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Friday, March 7, 2014
Popsicle (my father) was part of The Greatest Generation. That's right. He was in the navy for The Big One - WWII! But he never shipped out. Daddy was the band leader on a base out in Brooklyn. Thus the joke "Daddy fought the war on the BMT," the train that ran to the base. Regardless, after my parents' divorce, I found a lot of old, dusty navy gear down in the basement which the old man had obviously somehow commandeered during his service.
Most of it was high tech shit like oscilloscopes and other even more unrecognizable stuff. But mixed in all that electronic/techy crap of the day was this big-ass/battleship gray/hundred pound metal box with a huge multi-band dial. The sucker looked like a radio...so I brought it upstairs to check the monster out and sure enough, one of the bands was AM - and I had me a new "music box."
What separated this radio from all of the other "transistors" of the day was that to go from one end of the dial to the other took like twenty turns of the wrist. Thus, you could really fine-tune this bad boy to the exact frequency desired. And that meant late at night, I could pick up WOWO from Fort Wayne, Indiana...WKBW from Buffalo, NY...and WBZ from Boston...among others. THIS was completely awesome because in that era, only proven hits would make the playlists in NY. But out in those hinterlands lay the cutting edge of rock and roll. Classic records like "You're Gonna Miss Me" by "The Thirteenth Floor Elevators," "Hey Joe" by "The Leaves," "The Urge For Goin'" by "Tom Rush" were the gems which lullabyed me to sleep every night.
By that time in my life, Daddy was gone...my brother was off at Amherst College....and the house was inhabited by just mom and me. It was a crappy little domicile but given that only two people lived there - and our rooms were as far from each other as possible - I could operate more or less with impunity in my little radio dial-lit sanctuary! Yeah, it was a cramped little room with angular ceilings so I'd bump my head half the time when I awakened in the morning. But just so I had my daddy's navy radio - and all the music that came out of it - I couldn't have been cooler (unless I was getting laid - which I never did in high school).
Buying those out-of-town hits I loved so much was another thing entirely. Sometimes, the stuff I heard and liked would eventually make it to the New York market. And then it was easy to buy. But for whatever reason, many of my favorites never aired on local radio! Invariably, those records were NOT for sale in New York unless months later, I'd occasionally find the returns in a bargain pack at a department store. Thus, going to Green Acres Mall was like a mining expedition. I'd head straight for the bargain racks to see if I could find any of those records. And when I did, it was like discovering gold nuggets in a river! To think that in 2014, anybody can go on You Tube and not only find any record that's out today - but THOSE same obscure records from over 40 years ago. Times sure have changed.
Anyway...I tell you all this because an in-earnest Russian music journalist called my home phone yesterday - looking to interview my father about some record he produced in 1962. Daddy told me a million stories about the music business - but not one about this Buddy Greco guy the Russian dude was so intent on hearing about. So I dismissed the man courteously assuring him that Daddy was really dead - and that I had no information with which to help him. But maybe the story about Daddy's radio would have been more interesting. I just didn't think of it until he got off the phone.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Waxing poetic (actually I was never one for poetry), a rose is a rose is a rose. Or a Rosie is a Rosie is a Rosie. And I'm referring to the new girl at ASIAN MODELS (347-408-8876) whose name is obviously ROSIE! She'll be arriving today and ready to entertain no doubt.
Next...HOT LIPS (646-309-0453) has three new girls replacing Clara and Evelyn. Check out AEMI, BARBIE, and PINK. I kind of like Pink. I don't know. Maybe it's the pose.
Anyway...I have a raging cold today and thus am not in the mood to spout my usual bull shit (cough cough). I shouldn't complain though. I haven't had a cold in like two years. And I've been around multiple individuals who've been sneezing and wheezing over the past few months. So I guess it's my turn (sneeze)! Enough of my drama! Here's da goils!
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Even though I sold a fair amount of advertising for Manhattan Cable tv's "dirty" channel, I wasn't one to watch that late night dog shit. Maybe I was too close to it or something…or maybe it just wasn't jerkoffable material. I mean…all that lame old footage of Asian girls from years gone by! Zero on the peter meter for me! And that Robyn Byrd monster? No way! What an embarrassment! She epitomizes everything about the porn business that makes the mainstream cringe. Dumbbell chick…dumbbell guests…dumbbell interviews…and that off key "Let Me Bang your Box" theme song?" Brutal!
So anyway…I tuned in last night to see if anybody advertises on that channel anymore after two significant busts had eviscerated the late night drug-dealing Asian community...and guess what! Totally gone! Yeah, Robyn was still running those shows she taped 25 or 30 years ago. But the commercials in between were all for phone sex. Yup! Not one Asian escort service left! The end of the line. The train has pulled into the station. Over and out like a mother fucker! This is truly the end of an era. Those commercials had been running ever since I became a Manhattan Cable subscriber. And that was 35 years ago - back when my cable bill came to a whopping $11 (I kid you not)!
Similarly, I picked up a Village Voice today while I was coming back from the supermarket - just to check out the adult section. Whoa! Almost nothing. Maybe one page…down from 25 just 15 years ago! That 100k per annum job I thought I'd scored two Septembers ago? Yeah, right. Understanding the formula for compensation, I'd be impressed if the next guy makes 50.
You'd think I'd want to thumb my nose at law enforcement for virtually shutting down these two media - at least when it comes to adult advertising. But actually, I don't. Robyn Byrd is a cunt…and those late night advertisers were shitheads who paid like what they were. Unlike the on-time-paying Asian incalls for whom I used to post Backpage, the late night Asian crew were derelict. I suffered from "death of a thousand come back tomorrows" syndrome much worse than I ever did with Action Magazine (where nobody regardless of ethnic origins wanted to pay on time).
So good riddance to bad rubbish - as they say. Those assholes were sending drug addicts to service their own kind (other drug addicts). And honestly, I don't care about all that. People wanna do drugs? Fine. I don't have a problem with that. I just had a problem with the way they dealt with me - and their colleagues as well (they were constantly stealing each other's lists of regulars via phone girls who moved around and downloaded the crucial information before they left one agency for another). What a snake pit. Blccch! The world is a better place now that they're gone.
"Out of the mouth of babes" is a funny expression which in its essence says that simple plain folk can boil an issue down to its lowest common denominator and in just a few words capture the situation in a nutshell.
Like once I was riding in a cab with my taxi newspaper employer and a multimillionaire taxi lender who 15 years ago had the brilliant idea to put the new cellular phone technology in every cab. So he asked the Greek cab driver whose taxi we were riding in what he thought of the idea and our chauffeur disdainfully responded "Ah! The niggers!"
Mikey (the taxi publisher) and I completely fell out. We were both cab drivers and knew exactly what he was talking about. That phone wouldn't last two seconds in the back of a cab!
Well...to get to the point...one of my clients said something similarly terse but pithy while I was on the phone with her yesterday. The girl called at about 10 PM to explain her absence on my phone (she calls like 3 times a day just to bull shit): A guy came by and spent upwards of a grand for several hours of her time.
