Thursday, December 18, 2008

So far so good.

There hasn't been any fall out yet from that strange phone call. No email from a potentail client, but no, "Ha ha, you're sprung," from anyone I know either. It's been 36 hours.

I'm going to do what the coach advises anyone who gets injured in a contact sport to do.

Keep playing. Shake it off. Take a teaspoon of cement and harden the fuck up.

TeeHee. Enough sporting cliches for one day.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

A Big Mistake?

I just had the most fucked up experience, and it has rattled me. Sure, up until now this whole whore thing has been a fun little game, but I wonder if I've just totally screwed up.

My phone rang. My real phone, not my filth phone. I thought it might be the agency I left a message with so answered the private number. It was a guy who asked what my rates were.

I was so confused. It didn't help that I've swapped my sim cards over so my normal phone now, used to be my filth phone. I actually took the phone away from my ear to check which one I was using. It was the day-to-day phone.

I thought I best play dumb. Could be a wrong number. Someone looking for a house cleaner for all I know. So I asked him questions - what was he ringing about, what rates? Sure enough he answers all of my questions correctly. He's ringing for the rates for a BBW escort. We had chatted/communicated about a month ago according to him.

For some reason this calmed me and I answered all of his questions. My first real life phone call with a potential client, even though I have avoided it for months. I did okay at selling myself and sounding professional. Then he asked for details - more and more details. My gut instinct said something was wrong.

So again, I asked him to repeat how he got my phone number, what he email address was and asked him to email me our previous conversations before we discussed anything else.

I searched all of my email archives for his email address. I even did a search on my real phone number. Trying to figure out if I fucked up and gave it to someone. But nothing. I emailed the address he gave me. It bounced.

Now I'm analysing everything I've done over the past few months. I've admitted on my real phone the BBW escort stuff! Fuck, Fuck. And I can't figure out any possible way that I gave out that number. So either I've made some mistake somewhere, OR..someone has seen my ads and thought it might be me in reallife and called my reallife number (or got someone to call it) to see if they can confirm I'm really hooking.

Either way I'm freaking out slightly. If I made such a basic mistake how on earth can I live two lives without this stuff happening again?? And what if it was someone put up to make the call? All I can think about is how my mother would react.

Deep breath. Deep breath.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Agency Work??

This is getting boring. The managing my own business stuff. Another few fuckwits this week - one made a booking, confirmed it, and then just as I'm getting ready to drive over tries to negotiate a much lower price. Idiot. I was furious so didn't visit. And then he spent some time begging me to reconsider after having tried to wheedle extra favours and less money.

Next one I thought was a set-up. Late night booking - generous, lots of hours. Just gut feeling it was some kid living a fantasy Pretty Woman style. I got all school teachery on his ass in the second email and ran him through my safety protocols and the million ways he'd be in trouble if he was joking. No surprise there he ran away. Too bad if it happened to have been a real client. But I doubt it. Maybe it was someone who just wanted to be ranted at as a turn on.

Then out of the blue I got a friendly email from a new agency. I'd answered their ad ages ago, at the launch of their website. I'd just figured they had no interest in BBW gals like the rest of the high end places. Turns out that their launch has been delayed instead, and googling the email address from the reply it seems it belongs to a working girl. I think that's positive. Maybe she's just starting her own place.

I wrestled for hours with the idea of calling. I hate phone calls at the best of times - to any stranger. I don't know why. But I had a list of questions from some government website on "Questions to Ask if You Consider Working for an Agency/Brothel". Funny stuff.

I was so nervous. Like back at uni when I got my first job as a dishwasher girl. I was okay doing my little job for two hour shifts. But I looked in awe at the girls who worked 3 - 5 hour shifts. And I was jealous of the girls who used the deep fryers and cut up the salad. And I really wanted to be the one to serve the breakfasts. I never thought I'd be able to do their jobs.

That's how it feels considering agency work. Like - sure, I can see one client, maybe two in a day and be fine on my own now. But - could I cope with more than that? Could I cope with someone else picking the clients for me? Would I *really* feel like I was in the "sex work industry" if I take the next step, rather than the dabbling I'm doing now?

I still don't know. I made the phone call and I got an answering machine.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Bad move #5

Given business has been a bit slow I did some cold-calling last night. No, not totally cold. Warm-calling. Is that a sales term? I emailed some potential clients that hadn't gone through with bookings for whatever reason - unable to confirm a time, waiting for an influx of cash, couldn't unlock their balls from whatever jar they were kept in ;-)

No luck.

I also contacted the clients I have seen with a nice little, "love to see you again" type email. No pressure. Just a reminder that I exist.

#5 wrote back. What a dimwit. He said and I quote,"I don't get paid till Monday. But would you come over tonight for free?"

I don't even know WHERE to start with this. Imagine asking your dentist to work for free. Or mechanic. Just cause you don't have money. Why would they? What's the pay off for them?

If he'd at least been arrogant enough to claim to offer something in return - like mindblowing orgasms and hard fucking like no one has ever done before - well, at least I'd give him points for effort and ego.

But no. No pay off. Just wants me to drive across the other side of town for no reason.

