ASTRO ZOMBIE ISSUE 1 THE ACID TEST LOGOOne good thing the old print media (Villiage Voice, New York Magazine, New York Press) which accepted ads from not only restaurants, retail outlets and other “legitimate advertisers”…but from escorts as well: The ad rates really schooled you on who was making the money!

Back when I was selling ads for the Village Voice, there was a rare occasion when one of my customers wanted to run an additional ad in a different section (the hair salon section mostly). So I’d call over and negotiate a rate and what not, and whichever the section the girl wanted, the price was always way cheaper than it was in the bodywork section.

I never inquired about this bias because I was well aware of what time it was: The paper knew that escorts make mad money and they simply charged them accordingly.

So if you want to know who’s cashin’ in…just call a newspaper or magazine and find out how much real estate costs in each neighborhood (so to speak). And then you’ll know who’s making the money. There’s your acid test.

Moving on to a little Page Six stuff…ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) called to say they have a new cutie named AMY. This picture looks a little suspect but I tineye’d it and it isn’t anywhere on the web. Feedback would be great!

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miriam-wowI actually had something new in the can for today’s entry but decided to run this blast from the past instead after telling this exact story to a friend over the phone today. It just seemed like it would be much more entertaining. Bear in mind that it was written at a time when I was selling ads for the Voice, Press, NY Magazine and several websites.

Fifteen years ago, I knew a lot of trannies. It wasn’t a class of trade that interested me all that much…it was just that the week I got hired by Action Magazine, the boss decided to run a full court press on New York’s she males. SCREW Magazine had 72 of them advertising within its pages – and Action had 2! And Joe wanted the salesmen to bum rush the other 70! Pursuant to that effort, he hired a she male telemarketer who called all those ads and then dispatched either Howard or me to make the sale.

It was a serious clusterfuck! We found ourselves traveling all over the 5 boros trying to convince freaks to advertise in our wannabe sex rag. Action was clearly Avis and Screw Hertz…and it wasn’t that easy selling to a subculture steeped in advertising in SCREW and SCREW only – to cough up a measly $250 for my boss’s paper. Regardless, we were a sales-oriented outfit and a lame attempt wasn’t going to cut it with the boss. We had to make some sales. Fortunately, the paper actually worked fairly well for the “girls” and eventually, we peaked at 35 or so tranny ads. And in the process, I got to know most of the she male advertisers who worked the SCREW beat.

Our crowning concept for corralling the trannies came from yours truly at a corporate sales meeting one day. Reasoning that we were spending too much time traveling to the ass end of the boros to make these itty bitty sales, I proposed that I simply hang out in front of SCREW Magazine for 4 hours every Wednesday (where virtually every she male escort in NY would convene) and crash on the girls as they entered the building that housed the SCREW offices. I figured we could get more done in 4 hours than we could in days and days of navigating subways and buses.

Smitten with the idea, Howard (my homey) chimed in “I’ll bring the van and get a few dozen flowers from the wholesale joint down the road from where I live. We can give every tranny a copy of Action…a card…and a rose!”

And so…the next Wednesday, Howard and I spent half the day sitting in front of SCREW busting moves on incoming trannies. It was as ridiculous as it was surreal. I was writing occasional features for Screw at the time and knew the staff pretty well….well enough for the Assistant Editor to stop by and say hello when he exited the building for lunch.

“Hey, Billy! What are you doing out here?” asked Ivan. “Stalkin’ trannies for Action Magazine! It’s a hoot. Wanna watch us in action?” I answered honestly. “Cool! Let me buy  lunch. I’ll be back in a minute.” And so…Ivan scored a sandwich and watched Howard and me alternately chasing she males as we recognized who they were and ran up to them before they reached the front door.

It was all fun and games until Ivan ascended after lunch and told the staff what Howard and I were doing! And shortly thereafter, I got a call from The Editor: “Billy! You can’t sit down there and steal our clients like that!”

“Really?” I responded. “We’re on a city street and sidewalk and not in the SCREW office! But we’re done anyway. Howard and I are leaving in five minutes. It’s a moot point.”

I think Howard and I went back once more and were then satisfied that our mission was accomplished. While we only made two or three direct sales from the effort…the initiative did serve to introduce Action to the tranny subculture. And our she male section grew by leaps and bounds.

Well..to sum up…that was a long time ago, and my elite list of clientele is now predominantly Korean and not she male. And that’s a good thing. Trannies can be wacky and difficult. And they are always low profiit and high maintenance given that the girls work independently and not in houses. Indies are always more work than houses regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. Whatever…I still have a few trannies from way back who run ads with me…but nothing like the old Action days when I knew them all!

P.S. The woman pictured in this entry is actually a transsexual named MIRIAM, once my client for Action, The Voice and the Press…and widely renowned as New York’s most beautiful tranny. So gorgeous was she that Miriam got her own reality show in England titled “There’s Something About Miriam.” And you know what that something is! Just google the phrase and you’ll get an eyeful.

guideJust in the past 18 years, the adult advertising business has seen a complete metamorphosis. When I got my job at Action (18 years ago), the print medium garnered 99% of all adult advertising revenue. The other 1% went to a fledgling venue called the world wide web. And now? Vice versa. Yet some things remain unchanged –  like the value of a good guide listing.

OK! So what the fuck is a guide listing – or the guide listing section? Answer: It’s the section that lists and gives particulars about all the area’s “oases.” And early on, it was explained to me the value and importance of this section! In fact, part of my original job description (at Action) was to call places that didn’t advertise with us pretending I wanted a session…only to show up, look at the girls and the place…leave saying none of the staff attracted me…and then write an accurate guide listing. Kind of a devious way to get the job done – but indicative of the value the magazine placed on the section.

Guide listings weren’t just an effective way to generate revenue for the advertisers. They “hooked up” the editors of a contact tabloid as well. Many years ago, I wrote a column for SCREW (“Bordello Beat”). And to my editor’s delight, I would get on his office phone to call people in the guide listings I already knew and tell them “we” needed to “refresh” their listing and “When can one of the editors come in for a session to do just that?”

It worked like a charm. SCREW was the shit back then and almost nobody refused. They knew how much money those listings were bringing in! In fact, Steve (the editor) and I made a quick deal. I’d use his phone (with the SCREW MAG caller ID) and we’d split the sessions (one for him…then one for me…then one for him…and on and on). It didn’t take long to set them up. Not at all like cold calling (which I used to do and hated at Action). My batting average was phenomenal. Enough. Now we know the value of a guide listing. What does that have to do with the title “The Fundamentals Still Apply?”

Well, if you haven’t noticed (though most readers have)…this blog has a guide listing section which can be seen by double-clicking the “$ Bill Roundup” button under the header. And trust me, just like back in the print era, that section works!

By the software, 20% of this blog’s daily readers click on that button. And that’s considerable in my estimation. But the exit links are even more revealing! Let’s say a house gets 50 click-throughs in an 8 hour period (50 guys click from some link on this site which brings them to the house site in a new window). How many do you think come from guys clicking the sidebar pics versus the link in the guide listing section? I’d have thought most from the photos. After all, you expect men to respond to visuals much more than verbals – unless they’re intelligent and value the written word equally with an image akin to something you could see in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit model edition?

Well from a combination of this blog’s readers being intelligent – and the value of a good guide listing section still being relevant…40% of the click-throughs come from the guide listing. So you see…the fundamentals still apply. Print medium or the Internet notwithstanding, never underestimate the value of a good guide listing.

Thank God it’s Monday! Wait a minute! Wrong! Thank God there are girls in New York who’ll make Monday tolerable. Now I’ve got it! Me? I’m recovering from an all-nighter out on the prairie (see “Pioneer Bill” from last week). One door closes – and another one opens, I guess. Hey! My karma’s pretty good. If I get into a hassle with one source of fun, another one will come along to pick up the slack.

Speaking of good karma…the muslim babe in the burka down at the soup kitchen told me Coalition For the Homeless needs drivers – like yesterday – for their outreach trucks. When I told her I drove a yellow cab for 18 years, she went crazy! “They’re gonna love you!” said she.

Apparently, the truck is a rolling kitchen which hits designated corners to feed the hungry. Cool! I’ll have to see if I can hit 70 mph on Houston Street like when I was a cabby in the good old days. Some of those converted state trooper cars my boss bought at auction and then painted yellow could really go!

Anyway…if I get the gig, I’m sure I won’t go hungry myself. Not that I ever do…but sometimes I come home with meals I wouldn’t normally fix for myself. But enough about Volunteer Bill. Onward and upward – to the cheesecake!

I’m happy to announce the return of CLARA and CHANEL to HOT LIPS (646-309-0453). Some of y’all have noticed that Chanel is being advertised on Backpage as working at ASIAN PARADISE. In fact, that ad is totally bogus! It is not run by the Asian Paradise you know, but rather some busted joint around the corner from Hot Lips which features only lumpy milf types.

I actually know the numbskull who runs those ads and he just won’t stop stealing photos and headlines (he uses a headline I wrote many years ago). A word to the wise should be sufficient. Chanel works at Hot Lips. Period! The ad that has been running for weeks is totally counterfeit! Moving on…Clara is at Hot Lips today and Chanel will be returning in a day or two. Just check with the phone girl. She’ll have the most recent updates!

And speaking of A-list beauties, followers of AQUA (from VIP ASIAN – 646-391-2639) will be ecstatic to hear that she will be working (at VIP) until Friday – and will then be going on a 3 month vacation. So for lack of a better expression…it’s “last licks” time for her fans. Aqua is very beautiful. I can tell you that having seen her multiple times with my own eyes. And finally, JUNE, an alumnus of VIP ASIAN, has now moved to BLUE SKY ASIAN (646-342-7253) no doubt making the sky even bluer.

And so it goes with the Asian musical chair game. Round and round they go…and where they land nobody knows…unless you read this blog. Then you find out!

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imagesFor today…a moldy oldie. Actually, I’ve been looking for this expose for a while! Apparently through all the platform changes, it got dropped from the archives. But I had it in an old file as it turns out. The piece is probably 10 years old by now but still relevant. Enjoy!

Wandering the city visiting all kinds of houses like I do, I like to observe the modus operandi of each culture and ethnicity as they work their beat in their own distinctive fashion. And probably the most interesting is the Korean take on running and working a place of business. It’s what I call the firehouse mentality.

Most non-Korean houses are open 8 or maybe 12 hours per day. But with Koreans? 24/7! They’re there to make money. Sleep deprivation is a reality with which the girls are all too familiar. As an ex-cabby who had no problem working 18 straight hours with almost no break, I’m completely on their page. Work hard and play hard was my ethos – and that of the Korean escort as well.

This is how it works if you’re a K-“massage” girl: First, the girls calls everybody they know to ascertain which house is busy. Then they try to get a job at that house. If you look good enough – or they know you’re dependable or good in the room – you get hired for a one week minimum.

