Posts Tagged ‘Bitches’

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.

How did I get here?

Well... how did I get here?

I’ve been struggling with an injury lately. How it happened isn’t really important. Maybe it was a sports injury, maybe it was work-related. Maybe I threw my back out trying to lift up my massive gut to reach my dick. Whatever, it’s not important. The point is, I was undergoing a bit of physical therapy for my fat/dick- related injury. And as my massage therapist Helga was working through my corpulence to get to the root of my injury, I found myself fantasizing about her working through my corpulence to get to my root.

Now, I haven’t been to an AMP in a long time. The so-called ‘massage parlor’ where the massage was just a pretense for the happy ending. The rub n’ tug joint. But that’s often the first entry into the “hobby” most guys have. There seems to be a progression. From strip club to massage parlors to escorts.

I spent a lot of time exploring strip clubs. I remember one stretch of highway in my hometown where there were about a half a dozen strip clubs of varying degrees of class and quality. I would start at one end of the road with the dark, dank dive bar; the one with the pool table and the lackluster stripper with the Harley-Davidson tattoo across her chest. Then I’d move on to the one with the strobe lights and the glittery swing on stage. I’d end up at the far end of the spectrum at the Showgirls-esque club with featured “acts.”

Yeah... it was just like that

True story: I saw a featured stripper there who had a whole ‘nautical’ act. She had props and costumes, all in a vague naval theme. Sailor cap, cutaway bellbottoms, anchors. Sexy anchors. She danced a set to songs like “Blue, Navy Blue” and “Sea Cruise.” Hot.

But eventually, as most guys do, I grew tired of the ‘look don’t touch’ aspect of the clubs and started looking for more.  My hometown had lingerie modeling joints. You’d pay your door fee, go into a small room, “get comfortable,” and a ‘model’ would pose in scanty lingerie. Of course, for an additional tip she would, y’know… do things. From there, I progressed to cruising the boulevard for streetwalkers, always more afraid of them than they were of me.

Fast forward to the internet age and here I am, a grizzled veteran of the online hooker review boards.

What I am is what I am.

So what would lead an otherwise happily married man with 3 kids, a dog and a fish, a happy home in the suburbs and a  minivan in the garage to go cruising for strippers and hookers?

Ask any “hobbyist” and you’ll hear a litany of excuses, usually centering around the failings of their wives. The conventional wisdom is that if they were getting it at home they wouldn’t need to look  for it on the street. Well, sure, it’s not their fault, it’s their wives. Look, way back when, as I was driving up and down the streets at midnight, picking up scrawny girls for quickie handjobs in my car, I had a freaky, sexy, willing girlfriend waiting at home for me. And when I say freaky, I mean choking, slapping, swinging freaky. She was totally hot, totally willing and totally available. Yet I was fascinated by the world of sex out there.

I’m no saint, never claimed to be. Nice guy? I try. I have to try. Being an asshole is effortless. I’ve been fucking hookers of all stripes for years, with no end in sight. And it’s not, never has been, because of a failing on the part of my partner. It’s me.

This is what those guys slapping each other on the back about banging hookers won’t admit. They like fucking hookers. They would be fucking hookers if they were single. They would be fucking hookers if they were married to sex kittens. They would be fucking hookers if they were married to other hookers. The guys who spend hour after hour after hour online looking for hookers, flirting with hookers, making dates with hookers and writing reviews of fucking hookers… yeah, those guys re only doing it because the cold, distant, harpies they’re married to won’t blow them anymore. Right?

I don’t —we don’t– pay for pussy because the wife won’t pay attention. That’s just another deflection. Another way of placing blame with someone else. Another way of absolving ourselves of responsibility for our own actions. Hey, it’s not my fault I pay to get my dick sucked, it’s yours! Well, guess what? That’s bullshit. It’s my dick, and it’s entirely up to me who I stick it in.

Yeah, there are miserable, shrewish, frigid wives. There are wives who don’t like sex. There are wives who are emasculating bitches. And it’s still your choice to seek out strange pussy. You don’t do it because of the wife, the kids, the job. You do it because you like pussy, all kinds of pussy. The key indicator is that most of us “hobbyists” don’t just quietly, discreetly see the occasional paid companion to while away an hour or two of shared intimacy. The hardcore “hobbyist” has made the flirting, bantering, and jockeying for ‘position’ just as important as the actual in-out. You don’t spend hours chatting with hookers online because your wife won’t suck your dick. You don’t write dozens of goddam reviews highlighting your sexual prowess with hookers because your wife is too busy with the kids. And y’know what? Maybe if you didn’t spend hours chatting with hookers online your wife might be more willing to suck your dick for free.

Choke me in the shallow water, before I get too deep.

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.

Back from the grave.

Evil Never Dies. I guess.

You know how in horror movies, there’s always a moment when the protagonist thinks he’s killed the evil monster, only to have the monster pop up from the dead to attack again?

You think you’ve struck a death blow, only to find that the evil zombie has just been biding it’s time, waiting for the shitstorm to blow over, then it comes back to strike terror again as if nothing had ever happened?

Yeah, it’s kinda like that.

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.