realized…it’s yom kippur, schmuck! If you didn’t think New York was Hymietown before, now you know!

OK! Back to the Sullivan Theater. It turns out I have been to the Ed Sullivan Theater after all! It just took a couple of seconds for my rapidly-deteriorating (not really) mind to remember.

Popsicle (my father) was doing a lot of arranging and band-leading for the teeny bopper acts of the day. And one of his employers was going to play the Sullivan Show. While dad was mostly an absentee father, he would make up for all his absence on the few occasions we got to see him by planning out an awesome day. Like climbing up the Statue of Liberty! Or riding the elevator to the top of the Empire State. Or sometimes we’d just go see a movie. But it was always a war picture…a cowboys and injun shoot ‘em up…or a monster movie. Ya know… cool dad stuff!

Well, on one visit, pops took us to the Sullivan Theater where we went up to Frankie Avalon’s dressing room to hang out for a few minutes…and then watched the dress rehearsal from a front row seat! Pretty cool stuff for an 8 year old!

And so anyway….you see what I mean about PRIMARY SOURCE BILL. Wanna know about The Sullivan Theater? Ask old Dollar Bill. Dude saw Frankie Avalon sing “Dede Dinah” from the front row! How’s about opening night at the Fillmore East and (several years later) CBGB? Yup! Color me there!  Primary Source Bill like a mother fucker!

And now enough of that! Let’s get with some “page sixxx” stuff! JESSICA, once all the rage at BLUE ANGEL, has now eased on down the road to land at TWINKLE (917-861-6600) where she will no doubt make you her star! And HIYAKO (212-679-3681) has discovered a new gem so brilliant that they just had to name her TIFFANY as K-MART just wouldn’t have worked! (I kid.) So enough with the bull shit already. Here’s da goils!

jessica4_fs copy

 

Tiffany5-

 

Nosql-database-dedicated-server-1I get a fair amount of mail which essentially asks the same two questions: “Why won’t so-and-so answer my calls?” – and “How can I get in and become a regular customer?” In fact, I’d like to have a buck for every guy who’s emailed to this effect. Whatever…here’s my carefully thought-out response: Question 1: You’re not in the data base so they let you ring through to voice mail and then don’t respond to your messages. And the response to the second? It gets complicated. Either you call and call and eventually, at an off or slow time they might pick up. Or better yet…have a “regular” vouch for you. And how would you do that if you don’t know anybody else who goes for the sort of activity in which you’d like to engage?

The answer: Join up with BESTGFE.COM or GFECLUB.COM and then begin contributing and sending messages to other members. Once you get to be part of the community somebody will help. Remember that a regular who brings a good customer will score points with the house. So it is in that regular’s interest to help you. I know it sounds like a lot of work for you, a guy who just wants to spend an hour and drop a couple of hundred bucks for a little entertainment. But the status of the business’s legality dictates these terms of engagement. If you don’t like it, write your local congressman. (As if that would do anything.) Actually (and come to think of it), that guy is often the same individual who could help get you in!

Anyway (enough of that), my other answer to the write-in dudes is to simply call GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723), HIYAKO SPA (212-679-3681), or MY ASIAN GFE (646-326-9512)…all of which will answer your phone call as they do not operate with a data base. In fact, that data base thing is peculiar to Korean places (at least in New York). The other houses will assign you a pin number (which is a data base of sorts) after the first visit. But the important thing is they will answer your call.

Another thing I like about the three houses listed in the previous paragraph is the sublime variety they offer. While I understand and can relate to the homogeneity of the Korean places, I at once subscribe to the old hackneyed tenet that variety is the spice of life. And variety is what you get at these international oases of pleasure.

Like just for example…I was over at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE yesterday on an assignment to photograph two new girls. One is a slinky, blonde-haired/fair-skinned beauty from Germany! And the other? A voluptuous, bootylicious and dark-skinned heartthrob from the Dominican Republic. Both very enticing…and both very different! Ah! It may well be that variety is the spice of life – and it’s not just a dumb old saying. Regardless…here are INGRID, and DOMINICA of Gentleman’s Choice. Enjoy!

INGRID2

ingrid4

dominica1

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Originally written for SCREW MAGAZINE at the end of the Clinton administration, I offer this gem today (and every Presidents Day) in honor of the holiday. 

So you thought you were the biggest pervert on the planet! Nobody could possibly eclipse your level of depravity. Guess again, fellas! In honor of Presidents Day, we bring you the cold hard facts about the rocket scientists/skirt chasers/drunken debauchers who designed this very republic: Thomas Jefferson was pounding an underage slave…Benjamin Franklin was the biggest horn dog in France, and despite having the biggest joint in The Continental Congress, George Washington never bedded the love of his life. Read on for the details on these outrageous but true historical tidbits!

Eleven score and and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this earth a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that the very men who founded the concept of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness bestowed upon themselves certain inalienable rights not the least of which was to eat, drink and be merry with as many women as humanly possible enroute to accomplishing their mission.

For those naive souls who believed all the bull shit they learned in grammar school about George Washington chopping down the cherry tree and never telling a lie, history has some startling news: Drinking, debauching, and womanizing was certainly not the exclusive province of the Kennedy and Clinton presidencies. In fact, the entire syndrome began with the philandering founding fathers themselves, a pack of intellectuals for sure…but at the same time some pretty wild drinkers and womanizers in their own rite.

George Washington, that grim-looking curmudgeon pictured on the dollar bill was in actuality, a skirt-chaser for his entire life. His wife, Martha, was a roly poly rich woman whom he married simply because of her wealthy standing and her level head. While he was a very devoted stepfather to her children, he flirted with several women right in front of her face at the frequent tea parties she threw for her aristocratic friends, and seduced women whenever he travelled away from home. Before and throughout his marriage, Washington was hopelessly in love with Sally Fairfax, a woman who never reciprocated but continued to be his pen pal until the day he died. In fact, it was the constant gnawing and heartache he experienced because of his feelings for Sally that prompted him to marry with his head instead of his heart.

But society women weren’t the only social caste to which Washington was attracted. Although The President was a strict taskmaster who had disobedient slaves flogged routinely, he, like many other colonial slave owners, paid numerous visits to the slave quarters to have a roll with the prettiest of his chattel. In fact, the first president was rumored to have died from a chill he caught one night making love to a slave in her cold quarters…and not from a midnight ride he took on his steed…the story the press told the American public.

Did war curtail Washington’s activities? Apparently not. While a colonel during the French And Indian War, Washington lost his virginity to a sixteen-year-old Indian squaw. And it seems that a congressman acted as his procurer dispatching pretty ladies to Valley Forge for The Commander In Chief’s diversion during The Revolutionary War that freed the colonies from harsh British rule.

History doesn’t seem to give us too much indication as to which of the founding fathers was the studdliest but we do know that Washington had the largest hands and feet in the Continental Congress. Two young girls were even arrested for robbing Washington’s clothing as he bathed in the Potomac River but neither apparently went on the record as to what they saw when the future president emerged naked from the river. Regardless, the life of the father of our nation ended with a note of pathos as history demonstrates unequivocally that despite his many sexual conquests, Washington settled for a plump woman as his life mate while never truly consummating his passions with his lifelong love, Sally Fairfax.

But Thomas Jefferson, reputed to be the most intellectually gifted of the founding fathers, did have a lifelong affair with a woman named Sally…Sally Hemings that is…one of his slaves. Jefferson like all of the Southern aristocrats was a slave owner. Unlike some of his peers, Jefferson fully understood his hypocrisy while penning the constitution. How could he say that all men were created equal when he had slaves? It seems that the third prez lived his entire life in debt and setting his slaves free would have caused instant bankruptcy. He had no choice but to keep his servants.

