Category Archives: Sex Work

Looking for a Pro(vider)

Share

Name: Gabe
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Location: Salt Lake City
I travel a lot for work and often get really lonely on long trips. I’m not much for going to bars, because I don’t drink. And the idea of looking for sex in a bathhouse or sex club, or worse in the bushes, really puts me off. Lately I’ve been thinking I should just hire an escort, but I wouldn’t even know how to begin. This must be a pretty common phenomenon though because I see tons of ads for escorts on line in every city I go to. Any suggestions on how someone new at this might proceed?

Sure darlin’, I have lots of suggestions. I presume you’ve ordered out for food on occasion while you were traveling for business, right? Finding a satisfying “order out” sexual adventure is not fundamentally different than that. In the case of an escort, the commodities are charming company, erotic massage, and a little sex play, instead of Potstickers, Moo shu pork, or Kung Pao Chicken.

As you know, not all order out is created equal. There is bad food and unsavory escorts. So you’re gonna need to do some homework. You already know there are loads of escort or rent-boy sites on the net. There are also several review sites, where customers of the provider leave their comments regarding their levels of satisfaction and the like. Most escorts out there, particularly the really good ones, immediately call your attention to the review they receive. This is a good policy for both provider and consumer alike. It’s like having the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval stamped on your ass.

I have a sense that some of my readers are turning up their nose at this discussion. I often hear from folks that they don’t have to PAY for sex. Oh yeah? Here’s the thing, sex fans; no sex is free. You may not be directly commerce-ing in hard cold cash, but there’s a commercial aspect to all sex…even, or maybe I should say, especially in marriage. So if we could skip the moral high-horse thing, right about now, I’d appreciate it.

Ok, so now that we have that out of the way, we can get back to your question, Gabe. Once you’ve decided to proceed, start by interviewing a few working boys. This can initially be done vie email. Ask for further information about his services and rates. Many escorts have plenty more photos of themselves available to be sent to prospective clients, so you might respectfully request those. If at all possible, include a photo of yourself, or at the very least an accurate description of yourself.

In all communication with the service provider, NEVER suggest that you are offering money for sex, in most jurisdictions that’s against the law. While we all know that the client hopes to get some sex action in the encounter, the money exchanged is not for the sex, but for the provider’s time, company and expertise. This may sound like splitting hairs. But in this arrangement, if sex actually happens, consenting adults are mutually agreeing to it during the time they’ve arranged to be together. Curiously enough, many of the sex professionals I know, and I know a lot of ‘em, tell me that a sizable portion of their clientele only want their company and companionship. Outright sex never enters the equation.

Finding the right escort for you, on any given occasion, is your task. Know what you want and know how to ask for it. Don’t waste your time or that of the provider by beating around the bush. If you are new at this, say so. The rentboy, if he’s any good at all, will be familiar with this territory and help you though the initial conversation. There are different levels of pros out there; each will have his own fee structure for services provided. If you’re looking for something kinky, be ready to pay lots more. Never try to bargain with the provider. If he’s out of your price range, move along. Or you could simply come right out with it and say, Listen, I have X amount of money to spend and I’m looking for some delightful company. Are you available? This way you let the provider decide if he has the time to spare at the discounted rate. You’d be a fool not to insist on safe-sex, but there’s a shit-load of fools out there.

Not all prostitutes are prostitutes because they want to. Some are supporting a drug habit, some are working their way though college. For some it’s survival sex. For others it’s acting out behavior. But most guys turn pro because they’re good at what they do. And most enjoy the accompanying lifestyle. The truly successful provider will have a string of regulars, men they have a somewhat more intimate connection with. Kinda like finding a great Chinese restaurant and becoming a regular there. The proprietor might just offer you something not on the menu as a way of acknowledging your preferred customer status. Get it?

Some Johns, use the service of an agency. Sometimes that can be a more reliable way to go at first. However, I am of the mind that the hard-working independent entrepreneur is best.

When arranging an outcall to your hotel, there may be an additional surcharge for traveling time and cost — think gas prices. This should be agreed upon before the deal is struck.

