a guide in how to succeed in whoring without really trying. if you want to be a success. there are tips and tricks written here. i could write about all my awesome clients (most of them) but that would be fucking boring.
no doubt people will be horrified by the honesty here. i'm far from the hero of all my stories, stumbling through awkward situations finding the humour in the horror.
a tale told by an idiot, full of sound a fury, signifying nothing
two things i never wanted to hear my boyfriend say
last week it was: "she looks like a hot mess."
he was referring to a man. sure, we were watching drag race* and it was directed towards a man in a dress and the Elk may very well be taking the piss, but it shocked me all the same
then this morning in the kitchen i tried to molest him from behind when he pulled away and cried: "oh my muffins are burning!"
what the fuck happened? it seemed like only yesterday we were doing lines off a half-chewed toilet seat in some filthy nightclub. why, just the other day i was holding him by the throat while pissing in his face. today we're hiring a goget car share and driving to the suburbs to buy a set of Le Crueset saucepans
"ooh Le Crueset!" one male friend mockingly squealed in a high pitch voice and pursing his lips
"uh… yeah… so?"
"oh Le Crueset," another friend said over coffee at Taylor Square, "they're very gay. yes. all the gays love them."
all my life a dutch oven was dropping your guts under a blanket and throwing it over your mate's head, suffocating him in your rancid fart. today it's how we cook a roast chicken.
are we normalling? is this new sexual territory. a sick and depraved game of performing like a normal couple? no. we're just normal
another problem with sex workin' is missing out on things. the upside is getting to sleep in, working fewer hours and getting more freedom to do what you want. the downside is you have to work when everyone else is having fun.
so do i go see Portishead play for the first time in Australia for 15 years? or do i go to work that night and earn $800?
i chose work.
everyone who saw them play said it was the most amazing concert they have ever seen. ever. it was like being forbidden to see the Itchee & Scratchee Movie then have everyone else say how incredible it was and the best movie they have ever seen and ever will see.
$800 or the best concert ever performing one of my favourite albums? i still regret it a bit now
burial - kindred. perfect for a little urban exploration
so another weekend in Melbourne. great city but for work it was just more of the same "you're so hot. you're just what i've been looking for but I'm going away worth the family in a few days and you won't be in town by the time i get back, when are you returning to melbourne?" enquiries
apart from the immediate '2 days? there's plenty of time to fuck before you leave' response that i say aloud but never reply with, it also begs the question: "why the fuck are you telling me?" thanks for the compliment and all but unless you're making a booking i really don't care. i doubt if i shoot you a message in 3 months time you'll respond with the same amount of vigour. which, after all, isn't that much if they can't be fucked booking me now anyway
like all smaller gay cities, Melbourne is just frustrating and backwards. it's not as bad as Brisbane, Perth, Adelaide or Hobart but many appointments made in the next 2 or 3 days generally they will all cancel. they've blown their load and they move on. by now i don't place much faith in bookings anymore. sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you just get fucked around. so i've learned to never let it interrupt my plans or rule my day
in these types of cities where homo-respression is relatively high potential clients are difficult, persistent and love to bargain. the best is guys sending pics of themselves lounging in various positions in the bedroom. they are about as erotic as whales who have beached themselves between a comfortable duvet and fleshjack, taking photos of themselves with their phone as greenpeace volunteers roll them back into the sea. they fancy themselves as quite a catch and they expect a discount or a little extra overtime or maybe i'll just wanna come around and fuck 'em for free
he describes himself as 'good looking' and 'hung' but was neither. why try to score a freebie when there's thousands of guys out there online begging for it? maybe they like rejection with a slim chance of success. who knows. but i get this all the time
another thing we seemed to get all the time was young ladies with the tips of their hair dyed pink. not a clear pink either, by like it was done at home and washed out. if it was bright and vibrant i could understand but it just looked like every second lass in town had come fresh from the country fair bobbing for beets
the real event of the trip was some final photo shoots in a disused warehouse. it was the last time Murdoch, the Elk and I would be together for a while in Australia. Murdoch has an upcoming exhibition during a leather fetish week @ The Laird. so we thought we should get some filthy stuff done. an old asbestos ridden warehouse did nicely. here's some of the shots
now I'm living the life of an international playboy again I get to do what I love - fucking off on a plane to other cities on a whim. if you are going to present yourself as a playboy, you cant stay in one place. you really need to jet about
so today I'm flying to Melbourne. it's hardly London, Paris or New York, but it's a start.
my favourite part is the baggage X-ray. today my biggest fear was 'fuck! will there be any baggies left over from the weekend?' it was Mardi Gras afterall. amongst the usual travel items, the chubby little ginger behind the terminal just stumbled across a bag full of weird shit:
a gas mask
viagra
condoms
lube
a banana
a tea pot in the shape of a giraffe
he flinched and scanned the bag again. nothing illegal in the pervert's bag
also I get to have single serving friends again. friendly people who are a little lonely and bored. they just want to chat for the duration of a flight. today's friend was Kristina. a lovely German woman flying to Byron Bay to argue with a man who illegally built a road across her land.