During that week, the girl will essentially stay on the premises. All her food, towels, sheets, alcohol, and everything an escort could possibly need to pull her firehouse shift is provided by ownership in exchange for which the girl pays a fee. Yes, you heard me right. It’s like driving a cab. They pay a lease fee for the week and then hit the road in search of fares.

For the next 7 days, the girl is on constant call! If a Wall Streeter comes in at 7:30 AM and he wants to see her, the phone girl wakes her ass up and she goes to work. If a guy arrives at 4 AM after a night of partying? She goes to work. If Ms. Honey had a heavy meal and is ready for a nap but a guy comes in to see a girl? She goes to work. It may sound a little callous but then again…they’re bankin’.

Work for a Korean girl is different from work for say a latina. Mostly hispanas are about providing a hot time – and not much else. Koreans are about bathing, massaging and then giving the customer a hot time.

In the course of 24 hours, an attractive K-girl working in a popular place can see 10 (or even more) customers. With the split being 50/50 (house/girl) – and the ladies keeping all their tips – these girls can make a lot of money. And with the amount of money and work involved, K-girls don’t work 52 weeks per year. They go “on vacation.”

Vacation for a K-girl can be anything from an actual vacation (though rarely), to a gambling junket in Atlantic City, to a shopping spree on 34th Street, or a drunken binge at a host bar to find a new boyfriend.

When on “vacation,” the girls too often seek situations in which they can role play in reverse. They want to party (and not provide the party as in when they’re working) and they want to choose. The host bar is the perfect setting in which to exorcise all these demons.

A host bar is basically a karaoke joint separated into small rooms with their own karaoke machines. A group of girls will take a room to party and will then be introduced to all the waiters in much the same fashion as they introduce themselves to their clients. And each girl picks one waiter she will have the opportunity to sexually harass all night as they get blind drunk and sing their guts out to the machine – all while ante-ing up over $1000 a piece for the world’s most expensive liquor! This is all good except that too often, K-girls hook up with host bar waiters who turn out to be nothing but gigolos. Not good!

Girls can get caught up in this lifestyle for months and years on end. It’s almost like commercial fisherman or oil-riggers working insane shifts and then blowing off steam in a bar or at a whorehouse on their off time. I had a friend who was a merchant mariner. And every time he came home from a voyage, he couldn’t wait to get a room at The St. Marks Hotel and then get drunk and find a hooker to rob him. Whatever, it’s a zero sum game. Work hard, play hard and end up with some beautiful memories – but no money in your pocket.

Working the K-girl firehouse life isn’t a dead end for all K-girls.They’re often very entrepreneurial and many will actually save up to open their own houses. This may sound like a huge undertaking but consider the amount of money a k-girl can make and you realize that within a relatively short period of time, the dollars can be saved and the wheels of progress set in motion. (That or there’s no shortage of Korean loan sharks – a costly mistake silly girls make too often.)

And really…opening a house is just another form of gambling for a K-girl. And we all know (or I do) about K-girls and gambling! Too many of them live for that shit! Anyway…some thrive and some go bust – just like when you hit the black jack table in AC. Actually, I think that’s part of the appeal.

And ya know…I kind of admire them. I always wanted to be a fast and loose kind of guy but alas…I’ve spent most of my life as an under-control and calculating nerd. Thus, I live vicariously through them. It’s a wonderful life K-girl style. What more can I say?

Although the debates are separate, the legal issues concerning compensated surrogacy and prostitution can be viewed as one and the same because whether a woman enters the world of prostitution – or surrogacy – she is essentially renting her womb for a price. Predictably, there are just as many people against legalization of the surrogate business as there are the sex-for-sale business.

Conservatives cite both enterprises as unnatural and immoral. No functional woman would let a man she doesn’t like insider her. And no functional woman would carry another couple’s baby to term unless of course, she needed money! And there’s your root of all evil: the golden idol. But what if that money pays for rent and food as opposed to Dolce and Gabana outer wear or a Prada bag? Where do you draw the line…and should you even draw a line? After all, shouldn’t a woman be allowed to do with her body what she wishes unless doing that hurts somebody else? You would think so. But just like with prostitution, compensated surrogacy is illegal in almost as many places as is selling ass!

Again, the right will be four square against legalization of both industries. They’ll thump the bible and proclaim the innate immorality in both businesses. But there are guys who are better at making money than they are at seducing women. And buying sex is the answer. It’s downright therapeutic! Men will be more peaceful and productive with that therapy. I know it works that way with me! And what about potential rapists? Maybe if sex weren’t for sale, they might just go out and get their fix the old fashioned way…with a club and a cave in which to defile his quarry. It’s a good thing prostitutes do what they do – or the stats on forcible rape could go way up without them and their services. I happen to be one person who believes in that theory.

Compensated surrogates have similar pluses about which to boast. You could make the argument that couples (be they man-woman, woman-woman or man-man) willing to pay deep into 5 figures for a baby will be better parents than say parents who hooked up for a few weeks or months and then had a somewhat unwanted baby in the process. C’mon, man! Which baby has a better chance at life?

All this brings me to one conclusion. The business of a woman renting out her womb should be a private matter. And a woman should be able to make that decision without the government stepping in to tell her if she can or can’t! I don’t get that! To me, the term “victimless crime” is an oxymoron. And given that compensated surrogacy and prostitution are victimless crimes, criminalization of either is as moronic as the term victimless crime.

Now I’m not a total liberal. In fact, I can be as rednecked as the next Bubba. But when it comes to this stuff, I see legalization and regulation as much better alternatives than criminalization – and the whole deal should be a matter of choice not government edict.

yuki5_fsYup! The worm has finally turned. While I was panting over YUKI from ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) being all natural, I forgot to tell y’all one thing: I photoshopped the picture. Or to be more accurate I UNphotoshopped it!

With my keen eye for detail, I immediately noticed upon going to the Rose House site that Yuki looked natural. So I called the phone girl to verify what my eye was telling me and she responded that indeed, Yuki is all natural. I got off the phone to label and put a border on the pic when my discerning eye caught something else. It looked like the girl had like a 16 inch waist!

“This will never do,” I thought to myself and then whipped out my trusty liquify tool and fattened up her midsection to where it appears natural. No sooner had I accomplished the task and posted the photo when I mused to myself “Dude! You just UNphotoshopped a photo. How bizarre is that?”

I have a confession to make. All those JEWELS and GC pix I used to take? Most of them were photoshopped to a certain extent. But not so much so that guys would find the girls unrecognizable when they arrived. This is apparently an art lost on the pro photographers the Korean girls use. Ya know…as in the art of subtlety!

Well anyway…with me no longer taking photos for any of the sidebar girls, that art will no longer be in evidence on this blog unless somebody else decides my brand of photography is worthy. And while I did unphotoshop Yuki, I don’t picture myself making a habit of that. What are ya gonna do? It’s an imperfect world.

Moving on…I received a phone call today from an old friend who told me one of her longtime buddies had met me at Hof’s party and found me “charming.” Really?!?! I thought she was bullshitting me until I realized that the girl she described was the girl I walked to her car! Will wonders never cease? Me…charming! Go figure!

Back in the 19 the century when photography was first developed, a “real” picture was in fact a real picture. No photoshop…no breast implants…and really no plastic surgery whatever (plastic surgery didn’t come to the fore until after WW I when so many disfigured soldiers came back from the war).

But that was then…and this is now. The term “real” has become downright penumbral given all the changes a girl can make to her body and the photograph she posts to represent herself! All of which brings me to the point.

I was browsing Squackpage in “gallery” mode a couple of days ago when I saw a photo of a piece of paper which said “I’m real.” Sufficiently seduced, I clicked on the pic to check out the ad and the first image I saw was of a clearly fake set of juggularzz! I shook my head and pondered “What the fuck is the meaning of real nowadays – what with the woman advertising what was clearly a real picture of fake tits?” It put me in a state of utter confusion! But I’ll tell y’all one thing! I would never go to see a girl who advertised “I’m real” in front of fake breasts! Just too much of a turn off.

Now to Page 6 stuff! If maturity is your thing, then  LEAH (347-357-8211) is your thing. Leah is a Jewish American princess hell bent on proving to each and very customer that she is the best – and that they should forget the rest! Some say maturity has its perks. I agree…but you can be the judge.

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And speaking of LEAH…here’s a photo of Korean Leah (from two days ago) that isn’t on her site – but I found in my archives. I think it’s her best! While it might seem impossible, this is exactly what Leah looks like! Check it out. BTW…she can be reached at 917-664-7879.

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4273961356_047e49ccdbDon’t blink now or you might miss it. Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the release of PRETTY WOMAN, that iconic piece of crap which supposedly pealed back the layers of the hooker game! Yup! Believe it or not..it’s been 25 years since Garry Marshall schooled us on the subject.

But I’m not buyin’ it now…and I wasn’t then – even though the actual release of the film predates my involvement in the escort business. It was just too shiny and rose-colored for me to believe. Hey! I’d seen East Village hookers standing on the corner. And they didn’t appear to be even distantly related to JULIA ROBERTS.

For the 25th anniversary, a few fun facts have been revealed I would assume to renew interest in the movie and turn a few more bucks. Just for example, Julia Roberts was like the 5th choice to play the role. It was offered to MEG RYAN and DARRYL HANNAH both of whom turned the part down presumably because they knew the project was a plastic piece of shit. Ditto for the male role. AL PACINO rejected involvement as well.

But more telling of what a misrepresentation of “the life” the film truly is came as a minor surprise to me. Roberts’ part was cast as a coke fiend. But then the powers had a change of heart. Apparently, it was too dark for the light comedy/romance production. Reality took a back seat to crass commercialism as very few people find an addled coke head (and that includes me) sympathetic.

The sorry truth is that the great majority of girls who walk the street (and American girls who work incall to a lesser degree) are drug addicts. And they’re hardly as appealing as was Julia (though she didn’t do that much for me in all honesty).

Sociologists attribute various factors which lead a woman to hop the chasm and “provide” for a living.  And unfortunately, very few if any of them would be appealing to your average movie-goer. And thus, we get sugar coated horse shit not representative of reality. That’s Hollywood. It shouldn’t come as a big surprise.

If you want the real deal, you’ll have to watch independent films where occasionally art rules over avarice. The fact that of all the hooker movies that have been produced out of Hollywood, Pretty Woman is the one that rose to the top is a testimonial to Hollywood’s obsession with money…and the media viewers’ desire to escape rather than be informed.

Well…what are ya gonna do? Dogging that stupid movie is about as popular as condemning people for trying to get rich in a capitalistic society. Talk about rowing against a very strong current. That’s just the way it is. What are ya gonna do?

OK! Enough about that. On to the natural beauties! First we have new girl YUKI over at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305). Viewing her pictures, it actually looked like she’s not just busty – but all natural as well! So I called over and indeed, I do have an eye for this stuff. The phone girl promised me that she is all natural – and very shapely as well.

