whoring tips #18 - fantasy

whoring tips #18

fantasies

when i lived in Amsterdam, a mate of mine had a slave. by day he was a normal mild mannered public servent from Den Haag. by night we would go out and push him to see how low our faggot slave would go. in a bar we would find the hottest guy in a straight bar and send our boy over to chat him up and see if we could turn him. when it came time to pay a cab fare or a bar tab he would offer his mouth and arse. he was a hot looking kid so sometimes it worked and got us free drinks. sometime they saw 3 skinheads in the back of their taxi, would freak out and lose their shit or shit themselves in fear of it being a trap

i managed a bar in a backpackers. it closed after all the gay bars and most clubs in town. on nights my mate and his slave did not pick up they would come in. we would order our slave to close and clean up the bar and reception for us while me, my mate and the girl working the reception desk that night would sit and get drunk.

Solvi, a norwegian girl who was somewhat more innocent than her pink dreadlocks and tattoos would suggest, "you know, i don't know what you guys are into," she said with a glass of wine in one hand and drawing back on the cigarette in the other, "but it works out for me just fine"

she would then excuse us for half an hour while we dragged our faggot to the basement, bent him over the kegs, pissed on him and fucked him from both ends

his ultimate fantasy was abduction and rape. it's a common fantasy. with the help of others, my friend organised it for him without him knowing. our slave was walking down the street when a van pulled up beside him, three huge masked dutch men jumped out, bagged him and threw him in the back of the van. they bound him, beat him a little and threatened to rape him. the slave was terrified. absolutely, uncontrollably terrified. it destroyed him

less than 20 minutes into the abduction they called it quits and unbound him, but it was too late. the abduction scene had already broke his brain

he stopped being ours, or anyone else's, slave. last i heard, he went back his normal life as a public servant. he may still have had fantasies, but he sure as fuck never chose to live them out again

the victorian age

nasty. and stupid. and not me

in Melbourne's The Age this afternoon

Club filmed male escort having sex with boy, court hears

Date

November 20, 2012 - 1:55PM

• 256 reading now

A HIV-infected male prostitute took a 15-year-old boy to an adult homosexual club in Collingwood and had sex with him knowing they were being filmed, a court heard today.

As the pair left the club, they were each allegedly handed a copy of their sex tape.

Adam Randall, 36, appeared in the Melbourne Magistrates Court accused of sexually abusing the teenager for over three years from when the boy was 13.

Randall faced a total of 14 charges, including having unprotected sex with the boy and another man on separate occasions without telling them he had HIV, putting them at risk of getting the disease.

Magistrate Elizabeth Lambden committed Randall to stand trial in the County Court on eight of the charges - two counts of reckless conduct endangering serious injury; making child pornography by filming the boy at the Collingwood sex club; taking photographs of the boy engaging in indecent sexual acts; sexually penetrating a child under 16; taking part in an indecent act with a child; sexually abusing the boy from more than three years from January 1, 2008 and October 1, 2011; and soliciting a child under 16 to take part in an act of sexual penetration.

Randall, who pleaded not guilty to the charges, will appear in the County Court on December 3 for a directions hearing.

He is expected to plead guilty to the six remaining, less serious charges this afternoon in the Magistrates Court.

These charges include working as a sex worker while infected with HIV; operating a brothel at his home without a permit or licence for more than seven years from January 1, 2005, to May 23 this year; possessing cannabis; displaying a false advertisement for sex work; and unlawful assault.

Police told the court at an earlier hearing that officers had first contacted Randall after receiving an anonymous tip-off that he was advertising sexual services in the Melbourne Community Voice.

Police arranged to meet Randall at his home on May 23 where he allegedly agreed to have unprotected sex after claiming he was clean.

He was arrested and police seized a diary which had a list of his clients' names, dates and the dollar amounts that they had paid.

When questioned at Epping police station, Randall denied having unprotected sex with clients.

Police said Randall claimed he had a high sex drive and usually went to a sauna in Collingwood where he would have sex with up to 20 strangers a day but always wore a condom.

Randall allegedly knew he should not be working as an escort because he was HIV positive.

