incall #2 club 80 - what a fucking cunt
i had been to Club 80 a fair bit since i’ve moved to melbourne a few months ago. it’s where i take all the clients that have no place to meet. the first client i was back in november. i met him outside and followed him in as he paid for our entry. there i was, trying to stoic and cool like a good dominate top should and then “Hey Andy!” came from the behind the counter...
stack the deck
i was feeling my time was coming to an end at the Manor. it wasn’t that i was no longer new or fresh, but i’d had pretty much had all i could take of sitting around not earning money. i can not earn money at home, in front of the tv, or in bed with several other guys hotter than anything that was to walk through the front door (except maybe some of those hot blokey tranny fuckers) ...
i have flatmates where i’m living now. 3 of the most awesome flatmates i could hope for. but i can’t (and wouldn’t) work from home. so if i a client doesn’t have a place to meet, i recommend Club 80 Club 80 kick’s arse! 4 levels of sleazy fun. from the usual rooms that a sex club has to a floor that is a maze made up of oil drums. it used to be the best fuck club...
pillow talk #1
some clients say some fucked up things after they’ve blown “i want to have 50 hook ups before april. i’m up to 43. i meet a lot of guys off grindr. i can do that when my wife is not at home. i have sex with the guys in our bed. sometimes i get them to jerk off onto my wife’s pillow. i’m not a nice guy, am i?” most of the time i just nod and smile until the...
the smell of grease
i picked Benji up from the airport and took his battered car back with him. there was bugger-all damage, so he was happy. it’s good to have Benji back in town but it seems like he’s gonna have a boyfriend and i know that means i probably won’t see him for a while. though i might be able to coax him out with episodes of RuPauls’ Drag Race (goRaja! Go Yara!) my motorbike had...
phone call #1
remember, putting an advert up with your phone number means anyone can call you… “hey andy, how you going?” “i’m good. you?” “yes. i wondering if you’re a free this evening. i have a bit of a strange request. i want you to shit in my toilet bowl.” “um,” i answered quite unfazed ”i’ve already taken a dump today. i...
one major reason for never working in a brothel before was having to get along in a workplace. to me, there’s nothing more dull than workplace politics. the same boring shit that happens in an office also happens in a brothel. who’s lazy. who’s the boss’ favourite. who’s fucking who. who’s the cheap slut who wears the fishnets with a ladder up the back into an...
saturday afternoon. nice and slow
balancing private work and brothel work was easy. the brothel is flexible with hours. although they want to solely work for them, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. I’m not stealing their clients. i have my own it has been 2 months in the whorehouse and it’s still quiet. the manager is not even bothering to try and convince us that “it’s always slow this time...
workin' 9 to 5
there’s nothing like being your own boss. you get to sleep in. you get to work the hours you want, or near enough. you get all the profits. but it’s still work. you gotta be receptionist, bookkeeper, security guard and gopher restocking the office supplies (lube, rubbers, gloves etc). and you get to yell at yourself to get yourself out of bed and go to work. “come on! get up!...
isol asked: or: "Everything you ever wanted to know about whoring but were afraid to ask"
hit that perfect beat boy
the bike was still unfound. luckily i had Benji’s car, even if it was a little banged up thanks to my dumb ass. so at least on nights off or in between jobs i got to check out more of melbourne’s sleazier side. it’s nice to drive a new car. and it’s nice that while cruising melbourne’s beats somebody else’s number plate will get recorded by police for a change...
so i get up, grab the leather jacket, helmet and keys and get ready for work. i step out on the footpath and… “where’s my bike?” i looked around. i thought about where i parked it last night. yep. i parked it outside the house. it had been stolen. FML i went back inside and started punching and kicking every damn thing i could destroy. then sat down and called the police....
i always score a job on saturday afternoons. today a shy guy came in. there was only me and Connor, he’s a spotty faced twink, but we got on well. Connor intros first. within a minute he stomps back into the hooker lounge with his arms folded “yuck. he’s gross. i hope he picks you!” i walk into the intro room and there’s sits a man in his 20s, a young Quinten...
not only can Melbourne be cold. it can also be fucking frustrating. getting a simple no strings hook up can be like pushing shit up hill. and like a little dung beatle, when you finally get up to the top of the hill and score a hook up, quite often all you end up with is big useless ball of shit. I’m from Sydney, so if you find something you like, you message for a bit then hook up. but...
“i’m finally using your name suggestion for a memoirs as the title for my blog.” “great. just what the world needs. another miserable hooker blog”
the circle of cuntyness
i hesitated a bit longer than Benji over gong private. i was caught somewhere between loyalty to the Manor, fear of the law and downright fucking laziness. then i spoke to Benji on the Phone. “i had 2 bookings yesterday, one today. i got three tomorrow and then a 5 hours booking on Tuesday night. he says he’s got a huge cock the thickness of a coke can. not many guys can take it so...
i managed to get along with Benji so much that we timed most of our shifts together. work felt more like hanging out a mate’s place instead of home detention. unfortunately we were still making fuck all money with not even a client would come in for us to have an introduction with. i managed to get some work. Benji had scored none. Friday afternoon. Benji, me and some weird Canadian hooker...
on one of my first shifts at the Manor i thought it would be a good idea to hang out there as much as possible. i sat there on shitty floral patterned sofa covered in grime and ash for 9 hours and made no money. so i returned later that night. there’s gotta be work on a friday night, right? no. the kids who had also been there all day were dropping like flies into snoozy land. i met the...