Archive for the ‘prostitute’ Category

Shop till you pop.

I'll take one in each size

I’ve recently had the good fortune to find myself with a bit more discretionary cash. Thanks to the economic stimulus, business has been good. More customers, more cash. Thanks Obama!

So, what to do with a spare few hundred bucks? Like you need to ask.

This time around, I decided to venture away from my usual encounters. Find a new in well to dip my quill in, a new crankcase to dip my dipstick, a new scabbard for my sword. New pussy, I’m talking about trying to find new pussy. Sorry to be so vague.

But where to go, where to look? Well, let’s go shopping for pussy, shall we?

First stop: Eros.com. I have to say, overall, this is where I’m finding quality companionship. But, damn, they make it difficult for the consumer. I think that, in a nutshell, is the problem with this site. They don’t know who the consumer is. It’s a difficult site to slog through. Bad layout. Most websites, whether news pages, shopping sites or classified listings, the main body of the page is front and center. If there are ads, they’ll be on a sidebar alongside the main article. On Eros, it’s the other way around. Huge swaths of web page real estate are given to outside banner ads. When you open any page, the first thing you see, smack dab in the middle of the screen is huge banner ads… for other escort ad sites. WTF? In fact, what should be the primary focus, the escort ads, are all tiny thumbnails running in a sidebar along the left hand side of the page. For example, I’m looking for escorts in Los Angeles, I have to scroll through a menu of cities, which takes me to a block of text links. VIP escorts, All female escorts, Visiting escorts… and about a dozen and a half different categories. Fuck it, let’s just see what’s in All Escorts. Oh, look, huge banner ads that’ll take me to pay sites. That’s what I’m looking for. No wait, I’m looking for hookers, where are they? Those tiny thumbnails. And chances are, no matter what category you choose, VIP, Visiting, Redhead, Mature, Incall, GFE… you’ll see the same 5 or 6 ads listed first. I guess those are the agencies… errr, I mean escorts… that paid a premium for having their thumbnail listed at the top of every fucking sidebar on every fucking page. It all smells vaguely pimpy.

As for the categories, it doesn’t seem to make any difference what you’re looking for. It appears that escorts can self-categorize any damn way they want. So, I’ve found listings for girls in the “Full Figured” category who are 5’1″, 110 pounds and 32 bust. The first listing in the “Redhead” category is a blonde. Followed by 3 brunets. There are 18, 20, 23 year olds listed in the “Mature” category. The categories are meaningless. Just as bad, is that an escort can give herself any name she wants, which becomes the headline for her ad. So, instead of “Sally Escort”, you’ll get “Sally VIP XXX Escort 36DDD in Beverly Hills.” I guess if some girl decided to name herself “I Will Suck Your Dick For Money In Van Nuys” they’d list that, too. There doesn’t seem to be anyone actually looking at the ads they sell and checking for quality control. Also, the Search function doesn’t work. Oh, I mean it works, just that it doesn’t actually return results based on what you’re searching for. Search for “Amber”, you’ll get “Shania”. So, even if you go in looking for contact information on a specific provider, you may still just get whoever they’re pimping… errr… whoever paid more for priority placement.

Like I said, they don’t seem to know who their customers are. And let me be clear here, I’m not their customer. I’m the target audience their customers are trying to reach. Escorts are their customers. Escorts are the ones paying them for ad space, ads whose rates are presumably based on being able to deliver the target audience. But instead, they’re sending the target audience off-site to a pay-per-view porn site or adult dating scam site.