Always curious about what a man who spends that much money for the companionship of a girl does for a living, I asked the obvious and her response was simply "He wears a suit!" Too funny!
Well obviously, nobody wears a suit for a living. A guy is forced to wear a suit for his corporate job - which makes him a whore for actually donning that noose in the interest of turning a buck. And that would be the guy who would need to spend so much time with an escort at the end of the day. Who wouldn't need to shed the stress and humiliation of being forced to wear that stupid outfit? It all makes sense.
I myself actually own a suit! I bought it in 2001 for my nephew's wedding and only did so out of respect for my brother and to avoid the ire of my mother who would have gone ballistic if I even tried to show up at the function without a necktie.
I think I've worn that suit three times in the past 10 years. I trot it out for weddings and funerals. And that's it! I call it my "Men's Whorehouse suit" because I bought it at Men's Warehouse and I feel like a whore anytime I wear it.
Like who invented a fucking suit in the first place? Was man destined to wear a noose around his neck in the form of a necktie? What...are we oxen with a yolk? I kind of feel sorry for guys who must wear a suit to fulfill a stupid requirement of their employment. But then again...wearing that stupid clothing often earns them enough money to spend multiple hours with really hot women. So it could be worse I guess.
Whatever...not for me! Wearing one every 5 years or so is already too much as far as I'm concerned. Thankfully, my employment does not require that I wear one. I have never had a job that dictated that I wear a suit...and I don't think I ever will. And that's a good thing. Suits are retarded. No sale. I don't think you could pay me enough money to wear one every day!
Monday, March 3, 2014
This isn't really a subject upon which I'd like to expound endlessly. But since there seems to be some interest…and I have little to say today (as usual)...I'll take a minute.
For the most part, I don't know who my anonymous haters are. It could be people I've dealt with in the past - or completely lifeless strangers who live to lurk in the cyber shadows. Hard to know. Whatever…my most recent hater's identity is known to me. And in a response (which I did not publish) to my response to her latest attack about the girls at GC thinking I'm a joke, she admitted I'd figured out who she was.
I'm not going to outright name the person...but I will say this much: A year or two ago there was a joint called Godiva's Finest. Girls came and went in their short tenure on the New York escort scene, but three were constant. One was the star of the show (everything being relative)…the second had her regulars despite a not-that-attractive and surprisingly mushy body given her tender years…and the third was an also-ran who eked out a living in the shadow of the first two.
All three moved on (albeit briefly) to Candy's at one point...where they reported to the boss that I was a dick…and then left there and reported to me that Candy was a dick. This was more or less the MO of this little group. Malignant gossip defined them. Add to that...I had a brief quasi-romance that went south quickly with girl # 2…and there's your formula for virulent hate.
As it turned out…girls #1 and 3 contacted me at some point after leaving Godiva and Candy to appear on this blog. And they both did very briefly. After a fairly acrimonious break-up with #2, I never heard from her again.
Girl #1 did not do that well here and moved on quickly and uneventfully. But with girl #3 there was some drama. At first contact, she wanted to buy an ad. Then after several e-mails, the girl revealed she had no money for the ad at which point, I don't have to tell you about the alternative plan. Literally five times she made appointments only to stand me up and then finally, arrived and then disappeared a few days later without explanation - owing me - and pissing off guys who booked and arrived to see her - only to be stood up (big surprise).
And so…to end this long and boring story…I wrote about what a flake the girl was without identifying her...and she got very angry. She's been reading this blog ever since…just laying in the bushes to jump me at every turn. There's an e-mail address at the top of this blog with which you can contact me. If you really want to know who this individual is, fire away and I'll tell you. Enough of that.
Moving on…if you missed the Oscars last night, I can tell you who won: The Italians, Aussies and Brits! That's who won! Seemingly, most of the winners spoke in broken or heavily-accented English. What's up with that?
As for Ellen...I'm not a big fan. And...I haven't seen any of the big movies so it was mostly a snore by me. But there was one part I liked: the pizza delivery scene with Ellen soliciting money from the A-listers. That was kind of funny.
Speaking of climate change (wtf?!?!), I want to thank the weatherman for sparing us yet another snowstorm today. I mean…I'd completely cleaned up and lubed my ride just last week and wasn't in the mood to do it all over again. And apparently, I won't have to. You can't believe how quickly strategic bike parts get all crusted-over and gummed-up from the sand and salt. And flats with all the broken glass lying in the streets? I got two in two weeks time after not having any for like a year!
Well…that's it for today. if you've read this far…that's two minutes of your life you'll never get back. My apologies. I'll try to do better tomorrow.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Most Sunday mornings I can be found watching "CBS Sunday Morning," a quasi-intellectual presentation aimed at the ageing baby boomer demographic. Often, I feel they're speaking to conservative swells much older than I am if not in actual chronology - in their age at heart. But generally (in between my checking my e-mail and blogging), I'll find something there for me.
This morning was different, though. I was left untouched emotionally until the very last minute when on came next week's coming attractions - which included an image of Preservation Hall in New Orleans. And suddenly, a rush of nostalgia ran up and down my spine.
The year was 1971. I was a graduate student at Tulane University pursuing a PHD in Economics. My roommate was the 5' 200 pound undergraduate sister of my best friend in college. And her friend George and I were downtown on Bourbon Street hanging out in front of Preservation Hall deciding whether we wanted to go in when up walked a tall Southern gentleman in a ten gallon cowboy hat.
"I bet you boys want to go inside, don't you?" he called out. And without George or me even answering, he handed us both a dollar apiece (the price of entry) and in his deep baritone instructed "now you boys go enjoy yourselves." George and I looked at each other as if to say "wow! Cool!"…and then thanked the man profusely for his generosity.
Moments later we were inside what felt like a simple basement. No chairs for the audience…no bandstand for the musicians...no nothing except a few old black guys with a trumpet, trombone, banjo, drums and a piano. Not very impressive...until they started to play. Then all bets were off! I'd been to a lot of fanfare-filled concerts at the Fillmore…and even a night at the Apollo when I was 10 years old. But these geezers blew the roof off the sucker. I sat there transfixed for the entire set and went straight home to my guitar hoping to duplicate at least one or two of the melodic lines I'd just heard.
To think that the best concert I've ever attended in my entire life was one as unpretentious and dressed-down as the performance that night at Preservation Hall…and that that institution is still alive and well right there in the French Quarter to this day. Pretty awesome! That's all I can say.
Ah nostalgia! The provider of one of life's most gratifying moments. Almost as rewarding as a good you-know-what!
Saturday, March 1, 2014
I have to admit it…I've had sex on a habitual basis with some not-so-attractive women over the years. They were either very proficient and talented…very oral…or very available and convenient. Or a combination of all three! I'm not proud of this fact. It just is what it is. Fortunately, I've had a few very attractive girlfriends as well. All's I can say is I've had hot girlfriends - and ugly girlfriends. Hot is better!
