Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Newly divorced, hearbreakingly sweet

I meet a man in a Chinatown Starbucks for a preparatory meeting. He's a talker alright, very forthcoming, he tells me all about his long marriage, then his depression and divorce. Needless to say, he's a right-wing DC hill type originally from the midwest. He's very endearing, he has a child-like quality despite his age. In fact, he's somewhat like a blonder, more nordic looking version of Andy Richter. The talking seems to relieve his concerns. He asks me to accompany him home which I gladly accept.

In the parking garage in the privacy of his car we talk about the sexual side of things. He has had no experience to speak of since his teenage years. He's been on the dating scene but has not been able to find the right match. He wants to be serviced by a young man. More specifically, he wants to be stripped and kissed all over, in his current semi-sweaty state. He likes sex to be sweaty. I lift his arm and press my nose and mouth into the moist patch of his underarm cotton shirt. A little manly scent, nothing unbearable. Next order of business, he wants to be sucked to completion. He says that he's well endowed and he wants to be sure that he can thrust and cum into my mouth without me wretching or gagging. I assure him that I will be able to calmly and quietly take his member with no violent biological reactions. He's worried that he's coming across as a creep but I reassure him that I'm happy to service him, that he's attractive and that I will enjoy myself too.

He's visibly hard through his trousers as he unlocks the door to his condo. In the hall we kiss deeply. He's really very sweet. I strip for him slowly as he caresses my body full of affection. We start in the living room, he's on the couch and I'm naked before him. He unbuttons his shirt as I undo his shoelaces. He instructs me to massage his feet and I comply, he begins to caress my torso with his free foot as I massage the other. His feet are large, wide, warm black-cotton covered feelers. He nudges them up my torso towards my face. I bury my face in his left foot, kissing the sniffing at the toes, they're moist and imbued with the pleasant scent of  new leather shoes. I whip off the sock and kiss the sole from the heel to the arch and the toes. He's in ecstasy, clients pay for these details really. The toes look neat and pedicured, he gasps as I suck on his big toe. I can feel the fingerprint like texture of his toe on my tongue. I haven't ever done that for a client before, but I know I've sealed his approval in those few seconds. He stands panting on one bare foot well covered in saliva and removes his remaining sock and trousers. He's fully erect, although, not quite as well endowed as he seems to think. Certainly no choking hasard. Each thrust into my mouth is a sprint towards orgasm and by the third or forth thrust he's shooting cum. Creamy and sweet in short bursts. I swallow and jerk myself off, shooting my own cum onto his bare foot. He giggles, I thought he'd like it. He looks so satiated. He fetchs me a glass of water and returns with a heartwarming smile to tell me: "I haven't felt like that since I was a teenager".

I know what he means, there's something very uniquely satisfying about having sweaty feet massaged and licked. It's great foreplay for fellatio. There is something satisfying about it. Maybe it's the power trip. Having someone so eager to please beneath your feet, sending soft and pleasant sensations with their mouth, lips and tongue. He didn't warn me about the foot play, but to be fair he only hinted at it and I jumped right in.

He's a little upset at not having lasted longer, but I think it's more his machismo than a real complaint. He wants to make it a weekly meeting. I'm more than happy with that, he's quite a handsome guy really. So easily pleased, I find that endearing. He's denied himself any satisfying sex for decades, I'm glad to provide him a little release if not some reassurance that his rather beefy frame is not without its charms. He offers to drop me home, but my Metro ride is a ritual by now so I take my generous wad of cash and head for the red line stop a few blocks over.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Newbie client turning the tables

