“Paying for sex is supposed to make you feel dirty and insecure. But… nope.”
AND YES, I’M OPEN TO DISCUSSION ON CALLING “SEX WORKERS” “HOOKERS”.
Yes, why? I’m a sex worker and I’m very curious.
Also, hooker isn’t offensive to me, it just sounds very outdated which is why I don’t like it.
feel bad? why?
we’re feeling warm and snug about all the wives and ungrateful children that won’t be getting exactly what they want for christmas because daddy spent his christmas bonus on us. while the kids are crying into their santa stockings we’re kicking back on the holiday daddy paid for. their tears taste so sweet… so sweet. no guilt here. he was bound to blow on some vice anyway.
and if the kids do get what they want then they can play happy families. we both know the best gift he got was when i fucked him up the arse.
as for ‘hooker’. i prefer it to the clinical and overly-safe generalised term ‘sex worker’. that’s like calling an ‘architect’ a ‘building drawer’
any word can be used in hate, it’s up to the individual if they want to be offended by it
whoring tips #18
research. read stuff. most shit online if fairly biased against sex work.
read blogs by the workers themselves
confessions of an angry stripper - short. sweet. and nasty!
a few excellent Australian blogs:
unfortunately i don’t know of any other gay manwhore blogs
also, these guys are great for everyone: sex worker problems
whoring tips #13
never doubt yourself
johns will try to haggle, bargain and talk you down. maybe shave off a little off the price if you think it’s appropriate, but always stick to your rates.
a punter that complains about paying $200 will also complain about paying $20.
while others will do anything to have you
“She doesn’t have much of a body, but it’s still for hire” Daily Mail
there’s nothing like talking to someone to really lose interest in them.
getting to know someone is the best way to not want to fuck them any more. see them as a human being with a mind of their own - fuck that’s unattractive. if you can make it past a half-hour of chit chat and i still got a boner, then you must be a keeper
i don’t want to see you as a person. i want to see you as an object. if i see you as a person, more often than not i won’t like the person i discover or at least won’t find it as sexy. or worse i will pity you and feel sorry for you. then you become a tiresome pity-fuck. Or, even worse (and even less-likely) than that - i will think you’re awesome. then the pressure is on!
so, fuck first. chat later. that way i don’t waste time becoming mates with someone who is a dud-fuck
you talk too much! in a work situation: stay silent.
let them think what they want to think. a client will fantasise about you and create whatever they want you to be in their head.
let them think you’re some drug-dependant cock-whore. let them think you’re secretly raising two kids and struggling to finish your degree. let them think you cry yourself to sleep every night hoping and praying some punter will come along and free you from your hellish life of prostitution
don’t let them know about your Fabergé egg collection. don’t let them know you lie on the sofa under your duvet every saturday night stuffing tim tams into your face while watching South Park. don’t let them know you’re just doing it to pay off your credit card
let them think what they want to think. there’s nothing unsexier than the truth
Anytime I’ve had a man offer me money for sex and I turned it down, they like to say, ‘well, someone is going to get this money, might as well be you’ … I don’t think so … but I always made money without having to compromise myself.
I’ve been ridiculed by both men and women for turning money down. It doesn’t matter though, because you are going to be talked about and gossiped about anyways. Like it fucking matters! Every girl in there thinks she can get away with the whole, I don’t have to be dirty crap.
The truth is, regardless of what you do in the VIP room, once you’ve gotten on that pole you’re already a dirty whore. Just for that.
Sydney’s Totally Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras 2012
and you know what? i avoided the whole fucking thing. but what i did do was way more awesome than another big gay dance party
now don’t get me wrong. i love mardi gras. i don’t care if it’s not the same. i don’t really care if it’s lost it’s way (from a protest to a celebration spattered with whorish displays of shameless corporate sponsorship). i don’t really care if it’s not as much fun as it used to be. i had my fun there.