So anyway…there's a reason the "rat man Bill" theme comes to mind today. Last night, my old buddy John the cab driver stopped by for a couple of beers and as usual, he wanted to see pictures of girls I'd had sex with since the last time we'd convened. This would be an odd request for him to make of anybody else but given that he knows I have photos of virtually every girl in my sorry life…John gets a kick out of the show and tell.
This activity has a predictable pattern. First, he'll say "I'm not into black girls" when I show him a nubian playmate. Then he'll go crazy at the sight of a new pic of my German buddy. John loves blondes with big, shapely legs. And thus…he loves her!
But then after the usual, I whipped up a new photo of my on-and-off paragon of maturity (euphemism for old bitty). And John was beside himself: "You fucked her?" he asked incredulously - and almost in disbelief. I was tickled…unembarrassed…and even proud: "Yup! What you don't like her?" Stupefied, he continued "you fucked that?" reducing her to something subhuman.
"Does she make any money?" he continued. "Yeah, a little. Some guys have a granny fetish. What can I say? Plus…she's a throat monster." But not good enough for John: "How much viagra do you have to take to get your dick hard for her?" My answer: "None! Remember, she's a throat monster! She sucks it all the way up…slaps a rubber on the guy...and then puts it in before it goes down," I gave him more information than he really needed.
John: "I can't believe you actually had sex with that woman!"
Me: "You're starting to sound like a broken record. Get over it."
Finally, we moved on to another conversation but still, I couldn't help but feel proud. There's just something about being a rat man that satisfies the soul. Or maybe it's just that they're so appreciative…and so attentive. I defer to my old buddy James, the king of the rat men and his tasteless joke: Ya know why fat, ugly girls suck cock so good? Answer: Because they have to!
And on that misogynist note, I'll take my leave. Never underestimate the power of a throat monster. That's my theme for the day!
Friday, February 28, 2014
So what does a guy need when the heat is pumping and the temperature rising? He needs a tall drink of water! That's what he needs! What a quaint expression - one that apparently dates back to the old South or West according to another source - for an appealing member of the opposite sex. It's metaphorical. You're hot…you're parched…and then along comes a tall drink of water.
I tell you all this because I found myself in the company of a 5' 9" Texas caramel cutie last night thanks to the good people at webcamcompanions.com (917-790-3233), a couple of guys who have been reading this blog for a while.
Looking through the gallery of their site, I couldn't help but stop at the pictures of DIANE. And just minutes later…with long blonde hair and bangs covering her forehead…lusciously lean and shapely limbs…and spectacular curves to boggle the mind, the girl arrived fresh as a daisy with a big smile on her face. And a pretty face it was (and is). You can probably guess that 60 minutes later, I was no longer parched or thirsty! Suffice it to say, I awakened this morning with a sweet memory that will last a lifetime! (OK! Maybe not a lifetime…but at least until noon today!)
Anyway…this outfit does some incall - but mostly late night out! Their photography is a a little lacking - but as we all know...that can be a good thing. What you see is definitely what you get if Diane is any indication. Excuse me while I post a couple of her pix (and a country video to set the mood) - as I tingle away!
Thursday, February 27, 2014
As a taxi driver, I always got the feeling that NYPD officers had quotas to fill. I mean…all those cops hanging out in front of Penn Station waiting for me to pull up so they could give me a ticket? It didn't take Einstein to figure that one out. They were there to generate revenue first…and protect and serve way down the line. Plus…I knew a brownie a while back. And his gig was to write 8 tickets as quickly as possible - and then go hang out at Burger King for the rest of the day with his colleagues until the shift was over.
So anyway…if you don't read that lefty rag where I worked for a week (Village Voice)…you might not be aware of a series of articles about police corruption that ran a couple of years ago.
Here's how those articles and the book that followed went: A low level street cop named Adrian Schoolcraft didn't like the idea that his performance on the job was judged mostly by how many tickets he wrote and how many stop and frisks he performed. He felt the NYPD's CompStat initiative was preventing him from doing what he viewed as effective police work. Schoolcraft wanted to reach out to and befriend the community rather than hassle people without probable cause. And he didn't like that at roll call, his bosses issued quotas as to how many seat belt and cell phone tickets he needed to write that day.
And there was something else that ruffled Adrian: The practice of downgrading felonies to misdemeanors…a reality which was more or less commonplace in the department - or at least in the precinct where he worked. The idea was to turn felonies like robberies into misdemeanor lost property cases so that the crime numbers would appear to be dropping every year - and the Commander could get the promotion he wanted. So in essence…the honchos were cooking the books to make it look like crime was going down within their jurisdiction.
So Adrian had two choices. He could walk off the fucking job (like I did at the Voice when I realized what a piece of shit the job was)…or he could simply stick around…eat the bull shit…and get his 3/4 pay pension after 20 years of service. But he didn't have the good sense to exercise either of those prerogatives. Instead, he went for door #3: Tape record the roll call officer directing his cops to up their "activity" (the quota thing) and/or detectives discussing bumping felonies down to misdemeanors. And when he went to Internal Affairs and his fellow cops figured out he was the rat…the shit hit the fan.
Call me crazy…but when I take the time to read a book about police corruption, I want to read about cops getting blow jobs from hookers and then shaking them down for their money! I want to read about cops getting fucked up on the job and then robbing drug dealers so they can keep getting high. The stuff Schoolcraft chronicled is penny ante bull shit by comparison. That's not to say that cops should be cooking the books, rousting innocent people, or writing a bunch of tickets to satisfy their bosses. But on one level…this book could be titled "Much Ado About Nothing"….or "Business As Usual At the NYPD!"
Now, because I called this post a book review...I guess I ought to review the book, right? OK! It's tedious, often boring and just too "lefty" for me. The central character (Schoolcraft) just isn't relatable enough. Too many times he acted like a dick…and brought upon himself the ire of the department more than he really needed to. My theory is when you face an officer of the law, the first order of the day is "yes sir" and "no, sir." Sassing a cop is simply asking for trouble. And that's what Schoolcraft did. Not that the NYPD operated in a saintly fashion, mind you. They were fairly egregious themselves.
Whatever…what impressed me most about this book was the number of typos I found. This is a McMillan publication! Who proofreads this shit…because I found no fewer than a half dozen glaring errors.
Funny I should ask that question. Years ago I had a wack job hoarder neighbor who lived in alarming squalor. One day while workmen were fixing something in his apartment, I got a gander at his joint. It was unbelievable. I beckoned another neighbor... "Claudio! Check this out!" He like me couldn't believe it. "No wonder we have so many roaches!" Getting to the point…guess what Melvin did for a living. Yup! Proofreader for a major publishing company.
I've now moved on to a book about President McKinley and the guy who assassinated him. Much more interesting reading. But I'll say one thing for "NYPD Tapes." It wasn't too long. I got through it quickly.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Thanks to a commenter, I've discovered that there's been a couple of changes at GOLDEN ASIAN (646-391-2639). So I called over to clarify. Currently on staff are ROSE, PINK, CHOCO, JUNE and HENA. Of special note is PINK as she is new not just to GA - but to New York as well! The phone girl says she's young and cute. You can check for yourself or wait two days as I'll be over there for a visit soon. Choco…while not new to the city…is new to GA. So here's a couple of pix for your perusal. Now you're up to date.