Most independent escorts offer both in calls and outcalls. They usually work out of their home or apartment and many of these escorts have day jobs. Some independent escorts also work in the porn industry. If this suits your tastes, you will definitely pay a premium for a date with a star.

You’ll also find among the independent providers that unique phenomenon — Gay For Pay. These guys are ostensibly “straight”…and I put that word in quotes and use it very lightly. GFP guys will have gay sex with gay men for money. In the old days, we used to refer to them as trade. And like we in the business say, “today’s trade is tomorrow’s competition;” if you catch my drift.

At any rate, like I said at the beginning, a wise and informed consumer is happy and satisfied consumer.

Good Luck

Share

Bugs, Boners and BDSM: A Day in the Life of a Dominatrix

Share

Because quirks can be quirky.

By Andre Shakti

“We’ve got a live one, ladies!” Svetlana called out from the office. The scantily clad women seated around the kitchen table barely flinched.

Tuesdays were notoriously slow, with our phone lines typically dominated by time wasters. We called them “wankers,” the men who contacted us under the guise of arranging an appointment while having no intention of following through; simply calling up a domination house and confessing their fantasy to a live woman got them off. Sometimes all we could hear would be the wet slapping sound that accompanied them masturbating while they spoke to us; hence, “wankers.”

“Is it a wanker?” Lydia called back. She sat directly across from me at the table; Minna lounged to my right, and Cynthia leaned against my left side. We were an unusually small staff for an evening shift, but none of us minded. Fewer girls meant less competition

“No,” Svetlana replied, shuffling into the room wearing nothing but tattered SpongeBob SquarePants bedroom slippers. “Believe it or not, he put down a deposit. He’ll be here in an hour, and he’s not picky about appearance.” She maintained a quirky little smile as she delivered the information.

The three of us immediately perked up. If a client didn’t voice a preference for aesthetics, it evened the playing field. He could be anyone’s mark, although your skill level, number of years spent at the house, and relationship with the house manager all factored in.

“Please tell me he wants bondage,” Lydia purred. She was a whiz with rope, and a bombshell to boot. If the client had requested shibari, it’d be an easy match.

Svetlana’s grin stretched wider. “Oh, he wants bondage. But there’s a catch. You ladies know what an entomologist is?”

“Uh, is that an ENT? An ear, nose and throat doctor?” Minna guessed.

“Someone who studies insects,” I offered. As if on cue, Lydia and Minna pushed themselves violently away from the table in unison.

I’ve always gravitated toward creepy-crawlies. When most young girls my age were experimenting with makeup, I was scaling trees and pulling rat snakes out of neighbors’ birdhouses. Home videos of my childhood soccer games document me decked out in my goalie uniform, kneeling in the grass to trap a grasshopper as the ball whizzes by my head and my parents groan in disappointment

“Indeed!” Svetlana crowed. “The guy wants to book two girls. It’ll be a Snidely Whiplash gender-swap role play — you know, the cartoon villain that ties girls to train tracks? You girls will tie him down and torture him, except you’ll be torturing him with giant bugs.”

Lydia and Minna were already on their feet and backing away, their hands fluttering around their heads like moths around a light. Cynthia and I gazed up at Svetlana, barely able to contain our excitement.

The Divine Ms. Shakti.

Cynthia was the “evil genius” of the house. She went on to become one of the biggest fetish porn stars of the modern era; during one interview she disclosed — in earnest — that if she hadn’t found the sex industry, she’d probably be a serial killer. It almost goes without saying that she was my favorite co-worker.

Cynthia and I spent the next 45 minutes cleaning ourselves up and prepping one of the playrooms for the session. Before we knew it, the doorbell rang and we ushered a small, bespectacled older man — let’s call him Ned — into the session room. Ned was pale and slightly stooped, with a subdued manner that conveyed his reverence. This was not his first rodeo

We exchanged pleasantries and confirmed the requests he’d made over the phone. Ned proceeded to methodically unpack the cheap Styrofoam cooler he’d brought with him. Out came half a dozen small, identical Tupperware containers, each housing a different species of insect. First came the crickets, then the mealworms. The centipedes followed, as did the giant millipedes and hissing cockroaches. Finally, a pair of wolf spiders emerged to complete the collection.

