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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Once the staple of the escort advertising business, the contact tabloid a la SCREW and ACTION magazines have been hanging on by their fingernails for years. Or I should say “had been”…because just recently, the very last incarnation in the genre silently and with little pomp and circumstance slipped into the abyss – presumably never to be heard from again.

Picture this: Before November 1968, if a guy wanted to see an escort, there was no way to find one anywhere but a street corner, a hotel bar, or via word of mouth. Obviously, there was no Internet and less obviously…no publication which featured adult ads on the back pages. Accordingly, the streets of New York (most notably Delancey and Bowery, Park in the 20’s, and 11th Avenue in the 30’s) and hotel bars were densely populated with street girls selling their service. Clearly, the options were not what they are today!

Then one day, a horn dog named Al Goldstein saw an ad for a girl in the long-defunct newspaper THE EAST VILLAGE OTHER. With a boner that wouldn’t quit, Mr. Goldstein called the number and found it busy for hours and hours on end. Apparently, so many guys were interested that he simply couldn’t get through! And in that moment, the entire escort landscape changed. Goldstein and a pal each threw together $150 and started a publication aimed at lampooning politicians and sex…while selling advertising in the back to escorts! And it wasn’t long before their newspaper was brimming with ads – and selling 140,000 copies per week. SCREW was a hit – and escorts suddenly had a place to advertise for customers. It was a whole new world!

Following Goldstein’s lead (just as Backpage did with Craigslist thirty something years later), several publications of the same ilk littered the newsstands most notably of which was ACTION, the paper which gave me my start in the adult ad business. And there was so much gold in them thar hills, even mainstream weeklies like The Press, Voice and New York Magazines began offering their back pages to escort advertisers as well.

For thirty or so years, print ruled in the escort world. Running ads was so much safer and more profitable for the girls than strolling on the track or working hotel bars. Accordingly, the corners of Delancey and Bowery and Park and 28th became relative ghost towns…and hotel bars thinned out while the stampede to print was on as SCREW and its weekly cousins went to the bank on the backs of their escort advertisers. Then a funny thing happened: Somebody invented the Internet.

Some time around 1998, I was visiting an incall on the Upper East Side to pick up the advertising money for my employer (Action Mag) when the boss introduced me to a guy named Brian, who was carrying a laptop (uncommon then) and proceeded to give us what turned out to be his first sales pitch for his employer, NEW YORK EXOTICS. There were only 4 advertisers on the entire site at the time but I knew right away that this was the new wave. I called my employer and gave him the bad news: I’ve seen the future, Joe. And unless you get with it…you won’t be in it.” He didn’t get with it…and within 4 years, he was out of business.

But while Action and Screw folded a decade ago, others like Escort Magazine, She Male Magazine and The Vault continued on their intrepid path, just barely eking out a living as the Internet took over. Being the original co-owner of Escort Magazine and an editorial contributor and salesman for most of what came in Screw’s wake, I knew the handwriting was on the wall. And then two months ago, it happened. XPOSE and SHE MALE, the last two holdouts, finally folded. There just wasn’t enough money to be made for the owners to continue. And so…came the end of an era.

And in a way, it’s a sad state of affairs. With Screw, a guy had something to read before and after he went trolling for babes. There was sex news, satire, and verbal assaults on the political status quo. It was wacky, wild and often intellectually stimulating. There was something there! Now that’s all changed. The current leaders (Backpage, Eros, and Craigslist) are directories with virtually no editorial content or pretense. They’re just a laundry list of women who offer their companionship for a price. Almost like sex without romance or foreplay – if you will.

Goldstein wanted to make money for sure. But he also fancied his paper as a platform with which to advance his own political agenda. The new wave? Absolutely nothing between its ears! It’s all about grinding out dollars. They ain’t tryin’ to change the world. And so I offer today’s requiem for the contact tabloid, a venue in which a guy could turn a buck and express a point of view. Those who would profit from adult advertising have no interest in advocating for the advertisers…or changing laws and or societal values to include them in the mainstream. They simply want their advertising dollars and would rather not see or hear of the practitioners if at all possible – which is why so many invite subcontractors to do the messy work of selling and designing the advertising that lines their pockets.

Fortunately, there is one guy left who has at least somewhat successfully bridged the old world with the new. You get the old contact tabloid intellectual sensibility…and you get the new cheesecake formula for success: lots and lots of pictures of actual girls. And ya know where you can find that? Take a look buddy! You’re on it right now! Hopefully, you’ll appreciate this for what it is because I too won’t be around forever. And when this folds…that will be it. Just as I sing the requiem for the contact tabloid, somebody will be singing my requiem as well. Alas…that’s the way of the world. Out with the  old…and in with the new. And guys like Goldstein, me and Fezziwig rise and fall with each new trend. What are ya gonna do beyond marking time with a thought along the lines of what I’m thinking and tapping on my keyboard today? Not a whole lot. Time and tide wait for no one!

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.

tumblr_mkb7hkfWXk1r8g8tio1_1364371381_cover.pngThe most asked question down at the soup kitchen among the regular volunteers as we sit down to eat has to be the following: “So how was your week?” And second would be “How ya doin’?” The latter is probably the most asked question when two people who know each other but haven’t met up for a while chance up on one other. It’s a meaningless question which 99% of the time is answered with “OK, and you?” In fact, it’s become a trite social convention which may eventually lead into a meaningful conversation – but rarely at the outset. It almost serves as foreplay for a session of verbal intercourse.

Oddly, when one person asked the obvious of another yesterday, he actually launched into a dissertation-like response to the simple question. I was impressed. Like…how often does anybody respond to the “how ya doin'”with anything of meaning?

So anyway…after not seeing who has become my favorite playmate for a second straight week, she texted me a long message in which the girl acknowledged our absence in each other’s lives and then went on to ask the old “how ya doin’?”…followed with a statement that she’s been very busy with school (which I’m sure is true to a certain extent) and hasn’t had time to read my blog to find out.

It was at that point that I thought to myself…”If anybody wants to know what’s going on in my life…it’s pretty much all included in the last week’s entries. With me, you don’t have to ask ‘how ya doin?’ You need only read the blog to find out!” And I guess it took this woman’s communication for me to realize that. Hmm! First she teaches me how to open a bottle of champagne…and now this? Who’s the one going to school here? Maybe that’s why I like her so much. Or then again…it could be her phat booty, 21″ waist, and/or her incredible oral skills. It’a quite a competition – let me tell you!

But to be serious…her message contained the ubiquitous reference to strap ons! Now I know what it felt like for Amy Kurz, my 7th grade girlfriend, who was constantly fending off my attempts to feel her up! I give my current molester one thing: She’s relentless if nothing else.

In response to her umpteenth suggestion in that strap on realm, I wrote back that I’d had a dream about her the previous night (total bull shit by the way) which as I related, involved a cute blonde..me…her…and of course, her strap on…and went on to describe a scene during which we tag-teamed the blonde…she with her plastic fantastic lover…and I with my fleshy female slayer until our blonde playmate almost drowned in a puddle of her own cum until we administered mouth-to-mouth and saved her life.

And I wound up my e-mail with the truth: “And if you believe I dreamed all of that, I got some oceanfront property in Kansas I’d like to sell you!”

Personally, I thought I deflected the strap on suggestion in a most deft fashion. She’s apparently trying to bring out my gay side…and all of a sudden I’m interjecting the possibility of her exorcising those “I wanna have a penis, too” demons via a threesome! Pretty slick, eh?

Anyway…the point is that if anybody wants to know how I’m doin’, they need only read my blog to have that question answered. And that is after all…what blogs are about in the first place. So I must be doing something right.

And check out the new girl STELLA at ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137). Nice photo!


Come hell or high water and through thick and thin, there’s one thing of which you can rest assured. I’ll be attracted to all types of girls – both thick and thin. I offer yesterday’s photo subjects as evidence.

If you like your bronze goddesses on the waify side, then you’ll love KELLY. She’s been working with the same lousy photos for a couple of years now. So when I pedaled over to JEWELS (347-595-4518) to reshoot FARRAH (who wanted to retake her pix with a better outfit), I asked Kelly if she wanted new photos as well while I was there. And she did.

Kelly is a born poser/model type. I can see her on the Tyra show (can’t remember its name) with all those models competing for the brass ring. While she is rail thin, Kelly still has curves, legs and a fat-free washboard stomach. She’s got it goin’ on as far as I’m concerned. Pwaaang! Or should I say “schwing?”

But I can appreciate a thick and juicy woman as well. Now there’s a distinct difference between fat and phat. And FARRAH is the latter. The girl is solid as a rock with no body fat that I can see. She’s simply built thick – and wears it beautifully. I shiver with hot chills in her presence. Farrah got it goin’ on.

It may seem paradoxical when I say that each girl is as boner-popping as the other, given their different body types. But it isn’t really. Men are designed to appreciate all forms of the fairer gender. It helps procreate the species. And trust me…I could procreate with equal alacrity when it comes to Kelly and Farrah. Not that they would want to procreate with me but hey….a guy can have his fantasies, right?

Anyway…here’s a couple of shots of each. It’s often difficult to decide which photo should go on the home page. What one person sees as most attractive doesn’t necessarily match with another’s view. So I generally e-mail the phone girls and ask their opinion as after all…they’re the people who rep the product…and they’re the people who earn a bonus once they hit a certain booking threshold. So of course, I can trust their opinions. Their living depends on it…and you can bet they’ll tell me which shot is the money-maker.

Y’all can be the judge as well. Feel free to voice your opinion! Here they are. It ain’t Frick and Frack. We’ll call them Thick and Thin!






Often girls take off and say they’ll be back at some point but never return. Not so with KANA (646-255-3203). She took off…said she’d be back in December…and sure enough, called today to say she’s returned. As a remeinder…here’s Kana. And as always…she wants to be your girlfriend.

Also…the good people at HIYAKO (212-679-3681) are having a problem with their site. They assure me that they’re doing business as usual and are working toward fixing the problem. Now here’s Kana.

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d66ea455f199300c87cf9058bfc35299Some people call it “dirty talk.” Me? I prefer “sweet nothings.” Whichever way…today’s post is about the banter – or the verbal intercourse if you will – that takes place during the sexual intercourse.

Whether in the professional or amateur realm, it’s usually meaningless scripted stuff. “Oh, it feels so good”…or “just like that”…or “oh, yes, yes”…or finally “oh my God!” The last has to be the most overused of them all!

I have my own bull shit. Usually, it includes words like “juicy”…and “phat”…and “round”…and “too much for me!” It all has to do with making my partner feel confident so she’ll be in the proper mindset to blow me away – so to speak. I don’t use the “w” or “b” words (whore/bitch) unless a girl asks me to…which they do surprisingly often! But that’s a subject for another day. Anyway…why am I on this particular tack today?

Well…last night, I was in the throes with a very hot boriqua. Predictably, there was a lot of Spanglish going back and forth: “Alright, baby! Que chocha perfecta! I like-ee! Me gusta!” said I. “Que rica, papi! Damelo! Give it to me good!”…was more or less  her response,

And then it happened! And it wasn’t the first time I’d heard it from the mouth of a woman of color: “Give me that white dick!” WTF?!?!? I fired back “Dame esta chocha hispana!” (Give me this Spanish pussy!) Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t really get offended. But isn’t that a little racist? Couldn’t you substitute “white” with let’s say…”big”…or “long”…or even “hot?” You gotta say “white?” I’ve never told a girl I liked her black pussy…or her Spanish pussy. But that’s just me.

Maybe a month ago the same thing happened with an old friend. Ya know…the old “give me that hot, white dick!” Because I’ve known the second girl for a while, I did point out what she’d said to me a couple of days later…citing that it just might have been a racist moment. She blushed (even with her dark skin – I couldn’t resist) and admitted her indiscretion.

“But you know…it’s not like that, Billy!” she offered. I gave her two snaps and a “whatever.” “No problem, baby!” I eased her conscience. “Just so you keep giving me that good black pussy!”  “Oh no, you di’n’t,” squealed her friend! All parties had a good laugh. It was actually a “we are the world” moment after all.

Ya know…people say politically incorrect stuff all the time. It just escapes from their mouths. It’s out there…and they can’t take it back. So why would it be any different during sweet nothing time? Especially during sweet nothing time…when you’re at your most primal and unguarded!

Anyway…I’ll count my blessings. I can deal with the adjective “white” as a descriptor for my dick. Just so I don’t hear “small”…I’m good to go.

And for the music lovers out there…a little contextual flashback from my youth. Enjoy! Ignore the 15 second commercial. Afterwards, you get stereo and great old pix of the singer.


In the past, I’ve told stories about escorts and the celebrities they meet on the job. And trust me…there are enough of them to fill a book. But what about pros who meet celebs while off duty? Believe it or not, that happens, too. And what if you yourself are bedding the girl who bedded the star…and she gives you a review of that star’s performance as if she were writing the guy up on TER or something? Bizarre! This has actually happened to me on at least two occasions that I can immediately recall.

Anecdote #1 came from an Amer-Asian hoochie mama who hustled herself an invitation to a rap star’s album party given at a club way west in the 50’s. “Get high” artist that she was, Brooke did exactly that and then stripped stark naked to do some sort of mystical flower girl/peyote dance on stage. After enjoying her performance for a few minutes, “Doodle’s” (name changed to protect the guilty) minions carried Brook back to a private office area where Doodle did her!

I was incredulous when I heard the story. “I don’t know, Brooke. I hear Doodle does trannies,” claimed I not out of jealousy…but more to just fuck with her to see how she’d react. Plus, the rumor mill had it that Doodle was hanging with trannies. There was some truth to my statement. Whatever…Brooke shot me an indignant look and declared “Yeah, right! Doodle didn’t  fuck me and I’m not a ho!” She then held her hands out separated by 5 or 6 inches to say “He’s about that long…kind of skinny…and he busted in 15 seconds.”

Ouch! Not exactly a ringing endorsement. Hey! I guess if you fuck a groupie you might want to give her your biggest, baddest and longest-lasting hard-on – that is – if you care about your reputation in that realm! Later that night, I asked her employer about the veracity of Brooke’s statement and apparently, all signs indicated that she was telling the truth. Brooke had been at the club… had stripped naked…and had been carried off by Doodle’s minions. I had little doubt at that point.

Story 2 came from my old German buddy. While she was a pro who claimed to have met Eliot Sptizer on the job (and liked him by the way – until she discovered that it was he who ruined her cushy deal at New York Magazine when Spitzer and NOW convinced the publication to stop running those “role play” ads in the back), Eva was also a troller who would go out and try to “turn” guys. Which is to say…she would attract a man at a restaurant, gym, or even in the street…and then convince him to pay for what he wanted.

One night she was over at my apartment having me do computer chores when the girl asked me to look up a guy whose name I’ll change to Bob Beetle.