Often I hear complaints that the girl pictured doesn’t look a lot like the girl in the flesh though the photo is of the correct girl. But in HEIDI’S case over at DREAM GIRL (646-276-0229), she looks exactly like her photo. I’m partial because Heidi looks a little like Pam Tills of country western fame…for those who know who Pam Tillis is!

Anyway…here’s da goils!

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SuperstarITVWe all know that there are a lot of cute Asian girls in the escort business. You need only look at the sidebar of this site to verify that statement. But cute girls are one thing…and superstars are quite another!

Enter the girls of ASIAN SUPERSTAR (917-664-7879), the latest addition to this blog. I’ve actually visited the apartment out of which they work and I can tell you it’s plush. But this incarnation met me at Starbuck’s in their street clothes and I gotta tell y’all…these girls are hot! Now I only saw LEAH and the phone girl; I didn’t meet CL. But I can tell you that the phone girl herself could be an A-lister. Tight pants? Leather jacket? Long and straight brown hair she was flipping over her shoulder every few seconds? Hubba hubba. And Leah? Stunning! Best of all…she looks exactly like her photos!

I’ve seen some of the owners’ girls walk outside in their street gear and I can tell you…they ain’t all that without their war  paint, high heals and wonder bras? But Leah? Way out of their league. She is a premium type aristocrat descended from royalty. And….she wants to be your girlfriend! One hitch, though: Not for ballers on a budget.

I told the girls at the rates they’re charging they should do outcalls. Whether you can convince them of that will depend on you. I planted the seed in their mind. Now it’s up to a seductive dude to make it happen. In the meantime, the girls (all 2 of them) are located on the East Side in the 50’s, which is where they’re currently doing incalls.

One other detail worth mentioning is that essentially, these are two indy ladies working together – and not a house as you know it. That means quiet, discretion and the sort of tender loving care you associate with a single girl as opposed to someone working the floor at a spa.

Hey! The price is a little higher than some. But with Leah and friend, you’re flying first class. This little group of hotties are the kind of girls you see at an Asian club and know you would never have a chance with. So step up to the big time. Move over Becca, Tera, Chanel, Cherry and Aqua! There’s a new girl in town and she’s going to give you a run for your money! And her friend CL looks pretty hot as well.

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conestoga_wagonAh! The lengths to which men will go to score a little “companionship” are considerable. I know that after a pioneering expedition I myself made last week!

The situation was this: Up until the very recent past, I had worked out a deal which provided for that companionship with just a simple phone call and then a brief commute. For reasons too boring to retell, that deal went south! So where would I pick up the slack?

Well, for weeks, an old client and friend had been inviting me out to a relatively faraway neighborhood in Queens for a little fun. But duties and deadlines were making it difficult – that is – until I got fired for doing my job. Having those duties lifted from my everyday routine left me available for the fun I’d been missing in the hinterlands.

And so…I called up to accept the running invitation citing that anytime “starting now” was directly in my wheelhouse. The date was set for that very night and the girl gave me directions which involved a ride on the L train to 6th Avenue…a ride on the F train to the end of the line in Queens…and then a bus ride! Ouch! There had to be a better way! It was time for PIONEER BILL to take over.

I knew from previous experience (trips to Tri Star Offset, the outfit which printed Action, Screw and my paper…and commutes to the office of Yedioth Ahronnat, a shitty Jewish paper for which I sold ads at one point – also located out on Metropolitan Avenue in Queens as was Tri Star) that I could take the L just two stops into Brooklyn and then grab the Q 54 to accomplish the same mission.

With a little studying of maps and such (that’s what pioneers do), I embarked on the voyage on what as luck would have it was a very cold night. The first glitch came after I ascended from the L train Lorimer Street station to discover that the 54 did not take the same route as it had those 5 to 10 years ago when I’d last made the trip. After some fucked up advice from a pedestrian on where the hell the 54 ran, I finally (after a mile or two of walking), found that the bus now runs along Grand Street – and not Metropolitan as it had years before.

Still, things were not out of hand. I’d left 30 extra minutes for the commute figuring something might go wrong. But once I’d located my bus route, I damn near froze waiting for the son-of-a-bitch to arrive. It wasn’t that late (about 8:30 PM); It shouldn’t have taken that long.

Finally, the bus appeared. And at certain points along the way (like when the bus veered off Metropolitan and I asked the driver if I was on the right bus), it became apparent to the driver that I hadn’t taken this ride before.

“What? Are you from out of town?” he asked realizing that I was one of the few and far between passengers who wasn’t familiar with the route he was taking. I figured “What the fuck! Let’s go with this…” and answered “Actually, I’m from Atlanta…and visiting an old girlfriend for a little reunion!”

That started the conversation flowing…big time. And suddenly, I was the wide-eyed tourist…and the driver the sage tour guide through the bowels of Queens.

In the meantime, I was getting erotic texts from the girl who sounded like she was playing with herself while awaiting my arrival! I’d promised to show between 9 and 9:30 PM and actually just made my deadline. Responsible Bill if nothing else!

After maybe 45 minutes of verbal foreplay (about 44 minutes too much by me), my buddy uttered the magic words: “I’ll be right back. And I expect you to be comfortable upon my return!” And we all know what that means!

Generally, my interactions involve roughly 15% oral and then 85% boom boom in the room room. But not with this girl! Ever since she set eyes on a straw, she knew what her life calling would be (her words – not mine)! And so, I got the endless royal treatment during which I asked a few times “Can we move on?”…to which she answered “I’m not quite done here yet!” I barely argued.

Eventually, we got to the main event which as usual (with her), didn’t take long…as this particular individual doesn’t have the problem some of her gender do. (You get the idea! She can bust in like 3 to 5 minutes.) And I was obliged to follow suit. No problem there. She’d virtually totaled me with her mouth for the previous 45 minutes anyway!

Now for the tough part. Was I staying over or did she want me to go? Answer: A driver was coming to pick her up. Better if I go! So the girl walked me out into the cold and promised to stay with me until the bus arrived. With the time being a few minutes after midnight, I didn’t know what to expect from the MTA. But surprisingly, within 4 minutes? Here comes the Q 54!

This time around, I knew how to get the subway – even though the MTA was doing track work and the train route had been altered as a result. Incredibly, I got the L to Manhattan within like 3 minutes of arriving on the subway platform and a scant 50 minutes after leaving her apartment door, I was back at First Avenue and 13th Street wolfing a slice at Venezio’s. Lewis and Clark like a mother fucker! Trail Blazin’ Mother Fucking Bill.

I called my buddy to hit her with the good news (I was already back in Manhattan – and had discovered the overland trail to the city which the girl should use whenever she comes to “town” in the future.) Fuck the F train. As if!

“I had a headache before you came but now it’s all gone,” she cooed indicating her satisfaction with the long-awaited rendezvous. “Ah! I’m a therapist if nothing else,” I oozed back.

I might not be a legend in my own mind but at least, I am in hers! And so…one door closes and another one opens. It’s just that this door is farther away. But with the old pioneering spirit, a trailblazer can make do.

originalOnly in a perfect world could you do something on the down low and not get outed. Even in a city the size of New York! One second you’re an anonymous individual doing your little clandestine thing…and the next you feel like you live in a small town when BAM! There’s your boyfriend’s friend…or a relative…to out you!

Two perfect examples: When I was a musician, I really wanted to drive a cab on the side to fill in when I was sitting by idly. I had a college friend who’d hacked and he made it sound very romantic and like huge fun. But…I was afraid somebody would see me and I knew that would kill my reputation in the music biz. Mind you…I wasn’t broke at the time. Just bored on off days.

So after losing 4 grand gambling in the stock market, I decided to pull out cold turkey and drive a taxi on off days until I earned my 4 g’s back. Call it self-imposed penance if you will. Well as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about all that hiding bull shit for long because within the first week, my cover was totally blown! I ran into old girlfriends…people from high school…and at least 3 dudes who viewed me as a solvent studio musician – that is – until they saw me behind the wheel of a yellow cab. Cover blown. Rep blown. Calls for work almost vanished!

Another example: Grand Jury duty. Week #2…the guy sitting to my right pulled me aside as we exited during a lunch break to ask “Do you have a blog?” And there was but one picture of me on this site. And I was wearing sunglasses! Talk about a lesson in big city = small town…and you can’t live life in a vacuum! Damn!

And now to the point. I read on some review forum a comment from a guy who’d been lusting to spend time alone with a certain girl when one day, he saw her pic on Backpage. He knows her boyfriend (or whatever) well and considered going to see her without considering how she might react when he arrived.

Picture this scene to give you a clue! I’m up in the attic (of all places)  at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE a Saturday ago. The place was busy at closing time and guys were all over the place and obviously, I had to be out of sight. So there I was sequestered away from the madness when in walks one of the popular girls to join me.

“What the fuck are you doing here with all those lonely, companion-seeking guys downstairs?”…I asked. Answer: “My ex-boyfriend’s best friend is down there. NO WAY I’m gonna let him see me!

Escorts live in fear of this shit. It’s the rough equivalent of me running into a guy who was courting me to produce a record while I was out on the streets trolling for fares (yes, that happened to me)! To the guy who was thinking about seeing his friend’s gf who it turns out….is an escort: In a million years, she would not see you. The girl will run and hide under a chair and not come out for days on the off chance you get a gander at her while she’s down-lowing it at an incall!

A girl decides to be an escort and she hopes to live life in a vacuum…undetected by her “real” world. But New York ain’t nuthin’ but a small town. And when the bubble bursts and she’s outed, the only option left is for her to lie like a sailor – all in denial of the obvious.

So if your best friend’s girl is hot…and you always wanted to “hang” with her…and you see her advertised on Backpage? Forget it. She’ll die of a fucking heart attack if you walk in and request her. Don’t even think about it…because it won’t happen.

OnBlackShirtsA couple of months back, one of the managers at JEWELS, who actually reads this blog, suggested I apply for employment writing for a site she reads frequently. So I checked it out…saw it was relevant…and sent them an email. Not surprisingly, I heard nothing back. But I proved a point. If nothing else, I have the wherewithal to follow through.

Well this week, I saw opportunity once again in the Hof invitation. Beyond the reunion factor with all my fellow SCREW losers, I knew there might be gold in them thar hills. So I switched into ambition mode and called my DAILY NEWS editor friend to invite him to the party (he couldn’t attend), figuring to kill two birds with one stone. I could impress Harry (the Daily News guy) with an invitation to a private porn party…and HOF as well that I actually know an editor at the Daily News! Plus…I cracked on Harry to follow through on introducing me to somebody at the DAILY BEAST – something he volunteered he’d do a while back. And if that don’t classify as “blind ambition,” I don’t know what does! The beautiful thing about writing your blog every day for 6 and a half years is that if you can squeeze through a slightly ajar door, you sure as hell have enough ammo (in the form of 4000 plus written pages) with which to  impress whoever you’re trying to impress. But that was only the beginning of this week’s appearance of BLIND AMBITION BILL.