Of course, having sex and siring children with his slave proved to be more than a little awkward. Although he was a widower at the time, Jefferson had promised his wife on her death bed that he would never marry again…a promise he kept. But apparently, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have more children.

Although she was his slave, Sally Hemings was only 1/4 negro, and not surprisingly very light-skinned. The couple had four children under the condition (set by Sally) that their progeny be set free. Jefferson had no problem with that…nor did society. The children were only 1/8th negro and assimilated as white with little trouble.

And Sally’s light-skinned mulatto blood lines were not unusual even in the late 18th century. Slave owners all over the South had been procreating with their property thus reproducing a plethora of servants who barely looked black.

Benjamin Franklin, one of America’s most brilliant and noteworthy founding fathers was quite a ladies man himself and not averse to paying for a lady’s favors throughout his manhood. But it wasn’t until he voyaged to France that he really hit his stride. During the early days of The Republic, several dignitaries including John Adams and Franklin were appointed as ambassadors or ministers to France, a country steeped in sin and debauchery.

French women were not only educated, capable and attractive, but  were also the most empowered and wild and free in Europe. Just before The French Revolution, the country’s royalty basked in their riches and had no qualms about enjoying themselves in the sexual realm. Mate swapping and drunken revelry was the norm and not the exception across the ocean, and appointments to go overseas were viewed as golden opportunities for American politicians to spread their wings. And Benjamin Franklin was the most notorious lover of ladies The States had to offer the French. He was charming, very intelligent and even more accomplished by the time he arrived. And wherever he went or was invited, ladies fawned on him.

Dolly, the wife of James Madison, was said to be one of the most stunning women in all of Washington. Every man who ever met her was completely swept away by her bountiful beauty and exceptionally charming and coquettish ways. History is not certain about her occupation before marrying Madison but there seems to be a significant possibility that she was in fact, the most beautiful and popular hooker servicing the political set.  Shrewd enough to set her sights on #1…just the way any intelligent present day hooker would…Dolly scored the grand prize, captivating the entire country during her “reign” as First Lady.

The only of the first four presidents who didn’t seem to step out of line was John Adams. Adams was a short, boring, butterball of a man who married an ugly but capable woman and stayed with her for most of his life. He simply wasn’t attractive enough to be a philandering founding father like his peers.

In the American educational system, all students of history are told  we study the subject because history inevitably repeats itself and that we may avoid future pratfalls by studying those that occurred in the past. Clearly, history DOES repeat itself and Presidents Clinton and Kennedy weren’t very good history students. That or they simply did not care when it came to matters of the crotch. For let us not forget…however noble we humans feel we’ve become, we are simply just the most advanced animal on the planet, placed here to reproduce and continue the species. And that drive, whether it’s the 18th century or 2008…or you’re a garbage man or a president…and the inability to control it…will never die.Eleven score and and eighteen years ago our fathers brought forth upon this earth a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that the very men who founded the concept of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness bestowed upon themselves certain inalienable rights not the least of which was to eat, drink and be merry with as many women as humanly possible enroute to accomplishing their mission.

THE PHILANDERING FOUNDING FATHERS

ANOTHER FROM THE ARCHIVES OF SCREW MAGAZINE!

So you thought you were the biggest pervert on the planet! Nobody could possibly eclipse your level of depravity. Guess again, fellas! In honor of Presidents Day (coming in February), we bring you the cold hard facts about the rocket scientists/skirt chasers/drunken debauchers who designed this very republic: Thomas Jefferson was pounding an underage slave…Benjamin Franklin was the biggest trick in France, and despite having the biggest joint in The Continental Congress, George Washington never bedded the love of his life. Read on for the details on these outrageous but true historical tidbits!

Eleven score and and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this earth a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that the very men who founded the concept of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness bestowed upon themselves certain inalienable rights not the least of which was to eat, drink and be merry with as many women as humanly possible enroute to accomplishing their mission.

For those naive souls who believed all the bull shit they learned in grammar school about George Washington chopping down the cherry tree and never telling a lie, history has some startling news: Drinking, debauching, and womanizing was certainly not the exclusive province of the Kennedy and Clinton presidencies. In fact, the entire syndrome began with the philandering founding fathers themselves, a pack of intellectuals for sure…but at the same time some pretty wild drinkers and womanizers in their own rite.

George Washington, that grim-looking curmudgeon pictured on the dollar bill was in actuality, a skirt-chaser for his entire life. His wife, Martha, was a roly poly rich woman whom he married simply because of her wealthy standing and her level head. While he was a very devoted stepfather to her children, he flirted with several women right in front of her face at the frequent tea parties she threw for her aristocratic friends, and seduced women whenever he travelled away from home. Before and throughout his marriage, Washington was hopelessly in love with Sally Fairfax, a woman who never reciprocated but continued to be his pen pal until the day he died. In fact, it was the constant gnawing and heartache he experienced because of his feelings for Sally that prompted him to marry with his head instead of his heart.

But society women weren’t the only social caste to which Washington was attracted. Although The President was a strict taskmaster who had disobedient slaves flogged routinely, he, like many other colonial slave owners, paid numerous visits to the slave quarters to have a roll with the prettiest of his chattel. In fact, the first president was rumored to have died from a chill he caught one night making love to a slave in her cold quarters…and not from a midnight ride he took on his steed…the story the press told the American public.

Did war curtail Washington’s activities? Apparently not. While a colonel during the French And Indian War, Washington lost his virginity to a sixteen-year-old Indian squaw. And it seems that a congressman acted as his procurer dispatching pretty ladies to Valley Forge for The Commander In Chief’s diversion during The Revolutionary War that freed the colonies from harsh British rule.

History doesn’t seem to give us too much indication as to which of the founding fathers was the studdliest but we do know that Washington had the largest hands and feet in the Continental Congress. Two young girls were even arrested for robbing Washington’s clothing as he bathed in the Potomac River but neither apparently went on the record as to what they saw when the future president emerged naked from the river. Regardless, the life of the father of our nation ended with a note of pathos as history demonstrates unequivocally that despite his many sexual conquests, Washington settled for a plump woman as his life mate while never truly consummating his passions with his lifelong love, Sally Fairfax.

But Thomas Jefferson, reputed to be the most intellectually gifted of the founding fathers, did have a lifelong affair with a woman named Sally…Sally Hemings that is…one of his slaves. Jefferson like all of the Southern aristocrats was a slave owner. Unlike some of his peers, Jefferson fully understood his hypocrisy while penning the constitution. How could he say that all men were created equal when he had slaves? It seems that the third prez lived his entire life in debt and setting his slaves free would have caused instant bankruptcy. He had no choice but to keep his servants.

Of course, having sex and siring children with his slave proved to be more than a little awkward. Although he was a widower at the time, Jefferson had promised his wife on her death bed that he would never marry again…a promise he kept. But apparently, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have more children.

Although she was his slave, Sally Hemings was only 1/4 negro, and not surprisingly very light-skinned. The couple had four children under the condition (set by Sally) that their progeny be set free. Jefferson had no problem with that…nor did society. The children were only 1/8th negro and assimilated as white with little trouble.

And Sally’s light-skinned mulatto blood lines were not unusual even in the late 18th century. Slave owners all over the South had been procreating with their property thus reproducing a plethora of servants who barely looked black.

Benjamin Franklin, one of America’s most brilliant and noteworthy founding fathers was quite a ladies man himself and not averse to paying for a lady’s favors throughout his manhood. But it wasn’t until he voyaged to France that he really hit his stride. During the early days of The Republic, several dignitaries including John Adams and Franklin were appointed as ambassadors or ministers to France, a country steeped in sin and debauchery.