“Bob Beetle! Really?” I asked. “Why Bob Beetle?” Well, it turned out that she’d dated Bob and wanted to marry him, though she admitted he wasn’t equipped to star in any porn movies. But that hardly mattered. He had a gangster/tough guy personality. And she liked that. Unfortunately, he dropped out of sight (to her anyway) and when she called to ask how he was, Bob yelled at her “Don’t ever call me again!” This she took in stride. I mean…c’mon, man!  She could run a New York Mag ad and find 10 guys more virile than Bob.

And as I wind up this meaningless bull shit, I want to thank Jordan Belfort, the Wolf of Wall Street, for today’s inspiration. I read his book last week and couldn’t help but recall the odd night Eva described Bob to me as she sat in my futon chair when I read about Mr. Belfort’s relationship with the one and the same Bob, who he employed to get information on the FBI guy who was stalking him.

Curious about the movie after finishing the book, I found it at the NYPL and discovered that Bob played himself in Scorcese’s movie. I get a kick out of Bob Beelte. His prowess between the sheets matters not to me. He and Bernie Kerik have something in common. When you look at them, it’s hard to tell whether they’re cops or criminals. They just have that tough guy look like they’d fight 10 guys in an alley without hesitation. Nobody would ever accuse me of having that look. I’m jealous!

Well anyway…it just goes to show ya that celebs are people and unlike porn stars who share their limelight, not all are that prodigious between the sheets. The rumor mill is what it is and if you don’t want to be part of it…don’t fuck anybody!

Many years ago, a Texas floozy who I had no interest in bedding indiscreetly asked me in front of a few girls and her boss “Hey Billy! You got a big dick?” I gave her a matter-of-fact look and answered “I dunno!  Ask around!” I left it to the rumor mill. Just seemed like the appropriate response. Let the pieces fall where they may.

And speaking of places where no doubt the girls would tell you all about what a spud I am, you’ll notice a transformation on the JEWELS OF NEW YORK blog. I’m creating pages for all the girls who have more than one pic and it’s a big fucking job. Gotta get my nose back to the grindstone. Adios!

Virtually everybody who owns a website (with the possible exception of yours truly) has a fixation with their google rank. It’s simply the be-all and end-all of website ownership. Everybody wants to be on top of the first search page in whatever category.

Now I’m aware that it’s all smoke and mirrors – at least when it comes to the escort scene. I’ve been on page 1 and all it did was attract the attention of some adult website owners. It didn’t bring any significant traffic to my blog or business for the houses on my sidebar.

Exactly how to get your site on page 1 is the mystery of the millennium. Web geeks charge a fortune to people who want to be there and often, they don’t know themselves how it works. Google apparently changes its algorithms constantly to stay ahead of the those who would manipulate the system.

Well anyway…once I swapped out my Blogger platform for WordPress, I completely fell out of sight. Blogger is owned by Google and WordPress is not. So you know how that shit goes! Despite, I periodically check via searching “escorts NY, NY” to see if I reappear – mostly out of curiosity – and because I don’t have a lot else to do.

And so today, I looked in my Safari browser and check it out! Out of 860,000 references, guess who was # 1! I kid you not! I have absolutely no clue as to how that happened…and I did notice that doing the same search in Chrome nets nothing. But hey! All the Mac-heads use Safari and in fact, it’s now the most popular browser. So here, here…and hoorah! Go figure!

Is my traffic way up…and are the clients calling to say their phones are ringing off the hook? Of course not. But still, it’s cute to be #1 with a bullet. It never happened for me in the music business…but it just did in the blog world. Here’s a screenshot I took for my scrapbook! Whoop-dee-do!

P.S. I wrote this 30 hours ago and I’m already down to page 3 on Google. Figure that one out! And this morning (5 hours later) I’m back in the middle of page 1.

numero uno

On more than one occasion, readers have contacted me asking why it happens that some popular girls take new photos and then change their names seemingly to confuse their ardent followers. I mean…what’s the point of building regulars only to assume a new identity so that those regulars can’t find you anymore? It makes no sense!

Well….there could be a few reasons. Stalkers for starters! That happens more often than you think. And then there’s the issue of family members or boyfriends making the dreaded discovery. Or finally, it could be to dodge bad reviews. As counterproductive as it may seem to change your alias, I can only assume there are urgent reasons for doing just that. Urgent enough to forgo all the income that keeping one’s identity in this business guarantees.

I tell you all this because I see that a girl named BECCA has moved over to ASIAN FLOWER (646-639-1195). Now I’ve known Becca for almost 10 years. I took her picture and actually went in the room with her the first day she arrived in New York. Becca quickly became a huge crowd favorite. And rightfully so. She was super cute facially, and though not overly busty…was (and is) totally natural and perfectly-proportioned. The girl even had a round booty!

So cute and youthful-looking was Becca that Eros.com demanded I send proof of her age when I submitted her very first New York ad. Promising that I would never forward an ad for an underage girl didn’t work. So on a Friday after Thanksgiving, I rode up to 54th Street (where she was working) and shot a photo of her passport to prove to eros that they were wasting my time. And as it turns out, the girl was considerably past the age of consent. Like a decade’s worth!

I have not seen Becca for several years. But I’d be willing to bet that she’s just as cute as ever – and maybe even more attractive than before now that she looks like she’s more than 16 years old. Why she’s decided to reinvent the wheel (as have others of her persuasion) I cannot tell you (because I don’t know). But just for fun, I will post the original shot I took of her way back then. It is completely unphotoshopped except for smoothing. Which is to say…her body dimensions are totally untouched. That should provide a refreshing moment for the division of guys who are tired of viewing super-altered images of Korean girls. This is (or at least was) the real deal.

And before I trot out the cheesecake show-and-tell…let’s add two more cuties to the pictorial. NANA and RUBY are a dynamic duo of new right-off-the-plane additions over at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409). I haven’t seen either but the phone girl assures me that both meet with the exacting standards of even the most discriminating fans of KMP cuties.

OK! It’s already enough with my gas! Here’s da goils!




imgresOften people ask me why I volunteer to feed the homeless (or destitute) every Saturday. And my answer is generally “It’s the right thing to do…it’s good for your karma…and there are no assholes down at the soup kitchen.” But ya know what? Number 3 isn’t true. I found an asshole down at the soup kitchen. His name is Brian…and he’s an Asian guy in “finance.”

Granted, I just finished reading “The Wolf of Wall Street” so I’m taking a dim view of people involved in the stock market. But still…I thought this guy was a douche way before I discovered what he does for a living. And I couldn’t figure out why he would be volunteering – given his personality. Yesterday, I finally understood.

Uche, the Nigerian boss (good guy), told me to run the meat loaf line – but not actually do the job of digging each section of meat loaf out of the huge tray to put it on the plate. Which is to say…Uche had too many volunteers…and didn’t want me doing too much so he’d have tasks for everybody to perform. I got it.

I assumed the position in front of the assembly line, essentially acting like a conductor though also involved in doing the work…when along comes Brian to “hang.” Brian has been volunteering for years and thus, outranks me in the hierarchy. But he has no work ethic. He does nothing – save supervise. Brian’s one of those kind of guys.

Whatever…I step aside to let him do whatever he wants to do – which is flirt with the line crew which happened to be comprised of all females with the exception of the tray cleaner who is always off by him or herself. Now, if I see a pretty girl, I might bust a move on her. But I keep working. This guy is different. As soon as he smells something that interests him, doing the job totally eludes Brian. And that would be assuming he does anything in the first place (which he doesn’t).

To be honest, yesterday’s crew was not very good. I needed to stay on them because they were basically lazy and slow. Additionally, they weren’t particularly attractive – at least to me. But to Brian, who I’m guessing hasn’t been laid in a few years? They were God’s gift to a hard-on. And thanks to Brian’s clumsy advances on the girls, the fucking assembly line was grinding to a standstill. Unbelievable.

Finally, I wandered over to the pantry line where Mahalia, a sweet 30-something mother of 5 who I count as my best friend at the place…and Cassandra, a 40-something woman with the biggest and roundest booty you’ve ever seen this side of a BET video – and who also likes me because I don’t stare her booty down (how I control myself I’m not quite sure) were working to ask “does this Brian guy get under your skin, too or am I crazy?”

Both rolled their eyes and in unison said “I stay away from that guy. I don’t like him!” Aha! Validation! I’m not crazy after all. I’ve found an asshole down at the soup kitchen. My original answer to the question as to why I volunteer must be amended to “It’s the right thing to do…it’s good for your karma…and there are very few assholes down at the soup kitchen.” OK! Enough of that. I found an asshole down at the soup klitchen. We get it! Now to the “crazy kind of software” title.

Years ago when the Village Voice was the big deal in adult advertising, the paper had an ever-morphing policy as to how much the advertisers could and could not display in their ads. (Bear in mind that any 5 year old could wander to a street corner and pull the publication out of a red box free-of-charge to look at the pictures.) And of course, no bare breasts were allowed!

But a lot of the photos submitted to the Voice’s #1 advertising agency/supplier of adult ads and revenue (Somad) were bare-breasted! What to do! Drawing on bras with a pen on the actual hard copy of the picture was one way. And we who sold ads for the Voice actually did that at times! And painting or drawing a bra on the scan of the photo in photoshop was another I know I used!

But what finally happened is that Somad discovered a bizarre piece of software that actually enabled the graphic designer to place a bra on a bare-breasted model! Yup! You summoned the bra from the software (and there were several types) and then adjusted the size, tilt, color and whatever else to fit on the model. Personally, I found the software to be deficient and about as convincing as a girl with no breast tissue who’d opted for 38DD implants. Which is to say…anybody could spot the bull shit from a million miles away.

Still I wondered “Why would anybody design such a bizarre piece of computer software? I mean…how many people needed to put a bra on a bare-breasted photo?” Beat me then – and it still does now. I guess there’s a strange piece of computer software every 3 inches in the software game. What else can I say? I’m not a software designer so I don’t really know.

Anyway…gotta go take a humongous dump. I ate a ton yesterday. We had all sorts of leftovers owing to the weather – a tiny portion of which I took home to consume. And now it’s time for nature to take its course.

Strapon-Captions-1Hey, fellaz! You think we have fantasies about the objects of our lust? Check it out! Last night (Friday) I made a date to go see one of my favorite playmates. But after riding to 30th Street to take pictures…and then to 58th and back home…I was pretty much soaked through and decided “tomorrow’s another day. Let me cancel.” So I did just that and had a big bowl of spaghetti before I passed out in front of the tv.

At 2 AM, one of my neighbors decided that he (or she) needed to go on the roof and errantly set off a 110 decibel alarm which woke up the entire floor! Jeez! Helicopters one night and a douchebag tenant the next? Can anybody get any sleep around here?

So anyway…I sat down at the computer to do today’s post and found the following e-mail in my yahoo account:

Heard I was gonna have a hot date tonight but it seems like the rain stole him from me.
It’s a pity. I had already organized the handcuffs and strap ons.

Really?!?! Strap ons (as in plural)? One wouldn’t be enough to do the job? I’ve never made any requests – and hope I’ve never given any indication – that that sort of play would be in my repertoire! But honestly, I don’t think it was about any vibes I’d given off. It was really about her fantasies! I’m familiar. Way back in the stone age, I had a feisty college girlfriend who used to sneak up behind me…wrap her arms around my waist…and then dry hump me pleading to whomever…”if only I had a dick…I’d show you!”

In fact, it was a form of titillation for her and usually ended up as foreplay for the main event – which entailed her being the socket – and me being the plug. She was just jealous and wanted to momentarily feel the power. Shrinks call it penis envy. Makes sense to me. And then years and years later (last night)…I got another dose in my e-mail box. Girls and  their fantasies! What are ya gonna do?

Whatevvv…to the pictures. First we have ISABELLE, currently working at HIYAKO (212-679-3681). So what’s a busty Dominican doing working at an Asian place? Who fucking cares. Check out the chestals on Izzy! And I hear she wants to be your girlfriend! I don’t know about you guys…but Isabelle sure sends a shiver down my spine! Actually, she’s very nice – albeit a little English-deficient (as if that would matter).

And then I got a call from DREAM GIRLS (646-276-0229) informing me that two new cuties (TIFFANY and MIA) would like to entertain a few select gentlemen. And so here are their photos as well. I love the photo of MIA. Verrrry Hot!

And away we go (as Jackie used to say)!





2684852177_60aaea8510_zIt is now 2:35 AM…and it should be nice and peaceful in my humble abode. But it’s not…because of a noisy helicopter hovering over Union Square Park. And why would a ‘copter be hovering over a park in the middle of the night? Because that’s where the demonstrators are gathering. And why is anybody demonstrating at this ungodly hour? Because a cop accidentally murdered some low rent hustler for the heinous crime of breaking up a pack of cigarettes and selling “loosies” at a profit to people who can’t afford an entire pack so he can feed his family. And this is a crime punishable by strangulation?

A lot of people are demonstrating because the officer who applied the choke hold that killed Eric Garner has been judged not guilty not by a trial jury – but by a grand jury – where the burden of proof is lower than with a trial jury! Yet still  – even though we see the tape – the grand jury gave the cop a pass! What the fuck?!?!

Anyway…I’ll get over the fucking helicopter noise because it’s a small price to pay in exchange for the satisfaction of knowing that outraged citizens are expressing their opinion. Hopefully, nobody’s gonna die for committing that crime (expressing your opinion).

Moving on to what matters…I took some pictures today! Let’s meet da goils! Foist, we got JESENIA from JEWELS (347-595-4518), a really pretty, friendly and comely lass if ever I’ve seen one. (A “comely lass!” Am I gay or what?!?!) A spinner she ain’t – but I like her curves. Viva las latinas! That’s all I got to say!

And uptown at GC (917-547-0723), you’ll notice a new ravishing Russian (NICOLETTE) joining the resident ravishing Russian (TALIA). Talia’s reputation precedes her (in a good way). No need to elaborate. To the new girl! Just like Talia, Nicolette is an Americanized Russian who speaks perfect English and dresses (and looks)_ part punk…part ghetto…and part Russian. Personally, I found her to be a funky collection of cross-cultural influences. One of her shots is most provocative. Or as the kids might say, mad provocative – except that they would never use the word “provocative.” Whatever…zeee babes!






as0201While the number of comments on this blog is way down now that you have to submit an e-mail address to chime in, the e-mails I receive aren’t. And today, I received one ripe with validation for this effort. So what the hell. I might as well share it:


So glad to see ShaSha back on the scene.  I found her off your A-list years ago.  She’s absolutely tops in my book.  Looks, attitude, brains, skills.  The biggest thing I learned with her is let her run the show.  She likes to run the session differently than I like if I’m guiding the discussion as it were, but when you sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride you get treated to an experience like no other.  My but does that woman know how to bring it.  

Thanks for all of the great insights into the K-girl scene.  I only frequent places you carry on your sight and I haven’t been steered wrong yet.  Sad to say Aqua and I didn’t click, but that wasn’t her fault.  Human chemistry is a mystery.  

