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 area. They do not spend all this money going after the escort industry. So why are we – the leaders of the world – so backward in this area? And why am I who nobody’s listening to anyway…going on about this issue? I’m right. 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.



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 a 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.

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 6 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 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).

heaven4_fs copy



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.

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.



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.

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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Even though I’m somewhat of a film buff, I’d never seen “Leaving Las Vegas” until 8 AM this morning when it was on one of Time Warner’s premium movie channels. Unaware of exactly what I was watching, I became at least mildly hooked in the beginning. I’ve seen what I call waste-head movies before (“Barfly” for example) and with nothing much to do but lie under the covers in my freezing apartment, I held out for a while. Just when I was about to abandon ship on what I viewed as unoriginal and too familiar territory (I’ve seen and known enough real-life fall down drunks…I don’t need to see one on film), Nicholas Cage picked up a hooker which is when life imitated art – and I felt the need to watch some more.

Many years ago when I was an all night cabby, I picked up a kid from the Plaza Hotel at about 3 AM, who looked exactly like Nicholas Cage. Of course, I remarked on the resemblance to my fare who revealed that in fact, he was Cage’s first cousin. It was a cold weekday night in winter and cuz wanted to pick up a hooker for some fun. Well…we cruised around to a few different spots trying to find any girl until finally, $16 and probably 30 minutes later, we found one. She got in and what was the first thing she said? “Wow! You look like that actor! What’s his name?” Cage (the actor) had picked up a hooker in the movie…and his cousin/look-alike picked one up in real life. That’s the life imitating art part. Go figure!

So I watched the film in its entirety (no easy task) making note of the age old fantasy of the hooker who falls for the trick. This has some current relevance in my life not because I’m involved with anybody…but because I’m been receiving multiple e-mails from two different men who are horribly and inexorably caught up in the escort world.

Ya know…it’s a funny situation that guys want the “girlfriend experience” but when they actually get it, they too often lament that it’s all an act! And they feel hustled. Can you believe that shit? Bull shit films like “Leaving Las Vegas” and “Pretty Woman” feed this fantasy. Every hooker should pay into some sort of fund to produce stupid movies like these two because they inevitably perpetuate a mythology that puts more money in their pockets.

After enduring the entire las Vegas presentation, I decided the film was a stupid, meaningless, and obvious piece of crap. Curious to see how the rest of the world viewed this work, I googled the film to discover that pretty much everybody loved it…and that Cage actually won an Oscar for his performance! Excuse me…I know how to weave around like a drunk for two hours. I can’t imagine that Cage could do it any better than I can!

What this all says to me is that the general public has a ridiculous fascination with the sordid lives of drunks and hookers. They just can’t get enough! I on the other hand have had too much! All the dysfunction…and the drama…and the bipolarity…and the drugs. What the fuck is sooo interesting about all this? Answer: It’s the sex. Everybody is fascinated by hookers. Maybe I once was…but I sure am not now! Some might say I’m a lucky guy. But I often view myself as a salt water fish swimming in a fresh water lake pursuing a career as a writer threw me in. Who knows?

A few days ago, an escort I know suggested “You should be So-and-so’s girlfriend!” I don’t know if she knows something I don’t (like So-and-so likes me that way). Regardless, my response was one of caution. “I think if Soo-and-so wanted me to be her boyfriend she’d let me know!”

Whatever…however a girl acts with me, I assume it’s all for show until she says something like “Let’s go out on a date”…and then gives me sex for free or better yet…comes over to my apartment to give me some just ’cause she feels like it. Until then I assume it’s all an act. And I’m almost always right! Experience has taught me well. Maybe I’m just lucky to have all this experience. For guys who don’t? Don’t believe  the hype! Assume it’s all an act. You’ll be much better off for it.



Most guys don’t want to admit it…or even think about! But at some point in our skirt-chasing life, we’ve been fooled! For me, it happened many years ago at a place called the Aztec, a punk rock dive bar located on 9th Street between First Avenue and Avenue B.

The Aztec was a legendary East Village bar. At first an illegal blue collar watering hole with a banner out front which proudly read “cold women and warm beer,” the joint was sold and converted into the radical-minded shithole it soon became. A dark dungeon of a joint with no trappings of civilized society of any type, it was perfect for the anarchist/120 decibel thrash-rock loving crew.