one year, 2001, me and my bf at the time sharing a case of beer with a couple of lil’ lesbians who shackled up beside us. it was the year of celebrating gay families. gay kids marching with their parents and more importantly gay parents marching with their kids. it was quite a touching theme until wedged in between those teens and toddlers came the Mature Age Gays float, a bunch of old men waving signs in the air saying “lower the age of consent now”. sure they just meant lowering the age of consent from 18 to 16 years to be equal with heterosexual sex, but it just terrible placement and seemed a little tasteless. so when a bunch of friends in the Sydney University Queer Socialist Group came screaming up oxford street demanding we all fuck the police and destroy capitalism, we had reached our tolerance with the mardi gras jumped the fence and marched with our mates
i have since heard jumping the fence and joining the parade is a near impossibility with security, but we looked like we were part of that group anyway
the last time was 2008 and one of the gay newspapers needed someone to take care of the music. the ‘repeat’ button on the cd player was broken and they needed someone press play every 8 minutes. it was a fun slow drive up oxford street with hoards of young asian girls screaming their guts out in excitement all the way. for my troubles i was given a free ticket to the party. the venue is huge and music sucked ass. i stayed for half an hour before going home, having a cup of tea and crawling into bed
the only thing i’m annoyed about Mardi Gras these days is during the month leading up to the parade and party, thanks to the damn non-recession/GFC i’ve gone from earning thousands of bucks per week to just on a thousand per week. that’s a huge drop. also because the booming australian dollar and Sydney becoming more and more expensive there are less tourists and they’re not staying as long as they used to. still, the international hookers keep spilling out of those A380s and the local johns snap them up
this year friends were organising an alternate party at the Oxford Arse Factory. live bands. live drag queens. Velvet Hammer was a success in the past and this was going to be another. i offered to help and in a few hours before the show got asked to knock up some fake glory holes out of cardboard to hide some stage props. where we pay homage to The Den (R.I.P) and the infamous interview of the cracked-out owner and his interview going viral all lit up by some trash 90s aussie trannie porn
she’s a chick with a dick and she’s hung
it was a fucking good party the highlight being Totally Unicorn - a punk band from Wollongong. that it in self means nothing, and if your not from Australia i’m sure you think that’s not really a name for a city and i just stuck a bunch of random letters together and stopped repeating them just before it became ludacris. but no, Wollongong is a city well known for using the tactic of playing Barry Manilow 24 hours a day in shopping malls, parks and any places youths might congregate to scare them off and stop them wrecking the place. it was a complete success.
Totally Unicorn were totally amazing. shouty, hard and fast punk with near naked stage diving. can’t recommend them enough. i took too many drugs and got really fucking drunk, so here’s a friend’s review. she writes it better on her antitouristguidetosydney
Brian getting Totally Unicorned
Totally Unicorn’s totally hot drummer
stalk him. totez
well…. yes and no. i know a lot of hookers. i’m not going to pretend we’re all as sweet as pie. selfish, greedy, victims-to-be. dumb as all shit they’ve more than earned the bad reputation that is expected of them. so many deserving of the treatment they get
still, we are not all are like that so it still pisses me off a little. but Rose McGowan as the machine gun-legged amputee sexy stripper femme fatale in Planet Terror makes up for all the bad tv shows!
“you two. lesbians. you two stay at home. cook. cuddle. talk about your feelings. you don’t go out anymore. you’re lesbians.”
friends told us. and as you know, all fags are the authority on what constitutes an exciting life. afterall those narcissistic personality disorder ridden shitstabbers are at the height of the fucking social ladder leading the uber-awesome lifestyle of non-stop sex, drugs and rock’n’roll that we all envy. right? lesbians are at the bottom of the ladder. they have a snog, buy a dog each and move in with each other never to be seen again.
regardless how our arrogant cunt friends say it, it was becoming the general consensus. we were boring
so, after an exhausting afternoon at the flower market deep in the western suburbs of Sydney and fitting out a garden. i lay in bed sifting through work emails. i heard the Elk giggling in living room. then laughter. then shock. “oh!” he’d gasp. offended. how cute. it’s refreshing to see an irishman express a personal emotion.
he stormed into the bedroom and stood in the doorway. dressed in only trackydaks (tracksuit pants) his lips shrivelled up in anger as he puffed his chest out. “i never said ‘she looks like a hot mess’!”
“well… she did look like a hot mess!” he sucked in a deep breath and puffed his chest up defiantly. i know he wanted to look tough and threatening but he just looked adorable with that little thatch of silver hair in the middle of his chest blowing in the steam shooting down from his snout. “and when did i say ‘ooh my muffins are burning’!?!”
“last week, when you got up early and started baking some blueberry and some egg and bacon muffins. i crawled out of bed and started molesting you in the kitchen. you sniffed something and then you jumped away from me screaming ‘ooh my muffins are burning!”
“i was trying something new! i didn’t want them to be ruined!” he was fully aware and laughing at the ridiculousness of the argument. “are we boring? are we a boring couple now?”
“i’m boring.” it’s true. i am a really boring person. i just throw myself into disastrous situations just to see what happens to give the impression i’m interesting and live an exciting life. ”i like being boring. i’m really happy how we are right now.” but maybe he isn’t happy. i want him to be happy. “you wanna do something?”
“yeah,” but he seemed unconvinced. like he thinks we think we should be doing something exciting. “got any K?” his beady little shark eyes beamed. “let go get fucked up. we got any drugs?”
“none. long gone.” speaking of disastrous situations, one just presented itself. “you want to do a job? you and me? tonight?”
