Memoirs of a Man Whore
Author: Daniel Di Angelis
Date: 2019-08-04 04:00:00+00:00

This is the story of my life working as a professional gay man whore. I wrote this book simply to share some of my most unusual  situations in order to entertain others while telling a true story about the weird world of sex work that I have experienced over the last five years. Two whores are never the same so I cannot speak for any other whore than myself. I am simply writing this for entertainment purposes, and for all the weird shit you are about to read, it is all true so take it or leave it. Maybe it is what you would expect but more than likely it is not. If anything I hope you enjoy some of the strange stories I have included about the kind of sex work I have engaged in as a male prostitute.

Being a hooker is sort of like playing roulette. I never know who is going to walk through the door when I meet a new client. He could be young, old, white, black, asian, latin the variations are endless. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised, other times I am not so excited. And then there are times when I have to remind myself, that I am a whore and have to do what I have to do. I have had men of all shapes, sizes, ages, and ethnicities receive my services.

I always try to give the best experience possible to my clients regardless of who they are. I share my authentic self for an allotted amount of time and embody their most personal sensual and sexual desires and fantasies.

Not all whores are treated equally, the world of prostitution is a vastly broad experience. For some being a whore is a total nightmare. Eileen Wournos obviously had more than just a  bumpy ride as a whore, so her story is much different than mine. I am very thankful that I have yet to resort to murdering any one of my clients. I am sure being a female whore is an entirely different ball game altogether since it appears that many women get exploited or abused in such a role.  I have never been disrespected or mistreated the entire time I have been working as a

whore, and I do not tolerate any kind of rudeness or abuse from anyone. If anything I am respected and worshipped on a pedestal by my clients, and I have yet to endure any type of bad experience as a gay male prostitute, or whore as I lovingly call it.

I used the word whore frequently as a word to describe what I do, and it is a label that I take on with pride. Hooker, escort, prostitute, sacred intimate, whatever label anyone chooses for themselves in such a role is fine, I just prefer the word whore. It does not have a negative connotation in my world, nor does it in this book. I will use the word whore throughout my stories, and I use it in a positive way because whores are fucking awesome people who should be respected. People usually have preconceived notions about whores and what they do but there is no cut and dry way of being a whore. We all create our own realities and I am thankful that I have been able to have  fun, strange, sometimes crazy experiences working as a freelanced whore .

There are many who have a negative opinion about whores in general and that is fine. Some believe we are all derelicts and dregs of society and that is ok with me. This book might even cement those negative opinions, honestly. I write simply to inform and entertain without trying to  change anyone’s beliefs or opinions about whores in general. I merely hope to entertain, excite, and enthrall a small handful of readers as I relive some of my most notable memories  I  have experienced as a gay male whore. These are my own personal stories that I share gleefully for the joy of it. I might provide some thoughtful insight peppered between laughs and bouts of disgust throughout my strange, completely real, first hand accounts of my experience as a whore.  My stories may entertain or horrify you, or maybe a bit of both. Some of them may be sexually arousing or appalling. It is all about personal perspective. Again, I am just sharing some of my personal times and moments in a career of whoredom to entertain you my dear reader, and I hope that  you enjoy.

Chapter 1: Training in Washington D.C.

So there I was, at 25 years old standing in the middle of a huge mess. I had no college degree, and a criminal background thanks to my own misguided youth. As a result my career choices were very limited. I had to work retail most of my early working years and I hated it.  At 25 I had just lost my job at a food assembly line for a local grocery chain in Portland Oregon. It could not have come at a worse time since my mentally ill roommate had abandoned the house that we rented together the very same day. Somehow he was successful in his manipulative powers to convince  our landlord to release his name from the lease we shared. I was all alone in a three bedroom house with only a couple of weeks to figure next month’s rent,  and I was not going to be out on the streets. I had to think fast and outside of the box if I was going to survive the situation and with no aid or resources at my disposal. Finding a job that would pay more than minimum wage that didn’t do a background check would be next to impossible. I knew I had to resort to some kind of freelanced way to make large amounts of cash as quickly as humanly possible.

At the time there was once a website called rentboy.com which was once an online fixture within the digital gay world. I had heard of the site in passing, and seen banners for it constantly plastered across porn websites and hookup apps,  but I had yet to think seriously about utilizing the platform until that moment.  Shaken and desperate as I was, I knew I at least had a fighting chance, being a decently attractive male at the age of 25. I stand tall at 6 feet, blue eyes and light brown hair. My package doesn’t reach my knees but I knew I had nice enough equipment, a decent body, handsome features, and a strong will to contend with the other guys that were listed on the website. I literally had nothing else  to lose so I decided to pay the 100 dollars to post an ad on the website and give it a go.

Armed with a cheap digital camera and some ingenuity, I took my own photos both nude and clothed. I tried to capture all of my best aspects of my body and face for the visual part of advertising myself online. I knew nothing about escorting and had nobody to guide me so I had to figure everything out on my own one step at a time through raw experience. Things started off slowly and I needed help figuring out logistics. I didn’t have any mentors or friends that were willing to show me the ropes so I looked to the internet to do my own research since I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

After selecting the best amateur selfie photos and the membership fees were paid, my ad went live. At first I received almost no calls or emails which was discouraging. I knew that that I had to be patient but there was an inevitable sense of urgency calling me to action. I needed to figure out how to drum up prospective clientele interest. After tireless internet researching, it was on the actual Rentboy website that I discovered the most vital information on self promotion as a male escort. After viewing dozens of articles and postings on the main page of the website, I found a bulletin board section and perused the multiple posts of the webmaster.

One of the most recent updates included an offer to complete an actual in-person class titled the “Whore 101 class.” It was an exclusive single day class with a 300 dollar fee of tuition featured in one of the bulletin posts. The instructor teaching the 8 hour long class was  a man referred to simply as “Legendary Jim.” There was a flippant claim “that anyone who attended and completed the course would become educated on the most basic fundamental practices and necessary essential knowledge required for any whore that aspired success.”

Naturally my curiosity led me to click on the link to Jim’s personal website which was quite impressive to say the least. It was obvious simply by the design and content of the website that Jim was a well established and highly successful escort. The site collectively portrayed the image of an interesting well cultured professional man highly experienced in providing sensual and sexual satisfaction. His online persona curated him as a mysterious figure, with a certain mystique and elusiveness that felt organic and daring. He created an online persona that naturally evoked interest to know more about him with an ethereal and elusive air. He was very clever by carefully divulging  some snippets of intimate information about himself yet still remaining mysterious enough to appeal to intrigue. He marketed himself openly without revealing much of his own personal information. There was also a colorful blog section which included sexual scenario suggestions with ideas and personal tales of sexual fancy to excite the mind of the viewer.

His photography was done professionally which portrayed him as sexy and sophisticated, without anyone one of the photos revealing his face. Each picture had him conveniently posed in ways that hid his face, yet most of the pictures revealed everything else about his body. At first I thought that hiding his face was sketchy but his travel blog entries sounded legitimate.  His upcoming world tour included future dates and a map peppered with small red dots of the various places he was going to be traveling to throughout the year. He was going to be on 4 of the 7 continents all within the year and that was enough to convince me that he was the real thing. I was also sold on the Whore 101 class completely.

The initial onset of excitement and inspiration felt almost delusional. There was a mixed sense of urgency and possibility burning within me. I needed to take this man’s class, and my decision was final. What better way to learn how to be a hooker than taking a class taught by an upper echelon globe trotting whore? Eager to learn more I went back to the advertisement for the class on rentboy where my enthusiasm reached a screeching halt. I was too excited to  read the details of the fine print before.  The class was to be offered only once, and it was being held in person in Washington D.C.

My initial discouragement didn’t stop me entirely. For whatever reason there was still a sense of determination that compelled me to write an email to Legendary Jim. I was seriously eager to take the class but being stuck in Portland Oregon without any means to travel was the real roadblock in my way. I wrote to him simply curious if there were to be any planned future incarnations of the whore 101 class.

It took a while to ponder the perfect email subject line that would grab Jim’s attention from the myriad of emails that he probably received on a regular basis. My email read:

Subject: What makes you so Legendary?

Body: Hi Mr. Legendary Jim, my name is Daniel Di Angelis and I was just curious if you
were going to do to more than one session of the Whore 101 class since I am all the
way in Portland Oregon and cannot make it to the one scheduled in Washington DC.

Thank you

503-885-4315

___________________________

I also included a few naked pictures of myself as attachments. And with a sigh of slight frustration I hit send, and then forgot all about Jim and my crazy dreams about attending his class.  After a  couple of weeks came to pass my heart had already given up hope when I received a mysterious phone call from an unidentified number one lazy Wednesday afternoon. The number that was illuminating on the screen of the phone said Washington DC beneath the display of the caller id.  Suddenly the memory of the email flooded my mind as I scrambled to answer the call.

“Hello?” There was a long uncomfortable pause before a very deep and gruff voice came through into the phone receiver with sharp clarity. “Hi there I am calling for Mr. Di Angelis please.” “This is him.” I tried not to sound too excited. “I am actually in the middle of a session checking my emails and I liked what I saw.” His voice sounded like that of the Big Bad Wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “Allow me to explain that at this very moment I am using this certain shit eating fuck pig as a chair, since he is a complete useless waste of flesh otherwise. I am literally using him as my couch while we speak.” He cleared his throat before spitting loudly followed by a pitiful groan in the background. “I saw the pictures you sent me, you are a hot piece of ass boy. Very sexy. I want to fuck you deep and hard. Are you in any way interested in traveling here to DC for a private one on one version of the Whore 101 with me?   This would also be a training session with me where you would watch and assist me in action. The fuck pig  I am currently using as furniture, is willing to buy you a round trip plane ticket and pay you $4,000 for the training session. I would need 500 bucks of that from you, for tuition fees, and you can stay with me for free at my place over the weekend. Brian is a long standing piece of shit that I will use like a dummy to teach you some skills on. He will be the stage prop. He would love for you to practice abusing him too, the sick fuck. I would get a kick out of it too. How does that sound boy?” His low-pitched sultry growl of a voice intimidated me a little.

“That would be amazing.” I didn’t know if I believed him or not. There was a sound of something slapping bare flesh, followed by faint moans of pain that faded into the static. “ I’m gonna wanna fuck you a whole bunch while you are here, are you cool with that boy?” “Of course!” I replied enthusiastically feeling the rush of eagerness for the unusual and unexpected opportunity. “Oh and what is your shoe size?” “Eleven” I replied.

“Ok boy so the dates have been chosen, so mark your calendar once you get the itinerary and you will receive an email with your plane ticket information and travel details. I look forward to meeting you boy so don’t fuck it up.” He hung up. Before allowing the  overflowing rush of excitement to happen, there was still some haunting doubts and a bit of   disbelief that Jim’s offer was really going to manifest.

Then then the Ping sound of a new email came through. It was Jim asking for my personal information in order for the flight to be booked. Still skeptical but with good faith,  I gave him all of my personal information and hit send. Another twenty minutes went by before another response came through from Jim. Sure enough, the plane tickets were purchased and attached with my full name.  It was officially going to happen.  I did a victory dance around the room in dizzying circles like a teenage girl that was just asked to Prom. I never thought that I would ever embark on a journey to the Nation’s Capital to learn how to be a professional man whore! I packed my bags almost a week too early. I was so happy for the opportunity, and this was such huge a deal to me. It was all so unreal and unexpected it was hard to believe that it was actually happening.

Finally the day of travel came and my flight carried me off into the Eastward skies. I arrived at the airport in DC at the beginning of a beautiful springtime sunset. After exiting the airport terminal, I walked along the sidewalk to enjoy a breath of the fresh East coast air,  before lighting my patiently awaited cigarette. I took a long slow drag on my cig, watching the red hot tip glow brightly on fire, feeling the intensity of the heat generating from the burning cherry. I let the the smoke drift from within me like a censer.  I felt my anxiety fade to calm as the rolling smoke disappeared into the atmosphere as I exhaled clouds from my mouth and nostrils like a japanese dragon.

My vision shifted into focus as I calmly watched the congested weave of airport traffic ebb and flow in through the airport parking zone. Like long brightly lit neon veins of white and red, the vast sea of cars were moving erratically  out of sync with each other, guided by boundaries of painted white lines on cold concrete. It seemed to have little positive influence on the traffic as it lurched slowly forward. Headlights darting, and angry horns honking with choruses of chattering voices echoed angrily off the pavement pillars of the airport complex in a metropolitan symphony of fast paced life.

I had texted Jim the moment I landed, but how would I know which car was Jim’s? How would he differentiate from the mass of cars that were aggressively pumping forward through the the congested bottle necked driveway of the airport pick up area? Other than his fully naked body, I had no clue what he looked like.

A few more moments passed by as the crowd of metal boxes continued to roll past me. After verifying the time  I started visually scanning the faceless crowd.  Nervous anticipation made the time pass much slower,  standing curbside patiently awaiting Jim. I knew which car was his the moment he arrived.  His convertible sports car was a clear and bright contrast to an ocean of bland neutral metallic car paint. He shifted through multiple lanes weaving  effortlessly between frustrated mini vans and bland colored sedans. He traversed the angered crowd of auto congestion shifting lanes darting through the painted lines. The roar of the powerful engine coupled with the thudding bass of his subwoofer was growing louder as he got closer, syncing up with my excited heartbeat.

He pulled up to the curb in a screeching rubber halt which echoed loudly from the friction on the pavement. I tossed my bag in the back seat and hopped over the door into the passenger seat. I greeted Jim with a tight hug before backing away to see his eyes for the first time. He was much sexier than I had envisioned him to be.  He was about 35 or so , with tan skin, a muscular build, and a commanding aura about him. His wavy brown hair complemented piercing green eyes that saw right through me and into my soul. For a brief moment we remained locked in each other’s stare, temporarily oblivious to the chaotic traffic jam that continued angrily moving around us. “You ready?” he asked grinningly. I nodded smiling back  and felt the powerful engine purr as we went from 0 to 60 in a matter of seconds.

As we glided down the road and onto the freeway I took one last look at the sunset as the wind rushed through my hair. I felt so free flying down the road with Jim. My body became increasingly heavy as the gravitational force of inertia pressed me deeper into the bucket seat. The warm sunset had began its transition into a night that was giving way to a beautiful star kissed sky.

As we sped through the city Jim casually announced various points of interest along the way to his place. We passed the Smithsonian, The Lincoln memorial, and various other capitol buildings and hotels. The spot lighting effect on the Government buildings created a sense of towering grandeur as they stood shining in bright white light against the backdrop of a dark night. The giant obelisk that stood tallest of all the buildings, the Washington monument, was a beautiful and powerful sight to see.  Just like a big rigid cock. And then of course the most recognizable landmark, the WhiteHouse. “I live right in the middle of Dupont Circle.” The way in which he announced it clearly indicated importance, yet I shrugged completely ignorant of the prominence of the neighborhood he lived in.

Dupont circle was pristine. The buildings were old yet well kept and this was obvious even at night.  Tall row homes of brick that were tightly fitted to one another stood side by side, aligning like links of a towering chain.  There was no trash or evidence of pollution anywhere, It was sort of eerily peaceful.  We began slowing down as Jim turned down one of side streets only about a mile from the White House. Another turn and then we came to a stop at Jim’s large grey painted row home. “Why don’t you get out of the car and wait for me in front  while I park the car in the back alley.” I nodded and hopped out of the car, walking up the steps and waiting patiently  at the top of the stoop.

Jim suddenly darted from around the corner of the building and ran up the steps to unlock the door. We entered into a beautiful foiler that was bathed  in bright white light that reflected elegant white marble floors. There was a beautiful crystal chandelier that sparkled and gleamed decadently overhead as we walked upstairs to the next level. I followed him through another white door emerging into a low lit living room which was calm and peaceful.  The vaulted ceiling stood high against warm tan colored walls that stretched to  brilliant white crown molding that encased the perimeter of the ceiling. The overhead gallery lighting created an ambience that felt like I was standing in a darkened art gallery. The dimmable spot light effect was easy on the eyes which helped me unwind and finally relax.
I sat down on the brown leather couch and took a deep breath to collect my thoughts  as I stretched my limbs outward, sinking even further back into the fleshy cushions. “What can I get you to drink?” Jim asked. It was about dammed time for one. “Vodka soda would be great” I called across the room watching Jim prepare two glasses of ice at the large bar. It lit  up in a bright purple glow that illuminated from the edges and faded into an electric blue.

“Welcome to my fuck pen” Jim said with a devilish grin before he pawed through a collection of glass bottles on the highest shelf of the bar. I looked around the whole room  as  he poured the alcohol over crackling ice cubes. He walked over to me with our drinks on a black metal tray that he placed onto the glass table in front of me. It was the strangest and most amazing coffee table I had ever seen in my life.  “Thank you.” I was completely mesmerized by his artistic coffee table.

It was a large clear glass slab supported by a heavy metal sculpture in the likeness of a human male.   The metal man was made entirely of spider web-like metal wire that stretched over itself layer after layer creating the shape of a naked man. It was hauntingly lifelike. It felt as though there really was a man laying on his back being forced to use the bottoms of his forearms and his knees to support the table top for us. A human supported table which was totally creepy and weird. The wire man sort of reminded me of the famous David Statue. “This is the coolest coffee table I have ever seen in my life.” Jim chuckled as he took another swig from his glass.

“So what do you mean this is your fuck pen?” I asked as I downed the last of my drink, sucking on a piece of ice.  I sat the glass back down onto the tray. “I don’t even live here, this is just where I go to meet clients, or when I feel the need to isolate myself and disappear. It’s my private hideaway.”

I was just starting to feel buzzed enough from the vodka to casually get up and grab another drink for myself without feeling awkward or stiff in my movements. I grabbed more ice from the refrigerator and poured a stiffer drink the second time around.

We started off shallow in lighthearted conversation to get to know one another on some basic level. We shared similar tastes in music, so it was easy to take turns playing youtube DJ on Jim’s laptop. It didn’t take long before we were both downing more drinks and getting quite drunk, laughing like old friends. Our inhibitions were slowly disappearing.

Once Jim had gotten less inhibited, he exposed his unabashed capacity for asking direct and sometimes scathing personal questions. “When was the first time you got fucked?” “How long have you been escorting?” “What turns you on?” “What do you fear the most?”  “What was your upbringing like?” He asked me about my mother, my father, siblings, all the basic stuff a psychologist usually asks when they are establishing a relationship with a new patient.  I can be pretty narcissistic so it was easy to indulge him since I have always loved being interviewed, and love being given a chance to talk about myself.

After a while I was finally drunk enough to flip the script on Jim  and ask him about my private version of the Whore 101 class. “So about this class,” I started as I sat my empty glass down on the table. Jim slid closer to me on the couch, removing the space between us, staring deeply into my eyes. “Tomorrow we can worry about all of that, but first I need to test your skillset to see where you fall on the learning curve, so to speak.” I smiled, “Oh you mean like an aptitude test?” I totally knew what he was doing. “Well yes, aptitude, attitude, capacity, and capability. I need to know for myself as your teacher what you can do. I have to experience what you think makes you a potentially amazing whore, because not everyone is meant to be a whore.”

I suddenly turned my attention to his crotch. I had periodically scoped his large bulge throughout the  whole evening. It didn’t take much longer before it was steadily swelling larger in size once he noticed my downward stare.  I could tell that he was huge before going out on a limb to make the first move. I slid my hand over his pant leg to feel the bloated shaft of meat that was  concealed beneath thick denim. The rigidity of his constrained penis  made me salivate. I leaned in and kissed him slowly, feeling the length of his shaft, trying to find the big swollen mushroom head that seemed so much closer to his knee than I realized.

We let go of politeness and self-composure as our animal instincts were quickly taking the wheel of control. Temperature rising between the two of us in an arid mist of hot and heavy air as we kissed and groped each other. Our bodies mingling together furiously, we lifted our shirts up and over our heads and tossed them onto the floor. We kissed sloppily and wetly, the intensity growing as passions were unfolding. We unfastened our belts and ripped each others pants off,  casting them to the ground. “Bedroom” was all he needed to utter before we stumbled excitedly over our pile of clothes and down the hall, to the fuck chamber. I sat down on the edge of his bed as he stood before me with his crotch in my face. There was a large wet stain forming on the front of his silk underwear where the bulge of his mushroom tip was drooling. I was eager to taste his precum. I yanked down his briefs freeing his  dick from its  constricting cotton prison. His beautiful cock bounced out stiffer than wood. It was like a spring loaded swollen banana on steroids. I jumped in throating it perfectly all the way down to the hilt until my lips  tickled his ball sack. “Fuck yeah boy, down that dick!”   I bobbed slowly up and down on his engorged penis flawlessly swallowing it down entirely without gagging, proudly showcasing just one of my many sexual skills.

With my mouth full of cock, I moved my body carefully into the classic all 4’s position, arching my back as he reached down and massaged both of my muscular ass cheeks like two sour dough rounds. He shook them with both hands, making them bounce. With an open hand he delivered a stinging smack on my right ass cheek forcing his meat pole further down my throat.  I was forced to breath from my nose since my throat airway was obstructed with hard cock. I started to drooling out of the corner of my mouth as hot tears were welling in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. He slowly started fingering my asshole while I lowered my weight down through my chest, still holding my plump ass in the air. I used my right hand to spread my ass apart, visually displaying my hungry hole for Jim. He leaned over me and stuck his face into my ass , and began making out with my asshole. I loved the fact that he rimmed ass even more aggressively than he kissed.

He lifted his chest upward again,  towering over me as I laid down on my stomach. He grabbed me by the neck and lifted my reddened wet face to meet his devilish grin, and looked me deeply in the eyes. “You are mine boy.” He growled.  “Turn around on all fours so I can fuck you like the dog that you are.”  Obeying his orders without hesitation I turned away and got into position. He came up from behind shoving my face down  into the pillow, arching my back in compliant response. I  let out a muffled yelp into the pillow as he backed up and dove face first into my ass again. His scruffy unshaved face and goatee tickled with just enough scratch to send tingles up and down my spine.  He munched on my hole even deeper, circulating the rim of my pink hole with his extended tongue until it was halfway inside of me. Our synergetic chemistry was reaching the boiling point.   The only way to relieve the burning anger of his throbbing cock would be to plunge deep and hard into my warm welcoming asshole.  He slowly drooled a fat glob of saliva onto his glistening dick before he slowly yet forcefully entered me.  He got the large mushroom head inside after some finesse,  and paused momentarily before he continued to push forth. He slid  another couple inches further inside of me, slowing down to feel the walls of my tight second sphincter give up all resistance until finally, he stretched open my second hole, burying himself completely inside of me. He flexed his boner, stretching me even more as his balls clacked and slapped against mine. The impact sent a  powerful sensation of sheer pleasure up my spine, vibrating through my gut and into my stomach. I bit the pillow hard,  and relaxed my hole as much as I could to accommodate the monster that was  stretching me wide open.  The intensity was almost too much to endure, but I held on and cried into the pillow.  He was so far inside of me. He flexed his cock several more times. Each pulsation made it grow bigger like a balloon.  Every time he flexed, it forced me to open wider and wider. There was a false sense of relief  once he began pulling out, slowly stopping at the mushroom tip. He paused for a second before plunging  it back in into the depths of my bowels. In and out as I sobbed like a bitch from the rhythmic pounding. He pulled out entirely periodically and I could feel the void he had created inside of me, gaping wide.  He slid back inside with considerably ease, fucking me faster and faster until I almost ejaculated without even touching my dick. I felt like I was going to be split In two. I was almost about to tell him to stop since I was getting sore when suddenly he belted out a loud growling baritone, “UGGHGHHHHHHHHH” that shook the walls of the house. Thank god.  I grabbed my cock and immediately joined in, “IIIIIIIAAAAAAOOOOOO,” my visceral shout started as his was still tapering off, shooting my load all over the sheets beneath me as I grunted and squealed like a fucking pig into the wet pillow. My anus convulsed, twitching  and clamping down at the exact moment that Jim was about to erupt in a violent orgasm. He scrunched his face and I smiled at the ridiculous facial expressions he made  while he coated my internal organs with huge ropes of hot cum that splattered all over my inner rectal walls. Out circulatory systems seem to synchronize. I clenched my hole around him in order to milk every last drop of his sweet semen. Lost in a dizzying act of wild hedonistic pleasure, intoxicated by his bodily fluids that were all over and inside of me.

Muscles relaxed as we naturally embraced one another, enjoying a shared maudlin minute.  Post coital cuddling has always disgusted me but some guys have been able to make me say completely otherwise and Jim was one of them.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Jim sat up and positioned himself over me, slowly kissing my shoulders moving up my neck, kissing the back of my head.

Suddenly my moment of calm changed as things suddenly started to get weird. He continued kissing up and down the length of my neck, slowly introducing nibbles that included his teeth. He bit down harder as he moved up my neck and closer to my throat and chin. He slid up much closer to my jugular before sinking his teeth deeper into my flesh. “Ok maybe he is just giving me a hickey” I thought before allowing myself to feel completely alarmed. He bit down even harder onto my neck before I could feel him clenching his teeth, locking my skin in a gripping bite. Suddenly the playful sting began hurting more and more.

My heart started jumping as fear finally began setting in, adrenaline about to take complete control over me. His bite was now hard enough to leave marks, and it felt like he was close to drawing blood. I made a sound that clearly indicated pain, but he covered my mouth with his hand as he held his teeth clenched onto my skin. This was way past the time to set a boundary, but I didn’t know what to do. It would have been weird to set a boundary after he already impregnated me with his seed, also the fact that he had pinned beneath his large naked frame. Finally he relented his jaw grip enough to pull away from him. I was bewildered and dizzy as the rush of the blood in my jugular flowed free again.  He leaned forward pressing his weight against my back one more time and with his mouth to my ear whispered “I have a cannibalism fetish.”

I didn’t know what to think. Disbelief, fear, confusion all danced  together within the chaos of my headspace. The terror to think of what horror this guy could be capable of doing to my body was terrifying.  Was he kidding?  Holy fuck is this the way it ends? The idea was so eerie I couldn’t even move. Suddenly my heart was pumping faster, my blood filling with adrenaline as he continued gnawing on the back of my head. My body hair was standing on end  as he chewed his way up the orbital bone until he was masticating my scalp from above me like a hungry dog chewing on an old chicken bone.  Oh my god, Jeffrey Dahmer’s hot little brother is going to make me a human sacrifice. Oh why didn’t I listen to my mother all those years ago about stranger danger?  My head started spinning from the alcohol that was metabolizing within my gut, feeling the adrenaline pushing its way through my veins. It was coming, fight or flight? Fight or flight?

Without another moments time to physically react, he wrapped his meaty arm around my throat, locking me in a sleeper hold from behind. Tighter and tighter he squeezed his muscular arm around my neck. Trying to wriggle free proved useless, he had me pinned beneath his weight immobilized, too drunk to escape the stranglehold that Jim had over me.  Struggling against him only forced his grip tighter on my throat. My face turned blue as my head started to spin even faster. My extremities began losing sensation, becoming completely numb from the rapid loss of oxygen.  Surrendering all resistance my whole body went completely limp  as I accepted my fate. Asphyxia was setting in as everything started to fade, as reality became a hazy blur before falling backwards into the black murky nothingness of unconsciousness.

Like a fire alarm going off I woke up in panic. In a quickening jolt, I jumped up in a violent gasp for air grabbing at my throat and thrashing my limbs. I awoke in a state of terror entangled in sheets completely alone. I took several deep breaths as my waking mind slowly  regained consciousness again. A split second of confusion about where I was turned even worse when I remembered what had happened the night before. I was thousands of miles away from home in a stranger’s bed.

“Oh yeah” The memory wasn’t so terrifying since no damage had been done and all of my body parts were still intact. Entangled in the dirty sex stained sheets of Jim’s California king bed, the rush of a mood so violently happy took control, simply glad to still have my life and my body. Don’t you just love those mornings where you awaken thrilled that you are still alive? I know I do, and this was one of them.

There was a confusing cocktail of emotions swirling in my heart and head piecing together the memories of the night prior. The memory held at its base an element of creepy, with a scoop of terror and a sprinkle of trauma, topped with a cherry of eroticism.  It was equally unnerving as it was erotic for me to acknowledge the strange sexual arousal arising that haunted my psyche, mentally mulling over my analysis about my first night with Jim.

It was not necessarily fear that sexually drove me, I think it was the fact that he dominated me completely and nobody had ever done that to me before. Or maybe it was the fear factor? Or both. Hard to say for certain because either way I usually hate the idea of relenting control but this was the first time anyone had ever forced himself onto me. Not knowing how to feel about it, it took me a long time before coming to grips with any sort of cognitive realization. Sometimes it is fun to play the role of giving up control, that is the ultimate trust exercise. Simple as that.

The front door suddenly slammed shut and the the bedroom door creaked open. In walked a completely different Jim than yesterday. This was not the same beast who ravaged me only hours ago. It was a shyly innocent and smiley Jim again, greeting me sweetly with coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Sweet. I shook my thoughts off about the whole thing.

“What do you hope to accomplish for the day?” he asked. “Umm…let me think.” I was still processing the personality shift of Dave but I let it go. We were scheduled to meet our client at 9 pm so we had the whole day available to do whatever we pleased. “Well I really wanted to get my picture in front of the White house, and hopefully see the monument up close too. Lincoln memorial maybe?” “Ok, thats it?  Well if that’s what you want to do, lets make it happen!” He darted off into the next room and started the shower. I followed him back into the bathroom that was decorated in mosaic tile work that refracted different shades of blue and green. The hot steam pouring from the shower was welcoming, stimulating my skin as it slowly filled the room. I opened the glass shower door to join Jim. He turned around and embraced me under the cascading water as we showered together giggling like teenage boys, taking turns slapping each other’s asses and cracking corny jokes about soap being dropped. “Everything you want to see is within walking distance, so this probably wont take up much of our time. If you want to see more, or something inspires you just let me know.” I like the kinder Jim better maybe? I jumped out of the shower and dried myself off,  staring at the teal sea colored tiles that covered the far bathroom wall. We both got dressed and left his house, stopping by a local cafe along the way.

The sun was shining bright as we strolled relaxedly to the giant obelisk. The Washington Monument was the most impressive sight on my brief tourist itinerary. The next item on the list was quite disappointing however.

The reflecting pool always looked so magical on television, gleaming with greatness and pride on those political themed shows. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. It was a dull and dry. It was literally dried up, bearing absolutely no water, just cracked lengths of dried out grey cement troughs. It looked abandoned, like old aqueducts that were long since forgotten and left to the elements to rot and decay. It looked like shit.  And what a fucked up sight it was. It was time to move on.

The white house was off limits, so that was totally out of the question. I could feel Jim’s boredom growing as my frustration slowly took hold of me. Jim remained silent the whole time we were out and about until that moment. “Let’s just hail a cab back to my place I don’t feel like walking.”

There was a sudden shift of energy between us, that was clearly uncomfortable. The tension was growing but I could not figure out why. I remained quiet as Dave waved down a yellow taxi cab that pulled up to  the side of the street. We climbed into the taxi quietly, “2345 Gettysburg please” Jim sounded annoyed.  The driver nodded as the yellow cab whisked us away and rolled swiftly down the street, darting through the traffic on the spiral roundabout towards the street which led back to Jim’s place. We arrived with a sudden halt and sound of squealing break shoes that clearly needed to be replaced. “6 dollars” the taxi driver demanded in a guttural voice. Jim reached for his wallet so I exited the cab.  There was a shared pensive mood  growing between us that was unmistakably unpleasant by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs. Jim finally exited the cab and led the way up the stoop to unlock the front door of his house.

We went upstairs and I grabbed my laptop off the desk before retreating to his bedroom and plopped down on his bed. Moments later Jim slowly entered the room breaking the calm, “You didn’t offer to pay for half of the taxi cab.” His tone was cold. I  was annoyed that he sounded upset about something that seemed so trivial to me. I Thoughtlessly snapped back at him, “You mean three dollars. I will give you the whole six dollars if it’s that big of a deal to you, fuck.” Rolling over onto my stomach I reached my right butt cheek pocket to retrieve my wallet.

Suddenly there was a shocking sensation of cold steel that enclosed around both of my wrists. What the fuck. Jim had me captive in his bed for the second time. He was a quick son of a bitch. Click Click went the sound of cold metal around both of my ankles. This time I blamed myself for not foreseeing what was happening. I should not have been rude to him. The only sound in my head was my inner voice saying  “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this” perpetuating itself like a broken record. There was no choice in this situation.

It was strange and even unthinkable to realize that I had  travelled all the way to the  capital of the Land of the Free to experience being forced against my will as a prisoner in Jim’s bed yet again, this time in shackles. The tears started to well in my eyes before Jim barked “Shut the fuck up and quit your crying, or I will give you a reason to cry you fucking faggot.”  He moved in around to stand in front of me brandishing a shining pair of shears in my face. He looked down and cut my pants off at the side seams starting at the waist, and threw them on the ground. Then he cut the shirt from my back, adding it to the pile of ruined clothing.  He moved behind me again leaving me unable to see what he was going to do next.

He paused for several minutes while my imagination ran wild with terrifying possibilities of what would he do to me this time. It was as if there was a pound of lead within my stomach as I quickly succumbed in dread of the situation.  Nobody had ever restrained me before and this certainly was not consensual in any sense of the word. There were heavy metal sounds clacking around behind me as more cold metal shocked my flesh as he restrained me further. He attached a heavy thick metal ring around my cock and balls which clamped shut with a key.

The cold heavy cock ring that closed around my penis and scrotum pulled with the gravitational forces of the Earth. It was like some sort of medieval torture device. That part was not so bad, in fact it was kind of nice.  Still unable to see what he was doing behind me Jim still had more metal devices to use on me. Suddenly Jim gripped the steel cock ring that enclosed around both my cock and balls slowly pulling my package backwards, stretching my dick and balls back between my legs. He continued pulling my genitals until they reached the bottom of my meaty ass cheeks. He pulled even more, stretching my dick head further until my penis could have touched my quivering asshole. He held it there in place, his grip unrelenting and immovable. Anxiety continued to build as my heart thudded against the mattress.

Then he picked up a long flute looking heavy steel bar with four metal fasteners that slid between both of my  legs resting on the inner flesh behind my knees where they bent. He connected the cock ring to the middle of the bar, and fastened my cuffed hands behind my back attaching them to the other two hooks on the bar. It was like being hog tied on my stomach with my cock and balls bound to the spreader bar as I lay face down with my limbs fastened behind me in a triangular position. It was so very degrading. I could not open my mouth to protest what he was doing to me, since he also shoved a gag ball in my mouth with leather straps that he fastened behind my head.

I was unwillingly subjugated by Jim yet again. This time there was no room for me to struggle. He had demonstrated complete control over my body, binding me to his bed in cold steel,  saying without words that he owned me. My unsuspecting nature and flippant remarks were my downfall. His stealthy quickness coupled with brute force had overpowered me, binding me against my will even further than the night before.

He reached beneath his bed to retrieve a metal toolbox and pulled out two metal nipple clamps that were attached to a long chain. He carefully clamped one on my left nipple making me jump like a puppy in a quickened yelp. My nipples are super sensitive and the clamps hurt! “Shut up” he said in a calming voice before gazing into my eyes as he attached the second clamp to my right nipple. The weight of the chain pulled at both of the clamps. My nipples were on fire after several long minutes of resistance. Eventually my body gave up on the struggle and started to relax. Jim had broken me down to a point of complete non resistance. Suddenly there was a 180 degree shift in my demeanor. My inner coping mechanism suddenly shifted my anxiety into willful acceptance. I became his sex zombie, totally compliant and submissive at the hands of none other than the Legendary Jim.

He stood up straight and paced around the bed in circles around me admiring his successful domination over me for the second time within 24 hours. “Do you know why I am doing this to you?’ he asked in his cold wolflike voice.  I looked up at him without reaction, and he slapped me across the face. It stung. I sort of enjoyed it. He Slapped me again harder the second time, and suddenly out of fear I was bowing and nodding my head in agreement even though I still didn’t understand what his motivation was. He moved his hands down my back and started spanking my ass cheeks. Slapping with just the right amount of snap to leave my skin burning red and hot. He slapped the same spot repeatedly until my ass burned hot.  My muscular ass cheeks burned as if  they were set ablaze, yet I must admit that the pain was enjoyable in way that defies words.

He slowly started to pull on the metal bar that was holding my legs and balls together. My cock and balls continued to pull backwards into my ass crack making me yelp out loud in pain hoping that he would stop. He didn’t. He just kept pulling further. I started to become fearful the more he pulled because he was way past what I believed I was able to withstand. He suddenly stopped and let go. Temporary relief.

He walked around positioning himself in front me. He bent down and grabbed my chin tilting my head upward to meet his cold gaze and quietly murmured, “The only way you will survive this will be going through it, not around it. Accept your punishment boy,” I nodded in compliance. I had to trust him.

I  was being punished over three fucking dollars. That still didn’t matter since I  had no control. (I might add that Jim was Jewish, and one thing you never do is fuck with a jew’s cash flow, regardless of the amount.) He moved slowly behind me again, and positioned himself between my legs while lifting the spreader bar like a weightlifter bringing a barbell up to his chest, forcing me further into the mattress, almost suffocating me with the pressure. He drooled  a  long string of saliva  directly onto my pink shivering asshole.

Then came the slow persistent pressure of his fat mushroom head as he rubbed it against my fuck hole, teasing it in a circular motion. I took a deep breath to ease the aching  of his penis as it forcefully stretched my anus enough to accommodate entry. He kept sliding it inside of me carefully entering out halfway before pulling it out completely.  My pink pucker was getting wetter with each thrust of his dick head, teasing my hole as it grew more eager for his full entry.

Without warning he shoved his entire cock up my ass with the force of a rapist. I yelled out loud , shivering and wincing in pain. I felt the weight of my head force my neck downward to relieve the pressure. Once his dick was entirely buried balls deep inside of me, he yanked it out violently before I could adjust and relax my anal muscles.

With a traumatic and juicy “pop” he dislodged from my shocked shivering butt. He laughed maniacally like a devil at my despair before shoving it right back in as hard as he could. He pounded deep and hard getting more aggressive with each pelvic thrust until my hole was stretched enough for me to find the the ability  to completely relax my sphincter.

My hole finally reached the point where there was no muscular resistance, losing tension until I was gaping wide open each time he pulled out of my ass. The friction lessened and so did the shooting pain of his huge cock as he blasted the inner walls of my man cunt. My hole was so open that I could feel the tickle of cold air moving in and out of my stretched out asshole. Each rhythmic and traumatic thrust became an angered collision of two warm bodies of flesh. Both pairs of our testicles crashed angrily against each other like two rivaling pirate ships at war on the high seas. The clacking of his balls against mine sent electric impulses  all the way up to my core stomach muscles. Jim was working my ass over with tremendous brute force. After seemingly multiple hours of this intense ritual, I could no longer differentiate between pleasure and pain. I had surrendered to the experience and felt my soul about to separate from my body. Everything was pleasurable to me by that point, sweaty and drunk on endorphins.

Through the vehicle of sexual torment I started to transcend my physical form. I was dissolving into an altered state, completely unable to discern the difference between existential polarities of good and bad. Black or white, Up or down, yes or no, like a strange fit of typhonic vertigo my eyes rolled to the back of my head and drool coming out of my mouth. It was like I went somewhere else, as I completely checked out of this space time continuum.  The only sensation felt was the burning heat of my flesh. I could hear a high pitch frequency ringing angrily in my head. It grew louder filling the blankness of my mind, as I returned to my body in a state of shock hearing Jim groaning as he climaxed.

Jim and I melted into one another, fused as one being through this terrifying ritual in the name of power hungry sex. “ I am going to cum,” he sputtered in spittle onto my hot back. Thank god. I was so relieved hearing those words, as his whole body shook like an earthquake. The shaking and thrusting became more violent for a few more seconds before he blasted out an orgasm like a volcano, crying out loud a string of obscenities that bellowed from his chest. “Fuuuuuuuuck!!” It was like he was possessed by the devil himself. His liquid life force energy burned hot like molten lava as his cock exploded all over my insides for the second time.

He pumped his hot man magma farther and farther inside my second sphincter until it was burning like brimstone into my guts, forever staining my insides with his DNA. Marking me with his seed. My anal cavity was completely flooded with his cum leaving me open wide and still loose. I was afraid it would never go back to normal. (It totally did, so it was ok) He yanked his cock out immediately after. He left me there alone, still bound while he went to clean himself off in the bathroom. I knew it would be a while since I could hear the shower starting.

I laid there stuck on my face and stomach still bound,  mentally processing what had just happened to me. There was a sudden dizzying and confusing rush of oncoming thoughts and emotions that hit me all at once. The butterflies were still dancing wildly in my belly, and tremendous amounts of pure love and joy wash over me. It was like being touched by the hand of God.

I felt elated to know that I had just received my first brush with the deeper and darker magical mysteries of S&M. I will never forget such an experience, and I love Jim immensely for doing it to me, even though it was technically against my will. It was totally humbling. I didn’t quite understand it at the time, hell I still do not fully grasp it entirely to this day. I just know that S&M is all about trust, and loss or relenting of control. The other partner dominates in a manner that retains some sense of care and integrity towards the one being dominated. Everything else is possible between two parties, typically with consent on both sides, though I know my first time was without it.

There are many things in this world that strike us with fear, things that potentially can harm us that evoke a cautionary response. That reaction is what keeps us from wanting to step outside of our normal comfort level, which is limiting. There are so many treasures in this universe that hide behind mysteriously dark veils, concealing their true nature of love. One must dig sometimes, moving through the fear and or pain to experience the joy on the other side. “You can’t go around it, you must go through it.” I loved that line and I use it all of the time.

Jim reemerged from the bathroom a different man again. His mean expression totally softened to a sweet smile once more as he patted me on the head and moved his mouth against my left ear. “You are forever my brother, I love you.” I started to tear up at that moment, I felt so close to him. We are brothers forever in spirit.

He slowly unhooked the bar and unlocked the cuffs from my feet and wrists, it was so good to be free again. I let out a sigh of relief feeling a newfound bond between Jim and I.  It was as if he knew me in a way that nobody else ever had before. The synergetic exchange synchronized our bodies and minds and the energy suddenly seemed to flow more easily between us. The awkward tension was completely gone. We were ready to work together.

Chapter 2: Working with Jim

It was almost 7 pm so Jim suggested that we gear up for the client appointment at 9. We grabbed bottles of various types of lube, cock rings, butt plugs, and ball stretchers. Dildos of every shape, color, and size. My task was cramming it all into a large leather duffle bag. “Now this particular client is an amazing man to me.” Dave said as he was combing his hair in the bedside mirror. “ I have a lot of respect and love for this man and we are like family. I have known him for several years, and we have been through so much together. Lately I have been super worried about him though…”

“He has been sliding down the cocaine spiral for a while now, and I just hope it doesn’t consume him and ruin his life. He is a great guy and I would hate to see him suffer because of his weekend fun turning into a damaging habit or addiction. I try to limit the amount of coke I bring with me because I care and worry about him.” Jim sighed, “but you can only do so much for someone in that position. Especially when they have an excess amount of money, they are going to do whatever they want to do. I just try my best to make sure he is ok. I keep him from getting out of control because I am the only person who knows the details of his recreational activities. Not even his own family knows about this.”

“So what is he into?” I asked inquisitively, just so I knew what headspace to get into. Dave let out a slight grunt as he glanced over at me, still combing his hair, “Just follow my lead kid, and watch what I do. Pay attention and assist me where I need you to,  and feel free to jump into the moments which you feel inspired. It isn’t always possible to predict  how someone will act, or what they might do in this sort of situation until they find themselves in the thick of it. We will just have to see what develops.”