French women were not only educated, capable and attractive, but  were also the most empowered and wild and free in Europe. Just before The French Revolution, the country’s royalty basked in their riches and had no qualms about enjoying themselves in the sexual realm. Mate swapping and drunken revelry was the norm and not the exception across the ocean, and appointments to go overseas were viewed as golden opportunities for American politicians to spread their wings. And Benjamin Franklin was the most notorious lover of ladies The States had to offer the French. He was charming, very intelligent and even more accomplished by the time he arrived. And wherever he went or was invited, ladies fawned on him.

Dolly, the wife of James Madison, was said to be one of the most stunning women in all of Washington. Every man who ever met her was completely swept away by her bountiful beauty and exceptionally charming and coquettish ways. History is not certain about her occupation before marrying Madison but there seems to be a significant possibility that she was in fact, the most beautiful and popular hooker servicing the political set.  Shrewd enough to set her sights on #1…just the way any intelligent present day hooker would…Dolly scored the grand prize, captivating the entire country during her “reign” as First Lady.

The only of the first four presidents who didn’t seem to step out of line was John Adams. Adams was a short, boring, butterball of a man who married an ugly but capable woman and stayed with her for most of his life. He simply wasn’t attractive enough to be a philandering founding father like his peers.

In the American educational system, all students of history are told  we study the subject because history inevitably repeats itself and that we may avoid future pratfalls by studying those that occurred in the past. Clearly, history DOES repeat itself and Presidents Clinton and Kennedy weren’t very good history students. That or they simply did not care when it came to matters of the crotch. For let us not forget…however noble we humans feel we’ve become, we are simply just the most advanced animal on the planet, placed here to reproduce and continue the species. And that drive, whether it’s the 18th century or 2008…or you’re a garbage man or a president…and the inability to control it…will never die.For those naive souls who believed all the bull shit they learned in grammar school about George Washington chopping down the cherry tree and never telling a lie, history has some startling news: Drinking, debauching, and womanizing was certainly not the exclusive province of the Kennedy and Clinton presidencies. In fact, the entire syndrome began with the philandering founding fathers themselves, a pack of intellectuals for sure…but at the same time some pretty wild drinkers and misogynists in their own rite.

 

Deep in my closet is a piece of my past nobody would ever guess! No, I don’t dazzle trannies with my magic wand or anything juicy like that! In high school, I lettered in two sports…track and of all things…riflery! RIFLERY?!?! Get the fuck outta here! Yup! I was Pea shooter Bill…or Bullseye Bill! THIS is a talent I’ve only put to use on rare occasions – usually to win a bet (and not kill something or somebody).

The first time I showcased this skill was on a road trip with a nameless all black band (except for me, obviously). We were down in Winston-Salem playing at some boring country club joint for the week. So to break the tedium, Marvin (the piano player) went out and bought a BB gun. And soon, the hotel room was riddled with tell tale little nicks, marks and BB holes. Well anyway, after shooting up the room for a while, Marvin grew tired of that diversion and decided to organize a competition – for cash. I warned him of my expertise but I guess he figured no white boy was gonna out dead-eye him! And so…we got a pack of Vantage cigarettes (with the target logo) and 15 minutes later…I had ALL of Marvin’s money! But to be honest, I think I gave most of it back…along with a lecture about pre-judging white boys and their skills with a gun!

Oddly enough, the next time I had a chance to display my marksmanship came at yet another musical function. This time I was in Woodstock playing with The Belmonts at a private party for some divorce lawyer’s wife. She was turning 40 and the rich hubby decided to blow a wad on The Belmonts and John Sebastian to entertain his friends. Off to the side of the bandstand, the local sheriff set up a skeet shoot for the crowd’s entertainment. (I know…strange for a peacenik party to have recreational gunfire as a side show!)

Whatever…I’d never shot skeet before. Nor had I ever discharged a shotgun! But that didn’t deter me. So I stepped up and took aim with the cute stance I’d learned on the riflery team. The sheriff took one look and busted out laughing “Son! You hold a shotgun like that and it’ll break your thumb.” What was good for a 22 caliber when I was in my teens wasn’t gonna work with a beefy shotgun!

Regardless…he pulled the skeet lever and I obliterated the mother fucker and turned to give him a look which said “There ya go, cracker! Bet ya didn’t see that one coming!” Undaunted, he “fired” back. “It’s easy to get lucky once. Let’s see ya do it again!” Fine! He launched another skeet and bango! “How ya like me now officer?” Begrudgingly…after I hit yet a third skeet in a row…he acknowledged my ability.

I excused myself to go perform and after the set, a big country girl invited me to crash at her house for the night. But it wasn’t just any country girl – or her house – for that matter. It was her father’s…who happened to be the sheriff running the skeet shoot. I decided to take a pass on that one. Shooting skeet skillfully was enough. I didn’t need to shoot one off in the officer’s daughter – if you get my drift!

And the last time I used my riflery training was about 15 years ago. I was on summer vacation with a couple of taxi knuckleheads when we happened upon a skeet-shooting range at some resort where we stayed for a night. Like with Marvin, money was on the line. And similarly, it all ended up in my pocket!

And the moral of the story? None! Wait a minute! Here’s one!! Girls! Don’t fuck with me…or I’ll put your eye out with my pea shooter!

pc_logo_color_webMost “flavorful” women who choose the “entertainment” business as a career path are faced with two basic choices: Either strip/dance – or “escort.” They do overlap and there are variations in between but essentially when you boil it all down, these are the two options.

Both can be lucrative – often stripping more so. But just as often, the girls gravitate out of the strip joint and into incall or outcall work even if the money isn’t as good. And why would that be? The answer: The drama, danger and violence that oozes from every crevice of the dressing room at players clubs is overwhelming. It’ll beat a girl down and have her singing the blues! Anybody ever see the locker room scene in the beginning of Hustle and Flow?” It’s as raw as you’d ever want it to be. But it is representative of real life in the trenches. Definitely not an environment for the meek and mild!

So I’m in the kitchen at (where else?) JEWELS OF NEW YORK when the discussion turns to stripping versus “incalling.” And the stories start to flow. SELENA is a cute and busty little latina thing. Maybe she’s all of five feet tall and 100 pounds (ten of which is tits). Selena got a job at some players club or other a few years back and was doing pretty well for herself. Too well in fact for one of her colleagues. Not a big surprise if you’ve ever seen her.

So maybe day three on her new job, she’s in the dressing room primping her cute little body when whamo! Some chick grabs her by the pony tail out of nowhere and smashes her head into some hard object or other. Welcome to the Players Club, baby! And watch out whose money you’re stealing!

Now it’s NATALIE’S turn. Nat is no shrinking violet. In fact, she’s sporting a fattish lip from a brawl she recently got into with her cousin. Nat stresses that her cousin’s lip is currently fatter than hers. You get the idea. Anyway, you’d think Nat could hold her own in a toxic environment like a ghetto strip joint’s dressing room. Well..whether she can or can’t is immaterial. Nat just won’t work there anymore. Too much danger…and drama…and intrigue. The money at JEWELS isn’t like it was down at the players club but that’s ok! Jewels is much more civilized. That ought to tell ya something right there!

And so it goes in the rough and tumble world of “entertainment.” I give these girls their props. It is not an easy life they’ve chosen. For every Richard Gere there are ten bitches who’ll knock you upside the head. When I deal with the JONY girls one on one, I try to convey strength and compassion – and be that one guy they look forward to seeing in the room. Clearly, there’s a delicate balance involved. But at my advanced age – and after 18 years servicing the supply side of the escort business, I should have some insight!

Whatever…the Players Club might look like a sweet hustle for a curvy “bang bang into the room” kind of girl. But it’s no picnic. And usually, underneath all that scar tissue the girls bare, beats the heart of a sensitive woman with needs. Knowing how to fulfill those needs is what makes a guy a player. And it might not be entirely about having a huge dick and fucking like a pile driver. The ladies all have wounds that need to be licked. Yup! They got “The Players Club Blues.” Know the tune and you might get some results. Just a thought for today.

