for years i didn't think anything could beat Massive Attacks' Mezzanine for sexy sounds until 2006 when Trentemoller's last resort was released. even now, 5 years later, this first track is still in the top 10 on my most list on itunes
Trentemøller - Take Me Into Your Skin by La Píldora Electrónica
Thursday 28 July 2011
hot gay male prostitute = dumb fuck twink
what an insipid little shit
high class hooker? $5 million dollars? what a fucking cocksucker! i reckon the 'friend' he is talking to is his himself doing his best sassy grrlfriend voice.
mmm-hmmm!
*snap* *snap* *snap* (in a Z formation)
sure he's got a big smooth chest those chickenhawks would love to scratch their claws over, but those perky disco tits don't distract from a rotten face. i wouldn't go so far to say he has a face like a smashed crab, but it's not my cup of tea. he looks like a woman! i think, hang on, i've forgotten what he looks like already. give me a second to look again... yes! a face so forgettable i feel like a just paid him my tuition fee. he's like LaRoux's mum volunteering in a high school office 2 days a week just because she's bored and like to show of some of her woolen knits. there's nothing sexier than a twink with the face of a 35 year old woman slapped on top
of course prostitution is bad, you nimtard?
oh, you fucktard! you're whoring yourself out right now by being shirtless in EVERY tedious as fuck video expressing your twinky views on life. and if it's one thing twinks are admired for, it's their minds.
no it's not a lot different form what you are normally paid to do. i can't speak for women who work in the industry, but all of the violence i'm involved in has been cause by me. most of the time it's what they ask for... sometime i throw it in for no extra charge :)
$500 ain't enough now. but i'm sure he's sucked a plethora of old men's cocks for a few drinks on a night out. when those disco tits begin to sag, and his youthful (yet forgettable) feminine face begins to shrivel he'll be struggling to pull in a $US100 an hour, if not sucking dick for $20 in the back seat of a korean-made station wagon to buy crack
sex is sacred. yet he's eat penises 'all the time'
at least he's got some fucking clothes on for once
Wednesday 27 July 2011
no one likes a bossy bottom
"i saw one of your clients today," The Elk said over dinner in the pub
"oh really. which one?"
"John. tall guy. lives way out in..."
"ugh! how is old John?"
Elk smiled. holding back laughter while he pushed his steak around the plate, "well, he's alright. but he sure hates you."
"thank fuck. that tedious annoying cunt..."
i first heard from John when i was still living out in the Yarra Valley. i had just been dumped 3 days earlier and thought "fuck it!" i needed to recover some of the money i blew moving here. the ex packs it in after 3 weeks, so i'm went back on the game within 3 days. i put my ads back up and scored work immediately. i still had a fair bit of anger and frustration looming so when i got an email from a a self-confessed hungry cocksucker that likes to be dominated it sounded perfect
he's quite courteous. up front about what he wants, which is great so i'll know what i need to do and since we're both travelling both an hour each way to meet he extends for a 2 hour booking and i'm generous to give him above the normal discount for 2 hours because he's well organised and i just want to get away from my tantrum-throwing ex
i ride in from the sticks and meet him at the classy Kingsgate Hotel. it's a budget hotel in the city. it's actually fine. i would prefer a pay by the hour establishment to really get the sleazy feeling going, but i don't think those places don't exist around these parts no more.
i meet him in the hotel room. he's a nice enough guy. about 6'5" with a fit and well-aged body. i soon find out very well aged. he looked like he was in his mid 40s, but he's actually in his early 60s. he hands me a beer as i walk in the room and directs me to the chair. i sit and drink and talk for a bit. i turned up busting to piss (like he requested), but after a long chat he wanted to get straight to the cocksucking. who could blame him, really :) so i try to kick back with a gut full of piss while he buries his face in every sweaty hairy crack of my body sucking him deep breaths. he works his way from my balls to my cock. after some teasing and chewing of the foreskin, he shoves his mouth on my cock down to the base. he knows what he's doing. i'm going to enjoy this
we try a few positions, eventually him laying down with his head off the edge of the bed. i spit in his mouth, wrap my hands around his throat and fuck his face until i blow my load in his mouth. he cleans me up like a good little cocksucker
"you need to piss?"
"uh," still catching my breath, "yeah. in a minute" i go to sit, but he leaps up straight to the bathroom to watch me piss. i go to the bathroom and try... and try.... and try... and turn on the tap. he's looking up at me with the expectations and pulling his dick and i just can't go.
it's tough to tell people but piss sex ain't all that easy. if you got a boner, the supply of piss is cut off by the pubococcygeus muscle. i imagine this stage of evolution was a result of many centuries of cavewomen getting annoyed at all the neanderthal men pissing inside their v-jay-jay. but every damn fag who shoves a yellow hanky in his back pocket sees it in a german porno and thinks you can have a raging boner and be able to piss at the drop of a hat (or at the drop of a prolapsing asshole, but that usually happens at the end of the scene). it's even more difficult after you've blown your own load.
some people have no problems. i usually don't, but sometimes i do. at least this gave us something to do next time
next time happened a month later when i got back from Sydney. i had started work in the brewery and the vineyard but still felt i had too much time to sit around thinking about how everything went wrong. i saw John again. this time we would do the sex, then the piss, then the money shot. with a little struggle, it worked.
John used to be an escort himself. so he referred me to an old client of his. more about him later. it was nice to get referred to other clients. he helped out a lot. also, when i was out of town or working and unable to meet him. i referred a friend to him, Jack. after 2 sessions that no longer worked out for them both
***
john soon became a weekly thing, sometime twice weekly. then the texts messages started to get out of control.
"remember be rough. be dominate. i like a man who takes control"
"wear your filthiest jocks. get them dirty for me"
"can you piss a little in them for me before you turn."
"drink a litre of water before you turn up. i want your piss."
really? drink water? thanks for the tip i never knew drinking liquids and pissing was connected. all that was fine. but this is what we had been doing all along. it's not like i forgot in the last 5 days what scene he wants to get into. i soon learned to ignore the barrage of texts and wait until the finished (or he was done jerking off) before i would reply "yep", "of course" and "consider it done"
this soon carried over into the sessions. sit here. do this. spit in my mouth. sit on my face. stand over here. NOW stand over here. now do this. right hand - yellow. left foot, blue. right foot, green. now! NOW! NOW!!!
I said `Step pause turn pause pivot step step' not `Step pause turn pause pivot step pause'!
no one likes a bossy bottom. no one.
in a hook up situation if someone describes themselves as a power bottom all i can think of his this guy is gonna be a headache. John had become more comfortable in the situation and he now as he stand before the buffet, not only does he want all you can eat, but he wants to eat it all, NOW!
i'm the dominant top. that's what he wants. so as the bottom he should shut the fuck up and get what he's given. it's not like i've never done this before. i grew out of my training boots years ago. i have no problem taking direction, but when it's rushed and every two minutes you are changing positions. it becomes more like a sticky game of twister. in a 2 hour session you will quickly run out of positions. repitition is tedious. this is not hot sex. this aerobic circuit training.
***
after a few sessions we would take a break half way and go to the bar around the corner. have a few beers to fill my bladder up. then go back to the room and finish. while in the bat we would chat for a bit, but after the second i time i felt he was not chatting and just being nosey, then critical, then patronising. so i kept him at a distance. a couple of times he did not get the hint and he would press on a personal subject and i had to tell him that is none of your business. i just fed him crap about myself that didn't hurt anyone knowing should he turn. as i was soon to find out he quickly turned on my friend that i referred to him.
"you know Jack is not a top. he's a bottom. do you believe that story with the police? i don't. how well do you know him? Jack is also not what he appears to be... he's not a very good top."
remember, a bit of white noise can block all that out. i'm sorry it didn't work out. don't start bitching to me about my friends. it's been 3 months. let it go
the more beers i had. the shorter my temper. the faster he annoyed me. the rougher i became. the more he enjoyed the sessions
soon i was leaving the sessions cashed up but angry
***
i had been living in Melbourne proper for sometime now. i had been a while since i had spoken to my friend Jack that i referred to John. john had asked him to fuck his boyfriend, not to tell him he's an escort and he will pay him later. Jack fucked the boyfriend, John never paid up. yes it is not wise to work and receive payment after, but my friend is not an escort. he has never done it before. Jack is just a hot man who needed some cash and i wanted to help him. he told me he had started to receive angry texts from John saying "you're terrible! i don't owe you money! you're not worth paying for! you're not even that good looking."
totally not true. Jack is one damn sexy man
it was from this point that i thought it was best to keep John at a distance. the relationship had started to sour. the sessions i had stopped looking forward to and even started to hate. he was more probing with personal questions. more critical. more demanding in the sessions. more piss. wanting me to cum twice in a session. wanting more and more and extra time without paying anymore than our initial rate months ago. he'd point out that he had introduced me to another client. provided information about studying and courses. implying that i must be making tonnes of cash therefore i should give him a little extra. we've known each other a while now he would like to fuck me and even nagging to bareback me
he was becoming work
"oh, poor you," you are thinking, "oh you have to WORK like the rest of us. welcome to the real world!"
he was too much work. he was a headache. he was agony! in a professional situation, you would drop his as a client because you're no longer suited to his needs. however, in my situation, i don't live in the real world! if i wanted to live in the real world i would get a normal job! i did for years! i hated it more!
so i started to withdraw. being such a bad liar. i can't hide my distaste for someone. i barely spoke during the sessions now
"you're are such a bad communicator. it takes you so long to respond."
