Avoiding getting old is impossible. But remaining young at heart isn’t. So every once in a while I go back to school to study pop and youth culture. Maybe I’ll watch MTV or TMZ…or like yesterday, I’ll check up on Billboard’s Top 100 songs.  If you want to understand today’s youth, that might be the best place to go.

Number 1 was a strange tune about a young girl who doesn’t sweat not having a perfect body – just so her favorite song has that bass! I got it though I can’t say the song spoke to me particularly. Anyway…number 2 I can’t remember…but #3 was the education. It’s performed by a trio of girls only one of whom I recognized as one of the “Arthur Godfrey’s” on this millennium’s version of  “Amateur Hour.” It was Nicki Minaj, ex hood rat turned rapper turned plastic fantastic beauty queen! Now we’re talkin’.

The tune is called “Bang Bang”…as in…

Bang bang into the room (I know you want it)
Bang bang all over you (I’ll let you have it)

You get the idea. “Into the room!” Can I get an amen? This ethos (the “into the room” ethos that is) speaks to a phenomenon I used to call “hoochie culture.” Now I’ve decided to relabel it “escort culture.” Wanna know why so many outer boro girls go into the business? Just watch this video. It’s a virtual subliminal recruiting ground where everything sexual (and nothing else) is glorified! In fact, the tune is hooky…and the video stunning. Poop culture on display notwithstanding..it would be difficult not to be seduced by the presentation. I’d have “gotten” it 50 years ago…and I get it today!

Down to number 14 on the list, I found another example of the genre entitled “Anaconda”…also by Nick Minaj. It’s a mad ghetto track featuring Nicki at her most titillating –  bragging on her phat booty – only to be answered by some dude who says his anaconda only goes for girls with huge ba-donk-a-donks. Hmm! Wanna know why all these girls are suddenly getting booty jobs lately? Just check out “Anaconda!” It’s right there…unabashed…up front…and in yo’ face!

After going through the top 100 and watching videos of maybe a dozen or so, I did a little research on Nicki Minaj. Her staccato rap in the C section of “Bang Bang” is rhythmic, rapid fire and hypnotic. There’s actually something there with Nicki’s talent. I also remembered she has a big phat booty…and after hearing all her lyrics, I decided to make sure she was born with hers. I mean…I was just about to become a Nicki fan despite all her douchebag antics on the “Amateur Hour” until I came to discover the deal breaker. Ms. Minaj is bragging on a fake booty.

This is where youth culture and I go our separate ways. Call me crazy…but by me, if you’re gonna brag on your phat booty and how that milk shake brings all the boys to the yard…maybe you should be born with that phat booty. Buying it doesn’t count!

More important and honestly…even if I had a huge dick, I don’t picture myself bragging about how blessed I was. Just not my style. And if it was a fake giant dick? Double down on that. It just makes me feel like all Nicki ever wanted in life was to have a big phat booty. And then when she had the money to buy one…it was all she could do to not climb to the top of Mt. Everest to scream at the world “Suck my phat mother fucking booty, y’all!” Not attractive. I’m sorry.

Back to the point. I visited one of my favorite girls last night and as usual, both parties were spent after our rendezvous. Said individual is in her 20’s, dark-skinned and an exemplar of the hoochie/escort culture I just described. She’s definitely a hard twerker. After the session was over, I related part of the day’s activities…the part about going to Billboard chart school, making note of “Anaconda” and Bang Bang” as the two most instructive tunes on the Top 100.

“Those are my jams,” she exploded as my fiance involuntarily dropped a deep knee bend like it was hot and then gyrated and twerked her approval of my knowledge. And right there was when I came to understand why I stayed in school…or at least keep my never-ending thirst for knowledge. So I can relate to hot young girls and if nothing else come off like a “cool geezer.”

Enough of that! Moving on to some nuts and bolts…BLUE SKY ASIAN  (646-455-8682) has a new girl named SASHA…who’s sporting a sweet pair of DD’s (probably store-bought – what can ya do?). And HANA has a couple of really nice new pix. Hana’s a very appealing woman…by the way. I just thought I’d mention that.

Anyway…here are the videos of the  two aforementioned songs…pix of Hana and Sasha, and finally (drum roll) a shot of a young Nicki Minaj before all her surgeries. Barely recognizable. Yup! Another example of Pamela Anderson Syndrome: Build it from the bottom up and you’ll be just fine.


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Continuing with their unique marketing style, HIYAKO (212-679-3681) is featuring a special “NURSE DAY” today. All the girls will be decked out in their hottest nursing gear for the intense titillation of all those who dare subject themselves to all that stimulation. Not to worry! There are nurses on duty if you have a freakin’ heart attack. Haha!

Anyway…there’s a naturally busty new girl named RING RING (never heard that name before)…another new cutie named ANJI…plus IEYKOBUSTY MONA…and GINGER with some exceptional new photos – which are waaaay better than mine.

Anyway…here’s da noisses! Enjoy.

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Years ago when I drove a taxi and knew little or nothing about the escort world, bars were the hunting ground I frequented in what was mostly a hopeless attempt at real – or even physical – bonding. In short, I spent way too much time and money for too little pussy – and even less meaningful intellectual intercourse.

But still, there were moments when I did get “callbacks” from either cute or intelligent (mostly the latter) women I met along the way. And while almost never did the object of my predation embody both of the aforementioned attributes, there was a girl named Terry…as in…Terry Batista, an ACLU lawyer and coincidentally, the granddaughter of the infamous and ruthless dictator who preceded Fidel Castro. Clearly, she was an exception to the rule. Terry was both pretty and intelligent…and it made sense and rendered her lineage acceptable…that she was doing underpaid, underappreciated, and poorly paid work on behalf of the have-nots in American society after her grandaddy had killed numerous citizens of Cuba.

Anyway…Terry was really the catch of the day in East Village bars. Like…what the hell was royalty doing drinking in the shitholes us losers stumbled in and out of? Loser notwithstanding, the girl took an interest in me. Not everyday did the descendant of an infamous head of government meet up with an actual cab-driver whose observations on the taxi industry were appearing in the Times, Daily News, and New York Newsday. And she was curious.

But Terry really preferred my homey Bob – at least physically. And I knew that. So after an afternoon date at the dog run with me, Terry and her pooch bonding, I called Terry and played my very own finger-picking version of “You Are My Sunshine” on my guitar – and into her phone answerer while I knew she was at work.

Well…maybe a couple of weeks passed with no communication (I didn’t see her in the bar and I didn’t want to push up too hard), when I found Terry at the Coyote Ugly late one night. “So how’d you like my musical message?” I couldn’t resist but ask. And her response told the whole story. “Oh! That was you?!?!” she declared with a confused, embarrassed, and almost disappointed look in her eye. I knew in an instant she’d wished it was from Bob. Her expression screamed “that was the most romantic message ever! But it came from the wrong guy!”

I really didn’t know whether to be complimented or insulted. And I still don’t now! All’s I know is Bob got laid – and I didn’t. I never saw or heard of Terry after that. And the only time I ever saw Bob was at 6:30 AM on a Sunday morning while driving my cab. He shot me a look like I was competition for his girl rather than the old “Yo, taxi! Wassup? Pull over! I got a phatty in my pocket!” So much for bro’s before ho’s!

Whatever…what are ya gonna do? Scoring the Homecoming Queen is a gauntlet. And coming in second? Doesn’t count. This ain’t the olympics and there ain’t no silver or bronze medals! You get laid – or you don’t! And I didn’t.

Rumor has it (at least in some circles) that I like black girls exclusively. I know that there is some truth to that statement. I do like black girls. But that doesn’t mean white or Asian ladies escape my discriminating eye.

So last night I was supposed to see a nubian goddess but when I arrived, the manager gave me the bad news: Another guy was gonna leave if he couldn’t see my chosen fiance…so I got usurped. Undaunted, I took the bad news in stride and said “Ok! I’ll see So-and-so”…who was sitting on the couch. So-and-so just happens to be white. The manager looked mildly surprised but not to the point where he couldn’t say “OK! So-and-so it is.”

Now So-and-so is a formidable woman of repute – and no shrinking violet for sure. Still, she was taken aback. When we first met many moons ago, the girl was flirtatious until she heard the 411 on me: Billy likes black girls. After that she was still friendly but always made reference to the rumor. Me going into the room with her was tantamount to a gay guy doing a girl!

Uncharacteristically, So-and-so was nervous – which is ridiculous considering her popularity and bravado…not to mention who was making her nervous in the first place (that would be me). She confided her stage fright at the outset but I put her at ease and we had a nice visit. But still, she demonstrated an ambivalence.

“Ya know…my boyfriend knows you,” she admitted. “Really,” I responded. “Who’s your boyfriend?” Well…it turned out that he doesn’t actually know me. He knows of me. The dude reads this blog religiously and she felt a little strange. Plus…for a guy who’s supposed to like black girls and black girls only…it sure seemed like I was engaged in the room. Hard to know which way is up with $ Bill – if you ask So-and-so.

Anyway…the story brings to mind an anecdote from my past back at good old Action mag and the Voice and Press, all media outlets for whom I sold ads to a magnificent tranny named Mercedes. Mercedes was one of the hottest she males on the scene at the time. The girl was totally passable and very beautiful as well. How beautiful was she? Check this out!

One Saturday I was locking my bike on the Upper East Side on my way to see some beast of a tranny for her ad money. This particular “lady” looked more like a linebacker for the NY Giants than she did a woman. So anyway…as I’m locking the bike I see this ridiculously gorgeous woman sashaying down the street. In an instant, I could see that all eyes were fixed on this goddess and I decided that I would be the one guy who wouldn’t stare down this awesomely hot babe. And so… I kept my eyes on the chain lock and just as I was slamming the bolt shut, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Billy? You don’t say hi to your friends?” I looked up. The beautiful woman everybody was staring at was Mercedes. That’s how beautiful a tranny Mercedes truly was.

Moving on…one day I went to visit the girl (which I did over the course of a couple of years every week) when Mercedes announced with some confusion that she’d fucked a girl the previous night. And I mean a girl girl…if you get my drift. She was at once proud but also concerned. Could she becoming a tranny lesbian? And it looked like she wanted to know my take on the turn of events.

I did my psychiatrist thing: “What were the circumstances during which you actually had sex with a woman? How did that work?” I began. And it wasn’t long before I got the full story. She’d met a couple (actually a married couple) who wanted to do her. The guy was very handsome so she figured to hook up with the guy and let the wife watch. But before she knew what had happened both she and the hubby were in the wife’s vagina!

At that point I stopped her to ask “So what was the turn on? Did you like the feeling of pussy or…” and before I could even finish she interrupted “The guy was really handsome and he had a big cock which was rubbing up against mine.”

I stopped the psychiatric session right there. “Honey! You got a boner because you were turned on by the guy. And even though you were in a vagina, your desire for the dude and his dork trumped the moment. You’re still gay…or straight (if you consider her female)…or whatever you wanna call it. Don’t sweat it! Nothing’s changed.”

With that, she appeared greatly relieved. Before conversing with me, Mercedes wasn’t sure which way was up. But after? She understood.

So what’s the moral of the story here? Not much. First, I like all beautiful women…not just black ones. And second, if a tranny is inside a vagina and gets hard because she’s rubbing up against another dude’s dork…and that’s the part that’s turning her on…she’s still gay – or whatever you call it. There’s been no switch in sexual orientation. If she awakened the next morning thinking about how soft and wet and wonderful that woman’s pussy felt? Then there’s a shift. But if conversely, her first conscious thought was about the handsome guy and his big stiffy? You get the idea. I’m out.

Oh! And here’s a song entitled “Which Way Is Up?” to wrap this entry.

 

Of all the bull shit euphemisms in the escort business (ya know…like monger, provider, client, companion and even the word escort itself), I have to hand the gold medal to one I heard from a girl I know a couple of days ago. Asked what she does for a living by a guy who picked her up in the supermarket, she responded “I’m a caretaker” and then added “and a designated shopper.” Wow! Talk about creative! She went on to say that the would-be lover took her out to lunch and when asked why he was acting nervous, confided that he was married and hadn’t had sex for 7 years! If that’s not a testimonial to the virtues of bachelorhood, I don’t what is!

Anyway…she offered to end his streak of bad luck – or inactivity (you decide which) for a modest (or not-so-modest) payment and the man balked…which caused her to complain bitterly (to me) about “these cheap time wasters!” I pointed out that he’d picked her up in a supermarket – and thus had every reason to hope that his wit, charm and offering of free lunch might get him to the Promised Land without some sort of crass request.

To that rational statement, she countered that on many previous occasions, she’d turned “amateurs” just like this guy into paying customers. And I gotta tell ya…a pro is a pro is a pro. Her mindset is so geared into deriving a living from the natural attraction that one person has for another that she’s actually asked me why I don’t run an ad and be an escort, too! I dunno…let’s see. Too old, not handsome enough, not buffed enough, not hung enough. Plus…99% of people who call male escorts are gay guys and I’m not gay. Is that enough reasons? Whatever…I’m complimented that she thinks I’m such a spud that I could turn a buck in her line of work. If she figures old ladies would pay for my body I can only appreciate her friendship that much more!

Back to the point…caretaker, eh? How’s about ya take care of this, baby? The funny thing is…when we’re in the clinches, it’s not a “caretaker” she asks me to call her! It’s only then that she wants to hear the real truth!

mone-still.w529.h352.2xIt’s October and we all know what that means. World Series time. Sooo much excitement. I’m living on the edge of my chair! NOT! It’s pretty much a total snore for me. I’ve watched one entire baseball game this season. And it wasn’t even the major league baseball version of the national pastime. It was the Little League World Series. That’s because “the natural” has arrived – a once -in-a-generation talent in the unique form of a 13 year-old girl. And I just had to watch! I love an underdog! And when it’s a girl excelling against boys on a level playing field? I’d heard the hype and it was time to see for myself.

Mo’ne Davis (the aforementioned 13 year-old natural) throws 70 mph. She strikes out all the boys. And she’s very cute – and verrrry intense on the mound. Her facial expressions tell it all. The girl means business! Talk about a made-for-prime-time phenomenon…Mo’ne is the one. What a great story! Even major league millionaires bow in her presence. She’s just too humble and appealing! Mo’ne stands for what baseball is and will always be. Tons of fun and life lessons for kids. And adults as well!

I was on the phone with my cousin the first time I saw Mon’e’s Chevy commercial. And that was good. I didn’t hear all the mushy Madison Avenue text about family and country. I just got Spike Lee’s sensibility (he produced the commercial). First Mr. Lee showed Mo’ne swishing a half court basketball shot (which took exactly one take)! Then…a rifle shot of a liner she hit in a batting cage. And finally… the intense look on Mo’ne’s face as she was about to pitch to a batter. And right there’s when you know that this kid is no hype.  The fact that Mo’ne is sweet, pretty, smart (an honor roll student) and articulte just brightens the picture. No photoshop required.