It made my blood boil because he'd been sooo bad in bed. He was the Sex Aerobics guy. I knew that by cuming by accident I was probably giving him the wrong idea about his performance - and that email was the proof.

It was evidence that guys sometimes really aren't that bright. That he'd really convinced himself during his fifteen-minute-sex-with-a-callgirl-session that we had something amazing - so amazing I'd want it for real. He's a fool, or I'm a great actor, or maybe both.

So I replied with a cold, "Sorry. I don't do freebies."

Then I jumped onto a sex hookup site where I presented myself as just another gal wanting some NSA sex. Took the first decent offer - had the guy over, and well, did a freebie, for all intents and purposes.

My thoughts were kind of like, Huh, that'll show #5 who has the power to grant access to my cunt for free. Me, it's all Me. Mwah-ha-ha. And I don't pick you.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

The Sliding Scale of Slutdom

It's been a slow couple of weeks. Stood up now by a run of clients. A couple I can't even understand. They didn't set off any warning bells. All business like about booking a hotel they wanted and swapping pics and following the rules. Just -- no confirmation. Damn.

Of course, I just happen to be feeling horny this week and would happily go about being a working girl. It's always the way. Someone will want a booking when I feel swollen with PMS, but when I'm actually up for it, nada. Zip.

This is where the job of a real life lover is to come and fuck me silly, on demand. But alas, I'm down to one dude that I'm not invoicing at present, and he's too busy with work.

I'm not so desperate though that I want to lower my rates, or accept horrid clients. But it did get me thinking.

I turned down two guys this week. One very cute, but wanted to haggle over price. I hate that power game and even though I'm up for it, and he was easily suckable and fuckable at a discount, I have enough discipline not to accept his puny offer just for self-gratification. That's too blurry. It's either full price, or free and you're a client, or a lover. Not half/half.

The other one I turned down was a fifty year old. Now, if I run across older guys that fit into my four-drinks-or-less scale, then I'd go there. But this guy was an worn out looking fifty and sent me a photo of him drinking beer with sweat rings under the arms of his shirt. No matter that he was an air traffic controller who earned the big bucks and was staying in the hotel that most pilots and aircraft-related guys do - and could easlily pay for a few hours. I just looked at the sweat rings and thought..mmmm...no.

It did get me thinking though. I would have done him for more than my normal rate. Maybe say at 50% premium for the age and gross factor. No, maybe double.

See..I do have my price - it just varies. I wish I could offer a sliding scale and send out at an email that says my price is only available on application, after I see a picture.

That way the guy I would do for half price wouldn't know I was discounting. He'd just think I was a bargain. And the air traffic fellow would just think I was very high-end. And they'd all get fucked.

And I'd get lots of money AND some hot sex - just not from the same client.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Client #6

I'm finally almost up to date with my stories. It's been an orgy of writing to get my last few months down on the page. I plan to keep blogging though as these adventures unfold...

Client #6 was only a few days ago. He had cancelled twice before so I didn't actually think he would follow through when he popped up on line asking if I was free in the next few hours.

That's the thing about doing whoring part time with a realjob. I'm not often free on demand, and need to plan. But men don't want to plan - they want to go where their penii take them, and waiting for an appointment be damned!

But I happened to be free, so I replied - madly jumping in the shower to shave my legs and depersonalise my bedroom and give the effortless appearance of part-time lover, calmly awaiting pleasure.

He was as I expected - there are less surprises now that I have my system in place. A nice, lonely, computer IT dude who would have any number of girlfriends if he ever bothered to get out of the house.

We made out like school kids, slowly taking our clothes off, and then he went down on me. It was nice - not earth-shattering, but lovely. I came - and he was so turned on by that, and his own hand, that he came too. In the first five mins. Without any touching from me. Hey, I've told you before than my Jay is easy and it's also pretty selfish at times.

We fell back to cuddle and after ten minutes of chatting I asked if he had any other requests for round two. "Can we just keep talking?" was his question.

So we did. I felt a bit odd that we were laying there wasting good fucking time by chatting. Then I figured he needed to blow off steam and unwind, and have someone ask about his work, and his week. It was the true GFE. I even let him stay a few minutes overtime for free, in the hopes of leaving such a good impression he may become a regular.

At least I'll be able to practice my active listening skills.

Sex Addict

So following on from seeing Choke I did wonder if I was addicted to sex. I did a few surveys on line and found myself on the borderline between normal high sex drive and addiction. But the crossover point was so wide that you could drive a truck through it. Seems no one knows where addiction starts.

I asked a wise older friend. His view was it was a convenient insult/judgement to throw at anyone who was having more sex than you.

Another friend said it all depended on how you feel in the morning. If you feel shame and remorse and decide you're going to stop, and then you don't - then it's an issue. If you're okay with yourself in the morning, then carry on solider.

So, by both of those standards I'm fine. I've met and had lovers who have had far, far more sex than I. And I never feel bad in the morning. Even after Jabba the Hutt I was merely philosophical.