I carried the duffle bag over my shoulder like a sexy Santa Claus down the stairs. I got shot an odd look or two by a couple of passerby people  on my way to the car but it didn’t bother me a bit. I just smiled and continued walking. I used Jim’s clicker to locate his car around the corner once I saw the red lights flash from the car.

I carefully opened the trunk of freshly waxed dark blue BMW. Carefully unloading the heavy leather sack from over my shoulder,  it was placed slowly down inside of the trunk. Jim was right behind me, and threw another large leather bag into the trunk before slamming it shut. “We better get going boy.” We both hopped into our seats, and like Batman and Robin we sped off into a beautifully orange and purple sunsetting horizon. He drove for several miles passing by an illuminated view of the White house, it was growing bigger in the distance as we flew down the road towards our destination.

This was the closest view of it since arriving in DC. I just stared for a few minutes fully entranced by the beautiful magnificence of the building in its brilliant and glorious size and design of architecture. It looked like a sort of temple, as most United States government buildings and bank buildings typically do which fascinates me.

It was a beautiful view positioned brightly against the backdrop mix of sunset colors that stained the sky like glass. Jim suddenly began easing off of the accelerator, slow us down as we began entering a very rich upscale suburban area. It was very close to the Capital and I was practically frozen in awe at the size and grandeur of the homes that we passed along the way. After several twists and turns left and right, I was getting lost in the endless vision of headlights against sleepy ivy grown brick walls and street signs that protected mansions that were utterly beautiful.

Finally we made one more turn and approached a house at the end of a street. It was sort of spaced further away from some of the other mansions but it was no less magnificent by any means. The property was enveloped with large willow trees and an enormous green lawn that surrounded the entire house. Castle is probably a more suitable word, since house doesn't properly convey the size of the home we were pulling up to.

We rolled further along the road, slowing to a crawl before proceeding down a long stretch of cobblestone paved driveway. The long stone path ended in front of a stand alone building which must have been the garage. The garage itself was the size of a two bedroom home. Jim popped the trunk, looking over his shoulder as we gathered our bags.

Carefully shutting the trunk with a quiet click of metal, we silently traversed the granite carved walkway that bended gracefully around one side of the house to the front. The walkway final led way to a ten foot tall rounded front door that was like a piece of artwork in itself. It was like a door to a castle, all wood and iron. It was obvious that Lynn was an important and highly influential figure holding a very elite and rich social status.

The butterflies were returning to flight within my belly again. Jim tried the heavy iron handle of the tremendous door and it slowly opened. Keeping close proximity behind Jim I followed in tow like a shy child holding onto the back of his mother’s skirt. Our footsteps echoed softly as we glided across the marble floored foyer that was the size of a living room. Then we turned left and continued a long walk passing through a long tall corridor that was beautifully arched in stoned. We passed many rooms along the way which included several living areas, a large dining room with a kitchen in sight behind it.

Then there were other various rooms discreetly hidden behind closed doors, until we emerged at a huge open glass encased indoor greenhouse that was attached. This house was probably the grandest home I had ever set foot in up until that point in my life.

Jim continued his confident strut through the area to another hall leading to the east side of the house, and continued to the third door on the right, and opened the door. It was a plainly decorated guest bedroom that was still just as exquisite as the rest of the mansion. It had an undisturbed cleanliness to it such has an upscale hotel room would. On top of the cream toned king sized bed stood several neatly stacked boxes with our names on them.

There were two boxes for each of the two of us. One box contained a pair of silken black long dress socks, with matching black tie. The second was a shoe box with some fancy sounding Italian name printed on the top in a gold leaf font. Jim smiled at me opening his boxes darting those piercing eyes through mine. “I hope you know how to tie a tie young man.”  How offensive, of course I knew how to tie a tie.  More amused than annoyed by his flippant  question, I rolled my eyes sarcastically, as he giggled.

After I was naked and in my black socks and neatly Windsor Knotted tie, it was time for the shoes. The tissue inside the box was black and had some kind of logo printed all over it. Designer logos hold no meaning to me, but it was obvious that these shoes had costed a significant amount of money simply  based on the fancy box and the insignia that was repeated in patterns all over the inside of it. My pair fit perfectly, yet stiff. They needed to be broken in.

It was strange and kind of funny being naked with just a fancy tie, dress socks, and nice shoes. It was alien yet sexy being in the fancy and matching minimal attire we were provided with. The silk tie felt nice and smooth around my naked neck, tickling my chest hair as it brushed over my sensitive right nipple, making it hard. I suddenly looked up at my reflection in the large mirror on the wall near the foot of the bed. I was admiring myself in the mirror in a way that I had never seen myself before. I was like a sexy rogue business man, or a naughty naked lawyer, it was all very new to me.

Jim gave me a playful slap on the ass and embraced me for a quick sloppy open mouthed kiss. Laughing at the absurdity of our sexy matching whore outfits, “Ready?” Jim beamed. I nodded an enthusiastic and excited yes. He opened the door and led the way down the hall, around to the second hall and into one of the bigger living rooms, that we had passed on our way in.

As the large chamber of a  rom gave way to arched rounded ceilings, it was hard not to look upwards in ignorant awe. Suddenly caught startled by the appearance of a large man sitting on a leather sofa that was situated in the center of the room. He was an older business type of man that would one would expect to see in a courthouse. His gold watch shimmered as he pressed a button on a large record player that was next to the couch. A needle jutted outward before slowly descending onto the surface of a black spinning vinyl record. “L.A. Woman” by the doors started to play loudly, filling the room with an echoing sound. The man smiled over at me as he lit up a fat blunt that perfumed the air with marijuana smoke.

He set down the burning blunt into a crystal ashtray and relaxed back into his seat, putting both hands behind his head. His watch was a Rolex no doubt.

I smiled softly before approaching the benefactor of my DC trip to greet him with a big hug.  He met me with open arms, letting out a loud joyful and full bellied laugh that shook the high walls of the room. “Hi boy. My name is Ren and I’m so glad you made it all the way here!” He was dressed in very strange attire. It was so outlandish to me at the time, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

He looked to be around the age of 60. The upper half of this man’s body was clothed in traditional professional dress. The top of his head was adorned with a tuft of bright white hair coifed like a game show host. It was neatly combed, parted, and frozen perfectly in place with some sort of strong hold product.  Thick framed eyeglasses with large coke bottle lenses rested upon his creased caucasian face. He wore a crisp white dress shirt and red and blue striped tie that was unfastened loosely around his neck . His shirt was unbuttoned about halfway down and he had no pants on. Just a pair of hot neon pink panties, and mens garters that were supporting black dress  socks.

He too was wearing the same kind of fancy Italian dress shoes. The panties were the highlighting feature of the outfit standing in stark contrast to the rest of his disheveled outfit.  It was shocking at to me seeing this man wearing hot pink panties. I laugh at the memory of how unusual the sight once was to me, I was so fucking young!

In front of the man was a giant mirrored coffee table with a pyramid shaped mound of cocaine piled high like I had never seen before. “I hope your flight was pleasant young man. Hopefully Jim has been taking good care of you since you arrived.”  I didn’t know whether to tell the truth or lie. “ Oh it was a wonderful flight...” Suddenly Jim appeared and cut me off mid sentence “So good to see you baby.” Jim ran up to Ren as he stood to greet him and embraced Jim with a solid hug and kiss on the mouth.

It was clear that they shared a deep level of intimacy and closeness by the way they held each other.  It was obvious also in the way that Jim locked eyes with Lynn. They chatted exclusively back and forth for a minute intimately updating each other about personal affairs which didn’t bother me since I was still admiring my unusually posh surroundings. I felt so out of place at the time, but also very excited to be where I was.

My attention span was starting to wander as the two men chattered on without me. I was drawn to a large single paned glass window on the left side of the room that revealed a large green grassy yard that stretched on for what appeared to be a mile. Further In the distance the dome of the White House was clearly visible through the branches of a large willow tree. The vines on the branches swayed in the wind as the moon was becoming visible overhead. The sun was still going down, approaching twilight in the sky twinkling contrasting dark blue shades against the perfect green of the Earth beneath it.

Daniel! Jim called to me in a parental tone. I withdrew my attention from the window scene and quickly walked back over to sit on the couch between the two men. Jim immediately began chopping out lines on a mirrored tray next to the mountain of white decadent powder that glistened and gleamed like a Christmas village display.  I couldn’t stop staring at the mound of cocaine that stood like a miniature mountain on the table before the three of us. So that must have been what Stevie Nicks was singing about when she sang of a “Snow covered hill.”

“You are a handsome young man!” Lynn roared a very approving and boisterous tone. “How was your flight? Hope Jim has been keeping you busy.” “Oh it was…” Before I could answer Lynn got down on all fours and began sucking my flaccid cock. I tilted my head backward relaxing into the couch. I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to the sensations of pleasure I was receiving from the warm mouth of this old man. My cock was slowly inflating as he sucked on me until his bobbing head had my dick rigid and stiff like wood. I grabbed his head and guided him further down my meat pole. I pushed his white pompadour down with my left hand and guided his chin with my right,  pushing my cock further down his throat, forcing him to choke slightly as he gagged on my meat. His warm spit stringed and dribbled down the side of my ball sack before landing onto the floor.

Jim walked over to me and offered me the first line that was cut out on the glass mirror. I snorted the magical white powder up quickly through a rolled up hundred dollar bill. Glamor is the act of supping lines while getting one’s cock worshipped. The numbing sensation in the back of my throat, or the drip, was happening to me as the other two men took turns snorting their introductory rails.. Then my head bowed to the glass tray again. This time a bigger, fatter line was cut for me. Snorting the fine white powder like a vacuum cleaner before tilting my head back,  reveling in the excess of drug induced pleasure. The subtle sexual haze that filled my mind and body began emanating throughout the room. It was a good start but all three of us wanted more. We took a third turn of bowing in the same manner of prayer, to the white powdered libation before us. It sparkled like white glitter in sacred lines across the stretch of the mirror as we continued ritualistic rotational order.

Time stood still as the three of us were getting quite high. I sat back easily in the leather chair spreading my legs apart watching my semi hard dick flop over to one side of my nut sack. Sitting lazily with both arms openly outstretched over the back of the chair, easing into a comfortable state of enjoying the buzz of my cocaine high. My head swirled round and round in a warm horny buzz that vibrated from within me. The energy that was circulating amongst the three of us, was synchronizing. I kicked back patiently awaiting the other two men to snort another round in order to get onto my level. I had a much lower tolerance than they did, and started to squirm in my seat. I could not help but play with my dick once I was high as all hell.

Ren crawled over to me on all fours and started greedily sucking and swallowing my dick again. “Hey!” I exclaimed, grabbing him by the hair to interrupt the blow job he was improperly administering. Looking him dead in the eyes, whispering calmly in the same manner that Jim had done to me, “No. Go slowly. I want you to take your time and go slow. Do it slowly and make sure its really fucking wet.” I released the coif of hair and he did exactly what I told him to. Nice, slow, and wet just the way I like it. I forced his head down all the way until he was gagging on my dick, holding him in place at its base. I loved the sensation of his choking and gurgling throat wrapped around my wet phallus.

Jim was jerking his cock slowly, watching the two of us voyeuristically from several feet away. He shot me a sideways mischievous grin watching me humiliate Lynn. I looked into Jim’s eyes as I face fucked Lynn until his whole face was beat red, forcing him to stop and come up for air.

Jim was like a proud father figure watching his son in rite of passage as I lightly assaulted Lynn. I emulated Jim’s cruelty based on the treatment that I had received from him  only hours earlier that day. He looked very pleased and took immediate notice, and it was obvious in his eyes.

Jim stopped jerking off suddenly,  reaching down into his bag on the floor, and retrieved a black sharpie pen. He walked right up to Lynn, yanking him by the hair off of my dick. Lynn retreated in a wet popping saliva trail,  mixed with the precum of my wet penis trailing from his hungry mouth. Jim leaned down and wrote “Fag” in large black block letters across Lynn’s forehead. He followed up by scrawling “SLUT” sloppily on Lynn’s right cheek. Then he artfully added “Bitch” on the other cheek.  He hawked  up a juicy amount of saliva mixed with lung butter and spat right in his face. This left me speechless. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t know what was appropriate in such a situation. I felt so confused. Jim could see that. Lynn was reveling in it. What a fucking pervert.

“Grab that bag over there,” Jim commanded me.  “Get me the brown box.” I stood up and reached into the the second leather bag and found the brown box. It was much heavier than it looked.  My curiosity of its contents grew after lifting the lid to find several leather and metal items neatly packed inside.

I handed the box to Jim as requested. He grabbed from it a black dog color with “Pussy” printed in hot pink Capital letters across it. It perfectly coordinated with the hot pink panties Lynn was sporting.  Jim fastened the collar carefully around Lynn’s neck, attaching a long black leash that also came from the mysterious toy box.

“Walk bitch.” Jim commanded, and Lynn walked forward on all fours, like a professionally trained show dog. Winking at me with a devious grin, Jim motioned me to follow him as he walked his eager bitch across the room. He led the way outside through a set of French-style double doors onto a patio. Jim didn’t stop there, but continued onto the grass, marching Lynn forward, forcing him to walk through the wet itchy lawn on bare hands and knees.

We walked out onto the large backyard lawn as Jim proudly paraded Lynn in circles, pulling him different directions with the leash as if he really was a dog. It was twilight by then and the sky was turning from sunset to a deeper blue as night approached.  Jim had such an amazing amount of energy about him, and the look on his face, so joyous and carefree. He paused the weird dog walk to light up a fat cigar and raised his right leg resting his shoe right on top of Lynn’s back in the classic Captain Morgan pose.

Naked Jim in his black silken neck tie puffing away at his cigar, with his prized toy beneath his fancifully dressed foot looking stone faced as if posing for a painting. Lynn had a seriousness about him throughout the entire experience that fascinated me. He would do anything Jim told him to, and it was so interesting to be part of such a dynamic. It felt so fresh and new, secretive, and unusual. It was an amazing sight to behold with the White house standing visibly behind them creating a surreal and odd background to this weird sexual scene that I was so happily a part of. If I was a painter, I could have painted the scene purely from memory. I will never forget such a visual memory as it forever stands in my mind.

Jim cut off the end of his cigar and continued forth traipsing about, dragging Lynn all over the yard. It was impossible not to  laugh out loud as he walked Lynn in circles by that point. First clockwise then counterclockwise, like some sort of wizard working  around the magical circle, showing off his power to me, feeding off my energy as a solo audience member. He picked up the pace  like a handler in a dog show, showcasing the dog he claimed ownership over, and Lynn was in love with the forced obedience.

Finally Lynn’s face showed some fatigue as Jim circled the perimeter of the yard several more times. It was obvious that Lynn was finally overworked, panting like a real dog. Jim loved putting on a show for me, and Lynn was giving it his all in doing what he did best, which was follow Jim’s orders. Jim was like a magician, his inner child clearly intact and well lived through adult life. Jim was a unique individual.

After almost half an hour of running around the yard, Lynn reached his limit.  His face was suddenly enflamed and red, like a cherry tomato as he stumbled along on all fours like a sick and wounded animal. His knees and elbows were rubbed raw and covered in a damp smear of  dirt and green grass stains. His glasses had completely fogged over in a mixture of body heat, sweat, spit, and yard debris. Jim relit his cigar and handed it to me.

“Sit, you fucking stupid mutt.” Lynn crawled up onto the brick patio and laid at Jim’s feet. He was absolutely relieved with his sweaty panting face resting on the cobblestone patio floor. The cold ground soothed his hot sweaty face. He was a complete dirty and sweaty mess as he drank from a dog bowl that Jim had filled with water from a nearby garden hose.

We went back inside after finishing our cigar, and Jim ran down the hall to the bedroom where we left our clothes. He emerged with an interesting looking device and told me to sit down on it so Lynn could suck on my sweaty ass and balls.

The device was obviously designed with the sex pig in mind. It was made of a black toilet seat mounted on four legs like a stool or small chair. The device is called a rim chair I later learned. Its basically a toilet seat chair that makes it easier to sit on someone’s face. It was lewd and new to me at the time and I complied by sitting my naked ass onto the seat.

Suddenly Lynn laid flat on his back and slid his face beneath the toilet seat and started to sniff my ass. His pointy nose was barely touched my hole tickling it delicately enough to send waves of pleasure up my spine.  “Suck on my shit hole you fucking sick fuck!” It was the first time I yelled at Lynn.  “There you go, boy!” Jim responded in a loud and encouraging tone. He was busy lubing up his dick, watching Lynn tongue fuck my shit chute, with his meaty hand sliding up and down on his glistening pole that was becoming rock hard. He looked into my eyes as he spread Lynn’s stiff legs apart, and rammed it up the old man's ass without warning. Lynns screams were muffled completely by my round hairy ass and we both laughed at how well my round butt successfully muted the sound of his twisted screams.

We continued to use and abuse Lynn for several more hours. We both power fucked his ass and mouth, exchanging positions several times. We dumped plates of leftover food from his refrigerator over his head. Then we painted more obscenities onto his face with markers, and spat in his face until he was drenched. 2 am eventually rolled around the clock and finally Lynn struggled to find the ability to  sputter the word “Basta.”

It was clear by his inability to speak full sentences he had reached his limit. Not to mention his tattered appearance with his sinking pompadour and off balanced movements. He was  definitely done for the night. I was quite tired myself but Jim behaved as though he was just getting warmed up. It would have been quite impressive witnessing Jim’s spastic energy level at that moment, had I not been so worn out also.

I tried hard to hide my tiredness, so I sucked up some more coke to reawaken. It was a pleasant relief when Lynn was finally at the brink of falling unconscious. I have to say that I was amazed at his stamina and ability to endure rigorous abuse for such a long period of time. We stumbled about, coming back to Earth as we all three of us wandered to separate bathrooms and washed up. Jim took an extra minute to bond privately with Lynn in one of the office rooms for a moment. I wondered what they were talking about, or what they were doing afterward in private.  I had a lot to learn.

We thoughtfully aided Lynn by helping clean up every part of the debauched mess that was made throughout his home. Jim and I both carefully cleaned up all evidence of the sexual romp that went well into the middle of the night. It was quite a chaotic scene that was surprisingly quick and easy to clean up with three men involved. We cleaned in silence, taking turns snorting more cocaine, finally finishing right before 5 am. I reminded myself that it was important to be polite and show gratitude in thanks as a guest. I received my envelope that held 4 thousand dollars for the unique and new experience I had just shared with both men. I kissed Lynn and thanked him very much for the wonderful opportunity. I will never forget such an amazing night.

I had a morning flight that would be taking off in a couple of  hours, so Jim and I spent the remainder of our experience together hoovering more lines of cocaine in his sports car, watching the water of the riverfront in one of the public parks. The sun had finally risen as we were both coked out of our minds. We went for a brisk morning walk to catch the cool early breeze and talked more. He wanted to know more about my background, my childhood and my parents which I thought was kind of odd. He divulged to me that his day job was working as a psychologist. It suddenly dawned on me why Jim asked the analytical questions that he did.

Then he told me very bluntly, “ Honey you gotta stop using your real name when you are whoring. It just isn’t safe. Have you thought of a name?” “ I like the name Dimitri.” I replied. Jim scrunched up his face in disapproval. “Dimitri sounds weird, too foreign, and obviously fake. You need a Jewish name for your first name at least!” he proclaimed, and we decided that Jacob was a suitable choice that fitted me well. And so Jacob Crowe was officially born.

When I got to the airport Dave gave me a minute long wet sexy sloppy kiss goodbye and gave me a great big hug too. “You have got it what it takes to be an amazing whore, boy. Always remember that”  were his parting words. He sent me off with a newly sexy confidence that I hadn’t possessed before my trip. I was ready for anything the escorting world would throw at me. I guess I received the whore Class the whole time? Or the entire thing was the class? I didn’t even ask but it was irrelevant by that point. I ran from the car into the airport terminal for departure feeling officially like a real whore. I learned quite a bit from the hands on experience, which was so much more than a simple class could ever teach in a day anyway. The trip to DC was not what I had expected in the most beautiful way possible. Nothing teaches more than hands on experience, and I returned home feeling like a properly ordained man whore.

On the flight home I kept thinking about the power dynamic Jim cultivated with Lynn. The way he said he cared for him, yet in session treated him as if he was a dirty play toy from beginning to end. Such strange behaviors for two persons who had such an electric bond and serious reverence towards one another. Oh sure it was quite obvious to me that degradation was exactly what Lynn wanted and received from Jim, yet it still confused me. How can you say you love someone that you abuse and sexually humiliate?

Then I remembered the feelings I had when Jim dominated me. The forced act of letting go of personal responsibility. To relinquish of all sense of control.  To accept that Jim was calling all of the shots, and the only thing I could do at that point was obey and submit in perfect trust of my aggressor.

Jim was so vivacious and exciting, even when he scared me I was totally thrilled and so very alive. At first it was perplexing to ponder why I felt so close to him after he dominated me against my will. After some time of reflection I came to realize that domination is all about vulnerability and trust. The Dom is imbued with trust from the Sub who is openly vulnerable, ready for whatever affliction his Dom may desire. The Sub takes the onslaught of punishment or torture the Dom chooses to force upon his sub. A sub most be entirely open to any possibility. In turn the Dom is to act responsibly within limits careful not to injure the sub. It is a transaction of deep trust and love that can be wonderfully freeing and beautiful. BDSM can be some of the most intimate bonding experiences two people can share if done properly.

It is completely unique to whoever is involved, with clear communication of personal goals and agreements of those individuals. The deeper meaning behind these sometimes playfully or seriously acted out sexual activities and rituals has a relieving quality of release to varying different degrees. It is a ferociously powerful exchange of energy between two people. It is an intensely immersive and connected dynamic in which communication is vital for this potentially dangerous realm of sexual expression and lifestyle. Every situation is completely unique. It can bring two people to an indescribable level of synchronization that is unlike anything else. It is purely individual, and there are no true standard methods for any of it. There is no such thing as a one size fits all application or method when it comes to something as intimate and personal as S&M play. “To each their own” I always say, because that is the only proper way for these things to work. Everyone has different needs and communication is hallmark in any BDSM situation. It is an agreement and exchange between two people with boundless possibilities and it is absolutely beautiful.

Chapter 3: BDSM Roleplay

Throughout my career as an escort, there have been numerous BDSM requests I occasionally have fulfilled. I love these types of clients, and merrily accommodate them whenever they seek me out.  Still, It is a very niche portion out of my wide swath of services that I typically provide. From Reiki Healings, Sexual fantasy fulfillment, personal coaching, body trimming, massage, Domination and power play, BDSM is its own separate genre. My BDSM experiences have always been positive and fun, and I am lucky to say that it has enriched and broadened my perspective on human sexuality, through hands on experience. There is no college course or textbook that can teach as much as “in the flesh“ experience can. My open mindedness and adaptability has made it easy for me to step out of my comfort zone on a regular basis. Not only for the sake of personal growth and expansion, but also to help others work out their issues through sexual acts and situations. It is very personal. No two people are ever the same, but there are definitely trends and popular requests that seem to be more or less common than others.

Within the context of a  BDSM situation, I its all about me fulfilling the role of the aggressor, or abuser. A dad, an uncle, an older brother or a mean gym teacher. The character role possibilities are endless, yet I am always the Dominant figure that is administering the punishment, attack, assault, or rape, etc.  Sometimes It is simple as a single act of degradation I am asked to perform. Something like jacking off into a condom and tying it off with my load inside and hanging it on a specific tree branch somewhere for the client to find so that he can swallow the day old semen. Well actually that’s more “fetish” but I digress. BDSM does  go hand in hand with other fetishes or role play schemes that can be pretty diverse and colorful so I think you get the point.

People that hire me to entertain certain fetishes are typically pretty straightforward. Fetishists have very focused tastes involving very detailed and specific situations that may include toys, and  other various props that they provide. Sometimes there is costumery involved.  Whatever it takes to bring a dramatic character to life convincingly as I embody the manifestation of their personal fantasy. My childhood dream was to become an actor so I take on these roles with such enthusiasm that I can get lost in character at times. Its all just silly fun to me, and it makes my job so much more artistic and interesting.

Sometimes the fetish is simply involving a specific act such as a moment of blatant public humiliation to lower a man’s ego. I might be asked to create a public spectacle to embarrass him in front of a group of complete strangers. The great fun is that a group of strangers unknowingly become an audience of participation which in turn raises the level of humiliation for the client.

You would think that from all these fetish ideas surrounding me that I would have developed my own crazy fetishes but unfortunately I have not. I mean I have things that I enjoy but I have always felt somewhat envious of fetishists just because of the fact that they have a very specific mental place they can go to  achieve instantaneous arousal and satisfaction. It could be merely an image or idea that triggers sexual arousal to a maddeningly intense level. Having a fetish is like having an instant “Go to” that never fails to gratify the fetishist. Don’t get me wrong though, I still enjoy exploring unlimited possibilities vicariously through others’ fetishes. It is fun to try out all sorts of new and sometimes weird things. It is truly a joy to be able to experiment with the world of Sexual Fetishism, even if it involves something that I don’t find erotically enticing myself. Again I push myself outside of my comfort zone all the time and I  exude no personal judgment of another person’s fetish unless it compromises me in some way. I thrive on being an uplifter for others and achieve great personal satisfaction experiencing their joy because of my willingness to entertain and explore. The positive emotions can be infectious and I love it when I have the ability to provide such joy to others.

Sometimes that joy is channeled through the infliction of pain on my clients. That is when fetish melds over to a whole other subject of BDSM. It is a wide spanning umbrella acronym that can range from simple fetish to complete lifestyle depending on who you are talking to. They go hand in hand but are definitely not the same thing.

As far as the BDSM scene goes, I readily admit that I am certainly still no dungeon master or representative of such a scene. At the same time, I love to explore this scene increasingly more as I get older. I feel that I have barely scratched the surface of  such an alternative world, and I am always learning in this classroom that is life.

I am really a dabbler, and for some that may come as an insult, but whatever. I could be rejected by most of these tightly knit communities for not committing and devoting myself to the scene, and I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I am hooker and my job is to satisfy men, whatever the case may be.  I do not let other people dictate what I do. However, I have an enormous amount of respect those who are dedicated to the BDSM scene to a degree that the word ‘lifestyle’ is a more appropriate adjective. Some people live their entire waking lives in a BDSM relationship. It could be for weeks, months, or even years at a time. That could entail detailed and complicated formal contracts of agreement for some people, and that is totally fine with me. I see nothing wrong with anyone choosing to live such a lifestyle, and I find it very fascinating, despite my choice not to delve as deep into it as some others do.

In my own personal context it is the creation and culmination of an environment where it is the perfect place to leave the mental baggage at the door. A safe haven to relieve the pressure from the stressors of daily life, or just to have some kinky fun. It could be a form of therapy to exorcise demons of childhood traumas or a ritual of sexual rite. There are a million reasons anyone could  be drawn to the power dynamics of BDSM.

It is the expression of the sexual self by participating in either submissive or dominant roles. For a submissive, it means being absolved of personal power and will, giving all direction and control to the Dom. A sub finds freedom in relinquishing control and responsibility  by giving themselves over to the Dom, who will decide the who, what, when, where, and why of whatever the stimulating situation or action the sub will be forced to participate in, even if it goes against their own personal will or normal ethical values.

Some S&M play involves absolutely no sexual activity at all. It is fully focused on the idea of power, control, and free will. I once had a guy who paid me 1000 bucks to lock him in his pantry and invite other guys over to have sex me. He wanted us to exercise blatant disregard of his home while we partied, having sloppy pig sex all over the place and ultimately trashing his house. He only wanted to be fed dog food the entire time, and he wanted to spend at least two whole days locked in the closet against his will, no matter how much he complained or begged to be set free. He relished in sexual delight the more we taunted him through the slats in the pantry door, and he couldn’t get enough of the shit talk we continuously yelled at him. He completely got off to the thought of recalcitrant youth ruining his home, running amok and treating him as shitty as humanly possible. Nothing made him cum harder he professed endlessly. He was so committed to this fantasy that he shit and pissed in the corner of the pantry for two whole days.

Its interesting to contemplate the hidden deeper mysteries of sexuality. It is not easily defined or simply understood completely by anyone. Things are not always what they appear on the surface. You could witness somebody being tied up and forced to do things that they clearly do not want to do, but there is something much deeper going on. A magic that sort of escapes the ability to  be put into words. Both parties are loving the activity, the sub is gratified by being forced to do what he hates, and looks like he is in heaven and hell both at the same time. BDSM is complicated because it means something different to everyone.

There are definitely limits and guidelines that ring true across the board however. The two most basic elements would be consent, and communication. In fact communication is the key to the BDSM scene. A true top or Dom may seem like a complete sadist, when in reality they are usually of high moral character within the context of the BDSM cultural framework. For someone to be a master or dominatrix or any position of power as the “Top” in the SM world, that person needs to be highly perceptive with some sense of empathy. To be honest a top is usually the one doing all the work! Any Master or Dom will agree in saying that they are always actively aware of their sub’s boundaries and limits. Sometimes they will ignore them or push the limit yet they understand the necessity of trust. Without trust, nothing would be possible. Inflicting pain can be very fun as long as it isn’t being done so that it causes injury to someone. A real SM master doesn’t cause harm to their subs. It is very possible to inflict pain without hurting someone, but it is just as easy to injure someone as well. A Dom should always know what they are doing and that is the damned truth.

I would never call myself a Master or an official Dom of any type of BDSM group or community, however I have delved into the world periodically simply because that was what certain clients have requested from me, and have enjoyed some self exploration along the way. Oh sure there are many folks out there who will throw a big fit about this, since some peoples’ rigid standards have them believing that BDSM is an all or nothing sort of cult one must adhere to be a participant of BDSM, and I think that is bullshit. I dabble and I have no shame. I respect the spirit of the BDSM world just as much as any die hard would, and I  see the truths of it. At the same time however,  I do not have an identity that is wed to any group, idea, principles, standards or doctrines that were decided by somebody else. I live by my rules so the haters can go fuck themselves.

At any rate I will share one of my experiences as a Dom in a position of power with a particular client of mine, one who is loyal to me to this very day. We met during one of my Seattle excursions one fateful rainy and wet day.

It was a typical drab winter day in Seattle. The sky was a dreary grey expanse of wet hopelessness that coated the entire skyline. a typical day in Seattle. Even with the dark stormy atmosphere that enveloped the area, the city has some strange charge of energy to which I cannot account for. Maybe its just personal opinion of my chemically imbalanced bipolar brain. I will never know for sure.

I was meandering around the area for fun just enjoying the sights, stumbling upon a local landmark of Seattle: The gum wall. And yes it is exactly what you are probably imagining in your head. A giant wall coated in chewing gum. And as disgusting as such a thing should be, what other city has such a thing as a public wall covered in thousands of pieces of brightly colored masticated and bacteria laden pieces of gum?  None other than the city of Seattle. I was in the midst of appreciating the grand beauty and wonderment of the used gum monument when suddenly the phone began vibrating in my pocket.

It was a Seattle area code,  “Hello?”, Breaking my attention from the magnificence of the ever mesmerizing wall of gum. “Hi, my name is Steven, and I was wondering what experience you have in S&M work, specifically as a Dom?” he asked coyly through the scratching ether of the fluctuating cell phone signal waves. “I have quite extensive experience,” I was so full of shit. At least at that point in my escorting career.  “Good, thats good to hear. I want you to do a rape scenario with me and I need someone who knows what they are doing. I want you to  hold me at gun point and then use chloroform to disable me. Do you have relevant experience with those sorts of things?” Whoa this was past my comfort zone, but I was still intrigued by the idea of it all. And the financial opportunity of course.                “Have you used chloroform before?” Now where in the hell would I have access to chloroform? Have I used chloroform, are you fucking kidding?  That was my first thought but instead answered “No, I cannot say that I have.” He cleared his throat, “Oh well it is easy, as long as it does not touch the skin because it is highly corrosive and will burn the flesh if it makes direct contact with skin. You have to put it on a rag then fold it over before holding it over my face to subdue me. I also have plenty of rubber, latex, leather, neoprene and spandex gear that I would like to see you wear and model for me. I want you to wear different outfits throughout the night as you mind fuck me and make me your personal slave bitch.” Wow this was going to be interesting.

“I also have a .45 caliber revolver that I would like you to use as well.” I chuckled to myself feeling skeptical that the call was a prank. “To shoot you?”  I asked half jokingly. “No but you can slap me around with it a little bit, as long as you do not go too far and promise not to break out any of my teeth or break my nose or any of my bones.” Hmmm, I fidgeted before anxiously stating  “I don’t know if I can promise that I won’t break your nose to tell ya the truth.” It took a few seconds before my joke landed and he forced a half hearted fake laugh to patronize my corny jest. “I have this fantasy of a hot guy like you breaking into my house and raping me aggressively at gun point. I want to fear for my life as you tear my ass to shreds.  As I said earlier, I have hand cuffs, ropes, plastic wrap, whips, chains, pretty much anything you could ever want to use to restrain me and take control.”

Hey what the hell, a rape scene could be really fun so why not give it a go? And what better or more appropriate way to meet and unleash my inner sadist from the bowels of my subconscious on such a lovely day?  It would also be useful to know how to properly use chloroform and who doesn’t like playing with guns?  What could possibly go wrong?  I loved the idea and enthusiastically gave him a quick “Yes yes yes!”

We agreed on a time for the scene to take place the following day. I woke up early and checked out of my hotel room, and climbed into my car. The stark cold feel of the seat leather shocked me enough to quickly turn the key sparking the ignition, bringing the roaring engine to life. The heater lagged but at least it worked.  Lighting up my morning cigarette, checking my mirrors and  exhaling smoke plumes into the wet atmosphere, my blood was moving faster from the effects of the stimuli that was moving through my bloodstream.  It was still quite early, so it was easy to creep along slowly cruising through the sleepy historic streets of Seattle. Up past Capitol hill the roads seemed to curve like ropes cutting through landscapes of tall lush greenery, still wet with morning dew. There were  several moss covered roundabouts along the way. They looked mysterious  through the looming fog that created a blanket of gray air. This intensified the color of bright green lichen that draped over the various cement statues and trees that peppered the neighborhoods and landscapes.  It was a historical neighborhood, with large upscale homes that were pristinely preserved over the course of over one hundred years. Close to the top of one of the long winding hillsides I drove past a large historic cemetery before  finally finding the correct road to turn down, Cherry Place.

I turned onto the street slowing my pace so that it was easy to read the house the numbers until I spotted Steven’s address. It felt right to purposefully park a few blocks away, in order to avoid any unwanted attention from nosy neighbors. I put the gear shifter in neutral and looked at his house though the glass of my rear view mirror, adjusting it to get a full view. It was a two story dutch style house. It was quaint and old yet well maintained. The paint looked fresh and there was a meticulous amount of detail in regards to the yard that surrounded the house. The grass was uniformly trimmed very short, not a blade too long anywhere in sight. The flower boxes attached beneath the windows were pristine and free of weeds showcasing vividly bright and multicolored tulips that shot forth from the wooden boxes standing tall towards the muted sunlight.

Climbing out of my cold tin can car I passed three houses before walking across the lawn, feeling the crunching of each step over the melting frost that blanketed the grass from the night before. Ascending the wooden stoop slowly  I checked the time on my phone to ensure that my arrival aligned with the exact time we had agreed upon before entering. Precise timing is always crucial for staged scenarios to play out smoothly. It was nine am on the dot. My shoes made no noise slyly moving up the steps, quiet like a ninja.  Turning the door knob slowly, my entrance was stealthy like a serial killer and my arrival was completely undetected. Walking cautiously remaining entirely inaudible, navigating each planned step  carefully over the old wooden floorboards. One wrong step could shatter my perfect silence at any moment.

In my slowest steps possible, I quietly glided like a snake across the foyer to the staircase that wrapped around the western wall, leading up to the second floor. Step by step tediously making my way up the stairs without a sound. About halfway up my foot made contact with a creaking board that broke the stark silence of my footsteps. Freezing  immediately waiting in still, the only thing that could be heard was the blood pumping through my body, ringing loudly in my ears as the tension was building within me. Standing still for several painful seconds before realizing that the creak was undetected, aware that the stillness of silence was still present. Finally after a long flight  up the path of stairs I was relieved at the appearance of the plush carpeted surface of the second floor. Carpet is ten times easier to creep around on without anyone hearing of course.

My attention was immediately drawn to the long hall on my right side. At the end of the corridor my eyes spotted  his bedroom. His door was cracked about an inch or two. There was a faint echoing of male voices moaning from the pornography playing from his bedroom television. It beckoned me fortrh a bit closer to the bedroom door that was glowing around its frame, bathed in the radiating flashes of light projected from the television.

There was a strange setup before reaching his bedroom that was curiously organized. A table had been situated halfway between me and  his bedroom. On top of the table there was a brown glass bottle of liquid, several white folded hand towels, vinyl gloves, a gun, some rope, and a full body fetish suit that looked like a superhero outfit. It was like a recreation of Marina Abramovic’s Rhythm 0 . I slowly undressed out of my street clothes, well aware that he could probably hear me changing, but it would have been impossible to do so otherwise.

After what felt like a  million years of unlacing boots, they came off one boot at a time before pulling my shirt up and over my head. My pants were the last article to shed to full nudity, with my items folded semi neatly and placed in a  pile on the back edge of the table. It was a bitch squeezing into the shining black neoprene body suit so it was absolutely necessary to be calm and put it on very slowly one foot at a time. It was skin tight. I had to start at the ankles, and guide the suit over my entire body as if it were a second skin before the zipper would even budge to close. It fitted much like a wet suit would, so it was a bit nerve racking guiding  the 6 foot zipper from ankle to throat without pinching my skin. It had a convenient second zipper that ran from the top of my ass crack under my taint and up over my crotch too, for easy access for various reasons. It was like walking a fashion tight rope, which had me on the verge of breaking  a sweat by the time the zipper closed at the top of neck.

It was time to accessorize with the black leather mask that was on the table. It reminded me of a traditional bandit mask that would be worn over the eyes of a criminal in an old western`film. It felt sexy to be clad all in black dressed like a character from a comic book or sci fi thriller. The final touch of the outfit was a pair of leather OJ Simpson style gloves, and they sure did fit quite nicely. It was such a powerful sensation being dressed up in this glossy black material that was hugging every inch of my body. It made my ass look nicely plump as the suit made every contour of my physical form visible. Those weighted squats were just now finally starting to pay off.

My boots slid back on one foot at a time, and five years later they were laced up again. They looked great and completed the whole look,  but it was obvious that the entire outfit would feel like hell once body perspiration took full effect. It was time to move quickly,   since it was taking me long enough to finally get the nerve to pickup the revolver. It was heavy and cold in my hands. The side barrel easily popped open for me to spin it  around to ensure there were no bullets in the actual gun. I could hear my father’s voice in my head when he once told me “never point a gun at anyone, ever. Even if you think you know its empty, don’t ever do it…” This was such a taboo feeling that made my heart jump faster and faster, ready to  commit to another personal taboo despite haunting inner thoughts that warned me of what was about to happen.

It still felt strange and out of context holding this .45 caliber revolver in my hands. It is such a paradoxical energy of holding a real gun because it generates its own sense of nervousness, that is coupled with a feeling of commanding power. That is until the wielder realizes that it could just as easily be turned against them if they are not confident and in control of the situation.

It was time for my grand entrance readying myself into my signature self stylized two handed gun ready creep stance, which is totally the worst way to hold a gun. Nobody ever does that in real life but it looks cool in the movies. I felt like Jodie Foster in one of the final scenes of Silence of the Lambs. Keeping tightly against the wall I moved forward creeping closer inch by inch toward the bedroom as my heart raced quickly as if Buffalo Bill himself was about to jump out at me. Right before my gloved hand touched the door handle there was a deafening whack that shocked me to the core and could have given me a heart attack. I almost pissed myself before the realization that my shoulder had brushed against the protruding corner of a picture frame, gracefully knocking it to the ground in a loud obnoxious glass shattering bang.

Without thinking I immediately utilized my clumsy mishap as an instantaneous queue for my dramatic entrance. I burst into the room with my gun blazing like something out of a cheesy 1980s cop show. The door could have flown off its hinges as I kicked it open to see to Steven for the first time, frozen in shock. He was rigid and pale like some kind of Tim Burton claymation character.  He reminded me of a cross between Ichibod Crane and Edward Scissorhands with combed over hair, wearing the same black shiny plastic body suit as me. He was holding a bowl of pillow mints that he immediately dropped onto the floor. The glass bowl shattered against the wood floor, the second glass item shattering loudly within seconds of the first. Steve raised his hands up over his head in quick surrender with the same unchanged expression of discomfort and fear plastered on his face that was hard not to laugh at. I was impressed by his commitment to the role play scene, sacrificing his fancy glass candy bowl for the sake of sexual performance art.

“Freeze, Bitch. Or I will blow your fucking brains out!” I aimed the gun directly at his face. It was extremely difficult in all my efforts to not to crack a smile, remaining fully immersed in character while still speaking forcefully. My character was meant to be serious, terrifying  and threatening. Again this was role play, not Broadway. “What do you want from me?” He asked in a wretchedly pathetic tone. “I have money, I can give you whatever amount you want! I have my check book here …” His gaze remained fixed on mine as he moved his right hand downward onto the desk next to him feeling around to find his pen and checkbook without taking his fixed stare away from my face. He was so pale and stiff. He felt aimlessly around on the desk for several seconds before nervously locating his check book.

I lowered the gun and strutted over to him and ripped the checkbook from his hand tossing it over my shoulder like a discarded wad of paper. Looking tenderly into his eyes,I leaned in closer to him as if going in for a kiss, and then instinctively stuck the gun into his mouth. He held completely still like a statue as I held the cold handle still for several pulsating seconds before sliding it in further, inch by inch until he was damned near gagging on the barrel itself. The energy exchange was explosive. It felt as if hours had passed before the tears began flowing from  his eyes, and as his groans reduced to the sad whimpering sounds of a pathetically sheltered man child. It was right at that precise moment that I empathically sensed his powerful emotional mix of fear, eroticism, and betrayal. It was incredible to feel his powerful orgasm building up from within him like a powerful volcano getting ready to burst. I slowly pulled the cold steel weapon out of his wet mouth before plunging it back in, holding it still for another suspenseful act of eternity.

His whimpering inspired my cruelty to slowly pull the gun back, as if removing it form his mouth before stopping right as the tip passing over his teeth. I waited for a long  dramatic pause before pushing it back in until it reached the back of his throat. I held it in his throat watching his face tremble and his eyes water, trying his hardest not to gag before slowly retracting it again. Cold steel going in and out of his mouth over and over, smiling while face fucking him with the long cold steel barrel of the pistol. It was intense for both of us. I pulled it back very slowly as if in slow motion, until only the tip was still in his mouth. Without thinking my my hand took on a life of its own, and my thumb suddenly moved in position to cock the barrel with a chillingly loud click that sent shivers down both of our spines. Both of our hearts were racing. The room was dead silent except for the loudness of both our hearts beating furiously, adrenaline circulating through the two of us. We were melded together in a timeless moment of pure danger engaging in a game that could potentially destroy a life. The ultimate trust fall.