Anyway (and now for a little context)…hopefully, Mo’ne won’t grow no big boobies. While they might work in the escort world, they’re dead weight on any field of athletics.

Check out Spike’s commercial – and then his 16 minute mini-doc on Mo’ne. Tell me this kid isn’t great!


 

 

4An orgasm is a funny thing – especially when you have it with a partner. Here you are in the most intimate of settings and more often than not, it’s accompanied with no verbal intercourse. You’ve been talking and talking with your prospective hookup leading to the magical moment and then when you finally get there and are about to ascend to the summit…all that verbal intercourse eludes you. And this goes for not just the guy – but the girl as well.

I have a pet peeve with the women I can somehow convince to sleep with me. There is rarely if ever any verbal intercourse accompanying the sexual kind when she reaches her peak. This muddies the waters. Often, it’s difficult to know when – and even if – the woman makes it to the top. Thus, you can’t know exactly which technique or movement is ringing her bell. A little play by play might be in order.

I had an old girlfriend who in all honestly, I didn’t especially like. She threw herself on me (both literally and figuratively) and I just went with it. It was only during intercourse that I enjoyed what she had to say. “Yeah, just like that!” she’d purr. And it wouldn’t be long before the woman would be groaning her approval – signifying the obvious. She was having an orgasm. But still…no verbal confirmation!

Now it’s not that easy to have an orgasm and say anything intelligible. I’ll grant you that! But I’m starting to get it down -even if the lines are relatively pat. Generally, I’m given to surrendering to a woman’s omnipotence at the magic moment – as in “This is too much pussy for me. I can’t hold out any longer!” Or similarly…”You’re just too much woman for me to handle. I gotta blow.”

Of course, I have to gauge my partner. The latter line works better with a woman who’a a little insecure. But I’d never use that one on a conceited girl. It would only serve to blow up her already inflated ego further. The former works for everybody except maybe a woman who’s had  some babies. She could misinterpret the “too much” part as her being too big down there – a reality no woman wants to face!

But I digress. Just a few nights ago I was with a super hot woman to whom I announced my impending orgasm. She’d gotten hers and it was time for me to get mine(s). “Good,” she oozed. “I want to hear it!” This I thought was cool! In retrospect, she might have meant a lot of huffing and puffing and groaning – as in decibel level. But I interpreted it as her requesting that I talk my way through it. And so she got the whole nine (centimeters): Loud and verbal! And no doubt, the woman felt powerful when it was all over. Or she didn’t. Who cares? I felt drained and that’s what matters most to a selfless guy like me!

A final note: Where does the “whole nine” expression come from? Answer: During WWII, aircraft machine gunners’ ammunition clips were nine feet long. So when it was time to riddle the objective with multiple bullet holes, the gunner’s flyboy homies would cajole him “Give ‘em the whole nine!” Kind of works as a sexual metaphor as well when you think about it. Whether it’s nine yards…nine feet…nine inches…nine centimeters…or even nine millimeters…you want to hit it like you mean it as you reach the peak. And you might want to accompany it with a little verbal play by play as well. It serves as icing on the cake for a hungry girl with a sweet tooth. I mean…it’s human nature for one partner to want to know that he or she really satisfied the other. So if you like that partner why hold back? Give her the whole nine…both physically and verbally…and guaranteed, she’ll come back for more! At least, that’s the way I figure it. But then again…what the fuck do I know?

P.S. If you recognize the play by play guy pictured in this post you win a prize. A half price ride on the bus or subway!

I’ve often said (or maybe just thought) that the best kind of girlfriend to have is one who doesn’t look that great in clothing – but morphs into an astounding goddess when she takes them off. You and your girl walk down the street and nobody notices. None of your friends want to shag her behind your back. And that’s because only you know the incredible beauty that lies beneath. It’s an awesome deal.

Many years ago, I reported to a dungeon to take pictures of one of the doms. Maybe five minutes after my arrival, the photo subject walked in fully clothed and my first impression was “How am I going to make this girl look good? She’s a curveless beanpole?” After a brief introduction during which I hoped I didn’t give away my trepidation, the girl excused herself to the dressing room and returned in her war gear. I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what lay beneath. Wow!

Fast forward to yesterday when I met ELENA from JONY (347-595-4518) – a girl the boss wanted me to photograph. I wasn’t impressed. Skinny blondes don’t do it for me. I excused myself and got on the phone…”This is your new VIP girl? Really? I wouldn’t pay two cents to go in the room with her,” I reported to the boss.

Whatever! I was there to do a job and not assess. Now this wasn’t the first photography subject to whom I wasn’t attracted. And if you’re any kind of professional that shouldn’t matter. So onward and upward. We began taking pictures with Elena in her plain black dress…an outfit which did nothing for her. Not only that…the girl was as stiff as a board. This wasn’t my dream stripper/photo subject who knows how to vogue for the camera with absolutely no coaching (as in Kimora yesterday). We were getting nowhere.

After a dozen or so shots which I knew were worthless, I asked “What do you have on under the dress?” Within seconds I got my answer: Nothing…but a fabulous naked body which the dress had completely camouflaged. My mind flashed back to the dom from years before. “Aha. It’s Jennifer all over again. Now I’ve got a photos subject.”

So we took some topless shots – and then a few more in a different outfit which similarly displayed her awesome  gifts. Suddenly, the hackneyed old cliche “Ya can’t judge a book by its cover” had some new meaning. The dress was a bad cover. But the text within was hypnotic!

Check it out. I’ll spare you the crappy photos with the back dress and cut to the prime stuff. I’m sure you’ll agree that Elena is a sizzling Siberian siren – looking for a hot guy to thaw her out! (Yes, she’s actually from Siberia. And I added the cheesy tag line.) Enjoy.

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Call them ladies’ men…or sex addicts…or horn dogs. It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. Just dudes who have to have sex constantly – or they can’t function. But what happens when they’re heads of state? We saw what happened to Bill Clinton. And we’ve heard about Benjamin Franklin. But none holds a candle to John F. Kennedy, the world’s biggest horn dog. He paid the ultimate price!

That JFK was a pussy hound is no secret. But the extent to which he womanized was unknown to me until I read “Killing Kennedy” by of all people Bill O’Reilly. Kennedy humiliated his beloved wife constantly. I mean…this guy was fucking everything that moved! She’d go away with the kids every weekend and the fun would start. Marilyn Monroe…Angie Dickinson…wives of his associates. JFK’s libido knew no bounds.

And how did Jackie’s sex life fare in all this? Mr. President pounded her quickly and then fell off immediately leaving her unsatisfied to the point that she confided this fact to a mutual friend who advised she confront him. Which she did. But while he became somewhat more attentive to her needs, that didn’t stop him from fucking around. Boy oh boy! Put that guy on the Springer show and the audience would boo him off the stage! And he was our President!

Call me crazy but I dunno! Fucking around like crazy is one thing if you’re unattached. But doing it in the face of a woman who loves you and with whom you took “the vows” is another. It’s one thing if your wife doesn’t want to have sex with you anymore…but another if she’s craving your companionship while you’re off fucking the world’s sexiest movie star. I wonder if that day in November 1963 wasn’t Karma Day for JFK, and that’s what happens when you’re at once a horn dog and a head of state! Bad things! Clinton was lucky. He only got embarrassed. JFK had it worse!

Well anyway…I’m certainly no moral compass certified to judge. I was just amazed to read all that. Or maybe I was more envious than amazed! I’ll have to check with my shrink!

And speaking of women who can drive a man to infidelity (which I wasn’t), here’s a pic of a new girl over at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723) named KIMORA. This is the woman you’ve been practicing for. She not only talks the talk…but walks the walk as well (so they tell me). Check her out!

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…your dreams were your ticket out – or so the song goes. In this case, the welcome back is for DREAM GIRLS (646-276-0229). Apparently, they dreamt their way out – and then back in…and with a mostly new roster. I only saw LUCY and naturally busty JAY (both looking very good). Here’s the complete lineup.

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And over at VIP ASAIN (646-391-2639), there have been some changes as well. Here’s their current roster. Enjoy.

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No, I didn’t fall in love…or hit the lottery…or even have great sex. The light shone from above and the angels sang when one of my photos subjects actually gave me a tip! And that’s like Haley’s Comet – except it happens every 86 weeks – and not every 86 years.

It’s probably no secret that when I go into “the room” for a private meeting, there’s a quid pro quo which dictates I don’t pay! That doesn’t mean it’s a free-of-charge deal, mind you. There’s some sort of trade – hence the quid pro quo part. Legend in my own mind that I surely am, you’d think I might carry it one step further and not  feel the need to tip the girls. But I’ve driven a cab before (and thus know about tipping and working in the service industry). And so I decided a while back that a reasonable and uniform gratuity would be the right thing to do. That way the girls couldn’t sit around and compare notes to discover that one girl was getting a bigger tip than another. You get the idea.

So anyway…I was over at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723) yesterday to take pictures of a new girl named SORINA, who turned out to be a tall, majestic and naturally blonde Romanian beauty. Seeing the camera slung over my shoulder, SOPHIA seized the moment to get her pictures taken again.

More often than not, the boss hires me to shoot one girl – but another one (or two or three) want to join the party which as I’ve said before, leaves me with the quandary of either telling them outright I’m not there to take their picture – or to simply oblige them in the interest of discretion. Maybe the boss will hit me off – and maybe he or she won’t – citing that I wasn’t there to take that girl’s picture. Regardless, I generally take the time to shoot everybody. I mean…it doesn’t cost me anything and I’m there already. So what the hell!

And that’s the way it was with Sophia. If nothing else, I’d get to see her naked (she switched outfits right in front of me). Well anyway…to get to the point (finally), when we were all done, Sophia hit me off with an Andy Jackson! And that’s when a light shone from above and the angels sang. Not that I’m gonna retire off her tip but at least, the thought was there. I liked Sophia the first time I met her…and I like her more now! Can you figure out why? Plus…she has a totally ripe body. Sign me up, Sophia. Your wish is my command!

Moving on…over at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409), you’ll find a hot, young and brand-new-to-New York girl named NICOLE, who the phone girl promises is the bomb! And ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) texted to let me know that CHLOE is already gone and has been replaced by an opera singer named ARIA. (No, I’m kidding. I doubt she actually sings opera. It’s just a reference to her name.)

So without further ado…here’s the cheesecake. Let me know which Sophia pic you like better. I’m attaching two…so she gets her money’s worth!

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

summer-color6I haven’t seen the girl for a while but somehow, an old friend named Summer – and one of the most bizarre declarations I’ve ever heard an escort make (it was hers) – came to mind yesterday.

Summer was the first girl I ever photographed when I got my job at Action Magazine many years ago. While not the prettiest offering at the house, Summer had these giant natural tits whose size and sumptuousness could not be denied. So I put her in my Yankees baseball cap for “the shoot” and once the boys started calling, we became fast friends. And though we never had sex (there’s an explanation for another day), the two of us would jump in her car and ride off to the country fairly often. To this day, Summer is the only escort I’ve ever known who owned a vehicle and liked to travel. And BTW…because she was so busty, I actually got her a photo shoot and feature in Voluptuous Magazine, a jerk off rag I was writing stories for at the time.

So anyway…enough background! Several years later…and several ago (I’ve known Summer for over 16 years), I was hanging around with Ms. Busty and her buddy (who I call The Poonjab Princess) when Summer began lamenting the loss of her girlfriend. And we’re talking a breakup – not a death. I wasn’t even aware that she was bisexual but it didn’t exactly come as a shock. A lot of the American girls in the NY escort biz are bi – or even gay. But then when she complained with a considerable amount of emotion that her girlfriend took “the dildo” with her, I had to shake my head and laugh.

I mean…what’s special about a particular person can’t be replaced. But a dildo? Just go to the adult store and buy the same model and bango (so to speak), you’re back in business. I guess how the administrator handles said unit might have had something to do with it but that’s not the impression I got. It seemed more like if Summer just had the dildo…she’d have been fine without her ex! Beeee-zarre!

And while I’m on the strange…a reader sent in a comment just yesterday declaring that he prefers breast implants to the real thing! Now that’s one I’ve never heard. Isn’t that like saying you prefer fucking your love doll to a real woman?!?!

Whatever…different strokes for different folks I guess. But by me, I wouldn’t stress losing a replaceable sex toy or a skin-covered clincher softball. But hey…that’s me. I guess I’m a square after all! Here’s a couple of shots of Summer. One is actually from the day I met her!

 

SONY DSCA lot of the guys who read this blog live a normal mainstream life…that is…until they enter the forbidden zone – a KAMP or incall. That’s their dirty little secret – the netherworld oasis that keeps them going through all the drudgery that is their jobs and/or marriages. Law enforcement might view this activity as criminal. I view it as therapeutic…better than seeing a shrink in many ways – and at about the same price!

Anyway…I’m the exact opposite of a lot of my readers in that respect. The netherworld is my norm…and the mainstream my aberration. This I was recently indiscreetly reminded of by a fuck buddy/e-mail pal. She has a substantial chip on her shoulder with a remedy I suggested might lie in her quitting the occupation. Her reply was to the effect that I was overanalyzing the subtextual content of her e-mails which in her opinion came from my being waaay deep in this world. In effect, she was saying I’m a bigger ho than she is. Whatever…the fact is that my normal is the nether escort world…and my exception the mainstream. She’s not entirely off!

For no particular reason, my past weekend (if you exclude Friday night) was 100% mainstream. I spoke to nobody in the escort world…and went to no place where there might be an escort. And of course, I have a few observations…as that’s my thing.

Saturday brought the soup kitchen where of course, you’ll never find any escorts. You’ll also rarely find anybody who can make you laugh. As I doled out the meat loaf and ran the production line as per usual, I couldn’t help but notice via the conversations all around me that I was out of my element…and transported to an Upper East Side singles bar. The people to my immediate right were talking enthusiastically about their respective jobs. It got boring quickly.

Plus…the cook fucked up the meat loaf. One pan was so greasy there were puddles every time I carved out a slice. And another pan was burnt to a crisp making it very difficult to carve out anything – even with a hammer and chisel. Worse…Al the dishwasher played hooky which meant…no  tunes! Score: Escort world 1…mainstream zero. At least I can have sex with a pretty girl while I get mocked in the former! Not a particularly rewarding Saturday. We had a lot of extra food again this week so I took some home and essentially had a Thanksgiving-like day. Lots of eating and sleeping. And no escorts.

Sunday brought a family brunch. My brother was in town for his 50th high school reunion (yikes)…and he assembled a reunion at a fancy schmancy restaurant. I was prepared for what would come: Discussions about on-the-dole loser – or even successful up and coming – offspring, my cousin’s accomplishments in the photographic field, my other cousin’s financial woes even though she’s a lawyer and inherited a cool million plus when my aunt died, and my brother’s golf game. And let’s not mention the inflated menu! I knew that was coming as well.