"sometimes i can't. i'm busy. sorry i can't respond to a text while riding a motorbike. as well as it not being physically possible, i'm sure it's illegal. sometimes there's no point. you change appointment days and times over and over in the space on an hour."
"i'm a busy man."
"so am i. check your schedule. choose a time. then contact me"
the booking of appointments would get annoying. every 5 minutes i'd get an sms
"are you available friday?"
"make that monday?"
"forget that i had tradesmen on monday. wednesday?"
the final day was another pestering
"1pm"
"12:45"
"change that. 12:45"
"forget all that. make it 1pm"
really? you will travel an hour to the hotel, and then you're scrapping over 15 minutes each way several days in advance. then 3 hours before the booking:
"can we make it 1:45?"
"you okay for 1:45?"
"you up yep?" at 11am, implying a lazy hooker who sleeps all day, "i will be there at 1:45"
think ahead. check your schedule. make an appointment. stick to it
i couldn't change my plans that day again to suit him again . the over-texting. the nagging. everything had become too much. i told him i could not make it. he exploded. the next day i was working and he assumed i ignored more of hims texts when i didn't even have my phone in front of me
later that night i got this email
it's unfortunate when you break up with a client. it becomes that. a messy break up. things you said are taken out of context (re: victorians being unfriendly), impersonal and not taking an interest? apart from he was boring, yet rambled on. i remembered all his stories involving his mother, over-sexually active father, his partner, their trips to Sydney, the hook-ups he was having and the bareback sex he was having outside of his relationship and not telling his partner, the plans for his new house, the bike he used to ride and the accident that fucked his shoulder. we discussed these things often, sometimes two or three times because he would see so many escorts and masseurs (in between complaining to me about them) he would forget who he told his stories to.
i always prepare. i was always ready to piss. but when that bossy bottom is ordering you about and you're struggling to maintain a boner while fighting the urge the kick his fucking teeth and then have to piss. if you don't like what i do, take your business elsewhere. clearly, i was so bad that he had to see, on average, once a week for 6 months.
it needed to end. it's over now. you notice when a client gets attached and you try to shake them loose the best way you can, either directly, indirectly or making yourself unavailable or undesirable. either way, they take it personally. there is not much you can do when someone else blurs the line in the escort/client relationship. it is tricky when it seems like the job is just dirty piss-soaked face-raping fun but really so much of it is actual companionship
i was happy for The Elk to be seeing him now. reckon it'll toughen the boy up!
you won't be hearing from me again. a week after dinner with Elk i got this message
"oh really. which one?"
"John. tall guy. lives way out in..."
"ugh! how is old John?"
Elk smiled. holding back laughter while he pushed his steak around the plate, "well, he's alright. but he sure hates you."
"thank fuck. that tedious annoying cunt..."
i first heard from John when i was still living out in the Yarra Valley. i had just been dumped 3 days earlier and thought "fuck it!" i needed to recover some of the money i blew moving here. the ex packs it in after 3 weeks, so i'm went back on the game within 3 days. i put my ads back up and scored work immediately. i still had a fair bit of anger and frustration looming so when i got an email from a a self-confessed hungry cocksucker that likes to be dominated it sounded perfect
he's quite courteous. up front about what he wants, which is great so i'll know what i need to do and since we're both travelling both an hour each way to meet he extends for a 2 hour booking and i'm generous to give him above the normal discount for 2 hours because he's well organised and i just want to get away from my tantrum-throwing ex
i ride in from the sticks and meet him at the classy Kingsgate Hotel. it's a budget hotel in the city. it's actually fine. i would prefer a pay by the hour establishment to really get the sleazy feeling going, but i don't think those places don't exist around these parts no more.
i meet him in the hotel room. he's a nice enough guy. about 6'5" with a fit and well-aged body. i soon find out very well aged. he looked like he was in his mid 40s, but he's actually in his early 60s. he hands me a beer as i walk in the room and directs me to the chair. i sit and drink and talk for a bit. i turned up busting to piss (like he requested), but after a long chat he wanted to get straight to the cocksucking. who could blame him, really :) so i try to kick back with a gut full of piss while he buries his face in every sweaty hairy crack of my body sucking him deep breaths. he works his way from my balls to my cock. after some teasing and chewing of the foreskin, he shoves his mouth on my cock down to the base. he knows what he's doing. i'm going to enjoy this
we try a few positions, eventually him laying down with his head off the edge of the bed. i spit in his mouth, wrap my hands around his throat and fuck his face until i blow my load in his mouth. he cleans me up like a good little cocksucker
"you need to piss?"
"uh," still catching my breath, "yeah. in a minute" i go to sit, but he leaps up straight to the bathroom to watch me piss. i go to the bathroom and try... and try.... and try... and turn on the tap. he's looking up at me with the expectations and pulling his dick and i just can't go.
it's tough to tell people but piss sex ain't all that easy. if you got a boner, the supply of piss is cut off by the pubococcygeus muscle. i imagine this stage of evolution was a result of many centuries of cavewomen getting annoyed at all the neanderthal men pissing inside their v-jay-jay. but every damn fag who shoves a yellow hanky in his back pocket sees it in a german porno and thinks you can have a raging boner and be able to piss at the drop of a hat (or at the drop of a prolapsing asshole, but that usually happens at the end of the scene). it's even more difficult after you've blown your own load.
some people have no problems. i usually don't, but sometimes i do. at least this gave us something to do next time
next time happened a month later when i got back from Sydney. i had started work in the brewery and the vineyard but still felt i had too much time to sit around thinking about how everything went wrong. i saw John again. this time we would do the sex, then the piss, then the money shot. with a little struggle, it worked.
John used to be an escort himself. so he referred me to an old client of his. more about him later. it was nice to get referred to other clients. he helped out a lot. also, when i was out of town or working and unable to meet him. i referred a friend to him, Jack. after 2 sessions that no longer worked out for them both
***
john soon became a weekly thing, sometime twice weekly. then the texts messages started to get out of control.
"remember be rough. be dominate. i like a man who takes control"
"wear your filthiest jocks. get them dirty for me"
"can you piss a little in them for me before you turn."
"drink a litre of water before you turn up. i want your piss."
really? drink water? thanks for the tip i never knew drinking liquids and pissing was connected. all that was fine. but this is what we had been doing all along. it's not like i forgot in the last 5 days what scene he wants to get into. i soon learned to ignore the barrage of texts and wait until the finished (or he was done jerking off) before i would reply "yep", "of course" and "consider it done"
this soon carried over into the sessions. sit here. do this. spit in my mouth. sit on my face. stand over here. NOW stand over here. now do this. right hand - yellow. left foot, blue. right foot, green. now! NOW! NOW!!!
I said `Step pause turn pause pivot step step' not `Step pause turn pause pivot step pause'!
no one likes a bossy bottom. no one.
in a hook up situation if someone describes themselves as a power bottom all i can think of his this guy is gonna be a headache. John had become more comfortable in the situation and he now as he stand before the buffet, not only does he want all you can eat, but he wants to eat it all, NOW!
i'm the dominant top. that's what he wants. so as the bottom he should shut the fuck up and get what he's given. it's not like i've never done this before. i grew out of my training boots years ago. i have no problem taking direction, but when it's rushed and every two minutes you are changing positions. it becomes more like a sticky game of twister. in a 2 hour session you will quickly run out of positions. repitition is tedious. this is not hot sex. this aerobic circuit training.
***
after a few sessions we would take a break half way and go to the bar around the corner. have a few beers to fill my bladder up. then go back to the room and finish. while in the bat we would chat for a bit, but after the second i time i felt he was not chatting and just being nosey, then critical, then patronising. so i kept him at a distance. a couple of times he did not get the hint and he would press on a personal subject and i had to tell him that is none of your business. i just fed him crap about myself that didn't hurt anyone knowing should he turn. as i was soon to find out he quickly turned on my friend that i referred to him.