Let me reiterate that it was an empty gun that was used, but how many times have you heard someone shooting what they think is an empty gun and killing someone? There was an uncomfortable level of tension brewing between us simultaneously as we became one in a shared sense of real fear. The sudden rush  of emotions that instantly reminds one of the fragility of life. How easily life can potentially be robbed from anyone of us, at the hands of another or because of our own choices, or even the forces of the universe to which he have absolutely no control.

Who would be the one at fault if I blew his brains out?  I never thought I would ever point a gun at anyone, it is against all matters of safety, and utterly stupid. Yet within this context of performance I transformed into a character that seemed to take over my body and mind, losing myself in the sheer satisfying pleasure of face fucking this complete stranger with this dangerous tool of death. Caught in the thrill of owning control over Steven’s life, toying with it like a cat does with its prey. The expanse of the universe ebbed  between the two of us through a mutual adrenaline rush that coursed through both of our bodies.

For a split second it was as if becoming psychopathic was inevitable until my pesky conscience fired back at me, triggering a vision of an accident. The possibility that maybe there was in fact a  bullet in that god forsaken chamber. I know I had checked the barrel prior,  but what if I was wrong? Troubled thoughts of possibility flooded my mind in a sudden jolt of agonizing terror and paranoia.

My heart continued thudding in my chest, bouncing violently against my ribcage as I finally pulled the gun from his wet salivating mouth. “Please don’t hurt me.” He sounded so weak and pathetic, it was difficult not to hit him in the face with the gun. My kind spirit returned once again and it sufficed to slap across the face as hard as my leather gloved hand allowed.

I raised the gun and  held It against the side of his head. I felt already addicted to the rush of chemical release from flirting with violent possibility, and wanted more. Taking it up a notch I kneed him hard in the groin. He winced in pain as I grabbed his face from under his chin, locking eyes in deathly stare. “Do you wanna die faggot?” I shouted at  him with angered bravado, my inner mafioso badass had arisen from the depths of the abyss, coming to life through my body as creative space. He cowardly shook his head like a child, so I slid my hand downward to grip his throat. I must confess that is indescribable to explain the satisfaction one feels when wrapping  gloved hands around a warm soft human throat.

I lowered the gun and shoved him backwards onto the bed. Placing the gun carefully down onto the bedside table, there was a secret exhalation of relief under my breath. The gun play had been fun but it was time to retire the most dangerous prop for good. Gun play is some serious shit and I would never recommend it to anyone. I would never even do it again, but it was a fearful rush for us both that I will never forget. And god damn what a thrilling experience.

I walked over to the bed where  I pushed Steven down onto his back and told him to lay still. I hopped up on top of his body and pinned him down.  His legs were immobilized by my knees against his thighs and my  hands wrapped around his wrists. I lowered my face staring into his eyes, and moved in closer until our faces were a mere few inches apart. I allowed  him to lose himself staring long and hard into my cold pale blue eyes, before clearing the phlegm from my throat and spitting it right into his face. “Oh yeah! Fuck yeah!” He was in love. “You are one fucked up piece of shit,” I announced before releasing his arms so that I could wrap both hands around his throat, choking the life from his scrawny neck.

The murderous rush hit me again,  hearing him desperately gasp for breath reinforcing my power over his life, controlling his very breath and preventing it. In love with the deprivation of his precious oxygen. My dick grew more erect with the increased pressure of my squeezing grip until the color of his face drained from a light pallor to a slight blue. It became sexually arousing for the first time to have the strength and will to  prevent his futile attempt to struggle free. The rush was pulsing harder as I realized I had a sadistic side of my sexual ego, so I continued to squeeze his neck until his eyes were starting to roll to the back of his head. I didn’t want to let go but I forced myself to relent his windpipe and allow his airflow again seconds before he fell unconscious.

They say that when a serial killer is torturing a victim, the murder itself is not the event that spurs climax of their sexual gratification. The truth is that the moment the victim has died, the thrill is gone because the victimizer no longer holds control over the victim since they are dead.  And what fun is tormenting a corpse? I felt that same feeling right as he was about to fall unconscious. Sick I know but whatever.

Steven gasped and coughed for air, and I was forced to break character. I suddenly realized that I could have killed this guy on accident, and that would have totally ruined the experience for both of us I am sure. Where the hell would I hide his body? Too much drama for me, I was  worried that I had pushed him too far. “Oh my god, are you ok?” My voice changed completely. I was myself again.

Or was I? Somehow I felt different and could no longer differentiate between my own personal feelings and the character that I thought I had created. It all felt like me. I bitch slapped my willing victim  with the back of my hand using my utmost strength I could muster, drawing blood from his fattened lower lip as he laughed like a deranged mental patient. “You think you are slick huh? You think this is fucking funny?” I yanked the dirty sock off of my right foot and shoved it into his giggling mouth. What a fucking masochist.

It was suddenly time for a much deserved break, since torturing someone is a very involved and exhausting task! My hands needed some rest, so I reached behind my ass and pulled the zipper that was enclosed at my lower back, unzipping it down to my crotch. My meaty ass sprang free from the confines of my sweltering plastic catsuit. The cool air felt good against my sweaty asshole as I squatted down over his nose to rub in the musk of my hot ass all over his face. I sat down on his cranium completely smothering him  with my hairy butt. He writhed in claustrophobic suffocation as he squirmed helplessly like a worm. I silently counted to sixty before lifting my ass up, allowing him to breathe air again. “You fucking pig” I laughed at his discomfort, afflicting him with my ass in his face. Being in control of the air he breathed proved to be a new turn on for me.

Suddenly I stood  up and jumped over him like a crazed circus performer. EI landed on my feet on the hardwood floor and dashed back over  to the supply table down the hall to retrieve the big brown bottle and a terry cloth rag that was draped over it. There was some reservation held within my personal belief system about using potentially deadly chemicals on him, for obvious reasons.  Before going forth it was necessary for me to ask “This is not going to actually kill you is it?  Because if that is a possibility, I probably should have you sign some kind of waiver for release of liability in case you accidentally die.  I have never used this type of chemical on anyone.” Still sprawled on his back Steven cocked his head sideways and laughed, “Oh no its totally fine, I have had so many different guys use chloroform on me, and it does not even knock me unconscious. It just sedates me to a point of powerlessness. Its not like the movies. Just make sure it doesn’t directly contact any part of my skin  because will burn the fuck out of anything it touches.” That statement didn’t make me feel much better about it but hey he seemed like he knew what he was talking about so fuck it, why not right?

Holding the apothecary bottle mindfully away from my face, I twisted the cap off of the bottle slowly to  avoid breathing the volatile fumes that wafted pungently from the brown glass container. I folded the terry cloth in half and carefully doused it by quickly turning the bottle upside down, saturating the first layer of cloth. I did this three more times in a line across the rag before folding it in half once more to ensure it would not directly touch Steven’s pale skin. I screwed the lid back onto the bottle as tightly as possible before jumping back up onto the bed straddling my willing victim, planting my ass on top of his belly, knocking the wind out of him. Before he could take another inhalation the rag was held up to his face. “Breathe.” I demanded.  Holding it firmly against his mouth and nose, he had no choice but to breathe through the rag, lest he suffocate. He thrashed about for a few minutes, holding his breath as long as he could before he was forced to inhale the noxious fumes from the chloroform soaked rag. His violent writhing staggered slowly to a pulsating twitch for a minute before his movement ceased entirely. After about 90 seconds later his body fell limp and lifeless beneath mine. His stillness made me nervous enough to check his vitals. He was not breathing but his heart was still beating. Not knowing what to do next, my logical senses told me to jump up and down on him a few times. Nothing happened. My anxiety returning triggered a few slaps across his reddened face until he jolted back to consciousness. It worked. He immediately sprang back to life like Frankenstein, sputtering and coughing as he reached for air. Steven pulled the rag out of his sloppy salivating mouth and meekly squelched, “more.”

Jesus Christ. Here I was thinking that I almost killed the son of a bitch, and he wants more. Oh the depravity! It was time to shift gears to the next level and get creative. I jumped up and off of the bed  to grab the roll of clear plastic pallet wrap that was set aside earlier near the table. “Oh, what are you going to do with that?” He looked super excited that I was about to use the giant roll on him. “Shut the fuck up and hold out both of your wrists together you fucking pig.” He happily obliged. I shoved the dirty sock back into his mouth to shut him up. Then I began bunching the end of the plastic to form a sort of rope which I tor off at about ten feet of length to wrap around both of his wrists, binding his hands together. I guided the rope between both of his wrists winding the rope tighter, layer over layer.  I continued with another ten foot length of plastic binding his feet in a similar fashion. It made a squeaking sound as it was tugged to ensure that my knots were tight.

This plastic wrap was basically a giant 50 pound four foot wide roll of saran wrap, so why not wrap the rest of his body like a leftover meatloaf?   In fact I used to use that same exact plastic roll for wrapping pallets of paint buckets  that were stored in the overhead shelves at Home Depot. I never would have thought at any moment in time that I would one day be wrapping someone in the same stuff. At least it was a live body and not a dead one.

My guess was correct as  it proved to be just as useful in wrapping a human body. I started at the ankles wrapping him like an egyptian mummy,  dashing around him in circles like a witch dancing around a cauldron beneath the full moon. Over and over with the sheet repeatedly overlapping his body in clear plastic layers moving up to his calves, slowly past his thighs groin, and around the hips.

By that point he had to be laid out flat on the bed and continuously rolled on either side to completely bind his arms, torso and back all together like a burrito, which proved to be an arduous and exhausting task. I felt like  a spider, wrapping this man up in silky viscous material wearing my black skin tight costume. It was like a ritual of its own, mimicking the spider’s deathly technique. I got taken by fantasy again, enjoying the task, laughing maniacally as he continuously whimpered like a child. Finally I was up to his chest in the tightly sealed plastic material. I continued rolling him side to side as needed , eventually making my way up to his throat. I contemplated wrapping his head but I didn’t want him to suffocate or cut him by attempting to make eye and mouth holes either. His neck would have to suffice. He looked like a mummy all bound up in my plastic webbing.

Standing back to admire my handiwork, it was more than pleasing to witness how well  the stretch wrap worked, since Steven was finally unable to move at all. It was particularly satisfying to watch him attempt to squirm without any movement, totally unable to free himself from his  plastic prison. “You son of a bitch!” he cried in anguish.  I laughed at his discomfort, wondering if spiders ever taunt their prey before consuming them.

Thinking of prey made realize how hungry I was and without another word I walked out of the room and down the stairs to raid Steve’s kitchen for snacks. There was not  much of a selection in his fridge but I did find a fresh apple, some walnuts,  and a beer to enjoy while Steven waited helplessly for my return. Exploring his kitchen lead me out to a double paned glass door that led to an outdoor terrace that was quite lovely. The sun was blanketed in the grey Seattle sky as usual.  I sprawled myself out on a  lounge chair and enjoyed a cigarette. It felt sort of absurd to be sitting in a lounge chair in a black full body fetish suit, puffing away on a cigarette before it even hit noon.

I finished my apple and tossed the core onto the edge of the lawn and lit up another cigarette. It was nice to finally get some fresh air, and I wanted to take some extra time just to make Steve feel more uneasy, trapped in plastic bondage where he had no choice but to wait for me. A psychological tactic to remind him who was boss.  After my second cigarette was out, and I finished my beer I slowly walked back inside the house. I sat down on his couch and spread myself out like a cat and turned on the television. It felt so nostalgic, since I almost never watch TV. I casually flipped through the channels without focus until I settled with whatever was on channel 42. It had been so long since I  had watched any television that I actually enjoyed seeing the obnoxious advertisements bombarding my vision in bright colorful epileptic flashes . I kept the volume on mute so Steve wouldn’t know what I was up to, adding to the suspense and torment of having to wait on me.

I drifted off calmly into a nap for what felt like an hour before suddenly I awoke in a dazed state of shock. I  shook my head for a few seconds trying to recall where I was before remembering I was still in session. “Steve must be dying by now” I thought as I  rose to my feet and quietly snuck back up the stairs and  into the bedroom to find my new friend still motionless and in a state of pleasure from being stuck in the plastic cocoon I had wrapped him in. He looked so in love with being bound as he slightly moved, unable to break free. He was in a state of bliss being mummified in saran wrap.

I climbed up onto his bed, standing over him, his chest between my big black steel toe boots. I pushed the sole of my boot against his exposed face. “Lick my fucking boot.” He hesitated for a moment, so I pushed it my boot further against his skull before he followed my command and started licking. Feeling his face through the thick leather made me press even harder against his face. The waffle like pattern of the sole pressing harder into his cheek, leaving a red mark that would surely last for days.

Beep Beep, my discreet session alarm blipped to alert me that the session was about a half hour from being done. Time sure flies when you are tormenting and degrading someone. I hopped down from his bed and rolled him onto his stomach before grabbing my switchblade from my inner boot. Starting at his hip bone, the tip of the knife glided effortlessly slicing his body free from the waist down to his knees and then stopped.  I pulled apart the layers of the section of  freshly sliced plastic to expose his hungry ass. I grabbed the backside zipper of his body suit and unzipped his ass free to deliver a sharp round of spankings that stung him enough to turn his pale milky cheeks a bright hot cherry red. I continued until my hand hurt through my leather gloves.

Once his cakes felt hot to the touch, I  peeled apart his meaty globes to spit in his winking fuck pucker. I reached over for the lube on the side dresser and pulled off my gloves and unzipped my suit further, freeing my hard dick from the sweaty confines of my rapist costume. I drizzled a long line of silicone lube onto my dick like it was maple syrup, slowly pumping it, greasing it over  until it was shining with glisten, ready to slide into Steven’s hungry hole.

He whined and whimpered like the fucking dog that he was, causing me to slap his raw red  ass.  “Who is my fucking bitch?!” I demanded in my foreboding deep Satanic voice. He cried out in a high pitched response, “I am Sir, I am your fucking bitch Sir!” his voice echoing against the walls cutting through the silent noon daylight. I punched both of his butt cheeks before shoving my dick in his quivering fuck, burying it all the way to the hilt balls deep inside of him.  He gasped for breath, moaning like a wounded animal as I railed his shit chute carelessly tearing apart his anal walls. He let out a roar of pleasurable ecstasy bucking his ass towards my dick. “More?!” Harder and deeper I pounded away, with the slapping of my balls against his ass creating a melodic sound of slapping sweaty flesh that layered the sounds of plastic friction from the saran wrap stretching and tearing. It felt like I was fucking a giant leftover from the previous nights dinner. The squeaking of the plastic grew louder as I continuously raped his hole until I felt the climaxing developing in my solar plexus as my balls ached with the urge to explode. I pounded faster and more furious than ever as I grunted like a wild boar, feeling the pulsating eruption of my ball juices bursting forth. A deep orgasm that was conjured from the depths of eternal hell arose from within my gut, emanating outward through the urethral canal at warp speed. Finally my juices sprang freed from the tip of my penis like a violent  volcanic eruption that spewed ropes of hot thick white cum, that I heartily deposited entirely into the depths of his bowels. My man magma was absorbed into of his body, staining him forever. The heat of the feverish release made me collapse several seconds later, falling onto the plastic wrapped mass of body that was beneath me. The sound of the plastic squealing almost as loudly as Steven did as drool leaked from my open mouth down and onto greedy face below me.

After several spasming post orgasmic twitches inside my host, my penis began deflating and  sliding out of him as he begged, “Please keep it in me!” My response was another hard smack to the side of his face for making such a request. It took me a while but eventually I was able to stand and dismount in a haze of dizziness to wander to the bathroom and take a  piss before finally removing that second skin of a body suit. I was drenched in sweat, and my body was so grateful to feel the air again. I was probably more exhausted than he was. He would be pretty sore for a few days no doubt, I thought as I hopped into the hot shower to renew myself again, the cascading flow of hot water bringing me back to life.

And of course, as always, taking my sweet ass time to fully enjoy a long hot shower. I deserved it god dammit.  Exiting the bathroom with a billow of steam like I was the Devil himself, walking naked across the room to pull out my switchblade again. With a very delicate touch, I sliced my dear Steven free from the rest of his plastic restraint without so much of a  nick to his skin.

I realized that it was almost 2 pm as I was quickly dressed and laced up my heavy boots. It ensures no quick get away, wearing those boots, next time they stay on. Steven stood over me as I was finishing my lacing nightmare, and for a second I was looking up at him. He was covered in lube, red in the face, with an ass that looked as red as a Babboon’s.  And with the sweetest and most genuine smile Steven handed me a fat stack of Hundred dollar bills. I stood up again, and looked down to kiss him tenderly on the forehead before I turned away and ran out of there like Batman if thats how he would exit, which I don’t know ever remember Batman just running off anywhere, and in his street clothes no less, er fuck you get the point.

Chapter 4: Trans Hooker Hijinx

One of the key aspects that is elemental in becoming a successful male escort involves some frequent  travel. To make the most capital gain, a professional escort must be ready and willing to visit various cities for work.  Major cities are always the best bet. It is some what the same as what a rock star does by  going on tour, on a smaller scale, and instead of performing music, its more like fucking and sucking.  Of course it is a given standard to be operating in a nice upscale hotel room in a centrally located area. In theory it all sounds totally easy and dreamlike, to travel and experience different places, see new cities, meet and fuck interesting people, and make money while doing it.  It can be pretty fun, and sometimes its freaking awesome, but there is a lot of work that needs to be done to make a trip successful. Nothing is ever guaranteed, and sometimes it just doesn’t work out the way it is planned. It can be Heaven or utter Hell, and sometimes the factors that determine such are totally out of one’s control.

The first real thing that most escorts themselves don’t even realize about escorting is that it is actually a lot of work! It requires quite a bit of careful planning, preparation, and self awareness. One must have vigilance and pay special attention to details, while still being ready for any and all possibilities amid the chaos.  A successful escort must possess  some level of cognitive skills and abilities, coupled with a business oriented mindset and attitude.  The will, determination, and motivation to succeed are driving factors, and one must also be self reliant. Being self employed means it is all up to the individual escort to execute a travel plan that produces successful results. Those results at the very minimum ensuring that one returns home with more money than prior to a trip somewhere. It is a very self driven line of work that is not for everyone. It costs money to make money, and a good escort knows how to manage their finances to ensure that they not only break even, but make money as well.  At the same time however,  there are some factors and circumstances that fall outside of one’s control that can greatly affect the ability to be successful.

There are no charts plotting demographics, no statistical graphs to compare, no factual prediction methods that will forecast how an escort will do in any given city. It can be completely random, it can feel very personal. One escort could be totally swamped in clients in San Francisco for a few days, and yet he may have a predecessor that doesn’t even get one client throughout the entire duration of his trip. Both escorts may be equally attractive, but the success rate varies vastly and for reasons that are completely unknown.

The escort that was successful in San Francisco could totally flop when he went to Denver, while the escort that failed in San Fran Francisco could be hugely successful in Denver. The results can feel very personal,  yet it can be extremely difficult not take these things personally. That is probably one of the hardest aspects of being an escort. It can dramatically affect one’s self worth on scales that the average human doesn’t ever typically deal with. It can be easy to fall into a negative mindset, feeling objectified, and sometimes rejected. It can thicken the skin or harden the heart, if it doesn’t shatter the mind. There have been many a time when I view my success as if it were retail, and that is a bad  mindset to take on.

The retail method meaning something like this: I am selling a product, and the product is not selling. When a product is on the market, and it isn’t selling, the manufacturer is forced to examine why the product is not moving. There must be something wrong with the product if it isn’t selling, right? Wrong. That is the worst mindset one could ever adopt as an escort because it measures self worth against success, and it happens all the time. It is a dark pit that is easy to fall into when experiencing slow periods or unsuccessful travel trips.

Escorting has a particularly unique way of equating self worth with business and it can be very psychologically  damaging to someone with already low levels of self esteem. It is a very personal service, that cant be taken personally. It is really quite maddening at times and it doesn’t make any sense. Popularity is so hard to measure properly and things get worse when comparing results amongst other escorts, because each location is uniquely different for each individual escort.

An escort that is hugely popular in Atlanta Georgia could completely fail in Boise Idaho, and nobody can explain why. That is the huge risk factor of escorting. It really takes a leap of faith, while keeping the right mindset of unassuaged self worth. To be ok with oneself even if a trip does not go as planned, and being ready and prepared when such an event may occur. I have found myself marooned in completely unfamiliar places in the past because I didn’t plan accordingly, and that is a very miserable and potentially dangerous situation to end up in.

The hurt of feeling unwanted and unsuccessful is just salt on the wound when an escort depends on the money they expected to generate in order to get home. That really stings.  And you totally thought that escorts just got fucked all day, didn’t you? I wish that was the case! The truth of the matter is that there is a whole entire tricky side to travel work that even the best escorts forget about sometimes. Any kind of work that requires an individual to be their own boss is stressful enough. If I fail, I have nobody else to blame. Yet at the same time there are factors that are completely out of my control. Self reliance is everything because I am ultimately working for myself. Being an escort is no different from any other self employed situation. It entails some important communicative skills, and an exceptional ability to entertain and fulfill clientele needs. A good escort must be able to perform through multiple scheduled sessions throughout the day with vigor, maintaining that happy high energy attitude that clients naturally expect. An escort must always be ready and happily willing  to provide each patron a personally unique, fun, and uplifting experience. Satisfaction is the only guarantee.  That is what they are paying for. And they always expect the best for the amount they are willing to spend.

It is such a paradoxical thing, escorting. To go from meeting a stranger and within minutes,  sharing the deepest levels of intimacy and giving them whatever aspect of me that they want that will satiate their desires, and doing it all within the limits of one or a few hours worth of  time. Then they leave and I am all alone again.

Sometimes a session could continue for several hours, or even several days, which is a rarer and far less frequent situation. Breaking it all down to basics it goes something like this: I meet a guy and give him this highly charged sensual and sexual experience that is created and culminated out of whatever fantasy he wishes me to fulfill. It is my job to bring his inner fantasies to life, acting them out in a sexually gratifying way that it suffices to say that I am literally satisfying the customer. I literally bare myself and give all that I have got to a total stranger whom I may or may not ever see again.

It is isn’t always about sex though. Sometimes it’s all about the intimacy devoid from a man’s life. Or it could be the simplicity of a sympathetic ear for a lonely troubled soul. Other times it’s the sensual and sexual gratification they are not receiving from their spouse or partner.  Or there is the type of guy seeking personal self serving retribution, and I must administer the punishment ritual or perform the rape scenario that they need to feel good about themselves again.

Some need a therapeutic session of release through specific acts dreamed out of masochistic desires. He may need me to willfully afflict him with differing levels and methods of torture and abuse. The possibilities are endless. Whatever void they are willing to pay me to try to fill, and how they want me to fill it. A void that so many people have, that is always bottomless and insatiable. So many people just  looking for love in all the wrong places.  I feel that void in their lives, and I am somehow supposed to pretend that I can magically fill it. And it is that cold dark feeling of empty that keeps me employed, so I thank the gods every day for it.

Sometimes I successfully quell the inner empty of their soul, but I know that it is just a temporary fix for anyone that is looking for fulfillment anywhere external rather than within themselves. I capitalize from this void, and I give so much of myself over in doing so. I give my most authentic self sometimes, other times it’s a complete fabrication.  It is all very personal and sometimes it feels strange giving someone such a raw, intense, sensual and sexual experience while still being grounded mentally psychically and physically. Then they leave, and its over until the next one.

It takes its toll on my psyche for sure, but only if I allow it. Any escort would probably agree with me to some degree as I candidly admit: Whatever it takes for me to keep such a balance, that enables the ability and capacity to maintain the right mind set while doing all of these things, I am going to fucking do it.  That is why most escorts are drug addicts.

Then there are all the annoyingly nitty and gritty details that I tend to dislike because of my innate subpar organizational skills and work habits that have been a lifetime in the making. The scheduling, the budgeting, keeping logs and documenting transactions. Mindful spending. Taking notes and creating profiles to remember clients when I return again to the same cities etc. Typical office admin part of the job that is often times overlooked or forgotten about until the volume of clientele is enough to make these little tasks that much more important if not completely necessary.

Before traveling to any city, there is a whole bunch of preparation that needs to be done in order to have a smooth and productive trip. From finding the right location to maximize ease of access, down to booking hotel reservations and having the funds available to cover costs including deposits, which almost all hotels charge.

Under any circumstance, the farther ahead I decide to travel somewhere, the better my results are. Not only by planning ahead but also booking and paying in advance makes the entire situation much more agreeable over all, and that is simply due to cost. Everyone knows that the farther ahead in advance one purchases airline tickets, the cheaper those tickets will cost. The same thing goes for Hotels, don’t ask me why. They obviously go hand in hand, and whenever I travel I can be sure 99% of the time I will be flying, so its best to just pay for everything all at once.  It doesn’t make the process easy if I make a sudden and flippant decision to go on a trip randomly simply because of cost.

I  had to learn to  travel the wrong way enough times to finally realize these simple steps and measures that could have saved myself a fortune, not to mention countless fits of anxiety and rage. After a multitude of trial and error experiences, I formulated my own methodology. I go straight from the airport to my hotel and check in immediately. I unpack and get online. As tempted as I may be to get distracted by the excitement of the new sights and sounds of a fresh city, I keep my tunneled vision.

Experience the wonderment of the whatever city? Forget about it. At least at the beginning of the trip.  If I am having a good experience, and I mean that in terms of generating cash, it more than likely indicates that I have spent the majority  of my time locked away, my sightseeing limited to the confines of my hotel room. In fact travel trips can be particularly boring at times, and it is a true test of my will when I can keep my energy focused without being distracted or succumbing to my urges to go play instead of focus on my work.

The upside is that there is definitely a positive correlation between keeping myself busy with clients enough that I feel imprisoned within my hotel room for three or four days, and going home a happy whore with pockets full of green. The goal is to collect as much of donation funding as possible.  It can be exhausting at times. I myself have never seen more than four clients in one day, and that day was very draining, figuratively and literally. There is a reason why escorts get paid the high dollar amounts that we do, and we work our asses off for it, believe me.

Then there are always the small things that no one usually thinks about ahead of time before going on an Escorting trip. After travel and lodging have been procured and paid for,  there is of course that pesky human need for nourishment and sustenance.  If I am to be successful throughout my travels, I must be at the peak of my physically sexual game. In other words I need to be  fueled to fuck throughout the course of the day.

Of course it isn’t unusual to find myself without a proper place to prepare healthy meals. Usually I have to grab what I can in between clients and food can get quite expensive. It is always a great idea to bring snacks or other things to munch on throughout the duration of a trip. I might go out once a day to eat, and maybe out to dinner with a client or two, and they of course always pay for it as well.

I didn’t travel at all for the first couple years of escorting. In fact I never even thought of the idea until I met Michael, an old friend who became a roommate of mine when I first moved to Portland from San Diego several years ago. Our first meeting was under an unusually strange sexual premise. We intended to meet originally as a casual anonymous fuck scenario that I had staged on Craigslist. Funny how things don’t always work out how we intend them. It was meant to be a totally anonymous encounter. He was supposed to come into my unlocked room one night to find me face down and ass up. I would keep my head down while on hands and knees, ready to receive his cock until he shot his load inside of me. Then he wold leave. No words. Just pure animalistic pounding at my back door that would be administered by a strange mysterious horny man, whom I knew nothing about.  I intended on being ready and willing to be his receptive vessel of pleasure,  prepared to endure his sexual aggression until his urges were satiated, and his seed exuded. I didn’t want to know anything else about him.

So there I was naked except for a white jockstrap waiting. I assumed the position, ass up, on all fours on my bed on a Tuesday night.  My head pointed downwards, with arched back supporting the weight of my torso on my elbows. I leaned forward on my knees with my ass in the air and pointed towards the door. We decided that he would be there at 10 pm and I would be ready to go on the dot.

He was there with not a minute to spare. He walked through the door and all that was visible was his shadow. His form shapeshifting and contorting  across the orange peel textured walls. The sheer thrill of not knowing what to expect turned me on and made my heart beat quicken with excitement.

He quietly shut the door behind him, and glided across the room over to my bed. He slowly stepped within the radius of the green spotlight overhead that was cascading down from the ceiling. I looked up into the mirror in the upper corner of the room to catch a brief glimpse of him unable to make out any of his features yet. He was simply a silent shadow form of a complete stranger standing over me.  My body naked with ass spread open before him, entirely vulnerable. He came closer and suddenly became aglow , bathed in blacklight.

He was a sexy man in his 40s, with a nice solid and muscular build. He was a white guy with dark almost black hair. His blue eyes sparkled in toxic yellow from the luminance of the blacklight kit. All that was visible to me was limited to the reflected vision in glass of the mirror that was hanging in the corner above my bed.

He approached the edge of my bed finally within arms reach. My heartbeat was  increasing faster and harder through each pump. My blood was coursing fast enough through my veins that the sound of it drowned out out everything else. My circulatory system screamed through my temples like cathedral bells. The excitement and anticipation, laced with a bit of fear was something that I will always love. This strange anonymous man could be capable of anything and now here he was standing over my naked body.

The tension broke and dissipated the second his warm hand caressed my ass cheeks, rubbing them softly and gently. The tension gave way to relief and I knew I was safe. He bent down and dove tongue first into my ass, lapping at my pucker like a greedy dog. His tongue in my asshole made me shiver as my back arched like a cat even more. He ate my ass furiously like a hot fireplace poker dancing and darting in and along the rim of my shit hole, making me crave his raw cock up my fuck hole.

He paused and slowly stood up without a word and slid his wet cock tip into my saliva slathered ass. The rhythmic motion of anonymous pounding commenced, completely wordless. He hammered me with fury, before shooting his load in me like a firecracker bursting into flames on 4th of July. He  twitched and convulsed violently before falling to his knees behind me onto my bed. He rolled over next to me and laid motionless for several minutes, still twitching like a wounded animal on his back. He was supposed to leave then.  He appeared to have passed out immediately after his orgasm and already started to snore so I figured I would cut the guy a break and I let him snooze.

At first I felt kind of annoyed until I gave in and turned over to lay on my back joining him with our bodies side by side spooning one another.  My was ass dripping wet with his freshly fucked seed, I  stared at the ceiling feeling somewhat successful at my attempt for anonymous fun.  My control over the orchestrated situation had been lost however. I scoffed at the illusory nature of the false idea of having control over anything in life. Control is such a flawed and false premise. We humans try so hard in vain to control conditions and people to which there is never any control. We are all specks on giant spinning rock that is flying through empty space and time. The only thing we have control over is our reactions to whatever happens in our self directed lives and realities.

I was about to doze off into dreamland when the nameless man behind me stirred suddenly. I thought he was going to get up and leave but instead without any warning, he shoved his meaty rod back inside of my cum seething asshole. After a few minutes of angered pumping in and out my ass he delivered another load of hot sperm up my gut, filling me up nicely. My cum drenched asshole gaped before we ever finally got around to exchanging words, which felt taboo after establishing the mutually agreed context of anonymity. Oh well, it was all just supposed to be for fun I had to remind myself. “I am Mike.” “That is my middle name and my Dad’s name, I am Dan.” I smiled.

We shared a cigarette beneath the howling full moon and I  walked him to his vehicle afterward and met his dog, Riley. “You are an escort, aren’t you?” He obviously knew what I did for a living. “I do erotic massage so I understood a lot about the business, and I have seen you online before.” He appeared to be a nice guy, a new friend developing from unexpected circumstances.

“I should introduce you to my friend Alice. She is an escort too, and I have known her for 20 years. We have been best friends for ages, and I bet she could offer you some useful information about it. Would you like to take a trip with me to Seattle this weekend? I could introduce you to her.” I had never been to Seattle at that time and I eagerly agreed to accompany my new friend on a visit to see Seattle for the first time.

“I have to warn you though, she didn’t start off as Alice. She was named Josh for many of the first years that I have known her.” “That is totally cool. I am not a hater and accept all walks of life.” My intrigue in meeting this fascinating and self made woman spiked after he shared that bit of information with me. She obviously covered a much different market than myself, but Mike thought I could draw some inspiration from her success, and perhaps pick up on some pointers on how to increase my capital gains.

Alice was known within the local Seattle community as a highly influential figure of rebellion in many aspects. She was a sort of modern day Pioneer on the frontier of shifting consciousness in the context of gender identification as self expression.  Her name was Alice and she was a blond nuclear bombshell to say the least. Oh and what a dark lady of the night.   She Is a  very glamorous, tall, graceful, terrifyingly sexy Trans woman with a razor sharp shadow that equally matches her light. Not only was she an escort, but she was a merciless and reputably vicious drug dealer with a reputation for going ape shit on people.

The moment we entered into Seattle, Alice was the first thing on Mike’s mind. We drove straight up to Capitol Hill which is the heart of the gay district in Seattle. We parked outside of a large cream colored high rise apartment building and that is when Mike gave me the official warning.

“The bitch is volatile as fuck, and she has run the gamut for years now. She has a short fuse and a wild temper so beware.”  This was the official introduction I was given as we rode the elevator up to the tenth floor. We got off the elevator and walked to the end of the low lit hall. Apartment 1017 was the last unit on the floor. Mike knocked on her apartment door softly. There was a still minute of silence before the door flew open. “Michael! What the fuck are you doing here. And who is this?” The tall statuesque blond woman looked over at me and I smiled back. She had a very powerful presence and was radiantly beautiful.

Her emerald green eyes peeked out of bright blond bangs. Her makeup was done fully with a dark eyeliner that reminded me of ancient Egypt. She had a porcelain like quality to her skin and pink neutral lipstick that she wore nicely. Her Long silky blond locks curled outwardly in waving layers reminiscent of Farrah Fawcett 1970s hairdos. Alice stood tall in a white dress one that was long sleeved and went down mid calf like a classic Marilyn or Jane Mansfield might have worn. She sported a very noticeably medically enhanced ample bosom, perky and stitched into place like a Dolly Parton Barbie Doll on crack. She was quite striking and she was absolutely fabulous. Her aura glowed bright when I met her for the first time, and her energy field was electric enough to say without words  that she did not tolerate any kind of bullshit. A free spirit with a deadly wild streak.

I listened as Alice and Michael carried on small talk updating each other on recent happenings in their lives. Alice’s acute personality was noticeable in the way that she spoke in conversation.  She repeatedly used expressions such as “Just go for jugular…” She used this phrase interchangeably in many topics of conversation mostly referring to her drug customers and escorting clients. And also her friends. And her family. And when she went shopping, etc. Alice had to fight most of her life simply to be herself, and that would make anyone develop a sharp edge or three I would imagine.

Yet somehow she still possessed a very vulnerable side of her that she kept locked away, and try as she did to hide it, I could feel the inner hurt that she carried.

I asked her questions about her life as a Trans Escort candidly, since I was so fascinated by her. She explained that she had experienced adversity in many aggressive forms, but it didn’t stop her from being who she was. Alice lived the way she wanted to, and didn’t give a fuck about what anybody else thought of her. As beautiful as she was, she also had a side of her that was poisonous and volatile. Mike said that she had a reputation around the city that ranged from wonderful to the point of Saintly all the way down to the worst embodiment of evil.

She was very a popular drug dealer in town also.  She held the unspoken title of the most sought after Trans Girl Escort in King County Washington. Everyone in Seattle claimed to know her even if they really didn’t, but her notoriety and local fame was unsurpassed by any other escort in Seattle.  I heard a lot about her from the gossiping mouths of other Seattle residents over time. I found her to be quite cunning and witty, and I absolutely loved her don’t give a fuck attitude that showed she was outwardly wild, yet resilient and tough. She fascinated me because she was both bewitching and seductive, yet at the same time very terrifying and scary.

She gave away some of her secrets to me on my first travel trip to Seattle. “I don’t ever put up with bullshit. Don’t let people walk on you around here because they will if you let them.”  She showed me the inspiration I needed in order to take my advertising to the next level, and explained the website she had created for her to highlight her assets and skill to show me some examples. “It’s all about creating the right fantasy for these guys. Make some videos of yourself, start a blog. You want to inspire people to the possibilities.” She explained some of the dynamics that she felt she knew fairly well, and offered some advice about pictures, helping me take a few shots on her fancy camera offering her own input of opinion and suggestion, to which I was very grateful.

She even let me borrow her apartment to host one of the clients I had booked before having secured my hotel room in Seattle. Again this was my first traveling trip so I still had not learned my lesson about getting my ducks in a row first. It was very gracious of her to trust me with her sacred space so I figured it was a nice gesture to break her off something from the 700 dollars I made after shoving my feet into the face of a sexy ginger daddy for three hours straight.

And yes, that was literally all this man wanted from me. Greeting him at the door was pleasantly surprising, since he was a body building ginger daddy type. My favorite. The minute I smiled and said hello,  my dick immediately jumped in my gym shorts and I was ready to pound his butt into oblivion. I ushered him inside, thinking I was about to have the fuck of my life.  Unfortunately, my  boner deflated quickly once he came inside and sat down on the couch to profess what he wanted from me. It was more than disappointing to learn that he had no interest in having sex, but had a sole purpose in mind that turned out to be: foot play. And as always, its about the client’s wants and needs, not my own. That’s just part of the job!

He had me strip my socks and shoes off slowly, a striptease show of man feet. He slowly used his teeth to pick up my socks before inhaling through them deeply, his dick was visibly hard as a rock through the grey jersey running shorts he was wearing.  Once he had me completely barefoot, he had me take a seat  in the wheeled computer chair while he laid down on the carpet, and sprawled himself out on the ground below me.  He slowly began the foot worshipping ritual by slowly sucking on my toes like a baby nursing on a tit, one dirty digit at a time.

I was amazed at how much he relished in personal delight touching and tasting my naked feet. He went very slow and took his time suckling and sniffing each and every one of my ten greasy toes. It was like a porn version “This little Piggie.” I giggled since my feet are very ticklish, and he was in love with the sensitive nature of my unusually ticklish feet. I hate when people find out how ticklish I am because I know for a fact that tickle torture is very real, and people love to exploit that when they find that out about me! He went apeshit for the giggles he evoked simply from the way he ran his tongue up and down the soles of my feet and in between my toes. It was like stepping in warm jello which had me in tears from the intensity of his mouth as he sucked on every part of each of my large white feet.

The second hour of foot play was a little more rough. “Just shove your feet in my face like you hate me. You can kick me in the face and nose, but don’t do it too hard. Don’t do it too soft either. Pretend you are walking on my face….” I started off by lightly kicking him in the face, and intermittently choking him by holding my foot to his throat. Then I face fucked him with my dirty right foot, inserting it fully into his mouth starting with all five toes. I pushed my foot into his mouth as if his head was a giant foot slipper until my big toe reached the back of his throat which was not as simple and easy as it may sound.  He tried his best to swallow my entire foot, choking and sweating until his face turned bright red. It was impressive to feel him almost swallow my entire foot down his throat. It was like wearing warm wet meat slipper which surprisingly felt very nice on my sensitive foot. Unfortunately I could only get it halfway into his mouth since my large heel was too big to fit my foot entirely between his teeth without breaking his jaw.

The third hour dragged on the longest, watching him chortling on both of my feet, desperately giving all the effort he had to try to swallow my foot entirely, one at a time. He loved feet that much and eventually shot his load while he sucked my toes and sniffed my dirty socks. I really just sat there the entire time in the computer chair, playing video games and ignoring his objectifying sexual gratification that he was attaining from my bare feet. After three hours I finally had to remind him what the time was, and he shelled out 700 dollars for the time he spent worshipping my nasty feet.

That was the highlight of my entire trip, in fact that was the only client that manifested throughout the duration of my short inaugural two day visit to Seattle. It didn’t prove to be quite as lucrative as what I had aspired the trip to be. In fact, meeting miss Alice was the true highlight of the trip. She actually saved me from utter failure when it wasn’t possible for me to check into my hotel room after forgetting the 100 dollar incidental hold the hotel needed in order to complete check in. Thank god she helped me otherwise my first night in Seattle would’ve been spent sleeping with Michael and Riley the dog in my car. The hotel room was about 300 dollars for one night, plus a deposit of 100 dollars on a credit card. I only had cash.  Seattle always has outrageous hotel prices which is another reason why it is not the best escorting destination for me. It drives me insane that they won’t accept cash for a deposit on a room in most hotels, and I will never understand such a stupid and inconveniencing rule. Not everyone has an actual credit card but Hotel Chains could give much less of a fuck and that was obvious without asking.

My second trip to Seattle was where things really got weird. Of course all scenarios where people start getting weird and nutting up happen when I am completely alone and totally off guard. My second trip felt less like an escort excursion and more like an episode of some twisted soap opera where Alice was center stage yet again.

The sequence of strange events that would unfold on my second trip to Seattle were entirely centered around Miss Alice of course. Seattle’s Grand Dame Dark Diva. Still feeling enamored and completely charmed by Miss Alice, I returned to Seattle the second time with a  gift for her. It was a beautiful baroque style  shaiz lounge that was an antique. It was heavy wood framed, with floral decoration carved into the wood itself. It was refinished in a gold leafing paint finish totally and reupholstered in a soft gray velvet that was smooth to the touch. It immediately grabbed my attention while I wandered through a used furniture store once I had arrived in Seattle. It was an impulse stop on my way into the city after the long commute from Portland Oregon. I needed to stretch my legs and get some fresh air when I happened to stumble upon such an elegant yet gaudy furniture piece that immediately called Alice to mind when I saw it on display. I almost kept it for myself, it was so unusual and beautiful. Just like Alice. I knew she would love it so I had to get it for her as a token of appreciation for her existence.

I lumbered the lounge piece out of my car, and haphazardly fumbled with it all the way into her building, and managed to get it onto the elevator platform from the help of a neighbor that was also headed upstairs. Eventually I made it up to the tenth floor and thanked the man for helping me.

Finally the 10th floor signal lit up and the doors slowly opened. I lugged the new chair all the way to her unit at the end of the hall, sliding it across the newly waxed floors to save my back some stress instead of trying to carry it down the hall alone. I gave three loud knocks on the door to announce my arrival, and just as last time waited for a long moment in silence.

Something didn’t seem quite right for some unexplainable reason. Then there were some strange sounds of some scuffling around,  before dead silence again. This time there was a much longer period of eery silence before Alice finally answered the door. She cracked the door just enough to reveal one of her painted eyes surrounded by her thick messy blonde mane to greet me.

“Um, Alice?”  She looked confused for a moment before she realized it was me.  She shut the door and undid the chain lock before flinging the door open fully, reaching out for an open armed embrace, greeting me in a long flowing lilac satin bathrobe. She hugged me with a tight squeeze, her bright red nails scratching my back which made me shiver. Something about her grasp  was stressful and urgent. “I found this chair and immediately thought of you.” I stepped aside to show her the chair I had gotten for her.  I moved my hand along the top of the baroque looking piece as if I were a product model on the Price is Right. “Oh my god I fucking love it! Come on in Honey!” She exclaimed loudly.

“I need you to help me.” She said in a low voice as she ushered me into the apartment.  I turned and grabbed the cumbersome and large chair and dragged it awkwardly  into her place. She quickly shut and locked the door behind me. I plunked the chair down in the foiler against a bare wall which would be its final resting place. It was the perfect spot.

“I need you to help me get rid of this guy, he is fucking crazy and won’t leave.” Before I could even ask her who in the hell she was talking about a deep male voice shouted out from the living room. “Alice?! Who is here?!” We both jumped, startled by the booming voice of the mysterious man calling from the living room. “Oh its just my friend Danny, we are gonna have some girl talk.” She shouted reassuringly back in the same overly powerful volume.  She motioned for me to walk down the hall ahead of her as I nervously walked forward into the living room, still confused as to what the hell was going on over at crazy Alice’s apartment that day.