After perusing the selections, I chose what amounted to an egg McMuffin! Yup! A few mouthfuls which included an egg…a mini-slab of sausage, some spinach, and a little fancy cheese…for a mere $17! I felt like I was ordering room service at the Waldorf. Knowing this would be a Dutch deal, I anted up $25 into the pool with barely a grimace and by 1 PM was back home and watching football for the rest of the day. And still…no conversations with escorts.

All added up I spent two entire days in the mainstream. And what are my observations? I laughed a lot more when I was a musician. But only when I was in a black band. The rock and rollers I played with were as unfunny as they were untalented. That’s not to say that rock and roll musicians are without talent. Just that the ones I got involved with were. And that could be a reflection on me. Or maybe I just like black music better than white…played it better…and as a result, found myself with a more proficient r & b player than I did with the rock and roll guys.

Whatever…who cares? None of this means anything. It’s Monday. For better or worse…I’ll be back in the escort world in a few hours. Probably where I belong come to think of it.

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In fact with the exception of MILA, the ALLURING RUSSIAN (646-237-2794) girls are like the casita girls in Queens back from my Action days. They switch out on a constant basis. I’m not always that vigilant in following those changes because the boss doesn’t call me up to let me know…and not all the new girls have photos. Regardless…here is what I think are the current new girls at Alluring Russians.

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You would think that predicting which escort will make money versus one who probably won’t isn’t that difficult. Just one look should tell the story. If the girl is curvy and pretty, it’s a no-brainer. Not so curvy and/or pretty? Not looking good on the fiscal front. But to my surprise, my experience has taught me that predicting who will succeed and who won’t is as problematic as figuring out which Dow Jones stock will go up and which will fall.

A while back, there was a girl on this blog who was a little long in the tooth and lumpy. I didn’t find her all that appealing. Yet she made money hand over fist – and at $500 + per hour! Never could figure that one out. And there was another girl who had an excellent gym body and a phat and round booty. But she wasn’t that big on top nor was she very pretty. And her skin was kind of fucked up. She’d cake on tons of makeup to cover up. It didn’t matter. She made a bloody fortune.

Now take my A-list for example. There’s a girl on there who I think is ravishing. And she’s sweet and sexy as well! But Miss Honey sits on her ass most of the shift. By her, I’m full of crap because despite being featured on that list, she’s not making money. She thinks I’m all talk and no walk (the blog didn’t deliver). I don’t get why she isn’t busy. I think she’s the hottest thing since the tubeless tire!

Conversely, there’s another featured A-lister who I personally don’t find nearly as hot as the girl who’s not cashing in. Whatever…girl #2 called me yesterday just to say thanks. She’d entertained two charming guys that very day – both of whom called her from that A-list. And she just wanted to voice her appreciation!

I just don’t know what inference to draw from all this except the one originally stated. It’s difficult to predict who will succeed and who won’t in the escort business. I’d like to tell y’all that it’s all about performance, attitude and how the girls introduce. And to a certain extent, it is. But with these two examples from the A-list, the guys’ decisions were simply based on what I’d said and how they liked the girls’ photos. It had nothing to do with presentation, introductions or attitudes!

To the girl (or any girl) who finds herself sitting more than working and wondering why? My best advice is to get the best pictures you can…introduce with a smile on your face…and do your very best to leave the customer happy and content so he’ll come back to see you again. That and keep fishing. Nobody hooks a fish if their bait isn’t in the water. And all that metaphorical bull shit is to say…keep the faith and put in the hours. It will all work out in the end. Sometimes a little patience can get rewarded.

ocean-cargo-container-shipThe girl is pretty much gone with the wind (in Montreal and retired I believe)…but her legacy endures owing to one unique life experience she shared with me.

Jeannie was (or is) one of two Guyanese sisters I met way back during the first week of my Action employment. Initially, I did not like the woman. She was loud, coarse, pushy and not especially attractive. But that changed many years later when somehow (not worth describing the circumstances) the two sisters and I had a little after-hours play time together.

Besides having the most perfect breasts ever (something you couldn’t possibly know when she was clothed) I discovered Jeannie had a soul – and a gentle way about her bedroom demeanor which came as a total surprise.

Well I guess she felt the same about me and directly afterward and apropos of nothing, the girl began to describe some of the details of her life – most of which were more or less stereotypical. Ya know…early sexual abuse which left her unable to bear children…and total deafness in one ear which to the best of my recollection was caused by a boyfriend’s abuse of the physical kind.  If nothing else, I suddenly understood why she was so loud!

Segueing quickly from her tales of woe (as it wasn’t really like some sort of psychiatric session…just kind of shooting the bull), Jeannie described her early experiences as an escort…specifically from back when she was a relatively young girl (of age I assume but who knows). Living in Guyana at the time, opportunity knocked in the form of merchant mariners who sought a little companionship from the local ladies.

Now normally, you’d hear stories about seamen putting into port and going hog wild spending all the money they’d earned while out at sea. But this was different! Through some contact or other (she didn’t say exactly how), the girls were shuttled out to international waters in skiffs by cover of night and actually scrambled up vertical rope-ladders to settle in for the week with the boys as they sailed to Martinique…unloaded their cargo…and then returned to Guyana.

Jeannie recounted that some of her colleagues would bounce from guy to guy for the eventful week. But she preferred to find the Captain – or at least some sort of officer – and take care of him and him alone for the duration. Sometimes, the money wasn’t as good…but the wear and tear factor was much more to her liking.

And was customs a problem when the sailors put into port? They had that covered! As soon as the sound of “land ho” rang from the quarterdeck, the sailors stashed the gaggle of gals in the engine room where the customs officials wouldn’t find them! And as soon as they’d cleared the country and were back in international waters, the girls ascended to resume servicing the seamen! Talk about a lot of up and down beyond the obvious. The girls could have called themselves “Yoyo”!

As Jeannie related this chapter of her life, I felt like a kid around the campfire transfixed by a counselor’s ghost story. Normally, I’d hear anecdotes about near misses with vice cops or idle malignant gossip about colleagues when rapping aimlessly with an escort. And here out of nowhere was a tale for the ages. To this day whenever I think about Jeannie, I have a vivid mental image of a young girl climbing a vertical rope-ladder to the deck of a freighter – out in open water – under cover of night.

Exactly why I thought of this girl recently is anybody’s guess. Maybe I have too much time on my hands. Or maybe it’s because I still talk to her sister. Whatever…the story about servicing the seamen might be the most entertaining escort tale I’ve ever heard.

But before I go…a commercial for my friends at HIYAKO (212-679-6779).  GINGER, a slinky cutie whose picture I actually took (so you know it isn’t completely photoshopped) has returned and as before, wants to meet up with a few prospective boyfriends. Sounds like a wo-man with a plan to me! As a reminder, here’s her pic!

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Ask yourself this: What makes the perfect body? For some guys it could be giant breasts. For others…a crazy badonkadonk…or a tiny waist…or long legs…or 400 pounds like a friend of mine likes! I myself can appreciate the female form in a myriad of configurations. I’m easy like that.

Well anyway…I photographed a new girl at JEWELS (347-595-4518) last night who in my opinion has the perfect body. She’s angular and chiseled while at once soft, smooth and natural. Even the most beautiful of women have imperfections. Maybe their lower legs are a little skinny…or they might not have the perfect hourglass shape even though everything else is mind-boggling. But not CANDY, the new jewel. The girl is perfection. She required absolutely no photoshop. Candy’s kind of sweet and cooperative as well. What’s not to like?

As we were just about to wrap it up…in walks another new girl – an Eastern European damsel who is the spitting image of Susan Sarandon. It’s remarkable. Same face…same tits…same legs. She could crash a party as Ms. Sarandon. I make this very observation out loud and then tell the girls my Susan Sarandon cab story.

One Sunday I picked up a couple and a baby all of whom had just exited Knickerbocker’s at 9th and University in the Village. The woman was wearing some sort of quirky bobby soxer outfit complete with a varsity jacket which actually looked good on her – not tacky or overstated at all.

This was back before the era of mandatory partitions. So every shift it was me and the passengers at very close proximity. Good for communication…but not so good if the guy behind you was looking to relieve the cabby of his money! That’s why shortly thereafter, the TLC mandated partitions. Too many guys were getting killed during robberies.

So anyway…the woman looked familiar. I asked her “Do we know each other? Or are you somebody famous?” I really wasn’t sure. In New York, people from your past and/or celebrities flag you down on an almost daily basis. Ask any cabby. Back to the question. The fare picked up on my sincerity and responded “maybe both” with a kind of twinkle in her eye. She and her baby and friend were going to Tribeca West and as we crossed 9th Street, I pondered the identity of my passenger. Where did I know this woman from?

Then suddenly it hit me! Schmuck! You have Susan Sarandon in your back seat. When we arrived at her destination, I acknowledged SS’s celebrity: “I figured out who you are at 9th Street and 6th Avenue. And by the way…you were amazing in Bull Durham. It was a pleasure to be your servant!” She smiled and asked me if I was a Mets fan. I forgot I was wearing a Mets cap that day.

Back to last night…the girls loved the story. And then I took a few shots of VERA…the lady who looks like Susan Sarandon. She didn’t like her outfit and wants to shoot some more at a later date. But I figured I’m here so let’s do it! Tell me Vera doesn’t favor Susan Sarandon. Got an SS fantasy? Close your eyes and choose VERA.

Moving on…I was also up at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409) yesterday, where the boss sat me down and paraded the girls in front of me. First she tells me that SCARLET is collecting a division of regulars. She’s become the pied piper of Korean incallville. Occasional regulars will come and see her for the first time on a Tuesday…and then return the next day. She’s that intoxicating. In walks Scarlet. I see why. Very cute girl. And shy…though she boasts the body of a Playboy bunny.

Then I meet KARA. Also a pretty girl with a kind of sexy/husky voice. Kara’s first picture is her best…but now they’re using a new one to keep her fresh. Korean incall girls are like that. They seemingly live to take new photos.

And finally…a ROSE  a rose is a rose over at HOT LIPS (646-309-0453)…even if that rose used to be named TIFFANY. I’ll never figure out why girls want to change their names in midstream. It seems like it would only serve to befuddle their regulars. Probably part of the reinvention process, I guess. Like new photos. That’s all I can figger.

Did I say finally? One more. For the third time in a week, a new girl named CHLOE (at ROSE HOUSE – 347-624-3305) is now on the blog. Talk about confusing! Why is “Chloe” suddenly the fake name of choice for Koreans? Beats me.

Whatever…here’s the aforementioned goils.

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…on the photography front today. Hence…no mindless musings on the state of my senility. In its place? Cheesecake…in the form of Gentleman’s Choice cuties!! Yee-hah! First we have SHAYNA, a gorgeous glamazon. She’s big and busty with the face of a super cute and sexxxy spinner! And next comes PRISCILLA with the eyeball-spinning all-natural DD’s! Enjoy!

 
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Forty years ago I quit the road band I’d been touring with to come back home with an eye toward pursuing a more meaningful music career path! At the time, I knew nothing about The East Village – or the world of “escorts.” All I knew was I couldn’t stand staying with my mother and given that I had a few grand saved from the road, it was time to get an apartment. So I found a joint in The Voice and moved in for $160/month, figuring “This will do for the moment.” (Yeah, right! I’m still here!) All I needed was $320 to get the key. One month rent – and one month security. That was it! I remember taking my bank book to the realtor to convince her I was worthy. She stopped me before I could even open it to show her I was solvent. “No problem,” said she. “You have 320 bucks and you’re in. I don’t need to see your bank book.” Try that now!

Anyway, every top floor resident but me was burglarized in the first few months of my residence…and the guy across the hall got murdered by his gay lover four days after I moved in. Nice neighborhood. The upside? Ground zero for pot heads! You could buy your weed from any one of 20 hustlers on the block.

Two days after moving in I was introduced to the world of street walkers! “Hey honey, need a date?” asked the not-so-beautiful girl standing on the corner of 3rd Avenue and 12th Street. Silly me! I thought she was for real – as in…she liked my look and was hoping I’d take her out for a drink. It was only after a few steps and moments later that I realized she was a hooker.

Anyway…my friend Josh moved into an apartment on 13th St. between 2nd and 3rd maybe a month or two after I moved to 10th Street. I’d go visit and we’d watch a film crew shooting some crazy movie about pimps and whores and cabbies on his block. Pretty cool…definitely different from playing Holidays and Ramadas in Pittsburgh and Terre Haute and Richmond etc. We had no idea the movie we were watching the crew film would become a classic. Anybody ever see “Taxi Driver?”

In the meantime, I started writing songs with some crazy black dude who looked and acted like Little Richard – except he called himself “Tantalizin’ Jones.” He had a hot demo entitled “Sinkin’ In The Middle Of An Earthquake,” and a song (“This House Is Smokin'”) on the first BT Express album which was selling big time. So we sat down and wrote crap like “Troublemakers,” and “Walkin’ On a Highwire,” and “Move It,” all of which went nowhere except – Chubby Checker recorded and released “Move It.” I befriended Chubby’s manager and got a job playing guitar with one of his acts (“Buari”) who had an album that had just been released on RCA.


We only did two gigs before the label figured out that Buari was tone deaf. But we got paid to rehearse that summer for about five weeks. Our piano player’s name was Nat Grant, a jive mother fucker if ever I met one. Nat had played with Wilson Pickett (who apparently beat the band on a regular basis) and had great stories about Pickett jumping over trap sets to rumble with the drummer. He was a funny guy – but nobody believed most of his bull shit because he wasn’t a very good pianist.

Whatever…one day Nat said he just couldn’t make rehearsal because he had a movie part and was getting paid a grand for the day. Nobody believed him and Irving (the manager) almost fired his ass behind the bull shit. So Buari did the two gigs and faded away. End of story. Back to the movie set. Months later, “Taxi Driver”  (the movie) opened to rave reviews. I knew it was the movie Josh and I had watched the crew filming and of course couldn’t wait to see it!

So I’m doin’ the two dollar St. Marks matinee thing with my homey – a half-breed super down the block who was once a bouncer at The Fillmore East – and here comes the scene when Travis Bickle walks in on a bodega stick-up. And who does Deniro cap in the movie? Yup! Nat fucking Grant! That was Nat’s $1000 movie part. And we thought he was bull shitting.

So why am I telling you all this? I was lying in the tub soaking my back and shoulder and this is what came to mind. As good an excuse as any for an amateur hour guy like me!

Yesterday, I received two mutually exclusive pieces of feedback about this blog. The first came from a house owner who told me she’d read “somewhere” that guys take my endorsements as gospel…and that if I “A-list” a girl, the consumer can pretty much count on the veracity of my Dollar Bill Seal of Approval. That’s great…but hold on. Another individual e-mailed to inform me that a woman posted on this blog looked nothing like her photo and was a distinct disappointment in the service realm. And he wanted to know why I hadn’t posted his very negative comment. Hmm! Not so good on that one. The reality is that the general consensus about this blog lies somewhere in between these two opinions – hopefully closer to the former than the latter.