"you know Jack is not a top. he's a bottom. do you believe that story with the police? i don't. how well do you know him? Jack is also not what he appears to be... he's not a very good top."
remember, a bit of white noise can block all that out. i'm sorry it didn't work out. don't start bitching to me about my friends. it's been 3 months. let it go
the more beers i had. the shorter my temper. the faster he annoyed me. the rougher i became. the more he enjoyed the sessions
soon i was leaving the sessions cashed up but angry
***
i had been living in Melbourne proper for sometime now. i had been a while since i had spoken to my friend Jack that i referred to John. john had asked him to fuck his boyfriend, not to tell him he's an escort and he will pay him later. Jack fucked the boyfriend, John never paid up. yes it is not wise to work and receive payment after, but my friend is not an escort. he has never done it before. Jack is just a hot man who needed some cash and i wanted to help him. he told me he had started to receive angry texts from John saying "you're terrible! i don't owe you money! you're not worth paying for! you're not even that good looking."
totally not true. Jack is one damn sexy man
it was from this point that i thought it was best to keep John at a distance. the relationship had started to sour. the sessions i had stopped looking forward to and even started to hate. he was more probing with personal questions. more critical. more demanding in the sessions. more piss. wanting me to cum twice in a session. wanting more and more and extra time without paying anymore than our initial rate months ago. he'd point out that he had introduced me to another client. provided information about studying and courses. implying that i must be making tonnes of cash therefore i should give him a little extra. we've known each other a while now he would like to fuck me and even nagging to bareback me
he was becoming work
"oh, poor you," you are thinking, "oh you have to WORK like the rest of us. welcome to the real world!"
he was too much work. he was a headache. he was agony! in a professional situation, you would drop his as a client because you're no longer suited to his needs. however, in my situation, i don't live in the real world! if i wanted to live in the real world i would get a normal job! i did for years! i hated it more!
so i started to withdraw. being such a bad liar. i can't hide my distaste for someone. i barely spoke during the sessions now
"you're are such a bad communicator. it takes you so long to respond."
"sometimes i can't. i'm busy. sorry i can't respond to a text while riding a motorbike. as well as it not being physically possible, i'm sure it's illegal. sometimes there's no point. you change appointment days and times over and over in the space on an hour."
"i'm a busy man."
"so am i. check your schedule. choose a time. then contact me"
the booking of appointments would get annoying. every 5 minutes i'd get an sms
"are you available friday?"
"make that monday?"
"forget that i had tradesmen on monday. wednesday?"
the final day was another pestering
"1pm"
"12:45"
"change that. 12:45"
"forget all that. make it 1pm"
really? you will travel an hour to the hotel, and then you're scrapping over 15 minutes each way several days in advance. then 3 hours before the booking:
"can we make it 1:45?"
"you okay for 1:45?"
"you up yep?" at 11am, implying a lazy hooker who sleeps all day, "i will be there at 1:45"
think ahead. check your schedule. make an appointment. stick to it
i couldn't change my plans that day again to suit him again . the over-texting. the nagging. everything had become too much. i told him i could not make it. he exploded. the next day i was working and he assumed i ignored more of hims texts when i didn't even have my phone in front of me
later that night i got this email
it's unfortunate when you break up with a client. it becomes that. a messy break up. things you said are taken out of context (re: victorians being unfriendly), impersonal and not taking an interest? apart from he was boring, yet rambled on. i remembered all his stories involving his mother, over-sexually active father, his partner, their trips to Sydney, the hook-ups he was having and the bareback sex he was having outside of his relationship and not telling his partner, the plans for his new house, the bike he used to ride and the accident that fucked his shoulder. we discussed these things often, sometimes two or three times because he would see so many escorts and masseurs (in between complaining to me about them) he would forget who he told his stories to.
i always prepare. i was always ready to piss. but when that bossy bottom is ordering you about and you're struggling to maintain a boner while fighting the urge the kick his fucking teeth and then have to piss. if you don't like what i do, take your business elsewhere. clearly, i was so bad that he had to see, on average, once a week for 6 months.
it needed to end. it's over now. you notice when a client gets attached and you try to shake them loose the best way you can, either directly, indirectly or making yourself unavailable or undesirable. either way, they take it personally. there is not much you can do when someone else blurs the line in the escort/client relationship. it is tricky when it seems like the job is just dirty piss-soaked face-raping fun but really so much of it is actual companionship
i was happy for The Elk to be seeing him now. reckon it'll toughen the boy up!
you won't be hearing from me again. a week after dinner with Elk i got this message
Monday 25 July 2011
Saturday 23 July 2011
the best of british sex - I
what's wrong with british men?
a lot. so here begins a new chapter - the best of british sex
first of all, there's many things right with them. they're a lot of fun and sexy as hell
positive #1 - they're perverted cunts
when i was broke leaving the life i had Amsterdam, i had 5 days in london before my flight back to Sydney. london is not the place to be penniless. so i put an ad up online, worked my guts out for 4 days, made £2000 (at that time exchanged to $AUS5000) and started a great debt free life back in Sydney
'worked my guts out' that's a colourful expression for a prostitute to use. it surely conjures images that must simultaneously delight and frighten. from what i've seen in my on-and-off 16 years of whoring, it's exactly what you'd imagine
so what's wrong with the british?
negative #1 - they're perverted cunts!
london was great for work. back in 2005, working privately you could earn 120 squid an hour. these jobs would range from anything from a simple hand shandy, bj, a fuck, few beers and some piss and, in one case, fisting and old New York Jew in his Kensington budoir. it was all fun and games and until half of his colon came out clinging to my arm. he's in heaven, lung deep in a bottle of amyl while i'm trying to remain calm with a bloody horror show literally unfolding and unravelling before my eyes, slowing withdrawing with one hand and frantically peeling his bowels from my elbow with the other
but it was all good fun. and most of all quick. generally, most British sex is appalling. it's frightfully polite on the surface, disturbingly uptight and self-concious underneath which made most jobs go for 15-20 minutes. i've had a cups of tetley stay warmer longer than that. and sex was mostly bad, so i could do a half-arsed job and they'd be over the moon saying it was the best sex they had ever had
then there's the other side. with the repression also comes a lot more kink. that's where it gets interesting and a lot of fun. it's quite a lot of the silly stuff like spanking of the 'ooh err missus' Carry On variety but also the deep dark dirty stuff. a lot of sleaze, some good and fun, some disconnected and mechanical. most of which they like to talk about more than get into. first they must get all the appropriate gear and outfits - leather, rubber, skinhead, rugby kit etc whatever fetish they choose to align themselves with. acquiring the wardrobe can take a lifetime
being uncut, the main one i get is requests for a cock cheese.
"i bet you got a really cheesy foreskin, eh?"
"well..."
i'm lucky in some respect. i leak precum like i just forgot to shake the last few drops out at the trough. it's constant. like i haven't turned the tap off properly. some clients thought i had an infection. it's bordering on a filthy inconvenience. if i have a long night out, my jocks the following morning are so sticky it's like a herb garden was freshly raped by a horde of slugs. my shorts are smeared with a cold morning dew and there's silvery trails everywhere. my jocks are so stiff you could crack them on half.
but unless i'm in a dry climate (like Bathurst), it never gets cheesy
"...no, sorry. it's not a cheesy foreskin. but it's juicy!"
"oh... ok... i'll be in town in thursday. can you not wash it for a couple of days?"
"are you going to pay me for those couple of days?"
i'm going to use my cock, for my own uses as well as others. will he cover the lost revenue? no. for fuck's sake i will have to smell it the ripe fucker every time i whip it out to take a slash
although it's slowed down, the cheesy cock requests still come through every now and then. and it's always british guys
since embracing the EU and the explosion on viagra and methamphetamines in london, the golden age of making shitloads of dirty whore cash in London ended around 2008. methed up scally crackwhores, desperate eastern europeans and 4 foot tall 120kg brazillian 'roid monkeys oversaturated the market bringing the price down to £50. soon most jobs became chem based and require bareback. bareback i don't do. also if you didn't do the drugs, you didn't get the job. now thanks to the global financial crisis there's no work at all
but i still have a few stories from the glory days
a lot. so here begins a new chapter - the best of british sex
first of all, there's many things right with them. they're a lot of fun and sexy as hell
positive #1 - they're perverted cunts
when i was broke leaving the life i had Amsterdam, i had 5 days in london before my flight back to Sydney. london is not the place to be penniless. so i put an ad up online, worked my guts out for 4 days, made £2000 (at that time exchanged to $AUS5000) and started a great debt free life back in Sydney
'worked my guts out' that's a colourful expression for a prostitute to use. it surely conjures images that must simultaneously delight and frighten. from what i've seen in my on-and-off 16 years of whoring, it's exactly what you'd imagine
so what's wrong with the british?
negative #1 - they're perverted cunts!
london was great for work. back in 2005, working privately you could earn 120 squid an hour. these jobs would range from anything from a simple hand shandy, bj, a fuck, few beers and some piss and, in one case, fisting and old New York Jew in his Kensington budoir. it was all fun and games and until half of his colon came out clinging to my arm. he's in heaven, lung deep in a bottle of amyl while i'm trying to remain calm with a bloody horror show literally unfolding and unravelling before my eyes, slowing withdrawing with one hand and frantically peeling his bowels from my elbow with the other
but it was all good fun. and most of all quick. generally, most British sex is appalling. it's frightfully polite on the surface, disturbingly uptight and self-concious underneath which made most jobs go for 15-20 minutes. i've had a cups of tetley stay warmer longer than that. and sex was mostly bad, so i could do a half-arsed job and they'd be over the moon saying it was the best sex they had ever had
then there's the other side. with the repression also comes a lot more kink. that's where it gets interesting and a lot of fun. it's quite a lot of the silly stuff like spanking of the 'ooh err missus' Carry On variety but also the deep dark dirty stuff. a lot of sleaze, some good and fun, some disconnected and mechanical. most of which they like to talk about more than get into. first they must get all the appropriate gear and outfits - leather, rubber, skinhead, rugby kit etc whatever fetish they choose to align themselves with. acquiring the wardrobe can take a lifetime
being uncut, the main one i get is requests for a cock cheese.