she used to be a school teacher in Berlin. 'the children of the prostitutes,' she said 'they all had animals in their hair. but they were lovely. they would call me 'mum' by accident'
when she agreed that Bavarians are miserable people who only think about money, I loved her. wished her well in her meeting and boarded my plane
it was some velvet morning when i awoke, i was in bed with my lover…
lover? uh, that word bums me out unless it's between the words 'meat' and 'pizza'
it was some velvet morning when i awoke. rain falling outside and i was in bed with my bitch, curled up nice and warm. one of my monkey arms wrapped around his chest, puling in so tight all i could smell was his warm sweat from a night's sleep. my other arms wrapped around his belly and slowly sliding down the trail of fur. like a dog in heat, my hips start grinding up against him every time he is close. a message comes through on my phone. i pause for a second, ignore it and continue grinding against him.
"answer it. it might be work." the Elk says
i groan. "but i don't want to." i check my phone. it is work. Elk reads the sour expression on my face and knows he was right.
"it's money."
"but i want to fuck you."
"you have to work."
"he's way down south. it's raining. i'll get soaked on the bike"
"i'll hire a car. i'll drive you."
i realise he will not let me get out of work today.
it's a little strange when your boyfriend is going out of his way, drive you 40 minutes away, so you can get fucked by someone else. one of the smartest things Sydney has done is initiate the GoGet car hire thingy. it's perfect for the inner city whore. there is pretty much one car every few hundred meters in the inner city suburbs. fuck getting a taxi to scoot to a job across town. hire a car for around $15 an hour. you don't have to pay for fuel and you don't have to get into a fight with a geographically retarded taxi driver (or even worse, get stuck in a conversation with one).
the rain is pissing down. but in a car with my bitch behind the wheel, i'm looking forward to going to work. we park a few doors down from the clients house. lube… check. rubbers… check. amyl… check. jockstrap… check. i pause for a second. this is the weirdest situation yet. "does this make you my pimp now?"
"yes," he smiled, "now go make me some money bitch!"
if the happy family situation in the car for the drive down wasn't weird enough. it's even weirder at 11am on a saturday morning, one foot on the plush carpet, the other cocked up on the floral patterned armrest of a 2-seater sofa with a man's face buried deep in the crack of my hairy arse. country comfort themed wooden furniture lines the suburban lounge room but none was within reach so i rest my arms on my thighs. as i felt his tongue slither it's way into my asshole i looked upon the faces of the children in the photo frames. wide-eyed and smiling his nieces and nephews watch their uncle savagely eat out some hooker's asshole right before their very eyes. his spit dripping down the insides of my thighs. as it drips and falls to the floor i wonder if little Jessica will come home soon and notice a wet spot on the carpet under her feet. will she know it's her uncle's saliva and a burly manwhore's ass juice? maybe not
he wants to fuck me and i agree. only because there's not much damage a 4 inch cock can do to my arse. the bottle of Jungle Juice permanently under his nose will probably have more impact. i throw on a rubber and bounce up and down on his cock. still facing the other way i look through the dvd collection in the tv cabinet. no… wait… they're not dvds. they're VHS tapes. Supernova? really? why would anyone buy that? it's sucks arse! it was going to be an Alan Smithee film for christ's sake! that film had like 5 different directors. it's such a mess. James Spader in a rubbish sexy sic-fi space alien film i can ignore. but poor Angela Basset. she was excellent in that Tina Turner film and even Strange Days- oh what? he's cum already…
before i shower i shoot a text to the Elk so he can be here by the time i'm back out on the street. "all done."
he texts almost immediately. "what? i haven't even taken a bite of my sandwich!"
it's true. i look at the time. i had only been here 10 minutes. and to think i dragged out this session
we drive home and i get another call for another job. an incall. again i tried to groan my way out of it.
"it's raining. i can't kick you out in the rain for an hour."
"i'll go to the shops and get stuff for dinner. call me when you're done" his solutions are not what i want to hear. he leans in and nuzzles into my neck, "c'mon baby, make me some money. hmm? daddy needs a new pair o' shoes." i can't look at him but i know he's watching me pout. "no. i really do need a new pair of shoes." he holds up his trainers. it's true. they're fucked.
as i struggle to maintain a boner throughout the next job i think. "i can't do this. what the fuck am i doing this?" despite being pumped full of viagra and cialis i'm still having difficulty maintaining a hard on. on the worst occasions it has now come to 5 minutes of fluffing myself just to get 1 minute of fucking before i go soft again. not only the physical problems, but it's just plain weird fucking other dudes when i got one waiting for me. or even stranger, he's humming to himself while thumbing through vegetables in the organic section of the market while i'm at home stabbing my cock into some dude's ass. his guts dripping all over the furniture that i'll have to wipe down so we can have whatever my boyfriend decides to cook for dinner later.
that's just fucking weird… oh, he's cum already
i mop up, shower and shoo the client out the door and text the Elk that he's got the all clear to come home. we cook. we eat. we have a nap on the couch. i climb on top of the Elk. kissing his neck and grinding my cock against him. my phone goes off. it's a job
"go do it."