In the beginning, the claim that this site contained “all real photos…guaranteed” was the hook I used to bring readers. And 6 years later, I maintain that 99% of the girls pictured on this site are real. But that doesn’t account for photoshopping – which we all know can significantly alter the looks of the girls. And then there’s the issue of the girls’ service which I did not initially address. I never made any claims in that realm.

Contrary to what some might believe, I do not meet with the great majority of these girls privately and thus, really know no more about their performance than anybody else. If a girl makes the “A-List,” it is based on her looks and personality – both of which I’ve observed – in person. To answer what she’s like at service time, I refer you to TER or ADULT FAX… where you can read and decide what’s real and what’s paid-for.

There’s another reality I should mention which has rendered me less in-touch with the women who adorn the sidebar of this blog. Six years ago it was my job to sell advertising in bulk on behalf of media outlets the likes of  the Village Voice, Backpage, Eros, Cityvibe, Escort Magazine, She Male Magazine, New York Magazine and probably  a few others I don’t recall. In effect, I operated as an advertising agency for all these corporations. Then almost 2 years ago, the State Attorney General declared war on the escort business’s advertising infrastructure…and arrested several people I knew effectively putting me out of business except for this blog.

Via selling for all those media, I visited my clients on a regular basis (at least once a week) and saw the girls more often. That has changed significantly now that I just run this blog and have ceased being a middleman. And as a result, I’m not as familiar as I once was with the women who populate the sidebar here.

Having related all that, you can understand why you might find a rotten apple in this bunch. I do what I can but am under constant self-censure to operate within the bounds of the law. Still, I maintain that there’s more information here revealing the inside story on the escort business – and some juicy tidbits about specific girls – than on any other site on the subject. You like what I have to say? You read. You don’t? You move on. Either way…don’t expect me to be 99 and 44/100 % pure like Ivory Snow. I maintain that this site is an excellent resource overall. But to think I’ve experienced every girl and would or could report on her performance is way beyond what your expectations should be. In short, today’s message is as follows: Don’t blame a bad experience on me. That’s all I’m saying – except in 600 words. Take my recommendations with a grain of salt.

It should come as no surprise that girls talk about the guys in their life to other girls all the time. And they don’t leave out the gory details! Ya think guys can be indiscreet about girls? That door swings both ways. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard escorts talk about their customers. And mostly, if there was a site devoted to escorts reviewing the guys they see, you probably wouldn’t want to read your reviews. The girls can be very unforgiving!

As for me…I try to be as nice and easy-going as I possibly can where and whenever I fool around. I mean…for real! Who better for the girls to snap on than yours truly? Pin the tail on the honky would be a great game for them to play – especially given some of the stuff I write about on this blog. It stands to reason that if I can dish it out…I ought to be able to take it as well.

So anyway…there’s one girl who I actually like a lot. But she has no filter. And the last time I saw her, the woman actually recounted a conversation she’d had with one of her friends who’d asked what I was like in private. Her depiction came as no surprise – as it was about what I would have expected. But once again, I was impressed with how quickly and with so few words she more or less caught my essence. It’s not the first time.

I’ll give you a perfect example. President William Jefferson Clinton had a high level adviser who used to visit places in New York. (It was the same guy who actually put the President on the phone with a $200/hour girl just to impress her.) Hearing the story, I asked one girl I knew to verify the rumor. And her response? “Oh, that guy! Yeah, he’s a noisy hand job!”

Bang! In five words, she painted an extremely vivid picture of how this guy conducted himself in private. Escorts are really talented that way. They know exactly how to boil a guy down to his essence in ten words or less. I count myself lucky that my review was relatively benign – and that the girl who was asking was apparently interested in convening with me. Not for free, mind you but still, a victory of sorts.

Regardless, the bottom line is this: If you see a few girls at one place, you can rest assured that they sit and compare notes. And if you see somebody who’s worked there for a while but you haven’t experienced in private before, your reputation will probably precede you. She’ll know what to expect based on the rumor mill. Like it or not, that’s the reality. And to a lesser extent, it goes that way with “regular” girls as well. Just the nature of the beast. That’s why it helps to be a decent guy – or at least pretend to be – because if you’re a raging asshole, everybody is gonna know about it. So better to not be that raging asshole if you want girls to show you a decent time. Just my thought for the day. I’m out.

It’s no secret that as that kid who works at the candy store, I do occasionally enjoy a chocolate bar. I know you’re not supposed to shit where you eat but let’s be realistic! You only live once and I’m gonna grab the brass ring on occasion even if it could get sticky further on down the line. Grabbing that brass ring can be done in one of two ways: under the auspices of a house…or with an independent girl. Each has its advantages and disadvantages.

Sponsored by the house, I have a choice of beauties – a smorgasbord of international booty if you will. I come in as some sort of exalted figure usually – and have my fun almost drama-free. Which is to say…I don’t have to deal with the personal problems of whichever girl to enter her Promised Land. It’s a set-up and the fix is in. All in all a pretty good way to go.

With an independent girl, it gets more personal. There’s a relationship involved which means I am privy to her personal issues – and there to help her solve them. While there’s more meaning to our interaction, that personal drama can be a serious hard-on killer. At a house, the gorgeous creature before you could be the world’s biggest and most depressing loser…but you never know it. A distinct advantage I’m sure we can all agree.

Anyway…for a while there, I was pursuing the indy route – getting involved with women who actually cared for and depended on me for moral support. I got the benefit of actually having a girlfriend of sorts but drama like you couldn’t believe. So recently, I’ve shifted gears and gone the “Shallow Hal” route. I barely know the women with whom I rendezvous – even if we convene on multiple occasions. It’s kind of like having a gym/workout buddy. And that’s not such a bad thing.

But still…I establish some sort of rapport with my favorites. And while I’ve only rarely seen house girls out of their domain (the house), I’ve taken to pursuing e-mail relationships with a select few. It’s really designed to flirt and build heat before the next meeting – and not much more. For the record, I’ve established this titillating program with a grand total of 3 house girls in the past year or so.

Getting to the point of all this…I e-mailed my current #1 room and e-mail girl yesterday to say hi and lament that I missed her this week and was thus “jonesing” for her company. It wasn’t bull shit. We have what I consider to be a perfect relationship – within the parameters.

Whatever…the response came back. She’s in Miami – and on vacation with (drum roll) the other girl with whom I have an e-mail relationship! To do the math…there are 3 girls I’ve e-mailed in this manner in the past year. And wouldn’t you know it…two of them are in Miami together. Ouch! Fortunately, I only e-mailed one – and not both. So I’m not a total mutt!

In her response, my fiance of the day offered when she’d be back at her place of employment and that she’s anxious to see me – if she hasn’t been replaced by then. Fair enough! The girl understands that she’s special but at the same time, given who she’s dealing with, the woman never knows (and probably isn’t all that concerned about) when her #1 ranking will be usurped. Regardless, I can only imagine what the two had to say about me. I know…why would two young hotties on vacation even take two seconds out of their day to discuss somebody as insignificant in their lives as me? I’m kidding myself. But really…I’m not. I know how these girls work. In 30 seconds or less, the two boiled me down to my essence – and not necessarily in a flattering manner. What can I say? It comes with the extracurricular activity.

P.S. It is now 4 hours later. I returned home to an e-mail response which offered “How about I send you a pic of Nat and me making out?” Menages aren’t generally my thing. But I could definitely make an exception for those two.

Speaking of outer beauty…I think I should pause for the cause of championing the beauty that lies beneath the surface in that special woman. And here’s one right here. I always thought Norah Jones was a profound beauty words could never describe adequately.

 

rubenstienTalk about an ambulance chaser made good…Sandy Rubenstein, famed civil rights lawyer, would be the poster boy. He went from advertising in Taxi Talk magazine (looking for whiplash cases) to representing the highest profile civil rights plaintiffs in the country!

Believe it or not…I met Sandy Rubenstein many years ago. He was one of two lawyers who advertised in the aforementioned taxi newspaper – which happened to employ me. Every six months somebody from the office hopped the subway (or rode a bike) to downtown Brooklyn to pick up his check. And I was that guy!

Once hooked up with Reverend Al, Mr. Rubenstein dispensed with counseling for low-life cabbies and stepped into the big time representing black citizens who’d been beaten or shot and killed by members of the NYPD.

Whatever…apparently (and according to sources), Sandy is allegedly a big time pussy hound. He dresses in tight jeans and t-shirts and hangs out at strip joints looking to score with black and Spanish girls 1/3 his age. And he uses his influence and limo to seduce them. Now I would be a hypocrite if I criticized a man of his age for pursuing a hobby of that nature because let’s face it…that’s exactly what I do (minus the strip club and the limo). But here’s what I will criticize him for: Hooking up with a scum bag like Al Sharpton.

In case you missed the news…Sandy attended Al Sharpton’s 60th birthday party at the Four Seasons a few nights ago and took home a 42 year old woman who’s an executive at Al’s National Action Network. And now she’s accusing him of rape! Hmm! Sounds a tad suspicious to me…like the bull shit with the French guy and the gold digger maid! (Incidentally, Sandy has lawyered up with the same barrister the French guy hired.)

I love this story if for nothing else the irony. Sharpton, who is almost single-handedly responsible for Sandy’s success, is the same guy who gained fame and notoriety accusing a Westchester cop of rape when he knew damn well that the guy didn’t do the crime. Still, that didn’t stop him from not revealing the truth because that truth would have effectively robbed Al of the limelight. And now…Al’s wingman is in the same predicament as that white cop the difference being that Al isn’t the guy making the accusation.

You’d think that maybe Al might defend his boy’s honor. Hardly! In fact, I see Sharpton distancing himself from the entire mess! What a guy! What a dog shit demagogue. Al’s employee went home to Sandy’s pad at 3 AM?!?! Do you think he might suspend judgement and give Sandy the benefit of the doubt? But more important…why can’t we have some upstanding citizens represent on behalf of people of color? Why do we get these low lives instead? What a fucked up world!

Regardless…I feel for Sandy (sort of). I’d hate to be accused of rape…labeled an aging lothario…and have some indiscreet douchebag tell the world I’m “hung like a cashew.” (Yup! That’s a quote from one of his ex-paramours.) I shudder at the thought. Advice to Sandy: Stick to pros. They just want your money for the hour. They’re not gonna accuse you of rape only to be exposed as hookers to their families in the media. Much safer route. Just sayin’.

Everybody changes over time. Not a whole lot, mind you – but at least a little bit. The high school bully might go back 40 years later and apologize to his prey and have the urge to look out for him rather than taunt the guy. Me? I never used to read. And I mocked and disdained the homeless. Now I read all the time and feed the homeless. That’s what you call evolution – or maturation. But today’s agenda is not to get all philosophical. I’m going to trace the evolution of what I find physically attractive in a woman – because that subject is what’s near and dear to this blog’s theme.

Genetics is a mother fucker. It determines a lot of what and who we are. My daddy was a breast man. He had three wives and each was bustier than the previous. And as genetics would dictate…I was a tit man, too. During my adolescence, all I could think about was tits! And my brother? He was ridiculous! My mother once confided in me when I was maybe 13: “All your brother does is stare at women’s chests. I don’t know what to do with him!” Junior phi beta kappa/summa cum laude notwithstanding, he obsessed over a big pair of knockers. (He also loved Superman and Star Trek on tv.) All geniuses have their quirks.

Back to me. In college, I had a really cute girlfriend. She had spunk and fire…a pretty face…and beautiful skin. But she was almost flat-chested. I tried to block out my desire for a busty babe but it was hopeless. I’d wake up dreaming about a perfect set of 36DD’s! To this day, I often wonder whether I would have married her if she had a big chest. Apparently in my world, the sum total of a woman centered around the size of her breasts. But slowly I began to evolve not just in the breast size realm – but in the racial arena as well. All the jewish girlfriends I had in my early 20’s gave way to black girlfriends. I don’t really know how it happened – though I do remember my first black better half.

Her name was Carol…and I met her at the St. Marks Bar and Grill – along with her tranny friend who lifted her shirt and shoved her tits in my face. Carol was not the prototypical first black girl for a white boy. You’d think something like…slim, caramel-colored, thin-lipped. Ya know…barely black. She was on the other end of the spectrum. Carol had a shaved head waaaay before it was in vogue…and very African features. Thick lips…broad nose…very dark skin. I didn’t care. She was beautiful.

We went home and got busy. She was nice but I didn’t like her breasts. They were kind of saggy and not that huge. Her big, round and very solid booty – which many guys would have died for – was more of a curiosity than anything else. Today, I’d have gone wacky for her rear end. But back then I was a breast man. Booties weren’t even a secondary sex organ for me. And thus, after a few dates, were were over.

I told a friend about the quick affair and mentioned Carol’s prodigious booty more or less as an afterthought. But it wasn’t an afterthought for him. He went crazy with jealousy. Booties were his thing.

Several years later came the emergence of what I call booty culture. Ya know tunes like “The Thong Song” worshipping that particular body part and gradually, I found myself turning around to check out a pretty girl’s rear end after she passed me in the street. And sometimes I’d awaken dreaming of fondling a smooth, round booty! What was happening? Yup! The evolution of $ Bill.

As all this was happening, I discovered something else. Dark skin turned me on more and more! There was no girl too dark for me. I knew that some black people felt superior to others of their race because their skin was lighter. I didn’t get it. If anything…the darker the better for me. Why discriminate?

I think of what I like physically in a woman now versus 40 years ago and it has definitely evolved. Show me a girl with 36DD’s but a flat ass…and another woman with a phat booty and a small but attractive chest and I’ll go for door #2. That never would have happened in my youth.

I’ve also grown to appreciate what’s inside a woman more than I used to. But truth to be told…I was always like that. Physical beauty wasn’t the entire package. Spiritual attractiveness is and was important as well. I’m just not that shallow of a guy.

Well anyway…this is obviously a post about nothing…and I don’t know where I’m going with this. All I can say is that I’m now not just a tit man…but a booty man as well. And I’m more concerned with quality than quantity, too. Bigger doesn’t always mean better. And chemistry is important as well…but I’m not teaching a science class today so that’s it for now. Leave me to fantasize about my next bootyful rendezvous with a dark and mysterious vixen. I’m out.

P.S. I’m now that I’m done expounding on that bull shit here’s a new pic of OLIVIA from LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409).

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I get a considerable amount of e-mails from guys asking about naturally busty Asians. And truthfully, there aren’t that many! But today I found one (or two actually) over at BLUE SKY ASIAN (646-455-8682). They just arrived in New York and I can tell you that they’re the shy and sweet types despite their prodigious endowments. YURI is maybe all of 5’…fluent in japanese…and a natural DD! TIFFANY is taller and slightly less busty but in very good proportion. And HANA has a new pic! Very excellent trio for sure.