With each unveiling, Cynthia and I cooed our mounting anticipation. I prematurely fondled one of the millipedes, allowing it to encircle my forearm as Cynthia stripped Ned nude. Together we tied him efficiently to the floor, stretched out on his back between a leather spanking bench and an elaborate canopied bondage bed. Once he was secured, we stepped back, surveying our work. Ned struggled pathetically. Cynthia’s eyes flashed, and I knew we’d transitioned seamlessly into our scene

“Do you hear that sound, Cynthia?” I tilted my head to the side. “It sounds almost like … a train!”

On cue, I pressed play on my phone, and the sound of a distant locomotive burst from the speakers. Ned squealed.

Cynthia leaped astride Ned, dangling a cricket an inch above his face. His eyes locked on the flailing insect as Cynthia traced his body with it, nose to toes, bathing in his fear. I took hold of my millipede and knelt beside the squirming Ned.

“Look how pathetic he is! I bet this millipede is even bigger than his cock,” I teased, moving the millipede to Ned’s lower abdomen to compare it to his flaccid penis.

“Let me go, please!” Ned screamed.

“Looks like you’re out of luck, Ned,” Cynthia mused, her face an unreadable mask. “The train’s coming around the corner. Sure you can’t get out of those restraints?”

Ned wrenched his hands and feet against the restraints, but remained stuck fast. Beads of sweat formed on a face that was getting redder by the second. I surreptitiously turned the volume up on my phone, simulating the train’s rapid approach.

“Any last words?” I said, locking eyes with Cynthia. As Ned opened his mouth for a final protest, we pried the lids off all the Tupperware containers and let every last insect rain down on his naked body.

Later that evening, I slid into the driver’s seat of my car and placed a small Tupperware container on my lap with care. Ned the millipede made an excellent pet.

Complete Article HERE!

Share

How a sex worker helps my wife and I maintain good sexual health

Share
David Heckendorf and his wife Jenni on their wedding day.

David Heckendorf and his wife Jenni on their wedding day.

So, here we go. We are coming out to the nation. Jenni and I have sex with other people. There, it’s done.

But, lets wind back three decades and place this in context.

It is my first job after leaving school. I’m at the Sydney-based Spastic Centre’s sheltered workshop. It seemed very large to a pimply faced 17-year-old fresh from one of the centre’s two special schools. I found the morning tea and lunch breaks in the cafeteria particular daunting when I was one of about 300 wheelchair users trying to be served and assisted to eat before the bell rings to return to the factory floor.

I had seen Jenni at our hostel over the years and she carried an air of importance, with her father being on the board. I soon found her favourite table in the cafeteria. I would try to race to it each day hoping to sit next to her and, perhaps, share a support worker. The time spent together soon extended beyond the lunch table to include activities other than talking.

The mid-’80s in saw a change in the national disability policies from large residential facilities to much smaller group homes spread throughout communities. I was among the first to be de-institutionalised. While Jenni and I weren’t housed together she frequently visited.

After a long courtship, mostly by correspondence, we married on 1 December 1990 in the small university chapel at Armidale NSW, where I was fortunate enough to be accepted to study. Our Byron Bay honeymoon was so delightful that we returned the following year.

We moved to Canberra in search of employment after my degree and to work towards a second qualification. Together, Jenni and I had to survive a number of ‘homes’ that were less than ideal. One was at an Australian National University residence where the bedroom was so small we had to leave our wheelchairs in the public access hallway. In a later house, the bedrooms were not even big enough to accommodate our bed, so we used the living room as a bedroom.

Notwithstanding these challenges, we were doing remarkably well with support from ACT government-funded home care services. That was until September 1, 2008 when Jenni over-balanced transferring from the bed to her wheelchair. She landed awkwardly and broke bones in her left foot, which weren’t properly diagnosed or treated for several months.