The day began with a pleasant exchange of emails from a new client. Sometimes you can tell from a person's way of communicating that they're inexperienced. It comes across in subtle yet unmistakable ways. I have never before been asked if I have "done this before". Nor have I been asked if I would be comfortable stripping, if I wasn't willing to strip I think I'd have to find another past-time. This rookie John seemed to think he was pushing the limits by wanting to see me naked. I had to giggle, although I wasn't quite sure if it was role play; your standard corrupting an innocent young man routine. He did comment on how my ad was new, however, I would have thought it was obvious from the basic information and the pictures on there that I'm willing to do more than strip. A ping-pong of emails revealed his fears that I would be uncomfortable, I assured him that I would be more than willing. The reality is I drifted towards being paid for sex, being attracted to older men money is always floating on the horizon. I was offered it all the time, usually in the form of vacations, travel, etc. Then the "generous" phenomenon started and the first time I walked into a hotel room to see hundreds of dollars in a neat little pile on the dresser I was hooked. I have to be honest, it's a huge ego trip to be paid for sex. For those of you who don't know, the "generous" phenomenon is still prostitution but both parties just choose to ignore it. It's generally an arrangement between an older man and a younger man, usually on a regular dating site rather than an escort site. Amateur prostitution if you'll pardon the oxymoron. It's a hook, a kind of coaxing on the part of the older man to get his younger man at a time and place that is convenient for him. That's how I entered the game. I was amazed at how much busy professionals are willing to pay for a few minutes of lustful indulgence. It's far less intimidating than the real thing, you usually get to see your suitor and since everyone is pretending that it's a regular date, there is less pressure to be "on".

So I met him outside the hotel lobby as he smoked a cigar, visibly nervous, shaking hands, shifty eyes. He seemed like the married New England type. We clocked each other right away, conversation was awkward but he was eager to get back the room. The bellhop sensed his anxiety, looked at the John somewhat puzzled and then looked at me, back at the John and then he knew. He restrained a smirk as the elevator came to a smooth pause. I suppose I didn't fit the business colleague age range and given my John's casual chinos and polo shirt versus my shirt and tie, I wasn't the client. Hotels don't really care, at least not in my experience they don't. They just want discretion, as do I, and of course, the client too. A church-going old lady would never clock me like the bellhop.

The questions continue in the bedroom. By this point I'm fully convinced that I have found a newbie John. The shaking hands are not an act. This man is genuinely terrified. I'm fascinated by this, I must admit. I've never really been with a first-timer. I don't mean a virgin, of course, his wedding ring is visible. I mean he's never paid for sex. He looks like the kind of man that plays golf and owns a yacht, country club-esque. The kind of suburban executive with the silver edges and the spoiled blond daughter that gave me so many raging hard-ons in middle school. I'm already drunk on the rush of my first newbie John. My own private fantasy.  I step closer, he doesn't seem to want to kiss.

I'm rock hard and he sees though my trousers. I begin to unbutton his shirt and he unbuttons mine. I remove each article of clothing slowly and carefully, as if they were items of great value. He seems to be getting excited. He caresses my erection with an unsteady hand, gazing at it in awe. His trembling had caresses my torso circling my nipple slowly. He nods towards the bed and I lay down. He finishes undressing and joins me. He spits in his palm and massages it around the head of my erection. "Beautiful" he whispers. He's exploring my young body with his hands and his eyes. I lean across and kiss his chest and nipples imbued with the sweet and pleasant scent of cologne and his cigar. I work my way down his navel with slow and soft kisses, he's hard and standing to attention by the time I reach his pubic hair. He has a small but nicely shaped penis with full plump balls, neatly trimmed hair. "It won't take much" he warns. I masturbate him slowly as I kiss around his erection. I lick up and down the shaft and then take the plunge and suck his erection. I can take it to base and tighten my lips around the base, his hips are lifting off the bed to thrust deep into my mouth. Five or six thrusts and he withdraws to cum. Generous spurts one after the other of white creamy textured liquid. I have always found something terribly endearing about bring a man to the point of ejaculation. An orgasm is almost enfantalising. It's a return to the real, pure bodily pleasure unmediated by language.

As his stomach stops contracting from the ejaculation, there is a rather impressive little white puddle of cum on his belly. It's almost a pity, I thought to myself, that he didn't let it pop in my mouth. Of course, he was being a gentleman. It looked so pretty though, I would have enjoyed swallowing the first few spurts maybe let the rest drip out as I eased off. I kissed around the little white puddle admiring the fruits of my labor. He laid there catching his breath and then toweled it away.