He was later released on strict bail conditions including that he live with his mother in Warburton and accept a Department of Health order that he not engage in any form of sex work, advise all his sex partners of his HIV status before having sex, and have safe sex.

Read more: http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/club-filmed-male-escort-having-sex-with-boy-court-hears-20121120-29nge.html#ixzz2Ck1obDNk

sharon t'aint

last days of Sydney - the hollow

when you fuck off overseas, all your friends want to catch up and say 'hai!'. really, i just want to go. it's you pack of miserable leeching cunts that i want to get away from

the last friend to see was butch. i had some hash brownies i sure as hell wasn't gonna eat so he came over to scoff the rest. scoff them he did. 20 minutes later he melted into the sofa. there was no moving him, but rather than spend my final night alone being a cockteasing prick to horny strangers on grindr i settled in and watched Hollow Man

"what?" muttered the stoned lump beside me, "oh... pffft!!" layer by layer the invisible man began to vanish on the operating table. it was never a highly praised film, but making Kevin Bacon disappear was something everyone could support wholeheartedly. "it wouldn't happen like that! if it is injected into him why would he disappear from the outside in?"

i drew a shallow breath. of course my friend was right. why would the largest organ that would have the least amount of blood flow vanish first? but i wanted to defend the trash film "it's more impressive from a visual effects point of view."

he grunted. unwilling to accept my reasoning. he had essentially turned into a belingerant dakimakura rejecting his submissive cuddle purpose for barking insults at the screen. 

this was worse than when i went to see Harry Potter with a South African. yeah, a white South African, shouting back at the screen. i should have taken my love pillow instead

then invisible man snuck into a make woman's apartment and raped her "throw paint on him! throw something on him!"

"what do you mean 'throw paint on him'? she's naked, she's alone and she's getting raped. she's fucking terrified! she has no idea there's an invisible man in the neighbourhood. she has no idea one even exists. so she's not going to start thinking rationally, 'oh i must splash a bit of paint on this fellow' she'll be too busy defending herself against the terror stabbing at her vagina!"

"okay. fair point."

eventually someone did throw paint/blood on the invisible man, but was this enough to satisfy? no

"why am i defending this? why do i need to? it's not Imelda bloody Staunton as Vera fucking Drake performing backyard abortions with a rusty teaspoon! this is mindless entertainment!"

don't waltz into my house, eat all my brownies, make yourself comfortable and then tear into one of my favourite directors, even one of his less impressive films like Hollow Man!

Vera Drake. does she get her tits out? no. she has a fucking cuppa tea

....and cries a lot

as a teen invisibility was at the top of my list for superpowers. not only could you sneak around noticed, fuck with people's minds, create mischief, steal stuff and follow hot dudes home and… well, not do much other than watch them naked, but as a rampant horny teen homo i was happy with whatever crumbs i could get

another favourite of mine, John Carpenter tried in the 90s, buy the only original thought added was cokehead Chevy Chase bemoaning: do you know how difficult it is to sleep with transparent eyelids?

so when Paul Verhoeven, responsible for some of my favourite films of my neverending adolescence (Robocop, Total Recall, Starship Troopers, Showgirls) expressed he was taking a darker turn on the H G Wells novel. i admit i had high hopes for the study of a man's descent into hell and abuse of power because of the empty hollow inside. unfortunately it digressed into a mediocre slasher that was disappointing. 

i have known butch for 12 years now, and although i admire his love of independent cinema and gritty drama, going to to see a film together has been difficult. not that we haven't tried:

"do you want to see a movie tonight? it's a film set in communist romania in the final years of Ceauşescu where two university students try to arrange an illegal abortion-"

"ugh... NO!!!"

"subtitles!?! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

we are great friends, but we don't agree on many things. i went through a heavy european cinema phase in my early teens when Krzysztof Kieslowski was the pin-up boy on every art-fag bedroom wall. fuck me i still own two copies of A Short Film About Love in fear that i may lend one out and it not be returned. still a favourite of mine despite it being neither 'short' or 'about love' 

so it's not that i don't understand his taste in film, i just don't care anymore. 

it's normal to not see eye to eye with your friends. these are the subjects that interest him. butch has admitted to living a rather mundane existence. although i disagree, he is one of the two people who inspired me to write this blog many years when he threatened to write his autobiography "Nuts I Have Known". on occasions he now sees his life as pointlessly shuffling papers for the government, studying too many hours and getting drunk one night a week to be able to afford his small inner-city apartment. he reminisces the debaucherous university years he had but has chosen to suffer for the moment to achieve the better life he wants in the future.