Choke

I finally saw the movie Choke. I was the only single gal in the cinema with a whole bunch of couples. I thought it was fantastic - I laughed and laughed. So did the boyfriends in the cinema. One of them kept sneaking looks as me, as if to say, "Who is this girl that really *gets* this movie?"

Mostly the girlfriends sat silently - glaring at their boyfriends for yukking it up a little too much. Uptight twats.

For me I thought the movie (and the book) were a great representation of the power and absurdity of sex in all it's shapes and forms - the non-model, non-porn reality.

I know people take it all so seriously. I've lost potential clients when I crack a joke at something I shouldn't. Like the guy who wanted me fart on his face. I'm sorry that's your fetish is what I wanted to say. C'mon though, you gotta admit it's a funny one!

Can we not have a giggle while I attempt to fart on command?

Anyhow, he didn't follow through. He thought I was making fun of him. I wasn't - I was making fun of the arbitrariness of fate or karma or whatever it is that shapes our fetishes. Some people get the short straw. And it stinks (pun intended).

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Real Lovers and Paid Lovers

A few of my friends are still surprised I have some lovers that aren't "on the clock" so to speak. That just because I'm charging for it now, they thought I wouldn't be seeing anyone.

I admit that it's hard to be a single girl and still participate in casual sex and dating while you're shagging on a semi-pro basis - but it is possible.

The easiest way of explaining it is the way I told one friend..

The difference between a client and a real lover is when they email and ask what you're doing. To the client you reply something like, "Sitting in lace underwear at home since it's so hot/Thinking about taking a cool shower/or watching some porn". To the real lover it's "wearing trackie pants, scrubbing the bath."

Fantasy vs Reality.

# 4 Part III

Client #4 was going away on a business trip where he would be heavily supervised for the next month, so he wanted a special farewell hour. His request was double penetration on me, then me using a strap on on him too, plus the PVC outfit, plus he wanted to spank me.

I joked we'd need to set up a running sheet to make sure we didn't forget anything on his to-do list. I made a big deal about it being a bit out of the ordinary, but given he was a regular and I trusted him I was up for it.

Secretly though I was excited. The idea I'd be paid to live out a fun filled fantasy like this was fantastic. I've always wanted to be spanked.

It was sweaty, messy, fun. I must have gone through a box of condoms and towels and the like to keep everything clean and safe. My room looked like a gang bang had played out. It all seemed so much at one stage I was wondering if we could top it off by having a marching band come through the bedroom a la Shortbus.

Of course I'd only be up for that if it was Justin Bond with the band.

# 4 Again

It didn't suprise me then that Client #4 wanted to come back. The second time was even more kink-filled. He wanted me to come to his office - the risk of being caught was supposedly 1 in 100. It was that factor alone I think that made it such a risky turn on.

I was wet when I arrived at the naughtiness of it all and basically shoved his face into my Jay for two orgasms before he'd said hello. After that I was done. Then I recalled that I was meant to be the service provider, and not the other way around. Damn.

I went to work on him, heart thumping at the chance we'd get caught. Kneeling in front of him on his leather couch I had one eye on the door. We moved onto some lovely "bend me over the office desk" porn and then the comedy struck. I don't know why people don't make comedy porn.

For some reason the condoms wouldn't stay on. And the lube from it and my fingers working at the problem were greasing up the leather couch and the table. I was leaving DNA evidence everywhere. When finally we got it all working and he came, I was relieved.

I tried to help him with tidying the office when the condom rebounded from his cock as he tried to pull it off. His spunk flew every where and onto the blue industrial carpet where it settled, wobbling slightly. I scrambled for tissues. There was even a great big splotch on his sock.

I thought - this is gold. Comedy gold.

Client #4

Client #4 was a good surprise. His photo showed him to look like one of the cast of The Office. So bland you'd think he would disappear into the cubicle walls at work.

In person however, he was quite pleasant looking. Just scraped into my 4 beers or less fuckability system I think, but made up for it with a great accent and wonderful personality.

He was the first client to request a special outfit. I'd gone all out. PVC halter neck and skirt (and bless, bless I found a company on eBay that did them in XXL), killer gangster heels and fishnets.

My shoes were so high I could only clomp around the house like a little kid wearing mummy's high heels. I felt silly, rather than sexy, and was snorting with laughter and I tried to walk down my hallway with a swaying, sex kitten mince.

I must say with Client #4 never have I had a man so starved of the sexing. If he could have consumed me I'm sure he would have. I had to peel him off my clit after three orgasms for fear it would fall off.

The next day he wrote me a love letter of sorts. I think I'll treasure it always. You can bury it with me should I die, and if the family reads it they can just raise their eyebrows in wonder and speculate as to what my life was really like.

Among his many stirring lines of thanks was a mention I had the "sweetest pussy he'd ever tasted".

Bell has taken to calling me SugarLips.

Out of the Mouths of Fathers.

My dad came to see me and we went for a walk together. He said that one of his friends was working out how to use the Internet and that he'd Goggled my name. I think it must just have been my real first name, cause otherwise this story doesn't make any sense.

Dad said they'd had fun and then they'd come across a web site adverting a prostitute with my name.

And Dad has turned to his friend and said, "No. Never my daughter!"

