Archive for the ‘ho’ Category

Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

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Pro Tip: If you wouldn’t see a hooker working out of a cheap sleazy hotel like this, why are you staying here? It’s good enough for you to stay in, but not good enough for you to fuck in?

Even worse, how are you gonna call a hooker to a room like this? How are you gonna get a $600 an hour escort to come out to a $40 a night flop?

 

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Do it

Inch by inch

Pro Tip: If you can’t find a respectable hooker to come out to see you, maybe it’s because of all the other hookers you stood up.

If, even in a City of Sinful exotic hotties, you can’t get just one to come out to your hotel on short notice, it might have something to do with all those No Shows/No Calls back home.

Hello, my name is Hooker Addict…

Really? You made her cum doing her doggy-style? GFE?

…and I’m, well, a hooker addict.
Well, no, not really an addict. I can quit fucking hookers anytime I want. I just do it to relieve stress. I’m just a social hooker fucker. Sure, I mostly do it in private, sure I hide it from my friends and family, sure I can never stick to ‘just one more strange pussy.’ But that doesn’t mean I have a problem.

Look, lots of guys get caught up into the whole “hobbyist” thang. Then they find themselves seeking more and more satisfaction. One hooker is never enough. Is it an addiction? I dunno, I’m just  a guy who likes to fuck hookers.

There are certainly a lot of elements of the whole “hobbyist” milieu that lend themselves to the addictive personality. I can see where it would be easy to fall into that trap. Easily accessible pussy, even if it’s paid-for pussy, has an undeniable appeal. Add to that the virtual affirmations you get from your fellow whoremongers, and it’s a slippery slope to a downward spiral. Or something.

Not too long ago, I wrote about the pack mentality prevalent among the “hobbyist” message boards. And I should know, I’m one of them. I wrapped up that commentary with a suggestion that some of my fellow whore fucking addicts may want to re-visit Step 9, a reference, of course, to the classic 12-Step programs. Meh. I write a lot of crap.

Special Delivery

Fan mail

I love getting comments from my readers, it lets me know what all y’all out there are thinking. You don’t always  agree with me, and that’s fine. You’re wrong, but that’s OK. Most comments I approve, some are clearly spam, and some are direct attacks that just go right into the trash. Generally, I welcome all comments from my readers. And even if I disagree, I’m usually amused, enlightened or entertained. Hell, I have one crazy-ass Bitch who hits my blog on a fairly regular basis to make wild hysterical comments. I’ve approved all of those. Then… then, there’s shit like this:

I opened up the big HookerAddict mailbag one day to find this waiting for me from some disgruntled fan calling himself  “Ball Smack” from Kansas, writing from what has every appearance of being a bogus e-mail address. My new correspondent Ballie takes personal exception to my attempts to denigrate the wonderful work being done by AA. Smackeroo writes:

“Wow. I shouldn’t reply to this thread, but I have to. I guess. Stop hating on everybody and go eat a vag or suck a dick or whatever your preference may be. No one cares. Your Bill Dubya campaign isn’t fooling anyone and twits like you will continue to ruin what he was striving for.

Please stop trying to ruin his mission because you feel let down.”

I.. well.. I don’t…

Step it up

Where to start, where to start.

“I shouldn’t reply to this thread. But I have to…” Isn’t that a bit like “I shouldn’t chug this Wild Turkey. But I guess I have to.”? You don’t have to. Free will and all that.

“Stop hating on everybody and go eat a vag or suck a dick…” May I direct you to Step 4: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves and Step 7: Humbly asked god to remove our shortcomings

I am not now, nor have I ever been a member or participant in any 12-Step recovery program. And I don’t feel let down. For the record, I don’t believe in them. I think they’re bullshit. I’m sure someone in the vastness of the Internets will pipe in with stories of how being a Friend of Bill W saved their lives, and I’m certain there are abundant success stories out there.  I know a lot of “hobbyists” who are, as well as friends and co-workers who are “Friends of Bill.” I still think it’s bullshit. Because I think that the core of the program is to exchange one addiction for another. You give up your addictions to booze, dope, gambling or pussy and replace them with addictions to god, meetings, validation and bad coffee.