Strawberry_pincushionI’ll tell y’all one thing for sure: I’m getting tired of riding my bike not just in the cold – but on the glass-laden black ice which lines the city streets as well! Like…there’s a broken vertebrae or flat tire lurking around every corner in the form of a slick surface that can put you down on the ground before you even know it!

Quick rewind: I forgot to mention that after visiting TRIPLE-D two nights ago, I emerged into the frosty outdoor air to find (drum roll) a flat rear tire on my ride. Not a huge problem, though. I carry a pump and have not just a patch kit at home…but a spare tube as well. Call me Prepared Bill!

Plan A didn’t work out at all. The bike pump was fine…and I as well. But the hole in my tire was apparently a big one. As soon as I pumped air in…out it went. Drat! A one mile walk home pushing a bike along the way with everybody looking at the weird guy (me) sputtering everything from “fuck”…to “shit”…to “mother fucker”…to “Goddamnit” at the nighttime cold came next!

Twenty minutes later: back in the crib…to the job at hand! I open the stove’s oven door where I keep the tool box (obviously, I don’t use the oven) and fetch it. Then I turn the bike upside down in the kitchen to remove the wheel  – and head for the the bathroom with the wheel and toolbox (which has all I need – patch kit with glue, bike tire irons so as not to puncture the tube – and a screwdriver) to get the job done.

I pump up the tube after filling the sink with water. Within ten seconds, the tire has lost all its air…but not before I find the source of all the bubbles. I place my thumb on the hole…grab a washcloth to dry the area…and hit it with the buffer so the patch will stick. Then I peel off the patch (not an easy feat)…spread the glue in a circular fashion…place the patch over the hole…place a barbell on top of the patch as it lay on the bathroom floor – and then finally, hit the computer to work on KARAMEL’S pix while I seal the deal with the barbell and patch. Now right there’s your effective multi-tasking.

But I left out one thing! Anybody who knows how to fix a bike flat knows he has to run his fingers inside the tire to ensure that whatever made your tire flat isn’t still there to re-puncture the tube. Like a pro, I did just that and of course, slit and punctured my fingertip (ouch) with the piece of glass that had penetrated the tire and tube to give me the flat in the first place. Still…better than the alternative: Walking the bike to George’s the next day…leaving it for an hour…and then returning to collect his handiwork. Very inconvenient to say the least…which is why I learned how to puncture and slit my finger while repairing a flat!

The next day, I arose to walk in the kitchen…pour some OJ…and then (drum roll again) feel up the tire. Like a rock, bro! My dick should get as hard as that tire remained the whole night! I pump my fist in the air with the two middle fingers down and the pinky and forefinger extended. I rock! And then I mix up some Metamucil to celebrate. I now have two fully-inflated tires. If only I could say the same for some other equipment I like to use as often as possible!

The next day’s activities include a quick stop at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) where I discover that Crazy TARA (I call her that because she is crazy – or that’s what multiple owners have told me) has landed her pretty little self – along with spunky attendant attitude. Tara got flair. Tara got style! Crazy or otherwise, T-Money has personality…not something you’ll find with every K-girl. The geisha thing is cool, mind you. But wild things are, too! And Tara classifies in the latter. Enough about Tara.

Next stop…THE A TEAM (347-741-1741) in Midtown. They called to ask if I’d come take a picture of the new girl. Generally, I’m not receptive to a ride that far given the compensation. But they’re in luck. I have an appointment at the pain clinic just a few blocks away. So with camera in the back pack, I continue on my journey, floating above the pavement on what are still two rock-hard tires. Clearly, it pays to have skillz!

With barely a hitch, I shoot the new girl (MARGARITA) and then make it to the pain guy on time. And instead of the PA I often deal with, I get the doctor. Some sort of rule, I assume. A PA probably can’t prescribe opioids more than a few times in a row before you got to see the doc!

I like my guy. He’s young and Asian (what else is new?). We get into an easy conversation about what’s hurting and how much. My shoulder (which has been a mess for literally years at this point) is improving. The experiment is a success. Almond milk is gross but using it on my cereal instead of the bovine stuff has reduced the inflammation in my body! And incredibly, my shoulder has improved somewhat as a result. I no longer feel the need to go under the knife for an expensive operation which may or may not yield any improvement.

And my back? Still chronic – and still hurting. Nothing new there. He renews my prescription and as we exit jawing like old buddies, I ask how often I can get a cortisone shot for my shoulder. The others haven’t worked but hey, I’m on a roll. If almond milk helped maybe another shot would!

He tells me every few months is OK and then offers “I could hit you right now!”…seemingly calling my bluff. Nobody likes to get stuck in the shoulder; most people in my position would respond “maybe next time.” But I fool him: “Let’s get this party started” say I. And within 5 seconds, I’m out of my coat and ready to be jabbed and stabbed.

First he hits me from behind…and then in front…and then from underneath! Now I know what it feels like to be a street ho’ getting defiled by a stud on Viagra. The hits kept cumming! But I’m a trooper. A little wince here and a little wince there and Pin Cushion Bill has taken it like a man!

“Doc! What’s up with all the positions? I feel like a 42n Street whore with a ‘client’ who’s getting his money’s worth!”

“Sorry! I just want to cover all bases to relieve your pain.”

“Ya coulda fooled me, Bubba!” I respond in appreciation. In the meantime, I’m feeling like the total man. Hey! I changed a tire…slit open my fingertip on a pice of embedded glass and took three needle sticks without shedding a tear – all within a period of 12 hours! And if that don’t classify, I don’t know what does! Pin Cushion Bill like a mother fucker! As a reward, my shoulder barely hurt when I awakened this morning. Wonder of all wonders. Maybe the shots helped!

OK! This post has been about almost nothing! It’s like a bad episode of Seinfeld! So let me wrap it up with some cheesecake. Here’s Ms. Salt, Lime and Tequila…and an added reminder of TARA. Enjoy.

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Before y’all get all excited…no, Bliss has not returned in all its former glory. And I don’t think it will anytime soon. But where do all the girls who used to work at Bliss go to “grind” out a living? Well, I can tell you one place for sure: DEEPLY DESIRED DIAMONDS! (585-939-4719).

To be clear, ‘TRIPLE-D” (which is what I’m nicknaming the place) is not a lap dance joint. It’s more or less like the other places on this blog – and at a similar price. So lamentably, you won’t see dozens of girls milling around…a vast expanse of nooks and crannies for play…nor a fully stocked bar like with the old Bliss. But you will find a few cuties (some of whom worked at Bliss like NAOMI and YESENIA) and a couple of their mind-bogglingly seductive buddies as well – all ready, willing and able to make your day.

The place itself is pristine. And the rooms look right out of a 4-star hotel (that means real beds and such). As you can imagine, the ladies all want to be your girlfriend. For real! Ya know the old come-on “I love my work” – which I rarely believe? With these girls, I have to make an exception.

Like just for example…the moment I walked in Yesenia was staring me down with a leering and lascivious look in her eye which screamed “ready to relive our last rendezvous big boy?” The old stereotype says that Dominicans do two things like nobody else: play baseball and…you figure out the other!

In addition to Naomi, who I understand is mostly in retirement (so no hype on her – if she’s working you’ll have to plead), I met two new girls – both of the darker persuasion – and both all natural vixens.

Now here’s a funny thing: When I looked at their site and saw the pro shots of NUBIA, I was immediately disappointed thinking that the girl (though beautiful) was “enhanced.” But when I was introduced (and she wrapped herself around me), Naomi bragged about how full and natural Nubia’s assets truly are! So I grabbed a quick handful and WOW! Was Naomi ever right! Pwaaang and ring-a-ding-ding! Nothing fake there! Just a sublimely supple heaping handful.