Butch is a Mike Leigh film. the gritty british plunge into realism no one really wants to make. he is an agonising character study in misery punctuated by rare moments of joy that hint at the lively character he once was and the audience prays he may become once again.

he is a Mike Leigh film. a depressing Ken Loach production. and i... i am a Paul Verhoeven film

i am the bigger budgeted, dumbed-down hollywood production under eurotrash direction. flashier. faster. an expensive large scale epic that never quite reaches the grand premise of the unique social critique material it is based on. bastardised. bombastic. and with more boobs. simultaneously misogynistic and insulting to men. a trash perversion that more often than not is a financial failure. 

more sex, more death and more blood with less thought. 

stupefying decisions of one dimensional characters that as a whole make no sense. i am the mind numbing escape from your pitifully boring existence that everyone wants to make but by the first hour will have you regretting spending your cash and your time. i will give you a few cheap laughs, but leave you feeling cheap and used. i will leave you feeling dumber than when you first walked in.

many will love it. many will appreciate the mindless entertainment, what it attempted to do. revered as a cult by some and others will just rewind it back to the scene with the boobs.

i did change Butch's mind once. i forced him to come see the epic disaster 2012. though it seemed only us and 2 other friends saw it for the subversive dark comedy that it was, pissed ourselves laughing alway through a full and mostly silent cinema. i thought we could relive the magic with HollowMan. 

as the characters in the film were slashed and burned to only the chick from Adventures in Babysitting and the dude from The Goonies, things exploded and the credits rolled, butch ended the night with a surprise

"that was great. i thoroughly enjoyed that."

"you... what? really?"

"yeah. what time you fly tomorrow?"

"3pm."

"coffee tomorrow?"

"sure"




“If I die, pretend I said something deep and clever.”

Kevin Bacon, Hollow Man

5 Feb 1983 - Sydney gay demo against police raids on Club 80

whoring tips #12 mix tape and fuck music

Whoring tips #12 - mix tapes and fuck music

in the mix tape series of posts i've suggested music that will help set the tone for making with the sexy times. i also suggested what not to listen to when entertaining gentlemen callers.

Bjork is on top of that list of the unsexy. incredible artist, but unless it's a remix she is one hell of a boner-killer

ignore that for now because holy fuckballs the video for Mutual Core is amazing!

more of Huang's awesome work

marriage equality or else

CollegeHumor's Favorite Funny Videos

whoring tips # 11 - body modifications

adamrichins:

Fresh genital implants done by me(Adam Richins) during a trip home to Cali this last weekend. 4ga Silicone Rod Stock cut and shaped also by me.

whoring tips #11

body modifications and cosmetic surgery is often used in the sex industry, mostly women, but why let chicks have all the fun?

turn your cock into a living sex toy

why MTV don't play music videos anymore

World Press Photo 2012

She doesn't have much of a body, but it's still for hire: Picture of drug-addled Ukrainian prostitute among the most startling press photographs of 2012

whoring tips #9

whoring tips #9

you are on show for the whole hour sometimes right up until your cumshot/orgasm (however real or fake that may be). it ain't over 'til the fat bastard cums so don't fuck like you fuck at home.

class it up a little

@KristenNeel_

1) our President is a Prime Minister

2) our Prime Minster is an Athiest

3) and She is an Atheist

and we have had 'Obamacare' for like... ever

last days of sydney - porno

a month before heading overseas i had been asked to shoot a porno. after working at a clients with the Elk a few weeks earlier i thought it would be a good idea to do the scene together. it would also be a good chance to recover from the terrible 'blind date' porn shoot i did a few years ago. also, new pics and more exposure would be good for scoring more work overseas.

plus, shooting a porno with your boyfriend, having both your genitals laid out like a splayed haddock mashed together and smeared all over the interwebs on a cheap porn site. how fucking romantic is that? totes, right?