I was not of that ilk mind you. But I figured anyplace that catered to the fringes of youth culture was also a place you could get laid. So I was down for the program. And it wasn’t long before I latched onto a hangout buddy/spike-haired beauty who worked as a registered nurse by day (she let her hair down for the job) before I was in with the in crowd. I now had a cool friend…and I drove a cab (which everybody knew because I worked the hood until 6 AM 3 or 4  nights a week and had picked up half the patrons and all the bartenders at some point). And that was good enough. I didn’t need the spike hair or tattoos. I was bona fide East Village.

Well…one night I walked in the joint and caught the eye of some Alice Cooper looking chick who wasn’t half bad. She was staring at my crotch and looked like there was something there she wanted to suck on! By her side was her BFF, a slightly chunkier and lighter-haired compatriot all dressed in the usual (black). In an instant, we became a trio for the evening and at some point left the bar to wander the streets.

Passing by a phone booth, the Alice Cooper chick and I seized the moment – ducking into the semi-enclosed space to make out. And by make out I mean reasonably deep French kissing which wasn’t then – and isn’t now – my particular thing. Swapping spits might be a big turn on for some guys…but not for me unless I really know who I’m with. I’m kind of like an old school hooker that way: No kissing!

Skillfully, I guided the duo toward my front door as dawn broke and when we’d arrived at my apartment building, I declared, “This is where I live. Y’all coming up?” The blonde girl respectfully declined…but Alice Cooper accepted the invite though she had one caveat:

“I have to tell you something before we go in,” said she. And at that moment…as I saw a couple of errant hairs on her chinny chin chin in the morning light, I knew what was coming next and quickly excused myself thoroughly disgusted not that I’d spent the better part of the night with a tranny and her female friend…but that I’d actually made out with a dude! Blecccch!

I went directly upstairs and spit into the toilet literally 25 times in revulsion. It was as if I’d found a roach crawling around in a swig of beer. Readers of this blog will remember my cab-driving story about getting blown by a ten dollar street hooker only to discover in mid-stroke that it was a tranny sucking my cock! On that occasion, I was nowhere near as nauseated as I was having made out with one!

There was just something so intimate about kissing. Getting fellatio from a dude paled in its face. So if nothing else…that episode clued me in on how working girls feel about kissing their tricks. Better to be an escort whose job it is to feign interest than a prostitute whose job it is to get down to brass tacks.

Anyway…I survived the episode without the need to visit a psychiatrist 5 times a week but I can’t tell y’all that it holds a pleasant memory. I still cringe at  the thought.

Mostly unknown to customers who frequent the establishments is a general rule that the employees who work at multi-girl incalls come and go with as little fanfare as possible. In other words…”enter and exit in a fashion which draws no attention to yourself.” And while the girls might dress in stilettos and tight dresses which accentuate their curves for the customers – or at a club…looking sexxxy when entering or exiting their place of work is a big no-no as it would obviously command unwanted attention from passersby in the street!

I relate this today because last night I was over at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE after hours – mostly just hanging out with the owner, manager, maid and guy who does their Backpage posting – when from one of the rooms emerged SOPHIA, who had just finished up with a 2 hour appointment and was the last floor girl left in the house. As usual, Sophia was clad in some super-tight and silvery outfit not fit for street wear.

Having seen the girl in this or similar outfits in the past, I paid little attention. But five minutes later after Sophia had donned her exit gear was when she caught my eye. Dressed in sneakers…a pair of blue jeans rolled up at the bottom…some kind of Jackson Pollack-patterned t-shirt…and a shiny and real leather jacket, Sophia looked very different. The slick, silvery dress she’d worn just minutes before screamed “Show me the money.” Conversely, her regular gear stated “I’m a Euro rock chick. Wanna push up on me? You’ll have to find me at some divey East Village bar!”

As much as I liked the silvery number, the much less revealing (of flesh that is) rocker outfit appealed to me much more. No I couldn’t see her tits or ass…but I could see who she was and how she really chooses to project herself outside of work. The Backpage poster observed “Hey, Sophia’s ass doesn’t look so big in her jeans.” True enough but still, there was something about that punk rock outfit that stirred my loins (ands mind) more than her war gear did.

On another evening, I caught KAYLA leaving the joint as well. Decked out in sneakers, regular cut jeans and a Gap hoodie, she looked curveless and without much sex appeal. I wouldn’t have given her a second look on the street. Her outfit said with some subtlety “Leave me alone. I’m going where I’m going and I don’t need for you to crash on me.” A person on the street would never have known how boner-busting Kayla looks in her war gear. Just minutes before I’d seen her in a low-cut mini dress which accentuated her cleavage and long legs to the point where I almost came in my pants! Big difference! If nothing else, nobody would have made Kayla for an escort in her exit gear. That’s for sure. Mission accomplished.