"i bet you got a really cheesy foreskin, eh?"
"well..."
i'm lucky in some respect. i leak precum like i just forgot to shake the last few drops out at the trough. it's constant. like i haven't turned the tap off properly. some clients thought i had an infection. it's bordering on a filthy inconvenience. if i have a long night out, my jocks the following morning are so sticky it's like a herb garden was freshly raped by a horde of slugs. my shorts are smeared with a cold morning dew and there's silvery trails everywhere. my jocks are so stiff you could crack them on half.
but unless i'm in a dry climate (like Bathurst), it never gets cheesy
"...no, sorry. it's not a cheesy foreskin. but it's juicy!"
"oh... ok... i'll be in town in thursday. can you not wash it for a couple of days?"
"are you going to pay me for those couple of days?"
i'm going to use my cock, for my own uses as well as others. will he cover the lost revenue? no. for fuck's sake i will have to smell it the ripe fucker every time i whip it out to take a slash
although it's slowed down, the cheesy cock requests still come through every now and then. and it's always british guys
since embracing the EU and the explosion on viagra and methamphetamines in london, the golden age of making shitloads of dirty whore cash in London ended around 2008. methed up scally crackwhores, desperate eastern europeans and 4 foot tall 120kg brazillian 'roid monkeys oversaturated the market bringing the price down to £50. soon most jobs became chem based and require bareback. bareback i don't do. also if you didn't do the drugs, you didn't get the job. now thanks to the global financial crisis there's no work at all
but i still have a few stories from the glory days
Wednesday 13 July 2011
Perth in June
i had never been to Perth before. it looks like this
looks pretty, huh?
it's not a small city. just over 2 million people o the other side of Australia. it is the most isolated city in the world. the nearest city being Adelaide is well over 2500kms away. it fast became rich on the mining boom in recent decades. i have had many clients in Sydney that lived on the mines and town close by Perth (by 'close by' i mean, a hundreds of kilometres away). for the first few nights they'd take their chances but on the final nights they'd call in a professional. give them one last good seeing to before they spend another month back in a hole
i snagged a cheap deal on a room at the Hilton. nice old style room with an unbelievably comfortable bed and six huge pillows of various densities. i was so impressed with the room and so unimpressed by the city i pretty much spent most of my time in the room. in bed. such a nice warm bed. writing and sketching new ideas
Perth is just like the town that i grew up in, Gosford. there's nothing to do but drink. and drink heavily. this is made worse by miners coming here on their break and getting shitfaced. the city has a huge problem with drunken violence. i saw a fair bit of it before i got bored and went back to the hotel. that was as early as 11pm.
at least i got to see one fight in the main shopping strip. 2 girls in a screaming match that turned into a 15 girl brawl. screeching. shrieking. pushing, snatching and ripping each other's braids out at 7pm in the evening. it was beautiful
locals aren't too keen on the place either. because of the mining boom, they have to suffer inflation. i can tolerate most of that, but $4 coffee and the one-off special of $9 beer night pushes me to the limit
as for the locals, they too weren't much fun. that same mix of stand-off-ish aussie that isn't so much laidback as extremely uptight and insecure. and ugly. really ugly. even getting a root of grinder or scruff was unappealing
i didn't dig up any gold daddy while i was there, but made a small profit and i got to see a new place i've never been too. as with most small cities, their is a lot of talk and chatter from clients that never eventuates into a booking they stick to. a lot of cancellations. a lot of dicking around. a lot of guys sending pics of themselves hoping they can score a freebee because they think they're hot enough. sure i can fuck anything, but most of which aren't even close to the type i go for and the twink that looks like one half of Jedwood takes it all as an offense
some client were fun. some had been itching for months (even years for one guy) to see me. the most fun was the last minute on the way to the airport job. he worked in the mines. older guy in his 40s, good body, big cock and wanted to be fucked liked a bitch one last time before he goes back to the middle of bumfuck nowhere. he was so blokey it was great fun. easily 6.5' tall, his long hairy legs dangling over my shoulders like Shelob ready to consume Frodo. i did feel a little overwhelmed until something pushed him over the edge and he started growling, "yeah. smash it! smash that hole buddy! smash me!" just the way he said it turned me into a fucking demon. slamming down on his ass. i gave him a good hard one for every annoying phone call and cancelled appointment (which was quite a few)
so i packed my bags and headed back to Melbourne. miraculously escaping any flight delays and grounding caused by the Chilean volcano ash cloud
then at the airport, doing my best to curb my KFC addiction and scoffing down a Red Rooster meal with a a few minutes until take off, i get a few messages on grindr from the hottest man in town. yeah cheers. thanks a lot
looks pretty, huh?
it's not a small city. just over 2 million people o the other side of Australia. it is the most isolated city in the world. the nearest city being Adelaide is well over 2500kms away. it fast became rich on the mining boom in recent decades. i have had many clients in Sydney that lived on the mines and town close by Perth (by 'close by' i mean, a hundreds of kilometres away). for the first few nights they'd take their chances but on the final nights they'd call in a professional. give them one last good seeing to before they spend another month back in a hole
i snagged a cheap deal on a room at the Hilton. nice old style room with an unbelievably comfortable bed and six huge pillows of various densities. i was so impressed with the room and so unimpressed by the city i pretty much spent most of my time in the room. in bed. such a nice warm bed. writing and sketching new ideas
Perth is just like the town that i grew up in, Gosford. there's nothing to do but drink. and drink heavily. this is made worse by miners coming here on their break and getting shitfaced. the city has a huge problem with drunken violence. i saw a fair bit of it before i got bored and went back to the hotel. that was as early as 11pm.
at least i got to see one fight in the main shopping strip. 2 girls in a screaming match that turned into a 15 girl brawl. screeching. shrieking. pushing, snatching and ripping each other's braids out at 7pm in the evening. it was beautiful
locals aren't too keen on the place either. because of the mining boom, they have to suffer inflation. i can tolerate most of that, but $4 coffee and the one-off special of $9 beer night pushes me to the limit
as for the locals, they too weren't much fun. that same mix of stand-off-ish aussie that isn't so much laidback as extremely uptight and insecure. and ugly. really ugly. even getting a root of grinder or scruff was unappealing
i didn't dig up any gold daddy while i was there, but made a small profit and i got to see a new place i've never been too. as with most small cities, their is a lot of talk and chatter from clients that never eventuates into a booking they stick to. a lot of cancellations. a lot of dicking around. a lot of guys sending pics of themselves hoping they can score a freebee because they think they're hot enough. sure i can fuck anything, but most of which aren't even close to the type i go for and the twink that looks like one half of Jedwood takes it all as an offense
some client were fun. some had been itching for months (even years for one guy) to see me. the most fun was the last minute on the way to the airport job. he worked in the mines. older guy in his 40s, good body, big cock and wanted to be fucked liked a bitch one last time before he goes back to the middle of bumfuck nowhere. he was so blokey it was great fun. easily 6.5' tall, his long hairy legs dangling over my shoulders like Shelob ready to consume Frodo. i did feel a little overwhelmed until something pushed him over the edge and he started growling, "yeah. smash it! smash that hole buddy! smash me!" just the way he said it turned me into a fucking demon. slamming down on his ass. i gave him a good hard one for every annoying phone call and cancelled appointment (which was quite a few)
so i packed my bags and headed back to Melbourne. miraculously escaping any flight delays and grounding caused by the Chilean volcano ash cloud
then at the airport, doing my best to curb my KFC addiction and scoffing down a Red Rooster meal with a a few minutes until take off, i get a few messages on grindr from the hottest man in town. yeah cheers. thanks a lot
Tuesday 12 July 2011
flashback #1 - trapped inside old nokia
i miss the ol' days of working in Sydney.
James said this a few times. i asked him to put it in writing
James said this a few times. i asked him to put it in writing
Monday 11 July 2011
Sunday 10 July 2011
Saturday 9 July 2011
a lurid dig
a lurid dig
we all love cock. we love a man that can flaunt it with pride. no matter what size it is. no matter if the cumshot resembles a freshly coughed lung-full of phlegm after a hard day of riding the london tube. you can also respect a man comfortable with his own body image, all natural, a real man low on manscaping. while ready to install skirting boards in the middle of a home renovation will whip his jeans down around his legs and ravage you in a fit of passion yet still possesses with enough common decency to blow that load out on an easy wipe tile floor.
but as you, his carpentry apprentice, thrown to the floor and torn 'a new one' the brutal romance is shattered by the sight Barbie's first ghetto blaster in the background blasting hits of the 70s, 80s and 90s
that shit don't fly
we all love cock. we love a man that can flaunt it with pride. no matter what size it is. no matter if the cumshot resembles a freshly coughed lung-full of phlegm after a hard day of riding the london tube. you can also respect a man comfortable with his own body image, all natural, a real man low on manscaping. while ready to install skirting boards in the middle of a home renovation will whip his jeans down around his legs and ravage you in a fit of passion yet still possesses with enough common decency to blow that load out on an easy wipe tile floor.
but as you, his carpentry apprentice, thrown to the floor and torn 'a new one' the brutal romance is shattered by the sight Barbie's first ghetto blaster in the background blasting hits of the 70s, 80s and 90s
that shit don't fly
3way part VII - Benji
it was going to be a quiet friday night. i didn't feel like going out. then Benji called
"hey, what you up to?"