If you’re a so-called “hobbyist” in so-called recovery, fucking act like you believe in your platitudes. Instead of blaming those dirty whores for your failings, think about humbly asking your god to remove your shortcomings. Instead of lashing out at hookers (or bloggers) maybe it’s time to once again make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourselves. And, having slipped from the path and hidden behind your cloak of Internet anonymity to bash, berate, degrade and vilify those hookers whom you’ve picked as targets for your vitriol, may I once again suggest you revisit Step 9.

P.S. I’ve approved “Ball Smack’s” comment.

In among the wolves.

Keeping an eye on you.

As most of you who have blogs or websites know, we can see where the clicks to our sites are coming from.There are stat trackers galore and even the most basic blogging package has a hit counter of some sort. For example, I can see what websites I’m being linked to, I can see what web search terms people are using to stumble upon my little corner of the web.

Yeah, I can see that the most common search term used to direct traffic to the ol’ Hooker Addict is tied in to an essay I wrote some 5-6 months ago. For some reason, the topic refuses to die. I can see that I’m still getting traffic from a comment I posted on another blog months ago. And I guess I should be flattered that people searching for “huge cock” are being directed to me.

And I can see when you guys are talking about me on your message boards.

Because I’m one of you.

That’s right guys. I’m on your message boards, I’m in your private clubs, I’m on the ‘men only’ boards.

I wrote not too long ago about the social horror of the Hooker/Hobbyist Meet & Greet. Social awkwardness coupled with a sense of entitlement is a bad combination. A certain local message/review board linked to my blog on a thread about meet & greets. I could see every time someone clicked that link in that thread. But I didn’t need a stat tracker to tell me I’d been linked. I could read it myself.

And then you guys kicked it up a notch. You moved the discussion to the private men only board. Here, as you so often do, you used the cloak of internet invisibility, not to look inward but to lash out. But you didn’t lash out at me, did you?

I’m watching you. I know all you guys. I’ve partied with you. Hell, I may (or may not) have commented on that thread.

You wonder why I don’t like “hobbyists”? It’s because of that behavior. The venue brings out the worst in you. Some of you I have personally liked, I’ve had drinks with you, or maybe I just had a drink while you drank club soda. But based on your behavior behind closed Internet doors, maybe it’s time you start working the steps again. Maybe make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourselves again.

What are you saying? Your jacket doesn’t fit right with that knife in your back? Malcontent? Off your meds? What an amusing bon mot, joking about how a certain hooker actually likes being groped! Of course, she also likes doing bareback gangbangs, but you forgot to mention that part.

I’ll keep watching you, I’ll keep writing about you. And I’ll keep waiting for you to revisit Step 9.

“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.”

430 Reviews / 18 White List referrals

You walk into a dimly lit bar, not quite knowing what awaits you inside. What manner of creatures have been coaxed out from their lairs. Sure, you’ve lived on this planet all your life, you’ve seen some strange things, but nothing can prepare you for the motley collection of losers, freaks and bad skin.

The Hobby Party. The Meet & Greet. The Pinch & Grope.

If this is your first time attending a Meet & Greet, you may be unprepared for the array of socially awkward  misfits and wannabe pimps. Sure, if you’re an escort you’ve encountered these types on an almost daily basis, but it’s different when they’re all gathered in one place. Sometimes it’s not enough to flirt with hookers online. Sometimes you need to get up close and personal for all your inappropriate comments and inartful leering.

Just about a coupla weeks ago, I went to another “hobby” party. They pop up from time to time. It gives the party organizers an opportunity to present themselves as big movers n’ shakers in the world of whoring. I swear, these guys who put together these meet & greets see themselves as erudite bon vivants. In their minds, they’re not in a some bar surrounded by a bunch of hookers and johns handing out name tags and free drink coupons. They see themselves as the ultimate high society host.