I didn't point out that I'd have to have been a hydrocephalic retard child to go into the business with my real name.

I just said, "That's right Dad. That web site wasn't me."

Client #3

Client # 3 was a mistake. I was so keen on my new hobby I forgot to ask a few questions that have since become standard. Like - why won't you show me a photo?

He'd managed to palm off the request for details and photos with some smug/funny lines about "no one has ever complained before".

I didn't stop to think about that. If you're paying hundreds of dollars per hour, of course no one is going to complain to your face!

I was lured by his offer to make it a weekly appointment. I got greedy. I'm eager to get regulars so I said he could come around.

Well...I opened to the door to a morbidly obese guy with nicotine teeth, gray long hair and a stained moustache.

For some reason though I felt like I owed it to him not to slam the door in his face. I didn't want to be sizest, and even rationalised maybe he'd picked me cause he expected me to be understanding about the size issues of the world. Cause I was a fat girl. So who was I to judge?

He toddled off to the shower and I sat on the edge of my bed mentally preparing. First thing he wanted to know as he gave me the cash was, "You're not a working girl are you? Cause I don't see working girls."

Every sarcastic fibre in my body wanted to point out that saying this while handing over $50 notes was a bit of a giveaway.

"No, it's just that..um...I like to live in this gorgeous apartment by myself and it's super expensive so every now and then I allow my lovers to help me out..."

That made him smile. Jesus. I would have told him I was the freakin' tooth fairy if it had got me the cash so I could get it over with.

He leaned back like some ancient Roman god expecting to be fed peeled grapes.

"So..what would you like to do today?" I asked.

"Do your best honey."

I tried not to glare at him, and sat silent. He wasn't even going to move or offer a hint of where to start.

"Oh, honey, are you nervous?" he asked, with a slight smile.

I kissed him once to shut him up and it was horrid and he didn't seem interested. He didn't want to touch me. So I just went for the cock. At least it was clean.

After a lifetime of this I was getting cramps and was bored stupid. I couldn't even really see his face over the man mountain of belly flesh. Still no sign of anything from him. Then with frightening agility he jumped up and ran behind me.

"Now, I'm gonna fuck you from behind."

"Well, I said, we're not talking about butts are we? Cause I said no to that. And I'll need to see you put on a condom."

"Oh, trust me babe. I'll pull out without wearing one."

"NO. That is not okay."

And like a school kid being told off he came back and sat in his Jabba the Hutt position. Jerked himself off and came with a weak grey dribble. Then he left.

I looked at the clock. It had only be 17 minutes.

Telling Friends

I hate keeping secrets so I've told my brother about the escorting, and maybe half of my friends that I truly trust. So far there has only been one person I've told that I regret. And it's turning into a bit of a nightmare.

I didn't realise this guy had developed a drinking problem. He gets aggressive and obnoxious. He's been with my friend for over ten years, and I guess we've drifted and don't see each other much, so I missed the beginning of the issue.

No one thought to warn me at the BBQ when I was chatting about exploring the callgirl world. He was fine about it - funny and cute. Then after too many beers he lurched in front me.

"So, how many guys have you fucked? 100? More?"

"Um, as I said..it's only six guys so far, I just started and it's more about --

"Cock-sucking. You're a cocksucker. I bet in your line of work you see a lot of cocks. Tell me about them--"

"Actually, I don't think--'

"Go'on then...tell me about the fucking. Are you so broke you can't pay your bills. Is that it?"

"No..I earn good money in my realjob..but--"

It was at that point I cut and ran. Some of the other girls at the BBQ huddled around me to tell me their stories of the dipstick drinker. They wished I was brave enough to stage an intervention. But I'm not. I'm not going to try. I've learnt that lesson a few times now and know you can't save someone from themselves.

I walked up to my friend - the long suffering partner of the fucktard drunk.

"It was a lovely dinner, thanks, but seriously, you boyfriend is a cunt. Call me if you ever have the balls to think of leaving."

Slight over reaction I know!

Competition

There is a girl I've seen on the same web sites advertising to the same market as me. At first I didn't mind, and then I did. I'm becoming invested in my little business.

My issue is that she's presenting herself so badly. She's got a face pic up taken at some family holiday and she's sun burned with tan lines to boot and her boobs flopping under her halter without support. I spent heaps on my photo shoot including a hotel room and some great photographers to try and capture my curves in the right way. I guess I feel superior.

Her advertising is also crude, badly spelled and in your face. I go out of my way to drop literary allusions to size and decadence and courtesans and whatever. Hey, we're both hookers I know, but still...

The difference in our hourly rates isn't huge. I feel torn between upping my rates a massive amount to get out of her market, but I'm not sure there are the clients there. I think instead about wanting to compete for her clients, steal them at a lower rate and *then* up the rates. Tre bitchy.

Mostly though I want to help her, team up together and create some sort of BBW double wonder offer and suss her out in person!

I emailed, we started chatting, and then I lost the catty edge. She's so much younger than me and doesn't seem to use as many safety precautions as I do, so it bought out the den mother in me.