As I cautiously wandered into the abyss of Alice’s apartment I stopped short,  startled by her mystery guests. Two very sexy, and equally scary looking red headed muscle brutes sat side by side in two matching mid century pea green upholstered chairs. Their blank stares coldly mirroring one another.  Both of them were 100% ginger. They sat completely motionless with expressionless faces. Still like two granite statues.  Two ancient viking warrior types of men,  matching in the same dominant posture that displayed an air of dark intimidating allure. Each of the two sat with both arms on the rests of the chairs, as if they were posed for a photograph.

A stark contrast to me clumsily tripping over my feet upon entering the room, catching myself from falling down onto the ground thanks to Alice’s red asian rug. My innocent smile and awkward entrance before the two left them unmoved, gawking at me with stone faces. The two men could have been twins if it weren’t for the obvious age difference between the two of them, since one appeared to be about ten years older than the other.

They were almost identical in appearance, two large brutes with flaming red buzz cuts, and fully grown fiery colored orange beards that cascaded down milky stone white faces. It was very obvious that they were related they could have been brothers. They were both large enough to tower over my mere 6 feet of stature.  Naturally muscular, yet they lifted weights no doubt. The rippled muscular contours of their arms, legs, and chests were bulging beneath their clothes as if they were about to rip at the seams.

Which one was the crazy one?  It made no difference to me because they were both very hot. Two virulent and  dangerous thugs, which got me all hot under my collar.  My flushed face  could have cooked an egg at that moment, as the electric tingle in the tip of my dick excited my senses when nervously reaching out for a good old fashioned handshake. As an ice breaking gesture of respect, I reached out to the older of the two first.

“I’m Danny,” introducing myself  with my kindest inflection of voice possible. I was laying it on thick hoping to break any aggressive barriers that might have been present.  The older gentleman’s large neanderthal  hand reached out to grab mine in a crushing grip of a hand shake. I love it when a handshake hurts like Hell. After a few seconds of engaging me with an intense eye locked stare,  he let go of his death grip, and I offered the same gesture the other ginger as well. Neither of them said a word, as they both stared right through me,  sizing me up  before looking at one another, as if they were communicating telepathically between themselves.

Then there was a long moment of awkward silence. I grew more nervous as the deafening quiet was creating an uncomfortable atmosphere between the three of us.  Before I could disband the the discomfort by attempting to start meaningless conversation,  Alice entered the room and whisked me off to the kitchen in a nervous flurry of bleach blond hair and purple satin fabric that undulated between us.

“You want me to make you some tea?” She said in a high pitched voice, moving further into the kitchen to ensure she was out of sight of her strange stone faced guests.  She reached into the cabinet overhead to grab tea bags, and started to fill the metal kettle at the sink behind her. “I don’t know how to get rid of them” she said quietly as she lit the burner of the iron stovetop range.

I was temporarily distracted by the hibiscus floral print on her nightgown that perfectly matched her bright pink acrylic nails.

“This guy is driving me fucking nuts. I can’t get rid of him and I can’t work or do anything with him here. I have been trying to get get him to go home but he won’t fucking  leave. His family knows he is crazy, he has psychosis and his mother is trying to fly him back to Nevada to be with his wife and kids. She even bought him a plane ticket but we still need to get him to get on that fucking plane, and he doesn’t want to go. I cannot figure out how to get him the fuck out of here.” She whispered softly in erratic movements with  the sink still running to drown out the sound of her frustrated chatter.

My attention was drawn to her feet, noticing the same pink color again on her toenails. “Why don’t you just ask him to leave?” I didn’t know what else to say.  “Don’t you think I have tried that already?” I wanted to help but what was I going to do that would make any sort of difference? Clearly I had chosen the wrong time to visit.

Obviously we couldn’t call the police since Alice was a notoriously well known figure at the King county police department. She was on a first name basis with the local Seattle precinct down the road.  I always identified with her because of her rebellious nature and ways of operating beneath normal society. The small groups of us people who don’t fit into categories or boxes that never feel like we are in the right place at times. The cops love to fuck with the  will always be a target for law enforcement to scrutinize. That is just the world we live in, and Alice constantly had to walk a strange jagged line living such a chaotic and crazy lifestyle.

We both took seats at the kitchen table as I lit up a cigarette. We sat quietly together solemnly sipping chamomile, trying to scheme together some kind of a plan for red head removal. Suddenly there was a crashing sound that broke the silence of stillness, making us both jump to our feet.  A door had just slammed shut in the next room and I nervously followed Alice as she glided across the hardwood floors to investigate the crazy shit happening in the next room.

The older red head had apparently locked himself in the bathroom. “Come On Joe, what the fuck? Open the door!” The younger ginger bellowed out loud, smashing his fist against the door with a loud thud that shook the drywall of the apartment walls. Alice paced back and forth nervously with a cigarette hanging from her mouth as her robe tie was trailing on the floor behind her. “I cant have the cops coming here!” She shouted it at me as if I was the one causing all the ruckus.

I looked over at Red Junior, “What happened?” I tried to remain as calm and docile as possible. Somebody had to.  Anyone else would have been just as easily intimidated by these mysterious brute men. “Ah fuck, he is losing his mind again, and he is threatening to kill himself again. This time I think he might actually do something stupid. That’s the whole reason why I’m here. I tagged along when Alice picked him up, just to make sure he would be ok. I tried to convince him to go home but he is not listening to me at all anymore.” My heart suddenly softened for the pair of red Mongrels.

There was something sad and sincere about Red Junior’s eyes. Maybe he was not a total evil ogre after all. He was still hot either way. It would’ve been easy to get lost in terrifyingly green eyes until the sounds of more shattering glass shook the three of us,  our collective attention shifting to the bathroom again. The man barricaded in the bathroom was losing his marbles and it was only getting worse by the minute.  His tortured screams coupled with the sounds of shattering glass was distressing Alice and none of us knew what to do. It was not a pleasant morning at La Chateu de Mis Alice. Surely the cops would be arriving soon if something didn’t stop the

“What is your name?” I whispered to the more sensical of the two ginger twins. He must have been somewhere close to my age. Maybe around 25 years old.  “James” he said. “Why is he is going to try to kill himself?” I tried not roll my eyes as I  dismissed the destructive behavior as a cry for attention.  People in Seattle are so fucking dramatic, I never understood why. Even the people who are new there pig up on the vibe and it makes them lose their minds once in a while. This may have very well been one of those cases.  The lack of Sun fucks people up or something.  “He he has tried before, he hates himself and the life he lives.  The thing that sucks though, is that he has kids to raise, so it’s not fair to them if he kills himself!” I didn’t think he was really going to try to commit suicide but again, we were in Seattle and given the track record for suicide in the city of Seattle, it means something a  little bit different up there. There was more dramatic frenzied shouting and psycho babble echoing from beyond the bathroom door, the afflicted man becoming more incomprehensible, as he descended further into his dark state of self induced insanity. Of all places for one’s mental unravelling to take place, Alice’s bathroom was the right place at the right time.

Alice’s own unhinged verbal explosion sliced into the conversation unknowingly as she yelled into her phone, “Well your husband is a faggot, and he takes my big dick up his ass and he fucking loves it, you stupid fucking Cunt!” Alice lost her cool on the phone trying to get a hold of

Luckily for crazy Miss Alice, Joe’s mother had purchased a plane ticket for a one way flight from Seattle back to his home in Phoenix Arizona. It was her duty as the mother of her adult man child to get him away from this sinful homoerotic tryst that he was tangled up in. Oh the unspeakable horror of the unholy acts of sin he had committed with Miss Alice. For the love of god his wife truly deserved and needed her abuser back, and there were two mentally fucked up children in the desert somewhere that were missing their confused mentally debilitated father.

Joe’s Mother sort of saved the day, even if it was inspired and  fueled by her intolerance and revulsion of the whole situation. Her bigotry and prejudice was the gas that powered the process of getting Joe out of Alice’s place, and that was the whole goal anyway. Problem solved!

“He is being really quiet now, I don’t know what is going on.” James the Junior redhead announced with his ear to the bathroom door. It was time for someone to intervene. James would be the only one fit to talk some sense into the insane ogre that was destroying Alice’s bathroom. “You need to go talk to your brother…”…“Cousin, I am his cousin.” He corrected me. “I came along for the ride when Alice picked him up and I just want to go home after all of this drama. I don’t even live in Phoenix like he does. I was in Phoenix visiting Joe and his family. I live in Salem Oregon.” Thankful for his help I made an offer to drive him home since Salem was pretty close to Portland. Of course it was under the condition that he would talk his crazy cousin into getting on that plane and out of Seattle, where he clearly did not belong.  He cracked the bathroom door open and gave me an unsure look before he went inside shutting the door behind him. I walked back into the living room where Alice was sitting tapping her foot, nervously flipping through television channels clutching the remote with her hot pink fingernails. “James is in there talking to Joe to try to get him to calm down and leave.” I hoped my words would ease her anxiety.

“Thank god James has been here, since he has been the only voice of reason in all of this” she took at huge rip off of her bong and passed it over to me. “He has kept him from getting violent with me a couple of times,”  she exhaled a thick cloud of smoke that filled the room with vapors that wafted away slowly into the atmosphere. “And why on Earth would you take this guy home with you all the way from Phoenix?”

“Because we were in love!” she said in wavering and defensive tone. (Well I was close in my guess anyway.) “Right he loves you, and that is why his cousin had to stop him from hitting you?” There is an old 1950s song about that very topic by the Crystals and many artists have covered or rearticulated it because every dark bitch like myself, Miss ALex, Lana Del Rey, Anohni, etc  knows the sick and warped sentiment of an abusive partner in the lyrics  “He hit me and it felt like a kiss.”

Simply rolling my eyes was all of my contribution to her statement  as we simultaneously turned our attention back to the Game of Thrones on television. “Why was his cousin there with you guys anyway?” Neither of us could move from our fish eyed vegetative television trance “He needed a ride back from Phoenix to Salem, he was visiting Joe and didn’t have a way to get back home to Salem.” Ah so Joe gave a very different answer, but why? Maybe he was just too embarrassed to admit that he was stranded in Phoenix. I never judge anyone for petty shit like that so I never brought it up.

Almost two hours later we were still sitting there passing the bong back and forth, getting high as all hell. We lost track of time and it was a relief to see Alice acting calmly again. I didn’t want to disrupt her tranquil mood, since that was a seldom state of mind for her.  Alas but I jinxed it once Alice suddenly jumped back into frenzy mode again, wondering what was going on in the bathroom.

Before she could jump back onto her feet, James emerged with a calm yet truly  exhausted look about him. Joe agreed to get on the plane and get back to his wife and kids where that fucker belonged. As long as Alice was the one to drive him to the airport. This made me a little bit uneasy given the circumstances, but I was happy to finally be done with Alice’s drama show. I just wanted to go home after the exhaustion of being caught in the  whole situation. Alice is a very draining person but I love her dearly anyway.

Alice finally got ready to leave with Joe, and as we all exited the building James grabbed my shoulder from behind, “Hey bro can I chill with you at your hotel room before we leave Seattle. I mean Joe and Alice deserve their private goodbye moment alone ya know?”

It caught me off guard since it was no secret that I was gay, and he was a heterosexual male. The type that is macho, masculine, and straight. It surprised me that he was not uncomfortable with the idea of lodging with an obviously homosexual escort.

And of course my answer was yes as I held back any indication of  my perverted excitement. I had to remain calm cool and collected. I sure didn’t want him decking me in the face for saying the wrong thing, and it can be a dangerous situation when a gay guy unsuccessfully hits on, or even implies hitting on a hetero male. Mostly however Straight men are just as skittish as wild deer, and can easily get spooked and bound off into the forest, never to be seen again.  If they think that someone else is trying to push them into a situation that undermines their masculine identities or comfort zones, it is all over.

Acting as nonchalant as possible, my devious imagination was running on overdrive in my mind during the drive to my Hotel room in downtown.  It was a confident choice in  trusting James, despite the fact that I really did not know him at all. There were some signs of goodness that I didn’t miss. The fact that he defended Alex from being assaulted, and witnessing him mediate his cousin who was ten years older than him, was enough to give me a tiny glimpse of what kind of a person he was. The way he worried for his cousin, and his cousins children, showed that he had some sort of moral compass and at the very least some level of conscience. There were no gut twisting warning signs so it was settled.

I parked in the underground lot, and we breezed quickly through the revolving glass doors of the upscale hotel I was  staying at, beelining for the bank of elevators in the crowded lobby. We rode the elevator in silence, exiting on the 24th floor. I led the way to the room minding myself not to appear overly enthusiastic towards my heterosexual guest, again I didn’t want to spook him. I also reminded myself that not all straight men are comfortable with, or have the proclivity to act on his animalistic urges. Urges which may or may not extend past his normal sexual boundaries that may only include females. We both sat down quietly on the same bed, even though there were two.  I lit up a joint while he pulled out his tina pipe and started smoking.

I made a sudden ballsy move that seemingly came out of nowhere. I am not usually so bold but something unexplainable inspired me, and I started rubbing my hard dick through the denim of my jeans blatantly. I made sure that it was obvious enough for his emerald eyes to aim straight at my package and it was totally working. I grabbed my laptop and quickly got online,  and got some straight porn going, just to put him more at ease by presenting something familiar to his sexual norm. “Have you ever played with another guy?” slyly posing the question in a calm tone of voice.  The predictable shocked tone of response was  “NO! Of course not!” A typical response that still didn’t douse my interest.  His retort was peppered with an overly dramatic tone and expression of disgust that was too overly compensated to be genuine.

I made the first move naturally, and pulled down my zipper fly, letting my dick pop out as my large balls bounced forward exposed, freeing my excited genitals from the fabric restriction of pants. This was truIy rolling the dice of chance. There was no indication of what reaction I could have evoked but I just started to jerk my meat very slowly, spitting on my hand for lube. I was relaxed just admiring my own my mushroom tip, slowly fist pumping my meaty dick that was glistening from my saliva while fixing my gaze upon the porn on the computer screen.

I was really watching James from the corner of my eye to gauge his reaction without making him uncomfortable. Men are like gorillas and eye contact could spur a violent reaction if it comes to be perceived as a threat. Suddenly he let out a sigh and hesitantly joined me in pulling out his cock out and started jerking. Yes, Bingo. Slowly I moved my vision from the screen cautiously in an attempt to  gauge James’s expression and suddenly his eyes were dead locked with mine. The animal within me became unleashed, my sexual spirit unchained itself and was impossible to hold back,  as I dove in closer to James and locked lips with him like a hungry lust crazed dog. I was  shocked by my own crazed behavior and loss of self control but it had paid off in a way that I dared not try to do before. Something just came over me and took over as my desires drove me  in my thoughtless advances and he actually reciprocated! His rigid stiffness of his body suddenly relaxed and he wrapped his arms all around  me, rubbing me all over.  He reached up with his giant hands and held my face and slobbered all over my mouth as I caressed his bright orange beard. My dick was so turgid that it hurt.

I made the next advance being bold enough to push his head down and onto my cock, forcing him to suck it. He gobbled it down with astonishing ease, slowly pushing in until  reached his throat before he gagged spewing saliva all over my cock and balls making them wet as his face suddenly was. He smiled up at me with a reddened face, smeared in saliva and precum.

I went down and returned the favor, sucking him down slowly and deep until my nose was tickled with his bright fiery red pubic hair. I gripped his cock with a wet hand, and pumped up and down, increasing then decreasing speed as he moaned from the depths of his barrel chest. I pulled my face off of his cock and began nursing on his balls. I kept tasting him more southerly, following the trail of red pubic hair that led me to his sweet smelling ass. I pushed his heavy frame down onto his back on the bed and  lifted his heavy tree trunk legs, exposing his pink pussy hole that was nestled in a round patch of beautiful red fur and dove face first into it. I penetrated his treasure hole with my large nose smelling it deep before lapping at it, making out with his asshole as if it were his mouth. I stuck out my long tongue to its furthest reaches inside of his man hole, making him squirm and whine in a much higher pitch that made my cock drool a gush of warm precum onto the crisp white linen sheets.

He put his arms around the bends of his knees to pull himself back to expose more of his big round muscle ass to me. He threw his head back onto the pillow “please fuck me” I propped his ass up with a pillow beneath him to raise his succulent hole upward so that I could more deeply penetrate his manly ass. I drooled into His pink pucker that was now drenched and glistening with spittle. I took a deep breath before I spread his meaty cheeks apart to revel at the beauty of his winking pink hole that was just begging to be fucked.

I slowly guided my dripping mushroom tip to the entrance of his sweet love cavity and told him to relax and take a deep breath. I eased it into him very slowly. His insides felt like warm velvet caressing my cock as I slid deeper and deeper. His moans grew longer and louder the further I sank into him until I was buried balls deep inside his quivering man pussy. I kissed him on the mouth passionately, the sensation of parting his pink seas with my rigid penis was glorious. Our tongues darted each others mouths furiously as we sucked on each others lips with furious abandon.

I pumped his guts hard as I could until his screams rattled the walls, staring into his red face, as both were dripping with sweat. Then the explosion was building, I tried so hard to hold it back but I felt him feeling it too. He grabbed his dick and yanked angrily as I felt the climax circulating between the two of us. We both moaned into each others mouths as the onset of orgasm shook the bed. We yelled into each others faces, the sound of  two men growling violently in synchronized orgasmic explosion. I felt the pressure of my man Juices release in powerful squirt, shooting several thick ropes of semen, spewing all over his rectal walls, coating them with my sperm. I looked down to see him exploding at the same time, his hot white cum spraying all over both of our chests. I fell down on top of him, completely drained and exhausted. He wrapped his meaty arms around me holding me tightly with a thick smear of cum sticking as it dried between both of our hairy chests while we kissed one more time before we mutually fell into a much deserved sleep session.

The next morning we packed up our stuff and headed out southbound on the 5 freeway to Portland. Along the way James had asked me if he could stay at my house for a day or two before going back to Salem. Of course I said yes, I wanted to pound his big round ass for at least another day, he was not going home until my my nut sack was completely drained.

When we finally came back to my house, we went straight into my bedroom and the first thing I did was order him to strip down naked.  I wasted no time “ I  expect you to get down on his hands and knees, on all fours. Face down ass up, back arched, and cheeks spread open like an eagle for me.” “Yes Master” He complied so quickly and eager to practice obedience, easily responsive to my commands.  He was very compliant. Just the way I liked it. I hopped up onto the bed, and mounted his beautiful pale white ass, that was glowing bright before me like the pale full moon. I was triumphant. I was suddenly a  story book hero,  wrestling  a magical beast beneath my wild legs. My will was to wrangle and break him like a horse. I rode him hard, loud and rough. Not giving a flying fuck about neighbors next door, or my roommates. I am very sure they heard the inconsiderate reckless war cries of two men fucking the shit out of each other, no doubt. It was Irrelevant. I humped and pumped with all my might, and spat the cursed words of the Devil himself upon the flesh of my new fuck buddy. Faster and faster I rode his ass like a cowboy conquering a mechanical bull. I gripped his hips tightly as I grinned and drilled in and out of him until precum was oozing between his asshole and dripping down my wet balls as the sweat beaded from my hot skin, falling like rain over my sweet straight bottom. I fucked the hell out of him, giving him the gift of another flood of my cum up his hungry hole. It added to the collection of sperm that was marinating inside of him since we left Seattle.

This kid was clearly hellbent on a cum catch mission, and my balls were finally being drained of all of their juices. After busting two more nuts up his hungry ass, I needed some rest to recuperate, so I called up Mike and asked him if he wanted to participate in adding his seed to the new found glory of the red headed bottom that was insatiably hungry for cum, waiting for more in my bedroom.

He delightfully accepted and twenty minutes later he was back to my bedroom door like the first time I had met him. We agreed on doing it tag team style and spit roasted James’s large ass. I started us off by  getting in front of the savage slut as he was still on all fours hungry for dick and began to drill his face. He didn’t even get the chance to see that there was someone else in the room with us until Mike silently came up from behind and surprised him with a hard dick straight up his wet ass. The lucky red head was being delightfully dicked down at both ends, and he loved it. We created the perfect harmonious rhythm as I drilled into his mouth, while Mike pulled in and out of his ass. When I plunged in Mike would pull out, then he would  plunge forth, as I pulled out. It was like the operation of a well oiled machine. It created a beautiful mixing sound of flesh slapping wetly over three men’s low moans  of individual pleasure, meshing together in song.

The three of us became sexually synchronized, our synergy combining together so harmoniously that a collective dark orgasm was brewing amongst us, building up to an explosive climax that swept across the three of us like a magical voodoo hex. Two more seeds were spilt for the greedy fucker and it was only ten in the morning on a Tuesday.

It was the perfect moment to wipe away the perspiration, and to relax with some downtime. Frequent breaks are can be essential for the continual endurance in a sex marathon, I have found. Michael and I were sharing a cigarette, exchanging some easy chit chat while we cooled down. Our new friend finally picked up on the vibe realizing that we needed a break, so he hopped up and appeared to have found my large wooden treasure chest at the foot of the bed. He was piqued with peculiar interest upon inspection of its mysterious contents. I was just happy that he found something else to focus on instead of staring wide eyed at me and Mike, fingering his hole in nervous anticipation for more cock.

I was vicariously enjoying his exploration of the nefarious items that were contained in my chest. It was filled with various fetish devices and other miscellaneous sexual gear including tools for SM play and some leather as well. He looked perplexed by many of the items in the box, clearly he did not know much about these devices or he was simply playing dumb. I continued talking to Mike when he suddenly interrupted our conversation with a demand that made Mike and I look at each other in confusion. :” I want you to use these on me.” He thrust between mike and I the deprivation mask, and a pair of handcuffs. We both thought this was pretty strange.

The deprivation mask can be pretty intense to say the least. It is a leather bondage device. A leather mask that covers the entire head, with a closing zipper over the mouth with a snap on mouth gag to silence the wearer. It had a removable visor to block the eyesight of the wearer, and the ears are of course covered entirely by the leather as well. The whole point is to deprive the senses in hopes of reaching a new level of heightened sensation through deprivation of sight and sound. The intensity of touch and smell both operating at a higher frequency without being able to see or hear anything.

It is not typically a device I would ever suggest to a beginner, but before I could even begin to explain this to James, I turned towards his direction and realized he already had the mask all the way on, gag and all. Ok I guess he was ready for it. I laughed  and went behind him to lace the mask completely shut. He loved it. He then shook the handcuffs at me in a annoyingly eager manner. His demanding bottom attitude actually motivated me to put him in his place of powerlessness and I clicked both cuffs comfortably shut, his hands bound behind his back.

He leaned forward in the standard fuck my ass position, so I pushed him face down onto the bed so that he was helpless on his stomach yet again. Thats when Mike and I went to town on his ass again. I shot my load, then turned him over to Mike. Mike shot his, and I shot another in him, and another time for Mike again. He mustve take 7 loads between the two of us at that point before the pair of us were empty of our sperm sacks. All three of drenched in sweat tangled in each others limbs breathing heavily in post coital dog pile. James finally made some muffled sounds that signified he wanted to removed the black mask that imprisoned his whole head.

He gasped for air as I Unlaced it, and peeling it off like some sort of sinful second skin of an alien. I walked over to the chest to grab the keys to my police grade hand cuffs and I felt my stomach knot. The keys were not here. I didn’t want to say anything at first, so I continued rifling through the mountain of gear that was contained in the sex chest. I frantically dug to the bottom, tossing dildos, chains, ropes, spreader bars onto the wood floor, endlessly searching. Eventually everything came out of the chest, I hoped that the keys would have simply fell to the bottom of the chest, but now it was empty and there were no sign of any kind of keys. I took a deep breath and held my calm composure without panicking.

I pawed through the sex toys and gear, one at a time placing each item neatly back into the chest. No keys, anywhere. I bit my lip and looked up at Mike, I knew he could read my expression without any words. “So you cant find the key?!” He announced loudly with a devious smile on his face. “YOU CANT FIND THE KEY?!” James screamed as though we just told him we killed his mother. “I Cannot find the key” I professed calmly as possible though inside my head I was freaking out just as badly as poor James. “What are we going to do?!”

“Just calm the fuck down and everything will be ok. We might have to cut your hand off but first lets youtube this shit ok? Mike chuckled as Joe was about to break out in tears. “Hey man you were the one who told us to put those fucking things on ya so looks like you cant blame anybody but yourself on this one this dude. We had nothing to do with it, we were just doing what you told us to do man.”

It was true, James practically shook them in my face which was pretty demanding of him to do. His pushy energy was so enthusiastic and forceful that it was kind of rude. He really did get what he asked for. “Be careful what you wish for man.” I laughed then punched Mike in the shoulder, “Ok thats enough stop messing with him.” It was hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After watching several amateur videos on youtube we didn’t feel much more confident about opening the lock on the cuffs. Somehow we managed to locate a bobby pin from an old box of junk in the attic and tried our best efforts to pick the lock to liberate the hands of my sexy new red brute that was on the verge of a panic attack. I still found it amusing that this was his first experiment with self induced bondage that was so ecstatic an hour ago. And in a flash of an instant fantasy turned into torture of real captivity. Oh the irony of the situation.

Even with my intermediate lock picking skillset, and half assed youtube video learning I still could not free the young man from the cuffs. Mike made a few frustrated and unsuccessful attempts, then we both went back and forth with it, as if one of us knew what we were doing more than the other, quarreling at each other out of frustration in the face of failure to unlock the handcuffs. It was impossible.

“Well looks like you are gonna have to stay in cuffs for the rest of your life” I said jokingly as he shot me the look of death.  There was an awkward silence in the room as I hanged my head in defeat wondering how the hell I get into the situations I always seem to end up in. Finally the tension of the room snapped when Michael yelled out “ Angelo!! Angelo has a pair of these same cuffs and he even has extra keys because a similar situation happened over at his place once!” “Oh wonderful, problem solved, see?” I smiled reassuringly   at James, still looking horrified.  “I am not gay and I don’t want anyone to know what I have been doing, this is so humiliating” He hung his head in shame. “Oh shuttle fuck up its not like anyone is gonna care or even bother to notice, besides you do not even live up here in Portland so what do you have to worry about?” Mike had a good point. We put our clothes back on and it was difficult not to snicker at having to aid this 6 ft 5 viking brute into his clothes with his hands cuffed behind his back. Quite cumbersome in a Seinfeld episode kind of a way. I felt like we were the three stooges putting on a comedy show for an invisible audience that was laughing while jerking off at the same time.

We walked out to the driveway, James pulling up at the rear, tiptoeing like a secret agent to Michaels car, his face flushed like a cherry tomato. He leaped into the back seat so quick you could see the shocks of the car depress as the suspension hanged lower from his weighty frame. He was seriously deathly afraid of anyone seeing him in those handcuffs. How someone can live life being so embarrassed about their own sexuality is beyond me. So much unnecessary shame, how exhausting and totally unnecessary! I mean I am not in any place to judge, I am just so glad I do not ever feel such a way. He was new to the scene of course, ,so I empathized his fearful reactions to the unfortunate event the befell him that morning. This trip was about him coming to grips with his sexuality and the handcuffs were making him face his demons head on. In the end I think it was a good psychological experience for him to have.

We finally pulled into the wooded overgrown trailer park residence of the infamous Angelo, a local drug dealer. He lived on the outskirts of town, right before things started getting rural, in a very run down ghetto trailer park that was surrounded by large fir trees. I felt bad for Angelo having to live somewhere so depressive. At least he lived in a pocket beautiful nature surrounding the dismal ring of old rusted metal dwellings that were barely suitable for habitation.

Mike knocked on the trailer door, almost breaking it off its rotting hinges. He proceeded stepping up into the squeaking metal unit and James and I followed behind. We barely fit inside his silver bullet trailer, James had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Angelo was seated in his rocking chair scratching his belly in hot a cheeto stained wife beater that was once white that complimented his snowman print boxer shorts. He was in the middle of watching Ms Doubtfire on the Cable network when we came to interrupt him. I could not stop staring at the red stains from the hot cheetos on all ten of his chubby finger tips.

He laughed out loud in a impish cry at our young misfortunate friend. His Cuban accent made me giggle and he looked cross eyed up at the ogre of a man and said, “ get yerself more than ya bargained for did’ya ?” James could have cried and dropped to the floor at any second. Angelo heaved a deep breath and struggled out of his tiny rocking chair and hobbled over to a metal chest that was as rusted as his home was. He rummaged for several minutes, pulling out odd items, wads of electrical wiring knotted together, socket sets, rusted railroad spikes, typical tweaker hoarder items that served absolutely no purpose to him at all. “Oh no I think me keys are lost too amigos.” The tension levels were raising as we all watched in in anticipation as Angelo turned to a giant brown suitcase and rummaged through more junk until finally to our greatest relief we heard the jingle of keys. “hehe Se puede!” his baby like hand held the keys dangling above his head in the air. James didn’t need to cut off his hand after all.

It was such a relief to finally free this kid before he flipped the fuck out, it was as if my own hands were being freed that moment. He unlocked the cuffs and handed them over to me as I practically dove out of the nasty little trailer in a flash.The air inside was moldy and making me dizzy. This was the moment when it was very clear to me that our romp needed to end and James needed to go home. I thought of the most polite way to ask him where in Salem I would be dropping him off at. “So where down in Salem am I taking you buddy?” He didn’t answer as the three of us climbed into Mike’s car. I was almost convinced he didn’t hear me so I asked him again. I looked in the rear view mirror to see his pouting face in the backseat, the same sullen facial expression that his cousin had only two days prior at Alice’s apartment. “I don’t even know.” He buried his face into his hands in shame, and Mike and I exchanged worried glances at each other. Here we go again with someone else’s problems becoming my problem. I could not handle any more of this, this kid was finally testing my patience and I knew it would not take much more for me to snap.

We got back to the house when Joe’s true self was suddenly showing in bright neon true colors. “I don’t want to leave and I really don’t have a home to return to.” The flood gate had been opened. Literally. I finally interjected his childish complaining, ignoring his statement, “Where do you want to get dropped off?” He jumped out of Mike’s car and stomped down the driveway to my bedroom door and slammed the door shut behind him. “I have stuff I gotta do now, so unless you need more of my help…” I didn’t blame Mike for wanting to get away from the situation. “No I got this.” I sighed as I exited Mike’s car, watching him speed off down the driveway and onto the road and out of sight.

I went inside to find James under the blanket of my bed curled up in a ball. “Dude you have got to go now, or else I am just going to throw your shit outside and you can fucking walk back to Salem.” I hate when people push me into being an asshole. “I thought you were cool but you are just an asshole like everybody else!” He got up and started packing his backpack angrily. At least he was getting his shit together, so I decided to hold my tongue and avoid an argument from erupting about how ungrateful of an asshole he suddenly transformed to. “My girlfriend lives off of 82nd about four miles from here, you can drop me off at her place.” Finally the drama was about to end.

I waited for him to gather his belongings with the back door open, jingling my keys to hurry him along. Finally I got him out of my place and we silently got into my car as I started the engine, the only sound other than the uncomfortable silence between the two of us. I put the radio on just to have some noise to cut the tension. I just didn’t understand why he was being such an entitled jerk. It didn’t matter I was tired and so worn down from drama that I needed a day or two of rest.

James smugly directed me down shady second avenue for more than four miles through the lower inner depths of a depressive area notably called Happy Valley. Two right turns and a left before we were finally bobbing up and down a dirt road that strangely led to a strip of pavement that led to a culdesac with three buildings surrounding it.  James pointed to the first one, a cardboard colored box shaped apartment building. It was a bad white trash neighborhood, exactly as I had suspected. James was still full of my cum when I took him to meet up with his girlfriend, which added to the white trash chic setting and which my inner deviant demon just simply loves to know that. I

James grabbed his backpack and hopped out, “Wait for me in case she does not answer the door for me, don’t move from this spot.”  he pointed downward with furrowed bro and intense eye contact which almost made me laugh. He slammed the door shut so hard that my jaw dropped in disbelief.  What the fuck was this shit? I couldn’t believe he even said that, and in such a tone. Who the fuck did he think he was talking to? Hell no I was not sticking around for that asshole any longer.

I have lived a colorful life and have encountered more than enough assholes to know when to head for the hills on them. This was one of those moments. I waited for him to hop over the fence, gaining more distance from me as possible until he finally jumped to the top of the stoop. He banged at the back door three times loudly. This was my queue. I shifted into first popped that clutch and revved the gas enough to shoot gravel behind the car in pebble shrapnel before blasting down the dirty street, shifting into second-more gas, then third-more gas until I was miles away from that mother fucker. It felt so good to be relieved from this burden of bullshit that guy was making me sit through. I was free at last!

“Fuck this guy I have helped this bitch enough!” I floored the gas as gravel sprayed behind the back tires, burning rubber in a cloud of smoke as I flew down the alley in a tuft of tire dust trailing behind me. James was being a really ungrateful asshole, his dumb girlfriend can worry about his bullshit, I was done! I didn’t even look in my rear view mirror, I just hoped that he was too dumb to remember where my place was located and luckily for me, I never saw him again.

Chapter 5: Fucking the Elderly

Living the life of a hooker can be a bit of drama but there are some really heartfelt moments too.  One of those many positive ways, is that it has changed my opinion about human bodies entirely. The vessels of our souls, the temple of each and every one of our beings, beautiful self replicating machines of unknown origins. Our living temples are the celebration of love itself.  It is simply the vehicle of meat that holds our spirit and soul within this plane of reality or dimensional existence, or whatever you want to call it. Our bodies are living temples of love that allow us to exist in a living material form on this beautiful planet we call Earth.

I can say that as an escort I have had to break through so many levels of barriers of judgment and my preconceived programmed ideas about people that society had incorrectly shaped for me without my knowledge. For instance, I don’t see people for their age anymore. At first it was admittedly strange not simply to think about sex with an older man, but to be able to do it and be sincere. To be able to get aroused and retain a boner long enough to fuck suck, or whatever the individual client is seeking from my services.  A client that is easily twice or three times my age.

Being a whore means that other than regular or returning clients, I am  expected to give a deeply personal and pleasurable experience to someone that I have never met before. I don’t ever ask for any kind of stats meaning I don’t discriminate against any man. He could be white, black, old, young, fat, thin, muscular, etc All colors of the rainbow are welcome and accepted. Men age 18 and older are the parameters for me. I never ask any details about looks, or age, or any details really.  Being a whore is all about being receptive to all.

To be a whore is to share a sexual experience without judgment embodying the archetype of sexual fantasy for each individual client, breathing life into their deepest darkest fantasies and becoming that fantasy in real time for the donation for my time. In my opinion anyone who disagrees is not a true whore.

I never ask clients for many personal details prior to meeting them period. That is the whole point of being a whore. It is the agreement that a whore will fulfill personal sensual or sexual desires for an agreed donation amount regardless of who the prospective client may be.

Many people always ask me if sometimes I get clients that I have absolutely no attraction to, and in a way yes that does happen. The thing is, no matter who it is, it forces me to see past whatever hang up or prejudgment that I may have and set it aside and connect with the client on a very personal sexual level no matter who they are. I reach past all these trivial things like age, race, social status, etc and see the person for who they are on the inside, because one thing that they all have in common is a human heart and human soul. Once I can connect with the heart and soul of a person, it does not matter what they look like or who they appear to be on the outside in their physical apparatus. I find who they really are beneath all of these layers of humanity and then I can do anything and it doesn’t feel wrong, or insincere.

I have had clients in wheel chairs, cancer patients, burn victims, amputees, and almost any kind of physical handicap or disability you can imagine. Everyone needs love and affection. Everyone wants to feel good, special and appreciated. Every human needs to experience human touch, and there is absolutely no shame in that. We are all looking for connection and that is not always easy to find. I have had countless clients that were unable to foster any kind of intimate connection with anyone else for a myriad of reasons. Fear, anxiety, and personal trauma can be debilitating on such a crippling level for some people that it prevents them from finding and enjoying the intimacy they constantly crave. Whether its a physical, mental, or emotional condition I am receptive to all that are willing to provide a donation for my time with them.

I never ask for photos, or stats, since I know that they are donating an appropriate amount in exchange to be with me, so those details should not make any sort of difference in my ability to provide such a real connected human experience.  Most of the time I have to have sex with someone that I normally would never even consider as a sexual mate. I do it in a fully developed state of joy, so I never feel ashamed or degraded in any sense of the word. I never feel lessened or disrespected by anyone I have ever met as an escort. I maintain my self respect at all times, even when its someone I would never choose to have sexual relations with. As long as they treat me with dignity and respect, I am willing to do what I can to provide them the pleasure that they have sought me out for.

There are a million reasons anyone could choose to hire a whore, it doesn’t matter. What matters most to me is that at the end of any session with me, the client feels better than he did before he met me.

A man is sexual until the day he dies, I don’t care how old he is, whether or not his genitals still work, whatever. Some of these men that hire me are much older, and that is never an issue for me anyway so it is never a problem. I am going to be old one day too if I am lucky to live that long, so I am always nice to elderly people. They have lived long lives and sadly are not respected in western culture as I believe they should be. We all have to get old and nobody wants to face it, and we try to ignore the elderly, and that is where my job comes in.

I have given love and intimacy to men that have had cancer, physical handicaps, disfigured body parts, missing body parts, and other medical conditions that some would even call frightful in appearance. You know what I have learned from all of this? Is that we are all the same, human. To be able to bring love and joy to someone who is so lonely and ashamed of themselves for whatever reason, I feel like being an escort has a sacred and spiritual element to the practice that nobody seems to acknowledge.

I have never turned down a client because of his appearance, physical state,  age, ethnicity, disability, or medical condition and I am proud to say that I believe that is what makes me a true whore. A sacred whore, in fact. A true whore is a pillar of strength in society that goes by undetected. A true whore whether it is a man, woman, or however they identify themselves is someone who will share their love sensually and freely with anyone without judgment or condemnation. To provide love to someone that normally cannot find that in their day to day life without treating them any different from anyone else, is the most beautiful fucking thing I can say that I do for my clients and I am so proud of myself for that.

These bodies that we all possess are merely shells that house our hearts and souls that are driven by something that nobody can explain as of yet. Whatever you want to call it, chi, life force, whatever. There is something within all of us that is of divine existence and these bodies we have are only rental spaces that tie us to existence here on this planet.

People are always asking me if most of my clients are old men. Oh “I could never do that” people often say. People are so clueless to the reality of it.  It is true that most of my clientele has been mostly around the age range of forties to sixties, I have had men of all ages. In fact the spectrum is so wide that I cannot even think of a media age range that I can comfortably agree on. I prefer older men for the most part anyway. They usually (But not always) know what they want, and are past the age of caring about others’ opinions, and are usually too old for playing bullshit games that the younger ones do. It is funny to me that people are often surprised when I tell them that the younger clients below the age of 30 are the worst to deal with!

Let me be the one to tell you there are many reasons why they suck. The first being that since they are younger men, they tend to be entitled little emptied headed brats with little life experience that will try to “Show me how it is done” as they fail to do so. They know absolutely nothing about the world and tend to be much more demanding and rude than the older crowd. They usually have a stuck up attitude and think that they know everything and try to tell me all about life when they just recently finished their years of shitting in their diapers. They also don’t know what they want, and think that they know, and they want it now! They won’t usually make eye contact because their faces are glued to their fucking screens and then they wonder why they have such social anxieties let alone intimacy issues!

I would choose an older man over a younger one any day of the week. I can only speak for myself when I say that, and  yes I have had a client as young as 18, and what a little bastard he was! I don’t like to tell negative stories, its a bad vibe to conjure up in any situation really. i would much rather talk about the exact opposite, which would be the  eldest client that I ever had.  94 years young and I will never forget the experience.

When I started in this business, I was pretty closed minded and shallow like most young gay men in their early twenties are. Remember being an escort means that I do not get to choose my clients selectively. Maybe the ultra sexy ones do but I would never know.

Oh yeah sure I can sort through them, weed them, sift through them, whatever you want to call it but its all about me providing a service to any man willing to shed a certain amount of dollars for my love and affection. I do practice some serious boundaries however, and I definitely do not take clients that are in any way rude, disrespectful, or those who violate my boundaries.  But there are times when I have to give a fun, pleasurable experience to a man that I would never touch with a ten foot pole if he were not paying me. Judgment pushed hard aside, I do not discriminate in my ability or availability to provide service to any type of man. Black, white, Asian, Hispanic, etc.  Any age ranging from 18 and over is acceptable, and all ethnic backgrounds, body types, disabilities, etc.

Being an escort has shifted my perspective on the human body, in many unexpected ways. There have been times where I have had a client say thats missing a limb or two. Yeah its jarring at first, maybe even a little uncomfortable for me, but then I look into the man’s eyes and see that he is no different than me. This body is just a shell. My body is just a shell, and I always look into the eyes of whoever it is I am sharing that intimacy with. Suddenly my dick gets hard and I am ready to fuck someone that I would never choose to otherwise. I have to connect to the soul that is within that body, and then I can overlook any physical condition, or disease, or any other reason that I may have had previously misjudged someone.

Being an escort has showed me how shallow people can be. How humans judge everything based on surface layers, and how so may could overlook something that is absolutely wonderful, even if it isn’t shiny and beautiful on the outside. There is so much more to a person than just their body, or well most of them anyway. Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder and knowing that truth has held me in a place that I have never had a fear of anyone that I would have sex with or connect to. There is something about any individual that I can find sexy enough to make my dick hard. Sometimes I may have to dig a bit deeper, but it goes beyond connecting with the the physical form of the person, seeing the spirit and soul is that which  I truly connect with. That is the essence of whore magick. Not everyone can be a whore. Whores are amazing people that you should treat with respect. I remember the oldest client I ever had, I was definitely nervous since I was still new on the scene but I will never forget such an experience that would change my whole idea about old age and what it means to me.

I remember getting a call one day from this gentleman. I knew right away he was older, and this was no problem. I actually am very attracted to older men, always have, always will. This guy sounded pretty old though I thought while we exchanged conversation on a Grey Portland afternoon.

“Well I just want to make sure you are ok with much older men.” Oh yeah that is totally fine I chuckled to alleviate his worries. Bless his heart. I told him that I loved older men and I have no age hangups and would love to meet him. I thought it would have been totally rude to proceed in asking for an actual number for his age, especially after reassuring him that age made no difference to me.

We agreed on a time, at noon the next day at my house. I gave him the address and verbally gave him directions, since he was not on board with the whole gps thing, bless his heart I thought to myself.  Again he asked me if age was an issue and again I reassured him. Maybe he forgot that we already covered that question? Oh well who knows.

So its noon on the next day and I am awaiting to meet the guy. I was a little bit late in getting ready so I was toiling in my bed chamber, making sure there was plenty of lube. Pulling out the fresh poppers to sniff, verifying that my condom supply was neatly in stock, brushing my teeth, getting presentable. The whole routine.

Like clockwork he was on time, which is always appreciated. I try to be very punctual myself and its always a first good sign when someone is on time. It says a lot about someone in my opinion. Old people are always on time too of course, which was no surprise to me. I think time has a different meaning the older you get but what do I know.

I could see the silhouette of a giant tuna boat car pulling into the driveway. About 5 more minutes went by and I was just about to wonder why it was taking him this long to get from his car to the door when the door bell finally rang. I opened the door to be greeted by this sweet old man who walked with a cane. He smiled affectionately at me, and I cheerfully gave him a hug and invited him inside. I could see my neighbors across the street gawking and hear them snickering about what they had just witnessed. Fuck the haters I thought and slammed the door shut behind us.