TWINKLE (917-861-6600) has a new girl named CHLOE to round out their already exceptional roster. And here are the new pix none of which were taken by me as you can probably tell. They’re way too professional looking..

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pamela-anderson-earlyYou see that picture to the right? Guess who that is (or was). Yup! A young Pamela Anderson before all her surgeries! Yikes! Granted, it’s not very flattering…and there are others from just a few years later in which she looks a lot better – but not nearly the real life Little Annie Fannie Pam has become! I like a woman with curves but come on!

The question for today is…when does all the sculpting become too much? I mean…raise your gland if you’re not down with over-the-top plastic surgery! By the way…this subject comes to mind pursuant to yesterday’s “On the Downlow” entry which was about a girl who’s had almost as much work done on herself as Pam Anderson has.

I look at my list of recent playmates and they all have a couple of things in common. Like they’re mostly black…and mostly completely natural. When it comes to tits, ass and lips (and every other body part), I like them to be real. I’ll take a quality body part over a fake one every time – even if the fake one is huge and the natural modest in size. Call me crazy…but I just feel weird fondling silicone.

And I gotta think that a woman would be more impressed by my all-natural erection than a huge but obviously fake one I’d bought at the local penile enlargement clinic. What would that say about me if I went out and spent thousands of dollars to get a giant, fake dick? It would say I’m a no-confidence guy! And to me…I feel the same way about a super surged-up woman. She’s really an insecure little girl inside.

Here’s a little insight into the Pam Anderson syndrome psyche I’ve discovered. A while back, I had a “friend” who really had an awesome body – except for her chest. The girl had some old, worn-out, and I suspect never-very-attractive breast implants. A stone tit man never even would have considered her despite all her other amazing (and natural) body parts.

Whenever I saw Ms. Vixen for a hot roll, the first thing I’d do is squeeze her chest and say “wow. Big tits. I think they’re actually getting bigger!” Of course, I was just juicing her up to lubricate the wheels of progress. But it didn’t matter. She’d arch her back provocatively…shake her chest…and it would be off to the races. Pretty transparent but what the hell! It worked…for both parties so why not?

But when I try the same bull shit on a natural girl, she’ll generally laugh and say something like” I doubt it.” Somehow, the natural girl can sense the bull shit for what it is…not that it doesn’t work at least a little.

I myself have the perfect response when some girl says “I think your dick is getting bigger.” Instead of blushing a ridiculous shit-eating and what would be a totally deluded grin, I simply respond “it’s your fault. You’re the person who made that happen.” Which is to say…her beauty and technique are so without equal that they’ve actually elicited a larger than normal hard-on. And what could be higher praise for my partner?

Anyway…I know that in today’s world it’s very tempting for a woman to spend a fortune trying to have the look she’s always wanted. But the problem is the unnaturalness of her presentation is obvious. Ya just can’t have undetectable fake tits and/or ass. Anybody who can see or feel knows. And the surged parts are just not as hard-on inducing as the real thing.

So my message for the girls (and all women for that matter) is to do the best they can with what they’ve got. I like a little make-up, plucking and a nice hair-do. That stuff works for me. But all the surgery? Not feeling it, I’m sorry. And I get the idea that I’m not alone on the subject. Stay natural if you can. Just a better decision all around.

fkiwA few days ago, a member on a leading review site asked “Why go solo?” referring to a crowd favorite’s decision to leave her place of employment and work on her own. To me, the answers are obvious…but I’m getting the impression they aren’t to others. So here’s my take on the deal:

I can compare this decision in a parallel world – that of driving a taxi. When I drove, a guy had a similar choice to make. Should I work for a garage owner…lease a medallion and own my cab…or (god forbid) own the cab AND the medallion? I worked for a garage because I didn’t want to toil daily – or on a schedule – and I certainly didn’t want to own one of those yellow internal combustion stinkpots. So if I were an escort, I’d probably end up working at a house – or for an outcall service – rather than go it on my own.

Whatever….here are the economics of going independent versus working for an employer: With a boss, you get half the money plus all of the tips. In exchange for his or her take, your employer answers the phone, runs ads, and pays the rent. As such, the employee bears absolutely no financial risk. The worst thing that happens is the girl shows for work and sees nobody the entire day. But she’s only lost time – and not money.

If she decides to work on her own and thus take care of the phone, lodging and advertising…the girl starts at a significant minus and then actually begins to make money only after the first or second guy of the day (depending on the cost of ads, phone and housing). She also may opt to have someone else answer her phones while in the room to (hopefully) keep the clients coming while she’s indisposed. And that is yet another expense.

I know it’s starting to sound like “Why would anybody go solo?” I don’t know. Why do some cabbies opt for ownership? Same thing. Both independent girl and owner/cabby value their independence enough to take the risk. They work when they want and in the case of the girl…see who they want to see. And that’s a big one. When a girl works for somebody else, that somebody will usually insist that she introduce to all the clients – not just the ones she likes. As an indy, the girl can pick and choose. And if she’s hot enough, the girl can effectively weed out all the fat, disgusting slobs that make the job so brutal sometimes.

And as an independent, the girl can also avoid ugly work situations…like women she hates to be around…or managers who tilt the table in another girl’s direction or really…a myriad of botherations which constantly remind the girl that she’s a fucking employee.

If the girl is popular enough, the decision to go independent can be a good one. But not always. Take an escort who contacted me recently. She worked at a leading house for a long time and then decided to go independent. One day, I got an e-mail in which the applicant admitted she’d gone independent but wanted to return to the employment fold as the responsibilities of running her own show were wearing her out and adversely affecting her performance in the room. She wanted to know where I thought she should apply for employment. Clearly, the grass is not always greener on the other side!

In closing…I deduce that going independent is a personal choice. If a girl has a few bucks saved and is an organized individual, it can be a good option. But if she’s a slob with very little money in her pocket and a minute to minute throwaway phone, it rarely works.

Often, the “selfish factor” is what propels an escort to go independent. A girl will have a $2000 day (half for her and half for the house) and begin to fret about all the money she’s giving up in the process without considering all that the employer does to attract that two grand. In their sometimes self-absorbed minds…the boss is a slave driver. But the reality is the employer is more a business partner. The girl just can’t see it because the universe revolves around her and only her. THIS is an all pervasive reality in the escort world. Almost everybody “gets above their raisin'” in this business at some point. What are ya gonna do? Fortunately, whether a girl goes indy or stays with the house, she’s still available to you either way. So that’s some good news right there. Whichever side lies face up, the coin is there for you to enjoy.

Generally speaking, Best GFE does not provide me with a wealth of information or entertainment. Yet still, I tune in on occasion to see if I missed anything (or anybody). That or I’m curious what other guys have to say about girls I know as people – or as playmates. Well anyway…yesterday, I followed a link which led to another life (beyond being an escort) of a girl with whom I’m acquainted.

Now when I think of escorts-on-the-downlow, I’m reminded of the literally thousands of girls over the years who’ve freaked out when their faces or tattoos were showing in their advertisements. “Oh no! My boyfriend this”…”or my mother that”…or “my uncle goes on these sites.” For every escort willing to bare all and let her freak flag fly high, there are 20 who would rather completely anonymize themselves. It’s all part of their “out of body experience.” Which is to say…while the woman is there physically…her mind is somewhere else as soon as she hits the room with a customer. Some fake it better than others but let’s face it! Without the payment, very few of us would find ourselves with that companion. They’d be out of there in a flash!

Getting back to the point, via Best GFE, I discovered yet a new downlow posture in the escort business. And it’s a unique situation in which one of your favorite girls has attained some fame and notoriety as either a porn star or video girl (or video ho as some guys derisively call it) but still needs to escort to buy all the expensive stuff that comes with being a sizzling vixen. Often, we forget that these girls spend a fortune on make-up, hair, nails, surgery, jewelry and clothing to perpetuate their mythology. And without a sugar daddy, their fame and notoriety – whatever its magnitude – won’t cover all the costs.

Now they could go work flipping burgers at McDonald’s…but it doesn’t pay enough. Or they could get a job in the business world…but very few have enough education, training and/or experience to command the salary required. What to do! You guessed it! Hardly a huge leap. Everything they do in their show biz life involves seduction. They’re not on Bill Maher talking foreign policy! Easy leap and related field notwithstanding, these girls have egos. And letting the world know that they’ll spend time with any Tom, Dick or Harry does not fit neatly into the package.

The paradox of their dual lives leaves the girls in a “Catch-22″ position. They desperately need money to keep up the illusion…and could have that money if they’d just expose  their other lives. Guys would come in droves if only they knew. But the mere admission and the possible fallout in their other world prevents them from capitalizing.

The girl to whom I refer is in fact, a successful video girl. Her instagram page is filled with videos and photos of her with all manner of rappers. She even appears in a 50 Cent production! Yet weekdays, you can find her doing shiftwork at the local incall anonymously making ends meet. It’s kind of sad in a way…like the married gay guy…or the teenager who can’t come out to his parents.

And ya know…I can relate on one level. Down at the soup kitchen there are very few people who know about this blog. It’s not that I really care if they know…but then again…they might judge. I told the dishwasher what time it was a while back and it wasn’t long before one of the regulars (who was a decent looking girl) changed her attitude. So I can sympathize. But then again…if somebody told me “let the kitchen people know about your blog and you can make an extra couple of grand per week,”…I’d tell them in a second. So obviously, I’m not as closeted as are the downlow girls. But still…I get it.

The specific girl I write this about is a bit of a snob. Now I know why. The woman feels she’s above it all! Not the first time I’ve viewed the dilemma. What are ya gonna do? She has her problems – and I have mine. I’ll deal with mine…leave her to her own devices…and have the decency to not reveal her identity.

As an avid observer of human behavior, I often wonder (but only occasionally ask my volunteer friends) why they come to the soup kitchen every Saturday. I mean…what motivates a person to spend half of Saturday working for no monetary compensation after slaving all week for a paycheck? At this point I could only venture an educated guess. But while I don’t know about the other volunteers…I do know why I  show up every Saturday.  And here’s a couple of examples that will give you a window into my own particular motivation.

Despite the weather, we had a good volunteer turnout yesterday (though on balance the homeless found a place other than the kitchen to stay dry). Drawing duty as food line chief, I had a really good crew yesterday, and we were firing on all cylinders virtually from the outset. One of my waiter buddies walked up to say “Wow! You really got this crew whipped into shape!” Seizing on the “whipped” part of his comment, I answered “Yup! I’m a regular Simon Legree!”

“Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a  while,” he mused. Too tempted, I did my trivia thing. “And in which book do we find Mr. Legree?” I quizzed my buddy. He thought for a second and responded “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Bazinga! He knew the right answer! I continued…”And who wrote Uncle Tom’a Cabin?” His answer? “Harriet Beecher Stowe.” With that I gave him a high five.

Wanna know why I like volunteering at the kitchen? Because I can find educated people who know stuff. Now I’m not knocking escorts – or cab drivers for that matter. But for whatever reason…I found neither group to be particularly knowledgeable from my vast experience dealing with both. And right there is one reason I like to volunteer. If I’d made that reference at a cab garage or incall, virtually nobody would know who I was talking about.

And here’s another reason I volunteer. I know a lot of people with fucked-up children. I have a few in my own family. Ya know…30 something offspring who still depend on mommy and daddy to support them. Like…what the fuck is that?!?! In some ways, watching these dysfunctional situations develop has convinced me not to have children of my own knowing I wouldn’t have much patience for a loser. And that wouldn’t help me or the child.

Anyway…as part of my 7 person crew yesterday, I had two (actually three) Asian women. The two sisters (who I suspected weren’t sisters at all) I assigned the tasks of tray cleanup and salad person respectively. One was milfy and very nice…and the other (also very nice) looked substantially younger. Regardless, both were cooperative and essentially, a joy to work with.

Midway through the meal, I asked the salad girl “That’s your mother, right?” I knew that the age difference was about what a mother and daughter’s would be…but maybe they were friends or one was the younger’s aunt or something. But no, they were mother and daughter. So there’s another obscure reason why I like to volunteer. It gives me renewed faith in the rewards of parenthood and the youth who will be taking over our world! I made a point of pulling the mother aside to comment “It must be a constant source of pride and joy to have a daughter like yours.” By the look on her face, I could tell it was.

And here’s yet another less noble reason I like to volunteer – specifically at this soup kitchen: I like the meat loaf! One day while riding my bike up First Avenue on a Saturday, I stopped at a food line at 30th Street because it was short to non-existent – and I was hungry. The grub was pretty decent…the people very friendly…and I thought I might want to be part of the staff. But the boss didn’t need me. So I looked up volunteering on the web and found a place that needed help. It just seemed like the right thing to do. My Saturdays are not that valuable that I can’t take a few hours out to eat a good meal…meet some decent people…and help out a few individuals less fortunate than I.

When I first began volunteering, part of my motivation included the prospect of meeting a normal girl. But that seems to have fallen by the wayside. I have plenty of fun nowadays and see no reason to complicate my life trying to explain away this blog.

And speaking of this blog…there are those who think this blog is an exercise in self-absorption with no redeeming quality…and that I’m some sort of something or other on the fringes of flesh trading. You could argue that forever. But it would be difficult to malign me for donating my time, effort and at this point even expertise – at a soup kitchen. That’s for sure – and not a subject for debate.

Maybe next week, I’ll sit everybody down and ask them why they do what they do every Saturday. There should be some interesting answers. Until then…it’s time for CBS Sunday Morning. I’m out!

I was talking with an escort friend recently…a very good-looking woman who revealed that she’d just broken up with a boyfriend…and then went into some detail regarding the precipitating factors that led them to part. Not all that interested in the gory particulars, I switched the subject to how she met and hooked up with a guy twice her age in the first place. Being an older guy myself, that was of more interest.

So I’m figuring school…or a club…or in the room (especially given he’s twice her age). But that wasn’t it at all. She went on to tell the story:

“I was late for an appointment one day and couldn’t find a cab when I saw a nice-looking guy driving an even nicer-looking car. So I asked him if he’d take me where I needed to go…and that’s how I met him.”

I shook my head and tried to put myself in her shoes. How would it play out if I saw some fancy woman…driving an even fancier car…and went up to the window to ask if she’d take me where I needed to go? Yeah, right. As if! Not in a million fucking years. No shot! Yet, she pulled this off without a hitch like it was nothing at all…as if she could do something like this every day of the week to get what she needed! Any wonder why beautiful women think the world revolves around them? Not after that story!

Upon hearing her brief narrative, I simply responded “I get it! Belle of the boulevard stuff!” “Yup,” she laughed out loud. I am the belle of the boulevard. I like that!”