The day after the party, I set out to research JUDITH REGAN…and find out exactly what she’s about (I didn’t really know). OJ’s “I Did It?” JENNA JAMESON’S “How To Make Love Like a Porn Star?” These are just two of Judith’s media attention-commanding titles. Enough said right there. She is the publisher for me!

First, I emailed Dennis with a 1000 word proposal on how we could do some business together, a part of which requested that he rep me to Judith. I’d met her at the party…but she really didn’t know anything about me. Dennis responded immediately with just a few words: “Who is the hottest 2 or 3 Asians on your blog?” (Consistent if nothing else!) From there we emailed back and forth several times…the subjects being (again) the hottest 2 or 3 girls on the blog…and his endless upcoming media appearances. Zero acknowledgement on the business front! Oh well.

Time to shift gears! I googled Regan Arts…found the contact number…and called over with this sales pitch: “Hi, I’m Dollar Bill, NY’s premier escort blogger” (a statement I feel confident in making by virtue of being the only escort blogger in New York).

The girl came back with “Oh hi, Dollar Bill. I’m the girl with the list who let you in the door for the party!” So far so good, right fellaz? I continued…”Judith must have a talent scout whose job it is to look for (drum roll) new talent. And when he or she finds it…he scores point with his boss.”

“I don’t think we actually have a talent scout,” responded Tara (her name)…”but I’ll send you to Judith’s assistant.” And so I pitched  Judith’s assistant (whose name is Bill – good omen) and he told me to email him something he could work with.

Now a lot of people would have thought about what they were going to write…procrastinated…thought some more…and then maybe hit the road with the rubber…and submitted something.

That’s somebody else…that’s not me. Within 30 minutes I had written and edited down 1000 words of background info – and why Judith should take me on as a fledgling author. What took a little longer was choosing among the 2000 or so posts worth forwarding.

An hour or so after getting off the phone with Bill, I’d sent the entire hype. And best of all…six hours later after smoking a joint, I revisited what I’d submitted and found it crisp, clean and inspired. )Sometimes I review stuff I’ve written a day later and shake my head in disgust with how lame it is. This wasn’t one of those times. I’d hit the ball right on the bat’s sweet spot. If it went in the alley for a double that would be great. And if it went straight at a fielder and bombed out? Well…at least I’d done my best. What more could I ask of myself?) Whether she chooses to deal with me or not…I’d done a cracker jack job of repping myself.

And so this week I morphed into Blind Ambition Bill…and it reminded me of back when I was in the music business and what I used to term to my old man’s applause “the fantasy of the week.” He could totally relate. The fantasy of the week is that fantasy which keeps you going…and hoping for that lucrative deal which will give you a hit record and the recognition you so deserve. When that fantasy dissolves, you need another to pull you through. And on and on until you reach that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Anyway…I’m proud to say I took my shots this week. And even if I get rejected and it all comes to naught, I can say I didn’t just talk…I walked as well. Guess I ain’t dead yet. Even at almost 65, I’m loaded with blind ambition! Go figure!

 

"In The Land Of Blood And Honey" New York Premiere - Outside ArrivalsYeah, all of us guys know about chick flicks – and even the Chick Channel (aka Lifetime Television). But there’s another female-oriented medium you might not have considered. And that’s chick books! In my unending quest to understand women (yeah, right) and fill my day with something to do, I’ve taken to reading chick books. So what’s a chick book? Answer: It’s a book written by a chick…about the trials and tribulations of being a chick. Talk about fascinatin’!

Last week, I read a too-long-for-me (considering the subject) study about chicks anchoring the news titled “The News Sorority.” Basically, it traced the biographies and career paths of three chicks…Katie Couric, Diane Sawyer and Christiane Amanpour.

A quick review of the three protagonists:

1. KATIE COURIC – Who decided it would be appropriate to turn a cheerleader into a news anchor? Katie’s only claim to fame (in my estimation) is revealing an even shallower and less-informed douchebag than she (Ms. Palin) as just that. No sale, Ms. Couric! Did you know that Katie earned $15 million per annum while tanking the entire CBS news department and turning them into the laughing stock of the industry? Oh well! It wasn’t my money!

2. DIANE SAWYER – Competent, regal and appealing in the kind of way I’d like to have her as a first cousin or sister – but not as my companion in a whore house. A little on the arid side! I’ve turned fertile women into desserts enough for one lifetime. I’ll pass on Diane.

3. CHRISTIANE AMaNPOUR – One of the most compelling, appealing and intelligent human beings of any gender I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching and listening to. Mesmerizing and totally awesome!

So what did I come away with  after plowing through 460 tiny-typed pages which almost turned me blind? Answer: How come there are no women like Christiane sucking dick in a whore house? What a rip off!

Next chick book: THE MADWOMAN IN THE VOLVO, written by a woman going through menopause! I know. it sounds totally boring and could be of interest only to a chick. But ya know what? The author is a funny chick! Just for example…she laments going though menopause in our era versus say her mother’s…because back when mom was 50, she could go crazy from all the raging hormones and fire her old corded Bell telephone against the wall and get a resounding and satisfying ker-chunk for the energy expended. Nowadays, who the fuck flies into a rage and chucks her iPhone? Way too expensive…and barely a ker-chunk factor. Again…what a rip off!

But really, reading this book made me think back to when my mother was 50 and the crap she put me through, a lot of which might have had something to do with menopause. But then again…she put me through crap my entire life! So menopause couldn’t be the reason. Maybe me reminding her of my father had something to do with it.

Anyway…the point! Reading chick books is a good way to understand chicks…which may help you get laid…which is why it’s worth your time to read a chick book every now and then.

And now…excuse me while I go back to reading my chick book. I’m out!

 

Wait a minute. I’m not out! Check out TIFFANY at HIYAKO (212-679-3681). Here’s da goil!

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Oh how I love a good party. When I was in the music business, release parties with free booze and food were daily entertainment. I lived for them. But now that I’m old? Not so much!

So I headed over to the Sex Museum only 15 minutes after the scheduled opening and to my surprise, found that it was already packed! It’s been a while since I’ve been at a scene where it’s difficult to even cross the room (excuse me, sir…excuse me, madam)…and just for a second, I was ready to bolt. Nobody I knew came into view and I asked myself “What the fuck are you doing here? Like…you could be home jerking off to a picture!”

But then I righted the ship! “Schmuck! This is an opportunity! Go get drunk and enjoy the fact that you have no Backpage ads to post and nothing to stop you from having a good time – beyond your own insecurity!”

So I scored a beer downstairs and ran into ERIC DANVILLE, an old friend…ex-editor at SCREWLINDA LOVELACE biographer…and current staff writer at PENTHOUSE. Within seconds, I’d tipped Eric’s interest and we were in deep conversation while one of his two female buddies, who used to be a researcher at the DAILY NEWS, went to have her tits signed by RON JEREMY, who was over in the corner (drum roll) autographing tits.

I asked Eric’s other female companion why she wasn’t doing the same…whereupon she matter-of-factly stated “When you’ve sucked the guy’s dick, there’s really no need to have him autograph your tits.” Hard to argue with that logic…especially given that the woman had an artfully tattooed arm, a sweet and very pretty face…and a huge chest. Who was I to doubt the veracity of her statement? Whatever…my comfort level rose in the knowledge that I was in kindred company. As in welcome home, Dollar! You’re in the bosom of the SCREW crew. Not to worry!

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I turned to Eric and observed “Ya know back in the day, Ron had the biggest dick in porn. Nowadays, he’d be a fucking peanut!” In response, Eric acknowledged my cogent historical perspective and smiled comfortably no doubt thinking “Ah! Billy the fucking cab driver-turned adult ad mogul. That’s why I showed up at this wang-dang-doodle…to reunite with even bigger losers than myself!” True that! Sex business reunions are totally awesome!

Having settled in with a beer or two (which were free – huzzah’s to Dennis and company), I excused myself to ascend and say hey to The Man, who was virtually besieged when I first walked in. Now here’s where the societal observation kicked in.

Up until that point, I was Joe Schmo…just an outsider at a porn party. Chicks were looking at me and thinking “What the fuck is this nerd doing here?” But then I saw a breathtaking vixen wearing a fur – just sitting in the corner doing nothing. But she rang a bell. So I went over to chat and it turned out the girl was VANITY FAIR from the LOVE RANCH…and she used to work for BODY HEAT back in my ACTION MAG days. A heavy dose of nostalgia and jewish geography were next on the menu and before I knew it, all the people who’d been looking at me and wondering “Who’s this douchebag?” were suddenly checking me out thinking “Who IS this douchebag?” Funny how that bull shit works.

After that, gorgeous girls were chatting me up and giving me their cards. Very interesting! And before I knew it, I found myself posing with all the hot shots. Ya know….like Dennis’s girlfriend KRISSY SUMMERS…and Vanity…and Bob the publisher of SMOKE Magazine (cigars, that is)…and even JUDITH REGAN (look her up) who I can tell you is very media-ready and charismatic. I regret that I did not get to impress her with my original style and grace – as she did me.

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Anyway…I was barely tipsy and getting my groove on before the lights brightened signaling the end of the party. Too bad. Vanity grabbed my arm and asked “Can you walk me to my car?” With no hesitation I responded “Oh! So you need an escort. That’s what you’re telling me!” A huge smile flashed across her face and she turned to Dennis’s girlfriend to say “I like this guy. He gets it.”

So I walked Miss Honey to her ride and she even asked if I needed a lift home. I explained I had a bike shackled around the corner. And so…I tucked her into her Mercedes convertible and sent her on her way.

In closing…my usual summation: It’s good to be social occasionally – even when you’re a societal misfit!

P.S. I make light of Hof’s fame and fortune what with knowing him as the huge trick he surely is. But really…this book release is a big deal. He’ll be all over your television with this and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he hit the bestseller list. Congratulations on this coup is in order…even if he was wearing that God-awful shiny red shirt! I’d offer to be his fashion consultant but that is one job I would really suck at!

s-DENNIS-HOF-largeA couple of weeks ago, I received an invitation to attend a book signing party at THE MUSEUM OF SEX.  I did not know the name of the book or who it was (or is) about until I confirmed with my benefactor today. In fact, the upcoming tome is titled THE ART OF THE PIMP. My benefactor is DENNIS HOF…and the book is his autobiography.

I wish Dennis all the luck in the world…and I’m sure the effort will be as readable as was THE HAPPY HOOKER, an absolute runaway sensation and best seller from 40 years ago. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment that the book is mistitled. It should be THE ART OF THE TRICK!