"um," listening to bad 90s skater punk, fucking around on facebook and looking at porn, "just working on a few projects, you know..."
"yeah well i've got this client here. he's pretty wasted and he wants a 3 way. he wants a top. do you want to come?"
"yeah sure!"
"okay. then you're 28 years old by the way."
he'd have to be really wasted to believe that
i rode to the southside. the huge house was just around the corner from where a friend of my mine had plastic surgery. Benji walked me inside. it was a nice house and quite tastefully decorate for a rich gay man. i immediately ran to the fireplace to warm my ice cold testes.
"he's a psychiatrist," Benji warned "so he like to ask a lot of annoying questions and get inside your head. i just say 'whatever'..." that can easily work for Benji.
he's younger. better looking. he could milk the disaffected young punk look for a few more years yet. me, i'm old, i'm just gonna sound like an asshole. but wait, i'm 28 tonight! however if that fails i'll just play the dumb country boy role. that seems to be an excuse for selfish naivety, being an asshole and a social retard, right? at least 'country boys' think it's a valid reason...
then as the John approached, Benji whispered one more thing:
"he's also gonna try and get you to take some kooky pill. i don't know what it is. i keep saying 'no'" then he walked off to the bathroom
"ooooke dokey then"
we talk a little bit. he's trying to impress us with talk of taking both of us and 2 other manwhores to Thailand for a paid holiday.
"i'd be up for that. There's a great resort in the north of Phuket on the edge of a national park. Sala Resort. i haven't been taken there in the past with another client. it's beautiful. had an amazing time."
"you're kidding?" John says, "does it look like this one?" he showed me some pictures of the exact resort i was talking about. he was quite impressed
see. i know my shit. i'm not just low-rent piss and shit hooker stories loaded with fart jokes. i'm entertaining. i'm well-travelled. i'm learned (no, Pepe, it's pronounced 'learned'). i can be a classy motherfucker when i want to be. i could charm the tits of your mum, no problem
"now. would you like one of these?" he held out his had with a little white pill in it
"what is it?"
he said the name of the dug. never heard of it before, never heard of it since. but he was pretty wankered so i expect it mixes well with alcohol
"is it like ritalin?"
"hmm... yeah, and a little like xanax."
"they're, like, polar opposites dude. if it's ritalin it'll kill my boner. if it's xanax i'll start nodding off the second his tongue is on my balls." i looked at him not impressed. no one likes a whore who says 'no' so i was hoping he'd draw his own conclusion. then another hope entered my head, "but if it's like a rohy, bring it on! date rape me! i'll be up for that!"
unfortunately it was nothing like rohypnol. so instead he pulled out my dick and started started sucking it. by the open fire it was all warmed up and ready to fire. i was hard as and started fucking his face when Benji walked back in and my cock went down.
uh-oh...
"let's go upstairs," john said
i don't have many reservations when it comes to working with others. i'm a team player. i work well in a group. i only have a problem when it comes to sex with friends. Benji had become a good friend by now (despite crashing his car within days of leaving it in my incapable hands). i'm a different person when i work, when i know that someone else can see through the image i'm presenting, then i can no longer keep up the illusion. that's a fancy way of saying i'm a shit liar.
but if Benji can do it, then , dammit, so can i!
we get up to the bedroom and undress
"oh my god," Benji whispered, "my cock is so small right now. i'm nervous doing this with you"
oh fuck don't say that! i thought, but i stood up tall, puffed my chest out a little, "nah, it'll all be good mate," i reached out and pulled him in for a quick kiss, squeezing his little ass in my big hand, and grinned "this is gonna be fun"
the client, however, was not fun. he was fucking annoying as hell. of his chops and demanding. being the bossy bottom to me, then the bossy top to Benji. every time he went to suck my dick his hands would try and sneak around under my balls and slip a finger in my ass.
the first time, i gently nudged his hand away.
the second time, i pulled it away
the third time, i forced his arm away before he got close
"i don't like fingers in my ass, mate."
"oh sorry," he apologised without really listening, his mouth full of dick
"he's a top, remember?" Benji laughed "he doesn't like his ass played with"
not true. whether it's a poky little pecker or a weapon of ass destruction, in the right mood i can cop it up the ass with the best of them but not when some drunk wired cunt is repeatedly stabbing his hoof into my shitter with all the finesse of a Giraffe in the throws of a epileptic seizure. it's not hot. it's not even comfortable. it's fucking annoying.
plus, i was tired. worked my legs at the gym. i can barely stand up without trembling knees let alone power-fuck this guy. Benji is throwing me off
i'm a guest here. it's not my client, it's Benji's. so suck it up princess, be polite and do your fucking job!
we try. but it's just awful. as much fun as it was getting it on with Benji. even the client loved watching, only to ruin the scene by joining in. my dick would take so long to get it up, then John dived on it with his toothy mouth and it flopped seconds. then i snap after the 20th time he jabbed his digit into my poop chute i snapped "i told you to leave, my fucking ass alone, dude! don't fucking touch it!"
my snap made no impression on the drug-fucked client
"ok, you fuck me now," Benji grabbed me and i fucked him like a dog on the other end of the bed. i followed Benji's lead as his ass clamped down tightly on the end of my dick. my cock was nothing but foreskin. he gave ran out on me earlier, screw you guys, i'm going homo. so i was fucking away with nothing but an elastic foreskin.
"that's so hot!" John said, and he started to reach out to touch my cock.
"oh! OH!!" Benji started faking it. his hand was almost about to feel that we weren't really fucking. we were faking. but the more we faked it, the more he got turned on, then more his and retreated. "oh that feels so goooood!" Benji cried
"oh fuck yeah!" i shouted
"yeah?" john asked. tugging his dick faster "yeah!?!"
"yeah!" Benji answered, "that big cock feels so fucking good!"
"oh man your hot ass is gonna make me blow!"
"i'm cumming!" John came. before the last drop of jizz spewed out and hit the bed spread, Benji and i had miraculously caught our breath, stopped moaning, pulled out and wiped up. "that was hot!"
Benji and i scrubbed up in the huge twin head shower. he told me he knew faking it sets him off and makes him cum. he has seen this guy many many times before. i apologised for losing my temper with the client. he talked about the guy he's been seeing and i got us both excited talking about my trip to Sydney the following week
unfortunately there has been no further talk of Thailand. which is fine by me, i can do without the serenity of southern Thailand being ruined by fingers unexpectedly jabbing as my ass
"hey, what you up to?"
"um," listening to bad 90s skater punk, fucking around on facebook and looking at porn, "just working on a few projects, you know..."
"yeah well i've got this client here. he's pretty wasted and he wants a 3 way. he wants a top. do you want to come?"
"yeah sure!"
"okay. then you're 28 years old by the way."
he'd have to be really wasted to believe that
i rode to the southside. the huge house was just around the corner from where a friend of my mine had plastic surgery. Benji walked me inside. it was a nice house and quite tastefully decorate for a rich gay man. i immediately ran to the fireplace to warm my ice cold testes.
"he's a psychiatrist," Benji warned "so he like to ask a lot of annoying questions and get inside your head. i just say 'whatever'..." that can easily work for Benji.
he's younger. better looking. he could milk the disaffected young punk look for a few more years yet. me, i'm old, i'm just gonna sound like an asshole. but wait, i'm 28 tonight! however if that fails i'll just play the dumb country boy role. that seems to be an excuse for selfish naivety, being an asshole and a social retard, right? at least 'country boys' think it's a valid reason...
then as the John approached, Benji whispered one more thing:
"he's also gonna try and get you to take some kooky pill. i don't know what it is. i keep saying 'no'" then he walked off to the bathroom
"ooooke dokey then"
we talk a little bit. he's trying to impress us with talk of taking both of us and 2 other manwhores to Thailand for a paid holiday.
"i'd be up for that. There's a great resort in the north of Phuket on the edge of a national park. Sala Resort. i haven't been taken there in the past with another client. it's beautiful. had an amazing time."
"you're kidding?" John says, "does it look like this one?" he showed me some pictures of the exact resort i was talking about. he was quite impressed
see. i know my shit. i'm not just low-rent piss and shit hooker stories loaded with fart jokes. i'm entertaining. i'm well-travelled. i'm learned (no, Pepe, it's pronounced 'learned'). i can be a classy motherfucker when i want to be. i could charm the tits of your mum, no problem
"now. would you like one of these?" he held out his had with a little white pill in it
"what is it?"
he said the name of the dug. never heard of it before, never heard of it since. but he was pretty wankered so i expect it mixes well with alcohol
"is it like ritalin?"