But no time for that bull shit (drat). I was there to take photos of KARAMEL, the other dark chocolate confection on the premises. Now Karamel is a refined sweetheart. She’s not like some other girls who’ll dare you to man up to their standards. And that’s a good thing. The escort world can use at least a few discreet damsels. What the hell?

Usually, those discreet damsels are predictably shy when it comes to taking pictures. But really, all you have to do is tell the girl how ravishing she truly is…and look like you mean it (which I did) and soon enough, she’ll begin to emote. Following are the results. I’m sure you can all agree that Karamel is a long-legged beauty for the ages.

Here’s the Triple-D gang for your edification. For particulars and such, go to their website or call. I was too hypnotized by their dazzling display to ask!

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Have you had enough eye candy? Can you take some more? I hope so…because moving into the K-girl realm, BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281) is proud to announce the arrival of their new girl CANDY. And here she is! Talk about a tasty tidbit! Hubba-hubba! That’s it, guys. I’m spent!

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rosewebI was just 24 when I met her. And Rose was 52. We couldn’t have been more different. She was a female. I a male. Rose was black, Baptist and from the South. I was white, Jewish and from Long Island. After we became friends and songwriting partners, Rose used to like to tell the story “I didn’t like Billy when I first met him. Then I heard him play the guitar and I fell in love. Now he’s my white son.” Rose was married to James but had no children and I became the perfect candidate.

For several years during the 70’s, I would go uptown to write songs almost every weekday. All the songwriters would schmooze around working with one person one day…and then another on the next. It was just part of the program. But overall, I spent more time with Rose than either Dorian or Otis. it wasn’t planned or anything. It just worked out that way.

The program was almost always the same. We’d sit down to write…and maybe get something good going until we were satisfied with our effort. And then Rose would send me downstairs to the deli to get a couple of Colt 45 tall boys. And that’s when the stories started. Nat King Cole...ElvisIvory Joe HunterBig MaybelleBernard PurdyKenny Burrell? She knew them all. They had all recorded her songs. I didn’t pay that much attention. I was more about the here and now. She’d had a hit or two. I was waiting!

For some reason, I googled Rose today. I knew she’s getting old and senile. And the last time we talked (maybe 3 years ago), Rose told me I was owed some money on a song we wrote which ended up on a Dorothy Norwood (old timey gospel singer) album. I froze as the page loaded. Rose died two weeks ago…just two days after my natural mother!

I hit the first reference – which was a long obit written in The New York Times by of all people…Sam Roberts, whose book about the history of New York I am coincidentally reading right now! Too weird! In his piece, Sam divulged that Rose was one of the most prolific, accomplished and somehow unheralded songwriters of the era. NPR had a big piece about her as well.

After reading, I flashed back on moments with Rose. We had some big arguments back then…and broke up because of them. What a mistake! All I could remember were the good times. Like when I started a verse…”Can’t make the scene I’m payin’ my dues”…and she exploded “I got it! Low on green and high on blues.” And then the song title/chant already written “I need me some cash money!” One thing about Rose: she was great with words!

And I remembered bringing my girlfriend Heidi up to the office. She was so tickled: “How’d you get a pretty girl like that?” she needled me. “She’s my best friend’s sister, I couldn’t miss!” I explained.

Anyway…Rose and I wrote a lot together (as I said) and had several songs recorded and released – some of which are on You Tube. I won’t bore you with them all. But here are the best two plus two very old records with her as the singer/artist. Sometimes when you’re around icons on a daily basis you forget who you’re with. Today reminded me. May my black mama rest in peace – and with a song on the tip of her tongue.

stripesBack in the 70’s and 80’s during my relative youth, I knew nothing of this incall/outcall escort scene. In fact, it wasn’t until I got my job at Action Magazine (age 46 in 1996) that I even entered the type of place that now adorns the sidebar of this blog. I was a musician. And if I couldn’t find a girl at a gig, I’d hunt one down in a bar. That was my reality.

Then one day at a friend’s Labor Day party, I met a lap dancer. She was his wife’s friend and arrived in leather and chains with pornographic magazines in her hand for shock value (I presume). And it was she who invited me to the Melody Lounge so I could check out her gig! The Melody, located on 48th Street between Broadway and 8th (to the best of my recollection), became my once-a-week hangout. Six bucks to get in and a buck per lap dance during which the object of my obsession would gyrate on my lap and allow me to feel up her naked upper body was just too powerful an inducement to stay away. I was hooked.

Well anyway…there was something I noticed about that dirty shithole of a faux theater. The music the girls danced to was always on the cutting edge. The lappers seemed to be the first to find a new trend or iconic recording. I was in the music business and should have known about seminal records like “You Are In My System,” She’s Fresh” or “So Fine.” But it was at the Melody that I first heard these songs. If nothing else, the girls knew a hit when they heard one! And that hasn’t changed. Wanna know what’s next in music? You need only turn to a woman of color who works at an incall for the answer.

Watching the Grammys last night (yes, I did watch), I found myself strangely familiar with many of the nominated compositions. Where had I heard them I wondered. And then I realized: on the tape loops at JEWELS and GC. Go figure…but not really. If nothing else, dime-a-dance girls and escorts know their shit when it comes to what will be popular in the field of music!

With respect to the presentation..I was pleasantly surprised. RIHANNA can sing her ass off. GAGA was fantastic with TONY BENNETT. I didn’t know that USHER had talent. SAM SMITH is now my favorite new gay guy. And I still think that ED SHEERAN‘s got it!

For my 3 + hours of invested time, I’m always hopeful to find somebody who truly moves me. And I’m not shocked that my personal Grammy winner last night came from the country rank and file. A day ago, I had no idea who BRANDY CLARK was. Now I’ve listened to ten of her songs – each one more amazing than the previous. I offer one as proof positive of her talent. It’s called “Stripes,” a darkly comic composition whose story line finds Brandy arriving home to see her stupid partner in bed with a platinum blonde. The only reason she doesn’t blow his dumb ass away right then and there is because she hates stripes – and orange ain’t her color. Otherwise, he’d be a dead man.

Her voice is pure country…just like Loretta’s. And the tracks are all-in Nashville. If you like real country…you’re gonna flip for this girl! I highly advise googling the lyrics to this song before you watch because as usual with country, the words and story are everything – which is why Nashville songwriters are the best in the business. Nobody who knows anything disputes that. Here we go!

140120-brian-williams-byline_c1bb4c3dae95acb207d36bf283e99dea copyMany years ago I went to visit a whore house for the first time. It was an epiphany…but not for me…for the girl who was lucky enough to have me as her customer.

“My, that’s a large unit you have, Mister,” cooed my partner. “Wait till it grows,” I quipped back and then gave her the loving of her life. Three hours later when it was all over and she lay exhausted on the bed next to me was when the woman labeled me “The World’s Greatest Lover!”

This story I related countless times over the years to whichever rapt audience I commanded until just the other day the truth came out. None of that happened to me! It was the experience of the guy in the next room!

Enter BRIAN WILLIAMS, a guy I always felt was a fake from the first time I ever saw him. Now I don’t dislike anchors as a rule. Walter Cronkite was a hero. And the same for Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather and Peter Jennings. But not so with Williams. Not funny on Letterman. Not charismatic like Brokaw or Cronkite. And clearly not as educated or intelligent as anybody in a similar seat save say Katie Couric, whose only claim to fame is embarrassing the only less-informed person than herself – Sara Palin.

So it turns out that I was right about “Bri.” He’s a faker. In case you haven’t heard, the schmuck has been relating a story about flying in a helicopter that was hit with an RPG while in the air over Iraq. The only problem was…it all happened to the helicopter in front of the one he was in…and not in his at all.