I first met Dennis many years ago in of all places, GINA’S DREAMLAND (or Crummyroom In Rio as I renamed it), a somewhat legendary incall in Midtown. I was on my way to Gina to collect her money for the three NEW YORK PRESS ads she was running at the time (that ought to tell you how long ago this was) but called first to confirm.

“Hey, Billy! Guess who’s in my place right now,” gushed the Brazilian icon. “I dunno! Bill Clinton?” I responded. “No! That guy who runs the place out in Nevada!” countered Gina! “Come on over. He’s in the room with two girls right now but he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Somewhat (though not entirely) tickled, I pedaled over just in time to see this big hulking mass of humanity clad in Moonlight Bunny Ranch gear from head to toe. Gina introduced me as whatever whereupon I whipped out ESCORT MAGAZINE, which I was publishing at the time. Dennis shook my hand…smiled…and then went into his bag to produce the very mag that I owned, commenting “I just bought your magazine. That’s how I found this place.”

From there, we were fast friends. Within seconds of our introduction, Gina told us to hide in one of the rooms as there was a customer on the way up. And so…Dennis and I convened in said room as he called his friend Jimmie Flynt (brother of Larry) and announced (and I quote) “Hey Jimmy! Guess where I am! A Brazilian cat house in New York!” Cat house, I mused to myself. Isn’t that your grandfather’s term? Are we here to score some cooze?

Anyway…Dennis had some sort of article to research for Larry himself and upon discovering what I did for a living (which involved visiting several places every Wednesday and Thursday), he asked if he could tag along offering to pay all the cab fares and even throw me some money if I wanted. I declined the money and asked if he could introduce me to Flynt instead. It was a poor decision as he never introduced me to the iconic publisher of Hustler Magazine. Oh well. What else is new? I felt like I was back in the music biz again.

But I digress. As we made my advertising rounds, you could tell by Dennis’s demeanor that he was feeling like a kid in a candy store. Dude was way into it! From then on, anytime Dennis came to New York (which was fairly frequently), he’d call ahead to ask who I’d recommend for him to see. I was amazed. At that point in time, I was spending a lot of time at the businesses of the many owners and apartments of an equal number of indies in the escort business. And I knew that if I were to fly to Los Angeles on some publicity mission for my place of business (which is what Dennis was always doing), the last thing I’d want to do is to go visit another place of the same genre. But that’s me…and not Dennis. The man just can’t get enough of escorts! The art of the trick! What can I say?

And so I’m sure the world sees our hero and his success in some sort of “art of the pimp” light. But I could just as easily rename his book “The Art of the Trick,” as I have never had a friend who was so interested when it comes to visiting incalls.

Well hopefully, there will be some free alcohol (though I’m not so sure about that. When I attended Al Goldstein’s memorial fiesta at the same place – The Museum of  Sex, White Castle burgers were free….but the booze cost!)

Regardless, all the old SCREW editors will be on hand no doubt (actually, I know they will be…Dennis told me so) and that’s always fun. It’s a book bash for Dennis…but it’s a reunion for all the old pervs…and an opportunity to catch up on the news with all the losers.

Dennis’s book is being published by JUDITH REGAN, who if you’re not aware, is a big name in the publishing world, so I assume it will be released to at least a fair amount of fanfare. I myself was not interviewed by his ghostwriter…which would give you an indication of just how unimportant I am when it comes to his life story.

But I’m no hater. I wish Dennis the best. I’m sure his effort will be a rousing success – even if I think it’s misnamed. No doubt, Ron Jeremy will be there. He’s like Hof’s best friend in the world. And other notables will most likely be in attendance as well. I had a date (not a date I have sex with…just a semi-celeb friend) who would do well to be at the party. But she fucked me over this week so if the menopausal mess wants to go, she’ll have to spend $17 to get in.

As far as I know, anybody can attend (I think) for the toll. So if you want to meet Dennis…and some porn stars (I would imagine)…and a gaggle of guys who chose to labor as writers in the erotic world, come on down (but call the museum first to make sure the public is invited). It should be a blast!

Editor’s note: Today’s original post was bumped for this big news item. It will reappear at some point in the near future. And rereading my invite, I see that Heidi Fleiss and Ron Jeremy will be at the event.

Ah, the Ides of March! Ireland lad!! Boy am I glad I don’t drive  cab anymore. St, Patty’s Day was a nightmare – though a profitable one.

Anyway…back to the subject at hand. TWINKLE (917-861-6600) called to say they have a new girl named YOKO (hopefully, she doesn’t look or sing like Yoko Ono) on staff. And BLUE ANGEL (917-615-4381) has two new girls to check out! RACHEL, and CHOCO await your arrival. And over at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409), OSUCA has returned.

I gotta tell y’all. Hard to keep track of all these free agents moving around. It’s worse than the NFL!  Anyway…here’s da goils!

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3994146167_5f9ec0a867If you ever check out the adult help wanted ads on Squackpage, you’ll notice a hilarious potpourri of crap that only a section whose ads cost a mere three bucks would elicit. Ya know…guys looking for girls who’ll let them sniff their smelly feet. Or guys who want a fat girl who’ll smother their faces with her humongously repulsive ass. Well…one I viewed yesterday really made me laugh.

As we all know, some counties in Nevada have legalized prostitution. If said county has fewer than 700,000 residents…and a majority of those residents vote for legal prostitution via referendum…the whole deal is kosher. Why would anybody vote for legalized prostitution you might ask? Because the tricks spend money while in the host’s county. And that means income for the residents.

So anyway, my buddy Hof doesn’t have a monopoly on the business in Nevada. There are other entrepreneurs with whorehouses as well. And apparently, one of them is a girl named MONA, who runs a joint called (drum roll) MONA’S RANCH…or MONA’S BONAZZ as I’ve renamed them. And it would appear that Ms. Mona needs flatbackers for her flophouse out there in the desert. So she advertises in Squackpage’s New York’s adult jobs section to find them.

That’s all well and good…but ya gotta dig the photo she attaches to the ad. Hilarious! What girl in her right mind would want to fly out there to suck and fuck guys in that shithole?!?! God bless drugs and the losers who abuse them for without that gaggle of cockgobblers-for-a-fee, I can’t imagine anybody would do anything but laugh upon seeing that ad.

Oh well. I understand that not every hooker is a member of the Mensa Society. But if I were a ho…and a stupid one…and a drug-addicted one…I still can’t see myself falling for this preposterous ad. Check out the pic! Talk about palatial. Is this woman crazy?

Whatever…not my problem. You won’t catch me at Mona’s anytime soon. And I don’t think you would even if I lived around the corner.

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If it’s Saturday…I’m down at the University Soup Kitchen doing my altruistic thing. And yesterday found me running the “food prep” line – which you can probably deduce at this point…is a fancy inside baseball term for doling out the meat loaf and making sure that the 6  people under me do their jobs efficiently and effectively.

This particular crew (which was all females with the exception of one guy) was excellent – which in this context doesn’t mean what it would in say…the escort context. So don’t get all hyped up and come down to volunteer. From the eye candy standpoint, only one was fuckable. And I don’t get the idea that she’s interested in me (can’t imagine why!) You guys? Who knows? Brad Pitt’s brother could be reading this blog!

So anyway as luck would have it, one of the “excellent crew” – a sixty-something lady -who also happened to be the salad girl to my right – fell for me big time. She was the moth…and I the flame.

In mid meal while we had a brief lull in the activity, I worked my way around the tables to push the salad she could no longer reach to the front of the huge bin from which we serve that salad – where she could reach it. And that was it. The woman virtually proclaimed her true love for me: “It’s nice to meet a gentleman. Thank you so much!” she gushed. The cook, who was within earshot, quipped “So that’s what one looks like!” Ha ha.

There’s no way I would entertain her overture under any circumstance. She was essentially a friendly-enough individual…but very provincial…and really not my style even if she were 22 and totally stacked and gorgeous. Of course, if that were the case, I’d have been good for a few rolls if she let me (my lips to God’s ears)…but then it would have been over.

Regardless, it was then that the floodgates opened and I came to discover that she’s a widowed/retired school teacher. I was sympathetic…but no less apathetic about intercourse on any level (verbal or physical).

Occasionally, when we’re all done, some people will shake my hand. And sometimes, I get a friendly hug from Angie, who runs the show every third or fourth week. And now that I think of it, Mahalia always gives me a big hug in front of everybody because she likes me and as a single mother of 4, sees me as a benevolent and appealing white boy.

But never…has anybody kissed me good bye – and gone for my mouth in the process! Like a hot chick who doesn’t want to give a suitor the wrong idea, I kissed the salad girl on the cheek – avoiding the mouth to mouth. But her intent was obvious. She was interested and wanted to let me know.

So ya see, guys! I still got it – at least when it comes to sixty-something widows who used to teach school. Too funny…and too bad my tray girl – who is much younger, and skinny with a big rack – doesn’t feel the same way. Ah! The story of my life. It’s always the wrong woman who falls for me. What are ya gonna do?

gregory.mcqueenSo ya thought that Eliot Sptizer was the ultimate hypocrite what with the man going out of his way to prosecute escort services when he himself turned out to be a huge trick. Well move over Mr. Spitzer! We got a guy to give you a run for your money!

His name is Sergeant Gregory McQueen…and he’s a non-com army officer in charge of preventing sexual assaults in his battalion pursuant to the US Army’s Sexual Harassment/Assault Response and Prevention unit at Ft. Hood, Texas. “G-Money” (as I will henceforth call him) stands accused of pimping and pandering. And while only accused at this point in time, the particulars of his alleged MO are pretty damning!

According to The Daily Beast, this officer actively recruited cash-strapped female soldiers to service high ranking officers of the U.S army to either attend sex parties – or simply report to a place to perform sex acts for a fee with his superiors. Nice!

Now I’m a liberal guy when it comes to all this kind of stuff. If a guy decides to run an escort service and employs cash-challenged women who participate willingly, I don’t have a problem with that. The law might call it pimping…but I see it as an entrepreneur providing employment for a damsel in distress – provided that he treats her fairly and with some sort of dignity and respect – which if you believe the reports, G-Money did not!

But when a guy runs the anti-sexual assault unit and then goes on to mete out some fairly rough treatment…that is something different. In much the same way I thought that Eliot Spitzer needed to find himself another planet on which to live, I feel the same about G-Money.

As in…dude! If ya wanna hustle on the side, I’m cool with that. Even if you’re in the army! But you’re gonna hustle babes all while you run the sexual assault and harassment prevention unit? If that ain’t an ESPN  “c’mon, man” moment, I don’t know what is! I’d die of the humiliation!

I’n trying to figure out what I could do to even approach this guy’s level of hypocrisy. Let’s see…I could go on a rant about how I hate faggots, trannies and anybody who sucks cock who isn’t a born female…and then get caught (drum roll) sucking cock in a stall at a rest stop on the New Jersey turnpike. But here’s the problem with that: I don’t rant against cocksuckers (unless they fuck me over – and then it’s not because they suck cock. It’s because they fucked me over). And I don’t suck cock. So I guess that wouldn’t happen.