shooting gay porn is a secondary business for all involved in Australia. no one devotes their entire career to porn. it's always a side project or a hobby. for this reason arranging a time when all involved could shoot the scene did not eventuate before the Elk had to fly to Ireland. 

also there are also no fulltime porn stars. as  the late great smart-ass Erik Rhodes stated over an over to the army of many people asking him about a career in porn - you don't make money being an actor, you do the movies to boost your profile and make all your money hookin'. private shows. by the hour. that's where the money is

in the following weeks i received calls, texts and emails to arrange a shoot. i asked for pictures of the other model and i would agree if i thought the scene could work. (i.e., if he wasn't an emaciated crackhead twink that would make my cock invert to a fanny). the photographer had no idea how to attach an image until the 5th email and when he did it was 28billionMB and a file only InDesign could open. who the fuck has InDesign? what photographer uses InDesign to showcase their work?

still, they pushed on until i got a different photographer and a different model. busy as hell in my final weeks i took no bookings on the day of the shoot. 

i turned up outside the location, some guys house, impressing all involved by rolling in on a motorbike. the pornographer was a great guy. the other model, though a lot more prettied up than the sexy scruffy little man in the shots i was emailed days ago, was still hot. i could have jumped him right there in the kitchen, unfortunately the pornographer had other ideas

the website was not up and running yet so they were still fleshing out a few ideas on how it would run. one idea was the interview process. corbin fisher, randy blue and that creepy old dude who sucks off every muscle guy he can find while winking into the camera all do the meet-and-greet thing. for some, it's terribly dull. but if their model becomes the next big name in porn they can milk the guts out of all the footage they have

"now i'm just going to get you both on the couch and ask you some questions." 

the mere notion of an interview bored the tits off me so i slumped on the sofa like some half eaten octopus. my remaining four limbs, arms over the back of the sofa and legs spread wide, ready for some old school japanime tentacle porn. 

"take your arm down. i want it to look like you've never met before. i don't want you to look comfortable with each other…"

and this is where i died. 

we were getting familiar. too familiar. you talk too much. i don't want to get to know you. nothing personal, but let me just see you as a peice of meat, we can have tea and scones after i hatefuck the shit out of you.

it's such a bore
gets me really sore
i don't need this fucking world

the 10 minute interview process that went from name (lies) and occupation (more lies) to favourite sexual positions (more lies. mostly exaggeration). my disinterest grew as the tedious interview process groaned slowly onward. my answers ever more self-righteous and smug as a Mumford and Sons lyric desperate not to sound christian. this dragged out to almost on hour. by the time we got to word association, i was infuriated. glaring down the barrel of the camera grunting monosyllabic answers (if any answer at all). 

i had some warning this porn shoot might be a bad idea. the producers' previous website was not good. actually, it was quite horrid. they had shot some men i know from around Sydney, very hot men, and filmed them with no thought for lighting, lenses, framing or indeed any of the  basic principles of photography. they managed to dwarf these hot men into hideously deformed sex badgers wanking their midgetted cocks for no ones pleasure other than the cruel bastard out to publicly humiliate them on a site designed on MSPaint

to tread past further warning to this bad decision, the Elk had shot a scene for them many years ago and it didn't work out for him either. once he met the other model and heard him speak all attraction was gone. when he opened his mouth a purse fell out, the Elk's erection falling to the floor along with it. 

still, i charged forward. forward to death. the only joy had was snarling at anybody watching this clip hoping they would recognise my Johnny The Homicidal Maniac t-shirt

shirts off. some stills. 

we moved the shoot to a spare bedroom. it was a small room, only slightly larger than the double bed and stained pine side table it contained. it that had all the sexual chemistry of a disused highway Motor Inn, probably less so, because all the effort that went in to gay-ing up of the decor barely masked an odour suggesting Grandma just died in here. i shut my eyes and we continued to grope and paw each other

"i want to be looking up at you," the pornographer said, "get up on the bed."