Oh well. He’s not the first guy to ever be a legend in his own mind. But when you’re one of the three leading anchors in the country? Not so attractive. Williams did the only thing he could: take a leave of absence in embarrassment. Hopefully forever! And I say “adios, douchebag. I always knew you were full of shit. Now the rest of the world knows, too! But here’s the thing, Bri! That story about me and my huge unit and legendary lovemaking? I never told that story. I figured it it were true, word would leak out without my having to broadcast it to the world myself.

I was talking about this recent revelation to a friend who’s been with thousands of men in her lifetime. Her take? “Over time I discovered that the guys who bragged about how big they were – or how awesome their performance – turned out to be nothing between the sheets.”

There’s a cautionary, parallel and allegorical theme here. If there’s a trumpet to be blown, somebody else will blow it for you. Let them do the blowing. Walk softly and carry a big stick were sage words from Teddy Roosevelt. And words to live by indeed. Now let me go tend to my huge schlong – for I have nobody else to tend to it for me!

balck-girls-in-paris-1The eternal optimist for sure, I’m always looking for a silver lining to a bad situation. Like when I got a parking ticket back in my college days, I decided not to pay the fine reasoning to a friend “I look at it this way. I could get conscripted in the army and be dead from a bullet in Vietnam before they track me down to make my dumb ass pay this stupid ticket.”

This past week held a silver lining as well. I spent no money. I didn’t drink one beer. I smoked almost no weed – and indulged with nobody! And I didn’t even go to the doctor. Whatever meds I needed were right here at home already paid for! Talk about a cheap week! And all thanks to a horrible flu. Now if that ain’t finding a sliver lining in a storm cloud, I don’t know what is!

Take the bike accident that left me with chronic back pain which may never go away. It led me to lower my beer consumption like 80%. A couple of years ago my primary care physician told me I should consider limiting my booze intake implying that I was somewhat of an alcoholic. I didn’t agree but the issue is moot now. Ya see? A silver lining to a fractured vertebrae.

On to an interesting 19 minute movie I watched the other day. Sometimes I wonder why I subscribe to HBO and SHOWTIME as there’s hardly ever anything I want to watch on either premium channel. Well anyway…I was culling through HBO’s movie lineup and saw something called BLACK GIRL IN PARIS with a quick synopsis indicating the story is about a working girl who turns out (convinces her to join the crew as well) her broke writer friend so she can pay the rent. I could gamble 19 minutes on that!

Now this isn’t one of your stupid soft core late night Showtime or HBO pornos. It’s a very stylish portrayal of the darker and lighter side of the profession, lesbian love and soothing the pain brought on by performing the most intimate of acts with someone you wouldn’t do that with if he weren’t paying.

Y’all are well aware I’ve been going on about many escorts being gay – or bi – and the basic reasons why. And this film totally validates all my points. What’s most interesting (among other facets of the film) is how erotic the girls’ lovemaking is with each other – and how uncomfortable and mechanical it is with their customers.

Of course this is a biased point of view presented in what I would as much call a lesbian love affair movie as I would a working girl film. But whatever…the entire presentation screams art and not sleaze – all while bearing out my own observations. For anyone who has HBO, I would highly recommend watching this short. You’ll more than likely be glad you did. I know I was.

And finally on the Grammy tip! The talk shows are chock full of interviews and performances by Grammy-nominated artists now that it’s the week before the big awards. And I’m here to tell y’all that ED SHEERAN is the real deal. Not that I would buy any of his records or listen to his songs over and over again. But at least he has talent and originality with his half rap and half singing style. So there. I’m not an old fart after all! Hah!!

U3oviu0E_400x400Before tonight if you’d mentioned somebody named “Iggy,” I’d have waxed nostalgic about Christopher Lloyd’s timeless portrayal of spaced out cabby Jim Ignatowski on the old TAXI sitcom. It was pure genius…right up there with Ed Norton on The Honeymooners and Kramer on Seinfeld.

Then tonight in some sort of Grammys preview, I found out there’s a new Iggy in town…IGGY AZALEA, a white female Australian rapper who’s up for several Grammys this year. Curious as to all the hype, I tuned her in on You Tube and got through 3 or 4 videos before I couldn’t listen anymore. Ignatowski’s IGGY was awesome. This chick is ratchet.

Let’s put it this way. Her music does nothing for me…and if she worked at an incall, I wouldn’t see her for free! So how come she’s up for multiple Grammys? Beats me. But then again…Springsteen never impressed me and Bob Dylan wasn’t all that either. So obviously, it’s less about me being a geezer and more about me not giving in to the herd instinct. She can win all the Grammys she wants. This IGGY still blows as far as I’m concerned.

Moving on…you’d think that the law of karma would have me catching this awful flu from a nasty girl while I was reliving my youth. But you’d be wrong. I got it from shaking hands with one of the volunteers at the soup kitchen. He had it (I came to realize he was ill after I shook hands) and then instead of washing up immediately afterward, I grabbed a bagel and ate it with my hands. Enough said!

To think if I hadn’t volunteered last Saturday, I wouldn’t be sitting here sweating my ass off tonight – and puking my guts out last night. And all for being a good citizen. Oh well! I’ll survive. Or I won’t.

To more relevant stuff! DREAM GIRL (646-276-0229) has a new girl named HEIDI! And here she is!

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I was up hurling chunks all last night…so you get a repeat today. I have a nasty virus. My stomach hurts…my head hurts…my back hurts and I have a temperature of 101. And that’s with an old school oral thermometer!  Shoot me now!

Maybe I have a twisted point of view…or maybe it simply comes from the people I deal with on a daily basis. But somehow, I view not just the adult ad business, but almost every business as an arrangement between pimps and whores. Those who’ve clawed their way to the top are obviously the pimps. And those they rule over? The whores. Think about it. You’re a woman working in an office and your boss says something unfair and out of line which offends you. But you say nothing because you need the job. You leave work and go tell your friends what a prick you work for. Hello! You’re getting pimped! I myself have a pimp, in the form of an advertising agency which siphons 15% of my money for essentially doing nothing but being in a position of power that enables them.

But this isn’t about MY pimp. This is about a guy named Otis – and HIS pimp. Back in my youth (age 22 to 32), I worked for a considerable number of musical hitmakers. Some were stars at the time (Johnny Mathis, Stephanie Mills. Musique, Carol Douglas) and more were oldies still grinding out a living based on their previous stardom (Shirelles, Crystals, Marvellettes, Joey Dee, Belmonts, Del Vikings, Dubs, Moonglows, Chiffons etc.). But the one guy who might have made the biggest impression on me was a not-so-famous songwriter named Otis Blackwell.

I’ve spoken about Otis in this blog before, but I’ve never told this one story. For those unfamiliar and/or to refresh, Otis was a Brill Building/Broadway songwriter who mostly fancied the hillbilly style. Given that he was a funky little Afro-American from Brooklyn, that was curious enough. But what really impressed me was his unassuming demeanor given his list of hit records. I mean…not every songwriter can boast writing “Don’t Be Cruel,” “Return To Sender,” “Great Balls of Fire,” “Handyman,” and “All Shook Up” among many others. Despite his list of #1’s, Otis was NOT a rich man when I met him. And that was because (among other reasons), Otis had a pimp – or two!

Any songwriter in search of an established artist to record his or her song is bound to get pimped along the way. The first pimp is the person or entity that wants your publishing rights in exchange for placing the song with the artist. Those publishing rights are not only equal to half your royalties – but also determine how the payments are channeled! In other words…the record company pays the publisher ALL THE MONEY…and then the publisher gives the writer his or her share. Hence, a crooked publisher could steal the songwriter’s money. Or…the record company could simply pay nobody their royalties – something that happened all too often in the early days of rock and roll.