He asked if he could touch my face as I masturbated, I said he could. He's was very gentle, the scent of cigar on his fingers was pleasant. He dipped his fingers in my mouth as I shot cum all the way the headboard. He giggled, thrilled by the sight of it. I've always shot far, five or six feet at times.

This is to be a repeat arrangement, he travels to DC at least once a month. So I made my merry way home with a thick bundle of twenties pressing against my thigh. The inexperienced executive is my fantasy, you could spend months looking for that in the dating world and not find it. I do love this gig sometimes.

Monday, July 16, 2012

A Bear with a Fantasy

"You're new"; text message from a DC 202 number. Interesting way to start a conversation, perceptive to boot. Why yes, I am, relatively new, I suppose. Another follows: "I'm a daddy bear with a fantasy." I'm already intrigued. The fantasy is father son discipline. I'm the son of course, and I'm instructed to wear tight fitting underwear and tight fitting shorts. No problem, the address is a large high-rise in crystal city. Dad will be waiting outside. I arrive a few minutes early, drive in somewhat concerned that I'm not supposed to be parking there without a permit. The engine of convertible Mercedes starts up. I'm relieved not to be stood up.

I approach the car with a wide smile expecting small talk. I'm cut off before even speaking by a sternly voiced question: "Chris?" "Yes" I reply and get in. "You're late": he's glaring at me with rather striking blue eyes. I glance at my wristwatch, I thought I was early, at least by a few minutes. "I am?" I'm somewhat confused, how silly of me, I should have realized that I was 'ON'. I'm instructed to turn over as he uses an electronic control to recline the passenger seat. I undo my belt buckle as he caresses my buttocks. He pulls down the shorts rather roughly and smacks my butt cheeks, "How dare you make me wait!" We park a few floors down and I'm instructed to pull up my shorts but leave my belt undone. We walk towards the elevator, he tells me to put my hands against the wall. He's muttering criticisms, furious with my disobedience as he molests my growing erection, inner thighs, buttocks and torso. I look around for cameras or people, it's late but there are still some cars in the lot. He's talking about how much of a disgrace it is that I'm hard, that I'm enjoying myself. I'm to address him only as Sir.

We take the elevator up to a large office suite, which he unlocks and directs me towards a large office. There is a large wrap-around sofa big enough to seat ten or more people. He sits at the corner of it. "Get over here" he says, as he spanks me and proceeds to strip my clothing from my body one article at a time throwing each item across the room as he proceeds. The spanking is getting harder but not at all unbearable. He unbuckles his own trousers and rubs his erection against my own. My butt cheeks are stinging and I'm instructed to beg for mercy. The first few times I'm told that I'm not convincing enough. This guy is a serious role-play participant. He finally gives in to my request and I'm instructed to stand naked in front of him, then to bend over. He pulls my buttocks apart and gently tongues at my anus with his warm moist tongue. It's a beautiful sensation, his goatee beard tickles and I'm in ecstasy as I peer through my legs at his erection. He lays back and starts jerking, I begin kissing his inner thighs and as I go to suck his erection I'm stopped. "No" he says, "I'm not into that." I'm dumbfounded but I comply. "I'm sorry Sir" and I climb back up and lay across his lap. He's masturbating me with his left hand and spanking me with the right. I ejaculate heavily across his stomach and crotch, "You've embarrassed yourself" he grunts as he switches to jerk himself off. I can feel drops of his cum fall on my stinging buttocks and lower back.

In the elevator down he's a different person, relaxed and soft spoken. "You have a great ass, very round and muscular." He hands me a huge wad of cash. It's $400 in $20 bills, not bad for a half hour after my gym routine. Not bad at all. "Next week if I'm not too busy and wear a jockstrap."