"hmm... yeah, and a little like xanax."
"they're, like, polar opposites dude. if it's ritalin it'll kill my boner. if it's xanax i'll start nodding off the second his tongue is on my balls." i looked at him not impressed. no one likes a whore who says 'no' so i was hoping he'd draw his own conclusion. then another hope entered my head, "but if it's like a rohy, bring it on! date rape me! i'll be up for that!"
unfortunately it was nothing like rohypnol. so instead he pulled out my dick and started started sucking it. by the open fire it was all warmed up and ready to fire. i was hard as and started fucking his face when Benji walked back in and my cock went down.
uh-oh...
"let's go upstairs," john said
i don't have many reservations when it comes to working with others. i'm a team player. i work well in a group. i only have a problem when it comes to sex with friends. Benji had become a good friend by now (despite crashing his car within days of leaving it in my incapable hands). i'm a different person when i work, when i know that someone else can see through the image i'm presenting, then i can no longer keep up the illusion. that's a fancy way of saying i'm a shit liar.
but if Benji can do it, then , dammit, so can i!
we get up to the bedroom and undress
"oh my god," Benji whispered, "my cock is so small right now. i'm nervous doing this with you"
oh fuck don't say that! i thought, but i stood up tall, puffed my chest out a little, "nah, it'll all be good mate," i reached out and pulled him in for a quick kiss, squeezing his little ass in my big hand, and grinned "this is gonna be fun"
the client, however, was not fun. he was fucking annoying as hell. of his chops and demanding. being the bossy bottom to me, then the bossy top to Benji. every time he went to suck my dick his hands would try and sneak around under my balls and slip a finger in my ass.
the first time, i gently nudged his hand away.
the second time, i pulled it away
the third time, i forced his arm away before he got close
"i don't like fingers in my ass, mate."
"oh sorry," he apologised without really listening, his mouth full of dick
"he's a top, remember?" Benji laughed "he doesn't like his ass played with"
not true. whether it's a poky little pecker or a weapon of ass destruction, in the right mood i can cop it up the ass with the best of them but not when some drunk wired cunt is repeatedly stabbing his hoof into my shitter with all the finesse of a Giraffe in the throws of a epileptic seizure. it's not hot. it's not even comfortable. it's fucking annoying.
plus, i was tired. worked my legs at the gym. i can barely stand up without trembling knees let alone power-fuck this guy. Benji is throwing me off
i'm a guest here. it's not my client, it's Benji's. so suck it up princess, be polite and do your fucking job!
we try. but it's just awful. as much fun as it was getting it on with Benji. even the client loved watching, only to ruin the scene by joining in. my dick would take so long to get it up, then John dived on it with his toothy mouth and it flopped seconds. then i snap after the 20th time he jabbed his digit into my poop chute i snapped "i told you to leave, my fucking ass alone, dude! don't fucking touch it!"
my snap made no impression on the drug-fucked client
"ok, you fuck me now," Benji grabbed me and i fucked him like a dog on the other end of the bed. i followed Benji's lead as his ass clamped down tightly on the end of my dick. my cock was nothing but foreskin. he gave ran out on me earlier, screw you guys, i'm going homo. so i was fucking away with nothing but an elastic foreskin.
"that's so hot!" John said, and he started to reach out to touch my cock.
"oh! OH!!" Benji started faking it. his hand was almost about to feel that we weren't really fucking. we were faking. but the more we faked it, the more he got turned on, then more his and retreated. "oh that feels so goooood!" Benji cried
"oh fuck yeah!" i shouted
"yeah?" john asked. tugging his dick faster "yeah!?!"
"yeah!" Benji answered, "that big cock feels so fucking good!"
"oh man your hot ass is gonna make me blow!"
"i'm cumming!" John came. before the last drop of jizz spewed out and hit the bed spread, Benji and i had miraculously caught our breath, stopped moaning, pulled out and wiped up. "that was hot!"
Benji and i scrubbed up in the huge twin head shower. he told me he knew faking it sets him off and makes him cum. he has seen this guy many many times before. i apologised for losing my temper with the client. he talked about the guy he's been seeing and i got us both excited talking about my trip to Sydney the following week
unfortunately there has been no further talk of Thailand. which is fine by me, i can do without the serenity of southern Thailand being ruined by fingers unexpectedly jabbing as my ass
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Monday 4 July 2011
you don't mind a little dirty talk do you, boy?
dirty talk is a big thing.
it works like a personal trainer. it's like a filthy pep talk. it's pushes you a little further before your brain can talk you into quitting.
i love it myself. i love a dirty bastard who knows how and when to use it. i also love it when guys know when to shut the fuck up. if you don't know when to shut your fucking mouth, i will do it for you. this is when my hand goes over your mouth. i have big hands so if i really want you to shut up, then i'll put my thumb over your nose and you can no longer breath.
i can do it when i want to be a dominate bastard. telling some little cocksucker what to do is great fun. sometimes you run out of things to say, but it does no harm if you repeat yourself
however, when i get stuck, i always think of Scary Movie 2
it works like a personal trainer. it's like a filthy pep talk. it's pushes you a little further before your brain can talk you into quitting.
i love it myself. i love a dirty bastard who knows how and when to use it. i also love it when guys know when to shut the fuck up. if you don't know when to shut your fucking mouth, i will do it for you. this is when my hand goes over your mouth. i have big hands so if i really want you to shut up, then i'll put my thumb over your nose and you can no longer breath.
i can do it when i want to be a dominate bastard. telling some little cocksucker what to do is great fun. sometimes you run out of things to say, but it does no harm if you repeat yourself
however, when i get stuck, i always think of Scary Movie 2
Sunday 3 July 2011
never haggle. never bargain. never surrender
there are clients that will pay what you ask for. they understand what you do is not easy and pay it without question. they know if they pay your rate you will do the best job you can do. extra if needed. a tip if you deserve it
then there are clients that will complain saying what you charge is outrageous! highway robbery! oh my god, i wouldn't pay that!
...well, you contacted me. if you don't like it try and find another guys who will do it for that little and you will understand why they charge less...
or they will bait you:
"oh that's too much...." waiting for you to lower your rate
or the old "it will be really easy job for you. can you do it for $100?" the 'easy jobs' are always the most difficult with the most painful of men
i gave in once. many years ago. "it will be really easy job," he said, "i just want someone to lick my balls while i jerk off." i was in a good mood, had no plans for the night and the cash was good. i agreed to $100. i turned up and the guy was an uppity urban gay who look like tennis player from the mid-80s. he was desperate to charm me, and over-stepping the client hooker boundaries and started treating it like it was a hook up. i was uncharmed by a cocky gay who looked like the nose-job ravaged father from Keeping up with the Kardashians. he pulls out a crack pipe
"you want some?"
"no thanks"
he seems disappointed. so i start licking his balls while he jerks off. i'm lying on my back while he's kneeling over my face jerking off.
10 minutes.
20 minutes - he seemed to be on the verge of blowing his load
40 minutes - my freaking tongue is aching. tugging his balls every now and then to give my face a break
50 minutes - he says he's just about to come but he's been flogging that dead horse for ages now and i'm ready to bite down and rip this faggot's nut sack off. i've had enough. i'm about to snap! i imagine my teeth clamping down. i'm growling like a rabid dog as blood spraying all over the bed. yanking my face away as the vas deferens stretch like elastic before snapping apart and dangling down my bloody chin, wiggling and spraying blood in all directions as the gristle of his testes pop like grapes between my teeth
60minutes... i even give him a few minutes more, but this crackhead is not about to cum. "that's an hour mate."
"this is great. don't you want to stay?"
"another hour will be another 100."
"oh." not only was he annoyed, but he also felt like i had rejected him
he called every 2 months for the next 2 years. trying to haggle down from full fare. "but it will be an easy job for you. last time you did it for 100. why not again?"