This fall had long-lasting consequences on Jenni’s health generally and on our sex lives. Her prolonged and mostly unsuccessful recovery resulted in Jen having further reduced mobility in and out of bed. It meant we had to take extreme care not to touch or bump her foot. We had been fully independent in bed but after the fall the effort involved became too much. We tried different toys and different positions without joy.

Two years after the fall we were at a point where we had to make a decision to either give up on enjoying sex or to investigate the possibility of allowing a third person into our bed.

We were way too young to stop having sex.

Sex is important in most long-term relationships because it increases the pair-bonding by releasing the ‘love hormone’ oxytocin. There is also scientific evidence to suggest that sex has a range of health benefits associated with our immunity, heart, blood pressure, reduced risk of prostate cancer, pain and stress relief.

In early 2011 we arranged for sex worker, Joanne, to begin working with us. With each visit we had to remind ourselves that she wasn’t there to make ‘love’ to us. Rather, in the same way that our support staff ensure that we remain in good physical health – by showering, feeding, and dressing us – Joanne helps us to maintain good sexual health.

Also in 2011 we successfully approached the ACT government to extend the funding of our disability care support to cover these conjugal support services. In December 2015, the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) agreed that, in our situation, a modest allowance for conjugal support service would be reasonable and necessary.

Jenni and I still enjoy doing a lot of activities together. For instance, we work out at the Spastic Centre’s (now the ‘Cerebral Palsy Alliance’) Canberra gym, challenge each other at online Yahtzee, visit our favourite local cafe for morning coffees, and cuddle up in front of our favourite television shows and movies.

Doubtlessly, sex is critical to all marriages. Our love for one another and shared history means sex is important for our marriage too. And, just as with other activities, we just need the right support to make this part of our life happen.

Complete Article HERE!

Share

The Downside Of Being A Male Escort

Share

Awhile back I responded to a young fellow who was considering Turning Pro to pay down his mounting bills.  I began my response to him by saying:

You betcha I have suggestions…a lot of ‘em, don’t ‘cha know.

Being hot and liking sex are great assets if you decide to turn pro, but you’ll need way more than that. Being a sex worker is not like having sex for love or even having recreational sex. You will be exchanging sex for money and that makes it a business proposition. Therefore you’d be wise to approach this with as much forethought as you would any other career move. It is, after all, the world’s oldest profession.

toe curl

Here’s another perspective by TotallyOz

Becoming a gay male escort can be one of the most exciting decisions you will ever make. As an escort you will be able to make a good deal of money, have lots of personal freedom and not have to deal with the grind of being in an office or cubicle every day.

That said, being a male escort is not all wine and roses. Like any job, there are some downsides that you need to consider before you make the plunge. Not everyone is meant to be an escort, and you should fully understand all of the risks and consequences before you make your choice to enter the world of pay for gay.

While every situation is different, there are some common challenges that nearly every male escort must face. Please, before you make your decision, read carefully and make sure that you can live with the following risks.

sweatpantsFamily Pressure on Gay Male Escorts. Face it. Nobody wants their son to grow up to be a gay escort. If you do become a rent boy you are going to either have to come up with a cover story to explain your income or else have the most understanding family in the history of the known world. No matter what you tell them, they are not going to believe that you don’t have sex with these guys for money. On the other hand if you seem to be unemployed but have lots of income they might come up with even worse fantasies of what you do for a living or think you are a drug dealer. While you may be able to come up with a good cover story, you need to make sure that you will be able to lie to your family for a long time without feeling like shit.

Gay Male Escorts Have Boyfriend Problems Too! If you have a serious boyfriend he’s probably not going to be too happy about you having sex with lots of random guys for money. He may be concerned about his health if he does not trust you to use condoms with your date. He may get jealous. Sure, there are lots of guys who might think its cool or get turned on by what you do for a living, but there are also many, many guys who will simply go batshit crazy over the issue. If you are in a relationship, have a talk with your partner before you go on your first date.