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Italian Business Visitor ... a primal fantasy

I get a text message in the early afternoon: "Italian executive at the Mayflower, drinks this evening?" Sounds promising, I respond immediately. Sometimes I dislike meeting for drinks, especially when meeting a client for the first time. Often, it means they're not quite at ease with what they're doing. It can become like an interview where they awkwardly and feverishly try to ask the right questions in order to reassure themselves that you're the right kind of rentboy. Not someone dangerous, not a cop, not a druggie, not a risk taker etc. Understandable, I suppose, except that those awkward conversations often lead to a series of questions which clients shouldn't ask and rentboys shouldn't answer. I will tell clients what city I'm from, it's big enough to remain anonymous, but that's never enough. Specifying the neighborhood, the high-school I attended, the university, my major etc... it's a slippery slope to completely revealing yourself. Of course you can always lie, or try to be vague but I don't pull that off well. I never understood why some clients want that. I doubt they are so inquisitive with their dentist. Does it make me trustworthy if I'm honest about which high-school I attended or is it about socio-economic background? In any case, there's nothing I want to do less than discuss my upbringing, my family and the specifics of my resume with my clients. It's not even about being discovered, it just zones me out of where I want to be mentally, which is a million miles away from the 'real me'.

So I'm somewhat apprehensive but the client wants drinks and is aware of my hourly rate. So I shower, shave, manscape and dress up a little. Skinny jeans and a polo shirt wont cut it at the Mayflower. I arrive 10 minutes early and instantly make eye contact with my client. He appears to match the description he gave; always a good sign. We exchanged pleasantries and decide to get a taxi to a gay bar in Dupont Circle to facilitate "frank conversation". Of course, the client always pays for extras like taxi fares and drinks on top of the hourly rate.

Fortunately, this client is not too intrusive with his questions. He smiles at me with pearly white teeth, leans back and unbuttons what appears to be a very expensive Italian suit. He tells me he was intrigued by my profile. He wants to know why I will only accept "mature" clients. I smile back at him, relieved that this is what he wants to talk about. It's almost redundant, I tell him. I'm rarely ever contacted by young men, but when I am, I turn them down. It wouldn't feel right to me to be with someone close to my age. "I see" he responds. "Girlfriend?" he asks sheepishly. "No" I respond softly and smile back at him. I can tell by his body language that he wants to be in control of things, I like that. That way I won't make a mistake, it's easier to be agreeable than to risk overstepping a boundary. The personal questions are limited to my course of study, no incisive follow-ups just a few polite remarks that serve the double function of demonstrating his interest and verifying that I have some basic knowledge of my professed field of study.

His hand slid down my thigh. His nails look manicured, perfect cuticles. He rubbed gently, as I get aroused he smiles. "I like" he says. Then he does something unexpected. "Follow me to the bathroom" he says. I wait 30 seconds and follow. He's at the urinal, I stand beside him admittedly feeling a little uneasy. He's very obviously aroused, yet still manages to urinate and reaches across to touch my semi-erect penis. "Very nice" he says. I gently touch his wrist to indicate he should stop.

The cab driver is busy speaking an unidentifiable foreign language into his bluetooth earpiece. The radio is also on. We're free to talk. "Have you ever...had fun with a man...outside...in the streets...somewhere quiet?" I'm a little taken aback. Certainly not a typical request. I'm a little concerned about the police but also interested. It's not something I've done before and I tell him so. He puts my hand on top of his erect penis, standing straight up in his trousers. "How do you like to..." he trails off, too embarrassed to finish. "With my mouth" I respond as I squeeze his erect penis through the sumptuous suit fabric. "Mmmm ... perfect" he looks content.

The cab drops us off at Constitution Avenue. He's on the lookout and I play up to my role of being concerned and unsure. I know that an important part of the excitement for him is feeling that he narrowly convinced me. Indeed, the excitement for me is fulfilling my clients fantasies. We find an administrative building with a long entrance, we walk to the end and there is a little alcove behind a raised flower bed that comes to an architectural point on each side of the buildings entrance. He steps close to me breathing heavily on my face as he unzips and exposes his rather thick erection for my attention. I can still hear the people talking and laughing from the nearby sidewalk.