I tried to give her advice. Even with my two seconds in the industry I could see she was an easy target to get hurt. She was also working a realjob and seeing clients at home - but when I questioned the public face picture she said it was a risk she'd take - along with no safecalls as it turned out. She was also bringing clients into a share house situation and not telling her flatmate which I just thought tacky.

Gawd. I hope she's okay.

Three letter words

I guess every work place has its own language and escorting isn't any different. I didn't know how to reply when guys wanted to know if I did PSE, or CIM, and what about Greek and Nat French?

EEK. Thank goodness for the web - I learnt the lingo in no time.

The answers are - no, no, depends and yes.

Client #2

Client #2 helped me figure out the difference between someone who would book and follow through, and the just-talkin'-the-talk idiots.

He emailed, replied to my stand spiel with a photo and some details, picked a time and then confirmed the hour before and turned up. Wow. So simple.

He worked in finance and came to visit me on the day the markets took a massive,massive fall and everyone was scared. I couldn't help but wonder if sex workers the world over were all busy that night with a finance guy trying to buy reassurance.

His photo was blurry but I had a good gut feeling about him. Sure enough, when he turned up I thought, "Um, maybe you're here for the supermodel next door?"

He was gorgeous and smelt so nice. A little shy, but not so shy that he was speechless. He didn't want "anything weird" he said, and proceeded to start to seduce me. I was bemused and a little concerned after ten minutes of gorgeous stroking and touching me and kissing me softly.

If I made a move to touch him, or return the stroking, he pushed my hand away gently. Instead he decided to undress me, one piece of clothing at a time. I've never had a guy take his time like he did, and by the time I was naked it was like I was the most precious unwrapped present this boy had ever seen.

Still, my inner voice started to pipe up. What kind of man doesn't want to be touched? Is he so gentle and kind because any second now he's going to unleash some killer kung fu move and handcuff me somewhere so he can peel my skin off and wear it as a coat?

You have to forgive my inner voice. It's melodramatic.

The foreplay continued and I ended up exceedingly turned on. Finally at about 28 minutes into our half hour session he asked for a condom, placed it on without fuss and entered me. And came instantly. And then apologised. But I had cum from his first and pretty much only stroke due to the foreplay! That's a skill.

It all made sense. A premature ejaculator. Who has learned to compensate in other ways. Nice; sweet. I take my hat off to him.

Quasi-Famous Guy

The first two weeks after my ads went out, I was stuck in what seemed like a never ending stream of emails back and forth, trying to figure out the real punters from the fake.

In the middle I started to have this amazing email conversation with this one guy. To be honest, no one had ever written me emails so sweetly. I crossed boundaries and revealed enough myself that it was fifty/fifty if he could figure out who I was.

It was like a game. He started doing the same. He had far more to lose as it turns out. I answer phones for a living mostly - who cares if I got outed? Worst case I'd have to get another phone jockey job.

It turns out he was like a local C grade celeb. It was quite amusing. I used to listen to his radio show thinking, huh, I know his secrets. He started to confess all sorts of things to me.

I cut it off - telling him no way could I take his cash now, especially cause he did find a way to call me in real life. It was too messy and blurry. And his email confessions made me feel sorry for him. I didn't want to pity fuck him.

He offered to take me to coffee and give me a mix CD of his fave tunes- just to prove he was the legit celeb. I couldn't be bothered.

He looked too much like my Uncle Stan as well. And I couldn't figure out a way to shag him as the "real me", while not imagining my Uncle. Ewww.

Such a shame cause he offered me twice my normal rate.

Stupid Rookie Mistakes

After seeing Client #1 I realised that like in any job there were things to learn, routines to memorize, etiquette to adhere to.

I couldn't pull off the warm, bubbly, loving, curvy gal persona I wanted the first time round. My brain was screaming at me that I'd just crossed some invisible barrier into prostitution and there was no return. It kept asking, "How do you feel, How do you feel?"

The reality was I felt fine. Winged monkeys didn't come and drag me away to some sort of purgatory for taking cash. No one looked at me funny on the street. I didn't have a scarlet letter on a forehead. Life went on - just with a little less debt.

I stuffed up with nerves the first time as I mentioned and used my real name. Ooops. He was also so nervous I bet he didn't hear.

Another time, with Client # 4, my only regular, my filth phone was flat, so I texted him a reply from my normal phone. I knew that was dumb, cause if you google that phone number I bet it pops up in relation to realjob.

Also once, I forgot to take down a poster I have up sometimes - that has my real name on it. So the client could have seen it and figured that quite easily.

I've also send face pics out. I decided that was just being self-destructive and begging for drama. But still - people have seen them.

Another time I just realised in the nick of time I was about to respond to a work colleague with my prices.

Holy Fuck did my heart just about leap out of my throat and run away down the sidewalk!! But, on reflection, so what if he found out? He emailed me first - so I figured we'd both be trapped never talking to each other at the water cooler again if I answered.

Facebook has been a god send. As of course has Google. I search for potentials using their email addresses or names. Lots of time they use real addresses, even company addresses, so I can figure out a bunch about them before deciding to reply.