with barely one foot each on the bed we nearly tumbled off. this was no bed. it was a trampoline with a cheap quilt. we managed to get back on top but it was obvious by my dwindling erection that this just didn't work. if i enjoyed sex with young children then maybe fucking on a giant jumping castle might have kept my cock throbbing hard, unfortunately all effort was diverted to our quivering calf muscles desperately struggling to keep us upright. even with my occasional interest in plushie porn, fucking on top of a giant Doogal is not my idea of raunch

to make the scene even more worserer, it was 50 million degrees in the room. and i'm talking celsius. pilled up with the handfuls of viagra, i was like burning up in the sun. 

yes, i'm a princess!

yes i'm a fucking delicate snowflake! 

i will wilt and wilt i did. i was going to feint.

i prayed for it to end. so many times i was about to shoot out an arm to stop me from collapsing. luckily i didn't for i would have punched a hole through the horridly inoffensive nondescript mass produced painting of a sunset hanging on the wall, or tangle an arm in the venetian blind or worse have us both topple through the sliding mirrored doors of the wardrobe. similar to visions of the opening kill in Suspiria i imagined footage of two hookers sliced to pieces with shattered glass would guarantee years memberships if not spawned some great gifs on necrophile tumblers

"fuck this" and i lays both down. now comfortable, perfectly, no longer under direction, but it was too late. for every 5 minutes of fluffing myself, i was granted 30 seconds of boner. sadly, not enough to fuck his hot arse, not enough to string a decent scene together. the viagra didn't help. a cockring didn't help. even eating his meaty hairy arse didn't help. and it was a hot arse

i looked down at my cock, all sweaty, shrivelled and stubborn. pleading with him as he chose to hide. he had gone all Linda Evangelista on me, "we don't get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day" he winked up at me through that fleshy burqa of foreskin. well, we were barely making a 50th of that, so i had no hope in convincing him that this will benefit us both. we both knew yesterday i earned ten times what i will earn today from this shoot, and in roughly the same amount of time too

did i mention i was the top? no? so not being able to follow through with all the comments i made earlier about drowning the other model headfirst in my cum like a sack of kittens in high tide were made all the more embarrassing with how arrogantly i threatened

the other model blew his load spectacularly. gagged with every breath. he did a smashing job. it was just a shame i couldn't smash his hole. the pornographer too is not to blame. the way they wanted to shoot the scene just isn't how i work. plus i'd had been working like a muthafukka for weeks now, i had an apartment to empty in 48 hours, i had a country to leave, friends to say goodbye too and i was sure as hell missing the Elk

excuses aside, i willingly charged forward to my own death in the porn industry. wait? what porn industry? this is Australia. there is no fucking porn industry and this is for a site that still isn't online after years of shooting content. 

so what do i care? well, really, i don't. in 48 hours i will on a plane to another country. another hemisphere. woohoo! screw you guys i'm fucking out of here!

i don't need this fucking world!
i don't need this fucking world!!!

whoring tips #5

whoring tips #5

no texting on a job

whoring tips #3

whoring tips #3

tired of hosting incalls where cracked out johns spill a bottle of amyl all over your thousand-thread egyptian cotton sheets? here's a handy home hint. your hello kitty pillow cases are safe once more

whoring tips #7

whoring tips #7

find a market. milk it

continental documentary

damn pleased to know good friend Malcolm Ingram has got the funding needed to continue with the documentary about New York's gay bathhouse The Continental.



if you haven't seen his previous documentaries, you should definitely check out Small Town Gay Bar, because it's awesome

my transsexual summer

one of the best damn shows around. it's hilarious and affectionate. Channel 4 disables imbedding so watch the trailer here

it's aired last year in the UK but is just airing on ABC2 in Australia friday nights 9:30pm. or pirate bay it here

tumblr questions

from howtosucceedinwhoring.tumblr.com 

more pix and weirder stuff there from some other fantastic blogs

a half-arsed disclaimer. 

but if anyone is stupid enough to make the same mistakes i do, it's their own damn fault

*edit - Oct 2012*

wait. no. that's not the only reason.

because the title is a joke. it's how not to succeed in business. how not to make friends and influence people. this blog is about what not to do. 