The parties, whether its a cocktail hour or a luncheon, are often in some slightly seedy, slightly cheesy bar or Mexican restaurant. Sometimes a hotel meeting room, sometimes that local downtown broker’s watering hole. This particular one was part of the recent trend towards more ‘upscale’ doings. A trendy joint in a trendy part of town. Unfortunately, it was also in a part of town known for its gang activity. A lot of the hobbyists attending were a bit taken aback by all the police cars cruising the neighborhood. Specially in light of recent sting operations in other towns where cops have infiltrated a meet & greet. To try to counter that, the organizers have started instituting a cover charge for the guys. I guess they figure if you’re a cop you’re not gonna shell out $40 to join the party. Sure, that’ll work.

If you’ve spent any time at all on the escort discussion boards, you know that there’s a serious lack of tact and discretion and critical thinking skills. When you meet these guys in person you realize that they also have a sever lack of social skills. of course, that really shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. If these guys had skills, they wouldn’t be hobbyists. Oh, they might still be paying to fuck hookers. But they wouldn’t be “hobbyists.”

When I arrived at Mos Eisley,I decide to skip the valet parking (I’m pretty sure a lot of other guys did, too. A $40 door charge plus valet starts getting steep) so I park across the street at the grocery store. I pay my cover charge ($40!) and take a pass on the table with the name tags. Look, I ain’t wearing a name tag. Besides, I use a different handle on each of the several boards I belong to, so it’s either no tag or… well, my chest isn’t big enough for all those names.

Inside the dimly lit bar, the party is in full swing. That is to say, There’s a bunch of loud, inappropriately dressed gals circulating and a bunch of shy, awkward, overweight dudes in khakis sitting around like the chess club at the prom. True story: I once saw a guy at one of these parties, a guy who was a constant presence on the discussion boards, who would take every opportunity to comment on every single goddam topic of discussion and always–always–act like he’s the smartest guy in the room. This guy, in real life was so socially inept, that the girl he was with had to treat him like a 5 year old, showing him how to put things in his pocket so he’d have both hands free to hold his drink, wiping shrimp cocktail sauce off his chin. Had she not decided on a career in escorting, she could have been a kindergarten teacher.

Then there’s the other subset,the guys who are too cool for the room. The guy who makes sure everyone sees him drive up in his custom hot rod, or the guy years past his prime who makes a point of showing up fashionably late so everyone can see him arm in arm with the high-dollar gal. The guy who finds a strategically placed table and proceeds to hold court like Jabba the Hutt.

Being a gentleman is apparently unheard of. I guess most guys figure that having paid a hefty $40 door charge just to get in, they don’t need to be a gentleman and buy a drink for a lady. They don’t even need to be polite and have an actual conversation with an actual flesh and blood woman. And every girl there is there just for his amusement. Every girl is there to get felt up by sweaty guys in Hawaiian shirts and Dockers.

When I first got involved with the whole hobby culture, the meet n’ greets were a low key affair. Usually, one of the board bigwigs would get everyone together in the meeting room of some airport Ramada or some such. The thinking was that a “business lunch” would be an easy sell, a plausible excuse for the married guys to get away in the middle of the day. I thought it was a bit funny, naive and in its own way kinda charming that attendees were told to dress in business casual attire and tell anyone who asked that they were members of an Internet based business networking group. That thin veneer of respectability would be shattered as soon as the first girl showed up wearing something more appropriate for the bedroom than the boardroom. So a bunch of guys dressed like traveling plumbing salesmen gathered in a hotel with a bunch of hookers dressed like… well, hookers. Yep. Nothing suspicious there.

Now, the meet and/or greet is more likely to be an evening shindig. The casual hobbyist finds it harder to come up with an excuse to be out for the night. But the scantily clad girls draw less attention.

The message boards are an often anonymous way for hookers and johns to interact, and too often that anonymity is taken as a license for some nasty, ugly behavior. So you would think that when they step out from behind the keyboard and actually come face to face with those real people behind the screen names that there would be more civility. Well, you would think that if you’d never met a hobbyist.

