So Ya Wanna Be A Male Escort
You think being a male escort would be a dream come true, do you?
Fabulous swimsuit models clamoring for your body, all the sex you'd ever want, tons of money. The good life, and then some.
You place your ads, invest in new clothes, a place to do business, new haircut, body sculpting and manscaping and wait for the offers. Hmmm...not much response, and despite the ad saying you are available to women, most of the calls are from guys. The crank calls are annoying and a waste of time.
Okay, some teething pains, but you persevere, get word out with some paid ads and eventually women start to call.
Business is slow, but at least there is business and your ego isn't totally destroyed. But for every Megan Fox (well, at least someone young and attractive) there are five Bea Arthurs (only homelier) and ten Rosie O'Donnells (only fatter and hairier).
The routine becomes familiar. Get a call, explain in detail what you do and don't do, answer the same questions six times, describe yourself, explain that no, you don't discount and you don't offer Venezuelan Spit Serves or Crunch Squat Venting.
Finally, a session is booked and your client shows up. Damn, she is older, uglier and heavier than she sounded on the phone, but she has the cash in hand and a customer is a customer.
You can detect a slight whiff of Garlic Chicken in the air and you notice she is sweating, so gently suggest some mouthwash and a shower might be a good way to begin and you lead her into the bathroom, where she tries to kiss you, despite bits of grease caked in the corners of her mouth.
You decline and exit to prepare. You hear the water running a disappointingly short period of time and your Aphrodite emerges in full, naked splendour.
Wow, a sight to behold. Clothes can mask a lot of sins. Her rolls of flab are more copious without the miracle of Spandex holding things in place. Her massive boobs sag to her belly, nipples pointing to the floor like socks over-filled with pudding, the skin straining downward.
Her white layers of stretch-marked belly hide her crotch like a huge roll of dough. Her legs are pink and blotchy. Water (you hope) is still dripping from her.
You silently tell yourself, "Okay, you're a man, you can do this. Men have climbed Mount Everest before. Concentrate, concentrate."
She takes your hand and you both awkwardly shamble towards the bed which sags under your combined weight.
You start with a back rub, kneading the soft, white flesh and noticing some fair-sized zits and even some back hair. But persist you must, for you are a professional, now.
Working your way down her body the large slabs of ass meat lie like two naked, delated turkeys waiting to be basted. You massage them not knowing if she can even feel your hands.
Time for the flip and she asks you to go down on her. "Soon," you whisper building her anticipation and buying you some time. You decide to go for the nipples and,...not bad. They are big, pink and round like their owner, and surprisingly sensitive and responsive. She moans with pleasure as you feel them swelling between your lips. She seems appreciative and is making contented groans. This ain't so bad, after all.
But you can't do this all night, so down you go; a special ops maneuver into the unknown. Closer and closer you get and then under the last heavy, white tarp of flesh a big, unkempt forest of pubic hair. You know what you have to do and press on pushing aside bush as you search for pink.
You may never find grandma's house, but you know you are close to the septic field as an assortment of unpleasant odours begin to assault your olfactory system. A smell of locker room, cheese, sewage and burning tires mix into a nausea-creating stew.
"What DID she actually clean while in the shower?" you think.
You push aside enough fur to get to her pink clit and work it long and soft with your tongue trying to lightly breathe in every so often. Eventually she shudders to what you think might be a climax.
Now she wants to go down on you. ALL RIGHT!!! There are no bad blow jobs, right? Oops.
Through massive mental imagery you have managed to get and stay somewhat hard. She grabs your shaft like she is literally trying to choke a chicken and shift gears at the same time.
You explain you need a condom for oral and she complains she thought I did BJ's BB, even though you had told her four times you use a condom for everything. Eventually it gets bagged and into her gobbler you go. Hey, not bad, not bad...OUCH!
Teeth scape the shaft as you choke out, "Gently, gently." All to no avail. She has her technique and nothing will deter her from her WWBJ (World's Worst Blow Job). Every so often she grabs your balls like she's doing wrist-strengthening exercises and s-q-u-e-e-z-e-s like Walmart squeezes suppliers.
Finally, as you think she's almost ready to move on to FS a long, ragged fingernail gets roughly rammed up your back door. Kee-Ryst, does that sting. Fuck - she's now in there rooting around like she's trying to get the last pickle out of the jar, and she's damn close to succeeding. Despite your protest she keeping doing it.
You jump up and suggest it's time for FS.
She lies back you search the folds for an entry point. She at least helps by pushing back some of the flesh and in you go. This is tolerable as you get into a rhythm, but she insists on kissing. Again with the Garlic Chicken. Didn't she see the toothpaste beside the brush? A few chin hairs poke into me and she DFK's with her tongue doing an intensive oral cavity search. I thought I felt a bit of the Garlic Chicken bit dislodge from her mouth and I think I swallowed it. Gakk!
Eventually I come and we lie back. Satisfied. Not.
She starts complaining I came too fast for her, I didn't kiss as much as I promised, I didn't go down on her O ( Gawd NO!), I wasn't as good looking as I'd promised, Im not willing to do MSOG.
She wants some money back and is getting loud and aggressive. And she's bigger than me. Just to end this and prevent a scene I give her back $25. She pushes me hard away from her, snatches the money and calls me an asshole.
But she calms down. I think I'm out of the woods and she begins to leave.
As the door closes I hear her say, "I'll call you again."
I go for a shower.