"but it's saturday night! i've already worked twice today! he's gonna be drunk and annoying! i wanna…"
"Oi! listen to your pimp," the Elk put his hoof down, "now go make me some money, woman! GO!"
"you fucking bloody cunt-ass licking shit monkey prickface…" i mumble, dragging my sorry ass to the shower and freshen myself up. "jesus titty-fucking christ, tell me what to do you will you? fucking irish cunt…"
i drive over to the next job. not surprisingly, he's drunk. he keeps trying to kiss me. that's would be fine if i had a hobo fetish. but i don't.
for the next half hour i'm slobbered over with saliva that stinks like rancid cask wine. i pull away and turn my head to avoid his kisses, but he's so drunk he doesn't get the hint and keeps trying to smooch.
i push him down to my cock and he bites my inner thigh. it hurts. i jump
"oh sorry," he says
a minute later he does it again. i jerk and push his face away with my thigh. he apologises again. and minutes later bites me once more
"don't fucking bite me!" and i push his face away
this is going to be a long 60 minutes. i bite my tongue, lie back on my cross and ponder. i have plenty of time to think.
working in a relationship is difficult. i consider ditching the difficult world of manwhoring. that would mean i have to get a normal full time job. not only would that mean a severe pay cut, but a dramatic increase in working hours. i'd only get to see my bitch for a few hours a day. when will i get my cuddles? i will be as grumpy as fuck, miserable in my new full time job and take out my frustrations on him.
so. do i deal with the new found weirdness and earn the average australian workers weekly wage in a day to have more free time with my bitch or do i go get a full time job and have little time to spend with the person i gave it all up for?
no doubt the Elk understands this too. he also knows my libido is raging and this may be the best way to keep it under control while giving his ass a break, therefore simultaneously keeping my mood swings and his colon intact.
i stumble home. through the front door, i dump my bag and keys. the Elk is in the Kitchen surrounded by a haze of steam from boiling pots and frypans. dinner is almost ready. he welcomes me home from work with a kiss. "how was it?"
"wasn't so much a blow job as a 40 minute chinese burn performed on my foreskin," i hand him the bag of spuds he asked me to pick up in the way home.
"aww…." he mocks my pain and leans in for another kiss. my hands glide around the fabric of his tracky dacks that hug his arse so well and i grab it. suddenly i'm not angry anymore. i pour us a drink, play some Lee Hazelwood and kick back with my feet up while he finishes cooking dinner.
out on the balcony by candlelight (not because it's romantic. there's just no other light out there) we finally get to eat around midnight and settle into bed a short time later. my pimp falls asleep with his head on my chest and i think it's not so weird after all.
this was a joke. they found it funny. the audience found it funny. i found it funny. the 'war hero' was not offended at all and understood it was a joke. i still love Yumi
so why it everyone's tits in a twist? they all knew it was a fucking joke. but it seems a lot of people were offended. judging by the nasty comments on the fb page, it seems to have mostly offended fat housewives and chubby army reservists wanna-be war heros
for a start, i support the theory he may be a dud root. ever heard the expression 'fucks like a fat chick'? hot guys (and guys with huge cocks) don't really need to try to at sex. and generally, i have found don't try very hard at all because they think they've laid out all the ingredients on the table but forget they still need to bake at 180° for that damn cake to rise. where as 'fat chicks*' try harder. they'll be shameless. they'll do anal. they'll suck your dick 'till the cows come home just to get you to come back for seconds
secondly, it was George Negus who made the bitchy comments and inferred he was a...
"dud root" says Yumi
so why is Yumi solely getting the blame for the comment?
outside the fact she's a pretty face and Corporal Ben's got a hot body and together they look great in a news bulletin, i thinks it's a little bit of sexism and a whole lot of racism. it's sad but clearly evident oin the comments written about her. the calls for channel ten to fire them are ridiculous when Kyle Sandilands has done far worse (mostly because his comments weren't funny) and he's still got a job
it was revealed the day before that Corporal Ben Roberts-Smith fathered his twin daughters with his wife through IVF. he can't make babies the normal way so maybe he is a dud root.
it was a joke. and a funny one. a man who 'risked his life for our country' is not going to give two shits about a throwaway quip on some morning tv programme that no one would have heard if no one inflamed the situation. grow a pair, bitches*
Yumi is the only television host with a personality. don't ruin my morning tv viewing, you whiny fat housewives and weekend warriors! don't force me out of bed early every morning with nothing to entertain me! i provide a service to the community as well. piss me off in the mornings and you'll be pissing off my clients for the rest of the day. quite a few of them are past, present and future war heroes.