Oh, and Han shot first.

Don’t piss off a hooker.

gotcha

Stick around the escort/hobbyist message boards long enough, you’re likely to see all manner of stupid behavior. Sometimes I think these guys want to get caught.

I had a friend…

He was active on one of the sleazier local message boards, a big guy, highly trusted. If you wanted to get “in” with someone on the board, he was the guy who’s ring you had to kiss. A funny, affable guy, always willing to lend a hand.  There was a time when he would post a hundred times a day. He had dozens of reviews under his belt. This was a guy who was hooked up, plugged in, connected. I haven’t seen him lately. Wasn’t at the last meet & greet, he’s no longer an active participant on any of the boards, and he hasn’t written a new review in ages.

He’s also unemployed.

So what happened, what went wrong? And what does this have to do with not getting caught fucking hookers? My friend should have known better, but he got stupid. And it kicked him right in the balls.

One of the recurring topics of discussion on the hobbyist boards is ‘falling in love with a hooker.’ There are a lot of pros and cons to that particular situation, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam. Personally, I think one of the reasons this keeps cropping up is the unspoken fantasy many “hobbyists” have that they’ll be so good, so studly, so irresistible that the high-dollar hottie will fall madly in love with him and leave behind her sordid life of hot sex and big bucks. Not to say that it never happens or can’t happen, but chances are it won’t happen. I believe that in life, one must always be open to all possibilities, but it’s also wise to be aware of boundaries. But this isn’t a story of falling in love with an escort. Just the opposite. What got my friend into trouble, and eventually cost him his job was a different kind of obsession.

Certain characteristics inherent in online technologies increase the likelihood that they will be exploited for deviant purposes. The escort message, advertising and review boards are built for anonymity. And deviant purposes.  And unlike being a bully in person, electronic bullies can remain virtually anonymous using temporary email accounts, pseudonyms in chat rooms; this, they think, frees them from normal social constraints on their behavior.

This erstwhile friend would spend hours and hours every day on the message board. And he started to believe his own hype; that his exalted ‘trust’ level was not only a cudgel he could wield against those escorts who disagreed with him, but also a wall he could hide behind for safety. He took a turn from flirting and being the jovial good guy into haranguing, harassing and hounding girls online. Electronic forums often lack supervision, and cyber bullies (or ‘trusted’ hobbyists) often feel emboldened by their perceived anonymity, their perceived power, their perceived attractiveness. Hiding behind the screen name allows them to launch attacks and carry out an antagonistic agenda because it takes less energy and courage to express hurtful comments using a keyboard than face to face.

Gossip, drama and innuendo are always on the menu on the message boards, and this one was no different. My once-upon-a-time friend felt invincible. He had been on the board for a long time and had a long, long, long list of supporters, followers and sycophants. So when girls would argue with him, disagree with him or just plain call him on his bullshit, he spared no effort on attacking them. But because he had felt invincible for so long, he let his guard down. He thought nothing of boasting about his high-profile job, he used his real name on the boards, he often posted his own picture. And the incessant posting. Hour after hour, day in and day out.

And when finally, the subjects of his ongoing attacks had reached the end of their patience, they struck back. They banded together to put him in his place. Hookers started calling his office. They called his boss, they called corporate headquarters, they called human resources. Seems that major multi-national corporations don’t look favorably on their employees spending their work hours perusing the hooker boards, connecting through the company Internet portal. Specially a company that has their employees sign a morals clause in their employment contract.

My former friend had it all. And he lost it all. He had a nice home, a good job, and all the pussy he could handle. And he threw it all away for self-aggrandizement on a hooker review board. He didn’t respect the boundaries and he didn’t respect the escorts.

But, hey, you’re different, right? Or maybe you’re OK with being in your 40’s, divorced, unemployed and living with your parents.

Not good for outcalls, but at least Mom does your laundry

The Guitar Girl

You probably think this blog is about you, don't you?