OK! Enough with the addiction crap. Suffice it to say that I were offered just one vice in which to indulge (among beer, pot or sex), I would dump beer and pot - and keep sex…for whatever that's worth.
Now to something more interesting. The boss at RED VELVET LATINAS (212-752-1796) called up to announce the arrival of a hot new MILF named LOREN. She's all natural and oh so accommodating. I've been led to believe she's an "anything goes" girl. Exactly what that means you'll have to infer (or ask). Anyway…she's very amorous...and in her late 30's…and latina. So assuming all the stereotypes hold (and I assume they do), Loren is the stuff made of legend and memories that last a lifetime. Enough of the hype! Here's her pic!
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
OK! Enough of me contemplating my navel. IT'S CHEESECAKE TIME! First, I got a call from ASIAN MODELS (347-408-8876). They're back - with an all-star lineup which includes BONNIE THE BODY (whose reputation precedes her - as the best body in all of Koreaville), KRIS (recently of SECRET DIARY fame), and (drum roll) TAMI (who must be a magician as she's cast a spell on sooo many guys). And best of all…they stuffed me full of pistachio nuts yesterday when I went to visit. Thus, I'm a satisfied man…and I didn't even go in the room! I guess that's how you know you're getting old…when a bag of pistachio nuts is the hottest thing that happened to you all day!
Actually…the hottest thing that happened to me all day was a visit with NATALIE from GENTLEMAN'S CHOICE (917-547-0723)! Hubba hubba. I'm in love once again. Natalie told me her old man is a career yellow cab driver. Talk about good stock. Talk about working man's royalty. Gotta love her for that alone!
Moving on…LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409) called to say they have a brand new-to New York City girl on staff named YURI, who looks red hot judging by her photos. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the debutante but I'm sure somebody will comment soon enough to enlighten us all.
And finally…the beautiful Chinese girl I met at HIYAKO SPA (212-679-3681) a couple of weeks ago now has photos which in my opinion do not capture her beauty. Nevertheless, I include the best one for your edification.
And now…without further adieu…THE CHEESECAKE!
Monday, February 24, 2014
Once upon a time (like maybe 15 or 20 years ago), almost everybody used condoms. AIDS was killing people off at an alarming rate and pretty much anybody with half a brain wasn't taking a chance. But all that's changing now. According to a New York City Department of Mental Health and Hygiene survey, a whopping 68% of people polled in the year 2012 admitted that they did not use a condom the last time they had sex. This is an incredibly high number on the face of it…but reading between the lines, I'm not clear on a few relevant factors.
First, there is no reference to what percentage of the respondents were in monogamous relationships versus others who entertain multiple partners. There's a big difference between riding bareback with your significant other as opposed to some chick you meet in a bar! And second, there's no indication whether oral sex is considered "sex"...as I'm quite sure that the non-condom use percentages are higher when the activity is oral versus penile/vaginal or penile/anal!
Regardless of the survey's flaws, the trend is clear: People feel that AIDS is now a chronic disease - and not a killer - and that barebacking just isn't as risky as it used to be. While that might be true, there are a host of other STD's a guy could contract from abandoning the sheath.
Now I'm certainly not one to preach...but I'd generally advise to err on the side of caution. While the chances that a guy can get AIDS from one encounter with an infected woman via unprotected vaginal intercourse are very low…and that AIDS itself is no longer the death sentence it once was…there is still the chance that you could contract the disease…and the reality that the disease itself is not a walk in the park. Most AIDS patients take meds for the rest of their lives and those meds are expensive and come with side effects. Basically…it's not a disease you want if you can possible avoid it.
So I ask…in dealing with women who entertain multiple partners, is it really worth the fleeting thrill? And by the way, I say "fleeting" because the same survey established that the average duration of the sex act among the respondents was 3 minutes and 1 second!
Exactly how the fuck they came up with all these numbers and how accurate they truly are lies in a gray area. But that doesn't change today's message which is…unless you're either married or in a relationship…go to your local city clinic and grab yourself a bunch of free rubbers and lube. The rubbers will protect you against most diseases and lube will lessen friction so that condom doesn't break.
My public service announcement for today. What can I say? And thanks to Larry for the idea.
On another tack entirely...I did a little research to discover who actually wrote "Fancy" (see yesterday's post). Anybody remember BOBBIE GENTRY and "Ode To Billy Joe," her composition which knocked "All You Need Is Love" by the Beatles from the #1 spot on the Billboard pop chart? That's who wrote "Fancy!" Wanna see what she looked like walking over the Talahachee Bridge back in 1970? Here's the pic!
Saturday, February 22, 2014
There's something very bluesy about being an escort. I mean…even if a girl is living the good life…it's still a rock bottom deal. I know…figuratively speaking, we all bend over for the almighty buck. It's part of living in a capitalist society. But the girls? They bend over literally. There's a difference.
You would think that there might be a few escorts who could express their angst artistically. But in my world, there are none. The Asians buy Gucci bags to exorcise their demons. And the hoochies twerk it out! So where are the girls who sing (or write) the blues? Few and far between. And none I've ever met on my sbeat.
Whatever…I offer my all time favorite song on the subject for the enlightenment of not just the girls - but the guys, too...'cause you know…whether provider or consumer…something in life which led you to this state of affairs screams the blues.
Not only are all vaginas and penises not the same…but all lubes and rubbers differ as well. This I have come to appreciate (or fallen prey to) in the modern era.
Back in my "free love" youth, neither condoms nor lube were the order of the day. Birth control pills had just been developed and virtually every college girl was on them. As far as diseases went…yeah, you could catch something but if you did…it wouldn't kill you. And thus almost nobody used a rubber. And as for lube? Never even heard of it!
Obviously, that has all changed. Unless a couple is married or in a committed relationship, out comes the wrapper at the crucial moment. And that wrapper is not only no longer the "one size fits all" raincoat of yesteryear…but it is often bathed in some chemical or other which may or may not agree with your constitution.
When it comes to the chemical component, public enemy #1 is the nonoxynol-9 rubber! Then ya got your condoms with lubrication either on the inside or out which could set a guy off (and not in a good way). And finally...your warming or icing rubbers may also disagree with some users. And I can tell you from personal experience, my delicate apparatus is adversely affected by a lot of these substances.
As mentioned, the worst is nonoxynol-9! Wow! If I stick my stuff in one of those deals, I will immediately feel a stinging pinch at the end of Mr. Bill. And if I do not heed the warning and continue until completion, I will inevitably experience what I can only describe as a pin prick feeling which sends me through the roof every time I urinate for the next week. Brutal!
But it's not just the nonoxynol-9 joints that cause problems. A few months ago, I neglected to ask my partner what kind of rubber she was using. And though it wasn't the "killer," there was something in the unit that hurt me. And once again I asked myself "Why didn't you check first?"…a rule I've adopted over the years for my own comfort. The problem is sometimes while in the throes...I forget!