"because it wasn't easy. it's 200 from now on."
most clients that will try to talk you down are asian clients. they can be extremely difficult at the best of times. wanting everything. wanting a discount. i know it's part of their culture to bargain, but it's not going to be a good session if the hooker is pissed off before they even meet
jimmy was a little asian man in his 50s. he just wanted to sniff amyl, suck my dick and have his nipples tweaked. it was always a daytime incall meet so a discount was fine. but Jimmy was agony. he was a like a little chihuahua. he turned up and barged his way into to my apartment, stripping off and barking orders. "come on. come on! let's go!" he'd been in the room for less than a minute before i stood up while he sat in the lounge, his chubby little fingers strangling my dick back and forth, "come on. get hard! get hard!" he'd suck my dick for 2 seconds "play my tits!" suck. suck "harder!" he'd sniff so much amyl the fumes would waft up and make my cock go soft again "get hard! make it hard!"
a few times i would clench my fist above his head and dream of smacking his jaw off his head. even that fantasy was interrupted because i didn't have both hands torturing his leathery nipples "play my tits! twist them!"
this would go on at full speed for an hour. not 45 minutes. not 55 minutes. but exactly 60. "no cum yet! still time! still time!" whether i was ready to come or be he, didn't matter. he wanted the full hour. past the point where it was enjoyable for either party. he would insist on it! he would be shuddering. bordering on orgasm. his shiny black hair thrashing about, but he would never blow his load early. he'd be there shouting orders in broken english. his jowls stuffed with my cock yet still bossing this hard worker about like a little Mao Zedong. except he wasn't waving a little red book, but waving his little red cock, back and forth, abused and battered, constantly checking his watch until the 59minute
"OK. cum. cum now! now! cum now!"
he'd blow and every time i would think he's about to die from all the tension and amyl. that wouldn't be so bad. he was little. his body would fit down the trash chute.
so yes. i did see him a few times. probably once a month for a year. nothing changed. same barking orders. same dragging it out to the 59th minute and then demanding i cum. i think once i managed to blow. other times i couldn't or wouldn't. one time i snapped "i'm not a fucking dog. i can't cum when you whistle!"
made no difference. he didn't listen
then there are clients who seem to catch you at the right time. right when you're broke (or $18K in debt after a stupid move to the Yarra Valley with a stupid boyfriend) and you want to score the contract. they seem to smell the desperation on you. when you don't have the upper hand, this is not a game you want to be playing
then there are clients that will complain saying what you charge is outrageous! highway robbery! oh my god, i wouldn't pay that!
...well, you contacted me. if you don't like it try and find another guys who will do it for that little and you will understand why they charge less...
or they will bait you:
"oh that's too much...." waiting for you to lower your rate
or the old "it will be really easy job for you. can you do it for $100?" the 'easy jobs' are always the most difficult with the most painful of men
i gave in once. many years ago. "it will be really easy job," he said, "i just want someone to lick my balls while i jerk off." i was in a good mood, had no plans for the night and the cash was good. i agreed to $100. i turned up and the guy was an uppity urban gay who look like tennis player from the mid-80s. he was desperate to charm me, and over-stepping the client hooker boundaries and started treating it like it was a hook up. i was uncharmed by a cocky gay who looked like the nose-job ravaged father from Keeping up with the Kardashians. he pulls out a crack pipe
"you want some?"
"no thanks"
he seems disappointed. so i start licking his balls while he jerks off. i'm lying on my back while he's kneeling over my face jerking off.
10 minutes.
20 minutes - he seemed to be on the verge of blowing his load
40 minutes - my freaking tongue is aching. tugging his balls every now and then to give my face a break
50 minutes - he says he's just about to come but he's been flogging that dead horse for ages now and i'm ready to bite down and rip this faggot's nut sack off. i've had enough. i'm about to snap! i imagine my teeth clamping down. i'm growling like a rabid dog as blood spraying all over the bed. yanking my face away as the vas deferens stretch like elastic before snapping apart and dangling down my bloody chin, wiggling and spraying blood in all directions as the gristle of his testes pop like grapes between my teeth
60minutes... i even give him a few minutes more, but this crackhead is not about to cum. "that's an hour mate."
"this is great. don't you want to stay?"
"another hour will be another 100."
"oh." not only was he annoyed, but he also felt like i had rejected him
he called every 2 months for the next 2 years. trying to haggle down from full fare. "but it will be an easy job for you. last time you did it for 100. why not again?"
"because it wasn't easy. it's 200 from now on."
most clients that will try to talk you down are asian clients. they can be extremely difficult at the best of times. wanting everything. wanting a discount. i know it's part of their culture to bargain, but it's not going to be a good session if the hooker is pissed off before they even meet
jimmy was a little asian man in his 50s. he just wanted to sniff amyl, suck my dick and have his nipples tweaked. it was always a daytime incall meet so a discount was fine. but Jimmy was agony. he was a like a little chihuahua. he turned up and barged his way into to my apartment, stripping off and barking orders. "come on. come on! let's go!" he'd been in the room for less than a minute before i stood up while he sat in the lounge, his chubby little fingers strangling my dick back and forth, "come on. get hard! get hard!" he'd suck my dick for 2 seconds "play my tits!" suck. suck "harder!" he'd sniff so much amyl the fumes would waft up and make my cock go soft again "get hard! make it hard!"
a few times i would clench my fist above his head and dream of smacking his jaw off his head. even that fantasy was interrupted because i didn't have both hands torturing his leathery nipples "play my tits! twist them!"
this would go on at full speed for an hour. not 45 minutes. not 55 minutes. but exactly 60. "no cum yet! still time! still time!" whether i was ready to come or be he, didn't matter. he wanted the full hour. past the point where it was enjoyable for either party. he would insist on it! he would be shuddering. bordering on orgasm. his shiny black hair thrashing about, but he would never blow his load early. he'd be there shouting orders in broken english. his jowls stuffed with my cock yet still bossing this hard worker about like a little Mao Zedong. except he wasn't waving a little red book, but waving his little red cock, back and forth, abused and battered, constantly checking his watch until the 59minute
"OK. cum. cum now! now! cum now!"
he'd blow and every time i would think he's about to die from all the tension and amyl. that wouldn't be so bad. he was little. his body would fit down the trash chute.
so yes. i did see him a few times. probably once a month for a year. nothing changed. same barking orders. same dragging it out to the 59th minute and then demanding i cum. i think once i managed to blow. other times i couldn't or wouldn't. one time i snapped "i'm not a fucking dog. i can't cum when you whistle!"
made no difference. he didn't listen
then there are clients who seem to catch you at the right time. right when you're broke (or $18K in debt after a stupid move to the Yarra Valley with a stupid boyfriend) and you want to score the contract. they seem to smell the desperation on you. when you don't have the upper hand, this is not a game you want to be playing
by gum
always carry gum
you never know when someone is gonna drop the ball and give you a call. they need you there. right now. sometimes it's annoying when the client doesn't plan ahead and wants you there right away. sometimes that last minute "are you available?" has saved me from situations i was dying to get out of
for women. i guess you need to go home and wash your bits, but for men find any bathroom, whip your cock out and run it under the tap. hail a taxi and get to work.
you can get away with being a bit sweaty. if you're fucking them, both of you are going to end up sweaty soon enough.
you can get away not wearing the finest clothes. unless it requires fetish gear, you are going to be naked soon anyway.
you can get away with not brushing your hair or having grease under your nails. few people want perfection. many clients want a real person anyway
but you can't get away with bad breath.
draw that client into your arms for that close sensual kiss and as your mouth open spews out a barrage of garlic.
you pull them in to undo their tie you are going to bound their hands behind their back with later, slowly unbuttoning their shirt and suddenly you burp that up that spicy kebab you scoffed down at lunch
no. no one wants that kind of realism
at the least minute you might not be able to find a kwik-e-mart nearby so always carry gum. i think every pocket in every item of clothing has gum stashed in there.
no bubble gum. you need ultra-minty gum ready to freshen the mouth of the filthiest whore
and don't eat indian food. ever
you never know when someone is gonna drop the ball and give you a call. they need you there. right now. sometimes it's annoying when the client doesn't plan ahead and wants you there right away. sometimes that last minute "are you available?" has saved me from situations i was dying to get out of
for women. i guess you need to go home and wash your bits, but for men find any bathroom, whip your cock out and run it under the tap. hail a taxi and get to work.
you can get away with being a bit sweaty. if you're fucking them, both of you are going to end up sweaty soon enough.
you can get away not wearing the finest clothes. unless it requires fetish gear, you are going to be naked soon anyway.
you can get away with not brushing your hair or having grease under your nails. few people want perfection. many clients want a real person anyway
but you can't get away with bad breath.
draw that client into your arms for that close sensual kiss and as your mouth open spews out a barrage of garlic.
you pull them in to undo their tie you are going to bound their hands behind their back with later, slowly unbuttoning their shirt and suddenly you burp that up that spicy kebab you scoffed down at lunch
no. no one wants that kind of realism
at the least minute you might not be able to find a kwik-e-mart nearby so always carry gum. i think every pocket in every item of clothing has gum stashed in there.
no bubble gum. you need ultra-minty gum ready to freshen the mouth of the filthiest whore
and don't eat indian food. ever
Friday 1 July 2011
salt of the earth
here are some gems i found out in the Yarra Valley
when i found this last one there was a truck parked behind the public toilet block in nearby Dixons Creek. there was a dog tied to it's rear bumper
when i found this last one there was a truck parked behind the public toilet block in nearby Dixons Creek. there was a dog tied to it's rear bumper
the boyfriend experience #14 - when no place feels like home
November 2010
the month in Sydney was both amazing and painful. it was great to be back, but it no longer felt like home. i wasn't eating. i wasn't sleeping. by the time i returned to the Valley four weeks later i had lost 10kgs.
extra thinking time was for nought. to him, it was all over and by now, i was fine with that. he had changed so much since moving here. gone was the flannel shirt, the short beard, and the over-whelming tenderness of the man i fell in love with in Sydney. replaced with a racist binge-drinking, pot-smoking, 3AW talkback radio listening, self-obssessed dickbag that now wore the bogan trifecta (wog chain, half tribal sleeve and southern cross tattoo) with embarrassing pride.
i would stay until i could make other arrangements. i could stay with my sister, but her husband is bi-polar and was having a severe downturn at the moment. of course, if things were unbearable come immediately, but for now i would be better off in the valley as we turned off the tv to go to bed, Buddy leaped up and trotted off ahead. he knew it was bed time. to him that meant warm cuddles all night long. i walked down the hall and buddy turned to go into the bedroom, then stopped. he realised i wasn't following him. he turned back and with the hugest brown puppy eyes i have ever seen
"sorry, buddy. i don't sleep in there any more." i walked on down the hallway to the spare room. Buddy went to bed with Dj. i crawled into bed and played a little Gillian Welch to help me get to sleep.