Then there’s That Mall. Hey, That Mall, 1990 called, they want their web site design back. Practically useless. There’s a few things on there that make me chuckle. On the sidebar menu, under escorts they list 3 categories. Female. Male. Asian. Wait, what…? What if you’re a female Asian? Which category would they put you in? And if they’re going to subdivide by race or ethnicity, why not African American or Latin? Or Greek. But I digress. Then there’s the claim that all ads are verified, that ALL advertisers are required to meet with them in person. There’s a few girls on there I can’t get to meet with me for cash, but they’re going to head down to the That Mall offices? Oh, and where is the That Mall office anyway? Their phone numbers are 323 area codes, so, they’re in Los Angeles. But they have escort ads for Chicago, Texas, Atlanta and Hawaii. Did all those Chicago girls (or Asians) really come down to the Los Angeles office to meet with them in person? The thing that really cracks me up about That Mall is their banner advertising. I’m not kidding. I wonder how this dental office, with their picture of a smiling mom and baby feels about their ad banner being right above hooker ads? I guess it would make more sense if they were oral surgeons.

I guess we can’t discuss the topic of searching hooker ads without touching on the Craigslist story. Since Craigslist decided that cutting & running was the better part of valor, much has been said about their censorship of adult services ads. Yes, prostitution will go on. Yes, it’s still possible to get hooker ads online. Yes, it was a cowardly move by Craigslist and a brazen attempt to legislate morality, pander to the anti-sex puritans and restrict free speech under the guise of ‘protecting the children.’ Interestingly, many people in the escort/“hobbyist” community came rushing to the defense of the departed Craigslist Adult sections. Many of those people had long abandoned Craigslist as the bargain basement of hooker ads. I’ve made disparaging comments about “Craigslist girls.” Yes, I know that many of today’s $1,000 hotties were yesterday’s $100 Craigslist girls. But the fact remains that Craigslist had become, for the most part, the entry level of hookers. And thus, the place where cheap bastards looking for $60 dollar quickies went trolling. Not much has changed since the demise of Craigslist hooker ads when it comes to finding an escort. The ads have relocated to other venues. What has changed, of course, is that a girl who was barely scraping by on cheap quickie blowjobs now has to fork over more cash for her ads. Where she may have been spending $10, $15, $20 now she’s spending $30, $50, $300. Soon, she’ll either have to raise her rates just to cover her ad expenses or suck a boatload more dick.

Long before the Craigslist shutdown, though, cheap bastards already had a place to go. Hell, this place even has a private ‘club’ specifically for Cheap Bastards. They like to pretend that it’s a ‘social networking’ site, that they just happen to have classified ads, and sure 9.5 out of 10 of those classified ads are for hookers. But really, they’re just a community. They’re just there to exchange recipes and play Farmville. Or Hookerville. The ads there are free. Sure, you can buy “points” to use for things like priority placement, but essentially free. And they eschew all of the obnoxious Craigslist-esque trappings, the wild punctuation, the random capitalization, the barely disguised sexual innuendo. Sure, you can buy “points” to use for things like adding glitter and sparkle to your ad, but that’s tOtaLLy DiFFrenT. This is where the guys who think that $100 is way to much to spend for pussy have open and unapologetic run of the place. Can you find quality companionship there? Of course. Are there pages and pages and pages of misogynist bullshit? Of course. It’s their raison d’etre. Fortunately, you can go directly to the classified section and skip the commentary, you don’t even have to sign up to read the ads. There is one curious, comical idiosyncrasy there. Many of the providers advertising there specifically, explicitly claim that they will only see site members with verifiable references from other member providers and only those above a certain ‘trust’ level. For their safety, of course. Or, you could just look up their ad on Backpage. One positive aspect of the Broke Bastards  Board is that since they don’t allow comments on ads anymore, you don’t have to put up with slogging through 50 comments by detractors when you look at an ad.