Then ya got all your different types of lube…yet another gauntlet to run! I used to be big on receiving hand hobs - or "squishies" as we used to call them at Action Magazine. And it didn't take long for me to realize that Astroglide (among others) was a no-no! Wet was (and is) cool as well as simple body lotion (some kinds) and KY liquid. But Lifestyles lube? Bad news. It became a trial and error thing with me taking careful notes so as not to be afflicted twice by the same "battery acid."
So not only do I have to check on the type of rubber…but the kind of lube as well! Talk about killing your hard-on. Dayummm! And the reason for all this drama is that all lubes are not the same. They all use different chemicals to accomplish their mission. Just for example...paraffin-based lube caused problems in so many men that the good people at Astroglide eliminated the chemical from their product. So its' come down to this: As a result of my being such a "tender" guy, I've opted for carrying my own rubbers and lube to the party!
Here's a funny story from just a week ago. When the moment came, my partner pulled the tubular safety net from her purse whereupon I had the good sense to ask what kind of rubber she'd be using on me. Obviously, from what you've just been reading, I was hoping for a dry joint…or at least one doused in a familiar chemical. And ya know how she responded? "It's regular size." Too funny. That's like back in the old days when a phone girl would ask a caller "Where did you see our ad?"...and the guy would answer "at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue" rather than say "the Voice" or "Action Magazine!" Geez! At least she could have said "it's a magnum. No problem!"
Anyway…do I get a round of applause for actually writing on a subject I've never before broached 2500 entires later? Aaargh! Probably not. Just like with the old men's sophisticate magazines…nobody reads anyway. It's just about the cheesecake (the pictures of girls). So who cares?
Friday, February 21, 2014
During a conversation with a retired escort last night, I broached the subject of cruising (boarding a cruise ship) explaining that I'd considered going on one for a second but decided not to based on a few factors...not the least of which is the harsh reality that barfing my guts up could come with the vacation package thanks to tainted food, rampant viral disease, or rough weather. We've all heard the stories and however blown out of proportion they might be, the facts speak for themselves. People barf more often on cruises than they do at home!
Anyway…of all the girls I've known in the business, this particular individual really does have some good stories. She's clearly the 21st Century's version of the happy you-know-what…and she had a relevant tale of her own high seas vacation and hijinx - which came from a gig she had as an escort.
The year was 1982…and our heroine was working out of Miami for a local escort service when the call came in. A bunch of muckety-mucks had booked a yacht for 5 days...and wanted 12 girls to come along for the ride. With the promise of $500/day for each girl…and a free vacation on a yacht bound for Nassau in the Bahamas…it wasn't difficult to find 12 takers. So off the gaggle of girls and guys - and 5 crew - went for the dream cruise.
Now this was not booked as a total free-for-all. The rules were that each guy picked a girl and had to stick with her for an entire day. After 24 hours, they'd play musical chairs and switch partners for the next 24...but there would be no bodies in a pile!
Still…there was one unanticipated problem: the Gulf Stream. It can get rough! I know this because at the tender age of 15, I myself took the same trip on my father's boat and puked my guts up for hours as we crossed. Not fun! And sure enough as with me…several of the girls began blowing chunks on the voyage! Not exactly what they'd bargained for!
Finally... and many blown lunches later, the boat reached its destination - a private beach just off of Nassau where they would stop for a time before moving on to the big island. Requesting that all the girls sun bathe topless met with hostility from several of the hired help (the girls). Weird! They're escorts. I mean…come on. But as we all know, women (whether amateur, semi-pro or pro) can get finicky and you just never know what will offend or endear (for that matter) the fairer sex. But I digress!
Whatever…things came off more or less copasetically until the return trip when it got really rough and the yacht started taking on water - big time! So serious was the situation that the captain called the Coast Guard with an SOS! The boat was sinking and my friend thought she was gonna die! Whoa! Ms. Busty knew being an escort came with risks but dying at sea? Not what she'd signed on for!
Soon enough, helicopters were hovering over the yacht and two pumps were lowered down to the decks to help the fight to keep the boat afloat. I mean…is this crazy or what? Then along comes a Coast Guard cutter and actually offloads the guys who'd booked the cruise…but not the girls! They and the crew were left to limp into port with the deck of the ship wide open (to accommodate the pumps) and those pumps churning away at 100 decibels. Not your dream vacation I'm sure we can all agree.
On an unrelated note…four years later, I was invited on a cruise by Joey Dee (of Peppermint Twist fame ) who was booked for an oldies junket in October. The band had the week off (as there was a house combo which would be backing all the "moldies" for their shows) but Joe offered me an unpaid vacation as band leader who would teach his repertoire to whatever motley crew of musicians manned the cruise ship.
Knowing that it was hurricane season and we just might rock our asses off (and I don't mean with power chords), I respectfully declined the invitation. Joe's 13 year-old son was disappointed: "Yo Silly boyeeee" (what he called me) "come on! We'll have a blast!" I explained to him that his expectation of a blast was one thing…and the blast of projectile vomit which might come out of his mouth Family Guy style was quite another. And when Louie got back his first words to me went like this: "Yo Sil…you were right!"
It all goes to show ya that the sea is a cruel mistress better left alone in too many cases. And that was the way it was those many years ago for both my buddies. Someday, I'll take that cruise but for the moment, terra firma will have to do. I'll do my rocking and rolling in a nice bed with a hot babe…and leave the high seas alone!
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Just as guys were debating in the comment section whether the JASMINE coming to ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) is the same Jasmine from HOT LIPS fame, I got a text message from the phone girl at the former telling me that they have a new girl named (drum roll) Jasmine! So I answered back asking whether this is the same Jasmine from Hot Lips and she responded in the affirmative. So there's your answer. She'll be arriving on Monday.
It turns out that Jasmine was one of the girls I stayed with at HOT LIPS for 4 days during Hurricane Sandy. And having dined with her (and the other girls) for the duration, I got to know the girl as a lady of temperance with refined table manners and eating habits. Yup…a princess of sorts as it were.
Whatever…that should clear things up. I include her original picture so a...that guys will recognize her and b...because I like it much better than her new photos. No doubt, they'll call within a day or two to request the new photos but for the moment…here's the one I like best.
Following up on yesterday's post…it turned out that there was a logical explanation for the confrontation between Bob and the girl's "management." His money had slipped between the mattress and headboard at some point after Bob paid. So when he left and the girl couldn't find the cheese, she panicked and called her "brother" downstairs claiming that the client had grabbed his money back while she wasn't looking! Bob knows this because the girl called him to apologize after she found his money! Of course, that didn't make the knot in the side of his head go down any.
Whatever...I could relate. Many years ago, my section of the East Village boasted a significant stroll. Both 3rd and even 2nd Avenues had late night girls standing on the corners along with the equally-ubiquitous drug dealers back in the 70's and 80's. And there was even a bar or two where the girls congregated looking for business.
One night while hanging at one of those questionable saloons, I convinced a heavyish (though busty) black girl to come back to my place for an Andy ($20 bill). So we did our quicky (I mean…how much time was I gonna get for a twenty even back then) and after we were done, she couldn't find her money assuming the worst: I'd somehow stolen my money back.