Come to think of it…the next time I’m out in the street and need a ride? I’ll give her strategy a try. But better yet…maybe not. I’d be more likely to end up in jail than actually convincing a hot babe with a fresh ride to take me where I’m going. What are ya gonna do? Some girls have it…and some dudes don’t! Unfortunately, I’m in the latter group.

Just when I thought I had it made in the shade (’cause I was gettin’ laid), my phone rang a couple of days ago to bring me back to reality. The caller ID indicated the individual on the other end was a phone girl/friend. “What’s up?” I asked matter-of-factly unaware of the impending fusillade.

“Don’t ever call me again. You cost me a good friend!” shouted my supposed friend…and then went on to say that essentially, she had shared some information about one of her colleagues with me and then had it thrown back in her face.

I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. Phone girl #1 had never said anything gossipy to me about phone girl #2. The entire thing made no sense…that is…until I thought about it and came to realize that this was just a situation in which girls were sniping at each other – and using me as some sort of scapegoat to hide their own indiscretions. And in fact, one girl had gossiped about another and decided that rather than admit what she’d done, it would be more appropriate to lay it in my lap. Gorgeous!

Kind of a raw deal if ya ask me. I called the owner to ask what the fuck was going on and she assured me that the entire episode had nothing to do with me at all. Regardless, the effect is the same. Instead of having one phone girl I don’t talk to at their place…I now have two!

Whatever…this is all just to send this message: I know who gossiped and laid it on my ass to cover her own. And I know the identity of the catalyst. The phone girl who exploded on me over the phone is merely a pawn in this scenario. Eventually my old phone girl friend will figure it out – or she won’t. Whichever…I live to fornicate another day. So who gives a fuck?

But before I go…two new girls at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE. Check out ANASTASIA. She’ll amaze ya! Or go pop a Corona with RAMONA.  Here they are!

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Today I decided to revamp the A-LIST with updates and the addition of photos of all the A-listers. But then the phone started ringing with changes so that will have to wait until at least tomorrow (or maybe later today).

Anyway…here’s today’s page six stuff: ELICIA, a spine-tingling number from ASIAN MODELS (347-256-7143) has returned to her old haunt (Asian Models) after a month long vacation. I got a quick gander as she passed by en route to the room and Elicia is indeed looking very good. And it wasn’t just the pricey lingerie she was wearing. What was filling out the expensive duds was equally appealing. Unfortunately, I don’t know the girl at all so I can’t speak on her as a person. But if the inside is anywhere near as beautiful as the shell, girlfriend is one force to be reckoned with.

Up a few blocks at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409), KARA has some new pix as does STAR, who has returned to the party. Along with SCARLET, the three make a titillating trio for sure.

And finally, over at VIP ASIAN (646-391-2639), I have to repeat that AQUA is still the stunning siren of love I remember. I hadn’t seen her for a while and almost forgot! And in case y’all have memories as poor as mine…here are some pictures of the aforementioned heartthrobs. Enjoy.

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Here’s the new A-LIST as promised – with pix and all!

The phone people and I like to give the girls a grade as to looks and performance in the room. It’s not easy to get an A…but here’s a few who have made the grade. Enjoy!

1. TAMIHIYAKO SPA212-679-3681 – Really cute  and friendly Chinese girl working at a Korean place. I met her in street clothes and found her to be charming and beautiful. And the next time I saw her she gave me a big hug! Need I say more?

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2. JAZMINEROSE HOUSE347-624-3305 – With class, style and impeccable table manners, Jazmine is the princess of the Korean crew. Lots of fans can’t be wrong.

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3. CHANELHOT LIPS646-309-0453 – An all time favorite of many, there just isn’t anybody more physically or personally more attractive in the entire Asian community. She’s #1!

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4. IMAN - GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE917-547-0723 – Super sexy Caribbean queen with class, style, maturity and the smoothest skin and most delicious booty this side of the Mississippi. Not a twerking hood rat but with all the goods those girls could ever want.

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5. CHERRY/AMYTWINKLE917-861-6600 – Both of these girls are the cutest Koreans I’ve seen in quite a while. Amy is fairly busty and all natural, too. And Cherry has the sweetest face. I include them both because honestly, it’s a dead heat! They’re that hot!!

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6. BREEMY ASIAN GFE646-326-9512 – Long, lean all-natural and as charming as she can be? That’s Bree! There’s something about this girl that separates her from the other Asians. if you took Bree home to mom, she’d lend you the money for the engagement ring if you didn’t have it.

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7. MILAALLURING RUSSIANS646-234-2794 – Ya think Russian girls are cold? Yeah, met too! Except MILA. She’s sweet, soft-spoken and very attractive in her natural blond way! A legion of Russian-loving followers can’t be wrong. And as a part of that legion, I can tell you that there’s a reason for her popularity.

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8. PEACHESJEWELS OF NY347-595-4518 – Straight from Georgia, Peaches has that easy southern drawl and a body like a track star – except she has a big chest! Talk about the best of all worlds! And having a relentless Georgia-sized libido doesn’t hurt either!

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9. AQUAVIP ASIAN646-391-2639 – Absolutely stunning is the only way I can describe Aqua – unless less I add accommodating and super sweet as well. And did I mention that she’s actually in her early 20’s, too? I could go on and on!

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10. CHERRYASIAN FLOWER646-639-1195 -  Reminiscent of an old girlfriend of mine, I’d say that this Cherry is just a sentimental choice. But in fact, I wish my old girlfriend looked as good as Cherry. And my old GF was an A-lister herself!

 

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Many years ago (like 20 or 30), I was watching the Mike Douglas Show when on came Dick Clark as Mike’s first guest. To get the interview rolling, Mike pulled out some pictures of artists who’d appeared on American Bandstand – assuming that Dick would then identify those pictured and relate some sort of back story which would no doubt be of interest to the audience. Seemed like a good way to entertain the audience to me.

But what Mike didn’t know was that his guest wouldn’t be able to identify the individuals in any of the photos. And what followed was an embarrassing situation which revealed unequivocally that the world’s eternal teenager was in fact not into the scene which he’d created. I mean…come on! You can’t identify the Drifters when shown a photo of the group? That spoke volumes to this viewer!

Well anyway…fast-forwarding those 20 or 30 years to yesterday, I became Dick Clark myself when as promised in a previous blog entry, I went over to JEWELS (347-595-4518) to take pictures of LAUREN. The selfie they’d been running was waaay less attractive than the actual girl herself in the flesh. So obviously, that situation had to be rectified!

Entering room #1 at Jewels walks you right by the couches where the girls lay in wait for the next dragon who wants to be slayed. And so…before shooting Lauren, I said hi first to KELLY, who I haven’t seen for a while…and then OLIVIA…observing that her new hairstyle has her looking just like Mariah Carey.

Next to her sat a new black girl (or so I thought) who caught my eye and once done saying hi to Olivia, I asked “and you are???” The girl shot me a look and asked derisively “really???” Uh oh! It was clearly a Dick Clark moment. The girl I didn’t recognize was HONEY, who I’ve photographed on no fewer than 3 occasions. I was in trouble! Switching into damage-control quickly, I backpedaled citing that she’d changed her hair once again but mostly, neither she or Olivia was buyin’ it. And I can’t blame them. Full blown geezer-itis was the cause…and not a new hair-do. Whether I recognized her or not, the fact remains that I think Honey is as hot and sweet as she can be…and there’s no fool like an old fool…that fool being yours truly.

My total embarrassment notwithstanding…into the room I went with Lauren, a study in 0% body fat. I like big tits and phat booties as much as the next guy. But I also appreciate a thin, lithe and chiseled woman even if she isn’t sporting 38DD’s and a BET badonkadonk. Her body type conjures all sorts of acrobatic and easy-access fantasies – and is plenty curvy enough for me. I’m not really a chiseled-looking kind of guy and thus, I like girls who boast attributes that I don’t have myself.

And so… we did the photos and here are the best two. No body fat on Lauren (as i said). Just slinky seductive latina heat. And did I mention she speaks German (yes, she’s part German as well as latin)? A most unique cutie for sure. I told her to call me a wimpy, worthless, no-talent trick – in the mother tongue. And what came back sounded like a German dom scolding her feckless slave. Sweeeet!

Enough! Here’s Lauren!

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drawingWARNING: This is history stuff. It might not be of interest to all.

As my back slowly improves, I can now sit in a chair and read – which was (and once again is) one of my favorite things to do when there’s nothing on the 978 channels Time Warner offers for my viewing pleasure.

So this week’s reading material was a history book about the French and Indian War – written mostly for 400 level college students. Plowing through this stuff can be daunting and I daresay a little dry. But in the end, I learn something and feel that my time was well spent.

Moving on…my very own brother is a graduate of a very exclusive and hard-to-get-into school named Amherst College. When I was just a teenager, my mother and I would take yearly trips to visit him…check out the place…and take in a football game. And at some point during the contest, the fans would break into a chorus of “Lord Jeffrey Amherst was a soldier of the king.”

Up until this week, I had no idea who this Lord Jeffrey guy was (and I’m not convinced the students did either) – until I read a book about the French and Indian War. That’s when I found out.

Lord Jeff was Commander-In-Chief of the British forces during the French and Indian War. And he was in fact instrumental in winning that war for the king! But that’s not all of his legacy.

One of the tactics used by both the French and British during the conflict included lavishing native Americans with gifts in an effort to turn them into allies. The problem was that the Indians knew they were getting pimped by the colonials…and that eventually they’d have to go to war and probably lose all their territory anyway. Thus, their loyalty was fleeting at best. And maybe even worse, they had a bad habit of scalping their opponents and butchering women and children in battle. Not pretty! In the Indians’ defense, the Europeans weren’t much better. Following their lead…the British and French committed the same atrocities. Revenge was apparently a dish best served with dead babies and adult scalps!

All this Indian stuff left a bad taste in Lord Jeff’s mouth. In today’s parlance, you might say that Jeff wasn’t “feeling” the Indians. In a letter to a fellow officer (which is actually available online in a pdf format), he tells his homey that Indians are a miserable lot and that he’d just as  soon kill them all as try to court them as allies. And he even went as far as advocating a little germ warfare wherein Jeff approved of a proposed tactic to give the Indians blankets infected with small pox! Whoa! I guess war really is hell!

Prior to Lord Jeff’s arrival in North America, the colonials implemented a policy which included giving native Americans all sorts of gifts to win their loyalty. But once Jeff got a load of the Indians’ MO, he henceforth stopped seducing them in this manner and ordered that everyone else clam up as well! And it worked for a while. But history shows that a big part of the Lewis and Clark budget included gifts for Indians the expedition encountered along the way. So apparently, it didn’t end with Lord Jeff. But at least he gave it the old college try!

 

 

Pink-logo-on-white-backgroundNo, I’m not about to tell y’all that I don’t belong with escorts. I’m way past that stage. So anyway…I have several t-shirts bought for me by an old “girlfriend” which I’ve never worn. And last week while I was rummaging through my closet to see what I might give away at the soup kitchen (yes, they give away clothing as well), I happened upon these shirts many of which still had their H & M tags on them.

Well today I went visiting and stuffed the t-shirts in my backpack to see if maybe I could swap them for something else in the store. Without the receipt I didn’t figure I could turn them into money…but with the tags still on the apparel there was a possibility I could  get a store  credit.

Into the fancy shmancy joint I strode with back brace around my waist, and bike helmet in my hand. And I instantly knew I was out of my element. The great majority of the patrons were either chicks or gay guys…and maybe a few handsome model type chic metro dudes sprinkled in the mix.

Sure enough, the clerk gave me a credit and off I went to the men’s section to find something I might like. Fat chance of that! Everything looked more or less like what you’d see at a gay bar or a golf/country club. Which is to say…there were no baseball caps or t-shirts which read “fishermen have longer poles.”

I don’t have to tell y’all that it was a struggle. Anything that looked like I might wear it cost twice to three times what it would at K-mart and somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to get ripped off swapping something worth so little and priced so high. What to do!

Finally, I found a leather belt for $17.95 to replace the $2 model I bought on a street corner and am currently wearing. Will it last 9 times as long? Maybe…and maybe not. Does it look better? Yeah…but I never tuck my shirt in so nobody is ever going to see it anyway. What’s the point?

Happy that I found something I could wear, I hit the cashier – still with money left on my credit and cleared out of there ASAP. I’m not sure I’ll ever go back again. I hate shopping in the first place…especially when I’m shopping in a place that’s out of my element.

Whatever…I do have to admit one thing. One of those t-shirts she bought for me does look really good when I wear it…so it made the rotation. And whenever I put the t on, girls check me out! In fact, Natalie (who is very discriminating about everything) actually complimented me on the shirt to punctuate all her condescension. And Peaches crashed on me the other night while I was wearing it.

So maybe…just maybe…I should step out of my element occasionally because of the obvious! If stepping out brings compliments from hot girls, I’m there – or at least, I should be. But really…give me K mart and a bait and tackle shop and I’ll be good. It’s just where I’m most comfortable.

Once upon a time – like before I was ever part of the escort business, I figured being an escort was like being an athlete. A girl only had at most two decades to amass wealth before she would have to retire – as in who’s gonna pay to be with a middle-aged/past-her-prime individual? How naive was I? Experience has shown me that these girls can work until the day they die! Now, I’ve known than my share of ldies who ride the bus half price, but one comes to mind that really cold-cocked me and turned my ass around backwards!

A couple of years ago, I went to visit a forty-something woman who will on occasion have a “mature” lady working alongside her. And sure enough, when I arrived, she had a colleague who stood straight and tall but really did appear to be a little too old for this business. So they ran a line ad describing her as “fifty-something for men who appreciate a very talented mature lady.” Maybe a week later, I saw my friend again without her geriatric sidekick and asked “How old was that granny with all the raunchy stories?” The answer? Get ready! 86!!!

Get the fuck outta here! My friend went on to elaborate “You can’t believe how much energy this woman has. She runs here and there and up and down…and to the store…and on the subway. I get tired just trying to keep up with her.” Well…clearly, retirement did not appeal to that lady. Eighty six years young and in the prime of her life. Just when I thought I’d seen and heard everything!

Moving on…I received a text message yesterday informing me there’s a new girls at ROSE HOUSE  (347-624-3305) named NICOLE. Here’s her pic.

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13bcThere’s a reader of this blog (from Pittsburgh oddly enough) who will periodically send me links which always contain interesting stuff. Like one was about a series of KMP busts out in Ohio which eerily paralleled the way LE works in New York – and probably everywhere else when they get ready. And now…several months later, I have a new client who told me all about her trials and tribulations associated with that government initiative. It turns out she owned one of those joint in Ohio. Small world, right?

Anyway…he sent me another link last night to a story about a stock-trading high school nerd who grew up to be a junior Bernie Madoff. The story was as predictable and banal as they come. Ya know…Urkel-looking mother fucker makes millions and then blows it on gold diggers whose love he thinks he can buy…and then ends up ripping off all the investors to fuel his addiction for the blood-sucking leeches.