As I gently pull his foreskin back and forth over the glans he kisses me deeply. I had been hoping he would do that, very enjoyable, I caress his tightly trimmed silver hair with my other hand. His cologne is pleasant. I'm thoroughly enjoying myself, I drop to my knees and gently take his erection in my mouth. He's rock hard, it's clear he's not going to last too long. I suck gently taking him as deep as I can into my throat, caressing his smoothly shaved testicles. He unbuttons his trouser, letting them drop a little. I look around, slightly concerned that he will not have time to redo his clothes if someone comes. He's lost in the act. I'm holding his bare buttocks as he thrusts his erection into my mouth. He slows down and begins to unbutton his shirt from the bottom, I take advantage and kiss and lick the exposed skin of his inner thighs, testicles and lower belly. He's extremely clean, not the slightest hint of unwanted odors. I began to suck on his testicles one at a time and licking beneath them. He went onto the tips of his toes to allow me deep access, I traced a line with my tongue from the bottom of his scrotum towards his buttocks. He groaned in ecstasy and turned to present his smooth round buttocks to me. I reached around with one hand and masturbated him slowly as I gently tongued his anus. Each stroke of my tongue on the anal area elicited a wave of stimulation and deep breathing. I knew he was close to orgasm. He spun around and began thrusting his erection into my mouth. It was clear he was going to ejaculate. I though I noticed a slightly sweet and milky taste in mouth and I knew there was more to come. Not unpleasant at all, I must admit, the thrusting slowed as spurt after spurt of semen squirted into my mouth accompanied by involuntary primal grunts from my client. I swallowed to the very last spurt. I didn't want to spoil the moment for him by spitting, it just doesn't seem dignified. It's not something I would usually do but it's a key moment and you don't ever want to give the impression that you're repulsed especially when you're not. I stayed on my knees with a raging erection in my pants and as my client buttoned and fixed his clothes I wondered if he was going to want to finish me off too. I felt we had pushed it enough already. Just as I was catching my breath my client turned around with a wad of cash in his hand. I stood up and he kissed me on the lips placed the cash in my hand and said "Ciao". He disappeared into the balmy Washington night. I sat there for a minute marvelling at the experience. The taste of sweet creamy cum in my mouth as I counted nine hundred dollars, nine crisp and fresh one hundred dollar bills. More than we had agreed. I love it when clients do that. I thought to myself, there can't be many like me, it must be rare that a young man like myself switches on instead of turning off doing what I just did with a man more than twice my age. I must be made for this I said to myself as I descended into the metro.


The persona of the prostitute is something that I have secretly revered for most of my adult life. Of course, it is not something that I would publicly admit too. I'm not a true exhibitionist in that sense, I dabble in my perverted calling from under the protective shroud of anonymity. More than this, however, I revel in it. I love it. I think I was born for it.

I cannot say that I entered this old and venerable profession based on need. There is no sob story, no childhood abuse, no drug addiction, no financial hardship. Indeed, I'm gainfully employed with decent health insurance, a comfortable apartment and a nice car. I'm a tourist.

The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture.
CAMILLE PAGLIA, Vamps and Tramps
Prostitution is not a state of abjection for me. Fore some, I'm sure it is, but for me it's more like a state of elation. I enjoy the sex, I enjoy the money, I enjoy the whole experience. My clients respond to this. Some refuse to believe that I am not reliant on "the little blue pill" to perform, but I am not. Prostitution itself is my "little blue pill". Some of the most exhilarating sex I have have ever had has been with clients.

Of course, I do pick and choose. I reject as much as 50% of the potential clients that contact me. All men of course. I do not sleep with women. My vetting process works well, I think, for myself and my clients alike. Everyone is looking for a match after all. This is all done online, that's the beauty of the Internet, it streamlines and accelerates communication of all kinds. It's wonderfully efficient. It's my vital link to the men that pay me upwards of $400 per hour to have sex with them.

As a matter of professionalism, I will endeavor to conceal the identity of my clients. All accounts published here will reflect real events, real encounters between myself and my clients.