An ugly argument ensued for literally 15 minutes during which I swore up and down that I didn't have her money and she should continue looking. And finally, the idiot found the 20. Exactly how she could stash the bill in a special hiding place and then forget that hiding place is a little astounding. But the point was that just like Bob, I knew what it felt like to be falsely accused. Fortunately, it was just me and this woman - and nobody else in the mix.
After the floozy found my token payment, I did suggest that she owed me a free session for all the hassle. But for her part, she was not apologetic at all. The moron just left and I never saw her again. No problem. It didn't look like she would have given me any consideration anyway.
The fact that both girls figured the worst when their money was gone speaks to the reality that there are a lot of thieving customers out there. I've heard way too many stories from girls who turned their heads only to get robbed by a client.
Oh well! At least the guy (Bob) didn't get severely hurt. Anyway...it just goes to show you that a lot of these girls are a fucking mess. It's not uncommon for them to get sloppy with their money and then blame you for their shortcomings. What are ya gonna do? Lie down with dogs and get fleas syndrome. And Bob and I got bitten by a flea.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
You hear stories like the following every so often. Some hapless guy answers an ad on some adult directory (backpage in this instance) and runs smack dab into a chainsaw - in the form of a predatory pimp daddy. And it happened to a guy I know last night.
Bob (which is what I'll call him) answered an ad run by what I can only describe as a not-very-attractive ghetto hoochie. My first impression after he directed me to the ad was "what the fuck? Why would you want anything to do with this girl? She's a dog with fleas!"
Regardless, he went to see her…convened in the room…and then adjourned to an ATM in the lobby of her hotel to withdraw some money. Bad move! First no-no: Do not withdraw money from an ATM in a hotel lobby after visiting some trashy ghetto escort. You never know who might be looking and lurking.
And sure enough, as soon as Bob exited the front door of the hotel, some black dude claiming to be the girl's brother (yeah, right) threw him up against the wall demanding the money he owed the girl (it was total bull shit…he'd paid her). A brief confrontation ensued during which the pimp slugged Bob but didn't get his money. (The hour was not that late and I guess homey didn't want to risk apprehension.) As mentioned, my friend went home with his money…but without his dignity…and phoned me to ask how I thought he should handle the situation.
Now there are some guys who would recommend having another friend book the girl only to arrive with a division of friends armed with baseball bats to exact a little quick and effective street justice. But there are other effective strategies I would recommend in a situation like this one - none of which will land you in the pokey for taking the law into your own hands.
First…call the hotel and anonymously inform them about what happened...giving them the room number of the scum belle and her pimp. Hotel managers in New York are all too willing to rent rooms to escorts...that is…until something like this happens. Then they want them out!
Next...and especially given that Bob answered a Backpage ad…contact the site itself. Backpage is dedicated to one goal: staying in operation and making the millions they do from running the country's #1 escort directory. In order to accomplish that mission, the site will give up information on anybody - be it pimp or legitimate advertising agency (like say…Somad). And culling out scum bags like these two and serving them up to the authorities legitimizes their pursuit - at least in the twisted mind of the Chief Counsel, Liz McDougall (aka "the shrew"). Gasbag notwithstanding, she'll pounce on the opportunity to legitimize her employer in the eyes of the government and the long arm of the law will henceforth be on this asshole's trail.
And finally…go to Best GFE…start a thread…and out this duo for what they are. If you take all three of these actions, I guarantee that the results will be to your satisfaction. Your manhood may not be totally resurrected like it would if you and your friends went over there and gave the guy a beatdown…but you will have acted responsibly and within the parameters of the law - and curtailed these criminals.
And now…here's the ad right here Bob answered. You'd think in this day and age that bull shit like this would have died with the street action the police and the invention of the Internet have effectively terminated. But you'd be wrong. There are some criminal elements in the escort rank and file. And you should beware.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Originally written for SCREW MAGAZINE at the end of the Clinton administration, I offer this gem in honor of Presidents Day. There isn't any "page six" style stuff in here but still...worth reading (hopefully).
So you thought you were the biggest pervert on the planet! Nobody could possibly eclipse your level of depravity. Guess again, fellas! In honor of Presidents Day, we bring you the cold hard facts about the rocket scientists/skirt chasers/drunken debauchers who designed this very republic: Thomas Jefferson was pounding an underage slave...Benjamin Franklin was the biggest horn dog in France, and despite having the biggest joint in The Continental Congress, George Washington never bedded the love of his life. Read on for the details on these outrageous but true historical tidbits!
Eleven score and and eighteen years ago our fathers brought forth upon this earth a new nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that the very men who founded the concept of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness bestowed upon themselves certain inalienable rights not the least of which was to eat, drink and be merry with as many women as humanly possible enroute to accomplishing their mission.
For those naive souls who believed all the bull shit they learned in grammar school about George Washington chopping down the cherry tree and never telling a lie, history has some startling news: Drinking, debauching, and womanizing was certainly not the exclusive province of the Kennedy and Clinton presidencies. In fact, the entire syndrome began with the philandering founding fathers themselves, a pack of intellectuals for sure...but at the same time some pretty wild drinkers and misogynists in their own rite.
George Washington, that grim-looking curmudgeon pictured on the dollar bill was in actuality, a skirt-chaser for his entire life. His wife, Martha, was a roly poly rich woman whom he married simply because of her wealthy standing and level head. While George was a very devoted stepfather to her children, he flirted with several women right in front of her face at the frequent tea parties she threw for her aristocratic friends, and seduced women whenever he travelled away from home. Before and throughout his marriage, Washington was hopelessly in love with Sally Fairfax, a woman who never reciprocated but continued to be his pen pal until the day he died. In fact, it was the constant gnawing and heartache he experienced because of his feelings for Sally that prompted him to marry with his head instead of his heart.
But society women weren’t the only social caste to which Washington was attracted. Although The President was a strict taskmaster who had disobedient slaves flogged routinely, he like many other colonial slave owners, paid numerous visits to the slave quarters to have a roll with the prettiest of his chattel. In fact, the first president was rumored to have died from a chill he caught one night making love to a slave in her cold quarters...and not from a midnight ride he took on his steed...the story the press told the American public.
Did war curtail Washington’s activities? Apparently not. While a colonel during the French And Indian War, Washington lost his virginity to a sixteen-year-old Indian squaw. And it seems that a congressman acted as his procurer dispatching pretty ladies to Valley Forge for The Commander In Chief’s diversion during The Revolutionary War as well.
History doesn’t seem to give us too much indication as to which of the founding fathers was the studdliest but we do know that Washington had the largest hands and feet in the Continental Congress. Two young girls were even arrested for robbing Washington’s clothing as he bathed in the Potomac River but neither apparently went on the record as to what they saw when the future president emerged naked from the river. Regardless, the life of the father of our nation ended with a note of pathos as history demonstrates unequivocally that despite his many sexual conquests, Washington settled for a plump woman as his life mate while never truly consummating his passions with his lifelong love, Sally Fairfax.