I directed him to the sofa in the living room while I fetched him a glass of water. I took a seat close to him and put my hand on his knee and asked him how he was doing to break the ice. I still didn’t know what his needs were.

Well we got to talking and this little old man had lived a long and fruitful life. He disclosed his age to me as 94 years old which didn’t bother me. He was in tremendous shape for such an age despite walking with a cane.  He told me most of his earlier days were spent in the Navy. He was a high ranking officer and  He had fought proudly through World War Two. He had over fifteen children, not to mention the slew of grandchildren, then great grand children. He was very pleased with the full life he had lived so far and knew that he was in the last phase of his life.

“One thing I have never done. He paused. Well I have always wanted to know what it is like to suck a dick, and how it would feel to get fucked. I want to know and have this experience at least once before I I pass onto the next world.”  I felt so maudlin hearing his story and was so touched for whatever reason. I am a total weirdo if you have not figured that one out yet.

It would be an honor to help fulfill your request sir, I gleefully expressed to him, as I extended my arm in motion towards my bedroom. I have to admit, he was still very old I thought. Oh well make it work! I disrobed myself and hopped into my bed. The satin sheets felt soft against my naked skin. I helped the old man get naked also, slowly and more carefully than I did myself.

He started groping my crotch through my boxers and everything was going smooth, suddenly He pops out his dentures and slaps them onto the bedside table with a WHACK. I try my best not to tense up or go limp at what I had just witnessed. I closed my eyes and try as hard to erase the memory of him popping those teeth out, though it keeps replaying on auto like some sort of demonic youtube video replay loop.

How the fuck am I going to do this? And before I could start strategizing a game plan, His mouth was wrapped around my cock. Oh wow, and it actually felt really fucking good. Like too fucking good I suddenly feel my tense muscles relax as I just enjoyed the wonderful sensations of his 94 year old mouth warm and wet milking my cock.

Before I knew it, I was rock hard and ready to pound this old man! I mean well, pound figuratively I thought as I laid on top of him spreading his legs apart. In I went. I started slow and very carefully picked up the pace, as his body invited me in, harder I went until I was working his ass pretty good, which came to a surprise at how much he could take! About ten minutes later he professed that he couldn’t handle anymore with a  slightly pained laugh. I could tell he had fun at least. He look satisfied with a huge smile I have never witnessed on an old man before. He was radiant and alive and looked so full of energy. I fucked him full of vitality through sex magic I like to call it.

The real fun part of the experience though I have to admit, was helping him to his car after the steamy cross generational encounter. As I said before the neightbors I had at the time were all unemployed window watchers who loved to gawk the activities of the faggot house in the middle of the street. It wasn’t uncommon to hear snide remarks over fences, or the shouting of homophobic slurs or words that seemingly came out of nowhere so there was not a single person to hold responsible but rather a collective energy that totally hated our kind in their neighborhood.

I held my most esteemed posture I could muster, it must have looked ridiculously overdone. I held that little old mans arms over mine and slowly helped him into his car much like a nurse would. Well a naughty nurse you could say as I frivolously and gratuitisly thanked him with lots of hands on touch so that everybody would see and know what had been going on in the mysterious fag abode of the white trash hood.

I gave this old war hero an amazing life experience through the power of pleasure through sex. Whenever I have a powerful and beautiful encounter such as this, the haters do not matter and can literally eat shit and die. I glow with radiance, and feel invincible as though I could walk through the darkest of places and my inner light would show. Fuck the neighbors, I made this great grandpa’s day and helped hijm complete something on his bucket list. Nobody can take that away from me. It felt so good and I would not hesitate for a moment to do something like that again.

You would be so surprised to know, (all of you out there who reel in disgust at this chapter) that age is not what you think it is, and you live with so many limiting fucking misconceptions, not just about our wonderful world, but also because of bullshit you have heard from people who do know shit about what they are talking about.

That is another thing that I always found interesting in my experience as an Escort. Along my path I have seen life almost from outside of the bubble, or within my own bubble. However one chooses to think of such a concept I can tell you that I have learned so many wonderful things, discovered so many beautiful life treasures in places you would not think to find them.

As I said earlier I have a much different take on superficial qualities of lovers, as it is not what truly matters. It’s the heart and soul inside that body that makes the magic happen. Oh the body is a beautiful thing that we must respect. Our temples. I respect and admire the human body as much as I can. I try to honor it what I am able to, given the imperfection of my perfectly human choices and actions.

After I got to a certain level of experience, physical characteristics about someone that would be very negative bothered me less and less. In hindsight I was once quite a shallow person. And living like that I know for a fact that it was limiting on so many levels that I would never wish to return to such a mode of thinking. Ignorance is not always bliss because sometimes the truth is what really sets you free. Its like finding out a magical secret that was there all along, and you get the satisfaction of knowing you know what it is and can experience it at any time that you choose.

Then there is also this other satisfaction I have gotten from helping an elder person with whatever it is I am helping them with. I used to know this little jewish man who was a very very renowned painter with a seriously onboxius and alienating level of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He was also a hoarder if you could believe such a thing, and there came a point where his home was infested with bed bugs. He truly needed help.

My luck, I was asked to help. I didn’t volunteer. I say my luck because it just happened to be on my birthday. The year I was going to schedule a gangbang devoted to my own sexual self serving pleasure of me me me. But instead, I was asked to help paint the bedroom and help erridicate the pest problem at Little old Herby’s home and I honestly will say that before I did feel very bitter before the day came around.

I still have enough decency within me to hold back any outward feelings of resentment or cunty attitude. I knew that this was helping someone else so how could I really be a cunt? I loved Herby and though I was kinda bitchy about it in my mind, I was happy to help this man who really deserved and needed it.

It was one of the greatest birthdays I have ever had. The way this little old man would light up when he was simply in my presence made me blush. Herby was so sweet and fun, and interesting to talk to. I would not trade that birthday for any of the others I have experienced so far.

I can remember once eating at a café with Herbie. It was too funny to hear him call the ladies at the next table hookers loud enough for them to be unable to hear him. He told the waiter to wipe the fucking smile off his face a couple of times as he chain smoked on the patio of the restaurant. He was a feisty jewish man and he could make me laugh so hard with his callous attitude in his old age. He had a lot of moxy and chutzpah.

Chapter 6: Tormenting Colonel Sanders at a sex shop

Sometimes I have this pretentious idea that I develop all of this deeper level interaction with my clients, that it all holds deeper meaning, and sometimes it does,  but most often the situation mainly revolves around a man seeking me to help him get his jollies off in whatever way that may be. His tastes will obviously vary, and the activities may be more or less specific as to what “gets him off.” I have been hired by all types of men with many different types of professions, ethnic backgrounds, ages, religions, etc.

My job is basically providing sexual pleasure and satisfaction to any man that is willing to shell out the cash for my standard rate. All men have physical sexual urges that drive them that must be sated for the sake of a man’s well being and sanity. I provide a very real service that can encompass a wide range of activities and ideas that are never short of interesting to say the very least. Sometimes its simply, other times elaborate. There really is no way to predict how a session will go until I am there in the middle of it, which in turn always keeps things interesting and fresh and new because no two men are exactly the same. It is a highly personal service that I believe is a respectable one even if society condemns the practice of prostitution for the most part here in North America.

One of the things I love the most about this job is that It is never boring. I have met countless unique and colorful people throughout the last few years, encountering a wide swath of interesting men with many different fantasies and sexual urges. I always enjoy some of the more unusual stuff because sexual psychology has always fascinated me. I love new experiences, and I am not afraid to be experimental. I am always open to new ideas and  really enjoy it when I get a total freak or someone that has an unusual or strange fetish.  Fetish jobs are the most fun for me, who doesn’t love meeting a total freak from time to time?

And when I say freaks, within the context of this book, it is not necessarily a negative thing.  A freak could be defined as anyone who is sexually drawn to anything that would be viewed by most as uncommon, unconventional, or even ‘weird’.  Unusual folks that are unique and just happen to love things that are not accepted widely as cultural “normal” are freaks. This is of course an umbrella term, a sort of grey area that includes an infinite realm of possibility, the only limits being within one’s own imagination.  A freak could be a good thing or a bad thing, its all about perspective and perception. And who decides what is good or bad anyway? I mean all freaks are good people, but not all good people are freaks. Makes sense?

Freaks are always the most fun, interesting,  and unusual people anyone could hope to meet. Especially when they have a fetish for hiring escorts  to treat them like literal shit. There is nothing I love more than  a man who pays me to humiliate, demean, and take advantage of him. Who wouldn’t enjoy degrading someone while getting  paid to do so?

One of the most interesting aspects of BDSM that has always fascinated me is that  there is no clear indicative type of man that enjoys sadism or masochism.  They range across the board of all types, social classes, shapes, sizes, and colors of skin. There is no cookie cutter generalization that can be predicted about who enjoys anything BDSM. And everyone has a different factor that they love about this type of kink.

For some guys  it's all about the power dynamic, the fetishization of being helpless with no sense of control. Sometimes it’s the fear of being humiliated, the thought of being ousted and ostracized for being a sexual miscreant. Sometimes it’s the threat of injury or the endurance of physical pain that really makes his willy squirt.  It has been said that the most sexual organ of the human body is the mind, and I agree with that  It’s all very personal. I love trying new things out with clients, and I can remember the first time someone paid me to do something that I felt was cruel unusual, and it was surprisingly fun.

One Sunny Saturday morning mid summer,  I awoke early to a phone call from a blocked ID. I usually don’t answer blocked calls but for whatever reason that morning I decided to answer. “Hello?” There was a scratching pause.  “Yessssum, I saw yer ad on the computer here, and uh, well I was wonderin’ if you had some time to try somethin a bit outta yer ordinary lineup?” Ok. “What do you mean out of the ordinary?” I was still waking up. “Well I really don’t feel comfortable to address this over the phone, but lets just meet up in the flesh and I can explain it to ya.” “Alright, where and when do you want to meet me?” I was stumbling around my room looking for clothes to throw on. I really needed the money.

“Let’s meetup at the Ol’ Jack Shack. Its the purple building out on Division st.  and we can go from there. What I want might sound a lil fucked up but I think you will have fun with it, so lets meet up man I can meet ya when the sun’s at it it’s highest, you know, at midday.” “Alright I will be there at noon,” my voice echoed back with enthusiasm before hanging up the phone. It also helped already being familiar with the locale of the infamous Jack Shack.

The Jack Shack was once a single story family house originally. Over the decades  it had passed through many changes of hands,  and  sometime in the last twenty some odd years it had undergone total renovation, being converted from family home to a full service sex shop. The largest room  of the building was a typical porn shop filled with endless rows of dusty metal shelves that displayed an array of dildos, porn, lube and other sexual supplies. to the left there was a black metal door that led to a large open porn theatre. To the right of the sex shop there was a sex arcade with dozens of booths.

It was on the seedier outskirts of Portland and it stuck out like a sore thumb standing right in the middle of a high traffic residential area. The building itself reflected back looking as  worn out as some of its patrons, painted loudly in a putrid shade of purple with a plywood ramp that led up to the entrance which was a barely hinged slab of wood that swung open like a bar door. The neon sign was the nicest part of the entire building. It was undeniably an attraction as it  glowed above the dismal porn shop, like a  bright beacon to entice passing perverts and lovers alike. It was a local landmark that we Portland Perverts protect with the nostalgia of its colorful history, in hopes of preservation for the future perverts to continue the tradition.

Seriously though, I’ve always held an appreciation for secret and seedy places that men go to in search for anonymous public sex. The dark places they venture to relieve their sexual tension before returning home to their wives. It was the average Portland pit stop for the bored husband in a sexless marriage after work that could afford them the anonymity and joy of unattached sexual release.

The Jack Shack was just one of dozens of such businesses devoted to transient sexual encounters within the city of Portland. I myself just loved the eery and trashy vibe of the Jack Shack particularly. It was very unique from the other porn shops, besides the fact that it was the only one that used to be a house.  From the weirdo staff behaving strangely for no apparent reason, right down to the building itself which was a step above being condemned, the Jack Shack was it’s own liberated world. The Putrid purple paint job and the bright blood colored red trim, added character to its kookiness which made it a staple in an area known infamously for it’s seedy happenings. It was also in close proximity to the famed strip of road that was home turf to a group of homeless streetwalkers called 82nd ave which I tenderly refer to as “shady second.”

I have a deep love for these trashy little venues of sex,  and they always seem to possess a sort of intangible magical vibe that can be felt in the air. There is something that is artistic about these places which transmute so much sexual energy which I believe creates its own energetic forcefield or resonance. These shadow shaded places that are considerably taboo to the average muggle, and in some peoples opinions, shameful spots of sin exist all over Portland, with scattered locations throughout the Rose City. Most of these Little hole in the wall sex shops actually just go unnoticed by most people who are not depraved perverts like myself. They are a treasure trove of sexual experiences and entertainment which I absolutely love about Portland. It is a sex positive place, there is no vice here to fuck with people for being humans. Portland is known for being a live and let live kind of a place. As long as you are not hurting anyone else, go ahead and do what you want! The perverts at least have our places to go where we can get our freak on without disturbing the peace. Portland is a very forward thinking place which is one of the many reasons that I have chosen to make Portland  my central hub.

11:30 am pulled up to the old Jack Shack early, in  preparation for meeting my new prospective suitor for the day. It is always beneficial for me to arrive early in order to do a reconnoissance mission of the area, in the highly unlikely case that anything should go awry.  Also to ensure that he was not affiliated with Law enforcement that could potentially be hiding or lurking nearby. Again, a very rare case but one can never be too cautious. Nobody ever gets in trouble when exercising caution before jumping into these sorts of things and I always practice mindful vigilance when meeting up with anyone for the first time in a public place, sex shop or not. Surveying the scene, closely paying attention to as many details as humanly possible keeps the anxiety at bay so that my client may receive the real me, keeping me present without worry or doubtful thoughts that may negatively affect our interaction. I told you guys I really do care!

It was most logical to park several blocks away from the Jack Shack instead of in its own parking lot for the sake of my own discretion. Slowing my pace, walking up the gravel lot towards the Shack, I posted myself up at the edge of the building, eyeing the empty parking lot. There was just enough idle time to enjoy a cigarette while anticipating the arrival of my new friend. It would be more than easy to spot him once he arrived, since no other cars were in the lot, not yet anyway.

The quiet calm always changes in a heartbeat at unpredictable frequency at these types of places. Porn shops constantly shift from being desolate and empty to a state of  chaotic frenzy as droves of men fill the place to capacity at different intervals throughout the day. The timing of the rush is mostly random and unpredictable. Luckily we agreed to meet during a coincidentally serene and peaceful moment  in which Jack Shack traffic was at a lulled standstill.

The client arrived on the dot of noon with a big dopey grin plastered across his mustached face. He spotted me immediately the moment his large diesel truck rumbled into the parking lot. Gave him a playful yet subtle nod of acknowledgment before slowly walking across the loosely packed gravel driveway to greet him at his truck.

He hopped down from the platform of his large lifted truck looking bashful and shy, dressed like what I would imagine Colonel Sanders to look like if he were alive today. This thought alone was enough to naturally evoke from me a warm and welcoming smile. His thick black framed glasses and large western style hat gave him an old school cowboy look that was kind of hot admittedly. He held out his diamond studded hand cordially for a white man hand shake, and humored him with the old firm response that older men seem to overgeneralize with. “It is a pleasure to meet you, young man.  I am Jeffrey James Whitman.” “Nice to meet you Jeff.” Chuckling casually in opposition to his formalities blowing a long cloud of smoke away from the two of us. “Shall we?” I motioned towards the door with my arm dramatically like A Butler would lead the way in a theater piece.

I stepped on the remainder of my cigarette before silently turning towards the main entrance of the sex shop, leading the way up the ramp and into the Jack Shack.  Jeff slowly walked in tow remaining far enough to create a boundary several feet behind me for the sake of his discretion.

The creaking door swung open, pulling on a string that was wired to a clinging bell that rang to alert customer entry, but the clerk was too busy breaking down boxes to notice my entrance. Quietly zipping past the long dusty shelves of old porn film DVD cases quietly walking straight toward the dark hall with glowing lettering of the neon red arcade sign above head. Jeff finally entered the building, waving at the twice dismissive clerk before following me through the darkened black painted maze like halls of the sex arcade. The red lights above head dimly lit my path, otherwise it would have been impossible to navigate through dark twisted corridors of the video booths. The largest booth in the back at the end of the hall grabbed my attention, beckoning me to open the cubicle door and slip inside. My nose felt the sterile sting of chemical disinfectant. The booth was dark besides the dim light of the blank blue glass screen and the blinking green light of the bill acceptor. Since Jeff was taking so long to catch up I took it upon myself to retrieve the crumpled five dollar bill from my pocket. Smoothing the bill gently against the edge of the channel control panel before sliding the five into the whirring grinding bill acceptor. Finally Jeff’s footsteps were echoing closer,  I cracked the door to signal where to go. He quickly came inside, slamming the arcade door shut  much harder force than was necessary. “Bitch don’t kill the vibe!” Laughing playfully at him. “Sorry, I dropped my damned keys and couldn’t find them. Had to go back down the hall to find em.” “Oh well I was just….” He interrupted me with a finger to my mouth, “Before you say anything else boy Im’a  make this real simple for us both. I am a freak nasty daddy that just wants you to go to town on my old ass. I want you to tie me up here, and piss all over me before you abandon me here stuck, without a way to help myself. Up shit creek with no paddle you dig what Im saying pretty boy? You can take my truck my wallet, rob me blind, and  I would just be so inclined as to obey.”

I nodded quietly in understanding. “I have these handcuffs,” his nervous shaking hand emerged from his coat jacket  dangling  in front of me a shining pair of handcuffs that sparkled in the dark. The weight of them in my hands coupled with the lack of the safety release made me fondly think of James; these were the same type of handcuffs that had gotten me in trouble in the past only months ago.

“Take off your clothes now” in my my most calm collected and authoritative tone. He scrambled to immediately disrobe himself, big Texas shaped belt buckle and all. He kept his assortment of jewelry on, and that was fine with me.  He looked so different once he stripped down to his tacky lilac colored boxer shorts and long white socks. His shoulder padded jacket off made him seem so much smaller. It was so vulnerable of him.

Luckily the last booth turned out to be a wise choice since it was the handicap booth which was not only roomier, but also had a long metal pole horizontally anchored near the seat. I slapped the first cuff around his left hand and carefully closed it just enough to avoid hurting his wrist or obstruct his blood circulation. Then pulling his body towards the metal bar, I swiftly looped the other cuff under the bar and over to his right hand above and clicked the second cuff shut around his right wrist.

He looked good all immobilized like a medieval prisoner, chained to the bar of a sex arcade cubicle. It was also kind of ridiculous the way he remained clad in all of his flashy jewelry in lilac boxer shorts with long white socks. His balding colonel white pony tail drooping down his back resting at his shoulder blades.  So helpless.  “You can change the porn channels with your big pointy fucking nose.” I spat in his face before unzipping my pants. It was sort of a shocker to see how naturally my actions unfolded in such a role without even having to think about it was thrilling and satisfying to a level that slightly scared me. To think that there was a sadistic side to me that I was totally unaware of until it was conjured and brought forth. All from the chance of opportunity. Why not run with it, right?

I pulled my semi hard cock out my unzipped jeans and looked down at the helpless old man hunched over on his knees, gripping the handicap bar above as he huddle on the ground as if it would save his life. He was  shaking like a puppy from the cold air conditioned wind that blew through the ducts, ventilating the sex arcade. It kept the air from getting stale in those nasty cubicles.

“This will warm you up” laughing sadistically, jiggling my penis at him. I closed my eyes to relax in order to relieve myself of the weight of a long hot piss which started out bashfully as a small trickle issued from the tip of my mushroom head. After taking several deep relaxation breaths and then mentally releasing my shy grip over my bladder successfully, the trickle became a  sudden flowing gush of urine that cascaded forth onto Jeff’s face in a long unstoppable stream of dark smelly yellow. An uncontrollable floodgate was suddenly opened as the heavy flow of urine from my full bladder gushed free hitting him in the face, running down his chin all over his body  drenching him from head to toe. His crazed grin exposed two sparkling gold teeth. He was elated with a look on his face that said he had just been touched by the mighty hand of The Lord God. Jeff had  just been admitted into Heaven. One man’s torment is another’s pleasure I suppose.

After my piss flow weakened down to those last two or three spurts before the shake off,  my awe turned to fear. Suddenly I was horrified at what I had just done. The feeling grew even bigger when I was unable to discern if it was because of my actions , or if I was the fact that Jeff actually enjoyed what I had just done to him. Before thought could take me anywhere further down the rabbit hole of guilt I grabbed the keys to Jeff’s Truck and stole his wallet too. “What is your fucking pin you filthy old fuck?!”

He put up a little bit of fight for the answer, forcing me to lean down and start spanking his piss soaked ass with my bare hand repeatedly. My face was misted lightly with my own piss with each stinging smack until my palm started to hurt. Switching hands, I increased the force and pressure of each smack, changing the angle to maximize the pain I was inflicting, creating a lovely scarlet rash on the milky white skin of this dirty old man. The slapping rhythm of piss soaked flesh echoed down the empty expanse of the  dark arcade halls.

He winced in pain, and groaned pathetically but I knew the son of a bitch loved every moment of it.  I sacrificed one of my sweaty nasty gym socks that I had on, removing my boot and yanking it off before shoving it into his pussy mouth to muffle his pathetic squeals. I spat in his face again, and kneed him in the taint from behind him on his weakened knees. “6565, Please. Mercy!” Finally! “Thats more like it, you twisted mother fucker.” Grabbing a paper towel to wipe away the excess piss from my hand, I kicked open the arcade door and without so much of a dismissal to the old man, stormed out of the booth and down the hallway like a bat out of hell.

The clerk must have heard some our dialogue, because as I emerged from the arcade entrance he stopped toiling with his boxes  and just stood motionless, gawking at me the entire way down the aisles and out the front door. Hopefully he wouldn’t discover Jeff back there, saturated in piss, handcuffed to the handicap bar.

My eyes had adjusted to the  to the darkness of the arcade  enough for the sunshine to blind me the moment after stepping outside. Holding one hand over my eyes as they changed in adjustment to the bright sunlight, I held the clicker out in front of me and pressed on the red button to disengage Jeff’s truck alarm. Beep Beep two overly powered horns with accompanying orange lights flickered and flashed on the lifted charcoal beast of a diesel truck. It was shiny and couldn’t have been much older than brand new.

I hopped up the two platform steps and into the large comfortable bucket seat triumphantly. It was like being behind the wheel of a Semi-truck, or at least that is how it felt to me at the time. Checking all the beautiful glass mirrors, appreciating the cushiony leather bucket seats of someone else’s new vehicle, I looked down to see a sunglass case which held brand new Designer sunglasses which looked much better on me than Jim, of course. I started the engine and enjoyed the soft yet powerful purr of the 8 cylinder engine circulating and oscillating under the powder coated painted hood that was in front of me. In the bright sunlight, the paint color changed from smoke to a dark plum color.

The windows had a nice heavy tint, with a slightly less dark windshield that was still very dark. It took me a minute or two to figure out how to turn on the radio, as the twang of country suddenly blasted the whole cab, blowing my ear drums open. Frantically reaching for the channel knob I changed  his preset channel on XM to an electronica station that was more suitable for my joy ride. Robotic beats pumped in sync with my heartbeat in crisp clarity and powerful bass from the sub woofer that was thumping under my ass. This was starting to feel pretty damned good. Slowly I pulled out of the driveway much like a grandmother would drive off in an old jalopy. I really had no intent on damaging his vehicle and I would have felt terrible though I am sure he had a hefty insurance policy on such a ridiculous oversized truck with all the bells and whistles that it had possessed.

It was time to get this beastly monstrosity out on the open road! Pulling out onto a street like shady second  is like playing russian roulette but with cars instead of a gun. You pull out and hold your breath hoping that you don’t get T boned by some white trash idiot who doesn’t give a fuck about the speed limit whatsoever.

Slowly like a giant, the truck lumbered into the street, blocking all three lanes as it lurched forward in a wide turn. “Fuck these people” reassuring myself not to be bothered by the honking of morons. The type that race other drivers just to be stuck at the same fucking red light.  Finally the truck was on the road, coasting easily in air conditioned breeze.

The truck sure was a showboat,  it evoked powerful reactions from people, and it was difficult not to notice heads turning towards the ridiculous truck everywhere I seemed to go. High profile is not something I personally would ever have chosen. I prefer to fly under the radar, inconspicuous, and this truck just screamed “Hey look at me you assholes!”

The spectacle of the Behemoth was so distracting, I drove aimlessly for a good 20 minutes before remembering where the Hell I was driving to. The Bank duh. Cruising through South East portland, I turned down a few blocks and was back on 82nd avenue again, looking for  the nearest Chase branch that I could remember at that moment in time. I like living on the edge so I dared myself into the ultimate challenge of  locating a Chase branch without my GPS! I knew there was one further down Shady Second Avenue and I was ballsy enough to trust my memory. Eventually I found one, further down then what I recalled but I still did it with my mind nonetheless!  I was starting to feel kind of cocky in the behemoth until approaching the drive thrrough atm, and having to direct traffic behind me to back up since the clearance height of the truck almost scraped the roof. I would never get fat if I owned such a truck, since it was taller than the clearance allowance of any drive through possible. This must have been the way Colonel Sanders kept his slim figure at such an age I thought.

I double parked in the lot Bank Parking lot instead,  and yes I heard a couple of people snickering at me as I jumped down the ladder of the truck. I didn’t give a flying fuck. I walked up to the ATM inserted his card and recalled the pin he gave me. “6565”  his whining voice still ringing in my ears while punching each digit into the keypad. It asked if I wanted to check his account balance, and out of curiosity I could have just for fun but that would’ve been rude. I did however decide that he owed me extra for having to drive his big stupid vehicle around, which was a cumbersome inconvenience more than anything else. Fucking old man.

Most banks issue a limit of amount that can be pulled from an ATM in a 24 hour period or whatever similar variation depending on the bank, so I took an amount that I knew would not conflict his account settings. $2,500 was a modest amount in my opinion, considering he gave me his pin and his card, he was lucky that I didn’t try to clean his ass out. I didn’t push the limit to 4,000 which is the universal default limit on most ATM withdrawals. There was no need to be greedy enough to be push the limit in my mind, I was more than thankful for such a rare business opportunity, there was no need to overdo it. I am such a nice guy, yes I know. I even printed out the receipt for Colonel Fucking Sanders too, that is how considerate of a mother fucker I am

My not-so-crazy joyride picked up  and  led me down Sandy Blvd, still scheming what type of trouble I would get into with this big stupid truck.  Suddenly the suffocation of boredom swept over me like a bipolar mood swing.. Maybe it was a side effect of it being a regular Wednesday, or perhaps some other  reason unknown to me kept me from feeling particularly reckless that day, I am not sure. It was just too easy at that point in time. Just the thought of him wanting me to do all of these nefarious things kind of took the power and fun out of doing it,  because it was now a job like anything else since I was being paid for it. Jobs are never fun and they always plant a seed of resentment because of the fact that I am doing it for money. Nobody likes to work!

It irritated me that my thought train turned over onto  philosophical tracks on the situation, but it was inevitable as the angel on one shoulder constantly wrestled with the devil on the other. Fuck my life for having a fucking conscience. Annoying little fucker. If only that devil was able to strangle the angel… Suddenly stopped at a red light, my eyes were drawn to the blue beaming sign of the bath house twinkling several blocks down the road on the right hand side.  Not the most wild idea ever, but at least it was somewhat inspiring.

I decided that it would be best to tell Jeff a tall tale all about how I drove his truck recklessly about the city.  A joyride from Hell which involved the endangerment of myself, other drivers, and most of all the pedestrians.  A better story than the actual reality just to give him his jollies. I love to make people feel good, what can I say? I am an uplifter.

The parking lot of was surprisingly full for the middle of the week day. A good sign. I went inside and greeted the blond twink working behind the bullet proof glass window. The buzz of the metal door admitted me inside to proceed through the blue lit halls of the Steamy Bath house. Strolling slowly down the hallway, stopping slowly to peer over into the jacuzzi room on the right side, and saw three naked bears watching porn in the hot tub. I continued walking down to the sharp turn rightward which led through another dark hall as the electronica beats pulsed loudly throughout the darkened club.

My memory of the layout led me right to Room 113. My favorite room. I unlocked the door and went inside to quickly get undressed and wrapped my white towel around my waste. I put all of my belongings into the locker beneath my bed and did a fat rail of crystal that I had saved in an old mint tin. The pain of chemical burn shot through my skull to the back of my head like a bullet, tears welled and poured down my face as I eased into the pleasurable pain of an intense high. My sudden eagerness for sex flooded my thoughts  racing through my mind like devils. I titled my head back and paused, feeling every movement of my body, enjoying the sexy burning drip in the back of my throat. My cock was bulging against the terry cloth towel fabric displaying my boner as a large bump through the towel around my waist. I put on the rental flip flops and locked the door as I exited my sex cubicle, locking the door behind me.

Several men were pacing about the halls,  passing me with exchanges of  hungry looks of lust before slowly making my way into the steam room. It was a large tiled concrete room full of hot torrid steam, so thick It was impossible to see what was in front of me. The interior was painted all black which kept the silhouette of anonymity possible.  Feeling along the wall like a blind person I crept to the darkest corner in the back of the steam room.

Finally I found the concrete slab that was against the back wall and sat down on it, getting totally naked, removing my towel and wrapping it around my neck. I laid back and let the feeling of hot wet air engulf me, drenching me in heated moisture and sweat, dripping from every pore on my body. Finally the feeling of blissful relaxation washed over me, my muscles losing their tightness and the tension was melting away like butter.

Suddenly the door opened, and in the small glimpse of light projected near the door, a very young man had just entered the steam room. Even with the murkiness of the steam clouds I could tell he was very young. He could not have been more than 18. Remaining unmoved and still in my relaxed state with my arms folded behind my head, I was curious if he would approach me since he was obviously checking me out from a distance. To catch his attention I undid my towel just enough for it to slowly unfold exposing my hard dick that was pulsating beneath the terry cloth fabric. I closed my eyes and went back into my relaxational trance, pretending as though I didn’t see the boy at all.

And of course, it worked. Before opening my eyes again my cock was  immersed in the warm wetness of the boys lips around my rigid cock. The kid was surprisingly great at sucking dick too!  The mushroom tip of my boner was leaking so much precum it almost felt as though I was pissing. I could hear the moan of approval coming from the boys throat as he tasted my salty dick drool savoring my sweet nectar between his lips and tongue. I grabbed him by the head and slowly forced him down farther to the base of my cock where he gagged and opened his esophagus wider to accomodate the rest of my hard shaft.  I rammed his throat even further until my balls bounced against his chin, I love a boy who knows how to take direction well.

Suddenly the steam vent was activated and a fresh new cloud of steam was being released into the boxed in atmosphere, filling the steam room until it was a completely opaque fog of white hot air that was impossible to see through. The boy kept sucking me furiously, concentrating completely on my cock.

Without warning a group of anonymous unseen  hands came seemingly from nowhere to aid the young man in pleasuring me. One hand pinched my nipple and another hand came from below with thick meaty fingers  slowly snaking beneath my ass cheeks straight to my hole, tickling my pucker with its tip. His finger pressed harder until it finally sank fully into my rectum which made me groan in delight. Then another finger, and another, Stretching my asshole open.

The young boy was unmoved, still sucking me with fury, his gagging sounds echoed off the walls of the steam room as I pulled his head down further his sweet face buried in the curly bush of my pubic hair. The sparking sensation from my nipple being pinched shock like an electric signal straight to my cock,  causing my whole body to shiver as my prostate vibrated in sync with the large fingers that were anonymously caressing me from the inside.

I could no longer hold it back, I was about to bust a nut when suddenly I had a different type of orgasm. One that I had never experienced before or ever again since. Instead of the building up of a powerful orgasm, normally exploding after climax, I kept climaxing, then it would release before rising back up to climax again. My orgasm was rising and falling like electric waves on a power grid.  My body kept orgasming in rolling waves of pleasure, rather than the normal build up and release of my usual orgasm. It was what I imagine a female orgasm to be like if that makes any kind of sense. Maybe I am just nuts, anyway of my prostate was ringing like one of the bells of Nortre Dame, and althe only words that came out of my mouth were, “IIIIAOOOOOOOOO!”  Like a wolf crying at the moon my over the top yell had reverberated  in magnifying echoes, thanks to the acoustic qualities of those tiled Steam Room walls. The two mysterious pairs of hands suddenly retracted and vanished back into the anonymity of the steam box. I was still marveling at the young giggling boy beneath me, watching him succeed in catching my load of semen as it spurted like pearly white ropes into his young mouth. He wasted no time in swallowing it down to the very last drop, just it like a good boy should. My sweet mordant liquor of love. I would have asked his name but like the vanishing hands,  he too backed up and disappeared into the milky white cloud of anonymity leaving me all alone again. For several minutes all that I was able to do was stare at the ceiling,  basking in my post coital bliss, still shuddering from the sensory overload.

After a trance of stillness in the murky heat, my senses returned enough for me to stumble out to the steam room and take a hot shower. my body held me motionless again as the water cascaded down on me. I spread my ass to feel the warmth against my hole, running down my balls and thighs. There were several sets of eyes burning through me as if I was in the middle of  a performance piece. The attention was nice, but it was time for me to get some well deserved sleep.

After walking down the hall back to my room, the only thing on my mind was finally getting some rest. I fell straight down onto the plastic mattress and passed out almost immediately. My conscious thoughts drifted off into sleep effortlessly as the muffled sounds of gay porn lulled me into a comfortable slumber. About two hours had passed before suddenly I awoke startled, almost forgetting where I was. Frantically I began searching around for my cell phone to check the time. It was under the pillow. The time was 4pm and it had been 4 hours since I had cuffed Jeff to the booth back at the sex shop. 4 hours seemed to be just the right amount of time to leave him helpless. I started to pack up my stuff and get dressed  to fulfill my purpose and to relieve Colonel Sanders from his self appointed enslavement duties.

I checked out at the front desk, and found myself blinded once more by the beautiful sunshine. I walked across the parking lot and hit the clicker button, unlocking the truck and climbed back up into the big Behemoth again. I returned Jeff’s fancy designer sunglasses back into the respective case and made sure all of my belongings were accounted for. The truck was still clean and pristine as when I ran off with it, and that was my intention. I backed out of the parking space less awkwardly this time, and out of the bathhouse lot and onto the open road, cruising slowly back towards the Jack Shack to finish the transaction.

It was no surprise to return to  the Jack Shack and see that  parking lot was  overly packed, forcing me to  park several blocks down the road. It was difficult to even find a spot available that would fit the monster Truck safely curbside without hitting any other cars.

I locked the truck before walking  several hundred yards to finally enter the porn shop. The sexual energy inside made entire building come to life. There were several men pacing about browsing the DVDs and Sex toys, cruising each other in discrete passing glances. I went straight to the arcade again, sliding carefully past several perverts lurking in the shadowy alcoves of the dark halls, eyeing me like sexual prey. There were about 6 or 7 men just standing there in the dark alcoves between booths skulking about back and forth, waiting for cock. These were the greedy specters that fed off of the lifeforece and vitality of the male sexual fluids; the choice elixir of many perverts that surrounded the arcade.

With ghostlike movements through the dark, I finally reached the last booth on the left where I had left my new friend handcuffed and piss drenched. I swung the door open  to find him sucking the cock of a hairy hefty trucker daddy. I smiled down at his weathered face and disheveled look. He looked like he had gone through hell while I was gone. The trucker daddy seemed discomforted by my sudden appearance and pulled his pants up before darting out of the arcade as if he had done something terribly wrong.

I reached into my coat pocket to fish out the key to the handcuffs. For a second I couldn’t find the key, and panic almost immediately set in until I felt the familiar metallic jingle in the bottom corner of the pocket. What a relief. It was so nice to simply unlock the cuffs with ease this time, no drama over lost keys! The old man seemed grateful to be free again, rubbing his wrists still crouched on the floor in a puddle of stale piss.  “I am confiscating these from you because I need a new pair, and my last pair doesn’t have a key so these belong to me now.” “Yes Master” he replied with a robotic tone of obedience. I threw his truck keys down onto the bench next to him and kissed his shiny forehead, shoving his face into my crotch one last time before saying goodbye. The trucker man looked happy to see me leave as I dashed down the hall and out the door again. Forgot to tell Jeff that his Truck was down the street but I am sure he eventually figured that out. Another satisfied customer!

Chapter 7: Whores are gypsies too sometimes

It is not uncommon for anyone to end up in a situation I gently call the “gypsy lifestyle.” It sounds a lot nicer than saying “homeless”  “couch surfing” or even worse, a “bum.” I always called it gypsy living because that sounds so much more freeing and exciting to say. No strings to hold me down or tie me to anything. Freewheeling some call it. I am not afraid to say that I have found myself “homeless” on numerous occasions over my lifetime. It really does happen quicker than most realize, and many will be fortunate enough to never have to be in such a situation. I have lived almost my entire life just one or two pay checks away from being out on the streets with no support system to aid me in any way.

Some people are lucky enough to have families or a family member that is willing to help in such an event, and I think that is great. One must find support wherever one can. Unfortunately many like myself do not have the luxury of having a caring family to fall back on for support, let alone a family that cares enough to intervene whenever I have found myself in a crisis. I am proud to say that I have lived independently completely on my own since the age of 17. I moved out and never looked back.

I grew up in San Diego in a pretty average lower middle class family, back when middle class still existed in a way that is now a thing of the past. My parents were part-time drug users, but both were able to maintain employment enough to present a somewhat normal family facade to the outside world. I have two sisters, one four years younger than me, the other is 12 years younger than me.

My parents were not the greatest, but they were definitely not the worst either. I was never sexually abused, or beaten very often either and for that I am grateful. We were never raised to believe in any type of religion, and I am thankful for the freedom in certain areas that my parents allowed us to be our own free-thinking individuals. I declared myself wiccan at 16, dyed my hair black and wore makeup to school every day and my mother never tried to stop me.

I was always the black sheep of my family and it was not until recently that I actually announced that I was gay. They accept me for who I am, yet they don’t understand me, nor do they really care to anyway. There has always been an air of indifference in the way they behave towards me, a strange dynamic that I have never heard of anyone else experiencing with family.  It is arguably worse than rejection because I never know where I stand with these people. They don’t seem to like me very much, yet they don’t hate me or disapprove of me directly enough to  say so, since they haven’t shunned me entirely. Neither of my sisters ever respond when I reach out to them, yet they don’t even care enough to give me an answer why.  They just really do not care what I do or who I am, and that coldness is what pushed me away from my family,  and I am ok with that now. They know what I do for a living, and again, they just don’t really have an opinion about it. The dismissiveness of their collective attitude towards me has been enough for me to avoid them for long stretches of time enough for my mother to send a text message once or twice a year to ask “Are you still alive?”

This is where the indifference cuts me like a knife. If they just shunned me or excommunicated me I could move on from the experience of being rejected and sort of block them out of my mind. They keep me hanging on to a thread of hope by being half in half our with me. I never know how they really feel about me but I know that it isn’t what I deserve. I used to hope that one day they will understand me and accept me and actually wish to be part of my life, but it never happens. I still love them all, they did the best that they could do for who they are. I don’t hold anything against them anymore because I was using it as an excuse for the life I once lived. It is so easy to blame others for our own lot in life but it isn’t until we face ourselves and look in the mirror does any kind of positive change occur.

The pain of being completely alone has never been felt more than when I have found myself out on the streets, with nowhere to go, and nobody to turn to for support. Nobody to blame anything on but my own self.  That is when the estrangement of my own family would sting the most, but it made me learn to accept personal responsibility for myself. of course when my chips were down and I had not a clue as to what to do next. I used to spend too much time feeling sorry for myself and blaming others for my problems and let me tell you that the experiences I have encountered have taught me otherwise.

I would not change any of my experiences for the world. Being left alone, with nowhere to go, and nobody to cling to for help has made me into another person. I have been at rock bottom with literally the clothes on my back, no phone, and nowhere to go on numerous occasions. I won’t go into the details of each, but when adding them up as whole, it has shaped me by giving contrast through the negative experiences, in order to pave the way for my most great and fulfilling now and future.

I live without attachment because I have had to literally walk away from all my worldly possessions without a care, several times. Living as a situational nomad taught me that I do not really need anything, other than food water and shelter. And everything else that I think I may need or want, the universe will provide me with in some form or another. Whatever I want, it is because I believe it will make me feel better in the having of it. I can find that happy place before the manifestation since everything  is always working out for me, and I love that fact.

I can remember the last time I went was adventuring through a period  of gypsy living, when my rental house lease was up in Oregon, and I needed a sabbatical from whoring. A very dear friend’s recommendation influenced me to live like a Nomad for several months, living off of the grid in Mendocino, trimming marijuana as a freelanced “trimmigrant.”

After several months of work I returned to Portland with nowhere to go. I spent half of the time sleeping in my minivan, and other nights in a motel or hotel room I could purchase for a night or three.  I  was ready to whore again, and needed somewhere reliable to host clients,  so Hotels and motels served their purpose for me until I secured a place of living.

One day during winter I was staying at the Ramada Inn on the Southeast outskirts of Portland when I got a phone call from an acquaintance who owed me money. Reggi was also a whore, he was a lot of fun and had a huge dick too. I hadn’t heard from him for many moons since he still hadn’t paid me back the money I lent him. Whenever I lend anyone money I never anticipate getting back for many reasons. Bottom line is that I would not want the loan of money to ruin any relationship I have with anyone else.

It was a pleasant surprise to me when I received his phone call out of the blue to inform me that he was ready to pay me back. “You check it dog, I got that Benjamin for you fool. I don’t got my whip no more so my dealer is gonna accompany me, aight?” I saw no reason that he shouldn’t. “Yeah man, whatever is clever,” my eyes were fixated on the television as I was zoning out on Sandra Bullock on the screen. I love Speed, classic film.

Not twenty minutes had gone by before there was a loud and obnoxious knocking on my door. How rude. Of course it was Reggi, and his dope dealer. They both stepped inside and once inside Reggi looked tired and worn out hard. He had lost a significant amount of weight since I last saw him. His buddy the dealer looked terrible. I would not have let him in had I not seen him in the light before he came into my hotel room. He had a face that was reminiscent to a pig, all scrunched up and pink with a menacing expression on his awful face. He was a disgusting fat slob with a shitty attitude and a nasty grin of yellow nicotine stained teeth. I try not to judge a book by it’s cover but come on!

He immediately displayed an inner ugly that was even worse the moment he lit his cigarette. “Um what the fuck?”  I ripped the cigarette from his greasy chubby fingers and quickly doused it in the bathroom sink. “I am not losing my fucking deposit, thank you very much.” “Oh relax they don’t really care about that.” What a fucking jerk. “Um hello?” I pointed up at the smoke detector overhead, to which he scoffed at me like I was an idiot. “So where is my money?” I asked firmly trying not to display my discomfort with the entire situation. I really didn’t want these guys haunting my room for very long.

“Oh yeah dog, my bad” Reggi said in a wavering voice as he retrieved a crumpled twenty dollar bill, throwing it up on the counter sloppily. I tell that he was wasted from his movements, along with the thick stink of alcohol that was on his breath. I was honestly astounded that I got any of 150 dollars I once loaned him, even if it was only twenty dollars. I was ready to ask them to leave, I had a bad feeling in my gut for some reason.