the (without really trying) is playing on the polarised beliefs people have about sex workers. some think it's grim and nasty and people are forced into the occupation. others think it's an easy occupation for the lazy sons of bitches whocouldn't be bother do little more than laying back with their legs i the air and taking a cock

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) that are a lot of fun to meet up with. i could write about all the successful job that went along just perfectly, but that would be fucking boring for you to read and for me to write. 

which is more interesting to read, the dinner date and sex that went according to plan? or  when roughly playing the dominate daddy for the guy who shat on my floor and i had to quickly switch to the role of the geriatric nurse following behind him with a towel between his legs as he hobbled across the carpet to the bathroom?

i don't about you, but i want to read the non-glamourise embarrassing poop story

so this is my tragic mistakes. every wrong move. every dumb choice every unintentional (and sometimes intentional) fuck up

no doubt people will be horrified by the horrible honesty here. people who discovered they were written about were offended and the posts removed. but i'm far from the hero of all my stories. i am the fool here, forever stumbling through awkward situations finding the humour in the horror

don't do what i do and you might just succeed

best ad ever. period

call:

response:

nothing but Krud

i checked his twitter immediately and there was no sign of this actual post :(

silver screen shower scene

last days of Sydney - final job (better than a 10" dick)

i lay on the cool tiled floor of the laundry, the whirring white noise of the clothes dryer soothing me in to a most relaxed state as if Enya herself mainveined a mouthful of mogadons and lay moaning a chorus of madrigals into my ear. i had vague thoughts about the job i had in a few hours. it was to be my final job before flying to europe. a 3-way with a client and a touring hooker built like a Applecrumble&Fitch model and his 10" dick. the calm was broken when the client sent one more text - the address of the hotel room where we would meet and a small note "you will get an extra tip if you open your ass for both of us"

you what now?

you want me to bottom? for BOTH of you!?! that about 18" inches of cock all up…  all up in my ass! oh, hell no! hell no! 

now don't get me wrong, i love have my fudge packed as much as the next homo and i will tear your goddamned head off if you don't do it right. but i have to WANT it. 

at work, when it's a mechanical performance, i rarely want it. even when the guy is hot as fuck - his pix are all over tumblr so i know he's hot, you know, if you like that tall muscled hairy chested tattooed chiseled features look. it's going to take me a good hour to ease ass-first down on that traffic cone of a cock.

i am the first to admit that i am a terrible bottom.

i know the client gets off on watching my face contort in agony, probably a little more than i get off on knowing he gets off watching my face contort in agony. if that's true, then he will get quite the show tonight

i bolt up off the floor. i panic a little. then i have a beer. then i suck as much of the dregs i can find lurking in the crack pipe  - if anything will loosen me up, that will. then jump on my bike and make my way over. 

i get there early and wait. parked in the same spot of Springfield Avenue where years earlier, as a removalist, i had moved the neighbour of Johnnie Cass from the first season of Big Brother Australia. he was openly gay and demonised as a two-faced villain though he was guilty of nothing more than being a typically insipid personal trainer-cum-lifecoach Eastern Suburbs homosexual. Johnnie seemed to take a shine to the Irish backpacker and I in our skimpy king gee shorts and worn wifebeaters.



everywhere we went he was there, reconstituting out of every shadow, watching us strain and lift and squat chunky heavy wooden furniture all the while proclaiming loudly into his mobile "tell Janice i will be happy to accept that tv presenters role," convincing no one that he was actually on a real phone call. 

are you not receiving as much as you would like? take it from an expert and take it like an expert. no one can show you how to receive quite like a sydney 'mo can

a few moments later the client arrived. we talked a bit and head towards the apartment of the 10" dick when a message came through from his boyfriend saying the 10" was sick and unable to make the appointment. 

for the first time in hours my arsehole relaxed. 

sure i didn't get to fuck the hot guy, but i did earn my hourly rate. plus the other guy's hourly rate as my tip. plus the intended tip as an additional tip.

i received. i received it all

got milk?

o' the laughter of children

Talk Sex - Sue Johanson - rough anal sex

last days of Sydney - rubberman

"i want recreate those shots. i like the dark element of what you did. the idea of threat. having you as a silent danger. not into the domination stuff such as the idea of getting away from the completely normal. the factory stuff reminded me of the Saw / Hostel films which always seem to have a home erotic side to them. 