Or maybe if I railed on about adulterers being the devil’s incarnate only to be caught fucking around on my wife! Well…that wouldn’t work either. I’m not married and if I were, I’d like to think I wouldn’t fuck around

Anyway…I guess I just can’t approach the level of hypocrisy of G-Money. I’ll have to work on that. OK! At ease, fellaz. I’m out until tomorrow.

P.S. A special shout out to LARRY K, who once again, hipped me to something cool to write about!

I always thought that turning 65 would have advantages which come along with the realization that you’re getting old! Ya know…like half price movies…and half price subways…and free medical insurance.

Well…guess again on the insurance front! Medicare is not free! And culling through all the options is already like taking a college course! Mind you, I have the choices down. And I realize that there aren’t just many options…but many different outfits offering those options! I can’t imagine how the idiots of this world (of which there are way too many) could possibly understand all the details of the Medicare plan.

Worse…I just got my first bill from the gov and it’s three times as high as it should be! Tomorrow, I’ll tackle the bureaucracy and try to unravel the mess as to why my insurance bill is about to go up when I hit the age of 65! Yikes. So much for free insurance!

Anyway…enough of my belly-aching! To some gossip. I stopped over at the A TEAM (347-741-1741) today and I gotta tell y’all…those girls are pretty hot. And that’s sayin’ something given that I  generally prefer women of color – and all three of today’s A TEAMERS were white!

ASHIETTE‘s booty was booming…and she looked really cute in her librarian glasses! I took the girl’s pictures and either I’m a suck photographer or she’s a poor photo subject because her pix do not do the girl justice! She looks way better in person. Or at least, she did today!

Girl #2 (TALIA) is becoming the stuff of Kylie type legend! Like…by noon (when I got there), she was already pretty much booked for the entire shift! Not a big surprise what with her black girl booty on a Russian chick, slinky body…and her enthusiasm for the job! What a winning combo!

And finally, I met KASIA, who uses a fake generic photo for her blog ad. I’ll never understand why an escort would pick a fake image which shows no tits and no ass. What the fuck is the point of that – especially when the girl has an excellent body with abundant curves? From her fake pic, I’d never have known how appealing the real KASIA actually is! Oh well! With a real photo, she’d be just as busy as Talia – I have no doubt.

And over at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305), TARA and JOY called the photographer and took some new pix. Honestly, I’m not convinced they’re any better than the old ones but you know how it goes. Girls  (especially Koreans) love to take new photos which is odd given that 15 years ago, you couldn’t get a Korean girl to take a real photo for her ads. Boy has that changed!

And now for a few visuals to wrap up this entry. I’ll omit Kasia (because it’s fake) and Ashiette (because again…they don’t do her justice). And that leaves, Talia, Tara and Joy! So without further ado…here’s da goils!

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BrannockDevice__56388_zoomBack when I was a youngster, we didn’t get a lot of sex education at school. In fact, we didn’t get any that I can remember. But somehow I do recall someone telling me that when it comes to condoms, one size fits all…the prevailing view being that a condom can hold a gallon of water. And if you’re big enough to break that condom while sheathing your saber, you shouldn’t be in her at all!

Well anyway…that was then…and this is now. And while there is no official Brannock device (that gizmo that measures your feet), one site I found yesterday tells you that the very sizer you require is right in your bathroom (of all places).

Now we all know that everybody who reads this blog needs a double magnum because after all, this is a boys club of sorts. But if you really want to know your size, here’s how you do it.

But first, a little orientation: Essentially, rubbers come in three sizes – small, medium and large. (Bet you didn’t know that…because I didn’t!) Yes, some are flared…and some are tapered…and some are flavored…and some are studded…and some come in different colors…and on and on. But boiled down to the basics, they (again) come in three sizes.

Back to figuring out your size! Well…the next time you go to wipe your butt after a good dump, remove the toilet paper from its dispenser. Whip up your fiercest boner and then stick it inside the toilet paper roll (are you lovin’ this?). If your manhood fits loosely? You are a small! If it fits snugly? You’re a medium. And if it doesn’t get in there at all? You need a large! I kid you not. I am not making this shit up! Here’s the link!

Hope I didn’t burst any bubbles here. Regardless, this will be the last word on the subject of condoms…as I think we can all agree that I’ve about covered the subject (no pun intended) entirely at this point.

And finally, whatever your size…just keep in mind that what you have dangling between your legs is a lot bigger than hers. How’s that for a little locker room pep talk? And remember as the old song says “It ain’t the meat it’s the motion. It’s the movement that gives it the sock!” Not sure I believe that but….

Or how’s this? One of the songs I wrote and records I had in the store with Rose McCoy (see two weeks ago) was titled “I Do The Best I Can With What I Got.” Yet another “cab do” point of view! Sound like I’m full of shit about the aforementioned record? Look what I found on google! And by the way…L. Rush didn’t write the song at all. Music biz politics put his name on the label.

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Body-Language-Project-Eye-ContactI just finished reading a fluff piece on Yahoo about body language and how to read the signs to see if your date is interested in you or not. Now, I wasn’t born yesterday and I do know how to read the signs. Ya know…simple stuff like whether she inadvertently touches you while conversing. That would indicate she’s interested. Or if she has her arms folded in front of you, that would mean she’s guarded and more than likely not into you.

So of course after reading the article, I began to analyze the people and situations in my own life. The problem is that when dealing with escorts, body language and its interpretations can get really complicated. A girl may touch you or lean “in” not because she’s actually interested – but more because her job involves acting – and she knows that giving off the standard “come hither” body language will bring you back to spend more money. Thus, even if you understand body language, you have to suss out whether it’s fake or real when dealing with escorts. And sadly, with pay-by-the-hour ladies, you have to assume it’s fake – unless you relish getting sucked in – and relieved of – all your disposable income!

In my own experience, I can think of three escorts who I know were “into me.” All three had one thing in common. I knew within 10 seconds of meeting them that they were attracted to me. Conversely, I can’t remember ever discovering that an escort was into me when I thought she wasn’t. No surprises there.

It’s those “in between” relationships when you know the girl respects and likes you – but isn’t necessarily feeling you “that way” – that can be difficult to interpret. She likes me – and she wants me to come back – but how much of her positive body language is about real “feelings” for you versus real feelings for your money!

Just recently, I was talking to a girl at JEWELS when another of the staff sidled up to put her arm around me. Was she saying “I like this guy. Stay away.” Or was it simply a show of affection coming from the heart – but not a sign that says “I want you to be my man?” Difficult to decipher!

Combine my trust issues from having a father who abandoned me at a young age and the reality that I know escorts’ MO’s and I’m always inclined to think it’s all a show not related to the girl dreaming about me every night…and my response to the overture was to give the hugger a platonic hug back…and then proceed to give the original girl I was talking to a similar show of affection. I didn’t even think about it. That was my natural reaction. Better watch out for me, girls! I’m as likely to be nominated for an Oscar as you!

On another occasion, a hot escort asked out of nowhere if she could rub my head while she, I and three other girls were hanging out in the kitchen. I hesitated and then after allowing her to rub my scalp, solicited “That costs twenty bucks!”…but then quickly added “It’s free for you!”

Well anyway…I’d advise all consumers to question every “word” of an escort’s body language as more often than not, it’s designed to bring you back again and again. Being naive and living in denial can work to a certain extent. But if you value what’s in your wallet and don’t relish the idea of being used and discarded, you might want to err on the side of caution as it’s not likely that you’ll miss a true sign of affection in the process, and much more likely that you will be relieved of a hunk of cash. Sad but true. Hey you chose to socialize with escorts. Deal with the reality!

The other day I went in the room for an hour with a very cute girl for what I call “Act 3″ (our third such encounter). We had an excellent meeting (or at least I thought it was excellent) but who really knew? And did it really matter when you come to think about it? It’s supposed to be excellent for me. That’s the whole idea.

As I was getting dressed to exit, my fiance stole a kiss while I wasn’t looking. I absorbed her show of affection with all 5 senses and came to the conclusion that I wasn’t the only one who’d had a good time. With all the experience I’ve accumulated as an almost geezer, I knew it was real. With that hug I mentioned before? Not so much.

Sometimes I think I’d be better off a little more naive than I am. Rose colored glasses and acts of denial have their place. But I’m too old and jaded for that bull shit. You can run that body language stuff on me all day…but I’ll know when it’s real and when it isn’t much more astutely than the next guy. Ah! The defense mechanisms you develop when you deal with escorts. What are ya gonna do?

You’d think that the incredible paragon of new age media that this here blog surely is…it would require a staff of 100 to keep the bad boy running smoothly. Yeah, right! In reality, it’s a part time job for one guy. And if you haven’t guessed by now, that guy is yours truly. Yup! No guest writers…no webmaster…and no graphic artist. Just little old me.

But there is one guy who writes in with so many good ideas for stuff he thinks I should expound upon, that the man almost classifies as some sort of researcher. And once again, LARRY K (his e-mail name which I assume is fake) has dug deep to find a 30 second Australian TV commercial on the subject of condom sizes. Really…I should be finding this material to go along with all the copy I published about rubbers over a recent two day period. But it’s Larry who does the job!

So anyway…the following is that commercial – and one that could never run on American TV. We’re way too uptight here in our section of the planet for this.

Moving on…a few shout-outs to my homies: First goes to NATALIE (347-595-4518), who after devising a unique marketing plan, promptly went on vacation for 6 days! No doubt, someone even more enamored than I whisked her away on a moment’s notice. I guess that’s how it goes when you’re young, gorgeous and rockin’ a prodigious rack. I wouldn’t know.

Second shout out goes to OLIVIA (347-595-4518), one of the most appealingly damaged damsels I’ve ever met. Talk about a complicated bee-och! Nobody knows it but I have the hots for Olivia. She makes my knees weak…my head light…and my blood run hot. I can’t help myself – and I couldn’t even if I tried. Ya know…moth to a flame shit. No, really. Blolivia is a special person.

And finally…KELLY (also 347-595-4518) because she’s the real apple of my eye. I’m just playin’ when I say I’m in love with somebody else.

Having finished my three shout outs, I know I’m in for a serious spanking the next time I visit Jewels. But then again…that’s the whole idea!

Anyway…I think I’ve stirred the pot enough for one day. I’m out. But first, here’s da goils!

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Everybody knows about Doctor Phil – but nobody’s heard of Doctor Bill. Still, that doesn’t stop me from handing out sage advice to escorts in need. Not that they take it, mind you, but regardless, I give it out when the time and situation seems right.