Otis’ publishing pimp was an outfit called Hill and Range, which offered him a staff songwriting job once they knew that Elvis liked Otis’ songs. A staff songwriting job sounds great on its face. Like how many struggling songwriters get paid to write songs all day? But it’s not exactly a bed of roses. The publishing company advances the writer a weekly salary recoupable against future royalties in exchange for the exclusive right to publish the songwriter’s compositions. So in effect, they take half your money and dictate that you cannot publish ANY songs with anybody but them for the duration of the contract.

In fact, many famous songwriters (Carole King for one) got their starts in this manner. And it worked well for them. But they weren’t all black…and they didn’t have Colonel Tom Parker (Presley’s manager) to deal with as well as the first pimp – the publishing company. So Otis found himself (as did I when I placed a song with The BT Express years ago) with a co-writer (Elvis Presley) who shared his WRITING royalties even though he wasn’t within 1000 miles of writing the song and in fact, NEVER met Otis Blackwell! This story was recounted to me by my father at exactly the moment that I was going through the same ordeal with a scum bag publisher who was putting two names on MY song. Dad was educating me in the ways of music pimps to let me know I needed to do whatever I had to to have a hit record.

Whatever…I felt totally bonded with Otis as I was enduring the same pimpish drubbing that he’d endured years before enroute to his big hit in the sky (which incidentally, I never got). But the big tragedy in the Otis deal was of his own making. Just like wives and husbands cheat on their spouses, songwriters cheat on their publishers, in the form of writing songs under a pseudonym outside their contractual agreements. And just like Otis liked to fool around with professional ladies (so to speak), he fucked around on his publisher, too! And so when Hill and Range discovered that this Davenport guy who wrote “FEVER” (recorded by Little Willie John and Peggy Lee) was in fact Otis Blackwell, guess who got ALL da money that copyright earned! Talk about gettin’ bitch-slapped by yo’ pimp! Ouch!

But there was another guy who got it even worse. I never knew him..but I knew the guy who paid him $1000 for his writing royalties on a song called “The Twist.” That’s right! Hank Ballard sold all his writing royalties to the mega hit for a cool grand! The same guy who beat Ballard on that deal offered ME a grand for MY writing rights to a song his artist, Chubby Checker, recorded in 1974. Knowing the story, I turned THAT deal down and opted to keep my writer’s royalties. But my record sold a whopping 500 copies. In my case, I should have taken the grand!

Ballard eventually went to court and got some of the money he deserved. So the law stepped in and bitch-slapped the pimp in that case for so egregiously beating his whore.

Whatever…I think my point is…you don’t have to be laboring as an escort to have a pimp and/or hustler lurking around every corner, just waiting to use and abuse you…and beat you for your money. That personality type is ubiquitous in our money-hungry and materialistic society. It just takes a job selling adult advertising to see it in that light.

On several occasions in the past, I’ve snapped on the euphemistic language employed by escorts and their customers.  Terms like client, provider, hobbying, monger and companion just seem too ridiculous – at least to me. Anyway…I thought I’d heard them all until late last night when an old friend I hadn’t spoken with for almost a year called out of the blue to ask me if I know any Chinese girls who might want to see a client.

Well first of all…that’s not my business (making introductions whether for profit or simply to do a favor). And second, if she’d ever listened to me, the girl would know I don’t know any Chinese girls – only Korean. But her deafness isn’t today’s fodder. Rather, it’s a euphemism she used once we got into the ol’ “how ya doin'” part of the conversation (which actually went on for about 30 minutes) that gave me something to write about today.

Bringing me up to date and abreast of the news (couldn’t resist), Latoya (fake name for her already fake name) answered she’d accepted a buyout when I asked where the hell she’d been. “A buyout! What the fuck is a buyout?” I asked incredulously. To begin with, the girl was a little evasive (for what reason I couldn’t understand). So I guessed she’d sold her store…but no. Guess #2 eludes my memory (I’m getting old). And then finally, I got it. “You mean you have a sugar daddy who’s bought your exclusivity?” And that was it!

So now we have yet another preposterous euphemism for the escort lexicon. When a guy becomes a sugar daddy who pays a weekly stipend so the girl won’t see anybody else…and the girl agrees to the “proposal,” she has accepted a “buyout.” Exactly where she came up with this nomenclature, I have no idea. Probably from some corporate big wig I would imagine. Those guys have a way of varnishing a turd to make it look attractive.

Whatever…and as you might imagine…it turns out the guy bought nothing…as she confessed to still seeing several regulars on the side. The bizarre thing is that this individual who has bought her “exclusivity” actually doesn’t even have sex with the girl…and I don’t think he ever has. She pegs him! And not only that…Latoya doesn’t have sex with any of her regulars either! They either talk or peg! But nobody ever “enters” her! Do you believe this shit?

I’ll say one thing for this girl, though. I’ve known her for ten years and this is the escort who’s come through unscathed (doesn’t hate men) and has saved millions in the process. While the stereotype says that “the girls” are mostly of the easy come easy go ethos, the Princess is definitely the exception to the rule! She fits another stereotype: Miss Honey still has the first dollar she ever made!

Anyway…no point in trying to contact this girl. She’s not in New York…she doesn’t have sex (at least with clients), and she’s in buyout mode though once again, the girl admits to seeing several regulars on the side. So what else is new? Exactly how can you place the words “escort” and “exclusivity” in the same sentence?

And speaking of brick houses which I wasn’t (WTF?!?!), check out the new girl at JONY (347-595-4518). NUBIA is her name and thickness is her game.

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enhanced-27875-1422911782-10Everybody including the police knows that wherever you have a major sporting event, you’ll find a lot of testosterone-fueled guys – and girls willing to satisfy the lusts of those men for a fee. Not a big surprise!

What does come as a shock (though not to me) is the reality that some very visible, desirable-to-females and highly-paid individuals would apparently rather hire their fun than “earn” it.

I remember many years ago picking up 2 hookers in my taxi and delivering them to a member of Led Zeppelin. The band member’s procurer explained to me that “It’s just much easier for —– this way.” And it looks like that guy isn’t the only celeb who views the situation in a similar light.

The latest posterboy in this vein is WARREN SAPP, football hall-of-famer and now ex-employee of the NFL network – since he’s been arrested for soliciting and assaulting two escorts after Sunday’s Superbowl. And in a similar scenario, GREG ANTHONY, ex-Knick star and now ex-CBS commentator after his arrest, also followed Sapp’s lead (actually vice versa) and hired some “entertainment.”

In Sapp’s case, The Heavyweight Lover has already admitted his role in the prostitution arrangement but denies the assault charge the girls filed with law enforcement alleging that a dispute over money led Warren to strike them. I don’t know…but I gotta think that if you really get assaulted by Warren Sapp, you won’t be conscious to complain about it!

Try as I might (and I did), it is currently impossible to discover whether Sapp found his girls working the lobby of the hotel…or whether he booked them from a website. In Anthony’s case, it appears that “a computer was involved in the crime”…meaning he booked off an adult site and ran into a sting operation – which is how he got busted.

As an escort blogger, I have two educated opinions on the subject. First is why would somebody so high-profile take the chance that both of these individuals did given they had to suspect a termination of employment if apprehended. Unfortunately for both, they did get caught and they did get fired.

And that leads me to my second observation. So the guy booked a hooker. Big fucking deal! If that’s a fireable offense, I gotta think that half the CEO’s in the USA are guilty of an indiscretion that would lose them their jobs. And mind you…these two haven’t even been convicted of a crime. Yet they got fired just for being accused. Seems kind of arbitrary to me.