i sound like a very disturbed individual" 

it was my last day. 

if i was still a child, my last day would be spent in a school classroom. student numbers slowly dwindling down until all that remained was the kids too poor to go away early on summer vacation. aside from their silent smiling pity, the only compensation our teachers could offer was forcibly gathering the left-over children of the underclass into one common room and letting us make cheap lame hand-made christmas decorations to take home to place on our even lamer hand-made christmas trees. that home usually being a house, or for me, for a few years, a trailer

who's that kid at the back of the room

baking under the hot sun in early days of summer we were crammed into little sweatshops. disappointed and angry. even in our tender years we were bitter about what had become of us. yet out of this dire misery, with our fingertips gleefully stained from mixing clag glue and colourful crepe-paper, we crafted symbols of joy and celebration. our denial was a bright and happy occaision

setting those papers on fire...

however, now i am a grown-up in grown-up land, i finally see it inexcusably ludicrous for Australian children to be colouring-in and decorating their homes with Santa Clause, Raindeer and Snowmen in the bright and sunny blistering heights of summer. also in grown-up land, our last days of semester are replaced with our last days in the office. my office is somewhat different. i can walk out of it anytime i want. but somewhere between my solid work ethic and greed makes me overbook myself right to the very end

we never see him with the girls….

this guy wanted an American Horror Story style rubberman rape and manhandling in an abandoned building. the Dunlop Factory was the ideal location but in the middle of the day i was bound to run into security, or worse, friends cruising for cock. 

*****

"hey, fancy seeing you here!" i would hear a voice come from somewhere within this abandoned building, and turn to see an old chum

"G'day!" my voice slighty muffled so i enforce it with a polite wave. a black plastic wrapped hand in the air.

"so whatcha doin'?"

"oh you know," as i point to the naked slave being mouthraped at my feet, "just another day the office."

my friend looks down, "oh yeah, of course. working hard or hardly working, right?" he laughs

"oh, you *giggle*" i shoo him off away. my giggling could barely be heard over the crinkling of plastic as i thrust my cock deep into his gagging throat. "see down the pub for a beer later?"

"wouldn't dream of doing anything else, mate."

that scenario is one to avoid.

******

the other unappealling scene is riding the next few blocks on a motorbike dressed in tight black plastic at 11am. 

i entertained the idea for a while until i tried to wrap myself in plastic. it's not possible to do it yourself

i had to relocate. my old employer. my dear old filthy dark sex club. it was a far better and far sexier idea than leaving the front door of a half-boxed apartment open with a rubber man standing at the far end of it. the client also welcomed a changed of location. 

i turned up to the front cage with nothing but roll of black plastic wrap and a handful of dreams. "Fluffy, i need your help." Fluffy, being the man he is, was more than happy to help. every homo loves to play dress ups and body wrapping incorporates our natural skills of craft and design. much those poor children denied an education and forced to glue strips of paper tinsel in the steaming heat summer, Fluffy could not have asked for a better interruption of his day. christmas came early this year. in boots and a jockstrap with leg cocked up high on the counter and my former employer dancing around my hairy drumsticks like an excited demon child at a satanic maypole, it was the best greeting for customers wondering into a sex club at 11am that morning. they smiled politely and moved on inside making the most of the $5 lunchtime special

we never talk to him

he never looks quite right

all plans and efforts were ruined when the client turned up early. i stressed many times to wait until 11:30am. does an erect penis listen? no. i was up to my tits in wrap when he introduced himself. the illusion of a threatening rubber man was shattered as i tried to ignore him, then regretfully waved back. if only he waited 5 more minutes when my head was wrapped and i stomped into the dark backroom.

it was kind of weird, kind of fun and kind of disappointing to have all that hard work torn to shreds in minutes. but stalking patrons in a maze was damn good fun. even though some knew who i was, they steered clear. they feared the rubber man! as for the client, he loved tearing me open like a christmas present. it was a break from his regular day, his planned career, his growing old and maybe, just maybe, his wife and kids

5c blowjobs

undercut again

last days of Sydney - disorder disorder disorder

texts were flying in from all kinds of people trying to book an appointment. i didn't know the difference between the timid american who wanted my cum all over his face and the straight guy who was picking up the motorbike. i did know one of them was going to turn up at 2pm and it might be impolite to get them confused. 