“yeah. there’ll be drugs.”
we discussed the idea of working together a long time ago. i was for it. the Elk was against it. he gave up sex work long ago. he’s more confident doing massage. my clients have said he’s amazing and how hot he is before they even realised we were mates. he was against joining forces because he didn’t think it would work. years ago, the Elk was dating another escort and it appeared on this guy’s ad that they were working together (yet, it turns out they never actually did any jobs together). i admit i was a little offended that he trusted him but not me, though i suspect he was also worried about my reaction.
it’s understandable. i too was worried about my reaction. generally the Elk is calm, mature and rational. most of the time I’m erratic, reactionary and irrational. a little rubs off on the other. i encourage the reckless abandon he feels he missed out on in his youth. he inspires me to adopt the maturity i should have applied years ago. we seem to balance each other out. this would be a good opportunity for me to grow up right?
it’s bound to happen. in the death rattles of most homo relationships they end up becoming open relationships. that move either strengthens the relationship, or most of the time you watch that guy you both drunkenly picked up hammer the last nail into the coffin of your relationship driving it faster to it’s inevitable grave. it’s a little early for us, and i do not want an open relationship, but should i learn to deal with this now?
this client i have known for years. he has seen us both independently. the Elk once. me on many occasions, even though i am younger than he likes. this client prefers guys 40+. he’s a great guy. he’s great to deal with. the job is usually fairly easy and he pays very well. i also knew he has a thing for the Elk and his salt and peppery fur. i’d definitely score the job if i brought him along and he’d shower us both with coke. plus i was bargaining the whole situation. i was in control.
the Elk agrees. partly for the cash. partly knowing it will be easy. and i suspect partly because he fears we really are becoming a boring couple of lesbians
the job is only two blocks from our apartment. after a a beer and a line we get down to business. it was great fun working with him. it was so much easier having him there. plus the bonus of watching him be a dirty little whore, grinding his arse up in the air was damn sexy to watch. i wasn’t intimidated. i could tell he was playing it up for the client, but fuck it was hot to watch.
i fucked up though. i should never touch coke on a job. it was well over an hour but my viagra still hadn’t kicked in and the coke just sent my willy soft. the Elk made it hard, but the situation quickly killed it again.
unable to perform, the client then fucked the Elk in front of me. then i realised one thing. i didn’t like watching someone else fuck my boyfriend. i don’t like knowing someone else fucked my boyfriend. everything else i could handle. i could deal just fine if he was escorting as well, but not if he bottoms. there is a huge double standard here when it comes to what i do for work. i have a lot of growing up to do
it may be possessive. it may be immature and controlling. but that ass is mine. and in that regard, i don’t see those traits as a bad thing. i don’t think i need to be so free and open that i should have to share everything.
i didn’t like watching someone else fuck him. but i loved watching him getting fucked. that boy sure can take a dick!
so, yeah. we ain’t a pair of miserable fucking homos who’ve settled down with our set of retro Le Crueset cookware into a boring married couple. boring married couples don’t have guys watch them eat half a gram of coke out of each other’s arses at 10 o’clock on a sunday night. (i got that shit everywhere too. my whole damn face was numb!) i also learned i’m more comfortable in weird situations with someone i’m comfortable with.
i’m just not comfortable watching someone else fuck his arse yet… well… i wasn’t. i wasn’t comfortable until we got home and we bothered to count the cash - he paid us triple. each!
“on second thought i think i can handle watching a guy fuck you …if he pays triple.” on one hand i feel bad because, in the end, he did most of the work (pun intended). on the other hand i’m riding high because i scored the job and whored his little manpussy out like his motherfucking pimp
Yesterday, a man with a giant beard asked me if I was clean shaven. Being the usual smart ass, I compared the state of my pubic hair to his face.
He was not impressed.
Of course I am clean shaven, I am a lesbian and a sex worker for fucks sake! What pisses me off is the amount of men who display horror at some fanny stubble when their own pubic regions haven’t been maintained in at least a decade.
What the fuck!?
I am not afraid to suggest to my clients that they need some man scaping. For one, it smells ick. Two, it gets everywhere. Three, that includes being stuck in my fanwah.
Fucking EW. No matter how much you wash under those darn water saving shower heads, you never get it all unless you go on a recon mission when you go to the toilet armed with baby wipes.
I get that some people love a full muff, and some chicks like ample chest hair. Why, I’ll never know. Man hair guarantees ass crack hair, and what is sexy about that??
So please gentlemen, before you vist a bordello for your first shag in years, take a look in your pants and give that shit a trim.
It makes your dick look bigger.
i love other people’s opinions on this. i love how both sides will never agree
sure, a manky man muff is revolting. often it’s a poorly wiped arse and stinking of last weeks piss. what some clients expect you to deal with is mind-boggling sometimes. i’m one of very few homo manwhores in Sydney that are hairy, sometimes i’m the only one, i score a lot of work based on that. many are like those little grooming birds that obsess over some hairy part of my body and grovel for most of the session
i love hairy men and hairy arse cracks. and especially meaty hairy ogre shoulders.
what is sexy about that? this arse pictured here - not so much. but i love the musky smell hairy guys develop when fucking that doesn’t build up on from smooth guys. and when it’s trying to fuck a sweaty smooth guy they keep slipping away. it’s like fishing a salmon out of the stream with my bare hands. each thrust sends the slippery little bugger away again and i’m on my knees chasing him all over the bed until i can wedge him up against the wall.
a hairy ass is a man’s ass and reminds me what a filthy animal he is. i love it :)