Before I could formulate the kindest possible words to politely say “Get fuck out” The dealer guy opened his stinking mouth, “So I have heard about you” in a hollow and condescending voice. “I heard that you are a whore!" he didn’t say it in a nice, complimenting tone either. I looked him sharply in his shit colored eyes, “Yeah I am a whore” I replied assertively. “Well if that’s the case, then why don’t you come over here and suck my cock then, whore?” “Ok,” I said with a smile across my lips. “Whip it out.” He then unzipped his pants and pulled out his limp dick. I walked right up to him, looked down at his penis, then back up to meet his gaze, “no thanks dude.” “Oooh wee that is cold son!” Reggi spat as he cackled at my backhanded reply to Nick’s disgusting advance. Nick shoved his dick back into his pants, turning red with embarassment. He lunged angrily for the door and slammed it hard upon exit. “Thats my ride fool!” Reggi ran after him leaving the door open as he scurried outside to chase Nick down. I immediately shut the door and double locked it. At least they were gone now.

That is when I noticed suddenly, that my wallet was missing. My last 200 bucks, my ID, social security card, debit card, were all in that wallet. Those bastards ripped me off. It certainly didn’t make my life any easier at that moment, but at least I still had the twenty Reggi gave me. I should have known better and hid my wallet. Live and learn.

A few months go by and I forgot about the situation entirely. One night while staying in my van downtown I got a call from a new prospective client. His voice was oddly familiar. “Come down to the Benson Hotel in Downtown Portland. Room 705.” I threw on some pants and headed over to the old Benson, one of the oldest hotels in Portland. I arrived and took the elevator to the seventh floor, and finally made my way to the room.

Who would it be to answer the door? Nick, the drug dealer who stole my wallet. I stood there shocked not only at the fact that it was him, but also because  I couldn’t believe he didn’t realize who I was. “Well are you just gonna stand there or come in huh?” “Oh sorry” I said and entered the room, closing the door behind me. I was already there and needed the cash, so I figured that I would fulfill services for him, collect my cash, and just never bring it up again. There was no point.

“I wanna get fucked.” He said in forceful matter of fact tone. “Alright.” Of course I would have to stick my dick in this nasty bastard. It is a big part of the job. “Get naked and on all fours.” He ripped off his shorts and got onto the bed, spreading his ass apart for me. I really had to go to my “Happy Place” Mentally in order to even get my dick hard enough to fuck him but I slathered my penis in lube and luckily got hard relatively fast. I just wanted to get it over with. Nick lay there in anticipation of my penetration doggy style with his head down on the bed. I pulled his body closer to the edge of the bed and entered his asshole and began plowing his ass slowly. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was fucking a rhinoceros from behind. That was a better thought to keep my hard on then looking down at the fucker that was beneath me. I was starting to pick up a rhythm as he reached over and grabbed the maximum impact poppers from the bedside table. I continued fucking him, harder than before, fully erect making him squeal like a pig as the bed frame rocked and squeaked beneath out bodies. He continued to huff his extra strength video head cleaner so much that I almost gagged on the chemical odor emanating from his pores.

Suddenly in an unexpected jolt of convulsions, he writhed and contorted his body in choppy motions that made it clear that he huffed too much too fast. A few seconds later he collapsed beneath the weight of my frame, completely out cold, unconscious with my hard dick still inside of him. I paused for a moment, thinking he would come back to life but instead began snoring loudly. He twitched a few times before I looked over at the bedside table to see that there were 4 hundred dollar bills just sitting there.

I looked at the money, then looked back down at the lifeless flesh beneath me. Very carefully pulling my dick out of his ass, the decision was already made to take the 400. 200 for the fuck session, and the other 200 for what was stolen from me. Justice appeared to have served me after all. I put my shoes on quietly, grabbed the money, and silently strolled out the hotel room door in stride, satisfied that I finally got back what was owed to me.

A few days had passed before I started receiving death threats from the slob Nick. Said he was going to kill me, cut open my stomach, blah blah blah. He was going to ruin my car, slash my tires, whatever. I didn’t feel that I did anything wrong so I just ignored him and his childish emotional tantrum that was not even justifiable. I was unmoved and had nothing to fear or so I thought.

Fast forward a few weeks later. I randomly received a phone call from Lucas, an old roommate that had once lived with me when I rented my house before I left for  Mendocino. Things got pretty bad when he lived with me since he had become a junkie, and I was forced to throw him out. He was a IV drug user and the results were not pretty. I kicked him out for his disrespectful actions and his inability to pay his portion of rent, but that is  a whole other story. “Hey I am staying at the nine’s hotel, and just wanted to catch up with you and talk for a bit.” He sounded better over the phone and the nines is a very nice hotel. Maybe he was finally doing better, I was happy for him.

I was actually looking forward to seeing the stupid kid and thoughtlessly headed over on foot from my van dressed in my pajamas and sandals. When I entered his room I saw him sitting towards the back in an arm chair. “Hi Lucas” I said in a slightly confused inflection. He had a strange look about his face that I could not decipher.

Out of nowhere the bathroom door flings open and Nick the big fat human hog lunged towards me as I slide backwards to evade. No sooner than when I moved that two muscled up goons busted out of the closet next to me and tried grabbing me, each man trying to pin each of arms as I flailed in fear. “Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my heart raced as I tried wriggling free from one guy’s grip over my left arm. I spun around quickly and with my free arm elbowed him in the face, causing him to smash his boot down, stomping on my exposed sandaled foot. I could hear my big toenail crack, but didn’t notice that it was ripped clean from my foot.  The adrenaline was flowing and I was in flight mode. I quickly punched the other guy in the stomach as he came at me and somehow I shook myself free from the grasp around my arm and charged out the door of the room by the skin of my teeth, my foot gushing fresh blood as I hobbled to the elevator where Nick chased me, prying apart the elevator doors.

“ Oh my god I didn’t mean for this to go this far” he whined in his high pitched squealing pig voice. I was bleeding and in tears, barely able to catch my breath. “You know what Nick you were in the wrong! You fucking stole 200 from me that night with Reggi, and you owed me the other 200 for fucking you, I did nothing wrong here! You stole from me and you are the fuck up and you know it!” I screamed the truth so hard at him he suddenly got quiet and had nothing else to say.

The elevator started to move downward. “Im so sorry this just got too out of hand.” Sorry? He was actually going to say sorry at that point? And what were they going to do to me, had they successfully been able to capture me? “Can we just talk this out and smoke a cigarette together?” I couldn’t believe he even asked me that. “No!” I yelled as loud as I could disregarding the hotel altogether. “Just leave me the fuck alone is all I ask, please.” I was still shivering the rest of the elevator ride to the lobby. I stared into the gold painted reflection staring back at me, still feeling the trauma of the unsuspected onslaught of the evening. I looked down at my foot to finally see my big toenail had been completely ripped off of my foot. The blood was slowly coagulating and pooling between my toes. The pool was getting larger in a bright red circle on the elevator floor. Nick gasped looking down at my foot when the doors finally parted and I hobbled out into the lobby, my sandal squishing with blood as I ran out of the front door. Nick quickly closed the elevator door, and I never saw him again. Luckily nobody was manning the front desk to see the red trail that followed my foot steps in wet crimson marks that smeared across the white tile floor to the front entrance. I was still in a state of utter shock from the unsuspected ambush attack.

I took several deep breaths the moment I stepped outside, trying my best to compose myself as I hobbled back to the safety of my minivan. It was time to go to bed. Oh what a day, I was shaken to my core, feeling jumpy and on edge for the rest of the night. Post trauma symptoms. I was left wondering what would they have done with me had I not escaped? A question that I am glad I will never have the answer to thanks to my powerful will to escape the clutches of psychopaths.

Oh the strange struggles I encountered during my nomad days. Luckily within a week after the traumatic events at the nines hotel, I finally got approved for my new apartment which made up for what would have been an awful month for me. At least I got my money back that was owed to me even if though I had to lose my one of my big toenails in the process.

Chapter 8: Gender Stretching rather than bending

Every now and again I love to conduct my own personal social experiments. I have a an interest in pushing limits to the extremes in many facets in life, to test the will of the human psyche namely my own. I like to test my own boundaries, and try things that I have never done before.  I basically do some weird shit sometimes just for the joy of doing it. I love to evoke reaction from people, its a strange form of entertainment that I do not get to exercise nearly enough in day to day life.

After almost recently getting abducted and possibly killed by mercenaries under employ of an overweight balding drug dealer, I thought it would be wise to lay low, find another crowd to mesh into. Step out of the norm and maybe work another circuit, finding a new group of people to associate with. I wanted try something a little more edgy and exciting just to keep things alive and interesting. I didn’t want to affiliate with the same crowd anymore now that I finally got myself off of the streets, and besides I had long already long before aspired to cover a wider ranging target audience and capture a wider demographic in the whore market also.

At the time I was mulling over the other hooker ads, mostly on back page when such a thing once existed as a platform for free lanced whores. What I had discovered after putting in many long hours of constant browsing and scrolling, was that there was a very high demand for gender bending, cross dressing, and of course as always, Trans girls. The latter came as no surprise because it is a well known fact that a large percentage of  men love trans girls, and they are highly sought after. In fact they are allegedly at the top of food chain, as far as cash flow goes within the context of the whore industry, especially popular among straight men.

I knew I was no Trans girl by any stretch of the imagination. I did however foster a healthy curiosity and interest in the idea of experimenting with my own gender identity through cross dressing, or even full drag just for the personal exploration of gender fluidity and self expression through costumery and makeup as an art form. And also to catch some trade men also. It was time to let the woman within me out. I had more than enough lucrative reasons for it, and more importantly I was curious to see what she had to  show me. It was the beginning of a new chance to discover more of my underlying self, as a female characterization of an extended part of myself that I would not be entirely aware of.

I have always felt resonance with the popular idea that every man has a woman within himself somewhere, and every woman has a man with herself as well. It is very true that regardless of whatever sex one is born as, we all have differing levels of both estrogen and testosterone in our bodies. Gender is simply one of many ways we choose to differentiate and define ourselves in the context of society. Sex is determined genetically but gender is how an individual feels about themselves. It is a very grey area on a wide spectrum with no absolutes which can get pretty complicated, which is why there will never be any black and white ways of thought to clearly explain any idea about gender. I myself have always felt pretty fluid in my gender, I never have repressed my feminine qualities and felt pretty comfortable with my little gay quirks as I called them.  But now, this was much different.I was really going to delve deep and explore the other side of the mirror within me. Really reach for some kind of mental transformation or transmutation of energy but I was not entirely sure what that even meant.

I could sit here and make a shallow attempt to be pretentious and say that my idea was all about artistic creativity, exploring my  own ideas  and perception of gender and what it means to me, but long story short- it was also a way to  conjure up my inner woman to put the bitch to work, and maybe get some hot straight dick while doing it! Two birds one sexy seductress stone.  I could cover so much more ground by working as both a male and female whore, stepping into two roles interchangeably as needed in order to increase my gains. I couldn’t think of any good reason not to at least give my idea a running shot and see what would happen.

The name came first: Jemma. She told me from within that Jemma was her name and that was that. Early in the beginning of the process it was already quite obvious  that Miss Jemma would embody the characteristics of my personality that I was afraid to explore or denied altogether. Jemma would be the personification and manifestation of my shadow self. The darker side of me that I try to shy away from. The pieces of me that I hid below the surface, my own socially unacceptable qualities that I denied about myself and hid from everyone including myself. All the wild animal that years of society shaped into a dark void that bubbled deeply from within, which resides within all of us. The mere common man hardly ever makes contact with such deeper self, and Jemma was created from the very ethers of shadow consciousness.  She would also be created from the collective fabric of my ideal self that I could express and bring to life through the medium of self directed character creation.

Jemma would operate the parts of me that I didn’t feel familiar with, making up for my own shortcomings that shamed me in my typical day to day male life. Where I was weak she would be strong. Where I would hide, she would find strength in exposure. The ideas I feared, she would embrace in totality. An eclipse of my mental self, with a life of her own, Jemma could encompass the things that terrified me. Jemma would never be shy, as I had been most of my life. She would be a gateway of potential exploration of the unknown uncomfortable territories and ideas that I had avoided throughout most of my life as a result of established fears..

My original imaginary vision was visually something akin to Clark Kent becoming Superman. The transformation of one self to another, picking up the slack from the other and running with it in a totally opposite direction. compartmentalizing one personality and suppressing the day to day self in order to experience the world in an entirely different headspace offering a new set of eyes and a fresh perception of life in every aspect without anyone knowing or connecting the dots that there were two beings that shared the same body. Jemma was to be the perfect medium for expressing my hidden self, with the freedom to address and express feelings that I felt the need to suppress beneath my normal conscious thoughts.

To birth this dark lady  of the night from complete nothingness, it all had to start with aesthetics. After all this would be the vehicle to her manifestation in this material plane, bringing her into physical existence. Appearance doesn’t say everything about someone, but it's the first thing that people experience when meeting someone new, and she could only be striking. She was created completely in self stylization  from head to toe, top to  bottom in that order. I went on a trip to a local beauty supply place in Portland, well known for their vast selection of weaves, hair extensions, and of course lace front wigs. A notorious one stop shop for the droves of strippers that were employed within the Rose City. I wanted Jemma to have hair that looked convincingly authentic as possible, deciding that her wig would be only be composed of real human hair. I spared no expense on finding the right head of hair for my fiery inner temptress.

I felt no shame as I fervently shopped for my lady supplies, I never have any embarrassment or shame for doing anything that I do. I walked right up to the wig counter and struck up a conversation with the young lady that was working the wig section that day. Ebony was extremely helpful, and showed no surprise or discomfort when I told her I needed a beautifully fitting natural red head of full ringleted tresses. She happily showed me countless foam heads topped with every shade of red one could ever ask for.

Finally after perusing over the lineup of heads perched over the glass in front of me, Jemma’s mane stuck out like a sore thumb on the highest shelf. Ebony laughed when I pointed up at the the foam head that seemingly glowed like the Holy grail, high up on the dusty shelf. “Oh her. She is a killer!” Ebony ran back into the stockroom and retrieved a brand new boxed version of the most beautiful red hair I had ever seen. Long luscious locks of red hair that sparkled radiantly through many shades of red that started with a deep crimson at the scalp, gradually changing shade to a deep color of freshly spilt blood at the tips. I tried it on just to see how it would fit and it was beautiful. It looked a little bit ridiculous with 5 o clock shadow, but that was far from the finished product, and my vision was more powerful than the reality at that point.

I felt excited to know that Jemma was coming another step closer to her debut. I shelled out more money on a wig cap and a piece of elastic to sew between the temples of the wig in case anyone was to get rough and pull on Miss Jemma’s hair, it would stay in place. Miss Ebony really knew her shit and I took her business card at the end of our interaction because she shared some amazing tips at maximizing the level of fierce that would be completely necessary for the realm of fierce I was about to entrench myself in wholly.

Next phase was makeup. After spending countless hours on viewing tutorials on creating the perfect done up face, there was no stopping my ambition. I researched everything. From creating the illusion of facial feature highlighting with the magic of glamour by utilizing the technique of contouring, all the way down to mastering the perfect smokey night time eyes, I was way ahead of myself. I picked a bright pink lip gloss that Jemma loved. It was the color of Barbie, hot pink. A second choice was again, the red of freshly spilt blood as an alternative shade. Liquid and powder foundation, top powder, brushes, lash lengthening mascara, contouring kits , eyeshadow palettes, setting sprays and even primer, almost toppled over the edge of my red plastic shopping basket.

The outing was a strange experience that evoked some interesting reactions from the women that were shopping in the cosmetics alongside myself. I was actually kind of shocked that they were shocked as they were, I didn’t know it would raise such attention, its 2019 for fucks sake! But I didn’t give a fuck. If I gave a shit about what anyone thought about me, I would not be who I truly am, and that is a sad fucked up way to live. I continued to shop as if they were not even there. Fuck those middle aged soccer mom opinions, yeah I am a boy that wears makeup, fuck you. I traversed over to the next aisle in an annoyed sigh of breath as I rolled my eyes contemplating the doldrums and boredom that seems to always come with life within the mundane mechanical wheel of the heteronormative lifestyle.

After picking out the essentials for conjuring inner beauty in the cosmetics section, it was time to dash over to womens lingerie. After all, every woman needs a bra right? Jemma needed  something practical that would obviously fit without having to make a spectacle of myself by trying it on in the store. 36 C was the guesstimated bust size of my lovely creation, and again the disapproving looks shot at me from every which direction- this time even worse since it was the lingerie section. They probably thought I was a pervert and they would definitely be correct about that.  They even had a selection of fake breasts. Fake tits made of silicone and formed into shapes similarly like chicken breast cutlets, firm yet squishy like the real thing. And into my basket they went.

The rest of Jemma’s first ensemble was purchased online. Let’s face it, six inch heels available in a women’s size 13 were not going to be easy to find in any kind of shopping mall, and besides who goes to the mall to shop anymore these days?  I ordered some single white female style stiletto heels from the internet along with a black dress that synched at the waist line before flaring out in a 1950’s cocktail style.  The flared waist was to compensate for my lack of curvy child birthing hips of course.

Once all of the components of Miss Jemma were readily available, it was very disillusioning to realize that the change from masculine self to lady was going to be a hell of a lot more work than simply mastering makeup application and  throwing on some womens’  clothing. There would be no proverbial diving into a phone booth and blasting out emerged as someone completely new unfortunately. Jemma was not born overnight. In fact it took almost a month of trial and error of makeup experimentation and character development  before even stepping out the door in such a state.  And even after a month of careful practicing in my bedroom, I was still clueless to whom the mysterious lady was that hid deeply inhabiting some unknown space somewhere beneath my conscious thought processes, waiting to be freed.

Feminine movements and gestures suddenly became an everyday  field of study.  The mannerisms and body language of women that define effiminity in its most organic form, flowing with ease from girls of all ages is difficult to learn as an adult male.  For the first time I began noticing and mimicking these simple basic aspects of women so much more. It made me more appreciative of females in general, and felt like seeing a little more into the perspective of the collective woman consciousness, even if it was only a tiny glimpse. It was becoming a full time job trying to emulate them.

One thing that I found interesting was the realization that I have never had to contemplate the difference between the two polarities of what is called male or female. Obviously biological facts aside, there are still the very real implied spoken and unspoken rules or norms that society categorizes the difference of males and females.

Every little detail from fashion, grooming rituals, communication, posture, and acceptable appropriated mannerisms -all these seemingly small aspects added up are the ingredients which create and define gender roles and norms of society. As my journey naturally unravelled the fabric of what gender really meant to me, the lines blurred between both polarities. What is masculine? What is feminine? There is no right or wrong answer.  What is normal? Another question that cant truly be answered. Exploring my own gender fluidity was the bridge to my inner shadow, and Jemma was the self stylized expression of such an idea.

To be a woman is a completely different proposition, and I wanted to explore such an idea even if only on a small imitative scale. It offered me a very limited glimpse into seeing the world through a new lens, as  girl. Jemma was the unconscious shadow self that was there the whole time,  buried deep below the conscious knowing of my own psyche.

Once the kinks had been worked out, and I knew in good confidence how to contour and bake before applying the perfect smokey eye technique, I was ready to let Jemma out into the world. Honestly I felt fearful. I had no clue who Jemma would be, and how far would she go to become her own self within me? Was she just an archetype of imagination? What if she started as a creative idea, but could grow large enough to have the potential to run wild and hijack my body or mind? Or was she something more, another persona hidden across the cracked divide of my own splintered psyche?

There was only one way to find out.  Putting on the bra, filling the cups with those lovely silicone inserts, and slipping on my gown felt like I was suiting up for some kind of battle in a war with no real enemy but the hidden self. Part of me was exhilerated yet there was still a feeling of hesitation. The doubtful voices of “What the fuck am I doing?” and the culmination of my insecurities were sweeping in on me throughout the transformation process like a mental tornado.

But it was not enough to stop me. After being so tired of the lifelong battle of fighting off those biting feelings of doubt and insecurity, Jemma was boiling beneath my skin,  slowly coming out of me.  Each step of the beauty process was a rite of her painful birth. There was an onset rush of emotion the very moment I felt the change happening.  I was suddenly feminine, fierce and sexy. The ugliness and falsity of guilt melted away, Jemma held no room in her heart for shame or guilt, for she was coming to life. The panty rose rolling up my legs, the heels on each foot one at a time, holding my breath as the wig went over my head beautifully. Finally the last touch. Like the spilt blood of human sacrifice the fiery red covered my lips. I looked into the mirror to finally realize that I had broken through to the other side. The dark side of the moon, floating above the abyss of nothingness, I became she: Jemma. Dark Diva of the night.

Jemma had taken the wheel, and I was simply along for the ride. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth, grabbed her clutch purse and kicked the back door open. The moon was full, and she was finally alive and it was exhilarating just to be. So fishy and free, she tossed her long red locks behind her shoulders and strutted out into the street, walking with slick confidence, not thinking twice about what she was doing, moving forward without a plan to steer her anywhere. She  just kept her head held high, as if she had some mission to fulfill, and nothing was to stand in her way of waywardness.

Jemma loved the immediate attention she drew from the boys in their tin can cars, clustering together in the ebb and flow of the congested traffic of 82nd avenue.  Cat calls came pouring in from all directions,  like a spreading wildfire drivers took notice of the striking red headed lady. A couple of whistles and even a honk of a horn blazed past her, blowing her red curls wildly as she waved them off with her left hand, swaying side to side. The world was her runway.  It didn’t even matter that she was walking along the most notorious street laden with crackheads and streetwalkers in Portland. She was just born, beautiful and brand new with no resistance on her path.

The sexy clicking of each heel striking against the pavement echoed in the cold still of night,  she walked like Marilyn Monroe towards the local graveyard entrance. As she passed through the iron forged arched entrance of the cemetery, she held no fear in her wild heart.  Born so new, walking amongst the dead. She felt at home in the middle of the misty grass grounds where six feet below her heels laid hundreds of rotting corpses.  She took some selfies perched up cross legged on an old headstone that stood  4 feet from the ground. The one living being surrounded by the dead, and on her birthday. She lit up a cigarette and spent several minutes appreciating the stillness of her surroundings.

She finished her cigarette and pulled out her weed pipe. Up in smoke with the sweet sickly smell of marijuana she dedicated to the deceased through her plumes of smoke that faded above head. This was just a test putting and it was time for her to head back home. Nightfall was coming fast and she didn’t want to be caught wandering the shady streets much longer, especially with how hot she looked, she was grabbing too much attention as it was. She sauntered back to the wrought iron entrance gate and started back to where she had came. She picked a yellow daffodil along the way to lay on the grave of a young man whose portrait was etched into a large headstone. A fallen soldier, died as a casualty of war. She laid the flower across his grave and kissed the cold marble headstone, leaving a blood red stain in the shape of her painted lips. She was taken by the photograph of the dead man. He was so beautiful. Whoever this man was, he was special. She got up from the damp earth and dusted the grave dirt from her panty hose before walking silently back home. She was so powerful, yet so vulnerable. Do women always feel such vulnerability? Or was this simply a byproduct of being so fresh and unexposed to the world? Only time would tell, after all this was her first experience of life on this earthly plane. Everything was so magical and the prospects of the world were fruitful in their promise of infinite possibilities.

She finally had to slow her pace, those shoes were killing her feet! She was forced to walk slower back to the house, taking extra time because the pain in her feet.  No sooner than crossing the threshold of the front door did the beautiful creature of the night turn back into a plain old pumpkin. And like that she vanished.

I was exhausted, and every part of my body was completely uncomfortable. It was a strange paradox because I knew I looked damned good as Jemma, and the sacrifice of  comfort in the sado-masochistic world of female fashion was simply part of the experience. I took the wig off of my head and felt instant relief from the heat that was radiating from my scalp. I went to the bathroom and hung the wig on the foam head that Miss Ebony had given me. There I sat, staring blankly into my reflection of the looking glass,  reflecting on all the moments of trying curate the persona of a woman, feeling empty and clueless. Where do I go from here?

For the longest time I was uncomfortable simply by the mere idea of self exploration via experimenting with my own gender identity … afraid that what maybe there was a chance that I was trans, then what?  once I stepped into such a role, what if it felt more natural to be that way all the time?  I was well prepared for that after a long contemplation and self reflection of such an idea. It was one of many reasons that I created Jemma. To explore such a space because how would I know unless I pushed myself into such an uncomfortable zone of self exploration? At tNo rays of light beamed down upon me, the cold void was still there inside of my chest. I was just a man dressed up in women’s clothes, and it didn’t make me feel more complete.

Oh sure, I did look amazing and it felt wonderful to explore my inner lady, and I would recommend any and all males to do some sort of similar exploration at least once in his life, regardless of how he self identifies in gender. It was an important part of exploring my inner self, and for that I am eternally grateful. It also gave me some small insight into what Trans people go through, and it gave me newfound respect for people who are born in the wrong body and travel the difficult road of permanent transformation from one sex to another. There is a lot more to being a woman than to look and act sexy, and I didn’t have the spiritual drive within me to take it very far. In fact I felt like an imposter in somewhat of a obscure sense because I still felt like a man, and I was totally ok with that. It was an experiment that I would step into several more times for fun, and once for the purpose of escorting which was quite interesting…….

I got a message from a man who sounded about late twenties or early thirties. He had an accent that was not discernable to me, but it didn’t matter. I conjured Jemma, which takes hours and she went to meet up with this mystery foreign man.

Getting out the car and walking to his apartment, I didn’t have the pep in my step like usual. I felt so vulnerable and unsure of myself which was the main reason it blew up in my face.

I rang the door bell and the door opens to reveal one of the hottest middle eastern men I have ever seen in my life. I felt so freaked out. He sensed my uneasiness and still invited me in. He had me sit down on the couch and I could tell he was totally picking up on my freaked out vibes. We started to kiss and one thing led to another before my lipstick was smeared around his asshole when he suddenly saw the pentagram tattoo on my inner forearm. He stopped without notice and told me he felt uncomfortable and wanted me to leave. Any other day I would have demanded compensation regardless, however Jemma didn’t feel secure enough to speak up for herself and went home with smeared lipstick and an empty wallet.

Driving home I meditated on my gender experimentation. I felt so much more respect for Alex, to go through all of the changes she did just to be who she is today. There is so much more to being a lady than looking good dressed up in makeup and clothes. This experiment was a failure to be marketable but it was a success in that I saw more into he perspective of someone who is trans. A glimpse if anything which gave ne a newfound respect for those who transition from one gender to another.

Chapter 9: Jemma, that Bitch!

So I second guessed myself at attempting to escort under the cross dressing guise of a self crafted character named Jemma. There was so much more than I had anticipated, if I chose to go such a route for the sake of making more money, yet still I had to give it at least one try.

I spent a few hours doing the magical transformation, and I felt even more confident stepping into Miss Jemma again within the confines of my bedroom. I had a specific goal that night and it was all about getting the girl on camera, and snapping  a few sexy shots to upload online to test the waters. I knew that I had to give it a go, and just see how the market would respond the buxom red head persona that I had created.

I set up my tripod and put on some sexy electro beats to set the mood. I set the timer on my phone camera and mounted the device onto the tripod and aimed it at my bed. I got on my knees and let miss thing take over. Picture after picture the time flew and I was actually having great fun with myself. I felt like a teenage girl, snapping shots from many different angles, trying but not too hard to conjure the allure of Miss Jemma’s sexual prowess. A couple of hours later, I think I had succeeded. I wanted some sexy shots, and I refused to use filters or photoshop because I didn’t want to catfish on any level. If I was going to advertise myself as a cross dresser I was going to be up front about it because I had no intention on altering my body in any way. I am a hairy italian man with a  muscular build and that would never change. Nor would I want to change that fact. I was not going to lie and pretend to be trans for the sake of money, that would be wrong and immoral to do such a thing. If there is anything I cannot do it is be fake, so I clearly stated in my advertising that I was simply a cross dresser, not trans. I finished up my ad and added the sexiest shots I had captured. I took deep breath before hitting the post button and jumped in the shower. I didn’t think about the ad for another day before I finally checked my email inbox to see what kind of response I had generated, if any.

My email inbox was flooded with responses. I could not believe my eyes. I scrolled through the emails, my heartbeat quickening and my throat drying up as I started at the bottom and worked my way up through the countless amounts of emails that Miss Jemma had generated with just one back page ad.

It felt new, exciting, and a bit scary. I never generated that high of volume of response as a male escort, and certainly not as fast either! I was excited yet felt insecure. I hoped that these men were reading my stats because I stand at over six feet tall. I was pleased yet worried that meeting in person with any of the potential clientele  could be an entirely different story. I didn’t know where to start so I found the first guy who reached out to Jemma first, and reread his response:

Hi, I think you are beautiful and I would love to have sex with you. I am middle Eastern and love red heads. Are you a man? What is your rate?

-Amir

He sounded pretty straightforward to me so I responded as simply as I could. I left my phone number and asked him to text me for quicker response and not ten minutes later did I receive his text with the details that included his address and a confirmation time to meet the following evening. I had mixed emotions at that point, it was like becoming an escort all over again, as someone else. I started to panic a little bit inside. What about my deep voice? What about my mannerisms? I hoped to god that he would not mind my tall build, or be disappointed upon meeting.

I really started to second guess myself, what the hell was I doing? The situations that I put myself in sometimes….Then I got a hold of my wandering self doubt and shook myself free of the negative mind train that I had so easily jumped onto. I was going to do this, whether I was successful or not. I was committed to the idea, and I already had my first date ready to go. There was no turning back and I accepted the potential risks involved and thought nothing more about it until the next day.

I got ready much earlier than the time we were to meet up, just to make sure the transformation process was successful without feeling rushed, since the tension was building enough for me to feel nervous the entire day before the date. I took my time getting ready, a total of three hours went into the process of conjuring Jemma from the Ethers. Psychotically time conscious by leaving an extra hour of time to practice voice, and mannerisms. I had no clue what I was doing but this was it. The realization finally setting in that there is so much more to being a lady than looking beautiful. Mannerisms, voice, body language. I felt like a man in a dress. Like a clown. It was sort of disappointing that crossing the gender divide was not as easy as I had anticipated. I was under the false impression that being a gay man, I had some sort of unexplainable talent for bridging the gender gap, like it would be so easy to assume the role of a lady, influenced through the  female aspects of my inner shadow psyche. I looked amazing but there was such a weight of self doubt pulling me down to where I felt like an imposter. I thought about cancelling the date but I needed the money so I took a few deep breaths and calmed my troubled head. At the very least, I would  give it the best effort that I could. I would try my best even if it ended in failure. At least I could say that I gave it my all.

Before I knew it hours had passed, so I smoked a fat joint to ease my trembling nerves. Sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing into my looking glass mirror I stared at myself until I lost focus, breathing deeply. I should not feel nervous because this is Jemma’s job. This is the reason she is here, I just had to let go and let her come out and take over this strange body. Submit myself to her will and allow her to become the whole through me acting as a vessel, channeling the crazed sex vixen through my body under the creative magic of imagination.

I cleared my mind and prepared myself for a meditative state. Cleaning the slate of the chatting noises that spun around my head like a twisted and gnarled rope. Undoing the stale self doubt that held me in place, plagued by insecurity. I took mentally took off each layer of fearful thought and anxious beliefs that were paralyzing my ability to step outside of myself and into another form. Fifteen minutes of meditation was enough to awaken the crazy bitch that was screaming to get out.

The focus suddenly came clear through the mirror as if she was a witch caught in her scrying eye. Jemma looked into her own Egyptian like painted gaze and groped both of her perky tits, “It’s showtime baby.” She kissed a wet red bloodstain of pigment onto her own image that refracted back through the mirror. She giggled out loud as she strung her purse over her shoulder and pulled a cigarette from the pack that she also shoved down into the dark depths of her purse. She shut off the lights in the room and sauntered out the door in rhythmic walk that went click click click with each step of her fire engine red heels against the hardwood floors. She stepped outside into the twilight and lit up her cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly, watching it billow and dissipitate in the atmosphere. The neighbor boy across the street was staring at her perplexed, gazing at her bosom blatantly until Jemma lowered her cat eye sunglasses to reveal her blue eyes that shone brightly in contrast to artfully applied eyeliner that intensified her piercing stare. The teenage boy was stricken no doubt, and he quickly turned his gaze down to his feet, afraid that he was caught staring at the creature who was Miss Jemma. She chuckled to herself and unlocked the car. She climbed inside and tilted the rear view mirror so that she could see only her red glossy pouting lips. “Dressed to kill,” She said before starting up the engine and shifting into first gear. Heels could not stop her from owning that stick shift like a boss. In fact she chose to drive a stick in those heels, rather than opt to drive barefoot. A real lady can operate a manual transmission in heels any day of the week she had decided as a standard for herself in that very moment.

In a sudden screech of rubber against asphalt she sped off into the oncoming nightfall, lowering the sun roof to feel the window whipping her red mane about her. She felt free as she turned the knobs on the radio and cranked up the bass. “It is showtime now baby!” She cackled to the cosmos as she sped off towards the freeway on ramp. Amir was going to get one hell of an experience and that was for sure.

The gps led her onto the freeway and a few miles later, she was entering the town of Beaverton. The directions led her to a freeway exit that she had never taken before that moment. It was the residential district of the suburban town that bordered Portland. A mass of spanish style roofs and identical boxed shaped homes filled the landscapes for miles in between the corporate sprawling of the multi chain retail stores that glowed like beacons in the night. She started to feel uneasy before realizing that those feelings were not hers but mine and she shut them off completely as she followed the digital trail through winding neighborhoods until she finally came close to her final destination. The physical address was coming into view. It was a very large and elaborate community of condominiums that were created from several rows of perfectly aligned buildings. Each building was identical to the next, standing tall and close to one another, nestled beyond iron gates and grassy knolls that several children were still playing on. She slowed the car to an easy 5 mph until she could spot the building number on each of the modernly designed housing units that seemed to go on forever. Each building was identified with a giant silver sign assigning numerical value to each. The cold metal numbers were the only noticeable difference between each of the cream colored stucco buildings. She pulled up to building six and parked the car in a guest spot near a large maple tree. She grabbed her purse and set one foot before the other, red heels hitting the pavement. She rose to her feet and felt like Joan Crawford as she slammed the door shut and popped a piece of fruit flavored bubble gum into her mouth.

She walked forward towards the large number 6 and looked at her phone to make sure she remembered the correct unit number. Left then right her hips swayed with a naturally fluidity, thanks to the modification she had made that morning in her heels. It was long rumored that Marilyn Monroe cut 1/4 on only one of each pair of her heels, giving her that signature style Hollywood walk that only Marilyn Monroe seemed to possess. Whether or not the rumor was true, nobody will ever know. Either way it definitely made the walk look more convincing, but was murder on the back for sure. Small price to pay for the swish swish of the blonde Starlet queen of old Hollywood.

Before Jemma even got close enough to examine the numbers on the individual housing units,  one of the Mocha colored doors flung open. In the doorway stood the most gorgeous middle eastern man one could ever imagine. Jemma’s mouth almost dropped to her feet that instant. “Oh please tell me that it isn’t this guy.” She thought nervously walking forward pretending as if she didn’t notice him. “Jemma?” he asked with a thick accent that sent sexy chills up her spine. “Mhmmmmm” She cleared her voice to reach a higher softer note than the natural baritone that would have otherwise greeted the beautiful olive skinned man that lurked in the door way. “Yes, hello.” She was relieved at the sound of her own voice. “Please, come in” his expression easing into a smile as he reached out to grab her by the hand. He led her inside of his home and shut the door behind her.

She removed her sunglasses and turned to face the man who introduced himself to her as Amir. He kissed her on the cheek and nervously walked past her into the kitchen that was on the left side of the apartment. “I hope you like wine” He called to her through the arched doorway, as she walked slowly toward the giant salt water fish tank that stood against the far wall of his living room. She crouched down to examine the eel at the bottom of the tank. Its foreboding eyes stared back up at her from the safety of its brown coral cave. “Honey I will drink whatever you give me. I love wine.” She stood up to see all of the other fish that swam slowly under the neon glow of the fluorescent light that illuminated the man made seascape that took up most of the space of the entire wall. It must have been several hundred gallons. “I cannot imagine the amount of work it must be to maintenance something like this.” She said as he approached her with a large glass of dark red wine. She accepted it with a smile and drank it faster than she probably should have. He ushered her to the black sectional couch that wrapped around the outer perimeter of the room. It was a beautiful condominium with high vaulted ceilings with several large skylights that would have shone sunlight beautifully during the daylight.

They sat down together close to one another. She could hear her nervous pulse in her ears as she slung back her glass her head tilted towards the high ceilings as she chugged down the remainder of her glass. She crossed her legs and handed Amir the empt wine glass. As hard as tried to appear vacant and empty, it was to no avail. His big brown beautiful eyes proved to be too much, it was too late. He had already seen into her soul. Jemma crossed her arms looked at him as though he meant nothing to her. It still didn’t convince him of her fake coldness that she was trying so hard to create. He smiled again, looking into her eyes. “Let me refill this for you. Just as she got herself comfortable in her seat we jumped to his feet and disappeared off and into the kitchen yet again. “just breathe” Jemma had to remind herself as she felt face flush partially from a mix of red wined and her own nervous excitement. Amir was simply beautiful and Jemma felt so vulnerable sitting there on the edge of this strange man’s couch, listening to the sound of her own blood pulsate through her central nervous system, making her hotter with each breath. She fanned herself feeling the cooling wind that did very little beneath her pink cashmere sweater.

Amir returned with a full glass and the whole bottle in his hand. Jemma grabbed the glass and trying not to look totally slatternly sipped it this time around. Ah fuck it, she thought to herself and chugged the second glass as quickly as the first before grabbing the bottle off of the table and refilling it. Amir rested his hand on her knee, “Whoa now, I don’t want to get you drunk. I might be tempted to take advantage of you.” Jemma chuckled but offered him no reply. The wine was finally starting to hit her so she moved even closer to Amir and whispered in his ear, “I want you to take advantage of me.” His hand  slowly moved up her panty hose past her skirt, feeling her cock and balls. Jemma grabbed him by the face and pulled him in for a long deep kiss, tasting the wine on his sweet mouth. They locked in embrace and started making out like two high school students as Jemma mounted herself onto his lap, kissing him wildly. He put his hands around each of her ass cheeks stuck his tongue down her throat. She reached behind her ass and undid his belt. She could feel his rock hard dick begging to escape the confines of his pants, and she quickly pulled down his zipper and freed his monster cock from his tight white underwear.

Jemma didn’t want to get naked, since she had no real tits to show, and a very hairy chest that might turn Amir away screaming. So she took the focus off of herself and pulled Amir’s shirt up over his head and yanked his pants off him completely. They kissed passionately as Amir Sat up and turned around completely showing off his luscious rock hard ass. It was beautiful. Two olive colored meaty globes that were totally covered in coarse black hair. Jemma pushed his back down, forcing him into a doggy style position before spreading his beautiful ass cheeks apart and smelling the sweet aroma of his man ass. She forced her tongue into his beautiful man hole and Amir shouted “yes!” in complete unbridled pleasure. She rimmed his ass deep, making out with his sweet hole as he reached behind and squeezed her hard cock beneath her skirt. She moaned in pleasure before yanking down her panty hose and lifting her skirt, her cock bouncing out throbbing and dripping precum from its tip. She spat on her hand lubed up her dick before quickly aligning her hard cock with his sweet hungry hole. She pushed slowly into his ass, feeling the immense rush of pleasure as she slowly slid inside of him raw.

“Ughhhhh” he moaned, sounding like he was the girl in that moment. She slid farther into him and he whined, “mmmmmmm yes, fill my pussy.” She couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. She slid even farther until she was buried balls deep inside of him. They both moaned in ecstasy. Jemma could not take it any longer and started to lose character as she thrusted her cock in and out of this beautiful middle eastern man. Harder and harder she pounded him as he whined like a bitch. “Ohhhhh yeah fuck that pussy.” Jemma lost her girl voice and sounded like a man, “Yeah, you like that cock up your fucking cunt don’t you?” in her man voice. “Yes, ugh, oh god yes! Make me your pussy, fuck my pussy, I am your bitch!” Jemma throttled like a rocket until she felt that wonderful sensation of orgasm clustering in her groin. She tried to stave it off but it was no use, this guy was just too fucking hot. “You fucking bitch! AAAAAARGHHHHHH!” She sounded like Satan himself as she creamed Amir’s sweet man pussy. Spurt after spurt, it felt like her life force was being drained from her body as she shot cum deep inside the man’s willing gut. “Yeah give me that cum!” He loved feeling her explode inside of him, making the inside of his hot hole wet and juicy with semen.

Suddenly he screamed out loud, “I am gonna cum!” as he violently jerked his cock until he exploded his hot white cum all over his nice clean sofa. Rope after rope of cum shot everywhere and he fell onto his stomach going totally limp beneath Jemma’s muscular frame.

Her lipstick was smeared to shit. She looked like the joker from Batman. She got up as if she was melting, hurriedly putting her heels back on and adjusting her dress before putting her dick back into her panties and beneath her panty hose. She grabbed her purse as Amir slowly fished into the pocket of his pants to retrieve a roll of bills that she snatched from his hand in the blink of an eye. Amir didn’t even look up at her, his head falling back onto the couch in post coital exhaustion. “No cuddle?” he laughed as she counted out the 300 dollars before she laughed to herself. She threw her purse over her shoulder and made a beeline for the front door. She accidentally slammed it behind her as she left in a hurry, walking slightly disoriented back to her car. Two teenage boys were across the way giggling at the sight of Jemma stumbling back to her car. She turned around and looked at them with grimacing scowl, she conjured her deepest manliest voice to say “What the fuck are you little bastards looking at?” They both stopped in shock at the voice that came from her mouth before running off screaming into the night. Jemma laughed out loud like a wild coyote before climbing back into her car and speeding off to the freeway on ramp. It was quite a tiring night and she needed to go wash the pound of foundation and Tammy Faye eyeliner from her smeared sweaty face.

Suddenly I turned back into myself, and ripped the wig off of my head throwing it onto the passenger seat. I looked ridiculous without the wig on. Smeared lipstick and running eyeliner coursing down my face, I looked like a demented melted birthday cake. All that fucking work to emulate a woman, just for the guy to bend over and act like a total bitch. It was fun but I must admit the discomfort of it all coupled with the amount of work that went into it just was not worth it to me. Yeah the guy was hot, he paid up without any kind of fuss, but it just didn’t feel natural to me. At least I can say that I explored the other side of my gender and now I have no fear of wearing pink in public.

CHAPTER 10: Hail Satan

Life is not always so exciting in the Northwest however. Sometimes between my maniacal hi-jinx I find it can be terribly easy to slip unknowingly into the dark grasp of depression and sadnesss in Portland Oregon. It slowly can creep up on you, and before you know it you are sitting in the corner listening to Joy Division, cutting yourself with razor blades. Just kidding, unless you are 17 years old. Then that would mean you are too cool because you chose to listen to something as old school as Joy Division to self mutilate to.

But seriously, the many ongoing months of a consistently gray and dark rainy backdrop of the land of the Northwestern United States can quickly turn dismal, acutely affecting anyone susceptible to dreadful bouts of depression. It’s just so romantically tragic  when the landscape suits the mood of sadness perfectly like something out of an early 2000’s emo music video. Most of the year sets the stage for for the perfect concoction of dark weather, the main ingredients  for sadness and isolation. It is no surprise to me that a big portion of suicidal deaths in this country occur in the Northwest region, including Portland and Seattle.