Obviously, he’s not the first – and he won’t be the last guy – who fantasizes that he can buy the love of a woman way out of his league once he’s succeeded financially – even if he’s the same loser socially. This is a strategy I find laughable – and certainly one I would never employ even if I won the lottery…because I know that money can’t buy love.

And when you think about it, what earns a guy love from a girl is as intangible and unpredictable as the stock market itself. Every guy wants the chick he’s hot for to fall in love with him. It doesn’t matter whether he’s in love with her. If she falls for him, it just makes the whole deal so much easier. He doesn’t have to spend money…or be considerate or any of that mushy stuff. He just need call when he’s horny and then go bang away as she imagines he feels the same way about her as she does him.

There have been times when I’ve truly put my best foot forward – being as charming and entertaining as I could possibly be – only to come to the realization that I will never win the girl over. And conversely, I’ve had girlfriends who fell for me for what reason I had absolutely no idea. The relationships were shallow (as they had no clue who I really was and thus no capacity to understand what is special about me) but I seized the moment because they had a pretty face…or a phat booty…or big tits…or gave a great blow job. I don’t know how to predict who’s gonna fall for me…but I know one thing for sure: Money ain’t gonna buy it! And anybody who thinks it is…is an idiot.

So my advice for people who think they can buy the love of an escort is this: If you must take this route, take half the money you think you’ll need to get the girl’s attention, and give it to a second girl! Don’t be obvious about it…but let it slip out that you have a second girlfriend! The first, who has taken you completely for granted up until that point, will go wild with jealousy. She’ll act up like a child but then fuck your brains out to win the competition! It won’t be love or anything functional like that! But you’ll reap the rewards from her dysfunction.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard girls complain about their “boyfriends” cheating on them. Ridiculous! She “socializes” with 50 guys and it’s OK! But he fucks one girl and she goes crazy! A little tangential I know…but still, instructive! Women will react emotionally if they think they have competition – even if it’s competition for a trick they could give two shits about!

When I wasn’t in this business and fooled around only with girls I met “organically,” there were times I lost sleep over a failed love affair. But now that I’m an adult ad guy, it just never happens. Maybe I’m old and jaded. or something. Whatever it is, I come away with one irrefutable theme. Money doesn’t buy love…and anybody who thinks there’s a 1% chance that it just might is fooling himself. And that’s today’s message.

Before I start on today’s topic, I have to comment on the response to yesterday’s entry about spanking. I’m somewhat surprised at the enthusiasm expressed by readers of this blog at the prospect of getting punished by a hot Asian girl. I guess there are a lot of bad boys out there who own it! Ya know…as in…”I’m a bad boy who needs a spanking…and then a little tender loving care afterwards!” Not exactly the program at a dungeon but hey…a guy can fantasize!

Moving on…I was over at JEWELS-NYC (347-595-4518) last night on no particular mission (just havin’ fun) when an especially exotic vixen caught my eye. That’s not to say that there aren’t other exotic vixens on the premises. It’s just that this girl was unknown to me. I’d seen the schedule for the day and was confounded as to the identity of this sizzling siren.

And so…I asked the manager “yo! Who’s that?!?!“…to which she responded “Lauren!” “Lauren,” I exclaimed! “That’s the girl behind that terrible picture?!?!”

Ya know…I’ve seen the old bait and switch wherein a not-so-beautiful girl either uses a fake pic or a heavily photoshopped image to hoodwink the guys. But I can’t ever remember seeing a gorgeous girl run an ugly photo to generate business! Well apparently…there’s a first time for everything because what you see is not what you get in this case. Lauren is waaaay waaaay better in person! Go figure.

There are times when I have policy issues with JONY (like I think the girls in their Backpage ads should have names on them so guys know who the hell they’re requesting…and some people in the organization actually don’t. Another “go figure”)…but posting a butt ugly pic of a beautiful girl seems to be a no-brainer on the rectification front. Why the fuck would you want to portray the girl as a beast when she’s a beauty? Beats me!

Anyway…I’ll get in there and take a pic of her and then you’ll understand the folly of running that yellow-toned mess versus something halfway decent which actually might capture the woman’s beauty. And in the meantime…while I’m in love with Peaches and think she has an astounding body…I wasn’t in love with the lighting on her new pic. In fact, it sucked! So I took a little time to put “a Georgia peach on the beach!” I love the girl’s southern drawl.  Everything about Peaches oozes heat! She should be pictured on the beach. Check it out!

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Or worse…because I know that guys who go to dungeons not only let – but ask girls to do unspeakable things to them. While I’ve had enough dungeon clients over the years to fully understand the scene, it’s not one I was ever really into. One owner/dom even became a drinking buddy of mine. And she was constantly offering me free sessions with the girls, a few of whom were nothing short of ravishing. My response was always the same: “If I can’t have sex with them what’s the point?”

Well anyway…all this comes to mind because just recently, a roommate of mine (meaning…a girl with whom I go in “the room” on a fairly regular basis) suggested we ramp up our fun time with a little s & m action after I put “your emotional slave” in the subject line of an e-mail I sent her. I was kidding – and just flattering her ego – but she took it to heart, thinking I was giving off a signal indicating my desire to be spanked and abused. Again…not really my scene.

Whatever…I pose this question: Would you let either of the following two girls spank you? And my answer would be in the affirmative if I got to sex them up (and down) as a reward for letting them defile me in some way. So maybe I do have a little s & m in me after all. And actually, I should given all the dungeon heads I’ve known over the years.

Getting back to the point…there are several beautiful Asian girls on the sidebar of this blog. But none will give you a ritual spanking for a fee. They wouldn’t know how!

But the following two Asian girls? They will! They’re doms who work at a joint in Chinatown called FORTRESS NYC. And they look so good, I just might let them spank me if there were a promise of hot sex afterwards (which there is not as far as I know).

I mean…once upon a time, I actually let a kinky girlfriend dress me up in panty hose and a miniskirt so she could have not just a boyfriend – but a girlfriend, too (her words). So letting a woman spank me as a prelude to entering the Promised Land wouldn’t be a huge stretch…especially if they looked like these two. And of course, if anybody actually does go there based on today’s entry, let them know how they found the place. They’d be a cool addition to the sidebar.

Now here’s da goils! If you’re interested, just go to their site for more info. Or just go to have a look-see. There are some interesting pics of the girls hanging out in Chinatown. I stress…these women are doms and not escorts. Enough said! You may not want to get too frisky with them as they live to put bad boys in their place!

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Today isn’t just Jewish New Years (not a hugely significant holiday for me)…it’s also the 18th anniversary of my entrance into the adult ad world. Yes, I’d written features for Screw and Action before September 24th all those years ago, but this date in 1996 marks the day I was hired full time by Action Magazine and actually started selling to and dealing with the escort world. And while a significant portion of my duties was to write a lot of erotic gash…I was additionally part paper boy (delivering the new papers to all the advertisers when they came out)…part collection agent (making sure everybody paid their bill – no easy task)…and part salesman (cold calling ads from Screw, NY Mag etc. to convince them to advertise with my boss’s publication).

Before this momentous date, I drove a cab three days a week (40 hours in total – I did long shifts) and wrote freelance in between shifts making my usual not-so-cogent observations about the job and life in the city for several publications including some real ones (NY Times, Daily News, NY Newsday). So my new job constituted a big change. While I didn’t completely stop driving a cab, I was pretty much out of the loop for all intents and purposes once I got hired by Action.

Actually, my old life was an interesting one – and one I often miss. But it didn’t pay anywhere near as much as my new gig – especially after I branched out as an ad agency and sold for several publications. Still, you can’t put a monetary value on having your picture on the op-ed page of a real paper…and having people stop you on the street to tell you how much they liked what you wrote. For schmucks like me, that beats a payday – regardless of how huge. Whatever…come this time of year, I always ponder where I am…and where I might have been had I not taken that job at Action.

OK! Enough of the walk down Memory Lane. Now let’s take a stroll down Mammary Lane – a subject of much more interest I would bet. Today was picture day over at JEWELS-NY (347-595-4518). And as is becoming the custom, I went over to shoot one girl – but ended up taking pix of 4!

Best of all…I got to visit AMBER LYNN and PEACHES, both of whom I hadn’t seen for a while. Talk about a festival of dark skin. lustrous weaves, sexy bodies, and big and bright smiles set off with cherry red lipstick. Even a gay guy might reconsider what with all that feminine pulchritude front and center.

Anyway…Peaches actually had some good photos already. She just wanted new ones. But it was Amber Lynn who really needed to vogue for the camera. Whatever she had in her catalogue wasn’t exactly ready-for-prime-time stuff. Not that my effort is…but you can be the judge of that. Here’s a few shots from today:

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While I try to verify each and every photo on this site, fakes do occasionally sneak on. Occasional owners will hustle you (or me) that way. When I saw the photo of JESSICA over at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-4381), I had that bad old feeling like I was being hoodwinked. The girl looked too good to be true. So I confronted the phone girl (who I’ve known for a long time and is actually the same individual who invited me to stay at HOT LIPS during Hurricane Irene) and she instructed me to come over and check Jessica out for myself.

Calling her bluff,  I did just that and am happy to report that the photo is not a bait and switch. Now I understand that photoshop is the Great Hoodwinker and look-alike photos can be deceiving. But as far as I could tell, the Jessica in the photo and the Jessica I met are one and the same. I don’t think anybody will be disappointed if they go see the  girl based on her picture. Additionally, the phone girl assured me that Jessica is an all natural beauty.

With another command family trip to Florida in my near future, I repbublish an OBG (oldie but goodie) about my one and only train ride to the Sunshine State. There’s a reason why I only made this voyage just once. Read on to find out why.

Frequent flyer miles? Business class super service? Supersonic jets? They’re all excellent catch phrases for an industry which aims to attract the traveler in the fast lane. Clearly, for the businessman who needs to be at a distant boardroom – or the vacationer who wants to maximize his enjoyment of those precious two weeks the corporation gives him, flying to one’s destination is the quickest and most preferred method.

But what about people like retirees, students, or freelancers who aren’t on such a tight schedule? Maybe they’d like to enrich their travel experience by actually seeing the country they’re passing through (instead of flying over), and/or meeting some interesting strangers along the way. Well, if like me, you’re one of those eccentric types who has the time and inclination to turn a two hour trip into a 24 hour marathon, Amtrak is definitely America’s alternative for us retro dudes!

For me, a command family performance in South Florida (the location of mom’s new condo) was the occasion which prompted my virginal Amtrak voyage. A few wild train-riding stories from some of my bohemian East Village friends, and a very late decision to actually make the reunion sealed my fate. The Amtrak round trip ticket was only $138 (just a week in advance). Spur of the moment flights to Florida were more than twice the cost so I decided to make tracks – so to speak.

The first advantage to the rail plan involved a 20 minute bus ride to Penn Station instead of the much less palatable $20 cab ride from hell to La Guardia Airport. With the extra time and money, I stopped off at my local Chinese take-out and packed a lunch special before hopping mass transit to the train depot.

And it wasn’t five minutes before I was settled in at my seat than we were already on our way to Florida. So far so good – for a brief moment.

“Who said you could sit here?” the conductor interrogated me as I was opening my lunch special.

“Nobody,” I snapped back. “Do I need an engraved invitation?”

“This is a seat for wheelchair riders. You can’t sit here,” he insisted and offered two or three others that were available.

Of course, a label on the seat or some sort of direction from a conductor as I was boarding might have been appropriate. But naturally, he made no observation therein and forced me to pack up and move on. The fact that I had to choose one particular seat for the entire trip wasn’t to my liking either. I’m a nomadic type of guy; nobody told me I was to be gagged and bound to one seat for the duration.

But it wasn’t all bad in those first few revealing minutes. I noticed that each car had about twenty little televisions mounted all along the luggage rack. Yes! They have movies. (And let me tell you – on a 24 hour ride, you can really catch up on some viewing. On the way down, I watched Forrest Gump twice, Clear and Present Danger, Corinna Corinna and something about a talking dolphin whose name I can’t recall.)

As luck would have it, the only television within view of my second seat was broken. The conductor had no choice but to switch me again – while murmuring something under his breath. Who cares if he liked me? I paid my money in advance and I wanted to see my movies!

The first couple of hours were great. I had two seats to myself and was quite content in my little headphoned world watching America’s favorite movie. But as we rolled into Philadelphia, the train filled and I found that the vacant seat next to me had been occupied by a not-too-attractive and as bad luck would have it, overly friendly female. I weathered the storm until she fell asleep – virtually on top of me.

Again, I summoned the conductor for a seat change, pointing at the prostrate body draped on top of me as what would surely be my last legitimate excuse for such a request. This time I put myself in the back – near a broken door which stayed open letting frigid Arctic air into the car. I froze for a while and then mustered the courage to hassle the conductor for the fourth time!

“Uh…excuse me sir. Can we close this door?” I asked sheepishly.

“Not really,” came his reply. “We’ve been trying to fix it for hours.”

I gave him a cross-eyed look: “Do I get a rebate for freezing half to death?”

He gave me a cross-eyed look back. This time the frayed conductor showed me the list of every available seat and commanded “This is your last chance.” Finally – and mercifully – I settled in with a Colombian family on their way to Disney World.

It was a poor choice. The 14 year-old boy who sat next to me was an even more intrusive sleeper than the girl. He rested his head on my shoulder several times, and occasionally awakened to say something to me as if I knew who he was. After a while, the whole situation was so outrageous I found myself laughing out loud. What the hell! I can take anything for a day!

Having solved my seating crisis to the best of my ability, I watched two more movies and then decided it was time to roam around the train and scare up some activity. The lounge car which was where people were supposed to congregate and interface was totally repulsive. Everybody was smoking and drinking…and butts and beer cans were strewn all over the diner style tables. The air was unspeakable…not to mention the decor and ambiance, which made The Waffle House look like The Russian Tea Room.

Enough of that! I continued down the line through the sleeping cars and to the caboose where I discovered an open door which led to a small chained-off outdoor observation platform. I could actually stand outside and watch the landscape whiz by behind the train!

Wow! This was just my style! Now I knew why I’d taken Amtrak in the first place. Guess again! The conductor caught me from behind and of course, told me the one thing that looked like fun on this hell ride was off limits to passengers. I feigned obedience but resolved to buck his authority in the wee hours.

Back in my seat, I studied the reprints an editor had sent me as guidelines for an assigned piece and after finishing them, realized that in the absence of owning a lap top, I’d better bring a book for the return trip – if I valued my sanity. In the absence of both, I spent the wee hours listening to rural country music stations on my Walkman and watching the Piggly Wiggly’s roll by each time we passed through and stopped at a small southern town. And actually, I liked those quiet hours staring out the window and listening to heartland music as my adolescent seat mate rested his weary head on my shoulder.

Around 3 A.M., I made my second assault on the caboose and this time was successful. The conductor was snoring like a grizzly bear as I passed him! The ride on the platform was everything I’d hoped for…noisy, fast, scenic and aromatic.