You also have saved me a fortune over the years as I only AAMP in Manhattan now.  It is just too hit or miss everywhere else in the country.  DC was amazing for a while, but the puritan fascists really cracked down there.  San Fran has an amazing cornucopia, but it’s YMMV every time.  Thanks to you ShaSha, Chanel, Cherry, Rose, Pinky, and many more have given me great memories.  

I’m headed out of town on business to Houston.  I’ll make a point of buying your book when I get there.  It’ll be my first e-book purchase, so I’m learning that thanks to you now.  :)

Keep up the great work,


P.S. A resource you may want to share for folks headed out of the country is The International Sex Guide Forum  Membership is $20 for the year and I have found fantastic helpful information for Peru, Argentina, Germany, and London.  It is an amazing resource.

A couple of things before I hit the sack. First, ROSIE formerly of ASIAN PARADISE can now be found uptown at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281). Following is her new pic. 

But before I go…a comment on the Eric Garner case. I’m usually the guy to point out that the dead or maimed perp in the news got that way by not submitting when he easily could have. But in the case of Mr. Garner, I have to deviate. He didn’t resist arrest. He was just pleading his case – even if the big guy was lying his ass off. I’m sure he was selling loosies. But I’m not sure that sticking up for the rights of an industry that kills people as a by product of selling their poison really needs the NYPD to protect and serve their interests. I mean…c’mon, man! You gotta lock up a guy for selling a few loose cigarettes?

And that fucking choke hold? How does that cop get away scot free when clearly, he killed a man who wasn’t posing a threat? I applaud all the protesters who clogged the city today. That shit was wrong like a mother fucker. There was no reason to come up behind Garner and choke him.

OK! I just had to vent. Here’s ROSIE!

rosie4_fs copy

And for fans of good music…here’s a Christmas present I found on You Tube the other day. It’s a live rendition of the Rolling Stones first big hit sung and performed by the guy who actually wrote the song. While a little raggedy (especially in the first chorus) at the outset, it gets red hot in a hurry. You’ll note the video is like 30 years old by how young Paul Shaefer, Will Lee and Steve Jordan look. Check it out!

As in ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) reshuffled! And the new deck features NARI, a slinky young (early 20-something) cutie new to NY (or say they tell me), HYURI, formerly of Hot Pink fame, and (drum roll) CRAZY SHA SHA, the ultimate heartthrob from head to toe. Sha Sha is an old (or not so old) friend. And she’s crazy in a nice way. The girl is a kindred spirit. She likes to ride her bike around Bayside on her days off. It clears her mind. I can definitely relate. And without further ado…here’s da goils!





lucy2_fs_fs copyA couple  of weeks ago, a thought came into my mind. “I wonder what happened to the phone girl who used to work at Hot Asian? I haven’t seen her for a while – ever since that house closed.” The phone girls/managers of Korean places move around as freely – and as often – as do the girls and it can be difficult to keep track of them.

So yesterday I called over to VIP ASIAN (646-391-2639) to get an update…and guess who answered. Yup! The very phone girl I’d been thinking about. So I went over to say hey and out came LUCY from the “girls only” area to crash on me for a write-up!

“Billy-ah! You write something good about me,” she pleaded her case while tapping on an imaginary keyboard to clarify exactly what she wanted from me.

“Ok!” I responded. “I’ll tell everybody how cute you look in your pajamas.” In fact, Lucy was wearing pajamas. And I’m not talking lingerie type stuff. I’m talking pajamas – like what your granny might wear to bed. But ya know what? She still looked cute.

Then she asked me how many girlfriends I have. I told her none. I don’t think she got the memo that I don’t fool around with Asian girls – but I still got a kiss on the cheek – and she just got her write-up. Seems like a fair trade – especially since she implied that I’m some sort of player. Works for me!

Anyway…in more important news…AQUA will be returning on Monday for those who find her irresistible – which would be every guy in the continental United States who isn’t gay! And while I’m at it…crazy SHA SHA will be arriving at ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-7143) this coming Wednesday along with a couple of other girls whom I’ll be featuring this coming Monday night. No sense in overhyping them at this point as they aren’t there yet.

That’s it for the moment. But before I go…I’d like to thank the 4 people who have purchased my book. Number one with a bullet I ain’t – obviously. It’s a good thing I’m not that full of myself because this lukewarm response which is tantamount to a referendum on the value of what goes on in the middle of the site (ya know…the blogging part) isn’t exactly giving me an immense boner. So come on guys! Three bucks! Represent! There’s even a 3000 word piece I wrote for GALLERY MAGAZINE (“A Day In the Life of the Fun Time Salesman”) which I’ve never printed on this blog! Such a deal! I’m out!

tanyathumb copyThe girl’s name was Tanya…and she wasn’t half bad-looking. Not somebody I’d want to see in the room, mind you (a little skinny for my tastes plus she had implants) but the woman was nice enough. Tanya worked as either floor or phone girl for a few different houses that ran ads in the Voice, Press and Action using me as their agent. And so… I got to know her pretty well over the span of a few years.

Tanya and I got along fine. There was absolutely no sexual tension between us. I didn’t want to fuck her and she didn’t want to fuck me. But she knew I’d been in the room with some of her friends and one day while I was hanging out waiting to take photos of a girl who was occupied for an hour – and Tanya was working the phones – she decided to gossip…comparing notes on several girls we both knew.

“I fucked the shit out of that bitch,” said Tanya referring to somebody or other. It was odd enough to hear that statement once from a girl who doesn’t have a penis. But then as she laundry-listed all her conquests, Tanya made the same claim about several of her colleagues. And with each revelation, I’d say something  less misogynistic about the girl she’d “fucked the shit out of” along the lines of  “actually, she was really a sweet girl. I liked her a lot.” And she’d continue unabated with similar male-like declarations championing her prowess.

I dunno…but it just seemed like it was my role to balance the scales. If Tanya wanted to be the dickhead male, I would be sensitive in counterpoint to her surprisingly callous claims. It occurred to me that I might ask “When you say ‘fuck the shit out of,’ are you being literal…as in you strapped on a 12 inch piece of plastic and stretched the girl out irrevocably? Or are you just using a figure of speech you know dillweed dorks use when they impress a woman for 5 seconds – or 5 inches – whichever was less?”

But ya know…I didn’t! I simply found the entire conversation too ridiculous to take seriously. I mean…why was I in some sort of silly competition with this woman in the first place. Certainly, I was willing to concede that lack of a penis notwithstanding, she was better equipped to satisfy a woman than  was I.

And so it was implicit that Tanya had a bigger dick…which lasted longer…and which she handled with more expertise than me in every case. We went into that conversation with no sexual tension. And we finished it the same way. It was a competition I didn’t need to win.

Tanya and I stayed friends for the duration until she faded away like so many other customers. And I assume that she is still “fucking the shit” out of her friends just as she had been ten years ago when we had the aforementioned verbal intercourse…and of course, satisfying them like I could only in my dreams.

I mean…how could I compete with a lesbian. And why would I want to when a menage would seem much more appropriate? Just one problem: I didn’t want to get with Tanya. So a threesome wasn’t even under consideration. Right place/wrong girl. Wouldn’t be the first time. What are ya gonna do?

Not expecting to find a photo from over 10 years ago, I did a search and sure enough…there she was (and is). Back at the top is an image of the girl about whom I tell this story. Enjoy!

champagne-1I was visiting one of the houses you see on the sidebar of this blog last Friday when after performing a task asked of me, the phone girl gifted me with a small and unopened bottle of  “the bubbly” (champagne). My initial reaction was to cringe and back off, remembering that the first time I ever got drunk – and very ill – was on champagne. Since that moment centuries years ago, I’ve barely touched the stuff.

But then I reconsidered. There was a girl I planned on seeing that night who I know likes to drink Scotch – and beer when I bring it along. So I figured “What the hell! She’ll probably like champagne as well.” And so I accepted the present.

Later that night, I arrived at Darla’s (fake name) door and presented my heart’s desire with the bubbly…whereupon she exclaimed “You remembered it’s my birthday, right?” In fact, I did not and freely admitted the truth.

“Ya know, you could have lied to me and said you brought it for my birthday!”…she offered what any hustler worth his weight in lies would have said. “Sorry! I didn’t think of that. I’m not a very good liar,” I explained. Somehow, that seemed to work better.

Whatever…she cracked open the bottle, marveling that I had no idea how to open the champagne correctly, to which I acknowledged my ignorance and added “Ya see…I like girls who know stuff,” deferring to her expertise. She shot me a big smile and answered back in mock sincerity “You’re adorable.”

Really,” I thought to myself. “The last girl who used that adjective when referring to me grew to hate my dumb ass. I hope there won’t be a reprise of that reality!”

We shared a few sips and then got to the good part which as always, was very good. We’ve gotten to the good part maybe 10 or 15 times in the past. And it isn’t getting old. I’m getting old…but it isn’t!

Then a funny thing happened when we parted. As I lingered at the door, my prettier half stole a couple of hugs and kisses out of nowhere. And during our playtime she confessed “I really missed you. I was thinking about you during the week!” The latter I took with a grain of salt. I’m not that naive. But the kissing and hugging at the door? She didn’t have to do that…and to the best of my recollection, hadn’t ever acted like that before.

“OMG,” I thought to myself. “Is this girl falling? It’s been a while for me…but stranger things have happened!” At 6:54 AM, I received an e-mail from the same girl who has never before e-mailed me unsolicited. I e-mail her – and then she e-mails me back. This was a first.

The message was actually a little gooey and gushy. Hope you had fun 2night…and time went by so quickly kind of stuff. I wrote back “If you feel like you’re falling…not to worry. I fell for you the day we met. You’re just catching up.” She wrote back “lol. U always know how to make me laugh, smile and tingles.”

At that point, I figured it was time to stop all the mutual massaging. As Foges used to say in junior high (when it came to girls)…”Cards held to the breast are played best.” Funny that I would remember something that stupid and cliche from so long ago!

Regardless, the episode as a whole gave me pause. Was it the bubbly – or was it me? And if it was the bubbly…maybe I should repeat the romance with everybody – judging from the oozing warmth of human emotion that silly bottle elicited. But I’m a legend in my own mind. It wasn’t the dumb champagne that so seduced her. IT WAS ME! Finally a woman with good taste (and who tastes good).

Hey! Every dog (or mutt) has his day. And so it went on Friday night! Let the “pretty woman fantasy” run wild! Romance isn’t really part of my daily routine. And I hardly expect this romance to bear fruit and last and last till the end of time. But still, I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t nice. I guess I ain’t dead yet after all. Go figure.

I finish with a caption I once wrote – and one of which I’m very proud. The publication was a total rag called “Adam As Eve” – a tranny contact tabloid for which I sold ads and wrote features. The boss handed me the pages to the centerfold and asked me to write a catchy caption to be placed under a pic of a hot tranny hugging a bottle of champagne between her ample bosom (read big juggs). I thought for a second and then told the boss “I got it! Here it is: HOW ABOUT A LITTLE TASTE OF THE STUBBLY?

A smile brightened his face immediately. And a tranny who was in the room exploded “Wow, Billy! I didn’t know you were so talented!”

I guess when it comes to anything bubbly or stubbly, I have a green thumb! Of all the gifts!

Many years ago when I posted Backpage ads for a living, I had a brilliant idea. Why not take little videos of the girls and embed them in the ads? At that point in time, BP allowed embedded videos on their site and I figured it would be an excellent way to a) prove that the girl in the pictures was in fact the girl you would see…and b) give the guys an idea of each girl’s personality via whichever means (interviewing them, letting them dance, or simply strut their stuff).

I convinced a grand total of 3 girls to do this and posted the vids on You Tube so we could see how many guys clicked and watched the presentation. It was remarkable! Regardless of the quality of the production, each garnered 2000 views in the first day! And the tranny vid is actually at 62,000 right now! I even wanted to video the inside of KMP’s and conduct tours of each facility so the guys could get a look inside. That didn’t happen unfortunately…as the girls were afraid. And then when BP decided not to support videos, it was over.

But recently, BP reconsidered and now allows 30 second videos to be posted on the sidebar. This has been available to BP customers now for several months and I’m sorry to say that not many of the advertisers use the feature. And those that do, do not impress me!

Most of the few that can be viewed on the site are posted by women of color…and most of them are (surprise, surprise) twerking videos. I can’t remember one in which a girl shakes her big chest at the camera. It’s all ass…ass and mo’ ass! Geez! What ever happened to the appeal of having big tits? Additionally, most have music none of which is composed by the girls. It’s all stolen copyright material. WTF?!?!

I’m sorry…but I’m just not impressed by any of these efforts. What ever happened to seducing the camera…and the prospective client…with a sexxxy verbal come on? Wouldn’t that be much more appealing than some stupid dumbbell shaking her ass? To me, the seductive come-on says “Book me for hours. I’ll keep your body, mind and soul entertained” while the twerking thing says “I’m an idiot. Come treat me like a sex object because essentially, that’s all I am. And you’ll just need 30 minutes because how long will you stay entertained by a shallow Sally who thinks the be all and end all of a woman is how well she can twerk?”

Not that I don’t like twerking, mind you. But a little cerebral seduction might be in order. And that quality is surely lacking in all of those videos.

Anyway…Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Gobble, gobble!

Whether it’s the LAPD and Rodney King…or George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin…or now the Ferguson PD and Big Mike Brown…one thread joins them all. And that thread is that everybody was wrong. A festival of idiots would be three words that could sum up the entire unfortunate event.

Uncharacteristically, the DA in the Ferguson Grand Jury proceeding released 1000 pages of trial transcript just hours after the verdict came down. And curious guy that I am (with too much time on his hands), I read enough of that transcript to get the general idea of how all that madness happened.

On the morning of that fateful day, Big Mike and an acquaintance hooked up to smoke some weed but needed “rillos” (blunts) to accomplish that mission. Hippies use papers or pipes. But in the ghetto? it’s blunts, baby! So they hit the Ferguson Market where Big Mike grabbed a handful of cigars and walked toward the door without paying. The Indian guy behind the counter followed Mike and tried to block him from leaving. Mike pushed him away and exited with the clerk threatening to call the police.

Now you would think that Mike and his homey (named Burton) would run and hide. Or at least that Burton would separate from Mike whom he knew had just committed a crime. I mean…according to his own testimony, he said Mike was more of an acquaintance than a best buddy. Why take the rap for his indiscretion?

But instead, they not only walked home at a leisurely pace, but did so right in the middle of the street! Eintsteins they clearly were not! That or they were just looking for trouble. Although initially, the reports were that the cop who rolled up on them wasn’t aware that Mike had just committed a crime, later reports indicated that the cop did know! Hmm!

Whatever…Burton claims (and I totally believe this part), the officer rolled up on the duo and with a lot of attitude commanded the “Get on the fucking sidewalk!” Burton admits that Mike and the cop got into a grappling match while the policeman was still seated in his car. For the cop’s part, he claimed that he drew his piece afraid that this big kid might knock him out with the next punch, and demanded that Mike back off or “I’ll shoot.” And according to the gendarme, Mike responded “You’re too much of a pussy to shoot!” Now I don’t know about all that! I served on the Grand Jury twice and I watched officers of the law lie on the stand to convince us to indict. So I take all that “pussy” stuff with a grain of salt.