She came highly recommended. Well Reviewed. I was going through a phase where I had a distinct preference for the hot MILF-y type, and she fit the bill. She had been on the short list of gals I had some intention of possibly seeing some day. Well,  circumstances intervened and “some day” came sooner than I thought. She offered a discounted rate, and even after paying for a hotel room, it’d still be a good deal. Or so I thought.

So I found myself checking into a hotel off the freeway in the middle of an afternoon.

There’s always the usual pre-show jitters. Will we click? Will I be able to perform? Is this the best lighting for my penis? So I’m naturally a bit apprehensive when she finally knocks on the door. She was not at all what I expected. Now don’t worry, this isn’t going to devolve into the standard “she looked nothing like her picture” rant. She looked just like her pictures. That is to say, her features, her figure, her form were just as advertised. But rather than the sultry, sexy, lingerie-clad temptress I found myself face to face with a patchouli-scented, gypsy-skirted, guitar-toting hippie chick. Lucky for me, I’ve always had a fondness for hippie chicks, whether the ironic/nostalgic type, or like my afternoon visitor the type who had actually been hippies. Oh, and yeah, I understand that she wasn’t going to be wandering the halls of the hotel in a negligee.

But more than her style of dress, I was completely unprepared for the guitar. I had booked an escort, not a floor show. As she made herself comfortable in my room, she informed me that she was an aspiring singer/songwriter and she wanted to serenade me to set the mood. I thought, “why not?” Well, actually I thought “so this is how she plans to kill the 53 minutes out of this hour that we don’t spend fucking.”

She played, she sang. I tried to be a gracious audience, while trying to maintain an erection.

Things didn’t get much better when we moved on to the main event after the musical opening act.

I made my move to go down on her, she balked. Really? No pussy strumming? She said she was sore down there from her last appointment. I had to wonder, if she’s too sore to lick is this somewhere I want to be sticking my dick? But no, she reassured me there wasn’t anything wrong, she was just chafed from a client who was an overzealous licker and under-zealous shaver. (Let me interject here, guys. Has no one ever taught you not to sandpaper a vagina? Am I really the first one to tell you to shave before you head downtown?)

As if the unexpected musical interlude was strange enough, things really took a turn for the weird when we moved on to the fucking portion of the program. Hippie chick wanted to inspect my instrument first. Not, as you might suspect to surreptitiously check for  warts or spots or misplaced frets. No, she wanted check out the size and shape. This, she said, would enable her to somehow tantrically determine the optimum position for pleasure.

Aw hell no

No, really. She would be able to tell. By the shape of my dick. What position we should fuck in. Her expert conclusion? Cowgirl. Yup, she thought riding my baby carrot would be the best way to have at it.

I know it may surprise all of you who are convinced that I can only fuck up, but I hate cowgirl. Look, I’m no porn star, I’m not physically gifted, and I have no game. But I’ve been fucking for longer than most of y’all have been alive and I know how to get off. I don’t have a vast repertoire, I just go for some of the ol’ in out. But, I figured I had made it past the six string to the g-string, I might as well let her saddle up.

We wrapped it up with her on top, and then it was time to go. No encores for this performance.

Of course, in the review I wrote I ate her pussy till she came 3 or 4 times, then finished up by pounding her hard from behind while she was telling me how huge my cock was.

Look, here’s the thing. She was a perfectly lovely lady, and we had a perfectly pleasant afternoon. Everything was as advertised, no more, no less. It was a straight up exchange of services for consideration, and no one got hurt, no one got ripped off and no one fell in love. These things aren’t mystical, they aren’t momentous and the aren’t manipulative. I think the worst thing the public-at-large does is to somehow imbue the hooker/john interchange with more hidden meaning than it really has. Or deserves. It’s not all Pimps n’ Ho’s, it’s not Pretty Woman. It’s not abuse or the result of abuse and will not likely lead to abuse.

We seem to have a tendency in this society to look for hidden meaning in the everyday. On that particular day, there was no further, deeper meaning. I fucked a hooker in a hotel room. Then I went to Ikea.