“Hey! you can’t ride the wing of an airplane,” I thought to myself. “This here is what it’s all about – smelling the Spring Georgia air and watching the rails disappear behind me at 80 miles per hour!” I stood there mesmerized for at least a half hour before I’d had my fill.

Daybreak brought the expected wake-up activity – with everyone scampering for the dining car or snack bar. I figured I’d treat myself and have a first class meal. The dining car experience was another plus. Not that the food was so great – but the early morning route through Northern Florida, riding by trailer parks and one horse towns flying The Confederate Flag really hit the spot – that the food did not.

The old timer I dined with was amiable as well. Our bonding was so complete that he even took me on a guided tour of his sleeper, a cramped accommodation which I definitely did not feel was worth the price.

By Orlando, most of the train exited – or at least enough people so I could have two seats to myself! And I slept like a baby for at least two hours. At 4 P.M., I arrived at West Palm – and there was mom, right on time to fetch her baby boy!

“So, Billy! How was the trip?” she asked with a note of sarcasm in her voice.

“Oy vay” pretty much summed up the entire experience in two words.

One week later, after a wonderful visit during which I got severely sunburned, I was on my way back to NYC – on you guessed it – the train. With one Amtrak voyage under my belt, I knew how to make this trip better.

First, I purchased some light reading – “Private Parts” by Howard Stern – for those incredibly boring and restless moments. And second, I chose my seat mate much more carefully this time.

After reconnoitering the car, I picked a sixty or seventy something black man as my partner. Leroy was a two pension retiree who’d traveled almost every Amtrak route and really knew the ropes. Once I’d told him I was a cab driver/freelance writer, he took to me immediately and we remained buddies for the entire trip.

“You know…when we get to Jacksonville, the train stops for an hour and we can get off and go to this terrific discount bakery. I hate paying these Amtrak prices!” he complained.

“Is there a Mickey D’s or a 7 Eleven?” I asked excitedly. He responded in the affirmative. YES! Burgers and brews! I’ve died and gone to heaven.

The conductor announced that we would be stopping for just a few minutes but Leroy assured me that was just a ploy to keep passengers from wandering off and purchasing food and drink at a reasonable price. He assured me the stop would be exactly an hour – and he was right.

Exiting the train post haste, I got a full intoxicating dose of the outskirts of Jacksonville, not to mention a Big Mac and a couple of quarts of Old Milwaukee. Leroy had the cups; I had the beers; and we were all set. Soon, we were joined by a young post-era hippy who’d just been released from prison for the heinous crime of consuming and selling hallucinogenic drugs while following The Grateful Dead around the country.

“I’m going to Montana…I need some wide open space, man!” explained the youth. I wasn’t surprised he’d feel that way after spending 19 months behind bars. Anyway, felony conviction notwithstanding, I liked the guy. It was refreshing to see that the peace and love ethic lived on in “Montana Mike” as I named him forevermore.

I dragged Mikey on the obligatory trip to the caboose viewing platform, an experience which was enhanced by the arrival of two young Puerto Rican girls from Philadelphia sharing a phat doobie. So I partied with the younger generation for a while and then begged off to catch a snooze back at my seat. The rest of the trip I immersed myself in Howard’s ridiculous book, the perfect “drug” for the endless voyage.

By the time I got home, I was so dog tired I fell asleep on my recliner and awakened 70 years later with a long white beard. And how do I feel about my Amtrak experiment in retrospect? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world…but I’d never do it again!

Before I leave the whole battered woman syndrome subject, I feel obligated to impart a little more of my insensitivity. Harkening back 10 years or so ago, I remember one particular hoochie who convinced her boss that he should hire her “boyfriend” to do security for the place. The owner was a Korean guy – running a hybrid Asian/American house. And not understanding US ghetto culture, the man had no idea what he was about to get himself into – even though I advised him against it.

So one day the girl had a little too much fun in the room with some guy and sure enough, it wasn’t but a few minutes before the “boyfriend” was dragging his girl across the floor by her weave. For his part, Jerry was appalled. For my part, I told him so.

Anyway…I was pretty friendly with the girl and her “boyfriend.” He was actually bisexual and wanted me and his girl to do a threesome. Well…one day while I was over at the place, his sweetie started flirting with me and asked “hey, Billy! Wanna have a slap fight?” I couldn’t believe it! This was a form of foreplay for her! And the truth is…that this whack job loved to fight! She was always getting into it with somebody. I used to call her the Billy Martin of the escort world because just like the old Yankee, she was always fighting – and almost always losing the fight!

My point? Some girls like the violence. It has an erotic overtone that turns them on. I look at Ray Rice’s wife and ya know what? She looks like the type. I know that’s an ignorant and maybe even racist thing to say. But I’m sorry (or I’m not). To me she’s that woman who would challenge a guy because win or lose…she’d get turned on.

And thus, with women like that (whether Rice’s wife is or isn’t), there’s really no remedy or problem! They fucking like it! It’s a sexual manifestation! Ya know…like some guys go to dungeons and pay to have their asses kicked or their buttholes raped by strong women. Nobody seems to care about all that. It’s simply eccentric behavior between consenting adults. And sometimes, the battered woman syndrome is that as well. Rice’s wife knew what time it was yet she still married the guy. And that says to me she likes to take a beating.

OK! Enough of that. We got some new cheesecake! First, ELLIE at TWINKLE (917-861-6600). Yet another hottie in their already face-melting lineup. And then there’s YURI at GOLDEN TIME (917-929-4044), touted as a first time visitor to the Big Apple. And finally for you fans of Southern belles…a new girl from Tennessee (drawl and all) named SADIE over at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723). And here they are!

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Thanks to Ray Rice and the infamous inside-the-elevator video, battered woman syndrome and all the issues associated with it have come to the fore recently. Let me preface this entry by saying that I’m no expert on battered woman syndrome. I’m a nice Jewish boy. That kind of crap has never happened with any of my immediate or distant family members. Just not part of the culture. But having been part of the adult ad biz for almost two decades, I have become familiar with the issue. Hardly a big surprise.

In a CBS Sunday Morning Show editorial, a staff contributor whose name escapes me currently posed the question as to why these women don’t just leave after getting brutalized…and answered it saying “it’s complicated.” Right there is where we disagree. It’s not complicated. It’s as simple as can be. There are only two options. Option one is you leave. And option 2 is you crack the son-of-a-bitch over the head with a frying pan in his sleep…and then you leave!

Now here’s where my own experience with the scene gets interesting. I know two women (or two that I’m aware of) who are currently in abusive relationships. The first has a boyfriend who owns an escort agency in Florida – and beats her. And the second is living with a man twice her age who just recently beat her badly enough that she couldn’t work for two weeks while the girl recovered from the assault.

Before I heard their stories, I more or less liked and respected both girls. They did (or do) their jobs and were friendly and respectful enough with me that they both met with my approval. (I should add that I don’t judge girls for being escorts. I view it as a viable means to an end and/or a good enough way to make an excellent living. I only judge them when they divulge themselves as selfish…or drug-addicted…or spoiled…or making tons of money while on welfare or Medicaid. You get the idea. Being an escort is fine. Being a douchebag isn’t!)

But the funny thing is…now that I know these two women suffer from battered woman syndrome and choose to stay with the assholes who beat them, I’ve lost all respect for them. In my eyes, they’ve become addicts of a sort. Any gossip of them being beaten again will fall on deaf ears. Maybe they didn’t know who and what they were with until the beatdown. But once they knew? Any subsequent beating is on them.

So girls…maybe I sound insensitive…but I don’t care. If your man beats you? Leave him. None of this is complicated as the CBS editorialist said. Take responsibility for your own lives. Get out now! It’s not that fucking complicated.

If I reach one reader today…that would be a victory!

Extra, extra! Read all about it! The owners on the sidebar have figured out that cajoling me into writing about recent arrivals and news tidbits is what brings the boys. And here I thought my stream-of-consciousness bull shit was what made this blog unique. So anyway…here are the relevant updates for the new week.

First, over at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281), there are three new arrivals…JESSICA, AMY and YOKO…who have all joined BEBE on the new roster. Honestly, I don’t know a lot about the new girls but I have an invitation for lunch so I can check them out. Jessica looks a little too good to be true.

Over at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409), a brand new cutie named SCARLET joined the staff on Sunday and LINDA has moved from NY VIP to LOVELY and will be there for a week. You’ll note that Linda is also known as GANA in some circles. Why she would confuse everybody with the dual names is a question only she can answer.

Whatever…here’s da goils in all their glory! Enjoy.

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No, this isn’t about the first tranny I ever sold an ad to. It’s about the first time I ever SAW a tranny! Ya know…back when she males weren’t in vogue and most people didn’t even know that trannies existed! The year was 1974. And the place was Richmond, Virginia. The circumstance? Let me dial back those 40 years to explain.

After graduating from college with honors and attending graduate school for a hot minute, I decided to punt the academic world – and my fellowship – to pursue a career in music. But being young and dumb and having no clear picture of exactly how to succeed in my new pursuit, I didn’t know what a career in music really was. In fact, all I wanted to do was go on the road with a band…see the world…and hopefully, eke out a living in the process. The big picture of success in the music biz hadn’t come into focus at that point.

And so anyway…every Wednesday, I would pick up The Village Voice and cull through the “public notice music” ads looking to somehow hook up with a road band – or at least some kind of work to pay the rent. Initially, I found dribs and drabs of junk to tide me over but eventually through dogged determination, finally hit the road about a year and a half later with “The Jamissohn Scott Revue,” what was called a “show band” back then.

Though it got a little better as my year with the outfit went by, at the outset, the band would travel by car on a moment’s notice wherever our agent sent us. The jobs entailed playing six nights per week…four or five sets per night..for the lofty sum of $180 for each band member! Once having found the club in whichever city to where we’d been dispatched, we then had to hustle up some rooms at the local flea bag. That usually cost $30 per man for the week! And it was at The Capitol Hotel, the dump we found in Richmond, that I glimpsed my first tranny!

Upon hearing about that particular destination (Richmond), I was totally stoked. Being a big Civil War buff at the time, the prospect of playing in the capital of The Confederacy was much more appealing than working in Rochester and Syracuse NY, Springfield, Mass., and South Amboy, NJ…our four previous stops.

The engagement was at The Jester Club, an irony for sure given that the clown who owned the joint wrote us rubber checks, and that week stood as the only occasion during which we actually never got paid. But that’s not the point. The week was certainly not a total loss in retrospect. I dragged my roommate around to all the museums…and the girl who fronted the band ran into a carny dude who invited us to his little piece of road heaven. And that carny was something from another world.

They had the clown sitting atop the big tub of water baiting people with insults so they’d buy balls to try to hit the target and dunk him! They had actual bear rasslin’ (though the bear was declawed), and a funky strip show with nasty black girls with attitudes and a bunch of old black musicians playing “The Stripper” as the skanks gyrated for the crowd (though they didn’t actually strip). And they even had a couple of circus freaks, too!

Well anyway…back at the flea bag, Ravioli (my roommate) and I were listening to the latest tunes of the day one afternoon. If you wanna know how long ago this was…I gotta describe the scene. Way back then, cassette players were brand new. And while the drummer had one for his own entertainment, Rav and I were still old school vinyl. Hence, we actually travelled with a milk crate full of our favorite albums, a turntable, a pre-amp and a Fender Champ practice amp. I gerry-rigged all the components together and BAM! We had tunes! I know it sounds ridiculous but that’s what it was! All the elements had vacuum tubes and the unit actually had a clear crisp sound.

I can remember that at the time, our favorite cut was “Only So Much Oil In the Ground,” by Tower of Power. Ironic to ponder that given the current state of affairs. Talk about a band ahead of its time! Whatever…one afternoon, I ducked out of the hotel to score a little food and there she was! MY FIRST TRANNY… a black he/she inhabiting the room next to ours. So I got the sandwiches and came back to tell Ravioli what I’d just seen.

It really was NOT a very momentous occasion. We both knew the hotel was full of geezers and welfare cases and what not. So it came as very little surprise that some androgynous freak of nature would be mixed in with all the miscellaneous nuts and bolts. Nobody lost any sleep or jerked off to the thought of that very first tranny. Or at least, I didn’t!

To finish the story…on the last night of our gig, the clown of an owner handed us each a check for the week. The rest of the band split on that Saturday night, but I convinced Rav to stay in town till Monday morning to cash our fucking checks. And of course, the checks were worthless as I’d suspected all along and we never got paid. But it wasn’t a total loss. Instead of heading back to NY (we had our first week off in two months) on I 95, Rav and I went back on The Skyline Drive, a very beautiful glimpse at nature. Plus I went to all the museums in Richmond…attended a real live country carny and saw my first tranny.

I remember each and every stop we made that year I stayed with that band, and thinking back, Richmond was not one I’d rather we’d missed even though the band got ripped off. In fact, it was the single most culturally enriching experience of the year. So who gives a crap if I never got paid? After all..I did see my very first tranny on that trip! Little did I know that 25 years later, it would be my job to chase down the transgendered set in the hopes that they’d buy advertisements in my employer’s paper! Life sure takes some peculiar twists and turns. At least mine has anyway!

A couple of days ago, I mentioned that the owners whose girls decorate the sidebar of this blog are akin to a landlord’s excellent tenants. But while they do pay in a timely fashion, some are more demanding and difficult than others. Bosses who text me to let me know they have a new girl are fine with me. I actually like that because the update saves me the hassle of thinking up something to write about. I can simply run a “Page Six” column.

But others expect me to check their sites and scrape content which may or may not be on the premises as part of my job. I don’t accept that. I figure “you have a new girl…just let me know!” Don’t expect me to log on to every site on this blog on a daily basis when it’s easy enough to let me know when somebody new will be arriving at your place.

And then there are owners who never call or give me updates at all. This is like a tenant who pays on time and fixes his own plumbing. Very rare, indeed! That boss is the girl who runs MY ASIAN GFE (646-326-9512). She just never bugs me about anything. So to do the right thing by what might be my easiest sidebar buddy, I called today and got the scoop so I could dedicate an entire entry to them.

Predictably, there have been significant changes on their frontier. My favorite BREE is still on staff…and there are 5 new girls I’m about to post underneath this hype. Bear in mind that this house takes amateur photos unlike the others who hire slick photogs to do the job. Also bear in mind that the house’s name says it all…and at a reasonable rate. Overall, it seems like a fair deal to me.

So anyway…here are the new girls of MY ASIAN GFE.

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And speaking of places that want me to check up on them rather than simply giving me a call, I notice (thanks to a reader) that AQUA has returned to ASIAN VIP (646-391-2639). Aqua is one of the most beautiful Asian women I’ve ever seen in my 18 years on the scene. Stunning is an adjective I use sparingly but I use it for her even on her worst day. Here’s a reminder.

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