Regardless, there is no doubt that Mike was as irate and tense as he could be. Burton admitted that both men were extremely angry. And within 90 seconds of their initial encounter, Mike lay dead in the street. It all happened that quickly. The crux of the matter lay in whether Mike had his hands up and was surrendering when shot dead – or whether he was in attack mode when the cop shot him in the head twice. A black eyewitness testified that Mike was charging the officer…and that pretty much sealed the deal. No indictment was handed down. There would be no trial. The Feds can file a civil rights suit…and the family follow with a wrongful death proceeding. But the State’s case against the policeman had been kicked!

I call this episode “A Festival of Idiots” as I called the Trayvon Martin fiasco and the Rodney King debacle because once again, everybody was at fault. If you’re Mike Brown and you don’t want to get killed, try not robbing a store. And then if you do rob a store, try running home to smoke your weed. And definitely, do not walk away at a slow pace in the middle of the street – thus defying logic incomprehensibly.

And if you’re the cop, don’t pull up to two black youths and tell them to “get on the fucking sidewalk” with an attitude…when you have no backup and are facing off with a 6′ 4″ 310 pound kid with an attitude as fucked up as yours!

Hey! if Rodney King had just stopped when the cops tried to pull him over, I’m confident he wouldn’t have caught that beating…and half of LA wouldn’t have been burned to the ground and looted in the ensuing weeks. And if Trayvon Martin hadn’t decided to beat the crap out of George Zimmerman for simply asking what he was doing there, he’d be alive.

My point? If there’d just been one level-headed individual in each of these three occurrences, they wouldn’t have snowballed into the catastrophes they became. And that’s my two cents on that subject.

Moving on…a rush of glossary terms came to my mind yesterday, none of which I included on my “Inside Baseball” post from last week. So here again is a now expanded list of terms with which to ingratiate yourself with the escort of your dreams:

1. TO BREAK is a term all escorts use when they see their first customer of the day. So if some girl tells you “I haven’t broken yet”…or “I finally broke 4 hours into my shift,” you now know what she’s talking about. Say you’re a salesman and you’re telling the favorite object of your lust that you were having a bad day. You could say “I couldn’t sell shit yesterday and then I finally broke with some old lady who bought the most expensive sofa in the store.” Guaranteed you’ll get a favorable reaction.

2. A BIG WILLY is not a super endowed guy. It’s a guy who has lots of money and spends it on a girl. So when an escort refers to a guy as a “big willy,” she’s talking about his wallet! Let’s say a girl tells you she saw a guy for 3 hours. You could respond “Oooo! A big willy, eh?” She’ll think you’re down!

3. RATCHET simply means anything low class and bad. “That chick is ratchet” means she’s a skank! If your girl is ragging on some woman she hates, you simply respond “Word up! That chick is as ratchet as they come.” Points, baby. You’ll score them with that!

4. OFFICIAL (I just learned this one) is a way of saying some girl is very attractive. If a chick is “official,” that means she’s certified hot and worthy.

5. MAD is an adjective which generally is a substitute for the word very – or just describes a superlative. Thus, you could say “That chick is mad beautiful”…or “she got mad booty.” She’s a mind-boggler either way!

6. A DOUBLE occurs when two girls are booked at the same time by one guy. If Bertha and Maude are doing a double, they’re in the room with one guy for the duration.

7. RENEGADE – is an adjective describing a situation during which a pimp’s ho sheds her shackles and leaves her slave driver. As in “Where dat bitch Lexus?” asked a plaintive waif from low on G Money’s totem pole of babes. Answer: “She went renegade and now he’s lookin’ to fuck her up,” responded Money’s bottom bitch.

8. Which brings us to BOTTOM BITCH. A pimp’s bottom bitch is his favorite ho in the stable. She gets the preferential treatment. Usually, it’s his biggest money-maker because she’s the best looking of the bunch.

9. FLOOR GIRL – Big places will sometimes have phone girls, managers, maids or kitchen mommies in residence. The “floor girl” is the girl who actually goes in the room with the customers and provides the vital service. The aforementioned ladies are support staff and thus, not floor girls even if they rarely hover in mid-air while they’re working.

10. The TRACK or STROLL – is the street where girls sell their wares. If a girl queries “where’s Porsche?” and someobdy else answers “she’s on the track”…or “she’s strollin'”…that means she’s walking the streets in search of customers. Similarly, a known place where women of this career path congregate would be called “THE TRACK” or “THE STROLL.”

11. TURNED or TURNED OUT – This expression has a couple of meanings. “Turning somebody out” means either a) introducing the girl to a life of being an escort or b) satisfying somebody sexually. Examples: “How’d Mercedes get into the business?” Answer: “Her college roommate turned her out when they both needed money for the rent.” Or “G-note spied her on the boulevard…picked her up…and the next day, she was turned out and standing on the corner. Example 2: Frat Boy Frank tells one of his brothers “I fucked the shit out of that girl at our house party last weekend.” If Frat Boy Frank knew the lingo of the subculture, he would say “I turned that bitch out at our house party last weekend.” Either way, it would be more likely that he date-raped her than satisfied her sexually judging from recent news flashes and what I know about college fraternities and the guys who pledge them.

When you hear the words “track star” in the context of the escort world, one familiar with the glossary of terms knows that this is a street walker who makes tons of cash “strolling” her beat. But not until yesterday, did I meet a literal track star at one of the houses whose employees (or subcontractors – when you think about it) adorn the sidebar of this website.

The occasion was yet another photo session over at JEWELS OF NEW YORK (347-595-4518). After I was done with no fewer than 4 subjects, I entered the hallowed territory of Room 5, one of the areas where the girls congregate if they aren’t working. CANDY, who’s become one of my favorite girls, was lying on the bed and not feeling well.

So I sat down beside her and rubbed her back like a father would a child (and like my parents used to do when I was a seasick little boy – we had a boat). She told me what was ailing her…and I responded about my own aches and pains (shoulder and back) whereupon she added that she lives on Tiger Balm and ICY Hot, both therapies she discovered  back when she was on “the track.” But she wasn’t talkin’ the Hunts Point track. She was talkin’ the AAU Collegiate competition track!

Because of her physique (which is perfectly suited to running) and the “inside baseball” lingo she used, I knew the girl wasn’t lying. Candy in fact preferred sprinting and was so fast that a Jesuit college I won’t name gave her a scholarship to compete! Guys! Ever run the 400 (meters) in 54 seconds? That’s pretty fucking fast! Like 16 miles per hour! At age 17, I lettered in high school track as a high jumper. And there was no way I could ever run a 54 second 400! Pretty fucking impressive! And by the way…Candy’s an awesome ballplayer, too! It’s no wonder why I like her – ex-athlete that I am! Anyway…enough of that bull shit (even if it’s true). On to da uvva goils!

As I said, there were 4 ladies seducing the lens last night. First was FARRAH. If you like dark, thick, curvy and friendly, you will love Farrah. I think her photo looks pretty good – and very representative. But after we were all done, she wanted to do more. I wonder if Farrah’s like that in the throes. Ya know…always wanting more! That could be a good thing…or a bad thing. I guess that would depend if there were any gas left in your tank.

Next came VICKY (I think). Sorry, not sure. She’s a tall and busty cutie with an exotic face. Vicky wanted to stick with her old pic because she didn’t bring the right photo session clothing. But she vogued for the camera anyway.

Third was a short, cute , busty and bewitching latina named TABITHA. I wish I could show her face. Tabithta’s radiant smile complements her big cleavage perfectly. But alas…no face. You’ll just have to use your imagination and take my word for it that she’s a cute girl…and all of 4′ 11″ if you like sho’ties!

And finally, I ran into a familiar face. I couldn’t place her right off but commented that I knew the girl from somewhere to discover that I’d taken photos of her previously. I responded “if you give me your name, I’ll be able to find them. I never delete files because I know they’ll often come in handy at a later date. ” And sho’ ’nuff…I had her files. Here’s TINA MARIE. She reminds me of LOLA (if you recall). TM is a very pretty boriqua with a friendly attitude.

And without further ado…here’s the crew. Enjoy!






As a single guy with no children whose immediate family knows about this blog, I don’t have a lot to lose if I get jammed up and taken in for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m in the distinct minority. Numerous readers have e-mailed me asking questions and expressing their fear of getting caught with their pants down – and the ensuing embarrassment it would bring them. Yet they continue on their intrepid path toward an outing that would change their lives significantly. Apparently, it doesn’t make a difference. THEY GOTTA HAVE IT!

Anybody remember a certain Governor of New York State who just had to have it? Or a leading funny man who didn’t just need to have it…but had to have it with trannies? Yikes! Talk about a double whammy! Yet, they continue. What amazes me most is the preponderance of lawyers who have to have it. These guys know that one “wrong place/wrong time” event could get them disbarred! They could lose their license and their living! And still….you get the idea!

I guess it just goes to show that our primal urges go unchecked when it comes to procreation of the species. And it would be difficult to argue the point given that just in my lifetime, the world population has risen from 3 to 6.5 billion. It seems that all people want to do is boom boom in the room room! But it ain’t cool unless you’re locked into some sort of marriage – at least that’s what traditional societal values tell us. I’m glad I’m not traditional. I don’t figure that’s the way it was designed anyway. Marriage is just some arbitrary social rule made by men…and not their maker.

Anyway…it’s pretty clear from the escort business…and all the extramarital affairs that run rampant through our marriage-oriented society, that dudes gotta have it! And not a lot is going to stop them. Not a complaint, mind you because without them, I’d be back driving a taxi! But then again…driving a cab wouldn’t be so bad. What with the current rates, I know I’d make $300 – $400 per night.


tongue-cutSome time last night, my phone chirped indicating I’d just received a text message. Without donning my geezer readers, I reached over…picked up my flip phone…and checked what turned out to be a multimedia message. The text read “Where’s my Billy?” And along with the question came this photo of a busty girl sticking out her long and serpentine tongue.

Now…because my flip phone doesn’t have the largest display…I did not recognize the identity of the sender even though the picture sent to me did include an unblurred face (which you don’t see here). But smart guy/hobby guy that I am…I turned to google with her number and quickly recognized the ads which came up in the search. It was a girl I’d seen maybe 3 times last fall/winter.

Curious to discover more, I forwarded the entire message to my e-mail account so I wouldn’t need a fucking microscope to glean any additional information. Seconds later, I received a clear and large shot of the girl I once knew. And it sent shivers down my spine. Such a nasty selfie. It exuded such heat and confidence! And our meetings were so hot!

If only I were a naive legend in my own mind, I’d have immediately assumed my irresistible charisma had rendered the girl deeply longing and lusting for her “Billy.” But if I were that naive, heartbreak would have lay right around the corner at the realization that it was all an act after I’d taken the bait…dropped the gelt…and then found my love unreachable shortly thereafter – unless there was more money in the equation!

Whatever…jaded and experienced guy that I am, my reaction was more along the lines of “Wow! Nice hustle, honey! And nasty pic, too. If only I were in need, you’d be the first place I’d go!”

But the truth is…I’m not immune to such overtures…and am indeed, impressed by this girl’s industry. I saw her for 30 minutes three times a year ago and she still retains my name and phone number somewhere in her tech world? Now that’s marketing. What a paragon of professionality!

Realistically speaking, there’s zero chance that this girl really misses me. We all know that! But there is a chance that she ran up on somebody who mentioned me…and then they compared notes…whereupon she discovered I’m not just any middle-of-the-night hobbyist. I’m especially hopeless – enough to have a blog about all this nonsense!

The point is she’s piqued my interest. And so… a job well done to Ms. Honey! I’m sure she got immediate results from at least a few of the other guys who received that message. As for me…I sent her a text which indicated I liked the pic…and that I enjoyed my 30 minute sessions with her. Then I sent this blog’s url and added “business?” Sorry, honey! Hard to get slick with a can of oil!

Anyway…that should stop the text messages for the moment – until I’m ready to reach into my pocket.

P.S. It is now 30 hours since I sent that text about us doing a little business. And guess what! No response. Now there’s not a surprise!

Anyway…check out new-to-the-USA EMMA’S new pic. She can be reached at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305).


When a lot of yanks think of good old boys, they think of Waylon and Willy. But for me, Waylon’s only claim to fame was writing the theme from the Dukes of Hazzard. And Willie? Yeah, “Crazy” is a nice tune…but the man can’t sing…and he’s a God awful out-of-tune with poor time guitar player. On the other hand, I do have my favorites. Jerry Reed and Roger Miller were the iconic good old boys not just for me – but for a lot of their contemporaries as well. Miller’s songs were quintessential bad boy country. And Jerry Reed not only sang and wrote his ass off…but was one of the best guitar players in Nashville. He was what they still call a triple threat in the country music business. He can sing, write and play with the best in each category.

Following are  two diamond in the rough videos supporting my contention that these two guys were the iconic good old boys of their era. The first has Roger Miller performing on of all shows…American Bandstand. Talk about a duck out of water. But his tune “Dang Me” was so catchy that countrified as it was, the record went Top Ten pop and as such, he got booked on Bandstand.

Next up is Jerry Reed’s award-winning composition and performance of  “Amos Moses,” a song about a one-armed renegade cajun who poached gators in the bayou. This is not the original recording. Way after the fact (like in the video era which came after the record was a hit), Jerry produced a video with himself starring as the sheriff. You can see he’s a decent actor (Reed appeared in a lot of movies – “Smokey and the Bandit” for one). And bear in mind that he played, wrote, and sang the composition.

And finally…to a video submitted by a reader. As we horn dogs are all well aware, chicks love a big dick…except the girl in the last video. Although obviously a numbskull of the highest order, I have to admit the woman is hilarious in her own forthcoming way. Check everybody out!

Nashville-Soundtrack-Volume-2Y’all might recall that along with “The Deadliest Catch” and “Wicked Tuna,” I watch a tv show called “Nashville” religiously. For those unaware, “Nashville” is a monstrous soap opera about the country music business with an emphasis on the music and songwriting unique to “Music City.”

Mostly, the “soap” component of the show is secondary (at least for me) or was until the writers introduced a “pretty woman” subplot in which the Mayor of Nashville falls for a blind date with whom he is set up by a music mogul – not realizing that she’s been hired to entertain the VIP. In the last two episodes, the writers have been continuing along this path. Apparently, it’s a plot twist that they will be expanding upon in the coming weeks.

For me, this is a very old story…as I’ve seen it played out in real life on numerous occasions. Whether two people actually hook up in this manner…or it’s just guys who live in a fantasy world and then get their feelings hurt…or their wallets emptied…the ubiquity of this type of interplay is remarkable. Whether it’s on the tube, silver screen or in real life, it just seems to be everywhere.