Which of course brings us to the place where not only do they allow comments by detractors on an escort’s ad, they often actively encourage it. The Erotic Review has long been the place to go for escort ads, reviews and “hobby” discussions. The site has been around for years, and they like to think of themselves as the gold standard for escort reviews. Even after the guy running the place got sent to jail for trying to have a hooker killed, TER keeps on going. The guys currently running things haven’t (yet), to my knowledge, tried to have any hookers killed. Stalked, harassed, run out of business, sure. But not, probably not, raped or killed. Advertising on the site is free, although TER is a membership site and they do charge somewhere in the neighborhood of $20 a month for membership in order to have full access to all the site’s features. So, you can place your ad for free, but if you want to be able to look up a prospective client, look up another escort to check references or exchange messages with someone to determine their credibility, you’ll have to pony up $20 a month (recurring). All this allows you the privilege to post your ad once a week. It also allows every asswipe with an anonymous screen name and a grudge to trash you in your own ad. Piss someone off? They will make sure you know it. I’ve seen escorts place ads only to have them devolve into pages-long rants by angry hobbyists. Wonder why you place an ad and get absolutely no response? Maybe it’s because the 12 year old girls… errr… the moderators… have re-posted your ad in the Men Only Board, the better to trash you in private. I’ve seen it happen. Or maybe you wonder why your latest client’s review hasn’t shown up. It could be because the local moderator has a bug up his double-wide ass about you and has decided not to approve new reviews. And there is no recourse. It’s a dictatorship, and not a very benign one at that. The knock against TER used to be that the guy in charge abused his position to terrorize escorts, extort sexual favors and divulge personal information about them. Not much has changed, except the new guys actually go to the parties they host.

The good news is that after an exhaustive search, I did finally find someone to spend my spare few hundred dollars on (thanks Obama!). A good time was had by all, the economy was stimulated and so was I. I’m glad to report that I do apparently still have a huge cock. Good to know, good to know. It took some doing, lots of homework, lots of searching, but in the end it paid off. Finding paid pussy is still possible, but it’s not exactly easy.

And maybe it shouldn’t be.

There’s always a woman to blame.

Some people claim there's always a woman to blame

It’s not news (no, really, it isn’t), some high profile celebrity gets caught cheating on his high profile celebrity wife. Whether it’s an athlete, an actor or a famous mechanic (really? WTF? What’s next, celebrity grocery baggers?), we’re all drawn in to the tawdry drama. In the wake of the recent revelations of general horndoggery by Jesse James and the seemingly never-ending Tiger Woods Apology Tour, one thing is constant: those dirty, nasty, skanky whores who led them astray.

For example, in a recent online discussion of the James/Bullock story, with multiple alleged mistresses starting to come out of the woodwork, there was a comment made that Sandra Bullock should get herself tested for STDs. Good advice, to be sure, but the rationale was that the concern was because of the low class tattooed stripper porn stars Jesse was fucking were sure to be disease ridden whores. Whoa! Wait a minute, he’s the one going from one partner to another (to another and another and another), he’s the indiscriminate fucker here. But the women are the ones to blame if his dick falls off. The clowder of pussy surrounding Tiger is almost always portrayed as gold digging sluts… even if they were just waitresses in love. Noted relationship authority Dr. Jim Carrey, fresh off the news that his own relationship was on the rocks, chose to support Tiger by lashing out at Tiger’s wife. On his Twitter, Carrey posted:

“no wife is blind enough to miss that much infidelity. Elin had to be a willing participant on the ride for whatever reason. kids/lifestyle.”

Tiger goes back to his million dollar home, his million dollar wife and his million dollar job, and his wife, girlfriends and mistresses get thrown under the bus.

When it comes to “hobbyists”, there’s no fuck up that can’t be blamed on a hooker. Can’t get it up? That bitch was too ugly. Too broke to fuck? Those bitches charge too much. It’s not that you’re too short, that bitch was too tall. When hobbyists start talking about the reasons why they fuck hookers (and they always do), nine times out of ten it’s because the wife won’t put out anymore. See? They wouldn’t have to fuck hookers if the wife would just give it up more. It’s her fault he has to pay for pussy.