But Thomas Jefferson, reputed to be the most intellectually gifted of the founding fathers, did have a lifelong affair with a woman named Sally...Sally Hemings that is...one of his slaves. Jefferson like all of the Southern aristocrats was a slave owner. Unlike some of his peers, Jefferson fully understood his hypocrisy while penning the constitution. How could he say that all men were created equal when he had slaves? It seems that the third prez lived his entire life in debt and setting his slaves free would have caused instant bankruptcy. He had no choice but to keep his servants.
Of course, having sex and siring children with his servant proved to be more than a little awkward. Although he was a widower at the time, Jefferson had promised his wife on her death bed that he would never marry again...a promise he kept. But apparently, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have more children.
Although she was his slave, Sally Hemings was only 1/4 black, and not surprisingly very light-skinned. The couple had four children under the condition (set by Sally) that their progeny be set free. Jefferson had no problem with that...nor did society. The children were only 1/8th black and assimilated as white with little trouble.
And Sally’s light-skinned mulatto blood lines were not unusual even in the late 18th century. Slave owners all over the South had been procreating with their property thus reproducing a plethora of servants who barely looked black.
Benjamin Franklin, one of America’s most brilliant and noteworthy founding fathers was quite a ladies man himself and not averse to paying for a lady’s favors throughout his manhood. But it wasn’t until he voyaged to France that ol' Ben really hit his stride. During the early days of The Republic, several dignitaries including John Adams and Franklin were appointed as ambassadors or ministers to France, a country steeped in sin and debauchery.
French women were not only educated, capable and attractive, but were also the most empowered and wild and free in Europe. Just before The French Revolution, the country’s royalty basked in their riches and had no qualms about enjoying themselves in the sexual realm. Mate swapping and drunken revelry was the norm and not the exception across the ocean, and appointments to go overseas were viewed as golden opportunities for American politicians to spread their wings. And Benjamin Franklin was the most notorious lover of ladies The States had to offer the French. He was charming, very intelligent and even more accomplished by the time he arrived. And wherever he went or was invited, ladies fawned on him. He was the true rock star of his day!
Dolly, the wife of James Madison, was said to be one of the most stunning women in all of Washington. Every man who ever met her was completely swept away by her bountiful beauty, big bosom and exceptionally charming and coquettish ways. For his part, James was barely five feet tall and hardly the dashing figure that George Washington was. But Dolly loved him all the same. I guess political power is just as intoxicating as any other…and they stayed together till the end of time.
The only of the first four presidents who didn’t seem to step out of line was John Adams. Adams was a short, boring, butterball of a man who married an ugly but capable woman and stayed with her for most of his life. He simply wasn’t attractive enough to be a philandering founding father like his peers. But fyi...John loved his rum, for whatever that's worth.
In the American educational system, all students of history are told we study the subject because history inevitably repeats itself and that we may avoid future pratfalls by studying those that occurred in the past. Clearly, history DOES repeat itself and Presidents Clinton and Kennedy weren’t very good history students. That or they simply did not care when it came to matters of the crotch. For let us not forget...however noble humans feel we’ve become, we are simply just the most advanced animal on the planet, placed here to reproduce and procreate the species. And that drive, whether it’s the 18th century or 2013...or you’re a garbage man or a president...and the inability to control it...will never die.
Theoretically, you're supposed to have a good time when you go on vacation. Yeah! Tell that to a friend of mine who no doubt wishes she had stayed home.
This is actually a two part vacation - the second leg of which didn't turn out so well. Leg 1 was a trip to the sun coast of Florida which was actually OK. The girl booked the flight…set herself up in a motel…and did her usual work/play deal...lounging by the pool (though it was a little cold) and answering the phone (she had a couple of different ads to attract guys).
One week later, Ms. Honey returned complaining that the trip cost her more than she earned. Despite, two weeks after coming home to New York, she decided to go back to Florida. When I asked why the hell the woman would want to repeat what appeared to be a trip that didn't go all that well, she replied "a lot of guys are still calling…and some that saw me last month want to know when I'm coming back." Fair enough! I can see that…though it did occur to me that the first trip might have gone a little more profitably than she let on (not that it mattered to me either way).
Anyway…voyage #2 quickly went south (so to speak). The first day after her arrival a funny thing happened. All the guys who wanted to see her stopped calling as soon as she landed. But by day 2 things began to pick up until the girl decided to eat some licorice. Bad move when you have a bridge (a dental bridge). So out came the bridge!
Now I have a couple of crowns in my own mouth (though no bridges) and at this point in my life, I know not to eat stuff like licorice, taffy or really…anything sticky that might cause a problem. Plus…I don't like that crap anymore so no great sacrifice. But not so for this individual. She lives for that junk.
So baby doll calls to cry on my shoulder. And like the Internet nerd I am, I go online and find her a dental clinic a mile away and the girl goes to the office only to be told there was no need for the visit...and that she should simply go to the drugstore and get some poly-grip - or whatever the glue is that secures bridges.
But in the meantime…our heroine ducks into the local Publix…scores some chicken salad from the deli…but walks around in the hot sun with her food for an undetermined period of time before eating it. Can you spell food poisoning? Aaargh! Whether she brought this one upon herself or not (by walking the food around in the hot sun) is something I can't say. I know I've been food-poisoned a few times in my life and it wasn't my fault. Fortunately, she got a severe stomach ache but didn't go into throwing up mode so I'm guessing it was the mayo and not the meat that had gone bad. Just my inference having suffered from both decayed foods in the past.
Moving on…while in the throes of this malady, the maid comes to the door to clean the room and my buddy asks that she only give her new towels. She's not about to drag herself out of bed so it can be made. And what happens? The maid cleans the bathroom and throws away what looks like garbage wrapped in a kleenex. Oops! The garbage was a $5000 dental bridge! And by the time my friend discovered the loss, it was too late. Her bridge was in the truck and on the way to the landfill! Is this a nightmare or what?
It's difficult to know if all this drama was self-induced or not. She could have not eaten that stupid kiddy food. And she could have consumed the chicken salad immediately. And she could have hidden the bridge to avoid some stupid maid mistaking it for garbage. The girl is drama-prone!
But still…what a nightmare scenario! I guess the only thing left is for her to get arrested - and then she'd have her royal flush of misfortune.
Whatever…I tried to cheer her up by saying "maybe tomorrow will bring a super-generous millionaire. Have faith!"…to which she replied "fat chance of that down here with all these cheapskates!" Boy oh boy! Talk about a negative attitude.
I have a feeling that within a few days she'll be back home (and happy about it) curled up in a fetal position in the comfort of her own bed wondering what the hell she was thinking when she made that second trip down south.