Growing up in San Diego, suicide was completely unheard of throughout the first 26 years of my life. That is until I moved to Portland of course. People in southern California just don’t ever do such things! No suicide barricades anywhere that I have ever noticed either. Californians are much too selfish of assholes to ever commit suicide. They are more likely to commit murder but suicide? Forget about it!

Nobody ever likes simple answers to posited deep unanswerable questions but I am going to do so anyway by saying its the lack of Sun that is behind all of the doom and gloom of the Northwest.  For mother Earth to be able to create the famously lush and powerfully bright green landscapes, she requires lots and lots of rain. The splendor of the beautiful and abundant greenery in Oregon and Washington can only exist in predominantly cold and wet conditions. The sacrifice for such lush bountiful flora and fauna means that gray skies are not just typical, they are to be expected and necessary for the majority of days throughout the year in the Northwestern United States.                                                                                                                                            At first it didn’t bother me at all. Hell I even loved the constant downpour because like Shirley Manson says “ I am only happy when it rains.” It was not until my fourth Winter in Oregon did I feel the weight of the dreary grey skies starting to rain on my mood. Obviously being genetically imbued with the gift of  Bipolar disorder coupled with depression didn’t help. That was the year that I started to feel those genetics really kick in full swing. Suddenly for the first time in my life I missed the blazing heat of the southern California sun. I never thought there would come a day where  sunburn would have been a welcome blessing on my caucasian flesh.

Luckily for my situation I had recently been chit chatting online with a  prospective client who wanted me to accompany him for his birthday trip in Southern Florida. I remember his timid yet baritone voice over the phone the first time we spoke.

“Uhh Jacob? My name is Tom and I wanted to ask you about a scenario I want to happen.” Nothing I had not heard of before I sighed, “Go ahead and lemme know the details here Tom.” “Well I feel kind of embarrassed but what the hell, I hope this doesn’t freak you out or something.” I laughed, “I don’t think you could disturb me regardless of what it is, I have heard a lot in my day. Lay it on me, spit it out.” “Well…uhh I have this fantasy. Its like I have lived most of my adult years in this marriage to a woman that I truly regretted and felt completely miserable in. We had 3 beautiful children but after a while the kids got older and the Church was overbearing me by trying to step in and save our marriage that was completely out of any repair. I started to hate the church for impeding on my life, especially after Janis, My ex wife, had reported me for infidelity. She sicked the whole congregation after me, and I still am not hearing the end of it, and it has been months since I had moved out already. I left her the house that I worked my ass off for and now I live in an apartment but at least I am finally free and alone for the first time since I finished college.

“Congratulations on your newfound freedom Tom. I am delighted to help you achieve your fantasy, depending on the scenario of course, so lets hear it man. Spit it out.”  “Well, its super embarrassing but I want you to do a sort of twisted baptism for me.” My ears suddenly perked up. “Like a re-batpism where I would dedicate my eternal soul to the Devil himself upon a Satanic altar. You would be creating the ritual and rites, and be the priest standing over me to convert me into a Satan worshipping cock loving faggot slut.” This was starting to sound like fun and I already jumped into character. In my deepest and most menacing low pitch of voice I started in “Are you ready to be owned the Master of Darkness  as my fucking slave toy that I will use and abuse accordingly to my self serving pleasures? “Yes! Yes SIr!” His eagerness made me cringe a bit. “Now you shut the fuck up and listen, faggot.  You will from here on out address me as Dark Lord Master Satan and nothing else. Are you able to understand and comply with that you fucking waste of humanity??  “Yes Sir, Oh….um please Dark Lord Master Satan I am sorry I won’t forget again, I don’t want to be punished.”

“Fucking faggot I will discipline you how the fuck I please, you fucking worthless piece of Christian shit.” I had set the hook in the mouth of him already, and I could have sworn I heard him ejaculate over the phone. His ecstatic gremlins like sounds he made into the phone made me grin. What a fucking freak show. Something to look forward to at least. Freak are always so much more fun to work with because they are never a bore. I will take a nut case over a dullard any day of the week.

I have to admit that I really enjoy the whole idea of the Satan Fetish. From the curation of it, to the ridiculous theatrics of trying to be “evil” and pretending to take it seriously is so much fucking fun. I have had more than several men over the years request that I channel Lucifer himself for sexual purposes.

Ritualistic sexual abuse administered from the spirit of the Dark Prince of Hell using my body as a vessel, or rather the client as the vessel of abuse is always the central theme. I love the pretension of this scenario which always embodies a juvenile Halloween vibe. Of course it isn’t the most common request I get, but I would still say it is sought after often enough to say that it is pretty frequent. Ive done the Satan theme for about 12 of my masochistic patrons that absolutely love me for delivering to them such fantasy. I have fun doing it every time. There have been a few of them who take it so entirely serious,  that it was hard not to laugh while performing it. Roleplay is a chance to rediscover one’s inner child. To recreate fantasy by bringing it to life in real time, using the imagination as vehicle for it to be real in the arena of make-believe. Most people don’t ever get to experience that childlike magic in adult life until they delve into some kind of roleplay. It is all in good fun!

Satan is simply a fictional character in my world, so its just another role I step into for the purpose of entertaining a client and nothing more. I do not believe in the Christian conceptual Dervil at all.  In fact I believe that he is simply a negative adaptation  of the greek god Pan; the god of nature and of sexual expression. I love Pan, he is my favorite deity, and it is from him that the depiction of the goat headed half human with hooves is derived from originally. It all makes sense once one realizes that Pan was depicted as having goat horns, human torso and hooves instead of feet. Sounds like a familiar description doesn’t it? I never try bothering to explain this to any of my clients  since it is always  “Satan” that they want, not Pan.

And boy do my Satan lovers go ape shit for that Devil Dick!  Theres nothing more entertaining as a performer than to Embody the powerful scapegoat archetype of all that is considered evil and dark. The most common identifiable personification of the shadow side of human consciousness that every human has within themselves. He is the characterized representation of the dark side of the collective human psyche that bible beaters like to blame for anything interesting, fun,  or whatever could be deemed as inappropriate and immoral. It makes sense to me since it is so much easier to blame the devil for all the perceived wrong doings of man, relinquishing any type of individual personal responsibility by blaming all of humankind’s evil on some imaginary creature. The devil gets blamed for everything that goes wrong, and I can relate to the scapegoated vibe feeling like an outsider for most of my life. Satan is the ultimate rebel of religious thought and I love to bring him to life in a James Dean sort of bad boy character.

Of all the mythical creatures that exist, the Devil is my favorite. He is not so much a deity as he is mythical creature in my mind, but I love the idea of a creature such as a devil. Hell I was a devil for Halloween twice as a kid, and a couple times as an adult too. Red skin, horns, pitchfork and arrow shaped tail hanging from my ass.

I knew this latest Devil embodiment experience would be thrilling for both me and the client so I had to bring the campiness to the highest level possible. It was going to be full blown Vegas style Devil this time with every cheesy idea I could imagine. Sacrificial blood rites, dark oaths, chalices, daggers, skulls, glue on horns, black lipstick  and inverted crucifixes all danced around in my mind, as I began preparation in writing out a rough draft of a ceremonial ritual experience for the conversion of my new Christian friend. I felt honored  that I would be the soul to forever corrupt this man by turning him into the faggot that he knew he was always meant to be.

Honestly it was not so much of the idea of corruption that motivated me as it was the chance to bring some personal liberation to this man’s life. I love helping others reclaim their sovereignty as free willed human beings. I once had a boyfriend I called Marky who was mentally and psychically scarred thanks to years of repression courtesy of his Christian Church. Marky had dedicated most of his adult life to the church, and had travelled as a missionary spreading the “word of Christ” in over 17 different countries just for them to condemn him for his homosexuality. After he broke away from the religious bigotry and escaped to Portland Oregon, eventually his path crossed mine and I helped him renounce his old religion. I suggested that he symbolically cast his chains of Christian slavery into the fireplace one night on Christmas eve in ritualistic fashion. He expressed the unbearable pain and disdain for the shame he wrestled with from a stifling Christian upbringing which plagued him for years. A whole community that denounced him just because he was gay. Marky was one of the kindest souls I have ever met and it was sad to see him hurt so badly over their rejection.

One night He showed me his bible which was a gift he received before he could even read. I told him to rip the pages out and burn them over our yule log. We cuddled and cried as he released his painful past letting the shame go up in burning flames of bible pages.

Watching him violently tear the pages from the leather binding of his good book to burn was awesome. Again, I am not a Satanist, and I am not anti-Christian either. I respect anyone’s religious beliefs and practices. That is a personal choice that is none of my business. What I do not respect are any institutions, sects, cults, or groups that use religion as a device of control and corruption. There are many religious groups that use faith to their advantage by oppressing others beliefs or ways of living and thinking.

I feel that I helped my dear Marky by encouraging him to release resistance from years of anger and hurt that were buried deep within himself. I was happy to be the facilitator of his self freeing process in taking back his own identity from the very church that told him he was going to hell for being born gay. It felt so good to help and it carried over into my work as well. This client would be no different I decided. The difference was that this guy wanted a specific scenario to do essentially the same thing.

As far as Satanic ritual is concerned, it is all just show for the client’s entertainment, at least when I do it. It is really just having some fun with a serious topic, and I knew that it was not really Satan that he was truly seeking, but the freedom granted in the vision of my dear distorted version of the Greek God Pan, whom most gay men lay hail to.  He is the all begetter God of all, IAO PAN. He is the horned god of the forest who relishes in all earthly beastly sexual delights, desires, and expressions.  He is a half man half goat deity who incited Panic in humans because of his dual animal nature and frightful horned headed appearance. His father was Hermes who raped a nymph, and as her own form of retribution for the act, gave birth to a half man half goat creature that served basically as the black sheep of the Greek pantheon of Gods and Goddesses.

I find him to be sexy, though I have the same vision as the wild Dryad women of the forest who gladly thrust themselves in the arms of PAN, to be taken sexually by him. Consume me IAO PAN!

He is depicted with a rigid cock and pan flute usually. He is my deity because he is the one who harnesses sexual prowess and rides the magical cock of the cosmos. Every time I think of the Christian “Devil” I see beneath the surface a defaced depiction of our Great Horned God of the forest.

I still had yet to decide if I was going to bother with the red grease paint this time. The last guy I did the Satanic thing for was an utter mess. He wanted the traditional red devil with silicone horns spirit gummed to my forehead and all. It looked good, until we had sex and the mess of it all was unbelievable. I was so embarrassed the next morning and I left the cleaning lady 50 dollars for the red mess we had made of the Hotel sheets.

It was during my day dreaming moment of future prospective events that I was startled back into reality with the sound of a new email. And of course who else would it be but my Christian convert himself. It contained an attachment with my round trip plane tickets, which are always my final confirmation before I actually get ready for a trip somewhere.

I was super excited for this trip, no sooner could it have come! It was too beautifully timed not ti have happened on purpose, or so it felt. I had already researched some gay resorts and packed my brightest colors of jock straps and button up shirts. Yay sandal weather for the first time in almost a fucking year! To escape the doomy gloom of Portland, it was a blessing in itself to say the least after a long boring winter locked inside. I was like a shaken soda bottle ready to explode.

mere few short sentences he expressed how his belief structure still had a tight hold on his mind and soul, and he could no longer meet up with me. The air fare for me was already paid, so I could still go Florida if I wanted to, but our tentative plans for Satanic soul conversion were up in flames so to speak.

My heart sank a bit until I realized that the flight tickets were still valid, I was still going to Florida, which I had yet to experience. I was kind of bummed that I spent so much time formulating a theatrical experience to help a new friend escape his personal demons, but oh well fuck it! I was going to Florida!

It would be a much needed vacation. It could not have come at a more perfect time, since I was living in between apartments after falling behind on my rent on the most recent one, forcibly landing me in a temporary fix staying with fellow escort, and I knew he needed a break from me. I craved a change of scenery, and equally craved a new gene pool of men to dive into. A new place where nobody knows me, and the fresh feeling of being in a brand new city, with nothing but completely fresh faces. A whole new batch of guys to romp with, getting fucked up and doing drugs and fucking all night in a sunny climate. A sweet contrast to the grey mild weather of Portland Oregon.

I arrived in Fort Lauderdale after 10 pm. The air felt completely opposite of Portland. My skin was met with humid, arid, warmth that I welcomed smiling as I stepped out into the dankness of a warm Florida night. I ordered an uber to an Airbnb room near the central gay neighborhood of Fort Lauderdale, aka Wilton Manors.

The rental was quaint, a simple one bedroom unit. Salmon colored tiled floors, paintings of sunsets, and palm trees strategically placed as one might imagine an apartment to look in a typical Floridian apartment near the beach. Plenty of rattan furniture with beige cushions that were painted with a bamboo print. The whole place was decorated smoothly in easy pastel colors that I had already envisioned Florida to look like. It was exactly what I pictured. As I settled in, I started to feel tired and had a seat on the stiff leave print design rattan chair closest to the back sliding glass door.

Before I could slip into a state of relaxation my phone startled me, breaking the silent tranquility that was about to capture my mood. Yay my first Florida client.

I answered with a cheerful Hello. There was a pause for a second before I heard a man with a very distinct east coast nasally accent. “Can I uber you over here?” He sounded like Woody Allen. “Yes you of course you can, let me throw on my shoes and I will be ready in five minutes.” I gave him the address of the bungalow and I hung up the phone. This should be interesting I thought as I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette in the driveway. The pavement had that warm earthy smell of a recent warm wet rain fall.

I looked up at the stars in the wet sky and admired the swaying of the elephant ear leaves that rustled in the warm wind. The warm and wet Florida climate was unlike any other weather I had quite experienced before. There was something about the vegetation of the Florida landscape seemed very ancient, the sort of plants one would expect to see in a Jurassic scene when Dinosaurs were still roaming the earth. The warm atmosphere was much different than the dry heat of the Southern Californian coast where I grew up. Florida felt dank, distinctly humid. Suddenly the uber driver’s headlights caught my eyes as the car approached my position. I climbed inside and greeted the driver with quick “Hello.”

The driver was a middle eastern man who remained quiet despite my salutation. I didn't hear a word from him the entire ride. It was strange but it didn’t bother me,  I just slinked back into the leather seat and relaxed as I watched the glowing colors of nightlife whizz past the rain speckled window next to my face.  Neon rich pinks, yellows, blues, and green artificially glowing from light tubes moved past me in a blur as we glided down the road toward my destination.

Suddenly the car slowed down and turned into an unmarked building complex, and something didn’t look right. “This is your destination” His inflection made it sound more like a question than a statement, and I jumped up to see where we were. “I have never been here before so I have no clue…” I could feel his anxiety rise as I explained that the uber was ordered by a man at the address he was supposed to drop me off at. He let out an irritated sigh and pulled the suv off to the side of the empty parking lot to call the mysterious man who led me to this palm treed concrete sprawl of nothingnesss.

“Where is the address? This is where the google map has taken me” He said in a thick middle eastern accent. His frustration was increasing by the higher volume in his voice. I could hear my host through the driver’s phone receiver, this time he sounded like what I would imagine Fran Dressher’s father sounds like after smoking a bowl of crack cocaine. “ You gotta drive to the other side of the building!” Hid nasally voice was noticeably impatient and shrill.

As I visually scanned the barren parking lot I spotted the condominium complex in question off to the right of the lot and around the corner from what I was able to see from the far reaches of the empty lot spaces. I grabbed my bag and jumped out of the car while the the two men continued to argue back and forth through the phone. I thanked the driver, despite the fact that he couldn’t have heard me being fully engaged in heated argument, yelling at my client. I moved forward in a brisk pace across the painted black top parking lot in search of my destination. The lot was vast and so empty besides the unmarked concrete buildings that surrounded the perimeter of the lot dotted with rows of old Palm trees.

As I reached the furthest corner of the expansive lot, a condominium complex suddenly appeared tucked away in an awkward spot at the edge of the lot.  I picked up my pace to a slight jog confident that I finally knew where I was going.  As I drew closer I finally spotting my client standing outside of his unit waving his hand excitedly like Nancy Kerrigan flailing on a gay pride parade float. He was a pleasantly plump and cute little man with wide black framed glasses that had large magnified lenses that must have been almost an inch thick.

“You made it finally, why didn’t he drop you off in front over here ?” He asked in a very thick East Coast accent. “I think he just got confused so I just jumped out of the car and found the place myself. The giant lot over there is kind of confusing.”

“I am not going to pay for the fucking uber ride if he could not even bring you to the right spot.” His nasal voice was shrill. I smiled at him and put my index finger over his lips to shut him up. Then I wrapped my arms around his hips,  pulling him in close to me. I looked into his eyes to set forth my sexual spell, allowing him to get lost in my hazy blue eyed gaze as we embraced each other, becoming entwined as one being. as we both fell onto the mattress of his bed Our mouths meshing together as we both slowly undressed.

He stopped suddenly to open his side table drawer and removed a large mirror from inside. On top of the shining mirror was a miniature mountain of cocaine, a straw and a razor. Time to take this shit to the next level. We both took turns snorting up lines, bowing our heads, snorting up rails like some sort of church ritual. My face was starting to feel completely number after several lines, I had lost count of how many I did by that time. Then came the familiar drip in the back of my throat, and I felt my cock pulsating, throbbing, erect as a lamp post. I looked at my new friend and grabbed him by the hips, throwing him on his back as I grabbed him by the ankles and turned his feet towards the ceiling and rammed my meat into him until I was buried balls deep within his quavering man cunt. He screamed out in a mix of extrememe pleasure met with pain, yet he shouted “harder, fuck me harder” Like some sort of wild demon absorbing the output of my sexual charge that was hot enough to ignite fire.

I pounded his guts until sweat was dripping from every one of my pores. It felt like hours had gone by before I finally exploded inside of his ass. End of round 1. He asked how much longer he could have me,  and since we already agreed to an 8 hour overnight I told him 12 hours was  the max amount of time I was willing to give him. Hopefully he would not put up a fight with me like the uber driver.

Line after line, my cock throbbing and bobbing in and out of his hungry ass hole. My balls slapping against his sack making a tapping sound that synced to the electronic beat of the heavy bass of the electronica that was playing in the background. I could tell from the sounds that were coming out of him that he was having the time of his life. I wanted to give him a fucking like no one ever had before, and I am pretty sure I did just that.

A few hours in, I had to catch my breath and shift the energy so I told him I was going to have a cigarette break. He insisted that I smoked it in his house, even though he did not smoke. He simply just did not want me to leave the room he said, and preferred that I smoke in his bedroom, I chuckled as I lit my cigarette and watched the plumes of smoke fill the empty space of the room.

“Would you move in with me?” I love it when dudes are so high and horny that they ask ridiculous questions that they are 100 percent serious about the moment they ask them, yet forget by the end of the session. I patted him on the head and removed his steamy glasses and wiped the lenses off for him. I could have had this little jewish guy wrapped around my dick and take advantage of his empty guest room, and essentially take over his whole condo if I was that type of guy, which I am not. I like to envision and fantasize possible scenarios sometimes, it is always good to look at all possible courses of action to take in our daily life decisions.

Only three more hours, I thought to myself as I checked the clock in my peripherals, making sure that it was not obvious that I was seeing what time it was. Clients always seem to notice even the shortest glance at the clock and that opens the sometimes pouring bleeding wound of insecurity so I try my best to be as discreet about time monitoring without being detected as humanly possible.

After 8 hours of sexual escapades with one person, three more hours can feel like such a life sentence in that moment. I mean, having sex for almost 12 hours straight can really take a toll on the body and mind, and not every client remembers this fact, especially when they are in the throes of sexuaol escapism, high on drugs, and paying a good chunk of change for this experience to play out hopefully to their content. Some more specific demands are not as easily accommodated when it’s a step by step itinerary of what sexual actions, moves, positions, and sometimes scripts.

I try to break up some of the time, smoke breaks help a lot. It can be very draining to sexually entertain someone for 8-12 hours, so I have no reservations demanding the price that I feel is worth the exchange the client gets in sex for his donation to my funding.

I decided to take a shower and rinse some of the sex juices mingled with my sweat that was dripping from every pore on my body. The cold water cascadi down my naked flesh sent a welcome chill up my spine that made me shudder in pleasurable relief from the hot Florida climate. When I got out we chit chatted quite a bit, casually getting to know one another through our shared stories of various life experiences. We really started to hit if off intellectually and that is always great because those situations can take up a large chunk of time. Sometimes that is exactly what I need, to pace myself so I do not wear myself down to nothing.

Stereotypes are almost always shitty, but let me say that I loved that he didn’t even make a face when I told him I required my donation to be 3,000 for the night. I would be a liar if I didn’t say it totally stroked my ego, the fact that he would not pay the 8 dollars to the uber driver, but he dropped 3 thousand on a wild next of sex with me, and he was a jew! It felt good how easily he coughed up the cash without any kind of fuss. I felt like a powerful whore. He said that it was worth every dollar, and he got his money’s worth, and when one of God’s chosen people says something like that, it means something.

I left the guy’s condo as the sun was rising over the Florida horizon. The humidity and heat was already starting to swelter, and I could feel my skin perspiring as I began my journey back to my hotel room. The crack of dawn forced my eyes to squint as they slowly adjusted the harsh light of a new day shining down on the tropical landscape.

Florida was not the craziest trip I have taken but it was nice to escape the rainy conditions that were dragging me into depression during the winter season of Portland Oregon. It was nice to simply enjoy the beach, admire the clarity of the blue green waters, relax and have a beer by the seaside. After a few days of relaxation I booked my plane trip home, and in my carefree state of mind almost screwed up my flight thanks to my careless eye for detail.

I just left the local bathhouse, drunk as all hell, spending my last few days inebriated under the Florida sun, unwinding and soaking up as much Vitamin D from the bright sun as I could before returning the gloomy Winter weather back in Portland. I met up with a saucy local Cuban boy that I locked eyes with in passing each other as I was cruising along the shoreline of the beach. We found a spot together to smoke a couple of joints and I offered him a beer from my travel bag.

We sat side by side watching the water, making small talk as I started rubbing my crotch to send a non verbal message of what I was expecting to happen next. He was quite perceptive and it didn’t take more than a minute before he unzipped my swimming trunks and dove face first onto my rigid cock. I tiled my head back and relaxed into the sand, staring at the twinking stars, enjoying the soft latin lips that were slurping on my cock that was oozing precum into his hungry little mouth.  He took it all down his throat until his chin was delicately resting against my balls and I grabbed the back of his head forcing him down further onto my dick until I could feel the pleasurable sensation of his tightening esophagus contracting around my dick,  milking more of the ooze from my cock into his mouth. He bobbed up again to savor the gush of my precum that was flowing freely from my mushroom tip.

He looked up at me almost stupefied with his eyes rolling opposite directions as he gave me a toothy wet grin that made me laugh out loudly before I shoved his head back down on my swollen member. He included his hand into the motion now, sliding his wet hand up and down the smooth wet shaft until I could not hold it anymore. I felt the familiar tingle in the tip of my piss slit, pleasure vibrating from the tip down through my cock like the banging of am enmormous gong atop a Chinese snow capped mountain. “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH !” I cried out in ecstasy as I fell backwards into the sand, twitching from sensory overload as he eagerly slurped up every drop of cum. The wet sand forming an imprint of my body from the weight of my collapse.

“I cannot think of a better way to end a Sunday,” I said as I lit up my cigarette. He giggled and finally let go of my cock and balls. Wiping his mouth, he grinned up at me again and said “Oh no mang, its not Sunday night, its Monday night!” It was 2 am so technically it was early Tuesday.

Panic shot through my entire being like a lightning bolt. Before I even processed how fucked I was I had already shot to my feet, my previously relaxed state suddenly shifting to complete utter chaos and stress induced anxiety.  I had three hours until my plane took off and I was far enough from the airport to have a meltdown right there on the spot. I scurried about putting all of my bags together and gave a quick dismissive hug to my latin cock sucker who was  preparing to creep off already anyway. He could feel my urgent anxiousness and I do not blame him for wanting to escape my stressed out vibe.

Before I could even come up with any kind of solution, my phone began to vibrate. “Jacob?” “Yes?” I tried my best to sound relaxed without panting audibly into the phone.  “I know its late but I really want to meet you and was wondering if you were available to do a quick session.”  “Well I would love to help you out, but I only have a couple of hours until my plane takes off,” I said as cool collected and calm as I could muster. “Oh well I cannot host”  “Neither can I” I said disappointingly as I fastened my belt buckle. “How about your in your car?” I asked in my most innocent tone. “You could pick me up and we can play, and then you can drop me off at the airport?” “Yeah that sounds doable, where are you at?” I looked around the beach walk and gave him the names of two intersecting streets. “ I am ready for your now, so when can you be here?” “15 minutes” Wonderful. “I will see you soon!” I said as I let out a huge sigh of relief. I swear sometimes I must have angels guiding me or helping me somewhere sometimes. Not for every situation, however there have been a multitude of precarious moments that I have escaped without a scratch seemingly from unknown magical sources.

I grabbed my backpack and stood beneath a street lamp on the boardwalk to make my visibility easier for my new friend. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, letting my short lived panic escape my body. It felt good to know that I had my ride and I would not have to deal with the nightmare of missing my flight. I lit up a cigarette and took a long draw as I took I the florida climate once more again, trying to feel every part of it since I was about to head back to the other side of the continent where it was a much different and colder climate. Finally at ease again.

It didn’t take much longer before I saw two headlights emerge through the warm mist of morning dew as a new silver colored Beemer pulled up to the curb. It was a convertible, and the guy behind the wheel looked like a cracked out version of a Ken doll. I threw my backpack into the back seat and jumped into the front to greet the excited man in the driver’s seat.

I am Josh he said holding his hand out for a shake, as I smiled seductively back at him. “Jacob” I said and thanked him for being my ride to the airport. “So do you know a safe spot for us to fuck around?” I asked as he sped down the highway towards the airport. We were the only car on the road, the dark of night dimly light under the spotlights of street lamps overhead lighting our way.  “Ummmmm, hmmmmm, “ his sounds clearly told me he did not know where to go for safe public car play so I removed my seat belt, and dropped my trousers slow enough that my boner sprung free to greet him. I got up on my knees, mounting my left knee on the center console and held onto the top of the windshield to support myself, adjusting my cock to the perfect height of his face. He had no other choice but to suck on my hard cock, he could not resist. “Keep your eyes on the road, I will feed it to you.” I cocked his head at a 45 degree angle so he could still watch the road while I face fucked him.

I have to say that there is nothing more exhilarating than getting a blowjob whilst standing up in a convertible, the wind blowing through the hair and against my naked ass. If you thought it was exhilarating to simply ride in a convertible, you have no clue what you are missing out on. Face fucking this blonde haired dude one hand on the windshield, the other balancing myself on his head rest, I felt like a king drilling his throat saying things like “suck it deeper faggot come on. Don’t veer lanes or I will slap the fuck out of you.” This was the best ride to the airport I had ever had I think, so far anyway. As we approached the airport I could see the tarmac in the distance, and the control tower windows sparkling from the crack of dawn starting to reflect off of it. I pulled my cock out of his mouth and directed him to the short term parking area. I had about 2 hours until my plane left and the airport appeared at a lull so I directed him to parking space that was not too conspicuous and told him to get back to work. Before he could comply I told him “shut the fuck up and suck, don’t talk with your fucking mouth full.” I shoved his head down further and thrusted my hips upward as he bobbed downward onto my cock until I was ready to free yet another load of semen in another man’s mouth. “Waaaaaaaa!” I let our my ridiculous victory groan of celebrating another orgasm. He gagged yet sucked up every lick of my juices, slowly pulling his mouth with a contstricting grip that made me wonder if I was ever going to get my cock back.

I put my pants back on, adjusted my shirt and handed out my hand in my most thankful, gracious smile I could give. “Thank you so fucking much” he said handing me three hundred dollar bills. I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for the ride, “You are a life saver” I said, handing him a business card of mine. It is a shame we didn’t have more time, but I promise you I loved Fort Lauderdale and I will totally come back again!” “Don’t forget to call me! He yelled out loud as I haphazardly jogged with my bags in both hands. I made it in perfect timing I thought smiling. Good bye Florida! I thought as I passed through the revolving door and up the escalator to my gate. Florida was a good relaxing place that I enjoyed quite a bit.  I intend on returning sometime in the near future.  Florida sure was no subsititute for California, my place of origing. Florida reminded me how much I love Socal and how much I was missing it! Time to take a visit to my former stomping grounds I had decided while pondering my next travel venture.

Chapter 11: Palm Springs Whores of the desert

Florida was alright, but it didn’t have enough personality for me. The east coast eludes me, for I am forever a west coast boy at heart I suppose. Naturally my next trip destination was back on the West side of the USA in one of the stranger places I love to frequent: Palm Springs.

A small city where 70% of the population is comprised of homosexual males, its bound to have some wild weird shit happening out there in the desert. I think when anyone makes a conscious decision to live in such a climate, over time it changes them to some degree. After a long period of time some people are more susceptible to a little too much sun exposure and it surely has some strange effects on the human psyche. Some people choose to live out in the desert away from normal society for a number of reasons. It is desolate, its hot, and lots of weirdos. Leather skinned wraiths of queens with shitty attitudes are plentiful, but I try not to be so negative all the time.

My introduction to Palm Springs was a complete nightmare. What was supposed to be an idyllic Summer get away for a few days, ended up being a month long catastrophe that I barely survived before heading back up north to Portland, where I called home.

“Up on the hill” is the expression they use in Mendocino county to describe being stuck somewhere in bum fuck in Northern California in a trailer or shack with nothing to do but spend your days trimming pounds and pounds of marijuana, sort of like an indentured servant for renegade weed growing rednecks that live off the grid.

After spending months without reliable plumbing, having to depend on a gas powered generators for electricity, I needed to get my fuck on. I had not been laid in months and I felt like I was about to wither away and fucking die.

Mendocino county is probably the worst place in the world for a homosexual male to live, and I was only there for a few months helping out a friend who worked in the Marijuana growing industry. I was to take a sabbatical and try my hand at the coveted trimming jobs everyone knows are so sought after.

It wasn’t until I got there and started trimming that I realized how much I hated trimming. It is tedious, monotonous, and so hard for me to sit still for hour after hour. Oh sure the work yielded about 200 bucks per pound, and a pound could take anywhere from 6 to 12 hours depending on the quality of the marijuana, the scissors being used, etc. Some growers are pickier than others, there are a million factors that play into it.

Either way, when I was done, I was fucking done. I packed up what little belongings I owned, and all my earthly posserssions fit in the bed of my 1994 lifted ford pickup truck. It was the old body style, solid heavy metal with tires on it that could climb up anything. It had a ridiculous lift kit installed on it, which fit in with the rest of the trucks Mendocino. It is impossible to live there without 4 wheel drive that’s how remote it is.

Once I set off on my journey away from the hell pits of Mendocino County, I knew exactly where I was going to go next: Palm Springs. I chose this place specifically because I had been celibate for too long and Palm Springs is a classic gay resort vacation destination where everyone is in overdrive slut mode. Shooting fish in a barrel if you are a gay man trying to get laid so I figure what the hell lets give a whirl.

Palm Springs is a very strange and interesting place, rich with history of the 20th century. The houses and resorts alone are strangely interesting in their unusual and unique appearance and structure.  The modern buildings do not quite capture my attention, however unique they may appear to be. It is very popular for the Palm Springs newer generation buildings to be oddly built with unusual post modernist designs.

The other half, the ones I like the best, are old buildings that are standing relics of yesterday. Buildings that remind one of the Palm Springs of old Hollywood, long since dead. Many of these older houses are not only unique but lavish and some extravagant, which reflects the hayday of the super stars of old Hollywood. Almost all of them are big if not huge, some mansions, lots of names being dropped every which way in reference to the older parts of Palm Springs. Lucille Ball, Desi Arnez, Merv Griffin, Walt Disney, Marilyn Monroe, Jacky Gleesan, Frank Sinatra, the list goes on and on.  Many of the houses that are still weathering the face of time there were once built for many of the rich and glamourous folks of Los Angeles all the way to the 1950s. It was a requirement back then that the movie stars and what we know today as “Celebrities” were bound by contracts with the film companies restricting them from partying or getting wild within Los Angeles city limits. Their contracts required that they be at least 100 miles from Hollywood before engaging in any type of lewd, rude, or any type of behavior that would be considered inappropriate back then. Palm Springs is 100 miles away and was the site of the seedy side of Hollywood. It is where the rich and famous came to party. Also interesting to note that every single president for the last 100 or so years has had a home in Palm Springs after their duty of office as President of the United States ended.

The world’s highest and biggest rotating sky tram is located in Palm Springs and it is absolutely breath taking. It would be a shame for anyone to visit Palm Springs without riding it to the top of the San Jacinto Mountains.

Not to mention, the many gay sex resorts scattered throughout the place. This was my real core reason for deciding It would be my next travel destination. After seeing so many porn films that were shot at said resorts, I knew I had to check it out. It was right up my alley so to speak.

The drive to Palm Springs was about 700 and something odd miles. It was a lovely drive, right up until I reached the “Welcome to Palm Springs” Sign that my gear shifter literally stopped working. I went to shift from fourth to fifth gear when it suddenly stuck in between and I could not get it to go into gear for the life of me. Immediately I started to panic trying with all my might to force the gear into place, pushing as hard as I could on the clutch with no luck at all.

I continued slamming my foot on the clutch and yanking violently on the gear shifter to no avail. The Truck was continuing to move forward purely on momentum and inertia and I was losing speed fast. The first thing I saw was an airport parking lot for the Palm Springs Airport, and my truck slowed perfectly enough to park in one of the outer vacant spots before coming to a complete halt.

I was stuck. My cell phone charging cord had ceased to work, and I had literally 0 dollars to my name. No phone, no money, and stuck in my inoperable truck with all of my earthly posessioons contained in the bed of the broken down truck, could I be any more fucked than I was? Up shit creek without a paddle to say the least. I didn’t know a single soul in Palm Springs, and my cell phone was dead, and I was unable to charge it at all.

I spent the first day sulking in the cab of my truck, just completely in shock of the events that had just taken place feeling hopeless and powerless in my misfortunate position that I was stuck in. I didn’t know where to start. I needed to eat, had no food, this was quite a situation to be in.

I fished around my truck for receipts since I could see a Walmart sign in the distance and I had just recently purchased some toiletries that I knew I could return so that I could buy some food and water to keep myself alive another day.

I was so grateful to find the face razors, body lotion, shampoo, and a few other unopened items and gleefully walked across the desert landscape to the big box store to return my items. They yielded 20 something dollars in cash and I bought a sandwich some sodas and a couple of other snacks. I also was able to acquire a phone charging cord that worked so I could still contact the outside world with my cell phone. All was not lost and I was so grateful to eat again.

It was about noon and the day was getting uncomfortably hot. I knew I had to do something about my truck, surely someone would report it soon, and it would be towed. Everything I owned was in that truck and I could not risk losing it, so I made a craigslist ad on the men seeking men section explaining my dire situation and called out for anyone to help me out in my time of desperation.  I knew something would happen and I tried my best to remain in good spirits though my luck had clearly been very bad.

Sitting in my tin can prison on four wheels I tried hard not to have a negative attitude though it felt like I was dealt the shittiest hand in the world. I kept my frail grain of hope alive and knew something good would come of all of this.

Not too much later I suddenly received a phone call from a local Palm Springs number. I answered the phone excitedly and said hello In the most optimistic tone I have ever had. “Hi, my name is Mark and I would like to help you.” The man had a sexy voice that held authority and I was happy to explain my situation to him. “I have triple A and can tow your truck to my property, but in exchange for helping you, I would like to fuck you.” “Great, yes, yes, yes, I am all yours daddy!” It could have been uncle fester on the other line and I would have said yes to him fucking me, I was so relieved to finally have found some help I was happy to spread my ass for whoever this kind man happened to be.

Within the hour I could see a tow truck in the distance coming closer and I danced around my truck idiotically, simply elated that I found some way to finally get the ball rolling on my disastrous situation that felt so impossible to overcome not even a day prior. I felt so grateful that someone was willing to lend a helping hand in my time of need that anything felt possible in that moment. I jumped into the cab and felt excited to meet this man who was willing to let me keep my truck on his property until I figured out what was wrong with my vehicle.

Finally arriving onto the property, it was an interesting place to say the least. It was an old ranch style villa that looked like the Alamo, or some kind of complex of some sort. It was larger than a regular typical house and it was obviously an older building by the state of the aging stucco walls that had weathred years under the Palm desert sun.

As the tow truck driver scoped a spot to unload my truck, a man appeared from the villa, and what luck! He was also hot as fuck! Tall white guy in his 40’s with sandy blond hair, covered in tattoos shirtless, finally my luck seemed to be taking a turn in the right direction or so I had thought. He directed the trow truck driver to a spot to unload my truck as I walked up to him to greet him with a smile. “Hi, Im Danny, thank you so much for saving my ass!” He embraced me with his big arms, and kissed me on the forehead, “I am glad to help you baby, my name is Bill. Welcome to the Racquet Club.”

He brought m inside the villa and gave me a quick tour of part of the house, directing me to the farthest west wing bedroom. He had porn going on the television in the room already, and pulled out his enormous cock, that I dropped to my knees and started sucking immediately as it was freed from his basketball shorts.

As I sucked on the throbbing monster cock before me, he explained that he just had a roommate move out of this bedroom and needed someone to paint it for him. I could stay there temporarily as long as I painted the room and didn’t cause any trouble. I could have any thing to eat from the kitchen, and I was a welcome guest there.

I disrobed and assumed the doggy position my face down ass up, back arched. He fell to his knees and starting lapping at my asshole like a hungry dog. No sooner that I had began enjoying the hot rim job he was administering that there was a knock on the door. “Bill?” the door cracked open and Bill yelled “What?” the door opened all the way, and the latin twink standing there in the door frame gave me the bitchiest look that could not have been more indicative of jealousy if he had tried.

Bill excused himself and apologized for the interruption and left me alone in the room while he tended business some business matters, promising me he would be right back to breed my sweet ass. I was a little irritated that our sexual encounter had to be postponed but what could I do? He offered me to have a shower while I waited, and I definitely could have used one at that moment. I waited for him to leave and hear him head further down the hall until I grabbed my toiletry bag and crept to the nearest bathroom.

I hopped in the shower and was delighted to feel the warm jet of hot water coursing down my naked back. It felt so good against my tense muscles that had tightened even more recently as a result of my stressful travel endeavors. I lost myself in a short lived state of trance as the steam rose all around me fogging up the entire room, giving it that steam room haze that was cast throughout the entire cream colored tiled bathroom.

I hosed out my asshole as deep as I could, anticipating my hole to be filled deeply by Bill’s ridiculously large member later. I washed until the water ran clear and lathered my entire body in the lather of the exotic smelling bar of soap in the metal dish in front of me. It felt so good to feel clean again, especially after such a long and and irritating travel experience.

I made sure to squigee the glass shower door before exiting the stone shower. I used my towel to wipe up all excess water from tile surfaces, and I squigeed the mirror as well. I always try to leave things better than the way I found them and made sure everything looked orderly if not better than had I not used the bathroom.

I crept back into the safety of my new temporary room and got dressed. I took a long sigh and finally allowed my mind to relax for the first time in days. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until that moment. My mind was too busy with all the craziness running through it.

I tiptoed to the kitchen hoping I would not have face that twink with the look on his face like he just smelled shit. I opened the cupboard and grabbed a package of poptarts and threw them in the toaster while I grabbed a cherry yogurt, and poured myself a large glass or orange juice. Thank the gods for the kindness of strangers I thought as I raised my glass as if to a deity above me. I guzzled it down in between several huge bites of pop tart as I hurredly made my way back to the room.

It was so silent, there in the old villa. I looked around the room, appreciating the architecture of the building that was halfway between restored and delapidated, I thought. At least it had character,

For how old and huge it was. It was comprised of long hallways that created a square shape, like a classical Spanish villa. It also had a casita attached to the back of it, originally built to serve as a guest house to visitors. It was clearly one of the original houses of old Palm Springs, and somebody important once resided within these decaying walls I thought to myself as I reviewed the paint swatch colors that were laid out on an old desk. Ultra pure white trim, Peanut butter was the title of the color chosen for the wall, and it was already mixed and ready within three gallon containers of Behr premium paint stacked in a pyramid.

At least he did right and provided all the correct supplies. I worked for six years in the paint department at a Home Depot store in Escondido, so interior and exterior painting was nothing new to me. In fact I pride myself in the knowledge and experience I received when I was still bleeding orange as they used to say, working at the Home Depot. He had the tray liners, the bucket, the rollers and roller covers, edger for the tirim, painters tape, rolls of visqueen plastic, etc.

I was suddenly startled by the footsteps of Bill returning to the room, his big cock bouncing out of his shorts, as I returned to my knees to obligingly service his swollen member yet again. As I was bobbing up and down deepthroating his massive tool, he was explaining that he wanted the painting to commence on the following day, and to take today to rest. I nodded in agreement, showing my compliance by swallowing his cock entirely, my eyes starting to water when I reached the base, as I heard him gasp in astonished pleasure at my cock sucking skill set that I possessed and loved to show off.

He grabbed me by the shoulders directing me over to the bed, pulling my shirt off, and my sweatpants down to my ankles. “Get on all fours boy” he said in a deep commanding baritone voice. I happily followed his orders and gracefully positioned myself back arching, ass spread open for him. He fell to his knees and I shuddered in pleasure as I felt his beard against my ass, as he dove face first into my butt. I moaned softly as he spat on his huge cock before sliding it slowly into me, inch by inch. Slowly his rhythm started picking up speed, until he was full fledged pounding out my ass. I felt like my ass was going to be split in half, the way he drove his meat in and out I was forced beneath him to relax my hole, it was the only choice. About ten minutes of this pounding went on before he finally squirted his cum into my loosened ass, sloppy and wet with semen. He pulled out with a pop sound as I fell to the mattress. Wet and sloppy from his fuck session.

He explained to me that he had to do some work for his boss, and that he would be home very late, and if he didn’t see me then we would talk tomorrow before I started painting. He quickly took off and I collapsed back into the comfort of the mattress. It was about 2 pm when I fell asleep almost immediately, I had needed some real rest, and my body forced me to a hault to recover.

I awoke abruptly from my deep slumber feeling refreshed and restored. I could tell by the light of the windows that it was very early in the morning, the air still smelled morning fresh and the sun was just barely rising. I walked down the cold stucco hallway and rounded the corner to the next long corridor stretch of hallway to where I could hear the booming of Bills voice echoing off the walls of another room.

I politely knocked on the large ten foot oversized wooden door three times. Some naked man I had never seen before answered the door and smiled. Bill came from behind him and gleefully invited me to come in and get naked with them, to which I replied smiling and disrobed as soon as I entered the large room. A big screen television played porn in the background and there were four men in the room, including me, Bill, a sexy black guy, and another white guy. Bill told me he wanted me to meet his friend Glow Worm, who was the white guy sitting there stroking his cock smoking a joint. “I have a feeling you two will totally click” he said as I took a seat next to Glow Worm. Glow worm, what a weird name I thought then I suddenly remembered.

I was 16 years old and a friend from school lended me a gay porn dvd he had purchased in celebration of his 18th birthday rite of passage trip to the sex store, F street in downtown Escondido. It was the first gay porn I had ever gotten my hands on, and I waited til it was late at night and I was in the solitude safely in my bedroom before putting the dvd on to play. In the opening credits, I remember seeing the name “Glow Worm” as the first name of the porn star casting credits. I recall thinking, what the fuck kind of name is that? Glow Worm, What the fuck? The only other memoires of the film were of me shooting my teenage load before even getting through the first scene before hiding it between my mattress out of fear of anyone in my family discovering it somehow.