This time I was sitting on a couch after hours when one of the last girls to leave flopped beside me to say hi. I’ve known Beulah (fake name, obviously) for a couple of years – ever since I met her at BLISS. And we’ve been “in the room” on several occasions since then. Escorts get to know what a guy is really like quickly when they adjourn with him in private. As such, Beulah and I became fast friends. Given the time and place, I guess she figured I was as good a choice as any for a little advice.

“Bill. Let me ask you a question”…and she went on to describe a tale of woe concerning a boy who’d just dumped her. Instantly, I knew the problem. “Feeling a little ugly and unloved?” asked Doctor Bill. “Exactly,” she responded figuring correctly I would get to the root of the problem.

“Let me tell you something,” I began. “You are a dynamite woman. Take it from one who knows. Anybody who dumps you is a moron! We both know that! Or you should! But seriously…here’s what you do: Wait a week and then call or text the guy. Tell him that you found a new partner who’s twice as smart…twice as good-looking…twice as successful…and really, twice as much as he is in every way!”

Bango! Suddenly, Beulah’s body language completely changed. Her shoulders were back…tits high…and face radiating confidence. “That’s a good idea! That’s why I like talking to you. You always make me feel good about myself!”

So successfully had I bolstered her sagging ego that I decided I needed to label the session. And that’s where I got the twice as much moniker. Anytime anybody shits on a lover, that lover needs to hold his or head high and then hit the attacker with the tried and true twice as much volley! You feel bigger…and he or she feels smaller. Mission accomplished. Dump me will ya? Let’s see the next time your dick gets hard or your pussy gets wet! It’ll probably be a while!

So much for my Doctor Bill anecdote. Have a look at TIFFANY (The Tush), the new girl at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281). What a worthy candidate – especially if Tiffany actually has that booty. Only your visit will reveal the truth.

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On many occasions, I’ve reported about a changing of the guard at one Asian incall or another. Maybe baseball players were indentured servants of a sort who could only move from team to team with great difficulty before the advent of free agency. But Korean escorts surely aren’t (or these aren’t). That’s for sure!

Whatever…today’s switch involves some of the cutest Asians I’ve ever had the pleasure or reporting on. And it happened over at ASIAN VIP (646-391-2639). It would be hard to recover after the exit of AQUA and JUNE (though they will return in the reasonably near future). But their replacements PENNY, JESSICA and new-to-New York EVA are so beautiful that only they could make you forget about the on-vacation goddesses of ASIAN VIP.

You don’t believe me? Check out their pix.

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playersclubSo guess what movie was on HBO tonight. Yup! THE PLAYERS CLUB! How many times have I referenced that movie as an avatar of “the life” on this blog? And here I go doing it once again!

I awakened from my nap (after having some fun…geezers like me need our sleep) around 11:30 PM tonight and turned on the tube for a little entertainment. And that’s when I saw it on the Time Warner guide. It’s been a while and I just had to watch.

Well…I wasn’t that impressed the first time I saw the film – and my opinion hasn’t changed much after seeing it just an hour ago. The basic premise that our heroine was working her way through journalism school – and that the job itself was a means to an end – at least for some of the girls who work strip joints? No sale! I don’t see it. If it’s a means to an end…it’s a means to a dead end. The only future I’ve ever seen (with an occasional rare exception) which didn’t involve more “entertainment” work or moving on to ownership, would include a man coming to the rescue.

Sometimes that man is somebody they meet at work (a slippery slope indeed). And sometimes, it’s a guy they met outside of work. Whichever…this is the only exit strategy I see. Meaningful work in the mainstream making anywhere near what they earn at the club (or incall) is rarely in these girls’ future.

But I digress. Now I’m reviewing the world I see around me rather than the melodrama I just viewed on my TV screen. To its credit, the movie does portray some of “the life” accurately. And there’s some serious eye candy – and even a decent acting performance or two as well. But when you get down to plot – and the moral of the story…there really isn’t much to grab hold of. Yeah, the booties are a lot phatter than the plot. But again…as a “day in the life” kind of deal, there is some entertainment value in the glimpse into the “entertainment” business.

Moving on…you’ll notice the blog looks like I just decked it out for Christmas. Talk about an orgy of color! Yeah, I kind of overdid it. Ya know…like a young girl going to Ricky’s to spend her first paycheck. The funny thing is…I went into wordpress.org to buy the premium package so I could add all the color – and ended up discovering within a few minutes that I had the capability all along. It’s just that the wordpress platform isn’t as user-friendly as blogger. Thus, it took me a few minutes to find all the template html so I could change it.

Whatever…the net result looks like a Spandex track girl from back in the old days (when Spandex track stars worked the street). And considering the generally lascivious content of this blog, maybe it’s appropriate. Sometimes a girl wearing too much make-up and too little clothing works…even though you know it’s not a class act which is tenting your pants. For the foreseeable future, I’m leaving all the color. It befits me.

 

fight_for_condoms_in_pornAfter posting yesterday’s entry – and reading the comments guys left on the subject – I decided that an old for-hire piece I wrote almost 20 years ago for SCORE MAGAZINE would be a good feature for today. Bear in mind that this is somewhat dated…and with a fictionalized story all part of the assignment. But mostly, the fundamentals still apply – which is why I copy and paste it today.

I’m a circumspect type of guy. If I want a car, I spend days test driving several vehicles, talking to anybody I can find who owns the model I might want, basically discovering everything there is to know before making the purchase. Stocks or bonds? Forget it; I’m even worse.

So it comes as no surprise that when my recent divorce was finalized, I had yet another herculean task at hand. No, I’m not referring to “test driving” several women before acquiring a new model (although that wouldn’t be a bad idea now that I think of it). I’m talking about condoms and the choice of which would be the right model for me.

 Moving to the real task at hand, I picked up the Yellow Pages in my hometown (New York) and looked up condoms. Sound preposterous? Not quite. Condomania, a store in Greenwich Village, promised to have all the information and models any guy could need to make an informed decision. And the store was quite a revelation. Imagine walking into a retailer whose wall is filled with some 40 unrolled, blown up condoms (yes, they actually use an air compressor with 40 nozzles to keep the condoms erect), of all different makes, sizes, shapes, thicknesses, colors, textures etcetera. And in the course of a few hours, the friendly saleslady gave me a totally enchanting orientation in rubber use.

Unfortunately, jumping into the proverbial waters was somewhat more complicated than I’d expected. I mean… having been married – and faithful – for fifteen years, I hadn’t donned a raincoat for all that time. And truthfully, before that period, I wasn’t real big on rubber use in the first place.

Hence, two dilemmas stood foremost on my mind the moment I was set free to roam with the fairer sex. First, would I be able to successfully consummate the sex act with a condom – as I had a minimum of experience even in the pre-AIDS era? And second, recognizing the definite need to acquaint myself with the product, which condom would be the one I wanted?

Well, let me tell you, now that condoms are a must for everybody who isn’t in a monogamous relationship, the manufacturers of this product have gone stark raving mad developing new models to satisfy (and titillate) the growing number of consumers interested in purchasing their safety device.

Truly, my first visit to the drugstore left me baffled as to which of the myriad of choices to buy. There were ribbed condoms, studded condoms, colored condoms, flavored condoms, lubricated condoms, ultra sensitive condoms, condoms with nonoxonyl-9, long condoms, wide condoms, condoms with an extra-wide head, and almost every variation you could think of – and then some – to confuse an already befuddled buyer.

Totally confused, I bought a three-pack of whatever and then vowed to do some serious research on the subject. If I were to embark on my new social life with at least some measure of success, I needed to know about all this stuff.

First stop: the history book. I was curious about who dreamed up this deal – and when. Well, right way, I found conflicting reports and some very outrageous stories concerning the development of the condom. One source divulged that condoms date back to Egypt – 2000 B.C. in fact. And if that seems unlikely, the reference continued to claim that early French cave paintings, dating back to 200 A.D., depicted men having sex with a condom.

But another source claims that Roman soldiers were the first people to use condoms. While pillaging and plundering their way through the countryside, the soldiers used dried sheep intestines slipped over their engorged members to protect themselves against several sexually transmitted diseases running rampant in their culture.

Around 1500 A.D. (the source continues), a farsighted man named Gabrielle Fallopious developed a linen condom (I bet that felt good) which he tested on 1100 men, very few of whom contracted syphilis while using his disease preventing sheath.
 By the 1700’s, condoms were in wide use but apparently not very effective in preventing conception. Benjamin Franklin’s 53 illegitimate children were certainly a testimonial to that. But when the Goodyear Brothers developed a method to vulcanize rubber, the modern condom was born. Mass production of an effective safeguard against disease and pregnancy was well on its way.

Regardless, my little jaunt into condom history was a nice diversion for a minute or two – but not really what I was looking for. Which condom of the myriad offered would be for me was really what I was looking for.

Now this is complicated, so pay attention, fellas. This is information you really should know. For starters, condoms are made of only three different substances. The first and most popular is latex, the non-porous vulcanized material from which the condom gets its nickname (a rubber). Over 90% of condoms sold today are made from this material – and for a good reason. It’s strong, elastic and non-porous enough to prevent the transfer of disease causing microbes – HIV included – or so the medical community thinks.

However, several of the condoms on the wall reflected a new development to accommodate comfort for the male – the flare-tipped condom. Anytime I’d used a condom in the past, I’d always had a problem sliding the rim over the head of my penis. It just seemed that the rubber was too small, and usually, I’d lose my full erection before I finally cleared the cock head to unfurl the rubber (a much easier task) down the length of my shaft. So the countless models with flare tips offered by almost all the manufacturers seemed like the ticket.

ån˚ The second material used in the manufacture of condoms is sheep intestines. Once, the Cadillac of the condom world, Natural Lambskins and Four Ex’s were considered the premium condom on the market because of their thinness and sensitivity. But that was before the AIDS era. The intestine is a more porous shield than latex, so much so that the medical community does not recommend their use in the prevention of AIDS. It fears that the tiny Aids virus may be able to slip through this more porous substance.

Add to this grim fact that latex condoms can now be mass produced with the same sensitivity as the lambskin product, and the financial consideration that lambskins are very expensive, and you get a configuration whose market share is hanging by a thread. If it doesn’t prevent the transfer of disease, it isn’t any more sensitive than a latex condom, and it costs three or four times the price, who the fuck needs it? And the third material used for condoms is a recent development, the polyurethane condom, called The Avanti. It’s thin, strong, and heat conducting, making the guy feel almost like he’s riding bareback when he isn’t at all. But while the manufacturer claims its safety, the not-so-stretchable polymer is difficult to rate according to the current water or air pressure tests most manufactured condoms are subjected to before packaging, leading some to mistrust the hype and go with something tried and tested.
”LD† And so for me, the first decision had been made. It was the latex condom I was after. But which kind? There were just so many. I went to the condom wall and read each and every piece of advertising hype next to the blown up rubber.