For myself? I don't know about that cruise I was contemplating. There's always a chance that the entire boat will get a virus and begin puking in unison. Cruise ships are known for that! Maybe I should just leave well enough alone and enjoy the snow, ice and slush. At least they're known quantities. God knows what can happen out on the ocean! Maybe I can learn from my friend's misfortune the easy way - by staying put.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Her name was Silver. I doubt that's what it said on her birth certificate. In fact, I know that's not what it said on her birth certificate. Her real name was Anthony something. I just remember girlfriend was half Puerto Rican and half Jewish. And she did this hilarious gravelly-voiced Maude kind of imitation of an old bitty complaining about the weather in Florida ("Mordy! Fetch me a sweater. I'm cold. It's 82!")
Silver was one of my first transsexual clients for Action Magazine. She lived in a hastily renovated loft on 17th Street between 6th and 7th Avenues…and had a little black and white television with only three channels. It was a George Burns kind of deal. Channel 1 showed the door to the building. Channel 2 viewed the landing to her apartment. And Channel 3 came courtesy of a hidden camera in the room where all the fun happened!
Whenever I went up there (which was many times over the years), I'd sit down and joke "What's on TV?" Sometimes she'd turn to the room channel and we'd eavesdrop. Funnnn!
One day I went up there and Silver looked disturbed. "What's up, freak?" I asked. "You don't look right!" To this she responded "this guy just came up here and after his session, he paid an extra 50 bucks to be alone in the room with my dog."
"Yeah…and?" I yawned matter-of-factly. "And" she answered…"he blew my dog!" Gross!
I tell you this today because I went on Amazon to check out how many escort confessional style books were in print. And I happened on the flagship tome in the genre: The Happy Hooker! After reading a few reviews, I came to discover that in one chapter, she describes giving a German Shepherd a hand job. And that's what made me remember Silver and her fucked up little dog - and the story about the guy who blew the mutt for 50 bucks!
Talk about "we're going to hell in a hand basket!" I feel blessed to be so normal. When I fantasize about sex…I imagine myself getting a really good blow job…or having some really hot intercourse. But blowing a dog? Or having a bunch of girls urinate on me (also in her book)? I'm such a square. But I don't care. Give me a phat booty cutie with a talented mouth and a velvety you-know-what and I'l be good. All that other stuff? I leave that to the freaks. To each his own I guess. Just so they keep it their own.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Lamentably (at least for some), "the stroll" has become a thing of the past in New York City. Whereas Lexington and Park in the 20's, Delancey and the Bowery, 11th Avenue from 14th Street up to 42nd, Central Park and 6th Avenue, and even my neighborhood (the East Village) were chock full of girls playing "let's make a deal" just a decade or two ago, that street action is pretty much gone. In its stead have come numerous publications and most recently - the Internet. Girls no longer go strolling on the streets of our fair city. Now they go tapping on a computer keyboard. And while there is a modest financial price to pay, the girls reach so many more would-be customers I'm sure that most who once inhabited the streets find the modern way preferable.
So the next book I've checked out from the NYPL in my constant thirst for knowledge is titled "A History of New York." And it only took 40 pages of reading before I got a sneak peak at the pay for play trade's MO back in 1796! Yeah, I know! The world's oldest profession. Somehow, I have a feeling that it just might predate even that far ago date!
Anyway…where do you think NY's babes displayed their wares back when almost all of inhabited New York existed below what is now Houston Street? Dig the following passage from this book referring back to the year 1796:
"The end of the island was transformed into a promenade: 'known as the Battery." 'It was very popular. The bourgeoise appeared there in the daytime, so pleasant was the place and 'beyond all compare with any other promenade whatsoever.' When night fell, prostitutes and their clients took it over."
Unfortunately, there's no mention of whether the trade was legal or not - or whether the muckety mucks who inhabited the regal stone structures along the North River (now called the Hudson) ambled down either by horse and buggy or on foot to partake. But I have an idea that the era notwithstanding, the fundamentals still applied. If the Governor of New York was on the cyber stroll just a few years ago, would it be a stretch to think that just maybe...a similar politco was indulging all those years ago as well?
Now, I know where you think I'm about to go right here! So I won't. Besides…it's such a beautiful day. I think I'll hit the Battery. Maybe there's a hot cutie down there who hasn't gotten the news yet. I love a good geezer!
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Recently, a reader sent me a link to an article about a sugar daddy/baby site which functions just like a dating site with the exception that the listed ladies (who get free memberships) are mostly college girls looking for sponsorship. While sex isn't necessarily part of the deal, the fact remains that boys will be boys and the great majority of the time we can assume it's implicit in the transaction. And it made me think about the many definitions of prostitution - be it sexual or otherwise. But for the moment, I'll concentrate on the former.
Prostitution (according to Webster's) is the act of selling sex for money. We get that. But what about the college girls in the aforementioned site? And what about women who put out after an evening on the town with a guy they don't really fancy? They just want the dinner and theater part of the date. Or what about women who date guys for the material things they buy for them? Shouldn't they be considered whores too - even if greenbacks themselves aren't passed directly from one hand to another? And if all but the obvious are prostitutes, wouldn't it follow that prosecuting one subset while letting the others off the hook is an act of hypocrisy?
It all seems so meaningless. What I don't get is why any of these pursuits is against the law - especially the one form that gets prosecuted. What the law sees as prosecutable prostitution is a straight-up business deal. "I do this and you do that." That's easy. But what about the woman who pretends she cares…relieving the clueless bastard of mountains of money…all while knowing it's all about robbing the guy of not just his money - but his dignity as well? Prosecutable prostitution stands on reasonably high moral ground (at least for me). Hoodwinking a guy into thinking the woman upon whom he heaps currency in the form of clothing, jewelry etc. is in love is immoral. There's your fucking skank right there - not the girl who says right up front "you want sex…I want money. Let's make a deal!"
We all know that the criminalization of traditional prostitution is based on religion and fear. Zealots who are convinced there's a deity are afraid that He would condemn such an act. But why? Is it any worse than selling some stupid widget at a 200% profit and blowing the proceeds playing roulette or the horses rather than channeling the money back to say…the needy?
Then there's the fear factor. Most guys don't want to think that their girlfriends have experienced thousands of guys before them. It makes them insecure. And given that it's mostly men who write laws (though admittedly, that's changing), it follows that those men attempt to legislate against such activity as if it's going to change anything. If there's any pursuit more futile than the government's war on drugs…it's got to be their war on prostitution. Trafficking if it exists is something different. I'll give ya that. But selling "it?" Who in his right mind cares?
Then there's the old disease rationalization. Prostitutes spread disease. True enough - but no more than having sex with some chick you met at a bar - or anywhere else for that matter. Having sex spreads disease. That is a documented fact. How one gets that sex is besides the point. And if you think that the pay for play trade spreads disease more often per union than in any other venue, wouldn't it make sense to legalize the trade so all girls are licensed and checked by doctors periodically?
Maybe someday…somebody will see the light. Ya know…like out in Nevada where citizens vote on the business's legality on a county by county basis? But I don't hear anything about New York entering the 21st century! Aren't we supposed to be enlightened? Haven't we legalized same sex marriage? Ahhh! Whatever. So silly! What the fuck do I know anyway? I'm just an asshole blogger with no life so maybe I should just shut the fuck up and watch the falling snow. I'm out.