Last week I saw a post on the BrokeBastardsBoard titled simply “Bitch.” Simple facts, guy makes last minute appointment with escort, she’s a few minutes late, calls to ask if he wants to proceed or reschedule. Yeah, egregious. Seriously, he called her at 8:45. To make an appointment for 9:30. At 9:45, she calls him to say she got held up a bit, does he still want to get together or make it for some other time. And that makes her a bitch. A bitch that deserves being called out on a message board because she wasted his time and ruined his night. Dude, if your window of opportunity is so narrow that 15 minutes is a make-or-break, you probably shouldn’t be stepping out to see hookers at the last minute. Maybe plan ahead a bit. Your inability to plan doesn’t make her a bitch. “Hobbyists” are rarely if ever wrong. If a hooker says something you disagree with, you can round up all your message board warriors and start a thread calling her a bitch. After all, whatever stupid thing you said, whatever boneheaded move you made, whatever your shortcomings, there’s no problem too big (or too small) it can’t be blamed on a ho.

There’s a heavy weighting among the hobbyist class towards the Party of Personal Responsibility™. Which makes it all the more ironic that they don’t seem to be able to actually, y’know, accept personal responsibility. The boards afford them an opportunity to indulge in their favorite pastime. Cuz all they wanna do is bitch.

“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.

Expert advice.

Growing business

I have some advice for all you hookers out there. I know what you’re doing wrong, I know what you need to do to get more clients, I know how to run your business.

Cuz no one knows more about being a hooker than a trick. Right?

Gimme a break.

It’s fairly common on the hooker message boards for Some Girl to ask something along the lines of “what am I doing wrong here?” Usually, it’s a girl new to the site, unsure of what the posting guidelines are, looking for feedback on how to better navigate the vagaries of any particular local board. More often than not, the subtext is: “I keep posting ads, why aren’t any of you losers booking dates?”

Instead of the real honest answer (“we’re all a bunch of cheap bastards in here, we’d rather waste your time flirting online than actually paying to fuck”) this opens the doors wide for a barrage of unwanted, unsolicited, unrealistic business advice. Much like every Republican (or “Independent”) posting on political boards, every john posting on hooker boards is a Captain of Industry. Come to think of it, there’s probably a huge overlap in those two sub-groups. Must be an interesting Venn diagram.

Quick! A hooker needs business advice!

They have tons of advice. It may not surprise you to learn that the single most important piece of business advice from johns to hookers is: lower your prices. Lower rates, more pictures. More revealing pictures, but not professional pictures, camera phone pictures (since everyone knows those can’t be edited) and offer specials to board members.

Predictable.

Every “hobbyist” knows exactly how a hooker should operate her business. And they ain’t shy about telling them how.

I was reminded of this not too long ago; a provider with whom I’ve become somewhat friendly asked me to check out her new website. Beta testing was all that was asked of me. I hope I came to my senses soon enough and kept my advice to myself. Yet my immediate instinct was to tell her what was wrong with it, how she should change things, which pictures to use. See, I know better than she does.

And that right there is the crux of it. The guys think that they always know better than the stupid hookers. Sure, some of those “stupid” hookers also run successful businesses. Some have graduate degrees. Some are experienced, knowledgeable and conversant in topics ranging from law to economics to business to art, design, politics or technology. But they’re hookers, so obviously they’re nowhere near as smart as the guy who runs a window pane store or the insurance salesman or the plumber who spends all his time commenting on a hooker message board. And I’m sure your job at Disneyland is quite challenging.

These guys are attempting to correct what they see as a shift in the balance of power. For years, ages, it was commonly accepted that the john held all the power. He had the penis and the dollars and that made him right. This new era of online escorts is making them feel like the hooker is in the driver’s seat, and they don’t like that, no sir, not one bit. How dare she ask for screening information? Whaddaya mean I have to book ahead? Why can’t I fuck you bareback in the ass? Really, what does she think she is? It comes from a point of view that since you’re paying her, she can’t say ‘no.’ For guys who are constantly hearing ‘no’ from women — no, the wife won’t blow him. No, the girl at the bar won’t go out with him — they figure that if they’re paying a hooker she can’t say ‘no.’ To anything. They don’t realize that just because she says ‘yes’ doesn’t mean she loses the right to say ‘no.’

And so, they try to re-exert their lost control. They’ll tell those hookers what to do and how to do it. Online flirting with hookers makes them feel more desirable. Paying for pussy makes them feel valuable. Making hookers feel stupid makes them feel smarter.