Sometimes I'm tempted to reply to potentials with their full history, photos, contacts from LinkedIn and say "MORON. Don't mess up your life. Get a fake address."

As stupid as I am with my rookie mistakes, there are a lot of men out there who could so easily be blackmailed or outed, if I was the sort.

What's up with agencies and size?

On days when I've been stood up by a client (again) I often think about agency work. There are always ads around for girls wanted. Every now and then I inquire. Polite emails that mention my size. To date I've only had one reply with a curt "We only take models to a size 10".

Sometimes I mention a bit of independent work. I'm not sure if that's a bad thing - maybe they think I'm just gonna steal their clients?

What the fuck really does go on though? I admit I know nothing about this industry since I'm new, and I'm working alone. The truth is I'm still convinced the industry is run by the Mob or something, and I'd get my legs broken if I stole a client. I watch too much Law & Order.

I read a bunch of stuff on the web but that doesn't actually help get me under the skin of the scene in my city. I've never been in a brothel. I've no idea about the politics.

But it stands to reason that even an exclusive agency would be trying to cater to everyone - and what do they do if some rich dude says - "Give me a girl with boobs out of this world". Or even, "I wanna fuck a fat chick for laughs." Not that I'd really want to do the second dude, but still. Do they just talk them into one of their tall, thin, models? Sometimes I get the feeling that even being short-haired is a bit of a no-no. And having a tattoo. Gasp.

The guys I've found as clients aren't mega rich. They're professional - but second rung. Like, not a financial trader, but maybe the dude that works the computers behind the trader. Bad example in this economy - but you follow. They're a CEO - for a tiny company or small business. Not on seven figures though.

Yet all of these men tell me about their hunt for BBW gals to see - and their friends who want the same. Friends worth more money. And if I'm keen to see them and be high-end, and they're looking for me but can't find gals like me, then why aren't the agencies getting in on this action?

All I can figure is it comes to down to advertising. They have websites full of flowing locks and concave bellies. Maybe they think I'd bring down the tone of their establishment? Maybe they would only have me if I'm like the Gimp in the Basement - by special request only ;-)

Client #1

Well a few months back I actually did write a letter to "Letters From Working Girls" detailing my first experience. Susannah didn't publish it and I'm kinda glad - it's a bit of a mess of justification, an attempt at being flippant and funny, and probably showed I was still a little bit like What the Fuck Am I Doing? Rereading it now it makes it seem like I totally did this to impress some married guy and to almost be his Scheherazade of Sluttiness. Which isn't totally true.

Anyhow, I've published most of it in it's mess (only edited a bit) here...

I went overseas, and on holiday I met an amazing guy through Craigslist (of course). He was married but with intelligence, conversation skills, and a great kiss. We had a furtive affair for two days in a hotel suite and it really opened my mind to how much I enjoy sex, and everything it can bring with it when the connection is there. I cried when he left and he became my new benchmark. I wanted to find someone like him to marry.

The downside was that my experience with the married guy also made me look back over my previous encounters. I realized of the fifteen or so men I'd slept with there were only three that were truly memorable, including him. The rest were non-events in comparison.

I kept chatting to him online when I got home and we dared each other to do ever wilder things. Get saucy photographs taken. Send each other homemade videos. Then he said that if he was a girl, he'd sell himself. Just to see what was out there. So I did. It seemed like an interesting experiment.

I put up ads. I found a BBW callgirl in my city through her ad and emailed her for advice for a newcomer. She gave me a tonne of tips. I decided to model myself on her rates and marketing. I spent maybe eight hours on line, sending photos, answering enquirers. It was exactly like organising my online hook-ups, except with one extra level of negotiation - price and what exactly I'd do. I knew already to avoid the photo collectors, the endless chats, and the ones who just wanted to insult you to feel good about themselves.

Late last night I got an email that seemed real, a quick agreement on price and someone who wanted to come over in the next few hours. I had told a few friends what I was thinking of doing. They were amused. One gave me a new sim card so i could have a "hooker number". One girl insisted on being my safety girl. I was to text her and the beginning and end, and if I didn't she'd call me. If I didn't answer she'd know I was in trouble. I had to talk another friend out of wanting to sit in her car outside. I think they all thought it great fun.

I depersonalised the part of my apartment I'd let the guy see. And then promptly stuffed it up when I introduced myself with my real first name. Doh. Not my carefully chosen alter-ego. After that it was all plain sailing. He tried to get me to do more than I agreed. I was firm and said no. He didn't argue. It was boring but I managed to orgasm, mainly cause it seemed easier than trying to fake one. The guy was skinny and frail looking and fucked like a jack rabbit. He didn't say more than two words and shook like a wet puppy the whole time.

About five minutes before our time was up then the words poured out, and I got the sense he'd want to sit and chat for ages. He told me to be careful, gave me a kiss, said "Ciao" and disappeared only after I'd made a big show of putting on a dressing gown and texting my friend.


The one thing that I've noticed that has changed in my life is a good thing. I'm now looking at photos of possible online hookups with fresh eyes. I'm going through the dating sites thinking if I REALLY want to meet a guy who sends a pic, or if they would fall into the category of yes, they're okay, but only if they were paying.