Every Gay Male Escort has to Learn how to Deal With Assholes It would be nice to think that every guy who responds to your ad plans on taking you out, giving you money and sucking your cock. But, that’s not the way the world works. Some guys will waste your time by talking to you constantly online, jerking off over your photo and then never bother to call you up. Other clients will ask you if you do things that repel you. You may even get some scary emails from gay bashers. The bottom line is that just like any other job, you may have to deal with some assholes along the way.shower butts

Stalkers are Uncommon but Possible in the Gay Male Escort Community One of the reasons men call up an escort is that they are lonely. This is not a bad thing in and of itself. But, it does mean that some guys will take you more seriously than you might think. After having hot sex with you, they may think they have fallen in love. Part of them might forget that you are only with them for the money and they might think you are in love with them too. Then, they have the potential to become stalkers, either by writing you constantly, getting jealous of your other clients or showing up in unexpected and inappropriate places. You need to find a way to have sex but keep their emotions at arm’s length.

All Gay Male Escorts Need to Watch out for The Money Honey Making a lot of money can be a great thing – and can provide you with more freedom than you have ever had before. But, there is a downside. Money can be seductive and it may be hard for you to ever get out of the business – because you are so used to having lots of cash around. Beyond that when you have more money it’s easy to make poor spending choices. Lots of guys start using way too many drugs – simply because they can suddenly afford to. Make sure that you are mature enough to handle the green before you get paid to handle the cock.

Escorts Can Have Legal Troubles Despite the number of escort ads and agencies that you may see every day, having sex for money is still against the law in most of the country. If you are not careful, the odds are fairly high that you will eventually get arrested. Your name might even get in the paper. Before you become an escort you need to make sure that you can be vigilant enough to not get busted – and that you are emotionally prepared and know what to do if the cops ever do slap the silver bracelets on your sweet ass.

machineryGay Bashing in the Escort World Putting out an escort ad is a big neon sign telling the world that you have gay sex. Some people hate guys who fuck other guys. Therefore there is always the chance that a homophobic fuckwit will make a date with you, simply so he can beat the living shit out of you. Be very, very careful who you meet – and if your instincts warn you away from a guy, take your gut seriously. You only have one life and you don’t want to lose it to a repressed shithead.

How Gay Male Escorts Deal with Ugly Clients Not every guy who calls you up is going to look like Brad Pitt. Some will have a face only a mother can love. Some will be fat, short and out of shape. Others will smell really, really bad. There is nothing you can do about this – if you want to get paid you’ll have to fuck them, even if they look like a prune with a two inch dick. Ask yourself if you are willing to have sex with the ugliest, smelliest person you have ever met. If not, you probably don’t want to become an escort or you will need a great way to talk yourself out of a date once it begins. Most real money in the business is made by repeats and once you get several of them, you will be set.

Gay Male Escorts often get asked to do Kinky Shit Most guys will simply want to suck and fuck with you. But, there are lots of guys out there who call up escorts because they want stuff that their partner is not into. Many of these kinks are silly and harmless – like wanting to jerk off on your feet. Others can be a little bit creepy. When you talk to a new client you need to make sure he understands what you won’t do – and find out if you are willing to do the stuff that will get him off. Otherwise you will just be wasting each other’s time.

Your Regular Sex Life Can Suffer Being an Escort Anything you do for a living can become a drag. If you are getting laid for money five times a week, the last thing you may want to do on your day off is suck dick. Yet, having a normal sex life is a healthy thing. You have to be very careful that you don’t let being an escort take away your essential humanity.

Full Review HERE!

Share

Price of Intimacy: The Time I Hired a Sex Worker

Share

“Though I’d been learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair—a result of cerebral palsy—going without touch, or even access to my own body, was taking a toll.”

By Andrew Gurza

learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair

I’d never considered the price of intimacy until I hired a sex worker. Though I’d been learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair—a result of cerebral palsy—going without touch, or even access to my own body, was taking a toll. Even so, I didn’t come to my decision lightly. I was worried about shame, stigma, and fear, and concerned I’d pay for time and still not get what I needed. I spent weeks quieting the voices in my head telling me that using the services of a sex worker was not a good idea. Would this be the only way I could find intimacy? Would someone even want to do this with me, or would he only view it as a charitable opportunity to help a cripple? Despite all these questions, I sat in my apartment reflecting on my nearly year-long celibacy. It was time to take care of myself.