Now the most basic condom you can buy is the Trojan Red, an unlubricated latex tube with no reservoir end. Similarly, the Trojan Green, the same condom as the Trojan Red, only with a reservoir tip, is another traditional favorite. Apparently, this is the condom of choice among hookers because they’re cheap, strong, and tasteless during oral sex (except for the unavoidable taste of rubber). But later for New York’s working girls. Any guy I know would rather spend the few extra pennies to have a more pleasurable union.

“Easy,” said the girl behind the counter. “Just keep a tube of KY jelly handy to lubricate the tip of your condom when inserting your penis, and you’ll have guaranteed lubrication without discomfort. And then the basic Trojan works for both oral and vaginal sex.” Hey! I was starting to get “it.” (But one word of caution: Never use an oil based lubricant like Vaseline on a latex condom. It weakens the rubber.)

Another option was a condom with nonoxonyl-9, a caustic substance which kills the Aids virus (and almost anything else that comes within a mile of the gunk) on contact. While these rubbers are great for preventing HIV transmission during vaginal and especially anal sex, they’re hell on a girl’s throat during oral sex, and often hell on a guy’s penis once it comes in contact with the nasty stuff. I just knew that stuff wasn’t for me, and the sales girl agreed.
“If you have problems with spermicidals, you definitely don’t want to go near nonoxonyl-9.”

A word to the wise was more than sufficient. While it was clear that the monoxonyl-9 rubber is effective in preventing the transmission of the AIDS virus, I was more fearful of having my wiener fall off if I came near the substance than anything else. No nonoxonyl-9 for me!

And then there was all the information about sensitivity and the actual thickness of the condom itself. Obviously, the thicker the rubber, the less likely it is that it will break during sex. All the manufacturers boast super-sensitive, super-thin yet super-strong models, but anybody with half a brain knows that the thicker the latex, the less feeling for the male partner. Clearly, it’s a trade-off. For me, I felt that making sure everything was lubricated during the sex act was more important than the actual thickness of the rubber. Really, if a rubber is going to break, it will be more likely that the breakage will come from continuous thrusting without proper lubrication, than it will from my wearing a thin but totally government tested condom.

But on the other hand, I don’t buy that “this rubber is so thin you won’t know you’re wearing one” malarkey from any of the manufacturers. If I’m going to wear a condom and lose sensation in the interest of living to a ripe old age, then give me one of those bad boys with some thickness to it. Why take a chance?

While the advertising hype on rubber thickness was lost on me, the pitch on size and shape wasn’t. The old one-size-fits-all doctrine never made a lot of sense. One visit to the boys’ locker room could tell anybody that. And let me tell you, in today’s day and age, there’s a condom to fit everybody.

From the standpoint of size, most manufacturers carry a Maxx or Magnum model, almost all of which are not only 15% longer, but 15% wider as well. Well, that’s great for the super-hung in the crowd but as a guy with a more or less average sized penis, I feared that unless I pulled out right after intercourse while my cock was still big and bulbous, the condom might get lost in my partner’s vagina if I felt the need to cuddle and caress after the sex act while remaining inserted.

The picture was getting clearer; I wanted a latex condom, with a flare tip, and a non-spermicidal lubricant I was on my way to sexual nirvana.

Recognizing that name brands don’t really matter very much, I was content to purchase a model type, rather than a name. But the search wasn’t quite over yet because condoms also come with ribs or studs, sometimes on one side, and sometimes on both, to enhance both partners’ pleasure.

The ribbed condom almost looks like a pair of corduroy pants, except the ribs run around the circumference of the condom and not lengthwise like they do in a pair of slacks. And rumor has it that these ribs, sliding in and out of a vagina can drive a woman crazy. Umm…sounded very interesting.

But then there were the studded models, with little points of rubber sticking out almost like a studded snow tire, yet another version to enslave your lover. The Roughrider, manufactured by Contempo was the daddy of the ribbed condoms and looked as much like a tool of sado masochism as it did of sensual love.

And then of course, there were racks of flavored condoms – chocolate, banana, strawberry, and whatever, presumably to entice your lover to relish the oral act even more.

Well, after careful consideration, I chose the Lifestyles Xtra Pleasure condom. Lubrication but no spermicide, a bulb-like shape at the head, and ribs down the shaft worked for me. And on first use, I was truly impressed. The rubber went on easily, afforded a lot of stimulation due to the loose fit over the head (one of the advertising come-ons whose veracity I shouldn’t have doubted), and the ribs got my new lover off very quickly. (At least, that’s what she said.) i was totally satisfied that I’d made a good choice.

But before I left the condom rack, I do have to tell you about the female condom displayed. What an awkward piece of shit. I think I’d rather fuck a love doll than a real live woman wearing one of those cumbersome numbers. The girls behind the counter told me that the contraption was really designed for safe anal sex originally, and then got readapted for its current use. The female condom is not a big seller; one look should tell you why.

Before I left the store, I went for one more purchase – strawberry flavored dental dams. What’s a dental dam? It’s a 6” x 6” square of latex a guy puts over a girl’s pussy before he eats it. Sound nuts? Hey! What’s good for the goose ought to be good for the gander. If guys have to wear condoms during vaginal and oral sex so the girl can be safe, then girls should have to deal with the idea of having their pussies eaten through a piece of latex. ‘Nuff said.

Although I’m not a big fan of differentiating among products by brand name, no study of condoms would be complete without at least a brief overview of the many manufacturers in the industry.

In America, Trojan and Lifestyle are the leaders, both of which manufacture several models to custom fit the needs of the user. Contempo, following close behind has unique packaging and configurations like the aforementioned Rough Rider, and the big, jet black Midnight Desire condom models.

But the U.S. isn’t the only country which has condom manufacturers.
Durex, Ramses, and Sheik are manufactured by London International, a British firm commanding a big international market. And Okamato, a Japanese manufacturer, with a complex line including Sagami (and their type E which is the only condom studded both inside and out), Crown, and Beyond 7, leads the market in Europe. The corporation claims their condoms are 38% thinner and just as strong as the competitor’s, but again, this is all advertising hype. Only trial and error will tell the real story for each individual.

Anyway, it’s clear that whatever model or brand name you choose, the condom industry has certainly expanded and diversified in its attempt to both service the world’s needs and clear a profit at the same time. And in my estimation, they’ve done a hell of a job of it. I am now prepared for sex in the New Age. Armed with their products, I feel safe and secure and rest assured that I can still have fun – and live to be 100 too.

simpsons-condomsThe other day I visited one of my favorite playmates. As per usual, we followed a familiar routine. Ya know…a little catching up on gossip…a little physical foreplay…a little of this…and a little of that. And then it was time for the main event.

I whipped out the rubber…opened the wrapper…and checked to see in which direction to unravel the sheath. From there, my fiance took over. With fingers from both hands, she unrolled the bad boy a couple of inches…stretched out the condom…and then slapped it audibly over the head. From there she unfurled the raincoat down to the base and beckoned me forth. The entire activity took maybe 10 seconds from start to readiness. We (and she) got it down!

In fact, there are a lot of things I like about this girl. And mastering the art of dressing a guy up for the party isn’t the least of those. Nobody gets a condom on quicker and more efficiently than Bertha (fake name…obviously). She does it pro-style.

But really, I shouldn’t use the term “pro-style” for her when I think about it as there have been times (and you car dates will vouch for this) that my partner will gently place the rubber on the head and then dive to seamlessly roll the condom over the ridge and continue on her intrepid path until the apparatus has been rolled down to the hilt. And all with her mouth! Now that is what I call “pro-style.”

I like when a woman takes the initiative. And if I were a girl, I think I’d get good at this one little task because I know that guys often need help in that area. We’re not that good at putting on a rubber. Yet not all women have considered the importance – nor have mastered the art – of wrapping it up.

Take Gertrude (another fake name) for example. Dirty Gerty is a hot number…with an awesome body. But when it comes to readying the raider? Brutal! Hopeless!! If you can’t do it yourself, it won’t go on…and you won’t get to partake! Fortunately, I myself have mastered the art of wrapping it up. I’m no expert, mind you. But when push comes to shove…I’ll get to push and shove. Not knowing how to get a rubber on my own equipment is not one of my many problems.

Ya know…there’s a  lot of talk about teenage promiscuity, abstinence, pregnancies, birth control and all that jazz. And I don’t know if high school girls (and guys for that matter) are actually educated on the art of wrapping it up. But it seems that that would be one of the most important courses you could offer a schoolboy or girl. The rubber has been part of our species’ reality for a long time. And I don’t see that changing any time soon. So it would make sense to take the 101 course. And that goes for students and everybody else as well! The world has more than enough people already. Siring more in an unplanned fashion is folly. So the message? Wrap it up! And don’t depend on anybody else to do the wrapping for you. You gots to know how to wrap it up yourself. That’s the meaning of self reliance right there. Just ask Ralph Waldo.

And speaking of wrapping things up…here’s two slices of cheesecake to wrap up this entry. First comes CANDACE…looking good to me. You can find her at JEWELS (347-595-4518)And next comes KARA once of LOVELY ASIAN fame…and now working at DREAM GIRL (646-276-0229). 

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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!

In the beginning, this blog was both an emotional outlet and a labor of love. Selling adult ads was never my calling. Writing – or anything which involves expressing your soul through your art – has always been my driving force. And so…I took time out from being a highly compensated ad whore to write and manage this blog.

And that (having a blog with which to express myself while selling ads the other 90% of the time to make the real money) was great until all my ex-friends went to the pokey for selling (drum roll) the very same ads that I was selling. Commissioner Kelly didn’t have to tell me  more than once! I stopped “middlemaning” between escorts and media outlets immediately. One small problem: That reality suddenly turned my emotional and artistic outlet into (almost) my sole means of support! So not only was the blog my emotional and artistic salvation…but it became my monetary salvation as well!

Then today happened. DENNIS HOF is considering hiring me to work for him to essentially…go around to his 7 places of business…take pictures…and blog away in much the same fashion I blog here. Now this would be a pretty sweet deal for an aging douchebag the likes of yours truly. Just driving around the desert all over Nevada…visiting the oases…taking pictures…and probably staying over. SUHWEEET!

One problem: this blog! I can’t be in two places at the same time! Theoretically, I could spend two weeks here and two weeks in Nevada every month. But the plane fares would eat into my paycheck substantially. And I’m not that crazy for flying in the first place.

Or I could simply mail in the Hof blog and do it all from here without ever meeting anyone. But then it would just be a freelance gig…which isn’t a bad thing – just not a fun adventure which having this anchor precludes. Talk about raining on my own parade!

But if I didn’t have this blog? I’d blast off in a second. Who in my position (loser retiree) wouldn’t? Well anyway…you never know about a job until you actually have it. And you never know if you want it until you do it for a while. Look what happened with me and the Village Voice. I quit after one week!

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.

asianschillin

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!

luna1_fs

 

pamela2_fs

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

dominica4

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.