It's like I've finally realised what I was giving away for free. That all along I was acting in a pretty powerless way - sleeping with an average guy that did nothing for me, just for something to do. But now I'm thinking I'll only meet a guy for free if he has the potential to be earth shattering or a long term thing or loveable. And it would be a pretty special guy who would accept me with all of my crazy stories - and now the escort hobby.


I paid off some of my credit card today. Have decided that I'll should raise my rates. Cause I'm worth it, and it really is hard physical labor. Like shelf-stacking or something. But with less personal space.

Crazy Potential Clients

So it's probably not legit to share an email someone sent. But I'm going to, mostly cause it's someone I'd never, ever see, and I don't think I'll hear from him again.

He answered an ad online and I sent him my standard spiel about rates and photos and when I would show him some photos of myself. I asked him about his likes and dislikes in the spiel too, as I do for everyone.

This was the conversation that followed....

I'm a gentleman, I generally meet people in public places like on public transport or at the shopping centre or library; I’m that guy that if you look at and smile that will chat to you and not get nervous about it. I dont want to praise myself so ill say what people say about me, They say Im honest, trustworthy and very switched on. Im nice to be around im pleasant to ladies, im very approachable and i dont judge a book by its cover. Im not a wine and dine romantic, but a lady that Im with gets intoxicated and satiated with my company.

I like most things, so Ill just list some of the things I dislike (because hate is such a strong word):

1) Politicians
2) Capitalists
3) Communists
4) Sodomy
5) Movies with a plethora of nudity, violence and profanity and no storyline.
6) Friends the television show
7) Liberals

I’ll list six people I respect because of their achievements in the 20th Century

1. Janet Reger – Inventing French knickers.
2. Omar Knedlik – Inventing Frozen carbonated beverages.
3. Norman B. Larsen – Inventing WD40.
4. Roche – Making Berocca
5. Malcolm X – The real liberator of men
6. Me – for being me

Anything else you would like to know please tell.

Best Regards and P.S
May I see your pic now?

I wrote back with:

Wow...that is the craziest email I've ever had I'm sure as an escort LOL. I'm hoping it's all very black humor. I mean, what could you have against sodomy? What did it ever do to you?!

I would still like to see a pic..it's just my policy.

He wrote:

Sodomy is unnatural and if you had been around before people were being desensitized to the issue you too would agree with this, but I don't expect everyone to share my likes and dislikes. I don't usually write emails to escorts because I don't see many I go to see someone that seldom does this and I like to meet her cause usually I find as with the most recently lady I was with 3 weeks ago, I can make them orgasm and they enjoy being pleasured, it's not wham bam get the hell outta my office kind of thing.
I don't feel comfortable about giving my picture to anyone and seeing it's your policy and not law I think you can bend it just for me. :)

I wrote:

Sorry. We won't get along - your views and mine are far too different. And in my world, my own policy is law. Good luck out there.

He had to have the last word with:

Godspeed.


((Is it just me or does this email seem like it should by signed by Ignatius J. Reilly?))

My rules

It's been a bit of trial and error but after a few months I think I'm pretty much set in my ways now.

1) I hate answering the phone. I just hate talking to potential clients and mouth breathers. So all bookings are via email. I'm sure I cut down on clients by 80% doing it this way but I don't care. I'm not totally in need of the money.

2) I prefer incalls. I read around on the internet and weighed up the risk of having someone in my apartment vs going to their house - and I feel much safer at home. Sure, clients know where I live, which isn't ideal - but the moment something bad happens cause of that I'll move. I know all of my neighbours and my place is actually very public which is reassuring.

I could rent an apartment perhaps for the work - but having a fixed whore expense every week of a few hundred dollars would make me feel like I was compelled to work just to break even. And some weeks I don't work.

3) Everyone shows me a photo. This is after Jabba the Hut (#3). If I think I'd fuck them out at the pub for less than four drinks, they are do-able. If I wouldn't shag them unless I'd had a six pack or more then life is far too short to shag them sober for cash. I'm lucky I can make this decision I know.

4) I'm happy to do natural oral. It's not really a good idea I know - but I gag and gag and gag every time I try and put a latex covered cock in my mouth. But they are not ever cuming in my mouth.

5) Anal is only if they become a regular. So far I have one regular (#4).

6) I'm all about the GFE. Pick the guys who will worship me so that there is less chance of them getting violent. I'm okay with kissing. Even the bad kissers.

7) Everybody showers and uses mouth wash.

8) Work mostly during the day on weekdays - mostly just sober unloved husbands that way.

9) Safecalls to friends at beginning and end of every session. And make sure they know it. Systems set in place to alert police or get help if I don't call.

10) No one gets my address until one hour before the appointment when they confirm they are still coming.

Really, most of the time I just feel like it is same as having casual sex for fun with internet lovers. Just with the added bonus of some dollars. And it seems much safer than the college days of getting so drunk I would end up in someone's house for a late night fuck with no idea where I was, or who I was with.