....

"i've hired a sling room. how big are your fists? can you be there at 9am?"

...ugh...

the nervous little scottsman "but your advert says this much. why is it extra if you piss on me?" 

....grr....

another late night chem job at Moore Park Gardens ...and then another. also in Moore Park Gardens. in the apartment next door

...disorder...

"i want to get fucked for the first time. i want to have a really hot night. what do you suggest?"

i made a few suggestions then "what is it that you want? i don't know your fantasies. ultimately, you need to tell me"

"yeah. i want to be fucked by a group of guys. i want leather. i'm 19, goodlooking and have a 9" cock. i'll be in sydney next weekend and i have $1000. arrange all that for me."

apart the texts that obviously screamed fake, who would i get around to fuck someone even i have not even seen? and if he wanted me to hire other hookers after i pay them there'll be no cash left for me. 

me. me. me.

...disorder...

the chubby little wogboy who needed a massage between meetings. with my large oiled monkey hands i kneaded his shoulders, marvelling at his newly waxed sack and crack i forgot if he wanted me to fuck him or not. his entire body was hairy except for this strip of hairlessness around his arse. like he was wearing boxers of skin. he rolled over and his cock was fucking huge, a beer can could comfortably hide in it's shadow. i had better remember what he wanted soon...

then back to Moore Park Gardens

...disorder...

i missed a party because a trumpeter wanted company and a quiet saturday night in. he was nervous as hell and very happy. i did want to go to the party and accepted the compensation of a late night ride over the Harbour Bridge

then a midnight incall blow job. after 10 minutes or so he seems terribly disinterested in my penis (he seems like the type to call it a 'penis') that he held it away from his face like he pulled it fresh from a pizza that he specifically insisted on 'no anchovies.' then brushing it aside with the back of his hand while he turned his face away. 

what is your fucking problem? i wanted the smack the hipster quiff right off this bitch

he actually had too much to drink so we sat and chatted about how amazing the Erika Badu concert was earlier that night. 

...disorder...

i made hash brownies so damn strong i had to stop watching Puss In Boots because the plot was too complex. yeah really

...disorder...

the nervous tasmanian that had been aching to see me since i missed him in Hobart 4 months earlier. for all his worries and nerves i was still able to prove to him it was worth the wait

then another 3am blowie, straight as all hell and the second he blew his load would not stop talking about how excited he was the see Madonna's tour in 2 months

...disorder...

"i want to buy your footy shorts. i'll give you $20"

"they cost me $40"

"i'll give you $40"

so the only value my filthy sweaty balls add equals the depreciation? fuck off  "i don't think so"

...disorder...

the bi-monthly 3 way i have with another escort and his regular client. 

after i pull my traumatised cock out form the greying dead flesh of his anus, crushed for life between the huge overweight and varicosed thighs that i hoist off buy shoulders, he pats me on my tattooed calf cramped from carrying both our weights and he condescendingly says: "this is nice. but that's enough, eh? no more tattoos."

...disorder...

delivering a gut full of piss while cruising through Surry Hills down Baptist and Crown Streets and their endless speed bumps. by the time i crossed William my water was about to break all over the tank of my motorcycle. luckily my bladder held out until i dragged the fucker to the ground releasing a hot torrent of piss into his mouth while i stared out the bathroom window admiring Brett Whitely's Matchsticks by the Art Gallery of NSW

....

when the force that governs you is gone, everything falls in to anarchy.

of course i should be taking care of myself. i could choose see this downward spiral as danger sign of my co-dependancy on the Elk... or i could cheer the fuck up and appreciate that i have someone i care for. it's a nice reminder that i'm still in love

fuck. did i say love?

i messaged the Elk late at night while he was gumboot deep in misery and that ever present fine mist of rain Ireland suffers all year round. "are you sure you still want me to come?"

"yes"

"this is your last chance to back out now. i won't be angry. better to say so now..."

"just fucking get here already!"