Whatever…and for whatever reason…my immediate reaction to watching the Nashville subplot unfold was a “head shake” thought of wonderment that if this stuff is so in the culture…and so much a part of our collective romantic lives…why is there such a bum rush by law enforcement to punish purveyors and purchasers alike in the equation? I mean…who cares?

The only rational explanation for why LE is so vigilant in this area comes from the notion that these exchanges between consenting adults are rife with coercion and trafficking. And this is a phantom they’ve been chasing for quite some time. It seems like on every occasion that the authorities make some high profile bust, they don’t really get what they want: a network of coercive pimps and traffickers that would make the entire initiative look meaningful. The sorry truth is that it’s hard to catch fish in a bathtub…and it’s hard to find traffickers where there aren’t any. While I’m sure there are pimps and traffickers in the business, their numbers do not warrant all this attention.

Now it’s obvious…or it should be…that I know this business better than almost everybody who chases these purveyors because essentially, I’ve been in it for 18 years. And it’s equally obvious to me that the law and order crew needs to take a course in just how this whole deal works. There are a lot of man hours and tax dollars being spent on initiatives with questionable value…conducted by officials with a limited understanding of what they’re chasing in the first place. A quick 101 course with the accompanying enlightenment might trim a lot of fat (and cost) from the process.

And ya know…just for once, I’d like to see a referendum on the ballot which read something like this: “Do you want the government to continue spending an inordinate amount of money busting escorts? Or would you rather we legalize the business…regulate it…and derive much-needed income by taxing it?” I can’t see the electorate voting for Plan A. It just doesn’t make any sense.

I’m glad “Nashville” has written the aforementioned subplot into the script because it will eventually serve to de-demonize an industry which provides a very basic service to so many people who demand it. And it provides work for a division of women not all of whom spend the money on drugs. I know a lot of mothers who support children via this line of work.

And before I go, I’d like to advance a theory that the entire seduction and procreation scheme is a continuum and not a cut and dried affair at all. And pursuant to that theory, where does law enforcement draw the line as to what’s legal and what’s illegal activity?

Let’s say a dorky guy attempts to seduce a hot chick by buying her expensive dinners, clothing and gifts for which she puts out sexually in exchange? Why is that legal when being up front about the interaction and simply asking for money is a crime? Isn’t the former individual being shady while the latter straightforward? Why would the shady woman get off while the straightforward girl gets locked up?

It’s a fucking mess if you ask me. European countries are much more evolved in this realm. They do not spend all this money going after the escort industry. So why are we – the leaders of the world – so backward on this issue? And why am I who nobody’s listening to anyway…going on about this issue? Good point. I’ll stop now and just wait for the next episode of Nashville so I can see what happens between the Mayor and his new love interest. I wonder if they’ll write into the plot that the Mayor goes to jail and loses his job for the crime of getting set up with an escort who he didn’t know was an escort in the first place? Ya see now that would make sense! Let’s put the guy behind bars because he didn’t commit a crime! At least, that would be consistent!

On a lighter note, I end this entry with one of the stars of “Nashville” (the tv show) singing one of the songs from the show at The Grand Ole Opry. Very mushy and sentimental but irresistible nonetheless.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill-Cosby-new-show-ftr copy“Why is there air?” or “why is the sky blue?” are both questions toddlers often ask their parents. Well…I’m not sure why the sky is blue…but I do know why there’s air: So BILL COSBY can blow it up the asses of his decades-long adoring fans who think he’s some sort of icon.

Bill Cosby is a total asshole. It’s something I’ve known for a long time. After hearing a couple of stories from two mutually exclusive friends about their experiences with him, I had no doubt. Ten years ago, Cosby was outed as a sexual predator. And now once again, similar rape and/or sexual misconduct allegations have caught Coz in the crosshairs.

Following is a short piece I wrote a decade ago for SCREW MAGAZINE after the original story surfaced. It’s just as relevant today as it was ten years ago. And here it is:


The news that The Coz settled a lawsuit in which he was accused of drugging a woman hoping to have sex with her comes as no surprise to this writer. I’ve known that Cosby is an asshole for a long time. The first indication came when a session drummer who was playing the tracks for The Cosby Show related an ugly story to me during which the comedian threw a fit and unnecessarily dressed Scott down for playing one extra flare on a cymbal, embarrassing his caucasian ass in front of several Afro-American colleagues. When I asked one of the black guys who was also playing on the date if my friend had been abused, Frank politely admitted that Bill was “a little quirky in the studio.”

Next came an anecdote from a girl I once picked up in the old King Tut’s Wha Wha Hut. While we didn’t ever really date, she did become my friend and one day called to ventilate about an awkward episode she herself had with The Coz. Joanne was an aspiring actress who scored a gig blocking for Felicia Rashad on the big show. (Blocking means that Joanne stood in for Felicia at early rehearsals so the camera and lighting crew could have a subject to adjust their gear.)

Bill was about to make a bomb called “Ghost Dad” and asked Joanne if she wanted a part – which of course, she did! So he invited her to his apartment on The Upper East Side for an “audition.” Naive fool that she surely was, Joanne expected to meet Camille and the kids but when she arrived, only Bill and a bottle of liquor greeted her. He proceeded to get her drunk and then proposed that they do some kissing as part of the audition. Joanne pulled back, left, and bristled at the very mention of his name forever and ever amen! Bill told her to “grow up” when she rejected his overture implying (I’m guessing here) that any secondary chick who wanted an actual part in a Hollywood production better put out for the privilege!

I’m always gratified when celebrities who abuse their entitlement get busted for being the assholes they are. And this was no exception. I always felt that Cosby was a self-righteous/full-of-himself knucklehead. And now he’s finally paid the price publicly. I hope the girl got a lot of money from the bum because I have a feeling there were more than a few people who Bill abused in the past letting out a deafening cheer when they heard the news.

pMLB2-1792415dtInside baseball is an old expression a Daily News Editor used to use with me when my op-eds were too esoteric. Or in other words…the article was too r & b – and not ready for the pop market. My fellow cabbies would get it – but the paper’s readers wouldn’t. And once I heard that I knew if I wanted the article published it was gonna need some major editing.

All occupations have their particular lingo. Like with selling ads with the Voice, a “run” was an ad that ran the previous week and would run again unchanged. A “pick up” was an ad that ran previously at some point – but had not run in the last issue. A “twenty eighth” was a minimum size display ad. For Backpage, a “sponsor ad” was the terminology used for that stupid box ad on the side that never worked for shit. Anyway…you get my drift.

Knowing the lingo of somebody else’s job generally serves to ingratiate you – just as knowing how to speak another language puts you in good standing with people who speak that language primarily. You see a Spanish girl and say something in the throes along the lines of “Me gusta tu chocha. Es bien suave y apretada”…she’ll be a lot more receptive than if you say the same thing in English. Especially if she doesn’t speak English.

Like one time when I was a cabby, I got stopped by a cop in front of Penn Station who was obviously going to give me a ticket for the crime of being a cab driver. (Cops did that routinely when I drove. There was no place to drop passengers legally and so, it was easy to cite schmucks like me who had no choice). So when the sergeant came up to me I said “Damn! I knew you were on ‘summons duty’ but what could I do? I can’t drop a passenger with heavy bags a block away!” And guess what! Because I knew the term “summons duty,” which is some inside cop lingo…he let me go!

So anyway…to the point: Escorts – like people in any other occupation – have their own lingo. And it follows that if you know some of it, they’ll feel like you’re one of their own – and treat you accordingly. Want better sessions? Here goes with some of that lingo you can use to accomplish the mission:

1. TO BREAK is a term all escorts use when they see their first customer of the day. So if some girl tells you “I haven’t broken yet”…or “I finally broke 4 hours into my shift,” you now know what she’s talking about. Say you’re a salesman and you’re telling the favorite object of your lust that you were having a bad day. You could say “I couldn’t sell shit yesterday and then I finally broke with some old lady who bought the most expensive sofa in the store.” Guaranteed you’ll get a favorable reaction.

2. A BIG WILLY is not a super endowed guy. It’s a guy who has lots of money and spends it on a girl. So when an escort refers to a guy as a “big willy,” she’s talking about his wallet! Let’s say a girl tells you she saw a guy for 3 hours. You could respond “Oooo! A big willy, eh?” She’ll think you’re down!

3. RATCHET simply means anything low class and bad. “That chick is ratchet” means she’s a skank! If your girl is ragging on some woman she hates, you simply respond “Word up! That chick is as ratchet as they come.” Points, baby. You’ll score them with that!

4. OFFICIAL (I just learned this one) is a way of saying some girl is very attractive. If a chick is “official,” that means she’s certified hot and worthy.

5. MAD is an adjective which generally is a substitute for the word very – or just describes a superlative. Thus, you could say “That chick is mad beautiful”…or “she got mad booty.” She’s a mind-boggler either way!

6. A DOUBLE occurs when two girls are booked at the same time by one guy. If Bertha and Maude are doing a double, they’re in the room with one guy for the duration.

7. RENEGADE – is an adjective describing a situation during which a pimp’s ho sheds her shackles and leaves her slave driver. As in “Where dat bitch Lexus,” asked a plaintive waif from low on G Money’s totem pole of babes. Answer: “She went renegade and now he’s lookin’ to fuck her up,” responded Money’s bottom bitch.

8. Which brings us to BOTTOM BITCH. A pimp’s bottom bitch is his favorite ho in the stable. She gets the preferential treatment. Usually, it’s his biggest money-maker because she’s the best looking of the bunch.

9. FLOOR GIRL – Big places will sometimes have phone girls, managers, maids or kitchen mommies in residence. The “floor girl” is the girl who actually goes in the room with the customers and provides the vital service. The aforementioned ladies are support staff and thus, not floor girls even if they rarely hover in mid-air while they’re working.

10. The TRACK or STROLL – is the street where girls sell their wares. If a girl queries “where’s Porscha” and someobdy else answers “she’s on the track”…or “she’s strollin'”…that means she’s walking the streets in search of customers. Similarly, a known place where women of this career path congregate would be called “THE TRACK” or “THE STROLL.”

11. TURNED or TURNED OUT – This expression has a couple of meanings. “Turning somebody out” means either a) introducing the girl to a life of being an escort or b) satisfying somebody sexually. Examples: “How’d Mercedes get into the business?” Answer: “Her college roommate turned her out when they both needed money for the rent.” Or “G-note spied her on the boulevard…picked her up…and the next day, had her turned out and stranding on the corner. Example 2: Frat Boy Frank tells one of his brothers “I fucked the shit out of that girl at our house party last weekend.” If Frat Boy Frank knew the lingo of the subculture, he would say “I turned that bitch out at our house part last weekend.”

Obviously, I don’t know a lot of the jargon – or I’m forgetting what I know right now since I can only come up with 11 expressions. Still, you get the idea. The more inside baseball you know…the better.

And speaking of baseball (here comes the racist comment…prepare)…there are two activities at which Dominicans excel. One is baseball…and the other is boom boom in the room room…all of which leads me to yesterday’s photo subject at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723). MERCEDES is a mature Dominican lady with a friendly attitude and a phat booty just perfect for guys who can handle all that tropical heat.

There was also another new subcontractor named ROXY…yet another Dominican girl along the lines of Vanessa, as both hail from that exotic island and are at once pretty and slight of build though modestly curvy in a very sensual and appealing way. Unfortunately, Roxy absolutely refused to take pictures. I mean…I was up there pushing and pushing like a high school kid trying to get a female classmate to let him give her a feel. I was relentless in my quest (to get her to pose for the lens) but alas, no soap…although Roxy did surrender that she might consider a photo shoot at a later date.

Whatever…I gave it the old college (or high school) try. But not a total loss. Here’s Mercedes!




Murphy’s Law is currently in full effect where the publication of my first eBook is concerned. I got an e-mail from Amazon saying the new artwork and manuscript are now on the site and ready to roll. Cool! But pessimistic and circumspect guy that I am, I figured I’d better check before making any announcements. And sure enough…they did change the artwork but did not post the new manuscript! And so…I sent them an e-mail (you can’t call) and supposedly, they’ll be getting back to me within 24 hours. Terrific!

It occurs to me that I could sell the sucker right off this site…having the buyer submit the payment to my pay pal account…shipping a pdf of the eBook to their email address…and thus bypass Amazon and their middleman fee altogether. And eventually, it could come to that now that I think about it. I don’t picture Amazon actually selling any books for me. Most if not all of the sales would come from this blog.

Well anyway…I figured I’d post a sample today. Ya know…a little teaser…like an LE check or something! You get the idea! But before I republish “The Perfect Wife,”…a little cheesecake! ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) has a brand spanking new girl named TIFFANY. She looks pretty cute in the picture and it doesn’t appear to be overly-photoshopped. Check her out…and then the sample!



The rumor mill that surrounds me has always been a curiosity. In the beginning, most of the gossip centered around my sexuality. Because my first (and only) boss in this business wanted me to go after she male advertisers – and he paid a higher commission on those sales – I had a bunch of tranny clients. And as I wasn’t married – and told a lot of she male stories to my female clients – it followed that the the girls (the ones born female) decided I was fucking around with trannies. I didn’t really give a crap what people thought until some dickhead detractor put it all over craigslist that I was letting the he/she’s blow me so I could then fuck my Korean clients and give them AIDS! Suddenly my clients’ phones stopped ringing. THEN it became a problem. I had to disguise my customers’ ads and delete the “Dollar Bill approved” concept to bring back the calls!

With a fair amount of fooling around in the female escort community – and none of the experts picking up any gay tendencies – that line of thought gave way to “Billy does his own sales, posting on the web and graphic design. He has no office, pays a minimal rent on his apartment, has no car, no fancy clothes, no expensive habits, IS A CITIZEN (most important – these girls want green cards NOT me) and has a lot of customers. Somebody better marry that guy and get her hands on a green card – and his money!” And so….I’ve received many marriage proposals over the years – mostly out of left field. And I say that because they often come from unlikely sources. Ya know…like girls who don’t even know me! It seems so inorganic.

The very first came from a South American owner out in Flushing who offered $7,000 – and weekends of carnal bliss – and a Mercury Montero – if I would marry her hottest employee. And by the way…this girl had a sensational body! I pretended like I was actually considering the deal…and got laid a few times to sample the wares. But ultimately, it just seemed so wrong…not to mention that my lawyer admonished me if we got divorced and the girl went on welfare, the gov would come after me for the payments – pre-nup notwithstanding! It didn’t sound like such a hot deal after all.

Over the years, I’ve been offered up to 25 grand to marry girls! One posed two options: 25 grand – or nothing – but she’d really be my wife – which meant all the sex and love I could handle! I fired back “I thought I was getting that AND the 25 grand. What kind of hustle is that?” It was a joke. I didn’t want to marry the girl anyway.

Another’s friend offered me $15,000 to marry a girl who I have ALWAYS wanted to lie down with. THAT gave me pause. But when I asked my future wife if she’d do a session with me to be Escort of the Month – and to see if she was worthy of my vows – the girl turned me down responding that she viewed me as her little brother. Talk about a boner killer!