You’ll remember years ago that the same deal went down with MARV ALBERT and he too got the sack. But with Marv, logic trumped the event. Within a year or two, the basketball-watching public screamed for his return. Once they got over his predilection for trannies, the fans came to their senses and realized that Marv is the best basketball announcer ever! And they missed his commentary…even if he gave “giving up the facial” a new and gooier meaning! In the case of Sapp and Anthony…I’ve seen their commentary. I don’t picture anybody missing them!

Anyway and regardless of their on-mic talent or lack of same…I say cut these guys some slack! It ain’t like they robbed a fucking bank or beat up an old lady. Why does anybody give a crap if they wanted to get blown for a fee? As if!

And additionally…a message to these celebs with their jobs on the line: Deal with girls you know! And if there are none around? Keep it in your pants until there are. Given the reputation of sport figures, you have to know that you’re putting your job in jeopardy when you hire a stranger to tend to the Governor!

Of course, that’s easy for me to say! Fortunately, not playing around with girls would be more damaging to my reputation than actually playing with them! Go figure. But then again…I don’t pay so there’s no crime – even if there is a quid pro quo. I guess in my case if I were to write a post about me fooling around, I’d have to call the entry “Splitting Hares!” Sorry…I couldn’t resist.

c5ebdf710fb7b6f20a3324416ce09c83We’ve all heard the expression “dress for success” and are well aware of the theory: Dress appropriately for the situation in order to have the greatest chance of achieving your goal.

Even in my search for good places and projects where I’d like to volunteer, I’ve found at least one whose mission it is to clothe homeless and or destitute people so they may appear presentable on their next job interview (I kid you not).

Pursuant to the doctrine, the boss at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE issued a mandate last week that all girls are now required to wear blazers at work! Again, I’m not kidding. You haven’t had an eyeful until you’ve walked into the main lounging area at GC and seen a gaggle of girls sitting on the couches all dressed in blazers with cleavage spilling out from between the lapels.

At first, I thought the new dress code was a little retarded. But honestly, I can’t deny how cute and presentable the girls do look. Once having ogled the new style, I suggested that all should stay the course and additionally wear secretary type glasses with their hair pinned up whereupon the boss should put a desk in every room so the girls can fulfill every executive’s fantasy (figure it out)! I mean…if you’re gonna have the girls dress like office workers…why not go the whole mile?

Shifting gears…I was up at GC finishing up a quick photo shoot when in walked TARA, a girl I barely know because she came with her own professional pictures and thus, I never found myself one on one with her (taking pictures) to discover what kind of person she is.

Because Tara is neither black nor hispanic, the prevailing sentiment would be there’s no way I would find her physically attractive as I’m a guy who likes girls “with flavor.” Well regardless…I find Tara most magnetic. She doesn’t have a big booty…but she does have her little ghetto attitude and confidence…and boasts a very pretty face and nice body. Even though she’s half Indian, what I see is a sexy white girl “with flavor” (again).

So anyway…during our two minute conversation, Tara continued to pack her shit up (she was leaving for some reason) when I saw her roll up a snuggee and put it in her bag. For those unenlightened readers, a “snuggee” is one of those ridiculous items some entrepreneurial guy takes to advertising on late night and Lifetime Channel TV hoping to make a fortune on the bored backs of housewives eager to buy almost anything with the hubby’s hard-earned cash. And a “snuggee” is essentially a blanket with arm holes so the owner can stay covered while she’s reading a book…or doing her hair and nails…or blowing her husband…or any other of a myriad of tasks she’d like to perform with the use of her arms while still staying covered and protected from the cold.

And here I thought that a silly item like that would only be bought by soap opera-watching ladies with no lives and certainly not by super hipster escorts. Silly me! I just had to inquire if the item was actually the aforementioned “snuggee” and sure enough it was. FYI…Tara swears by the product. It’s the hottest thing since the tubeless tire – or Magnum rubber – depending on who you’re talking to! Go figure!

And now to the Superbowl. First, I want to thank the officials for not determining the outcome of the game and essentially letting the guys play! And kudos to the coaches for issuing zero challenges. Unfortunately, that and long clock-consuming drives presented a problem for the network: The game was moving way too fast and so, they cluttered the contest (especially the second quarter) with an endless parade of not-so-terrific commercials to slow the sucker down. Kind of like booking your favorite escort for an hour but easing the pace so you don’t finish the game in the first 15 minutes. You get the idea!

And second, I’d like to observe that never have I seen two plays in two successive games that will haunt one of the teams and one individual on one of those clubs for the rest of their lives (the first being the Green Bay guy who fumbled the on-sides kick…and the second the coach who thought it judicious to pass on second down when all he had to do was hand the ball off to “the beast” three times to gain one yard). I wasn’t a huge Pete Carrol fan before but I have to admit he “manned up” and took his criticism like a champ…and mostly owned up to his egregious mistake.

Superbowl day is always a bittersweet one for this guy as it signals the end of my favorite Sunday activity (sitting like a potato on my easy chair and watching game after game for the entire day) for months. It leaves a hole in my life similar to a girlfriend going to Europe for the winter and spring seasons…leaving me longing for early August when the fun resumes. I know I’m not the only guy who feels that way when I see all those WW II shows which invariably run Sunday afternoons on the American Hero Channel for weeks after the end of the football season. Alpha males need their war entertainment…or we aren’t happy!

I’m so convinced of this reality that I told the owner of GC to open the doors on Sunday as the legion of football fans with nothing to do would flock to the oasis as an alternative activity to watching their favorite football team. I know it would work! All they’d have to do is run a blurb “Open Sunday for all you football fans” on their blog…and have the girls replace the blazers with shoulder pads and jerseys. Now that would be cool! And maybe they could add the tag line “Come tackle your favorite tight end!” Can I get a witness?

To round out today’s entry with a cheesecake desert…here’s Tara’s pic. Very nice photo! You can tell I didn’t take it. The lighting is too professional for me.

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One from the archives. I write it the day I turned 60. It seems like a long time ago!

Today I am 60 years old – which should qualify me as the world’s oldest adolescent – unless HOWARD STERN is older than I am. I have to check. Whatever…I’m in total disbelief. I’m not a lot different than I was 40 years ago. I still wanna get laid all the time. And I want it from a lot of different girls until I find the right one – which I don’t picture happening anytime soon. I think it’s a family trait.

My parents divorced 52 years ago and while my father had two subsequent wives…my mother never remarried. And it’s certainly not because guys didn’t want her. Actually, I always liked my mother’s boyfriends. She had good taste in men. I would always ask her “Why don’t you marry Leon…or Soul…or Felix…or Sydney?” And she always had some reason why they weren’t the guys of her dreams.

Anyway…most of my clients who don’t know how old I am think I’m in my early 40’s. And the ones who do can’t understand how I look so good at this advanced age. My answer is simple: “no wives and no kids!” That stuff gets in the way of my continuing adolescence.

It’s a funny thing about a horn dog’s endless desire to continue the adventure into new and uncharted territory. Many years ago when I was in my mid-20’s and Popsicle (my father) in his late 50’s, we were walking down 7th Avenue when a hot, stacked babe caught both of our eyes. The conversation stopped for a second as we both ogled the object of our lust. And then Pop broke the brief silence “when does it end?” referring to his constant longing for hot sex with an even hotter babe. I responded “when you die, I guess.” Youth notwithstanding, I apparently knew what I was talking about. Here I am even older than he was at that time with absolutely no end in sight! Regardless, I’m not gonna sweat it. Today is just another day. I don’t need a big party – or even to get laid for that matter. I’d just like to get to tomorrow so I can continue on my intrepid path.

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?

And speaking of cheesecake (rim shot)…check out CAMERON of JONY (347-595-4518) who got her “camera on” yesterday. Here are the results!

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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 “Go 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 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 to 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 – at least for me. 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.

selena31

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!

rs_600x600-150113184721-600.Lady-Gaga-Instagram.ms.011315

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.