Fast forward about 13 years later, and here I am meeting Glow Worm. Life is such an interesting trip. He offered me the joint that was sweetly wafting smoke into the air, and I took a long slow draw off of it, watching the cherry turn bright orange as I pulled inward with my lungs until I let out a loud cough that was uncontrollable. He laughed and said that he had grown this pot, up on the hill near the town of Guerneville, which was only a couple hours away from Mendocino. “I just came off the hill too” I said as I handed him back the joint. We started chit chatting about weed, and hit it off pretty good. I could see the others playing on the sectional in the far corner of the room, which tempted me.

I decided it would be a pleasant surprise to my new Landlord that I took the initiative to start the painting project, right after I took a dose of GHB. I threw my clothes back on and headed back to the bedroom to prep the walls for painting. I moved all of the furniture and the contents of the closets into the main courtyard area neatly.

Next task was taping everything off, and securing the plastic. I wont lie, I was horny as fuck, yet proud of myself for doing the responsible thing and starting to do the work that I promised I would do. I figured it would show Bill a glimpse of my sincerity and my work ethic as well. For as horny as I was, I was sure focused on my work instead of the several naked boys that were running around the house.

I had gotten the roller on the wall up and down floor to ceiling maybe five times when Glow Worm suddenly appeared, standing in the door way smiling at me. “whats up?” I casually asked, making it a point not to turn away from the wall to look at him like he wanted me to. I kept my eyes on the roller and wall as he took a few steps closer and said “lets do what boys do, and lets have some fun!” he said in a childlike way as he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into him, as we fell onto the bed laughing. Once again I got naked and helped Glow Worm as well.

He turned over to reveal that same luscious ass I had remembered seeing getting pounded hard all those years ago. Now it was finally my turn! I ducked down and took a deep breath of his sweet smelling ass, like a dog. I ate his hole deeply as possible spreading his butt cheeks apart so that I could dart his fuck hole with my tongue, inserting it as deep as I could get it inside of his pink man pussy.

My cock was so hard that it was starting to hurt, I ripped off my clothes and shoved my cock inside him all the way to the hilt and he cried out loud FUCK YES I rammed him as hard as I could while one of the other housemates watched from the window outside. I pounded his guts until I shot the biggest load that almost knocked me out. We cuddle together with his ass leaking my cum when he rolls over and looks at me and says “oh by the way Bill is my ex boyfriend of 7 years.

Great now there is gonna be a bunch of drama. But why did Bill say that he knew the two of us would hit it off? I didn’t like the sound of all of this and when I went out to the kitchen to grab another bucket of paint, Bill was in the kitchen furiously chopping vegetables and slamming around kitchen utensils aggressively. His mood was very angry and I could feel the tension from across the room. I grabbed the bucket of paint and headed back into the room to continue rolling the peanut butter colored paint onto the walls.

The guy that was watching Glow Worm and I having sex, well he was still standing there near the window, sniffing from his bottle of poppers and staring at me, groping his crotch. I tried to do the same thing that I did with Glow Worm, and just ignore him, I mean what else should I have done? Before I knew it, he was climbing in through the bedroom window and stripped his clothes down to nothing. His huge dick pointing at me like a sun dial I have no choice but to drop to my knees and just have a taste. I sucked his cock for literally 5 or 10 seconds before getting up off the ground and continuing to paint the walls, telling the guy that we could totally fuck as soon as I finished painting the bedroom.

No sooner did I roll my cover over the next layer of paint, that Bill came flying into the room angrily towering over me and screaming at me menacingly “Another one of my friends?!” His face was red as a cherry tomato. What a stupid fucking thing to yell at me. What are we teenage girls? I simply turned and looked him in the eye and said, “You don’t fucking own these people, they are not your toys and they are not living under your rule” this was enough for him to grab a bucket of paint and throw it against the wall as hard as he could. It was pretty scary. I just stood there frozen out of fear of what he might have done to me.

He got so close to my face he was spitting in mine. I calmly said that I was leaving and grabbed my bag and ran outside to sort through my belongings in the back of my broken down truck. I was in tears by this point when Glow Worm came outside and offered to help me. I was in the middle of a huge fucking mess, trying to sort through my belongings, deciding what I could take with me, what should be locked I the truck, I felt my head spinning with all the drama and heat of the desert sun beating down on me.

I suddenly got angry out of frustration, and starting to vent to Glow Worm was not a good idea. I was going off about how Bill was a psycho and why did he help me just to freak out on me like that? Who the fuck does he think he is? Well little to my knowledge he was listening to the entire conversation and came flying like a witch on a broom from around the corner of the back of the casita swinging a wrought iron garden lantern over his head like a helicopter ready to explode. He charged at me, kicking up dust from the ground as I ran for my dear life. He chased me for a minute or two but my adrenaline rush kept me too far ahead for him to catch up. He was also 20 years older so go figure.  “Don’t you ever come back here again ever!” he screamed at the top of his lungs as I slowed my pace to a jog away from the crack house villa.

I could not believe what had just happened. What about my stuff? What about my car? It was a good thing that I exchanged phone numbers with Glow worm, so I sent him a text asking him what I was to do about my truck and all my belongings held in it. “Bill says its his now, and if you trespass he will call the cops and have you arrested.” I was completely dumb founded, how could this be happening? Where would I go? Where was I going to stay? Every single earthly possession I had was in that truck that was just stolen out from under me like it never even existed in the first place.

As I walked with my head hanging low, under the harsh desert sun I could not believe the defeat that had just happened. I could not accept that this was playing out the way it was. Living in a nightmare, I started crying again walking along the desert sand, feeling completely hopeless. I literally had no where to go, nobody who could help me, and the only thing I had, my truck, filled with everything I owned was being taken from me. Was this Bill’s idea to do this to me from the beginning? I will never know.

In my sadness and despair I wandered into an old abandoned complex. It was like something out of a dream, it looked like a 1950s post apocalyptic scene. Old buildings boarded up, a huge pool that was rusted and filled with old bits of metal, corridors that led to nowhere, sealed off entrances, creepy alcoves I wondered what this place once was. Something about the energy vibrating from the site drew me to it, or so it felt. I was not in the right frame of mind, and continued on my wayward wander, drying my tears, and reminding myself that something good would happen, it just had to.

In that very moment a tatted up 40 something year old guy whizzed past me on a bicycle and turned around twice to check me out. I knew by that look he gave me, he wanted it. I saw him continue ahead to turn around full circle and slowly ride towards me.

“Hey man whats up? He asked me.” “Oh nothing bro, just sort of in a shitty situation…” I explained what was happening in my life and he empathized with me. He had just recently gotten out of prison and was living with “a manipulative old man” Whatever that meant, it didn’t mean anything to me, and I was grateful when he offered to let me stay in his garage for a few days, as long as I fucked him in the ass in exchange for boarding me in secrecy from his controlling elderly supposed keeper.

He directed me down the street to a dead end and up the driveway of a house that looked like a typical suburban family home. He rolled up the garage door and nodded his head to me to enter, and I did so quietly. The garage had a partition which created a separated room out of shelves and large sheets of plywood. This was his little man cave apparently. We smoked some weed and he pulled down his trousers spreading his ass for me. He made it very clear that he was not gay, he just liked to get fucked in the ass, right of course. He certainly could take dick better than any straight man I know, but who was I to judge? I squirted my load inside of him and he quietly put his shorts back on, telling me to stay quiet, he would be right back.

I sat there in and old computer chair playing with my phone, mapping out my next plan of whatever the hell I was going to do about my truck, I felt so lost. Before I could sink into the myre of my misery any further Tony came back into the alcove and said that he talked to his daddy, David. David said that I could stay there with them for two weeks and crash on their couch as long as I was not causing any disruption. He also said that he had a tow bar on his truck and was willing to tow my truck for me, how wonderful I thought. I knew something would work out sooner or later. I asked him when we would be able to recover my truck, and he said that it would be best to do so in the morning. I was a little dismayed since I was anxious about my truck but I kept it to myself reminding myself to show gratitutde and be thankful for the friendly help that was exrtended to me from the arms of strangers.

The next morning did not come soon enough, Bill’s trap house was only 10 blocks away but towing a lifted truck ten blocks seemed like a difficult task to me. I directed Dave where to go, and we pulled up onto the racquet club property. One of Bill’s minions, the nasty latin twink was outside smoking and quickly ran inside to report the towing I presumed.

We acted fast to avoid conflict. I followed Dave’s instruction on attaching the tow bar and chains, releasing the e brake on my truck. Luckily I do not think Bill was home otherwise I am sure he would have been outside raising hell by now. It didn’t take long to secure the truck and off it was towed, Dave brought it to his house and we unhooked it on the side of the street closest to his home.

Upon removing the chains I realized something terrible had happened. All of my belongings were rifled through, any thing that was worth any kind of monetary value was gone. My sewing machine, my record player, my computer, some of my clothes, all of my electronic devices, and my guitar were all missing from the truck. Everything had been rifled through and tossed about. I could not believe that these awful people ravaged the very few things I owned, and left the bones picked clean. I tried not to get upset as difficult as it was, and tried to be thankful for at least getting my broken truck back. It was a very sad victory.  I reminded myself that I would replace all of the things that I was able to at some point, I am very good at detaching from material objects, but some things were sentimental and I had to let that go.

Even with any object of sentimentality, I have seen these material things get shattered or broken, sometimes stolen from other people. I have realized that material things really mean nothing, whether they have some sort of maudlin reason for the keeping them or not. Nothing is permanent in this world and even the things that we think matter to us, really do not.

Palm Springs did not yield very much capitol in my favor either. Sometimes I think if I am not in the right kind of head space, clients pick up on that psychically somehow, and then I suddenly see a decrease in client frequency immediately. OF course there are many many other factors that could contribute to a slump in business for an escort. Popular or not, it happens to all of us at some point, so it is always to be expected, and no one is very certain why this or that happens. Palm Springs however, is notorious for being a low money maker for us gay escorts and that is for several reasons that are quite obvious or at least easy to concluded in an escorts analytical mind. First, you have the gay sex resorts. There are several of them in palm springs, and they are filled with guys ready to fuck at any given moment in time. There is the World famous All worlds spa, then there is the older Canyon Club, and of course the more piggy of the resorts, CCBC. There are several other resorts that cater to horny gay men in Palm Springs but those are the ones everyone knows about, and all three have been the site for countless gay porn films over the years.

Every gay man that visits there is looking for sex at some point. It is much more accessible, promoted, and easily ready and available in Palm Springs so its not a big surprise that business is slower there for many escorts. Then you have the porn stars, who also are escorts as well. So many of them live in Palm Springs it’s a cliché and meme within the faggot community. The market is heavily saturated 24/7. Then of course there are the locals who tend to be bitter desert gays, who can be quite volatile and nasty, and I do not even want to try to address why or how that happens. Maybe it’s the heat. It is also a mean gay joke that the burn outs and bridge burners or scandalous gays are exiled to Palm Springs. Whether or not that is true is debatable, and after a few run ins with some bad people one begins to believe that it could be true after meeting people like Bill in Palm Springs. It is a wonderful gay vacation destination, but living there is a whole different animal. There is a very dark underbelly to it that shows its face more than enough to remind you that its there.

I was lucky enough to score a couple of clients who were just tourists, one was a business man travelling for work, and I had one local who was quite rude and pessimistic. He kept implying that I was going to try to rip him or hustle him, no doubt from negative past experiences with the desert trash I assume. I was still respectable and did my best to convey my services to be legitimate and that I have a level of personal responsibility and integrity, but he was not listening. I did what I had to do and finally had the money to fix my truck, and that was all that mattered at the time.

I used my last free triple A tow to have it taken to a local shop, and within a few days my truck was ready for me to pick up. It costed me about 1500 dollars and that was every cent that I had, of which I happily gave the mechanic.

I still didn’t have anywhere to stay and things were getting weird with Carl and Dave so I made a craigslist ad offering myself to any type of work in exchange for temporary lodging. In one hour I received a phone call from a man who needed some help cleaning out the casita behind his home. His mother recently died, and she was residing in the Casita, and he needed someone to help clean out all of her old belongings, it was simply too emotionally painful for him to do. I immediately said yes, and before I could say anything more he stopped me by saying “Well you might not want to stay here since the address, if it doesn’t bother you then yes you are welcome here. The address is 666 Indian wells road .” I laughed at his warning, I mean one of my monikers is Danny the Devil for fucks sake. I have been a devil child since birth, I could really care less about the address being 666, in fact I thought it was so cool because I have never seen an address that contained those numbers other than Palm Springs.

I will always be a goth kid at heart, especially when I took pictures of the gargoyle statue that was perched above the 666 address Pillar in front of the house when I arrived. I had to send a pic to mom, she thought it was so cool when I sent it to her.

I walked through the gated entrance, noticing several strange statues in different places in his yard. It had a bright green almost perfect lawn, which is quite a feat to keep up in Palm Springs, and during a California drought no less. I opened the outer iron gate that barricaded the front door, 1970s style or so it appeared to me. I knocked on the door and could see movement behind the yellow tinted scalloped window glass that framed the large wooden door. A small glasses wearing man in his 50s answered the door cautiously. He peeked at me from behind the door, and invited me inside.

His home was a mess of paperwork scattered about in some haphazard fashion in between countless statues, plaques, and other items that were from different cultures. I saw some Egyptian things, celtic pieces, Greek, roman, I assumed he was a collector of ancient artwork and didn’t put too much thought into it at the time. He sat me down at the end of a large old wooden dinner table that was covered in mounds of paperwork. He lit up a cigarette and started his interview, doing his best to dissect me with his own brand of questioning to test my character and see if I was a fit for the odd position I was to fill by staying in the casita in back. I know I gave him some great answers, but even more notable was his fixed gaze on me, going up and down, it was very apparent that he wanted to fuck me. I had no intention of exploiting this obvious truth, but I would certainly try to use it to my advantage if possible. I use my powers for good not evil!

He gave me a quick tour of the house, explaining that as a lawyer, he had many opportunities to acquire very rare, old, ancient art pieces and other relics, some of which were illegal to have, and should be put into museums. He pointed out a very beautiful Japanese headstone that was situated by the end of the pool, it was carved in stone, with a cobra shape over the depiction of buddha that was very beautiful. The cobra was representation of the cobra that kept the rain off of the Buddha during his pilgrimage, and Scott boasted that the head stone would remain dry when it rained outside, which was completely unexplainable and sort of creepy if you ask me. The Japanese writing on it was so ancient, that his Japanese friends who wrote and spoke Japanese could not decipher the words, claiming that it was so old, that the characters were unreadable even to Japanese speaking and writing professionals.

In my humble opinion, that is not the sort of statuary one would find to decorate their poolside at pottery barn, but I had no place to say such things. He continued the tour past the pool to the Casita where I would be both staying in and working in. It was the size of small one bedroom apartment. Like a miniature house that had its own bathroom, kitchen, and laundry room also.

The walls were a deep red, a few shades darker than blood red, and it gave the space a heavy ominous feel to the space. I love weird creepy stuff, but certainly the color would need to be changed if it was to be a n Airbnb rental. There were a few more curio cabinets, with Native American pottery that were displayed in a museum like case next to the television set. He warned me about leaving the place unlocked, for his many relics were worth countless sums of money, and were obviously irreplaceable remnants of cultures that barely exist if at all to this day.

The bedroom was nice, also had a very creepy heavy vibe about it. The bed was a king sized heavy wood carved bed that had four giant posts and frame above it, and it pretty much took up all of the space in the bedroom, it was huge and gothic looking. Creepy cherubs and grapevines adorned it, it was so heavy and big. I am pretty sure she died in this bed I thought as he seemingly read my mind looking at me saying “she died a couple of weeks ago, but she didn’t die here.” Which meant that she probably did die there.

Well I have some things to take care of but you can start whenever you like, there are some boxes on the side of the house, and if you could start organizing and boxing up stuff for me to go through I would really appreciate it. I could tell it pained him just standing in the casita that his mother inhabited only a few weeks prior.

Scott ran off and left me alone in the casita. It felt good to feel like I had somewhere stable to stay, as short lived as it may be it is where I rest my head I am home I thought to myself, and so therefore for now I am home.

I woke up at 3 am on the dot in a cold sweat. For several seconds I forgot where I was, until memory kicked back in and I recalled that I was in the creepy bed in the spooky casita and for some reason, I didn’t feel any more comfortable than not knowing where I was. I turned on the light and wandered out to the living room. I had the strangest feeling somebody was watching me, but I shirked off the ridiculous notion and sat down on the post modern stylish yet equally uncomfortable leather couch in the living room and picked up the Palm Springs coffee table book that was sitting on top of several other coffee table type books in the center of the glass table in front of me. It was a book about Palm Springs history, from back in the 1950s. Lots of interesting colored and black and white photographs of movie stars of the old Hollywood era flashing by me as I flip half interested through the pages of the Marilyn Monroes, the Lucille Balls, and all the other old dead people of Hollywood when about halfway through the book I spotted that same abanadoned circular building that I was wandering around in the day Bill flipped out on me. There was the gigantic pool that now laid to rust. Marilyn Monroe was proudly posing in a swim suit before the same pool that laid now as empty, rusted, paint chipped and filled with metal waste. The main building that was barren and boarded covered and graffiti was brightly lit in this picture, lots of smiling glamorous familiar faces of the original Hollywood scene posing before a lavish, decoratvive and tropical looking bar scene, which now is  a cement wall caked with dirt. It felt ghostly, seeing these photos after I wandered around the old complex. I even saw the hallway where I got fucked by a young jock guy that I met off the internet.

I went back to the bedroom and climbed up into the gigantic creepy bed, and left the living room on, and fell back asleep thinking about the ruins of the old Racket club, Bill and his crazy minions, my truck, all of my stolen possessions. The thoughts swirl like a whirlpool in the toilet and I am out cold.

The next day when I awoke, I was alone, Scott had left for work, so I decided to start work on his backyard. I cleaned up all the fallen palm fronds, rearranged the patio furniture, swept off the sky deck, used the leaf blower to clear the front and side yards of debris, and also raked all of the loose leaves that were peppering the otherwise perfect green front lawn.

Around 5 pm I felt like I had put in a good day’s worth of grunt work and before I could spend my last 20 bucks on something stupid, I had better get some gas I thought. I pulled out what little was left after the Palm Springs rats had taken what they had wanted, setting the weathered boxes inside the casita in a small stack. I climbed into my truck and pulled out into the street and made a right on Indian Canyon road.

At that very instant, I saw a cop car facing me from the opposite lane, going the opposite direction. Shit, I thought almost as if I had just jinxed myself. I knew he had seen my expired registration sticker, even from as far away as he was, and unfortunately for me, my gut feeling was totally right, as it always is. The familiar dread of seeing those flashing red and blue lights together meant I was in for it, so I just relaxed and accepted my fate.

“License, registration….” The usual bit. I confessed to the peace officer everything that I had been going through, trying to fit it all in 5 or six sentences but his mind was already made up. He didn’t care that I had no place to go, he didn’t care that the truck was all I had left. He didn’t give a fuck to know that I literally just paid 1800 dollars to get it running again and it had not even been on the road 4 hours since the repair. Tow truck driver came surprisingly quick and I said goodbye forever to my four wheel Buddy in tears. I could have done so much more with that 1800 dollars, all down the toilet. At least I got my stuff out of the truck and into Scott’s house before My truck was absconded from me by the asshole Palm Springs police department.

I walked back to Scott smilingly greeting me after seeing what I did with his yard. He could tell by the grave emotion across my face that I was defeated. I told him my sob story and he said sorry and we changed the subject. He expressed some gratitude towards the job I did with the yard, and he told me to wait on starting on the Casita, for whatever reason he said he was not ready for the packing of his mothers things yet, which totally made sense and gave me some fun time to run around the neighborhood with.

The neighborhood where I stayed was in Warm Sands, a neighborhood of Palm Springs. It was just my luck that he lived not even ten blocks away from the world famous all Worlds resort. I found a way to hop the fence and I was over the plaster wall like a ninja. I crept over the led color changing lights, and down the electrically blue lit hallway, past the decorative stone fountains that glowed like ancient mayan pyramids that spouted water.

I found the hot tub, there were a couple of bears there who didn’t seem too interested but that was ok. I loved the feel of the hot water, with the cold desert air it creates a comfortable experience in the hot tub late at night.

Of course it is totally once I get comfortable that my phone starts going crazy. Yes. Work, finally! I grabbed my phone off the plastic chair and was thrilled to see that I had an overnight request. Those are certainly the best, most lucrative, and other times the most fun experience one could imagine.  He 0ffered me 1200 which was my regular overnight rate as usual.

I took an uber to this guys house that lived about 20 minutes away from Palm Springs. It was a very post modern house, and it was on a ranch of some sort. The guy who invited me in introduced himself, and his young boyfriend who was about 21. We went inside and he immediately pulled out a mirror topped with a mound of cocaine. I liked where this was headed. Line after line after line, I got pretty fucking yacked. We were all entranced by the porn on the big screen television that was mounted on the wall like some sort of magical painting that had the ability to make us into zombies.

I kept staring at the younger guy’s ass until I could not take it anymore. I dove into his butt with my beard to tickle his nut sack while I feasted on his pink perfect little hole that was opening in hunger for my tongue more and more the deeper I tongue prodded it. He let me fuck him, while the older guy watched from across the room, stroking his dick in an office chair. The house was made of so much glass that it felt like we were fucking insider of some giant display box, like in a zoo or something. It was very sleek, metallic ,futuristic. I was pumping the young boy harder and harder as he collapsed beneath me, giving up on the squirm and struggle as I crushed him with my weight and fucked my spasming orgasm into his hole as hard as I could. All he could do was yelp like a wounded puppy before passing out drunk under me. He went lifeless like a corpse and I eased myself off of him looking up at the daddy and asking “Is he gonna be alright?” “Oh yeah he is totally fine he always does that when he has had too many drinks” he laughed as he beckoned me back to the bathroom to do some more lines with him.

Line after line, and my face was suddenly completely numb as the daddy bear ushered me to the dark blue tiled bathroom. He turned on the shower and we both stood under the cascading hot steamy water pouring down on us from above. It felt so good, especially when yacked the fuck out on cocaine, for sure. He started to makeout with me, and I jerked his cock slowly while we kissed deeply. We stood there locked in embrace for several minutes, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies pressed against one another. Finally we snapped out of the trance we seemed to fall into, and dried ourselves off, and back at the bureau where we snorted more lines off of the altar of pleasure.

I walked over to the couch and got on all fours, spreading my round muscular cheeks for the daddy who was going to breed me full of cum. He shoved his hard cock in fast, and I yelled out loud form the shock. He slowly stopped pumping, waiting for me to accommodate his girth with my tightened sphincter. I relaxed and felt my hole swallow his cock entirely as I let outa  long deep groan. This almost sent him over the edge and he could no longer hold back his orgasm. Jackpot, I think in my head as he started to sputter curse words laced with baby talk. He sounded like a retarded toddler screaming in a grocery store, which made me giggle. I kissed him on the forehead and we fell asleep entwined on the couch.

The sun rose not too much sooner than we had passed out and I forced myself to get up. I quickly put myself together, collected my 1200 bucks and was out the door at the crack of dawn.

I finally got back to Scott’s place and quietly snuck into the Casita from the sidegate, un noticed. I came inside and still felt wired from all the coke so I started boxing up his Mother’s belongings.

It was hard to decide where to start, the whole thing felt exhaustive when thinking about the task as a whole, so I started somewhere easy, the bathroom. Toiletries, bath accessories, medications, it is very interesting to dismantle the living space of someone who has passed. I slowly was learning about this strange woman who just recently departed from the Earthly plane.

I suddenly started to feel tired again, and without meaning to, stumbled backwards into the bedroom and onto the giant bed. Before I knew it I was awoken by the sound the of the glass door opening, I could hear the creaking of the hinges slowly turning as though someone was trying to be stealthy about it. I jumped up and realized  it was nighttime as the windows were bathed in night sky. I walked over to the pool house door to see if Scott was there, and he wasn’t. I could have sworn that I locked that door before I passed out. Oh well whatever and I started to resume packing up more items in the bathroom for Scott.

Suddenly the strangest sensation of fear shivered down my spine, and I felt as though somebody else was in the casita. You know that feeling when you are in a room and you can feel that there are other people there? Its something that is purely registered on an intuitive level, I have a difficult time putting into words, but I seriously felt someone else in the Casita. “Hello?” I called out in hopes of hearing Scott announce himself but he didn’t. I got up and charged out into the living room ready to confront whoever was in the casita only to feel completely crazy upon the realization that I was still by myself.

I could see the main house through the sliding glass door of the Casita, and the lights were all still off, signifying that Scott had yet to return from his work day at his Law firm. I suddenly felt more vulnerable without logical reason. Just a feeling that creeped me out.

I passed the time and the creeps off of me by playing some pop music to zombie out to, lighten the mood a bit. I finally finished the bathroom packing, and had the brown cardboard boxes in a neat row filled with Scott’s mothers old bathroom items. I was ready to start on the bedroom, I moved a gigantic mirror that must have been about six feet tall by four feet wide, away from the wardrobe doors, to open them. I propped the mirror up in the corner of the room so ensure it would not fall over.

I opened the the wooden doors to find the most organized closet I had ever seen. I suddenly felt stricken with some sadness, empathy for poor Scott, and the loss of his mother. She was obviously a classy lady, I thought as I thumbed through the nice fabrics that made up the garments of the dead woman’s clothing collection. Very expensive designer names, all such fine fabric, it felt almost wrong to be boxing up these items, I thought. I suddenly understood Scott’s anxiety about packing up her things.

A few hours later, and I was making some great progress. Scott still had not come home yet, but I continued to work to keep myself busy until before I knew it, 3:00 am struck on the electronic clock, startling me. I  walked into the bedroom and laid down on the bed, and right as soon as I was comfortable enough to drift off to the magical land of sleep, is when it had to happen.  The giant mirror that was propped up in the corner started to lurch forward and I winced as I waited for it to fall forward and shatter, but it didn’t. It lurched forward several more inches, and then the suddenly tilted, slowly, continuously until I was staring at myself in the mirror. I jumped out of the bed and ran outside to the patio, scared to death. How the fuck was that even possible? I know I saw what I saw, and there is no explanation for the moving of the mirror. It was a heavy mirror that must have weighed almost a hundred pounds, for it to move like that, then tilt several degrees until I was faced with my frightened reflection, it was too much to take in.

I was so shaken I could not get back to sleep. Luckily, I just so happened to receive a text message from a prospective client. Wonderful. Bear couple with nice house at edge of Palm Springs, they wanted to party and fuck and were hoping to do an overnight. Even better.  I threw on on old pair of jeans, a tank top, threw on my shoes and socks and was out the door like a bolt of lightning. I could not get away from that casita faster. I tried to shake off the events that were replaying in my mind like a broken record. Focus, I reminded myself, get into the zone.

I had to get my scattered mind together, to effectively channel Jacob, the alter ego I like to call the part of me that is wearing the escort hat. Alter egos make it easier to step in and out of character on and off at will. It is like wearing a jacket, or sometimes more appropriately a suit of armor depending on the situation.

My uber ride winding around like a snake through the twists and turns of the desert landscape at night. The stars were beautiful. Finally the car made its way to a very suburban neighborhood, with very modern homes that looked similar to each other. It felt somewhat odd and out of place for some reason, obviously it was a new development.

The driver pulls up to one of the houses on the right, and stops at the one with the bright blue light glowing against three palm trees in the middle of the nicely manicured lawn. I jumped out of the car and approached the front door. I rang the door bell and received a warm welcome from a very large and loud bear named Robert. He grabbed me in for a hug, and yes it was a bear hug. He reminded me of a Santa Clause except a little bit younger, and on drugs.

He led me out to the backyard to meet his other half, his husband Chris, who was maybe 20-25 years younger than him. I gave him a hug and he offered me a joint. We sat at the patio table smoking cigarettes, and getting stoned, normal ice breaker type stuff. Robert explained that he would be the central focus of the sexual events of the evening, since Chris, only was attracted to much older men, so the boundary was clear that I was not to touch him, as awkward and weird as that is. It didn’t bother me. To each his own I always say. I never take things personally. In theory anyway.

After about an hour of shooting the shit we went into their bedroom where they had everything thoughtfully set up. Black lights, sex sling, the standard sex pig party setup. There was a side metal medical table you might see adjacent to a hospital bound person’s bed. It had a metal tray with several neatly folded hand towels. All types of lubricant were present, oil, water, and silicone based. The large tub of elbow grease is always a dead give away for fisting, so I was comfortable knowing what I was going into judging by the gear that was presented to me nicely and available.

I announced my need to take a shower and they obliged me by handing me a large towel and directed me to a large bathroom that was elegantly lit. It had a huge hot tub sized bath tub with golden fixtures mirroring light of my reflection on all faucets in the bathroom that gleamed and twinkled my face back to me when I looked at them closely.

I took my time in the shower, building up the anticipation for my two hosts.  When I returned to the makeshift sex dungeon bedroom was ready and Chris was already in the sling, swaying back and forth slowly like a baby in a cradle, wincing eyes closed tightly as he attached two clothespins one on each nipple.  His very large and voluptuous ass suspended in the air above the leather swing, spread apart, just aching for penetration.

I stood there naked, and I felt powerful. I had a criss cross traditional harness, with the standard silver rivets that went side by side on the entire piece. I wore a leather studed jock, and had half high black leather boots. My outfit would have not have been complete without my motorcycle hat that made me look like a Dom daddy Power Top. I put on the driving gloves, and approached the assortment of dildos on the Rhythm 0 style setup that was going on here.

I grabbed the Crisco tub just to be traditional today I thought. I grabbed a pair of the vinyl  gloves and slid them on as if I was a doctor about to perform a serious operation. I run my gloved hand over the table of assorted anal toys and stretching devices, waiting for one of the unusual toys to grab my eye more than the other ones. My looking came to hault when I saw that they had a life size horse cock dildo. It was huge, and I figured since they own it, I am sure they have already used it.

It was bright purple with many veins intricately sprouted all over the piece, to make it more lifelike. I could not help but smile upon picking it up, god this was sick. I slathered up the donkey dong in front of me as if it were my own. I got it slippery and saturated in the vegetable oil until the entire thing was glistening with the sheen of wetness that was necessary to grease this pig’s hole enough to stretch it in accommodation to this replica of a horse Penis.

I slide it in him inch by inch. I got maybe three inches in before he swung himself towards me hungrily absorbing the entire dildo. I was awestruck at the capacity this pig had for being filled. I continued ramming it in him, in and out while his husband watched, laying out more lines of coke, as I took hits off of the tina pipe that was also laid out on the operating table of sexual devices.

I switched it up after a while, different dildos, then my fist. I even got both of my fists inside of him at one point. What a fucking a pig! I worked on his ass for what felt like days, but it only had really been about 4 hours before I announced that it was time for a break. “You are amazing” My newly stretched fuck hole of a pig said to me. I smiled and lit up a cigarette as we all stood on the back porch. “You know you could just stay here for a while if you like, I think that would be a good idea. We have an extra bedroom, you could stay as long as you wanted to. We could work out some kind of agreement and you can live here with me and my two husbands.”

I thought about it for a minute before giving him a yes. I definitely liked this place better than Scott’s creepy haunted house, and I was ready for something new. I collected my earnings from my pig patron and told him that I would be back in a few hours with all of my belongings. I left their house at about 7 am after the night of debauchery and made my way back to Scott’s place.

I felt reluctant to explain myself to Scott, I felt bad for leaving yet at the same time I think he was happy to see me go. I told him that I did not feel comfortable staying out there in the Casita anymore, and he gave me a look that told me he was not surprised at all. I turned in my copies of the keys and he announced that he had another house guest coming that was going to finish the job. He also had a priest scheduled to come visit the place to do some sort of exorcism on the entire house as well.

I packed my stuff up and relocated back to my new place of living, I didn’t have too much. Just a suitcase and a couple of other bags contained all of my worldly possessions. The minimalist lifestyle I was taking on was definitely not by choice, however it made my erratic life much easier to be so nomadically adaptable bouncing from place to place with little to no notice of having to uproot myself, whether it be by choice or not.

Palm Springs is a very interesting place for many reasons. Since it is one of the most frequent and popular destinations for gay men, it has developed into a place that also has quite a bit of notoriety in it’s description. It is also the old Hollywood getaway from the past, and today is no exception. Lots of movie stars and other celebrities go there for the weekend to escape the Los Angeles smog to enjoy the sun and sit by the poolside enjoying the desert landscape.

Needless to say, the drug culture in Palm Springs is huge. Everyone wants to feel good on vacation right? I had no problem acquiring any X Y Z of any of the party favorites that were requested by clients, or treats that I may have indulged in while I was basking in the desert heat. I love to get high and Palm Springs was no exception.  The combination of hot weather and too many drugs can be a fatal mistake for anyone who is not monitoring themselves or their intake. I personally have always prided myself in my capacity for self control to some degree, when partaking in any party enhancing drugs.

Being an escort requires me to keep my wits about me, and I am usually extra cautious as to what drugs I may be putting into my body , especially when I am with a client that I have never met before. You never know what could happen, or what might go down as a result of an altered state. I like to maintain control over myself and the situation, especially if I am working.

There are of course exceptions to the rules, especially when it’s a hot porn star that invited me over to his house one night. I got the call before sun down, and by dusk I arrived at a gated community that was near the heart of Palm Springs. He gave me the access code and I entered the fortress of homes that was heavily guarded the giant walls that separated these houses from the regular streets of Palm Springs. It was very private, and every one of the houses was gorgeous. Round turrets, green lawns, beautifully crafted landscapes and fountains.  Perfect night time garden lighting that gave the vegetation a mysterious ambient glow.

I continued up the winding path that was the street I was instructed to go to. I looked at the address in my phone again to be sure I found the right house, and I matched up the house number to the one on my screen. I approached the giant double front door and rang the door bell. I was caught off guard when I realized it was one of my favorite porn stars who answered the door.

He was one tall drink of water. I stand at six feet tall, and he was almost a foot taller, towering above me, all muscle too. He was in his 40s and in stunningly perfect shape. He had a thick build and a big dick from what I had remembered seeing in his movies. He had an ass that looked as if it was sculpted by a famous artist, so nice. I smiled and said hello in a quieter than usual tone, I was star struck for sure. Bobby England was a guy that I had jerked off to in hundreds of my fantasies and now here I was standing before him at his front door. I think he could see my awestruck expression on my face, and he chuckled motioning for me to enter the house. I followed his motioning and entered the large marble floored home of Mr. England.

We walked across the marbled floors to the backyard where he offered me a drink, and said that he also had some GHB if I was interested in taking some. “Not if I drink,” I said which surprised me that he offered both to me, since GHB and alcohol can be a very dangerous combination. GHB can be a very sexual satisfying lucid dream like high, and it is great for sex, but it is not good with alcohol.

GHB is usually used as a date rape drug, when people add it to an alcoholic beverage it is odorless and the combination renders a person unconscious without memory of what has happened to them. When taken recreationally of course, it can also knock someone out, but if taken in very small doses without the presence of alcohol it can be very fun also.

I took the dose of GHB from him, yet made the mistake of not dosing myself. I didn’t know how much he gave me, as I was distracted by his sexiness and his charm which let my guard down, stupid I know. “I hope you are into three ways, my boyfriend will be part of this too.” I love threeways given that everyone is on the same page about it and the way his boyfriend entered the room , I had a feeling it was not going to be a very successful one.

The boyfriend was cute, closer to my age, about 20 something with light sandy blond hair. He was not as muscular as Mr. England, but neither am I, and I am attracted to all ages, shapes, and sizes of men so I knew it was possible for us all to have fun. I was very attracted to the younger guy as well.

He slowly came into the room, rolling his eyes slightly and giving me a bitchy look. I thought he was quite attractive but it was almost too clear that he was not into this as much as Daddy, was. Whatever it didn’t matter. I was there to make my money and hopefully have some fun also.

My dose started to kick in and our small talk led us to the bedroom upstairs. Mr E offered me a shower and I took the lead and went into the granite covered bathroom and started up the shower. I climbed in and he followed after me, getting in the shower for a minute with me, making out with me for a few minutes before he said that they would meet me in the bedroom.

After washing my bits, I felt my GHB high starting to unfold and I dried myself off and walked into the bedroom where they were both naked and jerking their big wet cocks. I walked up to them and got down on my knees and started servicing them both intermittently. Sucking on one, then the other, then trying to fit both cocks  in my mouth at the same time. They both took turns aggressively face fucking me to the point of my saliva running down my cheek and my eyes were teary and red from gagging on both of them. Mr. England got behind me and slid his gigantic cock up my tight unexpecting ass and the boyfriend forced his cock further down my throat which prevented me gasping at the pole that was now stretching my asshole wide open. I was spit roasted between the two of them, being pumped hard from the front and the back. My mouth and ass both full of raw cock driving in and out of me so hard I felt like I was going to puke or pass out or die. It was extremely intense when suddenly the boyfriend popped his dick out of my mouth and ran out of the room. What the fuck? Suddenly Mr England slowly pulled out of me after a couple more minutes of fucking and said in a very stern voice, “You need to go now.” Of course this is right as my GHB high was in full swing. I was completely dumbfounded and confused. “Was it something I did?” “No no, you just need to leave now” he said as he started picking up my clothing for me. How fucking rude I thought, at least tell me why. Whatever it didn’t matter. I held out my hand for my payment and he quickly gave me the cash and ushered me down the stairs and out the door.

I stumbled out the door which slammed shut behind me totally clueless as to what had just happened. It would not have mattered so much to me if I had not had taken a fat dose of GHB before hand which I thought was really fucking rude and irresponsibly negligent of Mr. England. Fuck you for that I thought as I stumbled down the driveway and towards the road to the exit of the walled in housing complex.

I tried my best to walk without displaying my vulnerable state of inebriation and I knew I was having trouble. I tripped a couple of times and had to lean against a light post for support and that was the last thing I remember before I woke up.

I have to say that waking up form lying down in the middle of the road, surrounded by police officers is never a situation I would recommend to anyone. In facrt, I would not wish it upon my worst enemy. “What is your name you fucking idiot?” one of the police asked me in a violent tone. “I…I don’t remember.” I literally could not even remember my name that is how high I was. “You are a fucking retard, where do you live you piece of shit?” Demanded another officer. I was in tears and crying by  this point and obviously could not remember my address if I could not remember my name.

The police took turns cussing and throwing insults at me while I sat there bloody and bruised from falling unconscious in the road. They kept telling me what a piece of shit I was and that I was going to jail. I felt defenseless and sick to my stomach from the drugs that had rendered me vulnerable as a small child, and I still could not remember my own name. The red and blue lights flickering that scared me thinking I was going to be incarcerated for being overdosed by some asshole who kicked me out which is how I ended up in such a situation. Shame on him.

Finally an ambulance pulled up and I was strapped into the gurney and loaded up into the big metal box that was taking me away from this awful situation. “You are going to jail, loser.” Was the last thing that came from one of the officer’s mouths as they closed the big metal doors of the ambulance. Great I thought. I am going to jail. Fuck it. I passed out again and woke up suddenly in the Palm Springs Hospital Emergency room slumped over in chair in the waiting room. I was covered in bandages, and by this time I could at least recall who I was and where I was staying, although I didn’t remember the address off of the top of my head. My bag with my belongings was gone, luckily I still had my wallet. Cell phone was gone as it was in the bag also.

I was informed by one of the nurses that I was being prepared for discharge and that I had to wait for my paperwork to be completed before she would allow me to leave. I felt a brick lift off of my chest upon the realization that I was not really going to be put in jail after all. Guess the cops were just picking on me for being wounded and unconscious in the middle of the street.

I hobbled out of the Hospital still cautiously creeping around corners for fear that the cops were lurking somewhere to deliver the promised jail trip as forcefully said to me earlier. This sent me to a flashback of the five different cops all bending down to scream insults in my face, almost as if they were trying to evoke a violent response from me. Maybe the cops antagonize people to a point of violence is an excuse to use extreme force. I am pretty certain that is what they were trying to do but I just broke down and cried, to which they reacted to in disgrace. I just wept the more and more to diffuse the situation. I would not fall as their prey into becoming one more statistic. Cops, like any group of humans have their good ones, and they have their bad ones also. That is why I remind nyself to be smart, and careful what I do and the choices I make. I learned that in the streets earlier in life and I never forgot that.

I finally made my way out of the complex finally, and into the open cold dark arid air of nighttime to welcome me back to the enchanted desert landscaping. The stars were bright and it gave me a boost of confidence somehow, a faithful feeling that felt like future healing I thought as I hailed down a cab successfully. It felt so good to sit down again and just know I had transportation to my next destination.

Not even a week into my newly found homestead, that the exit was already visible in sight. Not that I intended on moving there permanently. I did give it loits of consideration but the fact was that I still wanted to go back to Oregon, its where I feel the most at home, yet know the least amount of people. If these guys were not such drama the offer would have still been on the table for me. It was the dramatic relationship dynamics that I witnessed within the household that immediately signaled danger ahead.

I keep it short here but these guys were absolutely fucking nuts. One of them worked an entire state away 6 days a week and texted me almost every other hour to inquire, or rather receive report of the actions and whereabouts of his husband. It was an iunsult that he thought I had nothing better to do than sit around and watch his fucking husband. The man was smoking lots of weed then going to class at night. Pretty mellow chill guy and the big boisterous daddy figure of a guy still had this nagging belief that his husband was up to no good and was able to make me feel like a I had a collar on, even an entire state and desert away from me.

I could have stayed and weathered the psycho paranoia but I really was starting to feel homesick for the green  forested less aggressive nature of the beautiful Northwestern United States, I was afraid.

I remember talking to another escort at a sex party in Palm Springs, I had just told him about how I stranded myself there, my truck being almost stolen  by the hands of fate at all costs. He snickered and excitedly admitted that he himself had been marooned there in Palm Springs and that there was an energy vortex that does not let people go. He had been there over five years.

As sentimental a thought, and sad excuser for not doing anything with ones life, it is no surprise that one might envision some bullshit concept to shift the blame of bad dercisions onto some unsurmountable source that is pulling the puppet strings of this universe. Whether his story was true or not, was irrelevant to me. I would die before I spent any more time in Palm Springs, and it was not even summer yet. The hea had already been climbing into the triple digits, and it was nowhere near close to summer. This was enough of a warning to me to get the fuck out as soon as humanly possible, but how??

Again I turned to Craigslist for the answer. I created a traveling ad in the community section and made sure to include my most attractive and respectable looking headshot just to ad face to the ad. I wrote the ad stating: “Looking for a ride back up to Portland from Palm Springs.” I kept it simple since I had little to offer in exchange for the ride and hoped that some kind soul would see my ad and take a liking to my photo.

Luckily the most adorable 19 year old greek boy responded to my ad. Big brown bright and innocent eyes on beautiful olive skin and jet black hair.  He was going to be passing through Palm Springs on his way up to Portland and was delighted to have me accompany him up the coast back to the land of Oregon from which I came. He was a Christian boy from the East Coast that was on a mission to travel the country spreading the word of God to whoever he met.  I sucked his dick a few times over the three trip and swallowed his loads. He was too nervous for sex so I was happy just to suck him off each night we slept huddled in the back of his SUV.

THE END