And yet another sizzling siren got down on one knee recently to ask for my hand in marriage. No offer of money was involved. Just the awesome spectacle of the female bounty that even a blind man couldn’t have missed! I looked at her quizzically and asked “Why you wanna marry me?” She answered “You nice guy!” She left out “handsome.” No deal! Whatever! It’s a moot point now. CAROL has moved on to the next world.

Despite the rejection, the phone girl fed me this Korean crepe/pancake filled with squash – which she called pumpkin (same family when you think about it). Dipped in the sauce provided on the side, it was totally delicious. I inhaled the pancake (to the best of my ability given that I ate it with chopsticks), sat back, patted my stomach, and then resolved the situation: “I marry the kitchen mommie – the girl who cooked this food.”

The phone girl persevered: “The kitchen mommie’s pretty young. And she’s not married. You might like her.” If at first, you don’t succeed, I guess you just try, try again! Whatever! Given that I’ve at least temporarily sworn off having sex with Korean girls, I don’t see me marrying any of them any time soon! But I guess a girl can dream the American Dream – of marrying a citizen and finally shedding that illegal alien status that haunts so many of my clients.

Well…for the past few days, if I wasn’t sleeping, fucking, watching football, or feeding the homeless, I was editing down the best blog posts from 2009 to include in my almost ready for publication eBook. After surveying the field to some extent and getting a gander at royalty rates based on the book prices, I decided the best way to proceed would be to publish the previous six years’ archives one volume at a time and charge $2.99 for each. That doesn’t seem like an excessive price for guys who routinely drop $200 per hour plus tips if they want to read what was decaying my mind through the years.

Editing down all of the 2009 posts was not an easy task. The archives themselves are in small print and laced with html which I had to laboriously eliminate before putting the entire mess into a pdf format so that kindles or kindle apps (available free of charge from Amazon) could read the manuscript. Without Microsoft Word for mac, you really can’t format any book properly and so…there are a few glitches in my upcoming work of “art.” But none that will get in the way of the readers’ enjoyment.

Whatever…I have to tell y’all that reading through all those posts from 2009, I really got a sense of what my life was like back then. What I came away with was that I had a huge workload – and a bunch of customers who had no idea of how much aggravation and time their inefficiency and whimsical behavior was costing me. Yikes! At times, my whining became overwhelming – and I’ve edited a lot of my complaints down so I don’t seem like as much of a cry baby as I did back then. But on the other hand…the blog posts were vividly detailed…and very indicative of my trials and tribulations. For anybody who’s curious about the inside story on the escort business told from the unique point of view of somebody who isn’t actually an escort – but knows their life and what makes these girls tick – this would be the read.

Then it was time for a title! After discarding the original “In the Belly of the Beast” because it’s been used before, I considered several others (Booty and the Beast, Dollar Bill’s Greatest Blog Hits, A Bootyful Life, and Days of Whine and Hozzizz) and finally settled on “A KID IN THE CANDY STORE: My Life in the Escort Business” as the best. It has been submitted to Amazon and will probably be live by the time anybody reads this. If you go to Amazon for a look-see, preview it and make sure that the first chapter after the preface is titled “A Day in the Life of the Funtime Salesman.” If you see “The Lost Shot”? Don’t buy it. That’s a dummy version I never should have published in the first place.

One thing is for sure…the world of self e-publishing is a new and interesting frontier. Like with blogging – versus publishing a magazine – there are no print costs involved. So you don’t have to drop thousands of dollars printing hard copies just to massage your ego. The Internet has made jerking yourself off much much cheaper nowadays! As you can imagine…now that it doesn’t cost any money to write your own book, the cyber world is full of wannabe authors. And I count myself as one of them. I have very low expectations for this effort. If I make a hundred bucks all told I’ll be surprised.

Still, it was worth the effort as I learned some cool stuff. From a prospective buyer’s point of view, the book is worth the 3 or 4 buck cover price (I’m not sure which…I tried to make it $2.99) as there is a lot of useful information and insight in that years’ daily stream-of-consciousness essays.

OK! Enough of that. I’ll be posting a link and ad on the blog as soon as I see that the proper edition is available. And by the way…it’s really easy to write a review on Amazon. So you can show your appreciation  if you like. And for my haters out there? You can bash me as well…although if you get personal, it might affect your Amazon account. You know how it goes on the Internet.

On to a little gossip about da goils. Thanks to Ray Rice (aka the poster boy for domestic violence), that issue has emerged front and center in recent months. And it should come as no surprise that the occasional escort takes a physical beating at the hands of a “boyfriend.” It’s not just football players who physically attack their girlfriends. (Gosh! Who’d a thunk it?) In fact just recently, a girl who many guys know – and who has appeared on this blog – took a pretty severe beating from some asshole boyfriend she picked up on the street…to the point that the girl couldn’t work until the bruises healed.

When I heard the story, I pulled the woman aside (I know her pretty well) to tell her “I heard what happened to you and I’m glad to see you’ve recovered. Just realize that the first time is his fault…but the next time it’s on you.” I even went so far as to ask “What the fuck did you say to the guy? Did you tell him about somebody with a bigger dick than his to catch such a beating?” She laughed in response and answered “No, I wouldn’t have a face left if I’d said anything like that.” Hmmm!

Anyway…I got the word yesterday. She’s back with the woman beater. What are ya gonna do? I’m glad I’m not this girl’s brother or father because you know what the next item of gossip I’m going to hear about her will be.

From now on, I’ll refer to her not by her chosen fake name…but simply as “The Punching Bag.” Kind of insensitive, I know. But a little tough love might be in order. I hope it turns out well for this girl but I wouldn’t bet two cents on the future health of that relationship. Maybe with a little luck, she’ll find  somebody more civilized in the room to rescue her. Stranger things have happened.

And finally….sorry that there’s no cheesecake this morning. But it’s currently 5 AM and nobody calls me at this hour. Maybe in the next few I’ll have some news and post some new pix which I get the idea is all I’m good for.

And by the way…there are no music biz or taxi stories in the book. It’s all boiled down to observations about escorts and nothing else. The music and taxi stories have all been filed for a different eBook. So if you fork over the big bucks, you won’t be bored with that crap.

If it’s Sunday, you know I’m going to write something about what went on at the soup kitchen yesterday. But that wasn’t the plan this weekend. In fact, I had already written today’s entry – put it in the can – and did not plan on mentioning anything about Volunteer Bill. But now I’ve changed my mind. And here’s why:

Each Saturday, I never know which job they’re going to give me. But at this point, it’s usually either running the pantry…or assembly line. The bosses don’t know about all this Dollar Bill shit. They just know they have a guy who gets the job done while commanding the respect of the people who work under him. What’s not to like about that?

Similarly, I never know exactly who my staff are going to be. It can be retirees, Wall Streeters, career girls and even children on occasion. Whatever…directing the assembly line is not a particularly demanding job. And the demands placed on the workers are not that rigorous. Thus, I virtually never piss one of my people off. In fact, several have complimented me and told the superiors that they like working with me.

Because it’s the holiday season, we had a lot of volunteers yesterday – including 10 or 15 soldiers in fatigues. I kid you not. This was a first! Steve (the boss of the day) came over to where I was eating and gave me meat loaf duty.

“I assigned 7 people to you so you don’t even have to work. Just orient them and make sure everything runs smoothly,” offered Steve in case I wasn’t in the mood to run the assembly line that day.

So now here’s the good part and why I’m writing about the soup kitchen today. The 7 people under my command were not the usual Wall Streeters, retirees or even children. I got 7 soldiers! Or to be specific, I got 6 West Point cadets and their commanding officer! Yup! USMA in the house…aged 19 – 21 except for their commander, who I would say was a 20 or 30 something career army guy.

Now I’m not the kind of person who likes to be a foreman. I lead by example – which means that while I’m directing, I’m doing as much or more grunt work as the people to whom I’m giving orders. I learned a long time ago that I personally respected superiors who shared the work load…and hated the guys who sat back and let the slaves do all the heavy lifting.

And I’m happy to report that the boys did an admirable job. On several occasions I had to stop the assembly line because “the tanks are rolling up each others’ asses. At ease, fellas!” I got a kick out of the boys calling me “sir”…and managed to gain the respect of their commanding officer who was essentially, taking orders from me!

There was one precious moment when the CO was talking about his days in boot camp and an officer he really liked and respected – describing the man as a “great American.” “Wow! A great American!” said I. “When was the last time I heard that expression…or moreover met a great American?”  Ya see..that’s one of the reasons I do this volunteer work. To meet a great American! I’m not sure that everybody who volunteers there classifies. But one thing I know for sure. I’m more likely to find a great American at the soup kitchen than I am in the escort business. Not judging necessarily. Just sayin’.

At some point the CO asked me what I was doing there running the meat loaf show every Saturday…and I told him that I live in the neighborhood and that it’s a community thing…and it seems like the right thing to do. Plus I meet a lot of givers who want to make the world a better place…something I don’t get during the week. The officer looked me in the eye and nodded as if to say…”maybe you’re a great American. And if you aren’t…I’m getting the idea you’re on your way.”

Some people might say “ah…he’s just some low level army officer – a loser who found his way to the military so he could have some self-esteem.” But I didn’t see him that way. I saw him and his cadets as great Americans to be. I mean…15 guys piled into a minibus and drove down to Avenue A and 2nd Street all the way from West Point to volunteer at a soup kitchen. What does that tell ya?

Saddled with some rounds to do, I opted out of the bar party which takes place every week after the work is done and eased back into my other life…that of being a blogger with sidebar advertisers who required my attendance. Vacation over! Back in the saddle (the bike saddle).

And after the unusually busy day was done, I sat back to watch last night’s Knick game (which I’d DVR’d) and pondered whether I was worthy of the moniker “great American.” Maybe not…but probably better than most. And that’s a start. Who knows? By the time I’m 100 I could be a great American. Stranger things have happened.

All right! Enough of all that bull shit about me being a meaningful guy. Back to reality. Here’s what really matters: HOT LIPS (646-309-0453) has two new girls. Check them out!



A long time ago I had a homey named Mike…a dark-skinned black guy I met in a band and stayed in touch with after the ensemble dispersed. Mike lived on 126th Street and sometimes I’d go up there so we could hit a bar with no white people. He got a kick out of that. And I, who’s into black girls, couldn’t wait for the next outing. Alternatively, sometimes Michael would ride downtown to hang in the Village. I remember taking him to the Aztec so he could check out all the spike-haired freaks. “I feel like I’m in hell,” quipped Michael. He’d never seen anything like the Aztec before!

Back to Harlem…one time Michael took me to a place called Perk’s, a fancy buppy joint which didn’t want to allow me entry because I was wearing sneakers. Mike pulled the owner aside and the next thing I knew…we were in…with the boss coming over to introduce himself while some cute girls casually edged closer.

“Michael! What the fuck is going on? How’d you get me in?” I asked incredulously knowing my buddy is a hustler. “I told him you play guitar for Springsteen. Just play along!” I couldn’t believe it as in…”Why don’t I ever run bull shit scams like that? This guy’s a fucking genius!”

Anyway…to the point. Michael didn’t necessarily view me as the usual white guy around whom he needed to mince words. The band we’d played in only had one white member (guess who) and he was prone to making all sorts of politically uncorrect statements in my presence. Like once he was talking about a guy who picked up a tranny by mistake. Relating the story, Mike went on to say that when his duped buddy got home and started to fool around with the “girl,” the guy discovered that “It was a nigger!” Too fucking funny! The n word took on a whole new meaning. So now a tranny who pretends to be a woman so she can get it on with a straight guy is a nigger? I couldn’t stop laughing.

But that wasn’t Mike’s only politically uncorrect statement.  He once observed “Black girls got ass…and white girls got the legs!” And ya know what? Ever since he said that I’ve observed that he’s right! Black girls do tend to have phatter and rounder booties than white girls. And white girls do have shapelier legs. Again…the guy’s a fucking genius! I guess it’s our Maker’s way of evening the scales.

By the way…if you want to hear Michael play, check out “In The Bush” by Musique. He’s the mad conga player on that track. Very talented guy!

Well anyway…this little story is a long way around introducing a new girl at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723) named VIVICA, who supports Mike’s theory that black girls got the phat booties! When I walked into the joint to take her picture, the girl was sitting on the couch looking more like a secretary than an escort. With short cropped hair and a beige sort of fuzzy coat, you’d have thought she’d just arrived from her straight job in Midtown.

Whatever…Vivica’s a girl next door type with a mad phat booty, some nice cleavage…and a good attitude to go along with the physical package. Taking her pictures, I didn’t get the idea that she’s a born stripper (like with Talia). But I’m not that guy who loves an olympic style escort hell bent on blowing your mind. So it was cool. Vivica’s more like a regular girl who needs some cash for school or to feed a baby. Personally, I liked her. And being a fan of phat booties…I found her more than boner-inducing. Here’s a couple of pix. Tell me she don’t drop it like it’s hot!

vivica4 copy



I received a long and well-written e-mail today from a reader who made my day…so much so that I’m about to copy and paste a small part of it so everybody can see (with all due modesty – yeah, right) just what a 24 karat resource I truly am. Here it is:

I am a fan of your column and a long time regular both at Gentleman’s Choice and Jewels. Your comments about and your impression of the girls working at both places, as well as your photography, has been of great help to me in making my selections in advance, so a big thank you for that.

How about that? Somebody gets it! A little (and I mean a very little) validation always works for me.

Moving on…today was tech day for yours truly. First, I think my computer has acquired a virus from checking out shitholes like ghettotube.com. So much for macs being virus invulnerable. Crazy shit is happening. Programs crash or spazz out and won’t stop until I just pull the plug. Not good! It has resulted in my researching all kinds of crap for hours on end to rectify the problems. And I know I’m not done yet!

But I did get some stuff done today. Like…I managed to unpublish my eBook – at least – until it’s ready. It sure wasn’t before. But now I’m in the process of pulling greatest hits from the archives. And that’s no easy task what with 6+ years of daily blogging – and literally thousands of entries and pages to go through. I’m starting from the beginning and moving forward chronologically and figure to limit each book to 200 pages at $4.99 per. I see that there are several escort books already on Amazon. But none is like mine will be. They’re almost all by the girls themselves or how-to books by customers. Of course that doesn’t mean mine will sell. It’s more of a masturbatory exercise on my part. But I am learning stuff along the way. And I have written a preface to the mess. So I’m getting something accomplished. Here it is:

September 23rd, 1996 just might have been the most life-changing date in my life. It was on that very day I was hired full time by Action Magazine, a contact tabloid published out of Philadelphia, PA. So what’s a “contact tabloid” you might ask. It’s an 11″ by 14″ newspaper which contains photographs of escorts you can actually meet up with as opposed to a “men’s sophisticate” along the lines of Penthouse and Playboy – which I call “jerk-off rags.” With the “sophisticates,” you could only look and cook. With Action, you got <i>in</i> the Action so to speak – and with the girl whose picture you ogled. You get the idea.