Look, I’ve been involved with the escort boards for a while. I’ve seen hookers/escorts/streetwalkers/callgirls/courtesans. I’ve run my own business, I’ve worked for others. I’ve know providers, both personally and professionally. And I don’t know anything about being an escort.

Yeah, I know, you’re a successful businessman.

What a "blowjob" looks like where YOU work

You often have to deal with a customer who’s being a dick. But you don’t actually have to deal with his dick. You know how to grow your business, you know how to advertise your business, you know how to deal with customers. But no matter how difficult your customers are, unless your job entails meeting strange men in hotel rooms and literally sucking their dicks, you don’t know dick about being an escort.

Getting my passport stamped.

Good likeness

It was a tough week at work. Deadlines. Schedules. Bad coffee.

So at the end of this very stressful week, I figured I owed myself a treat. A visit across the border to Hookerlandia was in order.

Maybe it’s a sad commentary on my wasted life that the arcana of making a date with a hooker are so ingrained as to be almost second nature to me now. Just like the frequent traveler knows the routines of maneuvering through an airport. Check in for your flight, get your boarding pass. Put your carry-on bag on the conveyor belt, take your shoes off. Call once to make the appointment, twice to get directions, three times to get the room number. Take your shoes off.

I take a slight detour from my standard route up the 405 and pay a visit to a very lovely, very accommodating young lady who is highly recommended and highly reviewed. These days, I like to go first class when I travel to Hookerlandia. After getting the preliminary comments about my huge cock out of the way, we settled in for a rousing romp. One of the better sensual encounters I’ve been a part of.

My latest side trip to the frontiers of Hookerlandia had me  thinking back to adventures past. Every guy who’s been at this for any length of time has a story to tell. Mine just aren’t about how great a lover I am.

In recent years, CraigsList has become the most common port of entry  into Hookerlandia. I had a streak of about a few months when I would visit a different CL girl on my way home from work almost every night. I had all shapes and sizes, every ethnicity and ran the gamut in ages from barely legal to barely menopausal. Good times. Good times. Some were good, some were bad, none were great. But you get what you pay for, and you don’t expect greatness from the minor leagues.

One girl stands out in memory, unfortunately not for anything approaching enjoyability. I had seen her ads for several nights, and although I kinda knew better (certainly I should have known enough to do some basic homework) I didn’t bother to find out anything about her beyond what was in her ad. The picture of the hot young blonde that accompanied the ad captivated me for some reason. Even with the blurry face. I called once or twice and got no response. Undeterred, I tried again. In retrospect, I should have noticed the red flags. I called, she answered.

“Hi, is this Aubrey?”

“Who?”

“I’m calling for Aubrey, about your CraigsList ad.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me.”

The background noise sounded like a boiler room operation. She told me where she was staying, we set a time. Then she asked me to stop at the store on the corner and buy her a beer.

“What? You want me to bring you beer? In addition to the hundred dollars?”

“Yeah, a Heineken.”

Well, weird, but maybe she’s thirsty and can’t get away to buy her own beer. But what the hell, I buy a Heineken for her, a bottle of water for me. You never drink the water in Hookerlandia.

After making my way past the glaring front desk clerk, I get to her room. I hand over the beer which she sets, unopened, on the bathroom countertop. There’s at least another six pack in there. Come to find out later that this is another stupid urban legend “LE check.” The  misconception is that a cop can’t bring you alcohol. So, if a guy shows up with a beer can, he’s not a cop. She’s a skinny blonde in a blue babydoll nightie. And she looks nothing like her picture. Another red flag. I should have walked right then, but sometimes you weigh the pros and cons and figure what the hell, you’re already there.

Gathering DNA samples

She had the TV on the whole time. I’m pumping away behind her and she’s watching a rerun of some cop show. The absurdity of the whole situation got to me, and I lost steam. Wilted.

This really pissed her off.

“Great! Now I have to start over!”

I understand. I hate reruns, too.