After scouring site after site with rows and rows of horny men holding their hard-ons, I found David. His smile was warm, inviting, and intriguingly devious all at once. He was older than me, in his mid-40s, and his photos showed off a powerful body, a strong charisma, and an undeniable charm. I’d often felt physically invisible within the mainstream LGBT community, but David possessed everything I longed for.

I sent David a cursory email, telling him that I was interested in using his services, but that I had never done this before, that I was nervous. I also casually explained as best I could that I lived with a disability and used a chair. He emailed back some hours later, letting me know that he had experience working with clients with disabilities. David wrote bluntly: “If I’m unsure of something, I’ll just ask.” It was a refreshing change from all the guys who tripped and tumbled over their discomfort.

We ironed out the logistics—a time, a location, a fee. Knowing that my sexuality would be broken down into a succinct session was daunting, and it took away from the fantasy and spontaneity I had dreamed of. But this, perhaps, was the cost of getting what I wanted, what I needed. David gently reminded me that I was paying for his time, and whatever happened happened. On our very last exchange, just a day before we’d meet, he called and asked me a simple question, though one I have never been asked before: “What do you want?”

Shyly and nervously I outlined my likes and dislikes as well as my abilities. I wanted kissing. I craved body contact. I couldn’t bottom for him because of my spasticity and tight muscles. I’d need help undressing and being put in bed. I paused, smiled. My needs were at the forefront.

On a rainy, blustery Saturday afternoon, my iPhone blinked with the message that David was in my lobby. I looked at myself in the mirror: a long-sleeve shirt, cozy winter sweats, a baseball cap. I headed downstairs in the elevator. When the door opened, I recognized him immediately. “Hey there! How are you?” he said, giving me a big hug as if we were long-lost friends. I kept watching him, in part because I still couldn’t believe this was happening, and because he looked really good in those tight blue jeans and that leather jacket.

A sexy man was in my house. We made small talk, waiting for someone to strike. He led himself into my bedroom and asked me about the transfer device I use to get into bed. I told him he would have to lift my legs while I held on to two gymnastic rings fastened to a hydraulic lift in my ceiling. I continued babbling, watching him get closer to me, taking off his coat, revealing a tank top and thick, muscled arms. He then straddled my chair, bent down, and kissed me. As I reached and pawed at him—my limbs flailing, not wanting to miss an inch—he stopped me. He looked into my eyes, past the rejection and pain caused by other lovers, and spoke with a firm honesty. “It’s OK.”

David drank in my disability and I dared not stop him. He lifted me out of my chair and held me in his arms. He grabbed me, cradled me, and kissed me. I curled up into him so he could feel the scars, curves, rods, and contractures that inform my disability. I felt sexy. He took off my shirt, and together we revealed my skin. As he moved down my body, and took off my pants and shoes, I worried what he would do when he saw my leg bag and my toes, which curled into each other. But David made this act of care exciting and real for me. When I was finally naked with him on the bed—my body going into spastic fits as a result of CP—I started to tense even more as I neared climax. In a piercing moment of release, I felt my two identities collide: queer and crippled came together in a surge of pure, uncomplicated pleasure.

The afterglow was setting in as David lay beside me. He held me tight and kissed my forehead. He told me that I was handsome, and as I looked at his arms wrapped around my spindly legs, I felt he meant it. Moments passed and he placed me in my chair, planting one last soft kiss on my lips before ending our session and saying goodbye. As I sat alone, my adrenaline became diluted by a calming bliss. I could not shame this experience because it marked a passage greater than a fleeting carnal exchange. It was the start of my own physical assertion. I would not settle for an affectionless existence, and I had to strive to honor what I wanted as a seated, but sexually alive, man. I finally had someone see me, and regardless of the cost, I finally showed myself to someone else.

Complete Article HERE!

Share