Before that date, I’d labored in the music industry as songwriter, arranger, producer and accompanist…traveling with the likes of Stephanie Mills, The Main Ingredient, Crystals, Shirelles, Marvellettes, Johnny Mathis and many more not worth mentioning. I’d also driven a medallioned taxi cab in New York for many years. And I’d written my observations on New York and taxi life for the loftiest of publications (Screw and Juggs) all the way down to the lamest (New York Times, New York Magazine, New York Newsday, Village Voice and The Daily News). I’d even done a brief stint as a mate on a commercial fishing boat sailing out of Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. Mine was a life unique if nothing else.

Whatever…all that ended when I got my job at Action. Thrust into the belly of the beast as editorial contributor and sales person for the rag, I became consumed by the escort industry…working a minimum of 80 hours per week right from the start. Once I began my new job, I stopped hanging out in bars looking for women to sleep with. And I pretty much climbed out from behind the wheel of my cab as well. Fishing was out of the question as I was on call 7 days a week for the next 16 years. Servicing the pay for play world was pretty much it.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. For every blow job, there were hours and hours of work putting together all the girls’ ads. But the money? Outrageous! Within just a few years, I was flush like never before – just for running escort ads not just in Action…but in almost every other local publication which accepted adult advertising (and there were several).

The money was great…and so was the availability of so man women. But dealing with some of the most irresponsible and spoiled human beings on the planet drove me to distraction…so much so that I started a blog titled “Dollar Bill’s Psycho Roundup” designed simply as a vehicle to ventilate about anything that addled my mind.

In the following pages, I will peel back the layers of the escort business in a series of published essays which contain my observations on the escort business and the denizens who populate the netherworld. It can be depressing…funny…informative…and a lot of other adjectives. But as my hoochie friends in the business say…”Dollar Bill keeps it real.” It’s not always pretty…but it is exactly what the girls say it is. It’s real! I hope you enjoy.

Once I have the manuscript in place, I’ll have yet another task at hand: Learning to properly format the monster for eBook publication. Bleccch! Yet another mountain to climb! There are services that will do that for like $100. But I’d rather learn. I see that guys like Rockit Reports have published several eBooks. I see no reason why I shouldn’t do the same. Unlike publishing a hard cover of my manuscript, there’s no monetary cost involved. just time…of which I have plenty.

And before I go…has anybody seen the picture of Kim Kardashian’s ass shot for the magazine “Paper”? There’s a debate as to whether hers is real or enhanced – and whether the image has been photoshopped. I would assume a little bit of both – especially the latter. Check it out. That’s one helluva booty. No denying that!



It’s hardly a revelation that a lot of guys like spinners because (I assume) it makes them feel like big men while others prefer big women – or even huge ladies (the bigger and fatter the better) like my homeboy James. I guess it’s true that it takes all types to make a world (what a dumb expression). For me…I like them all. Big, small, thin, heavy, busty, not so busty etc.? It’s a chemical thing. The guy between my legs lets me know if it’s a go or a no!

Well anyway…it was photo day up at JEWELS (347-595-4518) and the two subjects du jour were substantial women. Personally, I found them both in the “go” column. AMY and NIKKI are all natural and very curvy in all the right spots. Maybe they aren’t super sexxxy size zeros but I never discriminate when it comes to women with a couple of extra pounds. These babes are hot! Case closed. I liked them both. And here they are.

But before I go…I also met MORGAN who will be forwarding some pro shots to replace the ones she’s currently using. I hope they’re better than the the previous because the girl looks a lot better in person than she does in her photos. If anybody’s looking for an Asian who speaks English well…and is a little more Americanized than the KMP girls…Morgan might be of interest. I found her appealing and as you all know, I’m mostly (though not exclusively) attracted to women of color.

Whatever…enough about me. The pix!




ebookcover1Everybody who reads this blog pretty much knows that I’m a nature type guy who likes to climb mountains and then groove on the view of the world from above. Well…yesterday, I embarked on a metaphorical climb of no lesser magnitude than an ascension of Everest – at least for me – in the form of publishing an ebook! Worst of all, while practicing on the Amazon template, I accidentally published the last three months of my blog as an ebook which you can actually see on Amazon.

Then I spent a couple of hours trying to figure out how to delete it – to no avail. So now I’m in the process of editing the monster. And every time I do some kind of adjustment, I have to wait 12 hours for it to be ok’d so I can do some more! It ain’t like making changes to this blog – which you can do multiple times and have those edits published in one second! What a mess!

Now I have to decide what to include and then cull through thousands of pages to find anything worthwhile. Plus I really need to do a TOC and preface. And…I have to conquer the technical aspects of converting the manuscript to a format which Amazon accepts. Somehow, I managed to do that (at least in a  half-assed way)…just well enough for Amazon to check the ebook and then accept it for publication (drat)! Click HERE to see what I’ve done so far. if you then click “look inside,” you’ll see that I have some significant formatting issues – though what’s in there is readable.

Monetarily, I doubt that this effort will net me even close to the minimum age but at least, it will give me something to do and be a learning experience. But as everybody knows, tech hell is like no other hell. And I’m in it!

Whatever…I have changed the title from DOLLAR BILL’S GREATEST BLOG HITS  to IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST – My Life In The Escort Business. Here’s a larger jpeg of the cover. Yeah, it sucks…I know. But at least I’ve chosen a hot image to attract the eye. A graphic designer would tell you this is the worst piece of art he or she has ever seen. But I know horn dogs. They’ll miss all the nuance (or lack of it) and focus on the pic of a hot babe. And one WARNING: DO NOT BUY THIS BOOK YET! It’s nowhere near complete!

And in some news somebody might care about, I notice that HEAVEN, formerly of DREAM GIRL fame can now be found at ASIAN FLOWER (646-639-1195).

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gse_multipart52261Several days ago, a reader sent me a long e-mail relating a horror story about a really bad session he had with one of the girls who appears on the sidebar of this blog. So I told him to forward me his number and maybe I could square it with some sort of discount session to make it up to him. Well yesterday…I was at the place where he’d been so egregiously mistreated and asked the phone girl what had happened.

In the beginning, she didn’t know what I was talking about because he’d given me the wrong name of the girl who had so offended him. But then when she plugged the number into the data base, he came up “code yellow” whereupon she essentially said (paraphrased) “No thanks. We don’t hook up code yellows.”

“So what the fuck does “code yellow” mean?” I asked. Well…it’s like this: All the guys in the data base are color-coded. Yup! While everybody’s reviewing the girls…get a grip! They’re reviewing us! All the Asian houses share information! Act out at one place…and everybody else will know!

Fortunately, these ratings have nothing to do with a customer’s performance in the room (like what girl cares about that?) It’s all about the ease with which they make their money. And so…if you’re a “code blue?” No problem. You’re a good guy. Next there’s “code yellow,” essentially a headache whose call they answer only when the house is slow and the girls hungry. And finally…“code red.” That’s the guy whose money don’t spend. Period! They simply don’t want him around! And because the individual who e-mailed me is marked with a yellow dot, they didn’t want to do anything for him. Case closed. No soap! Was the guy really that big a pain-in-the-ass? Irrelevant. Perception is reality and if you wear a scarlet letter…or I should say a yellow letter, your reputation precedes you and there’s nothing I can do on your behalf.

If there’s a beautiful thing about being an escort (versus say a taxi driver), it’s that you don’t have to service every individual who isn’t high on drugs or drunk like you do as a cabby. Individual girls working in a house have little choice. But the house owner him or her self…and the indy operator can summarily dismiss guys with no penalty. And there is no appeal for the guy who’s been 86’d. Thus it follows that the moral of this entry is that if you ever want to return to the place you like, you’d better not act out even if it’s warranted because once that happens, you’re toast. And in the Korean community, you’re toast everywhere because they share information!

Enough said right there. Once upon a time, I sent a guy who was looking to hang out with a cute Asian over to Rainbow for a little diversion. He was drunk and apparently obnoxious – and got tossed with a refund. The next day he called me to plead his case. Not happening! “You’re done at Asian places. And you’re done with me as well. Your behavior reflected poorly on me. Find your own escorts.” was my response. I guess I’ve learned from my Asian friends well.

P.S. With not a lot to do this morning (as usual – remember, I’m retired), I climbed a baby learning curve and managed to post a button under the header called MY MUSIC. It contains everything from finished records released by major labels…to finished tracks I never sold…to Garage Band stuff I recorded for Channel 35 commercials back when there were commercials on Channel 35. This is by no means all inclusive but is fairly representative. Maybe I’ll add some more stuff later when I really have nothing to do.

For the moment, I’m going to research publishing an e-book on AMAZON. I know I talked about doing that before but when I first embarked on the project I didn’t have a new enough computer to get the job done (the OS was dated). Now that I do I’m gonna check it out. One reader suggested I publish a coffee table book with pictures from yesteryear’s Korean cuties. Guys might pay $3 for that. Or I could do “Greatest Cab Stories”…or “Greatest Music Biz Stories”…or simply archives from each year. I’ll have to figure that one out. Whatever I do will be priced as low as possible. I figure for a few bucks a couple of guys might actually go for the deal. Anyway…any feedback or opinions will be appreciated.

Its’ Sunday…and I have nothing to say. So you get a repeat from so long ago you probably don’t remember. Deal!

Recently, a client reported that she’d heard that $ Bill hates women and only plays nice with his clients so he can make commissions from their ads. I defended myself citing that she’d had sex with me and should understand by the way I make love to her that I’m not a woman hater – even if I have disliked some of my clients in the past and only dealt with them to make money. I don’t think she really believes what she heard. The girl was just in a pissy mood because I wasn’t paying enough attention to her. Anyway…segueing to something more constructive…we began to enumerate what turns out to be THE TOP 4 WAYS YOU KNOW A GUY HATES WOMEN!

So here’s a Jeff Foxworthy style takeoff on the issue:

1. If you fuck a girl as hard as you possibly can with no consideration as to whether she’s enjoying herself…YOU’RE A WOMAN HATER! Your real intention is NOT to satisfy or please her. You just want to hurt the girl and prove what a man you are – probably because some woman in your past has made you feel unworthy. That’s not to say that some girls don’t live to get fucked hard (and abused at the same time)…but theirs is a pathology perfect for an asshole like you (if you fit this description).

2. If you think it’s cute to bust a nut on a girl’s face…YOU’RE A WOMAN HATER! What you’re really trying to do is humiliate your partner by gooing her up – all to prove your manhood. Now if a girl issues the request, that’s different. But if it’s something you seek in your interchange, that’s something else. Cum is sticky and gross if you ask me. And I know the reactions from girls who get semen in their eye. They’re NOT happy!

3. If you feel it’s appropriate to insert an unlubed finger in any orifice…YOU’RE A WOMAN HATER! You’re inflicting pain for no good reason but to feel powerful and get back at whichever woman betrayed you.

4. If you like to jam your hard-on in a girl’s face until she gags – all while grabbing the back of her head to choke her…YOU’RE A WOMAN HATER! How would you like that done to you? Just because you have a dick and she doesn’t is hardly a rationale. I have NEVER done anything like that under any circumstance. And I’ve only had ONE girlfriend who ever requested that. And she was a twisted individual who hated herself in the first place.

I know to some I appear gay what with taking up on behalf of women. But via the escort biz, I’ve heard a lot of female confessionals. And if nothing else…I know what a woman likes and dislikes. And only the dysfunctional go for getting abused.

Anyway the point is…treat women right – and they’ll reciprocate in kind. That or keep moving from escort to escort so you can continue to exorcise your demons – if that’s how you roll. Just be apprised…nobody’s impressed!

Upon awakening this morning, I decided a little telemarketing would be in order to attract new blood to this blog. Now I could alternatively just post pictures without permission and then chase the freebe’s I’d handed out with a few phone calls: “Hey! This is Dollar Bill. Are you getting calls from guys who mentioned my web site? Would you like to advertise?” But I demured. Nobody gives me free-be’s so why would I hand out free shit that doesn’t come back? Alternatively, cold-calling (which I absolutely hate) requires that you have very leathery skin to plow through all the rejection. Not only that…it’s kind of a fruitless endeavor. Sort of like fishing without bait – and just a naked hook dangling in the water. Rarely does a prospective customer bite anyway.

Stuck with two odious choices, I opted out but did get as far as logging on to two websites for popular places, one of which was on this blog a while back. They’re both similar to GC and JEWELS…have lots of exposure on Best GFE….and would do well if they advertised with me. But when I saw their photography, I changed my mind. It was awful. A few of the girls didn’t look bad but if I’d posted those images on this blog, I don’t see how they could possibly compete aesthetically with what’s on here. The photography I saw was akin to dressing an escort in a burlap bag.

Now I like money and shouldn’t be so particular. If somebody wants to pay, why discriminate? But I also like for this blog to look good. And those photos would not contribute to this site’s attractiveness! What to do? Easy: Watch football! But it got me thinking. Every picture you see here is inarguably appealing. But some of the images exaggerate the girls’ beauty to the point that they almost fall into the realm of bait and switch…creating a bizarre situation in which all or nothing seems to be the prevailing reality – or would be if I ran those horrible images these agencies feature. It’s only with my photography that you get a happy medium and the truth comes through (more or less). But unfortunately, not very many of my customers are of that mind or they’d hire me to do photos. Regardless…with what’s on here, the photography is mostly excellent. With the two aforementioned agencies? Brutal! Hence the title “all or nothing!”

Well…what are ya gonna do? It is what it is. All I’m really saying is that I couldn’t bring myself to call those two popular agencies because their pictures suck. So as I said, I watched football instead. Probably a wise decision. I hate telemarketing anyway. Did I already say that? Oh, yeah. Better go now.

Culling through old entries to find a worthy repeat today, I came to discover how many times I blogged about the futility of dealing with an old client and lover from my past. I call her a client because of the obvious: I sold her ads in various media (Voice, Press, NY Magazine, Backpage) whom had contracted me to bring them advertisers. And I call her a lover because right from our first meeting, she gave me sex with little to no quid pro quo – and declared on numerous occasions she wanted to marry me (something I witnessed her say to other guys on the phone when she wanted something from them – so I didn’t take her all that seriously).

Eva (one of many fake names she used) was a road runner. She just couldn’t stay in one place too long! In just the past few years, she moved from New York’s Upper East Side to West Palm Beach…and then back to NY…and out to Long Beach…and up to Great Neck…and back to Manhattan…and then to Naples, Florida. Obviously, the girl got bored easily.

While down in Naples, Eva got tapped by a car and sustained a knee injury that just wouldn’t (and won’t) heal. She had constant pain and often cried like a baby over the phone to me. The fact that I myself had a compression fracture of vertebrae L3 and was no doubt in much more distress than she was didn’t matter. The world evolved around her and it was my job to make her feel better. Nothing new there!