Back to the Beginning

I know I've kinda jumped right into this blog with a story about #5. I've been jotting down notes, and emailing some of my friends my adventures over the past few months, and they are all fascinated. So I thought I'd start to blog about it instead. So it doesn't really have an order.

I don't think my friends are fascinated in the train-wreck way, but more in a "what on earth is she doing NOW" kinda way. I've always got crazy projects on the go - and the whoring is no different. I'm using my Internet skills, my business skills, my love of sex and my size-acceptance to trial escorting.

So far I'm having a ball. It's been a steep learning curve sure, but I actually enjoy my work!

I have several theories about why I'm doing this. One of the theories is just cause I love sex.

Another theory is that in my real relationships I've always been such a giving personality that I've exhausted myself and given everything to someone who in the end didn't deserve it. So giving myself by the hour, in exchange for some great cash and some orgasms, seems a pretty good way of trying to figure out just how much I should give of myself and to whom.

Another theory - I've always been curious. When I was on Internet hook up sites just for casual sex I noticed that there was maybe 1-5% of the men who would just go absolutely NUTS over my looks and my size. The guys that love BBW were so vocal about their preference that I wondered indeed if there was an untapped market for paid BBW work!

My theory seems to be panning out. So far I've fielded over 150 inquires from men. I've made appointments for probably 15 of them. Only six have followed through. I'm darn picky. And some of the men must be complete wusses to chicken out at the last moment after all of the hoops I make them jump through.

Client #5

In the end I was only at his place for probably fifteen minutes. And he managed two orgasms and I managed one. It was like sex aerobics on speed. Like he wanted to do six positions from the Joy of Sex in world record time. For some reason his behaviour set off my gaydar. Like he was secretly a gay boy who wanted to try women on the side - but quickly and without feeling.

He was fascinated by my swaying breasts in that cross-eyed crazy way a baby will watch a mobile swinging overhead. It didn't seem sexy. Just curious.

His room half lived up to my theory - exercise equipment right by the bed. But he was drinking beer and watching the Simpsons when I arrived, and I spotted a pair of girls shoes by his bed, so I was probably wrong. Maybe he just had a girl that liked only missionary. Or maybe she was small boobed.

He was such a mystery - so far I've been able to figure out a lot more about clients #1-4 and I think that's because they've been at my house, so I'm a tad more relaxed and able to focus on them without wondering if some guy is going to jump out of a cupboard behind me.

After his first orgasm - done in 30 seconds he offered me water. I made sure the bottle didn't have a broken seal. I had images of being drugged. Super paranoid perhaps, but better to be that then wake up raped or missing a nipple or something!

I decided he was so lacking in sexual prowess I wasn't going to come. But my Vajayjay is an easy bitch and I'd no sooner rolled on top of him then I was screaming. Small dick - right angle. Woah.

He came again after mucking about with pillows and odd positions, and then said I could go. I went back to my car, called Bell, and told her I was safe, the dress scored.

Easy money. Driving across the bridge had been harder work. Not for the first time did I wonder if I could go full time in this business.

That's What Friends Are For

"You wanna do WHAT with my dress?"

It was one of my best friends, giggling down the phone line at me as I awkwardly tried to explain. She wanted to meet me for after work (realjob) cocktails and I was trying to explain why it might be a problem all in one rushed breath.

"Um, it's my first ever outcall, and that little black dress you lent me for the realjob Xmas party was so hot I decided I was going to wear it tonight. And I was hoping you would never find out. But if I meet you for cocktails before the outcall you'd see me in the dress, and then you might feel weird that I was gonna take it out whoring without your permission."

There was more laughter from her end.

"At least someone will be getting some in that dress. Come to cocktails and show me how hot it looks on you."

And that's why I love Bell. She's a fashion guru for sure, funny to boot, and totally openminded. She's full of curves too, we're about the same size.

When I look at her I always think she's been to some secret class on how fat chicks can actually dress in a totally funky, unique way. So when my realjob Xmas party rolled around, I'd asked for her advice, and that black dress had turned up on my door in a plastic bag.

It was amazing..it wasn't all layers of material to hide rolls and bulges. It was truly the cocktail dresses than skinny gal wore. But it had a layer of material that seemed to hold my belly in, and, most importantly, it had straps wide enough to cover the F cup bras I was forced to wear. And still looked slinky and come-hither.

That dress is probably why I decided to do the outcall. He was gonna be client #5 in my brand new hobby/enthusiasm/exploration of the escorting world. My age , and his photo showed him to be cute - probably someone I'd pick up in a pub anyhow. The downside was it was only a half hour booking and on the other side of town. I tried to talk him into an incall - explaining he'd save travel money. But he didn't even want to pay travel money.

I try never to negotiate, but I'll admit his pic was so dammed cute, and I wanted so badly to turn up on his door step in my dress that I agreed to do it at least to test the waters of outcalls. It seemed a safeish experiment - since he lived in the nice part of town too. The least likely of serial killer suburbs, although of course you never can tell.

I explained that I'd give a friend his details - photos, address, phone numbers - the works. And that I'd have to call her at the beginning and end of our time. And that he'd need to give me a tour of his entire apartment so I could make sure he was alone. He agreed.