Korean girls enter and exit differently than do American girls. For starters, they don’t enter and exit on a daily basis. Mostly they’re there for a week so the issue of how they dress when coming and going isn’t as paramount. Still, if you haven’t seen a Korean girl in her street wear, you’ve missed a great show. Maybe it’s because they really aren’t out all that often…but K-girls are completely accessorized from head to toe when they appear out in the world! Designer jeans…designer shoes…designer bags? They got it all! And it’s assembled in a fashion-conscious way to boggle the mind. K-girls live to dress tastefully…whether it’s a tricked out Victoria’s Secret bra and panty ensemble at the ranch – or whatever they wear out in public to go to the store. I’ve always been impressed by Korean girls’ sense of beauty and style. They never look slutty and whatever they’re wearing always seems to be appropriate for the occasion. They’re just knowledgeable like that. What can I say?

In closing, I’d like to repeat todays’s theme (even if I haven’t stated it yet), that what I like about the girls’ entry and exit wear is that it tells me more about who the girl really is while her work gear simply screams “Show me the money!” While I can live without their drama, I still like to get an impression of how a girl sees herself. And that entry and exit gear gives me a hint about who I’m dealing with.  I’ve come to the conclusion that on balance, that’s a good thing.

So what did I do for Halloween? Did I get all dressed up in a fancy costume and parade around the Village like half the city and suburbs (yes, there are a lot of suburbanites who come to the Village every Halloween)? Here was my Halloween activity: I went to visit a girl. And…I dressed up in a cool guy costume! It cost me $5!

“Wow,” observed the dazzling cutie with whom I chose to spend some precious time! “I didn’t know you were the festive type!” OK! Let me stop right there. I have a confession to make. It wasn’t really a cool guy costume. In fact, it’s a high quality hoodie I picked up outside of Asian Models a couple of years back from one of those discount African joints in the 20’s.

Clearly, it was some sort of remainder/overstock as a) it’s very high quality and only five bucks…and b) it was obviously manufactured for a high school swimming team in Rhode island…evidenced by the “RIIL” insignia on the front (Rhode Island Interscholastic League I assume)…and the names of not just the teams – but swimmers on those teams as well (all printed on the back). But the real hook to the sweatshirt is its bright blue tie-die pattern. I thought it was kind of jazzy when I bought it and I found out I was right when no fewer than three young girls complimented me on the outfit.

Back to the girl…and to the point of the title of this entry. My buddy looked terrific. Great outfit…and big cleavage for a girl who’s not really that huge on top. But her performance though good – wasn’t as supersonic as usual. No problem. Still excellent!

As the sands slipped out of the hourglass and it was almost time to end the party, my fiance confessed “Ya know, I can feel myself getting old. I can’t do what I used to anymore. No more partying till 6, sleeping a few hours…and then getting up to function like I used to.” I assume she was trying to relate to me and my advancing age yet still, I couldn’t help but scoff at her complaints.

“Twenty four years old and you’re complaining,” said I. “Try 64 with a cracked vertebrae and a bursitic shoulder!” She shot me a look which said “Don’t even try it. I’m ready for a nap after you!”

Well anyway…the truth is that this actually is a college girl. Or at least she’s going to school full time and can only work Friday and Saturday. So I’m guessing that going to school Monday through Thursday and then working a 12 hour shift on Friday catering to the whims of guys like me could make a girl feel old. But I’m an understanding guy. In fact, the first thing I did when we entered the room? I gave my buddy a massage. That’s probably why she opened up and was personally forthcoming. Just a little tender loving care goes a long way in this fucked up world. And maybe just a little of that kind of treatment can make your best girl feel young again. Not that it worked last night but…just a thought to end this post.

But before I go…I almost forgot to post TALIA’s (she works at GC – 917-547-0723) new pix. The girl ragged hard on me about one of her old shots which she didn’t like but actually looked fine to me when I checked it out later that day. Whatever…I had the camera with me so what the hell! I entertained her whim. Here’s the result of literally a five minute photo shoot (there was a guy waiting for her) from two days ago. Enjoy!