Absence and her constant immaturity and self-absorption didn’t make my heart grow fonder. I declined each and every invitation to go visit her. Naples holds no mystique for me…nor did she if it meant going all the way there for a hot roll. If I’d ever questioned the depth of my feelings for her (which I really didn’t), not accepting any of her invitations removed all doubt. It was a sex thing pure and simple. What lay beneath the exterior was of no interest.

Well anyway…I stopped calling her and then last week received a phone call from the old familiar number. Eva was sitting in Newark Airport waiting for a connecting flight to Germany, where mom and dad would take care of her emotionally – and a German doctor (she thinks American doctors suck and everything about Germany is better than the United States) would finally make her knee feel better so she can get back on the treadmill and shape up to once again attract geezers and sugar daddies (her apparent calling in life).

“Dolly! I’m going to miss you,” confided my paramour! I felt nothing. It was as if I were the escort and she the customer.Years and years of meaningless though often hot sex…and what did it all add up to? Zero! Not a good conclusion for either party. I tried my best to find a way to love this woman but it was hopeless. Just nothing there but the outer shell to love. And clearly, that wasn’t enough. The memory of her abusive behavior was equal to or greater in magnitude than the recollection of the steamy physical interfacing – or whatever bonding we’d shared.

Although Eva didn’t say it, somehow I don’t think she’s ever coming back. And the girl left no e-mail address or phone number. So that’s it! No pomp…no circumstance…and no ceremony. What are ya gonna do? Requiem for a lightweight for sure. That’s the title for this story. I was actually very patient with the girl and on balance, good to her. Again…if I were the escort and Eva the customer, she would have no grounds to complain about my service.  I did my job professionally and well and have no regrets.

Today’s second requiem is for a meaningful woman named Mary, who used to show up religiously at the soup kitchen every Saturday to run the pantry line. A single Asian mother with a son who attends Stuyvesant High (that means he’s smart), this is a woman of substance – at least in society’s eye. Mary isn’t a girl I wanted to mount – but she is somebody who commanded my respect. Full time white collar job…mother of a gifted son…and selfless volunteer? I mean…what’s not to like?

Not all homeless people are appreciative of what they’re given every Saturday at the kitchen. Not a big surprise. Mostly, they’re pretty cool with me…but it appears that I’m very good with them. Or so I was told yesterday – which is why they’ve moved me to running the pantry line. But that’s not the only reason. Mary got into it with one of the “guests” last week while subbing at the clothing locker (yes, we give away clothing as well as food), and was so upset by the encounter that she’s completely sworn off volunteering – at least at that location! And all’s I can say is “Wake up, Dorothy! This ain’t no Kansas! And not all of these guests are going to conform to your expectations.”

And so I bid Mary goodbye and include her in this requiem for two lightweights because just one asshole completely turned her off doing the right thing every Saturday. She went from being one of the most dedicated volunteers to nothing! And that makes her a lightweight. It’s not like the guy beat or raped her – or anything like that. He just summarily pissed her off! Hopefully, she’ll see the error of her ways and come back. The world needs more people like Mary and fewer like the asshole who so upset her. What are ya gonna do?

And while Eva’s exit meant very little…Mary’s decision to leave actually affected me – if not for her noticeable absence…but for the fact that I have become the de facto pantry line sergeant. As the crew chief assigned me as meat loaf boss yesterday, her equal in the hierarchy declared “Billy is really good at getting the guests to sign the sheet on the pantry line” (a bureaucratic pursuit required by the Food Bank of NY if the kitchen wants to continue to receive donations from them).

As soon as I accepted the assignment, my advocate left and I suddenly became the pantry line boss. Obviously, he had a plan. Joe knew he had to leave for the day and wanted somebody in charge who could handle the job. So apparently, I’m now good for two things: Running the meat loaf line and running the pantry line. I know where this is going. They view me as executive material and a guy who’s good at handling people. It won’t be long before the landed aristocracy of the volunteering crew ask me to run the entire show one Saturday. No pay raise, though. Still, volunteering has its compensations – even if they’re not monetary.



Film and TelevisionEven though I was just 7 years old at the time, I remember all the hullabaloo behind this photograph. Way back then, the three big international sex bombs were Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe, and Sophia Loren. And rightfully so. They were all magnificent in their own rite. Anyway…the first and the third attended an affair one night, and this is the iconic picture that was published in the papers the next day.

Sophia Loren, now 80 years old and the only one of the three who’s still alive, has just penned a book about her life. And in one of the chapters, Ms. Loren explains what she was thinking at the moment the photog caught that shot. Sophia claims that Jayne had just tipped into the affair…sashaying step by step for the crowd’s titillation…and then sat down right next to her. The  Italian goddess goes on to explain that at that pregnant moment, she was deathly afraid that Jayne’s boobs would tumble out of her dress and spill onto Sophia’s plate.

Really? No sale, honey! Jayne’s tits are pretty impressive…but there was no way they were big enough to reach your stupid plate. Of course we know what was really on her mind: Wow! Those tits are huge. I don’t know whether to chop them off or suck on them. Whichever…I’m jealous!

Anyway…I display this picture pursuant to my theory that many escorts are gay or bi – and that scenes like this take place on a daily basis at your favorite incalls – are are a catalyst in “turning” the girls into switch hitters. Is it any wonder why? Girls sit around all day in provocative attire being judged by each and every guy who comes to visit. And with each customer, there’s only one winner. Everybody else loses and is left to ponder why the man picked the girl he did – and maybe, why he didn’t pick her!

If you recall, I described a moment in a Queens casita when one of the girls considered out loud who she’d want to see in the room…me or my boss. And let me give you a hint. It wasn’t me. While I recovered without the aid of professional help, I can’t tell you it wouldn’t have affected me if this scene were played out dozens of times a day. And it makes sense that the girls who endure this would react with either jealousy, hate, or some sort of bonding experience. Add into the mix that a lot of escorts are highly sexed and what you get is the old carnal pile. Maybe one girl eyes the other’s breasts while she secretly covets the other girl’s booty. So why not share? We’re all sisters and together, we can have it all! Makes perfect sense to me.

There was something else I noticed via googling images for Sophia Loren. The movie star of yore and SOPHIA from GC look very similar….not just facially…but bodywise as well. I don’t know if our modern day Sophia decided to name herself as such because she’s almost a double for the original. But the fact remains they really do look alike though their accents are different. The movie star is Italian…and GC’s Sophia is actually Hungarian. In fact, half the time I don’t know what the fuck Sophia is saying because her accent is so heavy.

Whatever…I don’t believe a word of what Sophia said in her book. Come on, girl Give it up! You were really thinking “Damn! Look at the bazingas on that Jayne slut!” Get real!

Lately, I’ve become something of a prolific retiree in that I find so many different subjects to expound upon that I sometimes compose two or three entries at a time and thus have one or two “in the can” so to speak. Today, a feature about Sophia Loren and Jayne Mansfield was slated (Sophia just published her life story so it’s relevant) but it’s just gonna have to wait in favor of yet more musical chair stuff on the Korean horizon.

You’ll recall (or maybe not…as I myself had to research where these girls were before today) three individuals named BONNIE, KENSIE and EVE. All have been featured with pictures published in my posts within the past month or two. And all have switched locations and are now employed by different owners.

Both BONNIE (formerly of ROSE HOUSE) and KENSIE (who worked at SECRET DIARY) have now moved on to BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281)and are replacing JESSICA on their roster. EVE on the other hand…has now moved from HOT LIPS to “not so hot lips. Just kidding! EVE has moved to ASIAN MODELS (347-256-7143). To refresh your memory, I will now post pictures of the three ladies once again.

Funny how the grass is always greener on the other side – or so the girls think! Whatever…perception is reality (an old saying one of my bosses constantly invoked) and the musical chair/grass is greener syndrome is still alive, well and thriving in the Korean incall community.

Anyway…who cares? Just so we know where they are. That’s what matters. Here’s da goils.





After yesterday’s lecture admonishing guys who entertain fantasies about turning escorts they pay into actual girlfriends, guess what happened! Yup! One guy wrote in that a woman he used to pay for her time now gives it to him freely of her own volition and…an escort I know who has a new boyfriend revealed to me that she actually met that boyfriend in the room! So much for me making fun of dreamers with the “Pretty Woman” fantasy!

I harken back to recollect if ever my charm, wit, good looks (yeah, right) and skills in the room ever garnered me a girlfriend. And I actually do recall that it happened on one occasion. But bear in mind, that I published a tabloid at the time – which gives me a special edge I would not have had otherwise! With all my other occasional “romances” in the biz, I could tell they liked me right away! The Colombian…the German…and the Jewish American? I knew instantly that finally, one of my customers thought I was cute. But again…I was an individual of renown what with selling ads and/or publishing papers or websites.

But enough about me. Back to the aforementioned romance between the escort and consumer. There are two exacerbating factors that helped support the mythology that a guy actually can make an escort fall for him. The first is the guy himself. Going through her phone, the newly smitten lady showed me a face pic of her new boo.

“Good lookin’ dude, honey. Congratulations,” I applauded her score. But then she scrolled some more to show me a body shot. The man is built like Arnold Schwarzenegger 25 years ago. Clearly, this guy is no average Joe. He’s a serious bodybuilder. Now some girls don’t go for all those muscles…but a lot do. And almost nobody loves a fat guy with a beer belly. If you lined a hundred customers up and then asked me which one won the heart of a pro, I’d probably pick this guy.

The second exacerbating factor was that after seeing him several times in the room, she ran into him outside in the “real” world. They said hi…began talking…and one thing led to another. It seems irrelevant, but a stroke of fate like that can look like destiny to two parties who were already interested – thus legitimizing the entire pursuit. It doesn’t really matter where and how they met. If they met coincidentally in a city of 8 million people, it must have been meant to be!

And so anyway…to the point. Don’t listen to a naysayer like me. Dreams can come true! I’ve seen it happen many times over the years. But the odds are still daunting. That last statement I’ll still stick with.

And what would a new post be without a little cheesecake? Come to think of it, I should probably include girls’ pix in every one when I think about it. So here’s a couple of new shots from today. Both individuals work at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE (917-547-0723). And while I’m on the subject of GC and JEWELS…a reader wrote in suggesting that I favor these two houses unfairly. To that I respond “Tell the others to hire me for photography as well…and they’ll get those pix published the day after they’re taken just as I do on occasion with HIYAKO…when they hire me to shoot pictures.

Often, the inevitable dearth of new subjects about which to write is nicely punctuated by entries with just cheesecake…and none of my hair-brained philosophy. Having new photos to publish picks up the slack perfectly as not everybody cares about what I have to say anyway and would much rather see pics of new girls or at least, new pics of existing girls they already know. And so…here’s a couple of pix of existing girls with new pix.

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You should have been there me the day I got hired by Action Magazine full time to write stories and sell ads. Talk about a babe in the woods! I was told to rent a car at the boss’s expense and drive to a suburb of Philadelphia for orientation whereupon I was given a pager, cell phone and camera to help me perform my duties and always be available when the boss needed to speak to me.

The year was 1996 and the only cell phone I’d ever held in my hand was one I’d found in the back seat of my cab one night when an absent-minded doctor left it there. The pager? Didn’t even know what it was or how to use it. The camera was the only piece of equipment with which I was at all familiar. It was a fairly fancy analog point-and shoot Minolta which could be used automatically – or manually – if I knew what I was doing (which I didn’t).

As my immediate boss handed me all this paraphernalia he explained…”The phone and pager are so we can reach you at all times. And the camera is to take pictures of the girls. We’ll find out soon enough if you have any talent for photography. Take the camera wherever you go and shoot as many pictures of as many girls as possible. And don’t worry. You have an expense account. Just keep all the receipts for film and developing and you’ll be reimbursed every week with your paycheck.” And thus…a photographer was born.

Compared to some of the other sales people present and past, I was actually a pretty good photographer. But that wasn’t saying much! Whatever…in my 3 and a half years employed by Action, I took thousands of pictures and Fed-Exed the best ones to Phildadelphia for use in the magazine. Back then there were no cell phones with cameras…and no digital photography. Selfies hadn’t really been conceived yet and girls rarely had pro shots we could use. And so…almost all the photography of real girls that appeared in Action were taken by the sales people.

Initially, Asians didn’t take pictures. Period. No exceptions. We used photos from magazines for their ads. They were not receptive to posing for the camera. That changed somewhere around the year 2000 (or maybe a year or two earlier) when I reported to a new Asian outcall in Maspeth with the camera slung over my shoulder. Somehow, I convinced two of the girls to take pictures which I ran in the Voice, Press and Action the next week. Their business exploded immediately and from then on, the word was out: Take pictures with Billy and make a million!

For years, I shot Asian girls after that. Anytime and anywhere! I distinctly remember being summoned to Rainbow at 3 or 4 AM on a weeknight to shoot all the girls. That was the only time business slacked off so we could get the job done. Rainbow was super busy back then. Seeing 100 guys in a day was not uncommon.

One day a girl who worked there decided she’d had enough of being an escort. Aki was very naturally busty and as you can imagine, was overwhelmed by paying suitors on a daily basis. She quit her job in the room and decided to become a photographer. And that was pretty much the end of my photography gig with the Koreans. It didn’t matter that initially, Aki’s pictures were awful. Blood was thicker than water and she got the jobs.

Then a funny thing happened. Aki got really good. I don’t know if she went to photoshop or photography classes or what. But the pictures became beautifully posed, lit and enhanced. I wasn’t that crazy for shooting Asian girls anyway, and I had to admit that Aki’s photography smoked mine. She had excellent equipment and knew the photoshop program well. I wasn’t even close.

But still, I could get an amateur shot on occasion which brought something to the fore that Aki’s pictures didn’t. I’ve published some of those shots of the stars of yesteryear before…so I’m not going to do it again. But yesterday while culling through the archives looking for something, I came upon the following photo. Technically, it’s horrible. The flash didn’t fire. But the pose is unique. It’s something you never see anymore. It’s a group shot. When was the last time you saw a photo of all the girls at an Asian place together in one picture? Been a while – if ever!

This picture comes from one of the last Asian places that used me to take pictures. Even though it’s lacking in many technical areas, I still like it because it brought me back to the time and place when I found it. Maybe it will do the same for you. Enjoy!


Way back in the 17th century, many of the immigrants who came to the Colonies were in fact indentured servants bound to the people who paid for their passage to the New World. That was then…and this is now! And if anybody thinks the girls on this blog are modern day indentured servants bound to their “benefactors,” I offer as evidence to the contrary the shuffle that took place today!

First, you’ll notice that both NANA and ELLIE formerly of TWINKLE have now moved crosstown to DREAM GIRL NY (646-276-0229). And super girl KIMORA has left GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE in favor of JONY (347-595-4518).

And finally before the second half of the Knicks game commences, ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) has a new-to New York girl named EMMA.

And without further ado…go Knicks…err…I mean…here’s da goils!



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