Another day of easy money.
You think being a male escort would be a dream come true, do you?
Fabulous swimsuit models clamoring for your body, all the sex you'd ever want, tons of money. The good life, and then some.
You place your ads, invest in new clothes, a place to do business, new haircut, body sculpting and manscaping and wait for the offers. Hmmm...not much response, and despite the ad saying you are available to women, most of the calls are from guys. The crank calls are annoying and a waste of time.
Okay, some teething pains, but you persevere, get word out with some paid ads and eventually women start to call.
Business is slow, but at least there is business and your ego isn't totally destroyed. But for every Megan Fox (well, at least someone young and attractive) there are five Bea Arthurs (only homelier) and ten Rosie O'Donnells (only fatter and hairier).
The routine becomes familiar. Get a call, explain in detail what you do and don't do, answer the same questions six times, describe yourself, explain that no, you don't discount and you don't offer Venezuelan Spit Serves or Crunch Squat Venting.
Finally, a session is booked and your client shows up. Damn, she is older, uglier and heavier than she sounded on the phone, but she has the cash in hand and a customer is a customer.
You can detect a slight whiff of Garlic Chicken in the air and you notice she is sweating, so gently suggest some mouthwash and a shower might be a good way to begin and you lead her into the bathroom, where she tries to kiss you, despite bits of grease caked in the corners of her mouth.
You decline and exit to prepare. You hear the water running a disappointingly short period of time and your Aphrodite emerges in full, naked splendour.
Wow, a sight to behold. Clothes can mask a lot of sins. Her rolls of flab are more copious without the miracle of Spandex holding things in place. Her massive boobs sag to her belly, nipples pointing to the floor like socks over-filled with pudding, the skin straining downward.
Her white layers of stretch-marked belly hide her crotch like a huge roll of dough. Her legs are pink and blotchy. Water (you hope) is still dripping from her.
You silently tell yourself, "Okay, you're a man, you can do this. Men have climbed Mount Everest before. Concentrate, concentrate."
She takes your hand and you both awkwardly shamble towards the bed which sags under your combined weight.
You start with a back rub, kneading the soft, white flesh and noticing some fair-sized zits and even some back hair. But persist you must, for you are a professional, now.
Working your way down her body the large slabs of ass meat lie like two naked, delated turkeys waiting to be basted. You massage them not knowing if she can even feel your hands.
Time for the flip and she asks you to go down on her. "Soon," you whisper building her anticipation and buying you some time. You decide to go for the nipples and,...not bad. They are big, pink and round like their owner, and surprisingly sensitive and responsive. She moans with pleasure as you feel them swelling between your lips. She seems appreciative and is making contented groans. This ain't so bad, after all.
But you can't do this all night, so down you go; a special ops maneuver into the unknown. Closer and closer you get and then under the last heavy, white tarp of flesh a big, unkempt forest of pubic hair. You know what you have to do and press on pushing aside bush as you search for pink.
You may never find grandma's house, but you know you are close to the septic field as an assortment of unpleasant odours begin to assault your olfactory system. A smell of locker room, cheese, sewage and burning tires mix into a nausea-creating stew.
"What DID she actually clean while in the shower?" you think.
You push aside enough fur to get to her pink clit and work it long and soft with your tongue trying to lightly breathe in every so often. Eventually she shudders to what you think might be a climax.
Now she wants to go down on you. ALL RIGHT!!! There are no bad blow jobs, right? Oops.
Through massive mental imagery you have managed to get and stay somewhat hard. She grabs your shaft like she is literally trying to choke a chicken and shift gears at the same time.
You explain you need a condom for oral and she complains she thought I did BJ's BB, even though you had told her four times you use a condom for everything. Eventually it gets bagged and into her gobbler you go. Hey, not bad, not bad...OUCH!
Teeth scape the shaft as you choke out, "Gently, gently." All to no avail. She has her technique and nothing will deter her from her WWBJ (World's Worst Blow Job). Every so often she grabs your balls like she's doing wrist-strengthening exercises and s-q-u-e-e-z-e-s like Walmart squeezes suppliers.
Finally, as you think she's almost ready to move on to FS a long, ragged fingernail gets roughly rammed up your back door. Kee-Ryst, does that sting. Fuck - she's now in there rooting around like she's trying to get the last pickle out of the jar, and she's damn close to succeeding. Despite your protest she keeping doing it.
You jump up and suggest it's time for FS.
She lies back you search the folds for an entry point. She at least helps by pushing back some of the flesh and in you go. This is tolerable as you get into a rhythm, but she insists on kissing. Again with the Garlic Chicken. Didn't she see the toothpaste beside the brush? A few chin hairs poke into me and she DFK's with her tongue doing an intensive oral cavity search. I thought I felt a bit of the Garlic Chicken bit dislodge from her mouth and I think I swallowed it. Gakk!
Eventually I come and we lie back. Satisfied. Not.
She starts complaining I came too fast for her, I didn't kiss as much as I promised, I didn't go down on her O ( Gawd NO!), I wasn't as good looking as I'd promised, Im not willing to do MSOG.
She wants some money back and is getting loud and aggressive. And she's bigger than me. Just to end this and prevent a scene I give her back $25. She pushes me hard away from her, snatches the money and calls me an asshole.
But she calms down. I think I'm out of the woods and she begins to leave.
As the door closes I hear her say, "I'll call you again."
I go for a shower.
Another day of easy money.