I know I’ve pointed this out before….but it bears repeating. There are a lot of lesbians in the escort business! Sound a little bizarre? Not really when you think about it! It’s not like the girls who get paid for their time would actually choose to spend that time with the paying customer if there were no money involved in the transaction? So why would both parties have to be hetero in the deal? That’s beside the point!

So I was up at some place or other (no need to call out the name) when I mentioned the name of a girl who is no longer employed there…to which another lady in close proximity asked “What happened?” My answer: “I don’t know. She quit is what I was told…and that I should take her off the blog.”

Seemingly heartbroken, the girl on the couch lamented out loud “And she didn’t even say goodbye.” The sentimentality of the moment escaped me until Betty (fake name) wrapped it up: “That’s why I gotta stop fucking girls. They’re no good!” Suddenly, I understood. In the two weeks Shayna worked there, she’d already had sex with Betty! Seduced and abandoned. A familiar refrain regardless of the sexual orientation of the two parties. What are ya gonna do?

The owner of the place is a longtime friend of mine. Like 17 years…literally. A while back, she sneaked a covert camera into the place to check up on the girls. And what did she see (among other activities) while reviewing the tape? Several girls in a pile of carnal heat and activity! That’s what she saw! As I said…lesbians lesbians…as far as the eye can see.

Later that night, I went to visit one of my favorite gym partners (I love to work out with her). Selena (another fake name) and I can’t believe how good the sex always is. I mean come on…I’m 64…and she’s gay! My best years should be behind me…and she shouldn’t enjoy being with men! What the fuck is going on?

Selena’s sexuality is supposed to be a secret. But it’s not to me. I met her a couple of years ago at Bliss Sandwich lap dance joint where I saw her girlfriend on a freebe. Her girlfriend was not unfamiliar to me. I’d known her since the days of Godiva’s Finest, a black girl only incall for whom I did ads when that was what I did for a living. Gentleman that I am, I walked the girls to the subway that night and somehow knew that these two weren’t just friends. They were lovers as well. I even got to calling them Frick and Frack and/or the Bobsey Twins after I’d known them for a couple of years and they were still joined at the hip. They were and are that inseparable.

At the end of our rendezvous the other night, I asked Selena how her girlfriend is and of course added a compliment: “She has such beautiful appendages.” “I know. Her legs are to die for,” confirmed Selena.

“How does she feel about us getting together occasionally?” I went there. “Actually, she’s fine with it. She was your first love and now it’s my turn,” came Selena’s response.

Hmm! I don’t know about all that love stuff…and I don’t honestly think there’s really any jealousy going on. I doubt Selena’s girlfriend thinks my dalliance with Selena is anything but a friendship. Thus, no problem. I don’t comprise a threat.

Anyway…to the point. How does a guy get a lesbian to enjoy his company (so to speak)? I think it’s simply like relating to anybody regardless of their sexual orientation. Once you become friends, the chasm narrows considerably. Plus, women are rarely 100% gay. At least in my experience. If they find you attractive personally, it’s not that difficult for a girl to jump to the other side – especially if they’re escorts and doing it for a living.

Wrapping this up as a Part Two from yesterday (why not?), I’ll say this: Familiarizing yourself with the music of today is one thing…and reading up on lesbian culture is yet another tool one can utilize to ingratiate yourself with the object of your lust. It might not win her heart per se like in the old time movies…but it probably will get you a much better session! And really…that’s where your aspirations should lie with escorts. Once you leave the room, the honeymoon is (and should be) over. That’s it…my observation of the day. Time for some Bran flakes.


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

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

The tune is called “Bang Bang”…as in…

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

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

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

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

This is where youth culture and I go our separate ways. Call me crazy…but by me, if you’re gonna brag on your phat booty and how that milk shake brings all the boys to the yard…maybe you should be born with that phat booty. Buying it doesn’t count! And whether it’s fake or real..maybe just letting all that endowment speak for itself is more attractive than so much self-broadcasting.

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

“Those are my jams,” she exploded as my fiance involuntarily dropped a deep knee bend like it was hot and then gyrated and twerked her approval of my knowledge. I knew the day’s research was not time wasted.

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

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

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

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

Anyway…here’s da noisses! Enjoy.








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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fast forward to yesterday when I met ELENA from JONY (347-595-4518) – a girl the boss wanted me to photograph. I wasn’t impressed. Skinny blondes don’t do it for me.

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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



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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever…here’s the aforementioned goils.






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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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