Preamble

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.