(i love hula hoop girl. the oringal 14minute version of this song is hypnotic)
a few minutes later i heard footsteps down the hall coming towards my room. the bedroom door slowly creaked open. it was Buddy. when he saw me smile and nod, he knew it was permission to jump into bed with me. at night he would sleep at the foot of the bed. hours later he would creep higher. by morning i would wake up, spooning him. his wet nose sniffing at my chin. while i was in the house, he never slept with Dj again
i wanted to stay in the area. it had become home. i was working in a brewery and a vineyard. the next few weeks i finally got to see Dj how everyone else saw him. it, and he, wasn't pretty. i learned why everyone kept saying 'it's great to see Dj happy" when he's in a good mood, he's awesome. when he is bad. he is evil. moody. angry. throwing tantrums, stomping his feet from one room to another and hissy fits because i wouldn't move out as quickly as he wanted me to. ignoring you and rolling his eyes. pretty much everything a spoiled little 9 year old girl does.
as i went to work early one morning, he stumbled out of his room naked, hungover and still drunk he absent mindedly gave me a hug on his way to the kitchen sink to skull a pint of water. i shivered and cringed at his touch. he was revolting to me now. in an effort to impress the 21 year old straight guy he desperately wanted to fuck, he'd completely shaved his chest hair in an effort to look younger. "wow. you shaved everything. way to show off all the definition you've lost in the last 2 months."
"huh?"
"nothing"
"have a good day at work" so continued his mood swings. 12 hours earlier he was throwing cutlery and saucepans in the sink. cursing my presence. throwing a tantrum to get me to leave
i'm leaving a lot of the bad stuff out, so pretty soon, Yarra Glen also no longer felt like home. where do you go when no place feels like home? it's a horrible feeling. i gave up on my idea of staying in the area. when i felt i had punished him enough and forced him to be held accountable to his actions, i moved out. i stayed with my sister and became a live-in nanny. i went out for beers at the Laird one night and ran into Josh and his housemates
"how's your super-hot flatmate, josh?"
"ugh! we've kicking him out," then smiled his infectious grin, "we have a vacant room coming up if you need one!"
"yeah, i really really do..."
"fantastic!" he said with a jug o beer in his hand, "this is your interview!"
i soon moved in. i is the best share house i could have asked for
even until today. i have never heard from Dj since the morning i moved out. surprisingly , the 21 year old straight guy he was obsessed with and ditched me for in order to convert, didn't work out. he is still in his 3 month cycles - every 3 months a new job, a new obsession, a new boyfriend. i have since found out he is one of the most hated people in Melbourne. mention his name in a group of people and someone will no doubt tell you what a fucking asshole he is. some of my friends knew this, but said nothing. i still hold a grudge against Melbourne for that. a city where everyone loves to gossip, but will rarely take a stand against another for fear of the social repercussions. as for standing up and being a man, i gave Dj so many opportunities to apolgise. he never has
"you'll never get one," his sister smiled. i spent Christmas eve with her family, a couple of friends and brothers. i miss the family i had there. i try to see them when i can. hoping one day i may also be able to take Buddy for a walk along the abandoned railway and watch him fruitlessly chase rabbits
so that's why i'm in Melbourne. i'm here already. why not stay a while?
it's been a year since this started. it's my birthday again and all these weird memories came back. thankfully, i remember a lot of the good stuff. despite it all, i still don't regret the decision to make such a huge change for lurve... i just wanted to write it down before i forget them. but there's another thing... it's happening again
the month in Sydney was both amazing and painful. it was great to be back, but it no longer felt like home. i wasn't eating. i wasn't sleeping. by the time i returned to the Valley four weeks later i had lost 10kgs.
extra thinking time was for nought. to him, it was all over and by now, i was fine with that. he had changed so much since moving here. gone was the flannel shirt, the short beard, and the over-whelming tenderness of the man i fell in love with in Sydney. replaced with a racist binge-drinking, pot-smoking, 3AW talkback radio listening, self-obssessed dickbag that now wore the bogan trifecta (wog chain, half tribal sleeve and southern cross tattoo) with embarrassing pride.
i would stay until i could make other arrangements. i could stay with my sister, but her husband is bi-polar and was having a severe downturn at the moment. of course, if things were unbearable come immediately, but for now i would be better off in the valley as we turned off the tv to go to bed, Buddy leaped up and trotted off ahead. he knew it was bed time. to him that meant warm cuddles all night long. i walked down the hall and buddy turned to go into the bedroom, then stopped. he realised i wasn't following him. he turned back and with the hugest brown puppy eyes i have ever seen
"sorry, buddy. i don't sleep in there any more." i walked on down the hallway to the spare room. Buddy went to bed with Dj. i crawled into bed and played a little Gillian Welch to help me get to sleep.
(i love hula hoop girl. the oringal 14minute version of this song is hypnotic)
a few minutes later i heard footsteps down the hall coming towards my room. the bedroom door slowly creaked open. it was Buddy. when he saw me smile and nod, he knew it was permission to jump into bed with me. at night he would sleep at the foot of the bed. hours later he would creep higher. by morning i would wake up, spooning him. his wet nose sniffing at my chin. while i was in the house, he never slept with Dj again
i wanted to stay in the area. it had become home. i was working in a brewery and a vineyard. the next few weeks i finally got to see Dj how everyone else saw him. it, and he, wasn't pretty. i learned why everyone kept saying 'it's great to see Dj happy" when he's in a good mood, he's awesome. when he is bad. he is evil. moody. angry. throwing tantrums, stomping his feet from one room to another and hissy fits because i wouldn't move out as quickly as he wanted me to. ignoring you and rolling his eyes. pretty much everything a spoiled little 9 year old girl does.
as i went to work early one morning, he stumbled out of his room naked, hungover and still drunk he absent mindedly gave me a hug on his way to the kitchen sink to skull a pint of water. i shivered and cringed at his touch. he was revolting to me now. in an effort to impress the 21 year old straight guy he desperately wanted to fuck, he'd completely shaved his chest hair in an effort to look younger. "wow. you shaved everything. way to show off all the definition you've lost in the last 2 months."
"huh?"
"nothing"
"have a good day at work" so continued his mood swings. 12 hours earlier he was throwing cutlery and saucepans in the sink. cursing my presence. throwing a tantrum to get me to leave
i'm leaving a lot of the bad stuff out, so pretty soon, Yarra Glen also no longer felt like home. where do you go when no place feels like home? it's a horrible feeling. i gave up on my idea of staying in the area. when i felt i had punished him enough and forced him to be held accountable to his actions, i moved out. i stayed with my sister and became a live-in nanny. i went out for beers at the Laird one night and ran into Josh and his housemates
"how's your super-hot flatmate, josh?"
"ugh! we've kicking him out," then smiled his infectious grin, "we have a vacant room coming up if you need one!"
"yeah, i really really do..."
"fantastic!" he said with a jug o beer in his hand, "this is your interview!"
i soon moved in. i is the best share house i could have asked for
even until today. i have never heard from Dj since the morning i moved out. surprisingly , the 21 year old straight guy he was obsessed with and ditched me for in order to convert, didn't work out. he is still in his 3 month cycles - every 3 months a new job, a new obsession, a new boyfriend. i have since found out he is one of the most hated people in Melbourne. mention his name in a group of people and someone will no doubt tell you what a fucking asshole he is. some of my friends knew this, but said nothing. i still hold a grudge against Melbourne for that. a city where everyone loves to gossip, but will rarely take a stand against another for fear of the social repercussions. as for standing up and being a man, i gave Dj so many opportunities to apolgise. he never has
"you'll never get one," his sister smiled. i spent Christmas eve with her family, a couple of friends and brothers. i miss the family i had there. i try to see them when i can. hoping one day i may also be able to take Buddy for a walk along the abandoned railway and watch him fruitlessly chase rabbits
so that's why i'm in Melbourne. i'm here already. why not stay a while?
it's been a year since this started. it's my birthday again and all these weird memories came back. thankfully, i remember a lot of the good stuff. despite it all, i still don't regret the decision to make such a huge change for lurve... i just wanted to write it down before i forget them. but there's another thing... it's happening again
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