A Collection of Reluctant Stories
March 20, 2013 by Alex Lieberman
Filed under Escort
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I Miss Alex
I’ve revealed a lot through my blog, but one thing I’ve never revealed is that I was one of those people whose lives were devastated by a bitch named Katrina, in 2005. Hurricane Katrina to be specific.
I can see some of you already nodding your heads and letting out a long “ahhhhhhh… now it all makes sense.” Shut up, don’t get ahead of me!
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Super Whore
I had a secret, a powerful secret. One that could destroy me and everything I had, but one that made me very special and different. I felt like I was a superhero in my own right – Retail Girl by day, Super Whore by night. You may laugh but there are a lot of similarities! We become stronger when we are on a mission to do good. Our costumes fit snug to our bodies underneath our civilian attire (Spandex , the choice fabric for superheroes and hookers alike.) We do a lot of our work horizontally, they fly, I lie.
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My D’s & D’s
I know, I know… D&Ds? That’s Do’s and Don’ts for those of you uneducated in escort-speak. But now you have a sense for the confusing Rosetta stone of acronyms I faced when I first began my lewd but lucrative career! I unfortunately had to learn this secret language through trial and error and through TER – or The Erotic Review website. And again, for those of you who prefer to peek through the window at a construction site instead of getting your actual hands dirty, TER is a place where “Hobbyists” write reviews on the “Providers” they have seen.
By the way Hobbyists are men who see escorts on a regular basis. I still have a hard time understanding that name. Checkers, building model airplanes, photography, even collecting dryer lint… these are all hobbies, sure. But who would have thought sleeping with strange women was a hobby? Ok I’ll grant you it could be considered a hobby – but if you are going to fill out a questionnaire that asks you to list your hobbies on a job application or heaven forbid an eHarmony profile, might I suggest you leave that one off?
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Gelt Replaces Guilt
I love cash. I love it because it prevents so much nastiness from using credit. You don’t get a bill a month later to remind you what a moron you were for paying $890 for a pair of shoes. They aren’t even that comfortable!!! For that kind of money they should have someone walking behind you when you wear them to massage your feet every 200 steps. I actually thought about having my pinkie toe removed to make my shoes fit better, but apparently it throws off your balance. Sigh. Who knew your pinkie toe was basically a kickstand???
I no longer calculated my bills or purchases in amounts of money but rather in appointments. Gucci belt = 2 appointments, Louis Vuitton purse = 5 appointments, Dior dress = 8 appointments. I briefly tried to translate that further into blow jobs, cowgirls, and feigned orgasms, but it became too overwhelming.
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I’m FOR Sale, not ON Sale
Whatever happened to paying for quality? In fact, I once got an e-mail from a guy telling me that he needed assurances that he was going to have a good time. He went on to explain that because he was spending a lot of money on me he needed some type of insurance or he couldn’t see me… Hmmmmm, let me think about that one. I know, why don’t you call State Farm and see if they’ll write you a policy for that? Whore Insurance. Why not? They insure everything these days, pets, boats, body parts. Peyton Manning has his right arm insured. His arm, my pussy, your dick… we can start a cottage industry.
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Pennywise and Pound Me Foolish
I don’t go to the circus, I steer clear of my friends’ children’s birthday parties – hell, I won’t even wind up a fucking jack-in-the box! I avoid these simple things all in the hopes of never coming into contact with a clown. And now I’m not just in contact with one, I’m expected to fuck one! Oy vey kill me now.
Who am I kidding? I’m sure that’s exactly what clown clone Pennywise here has planned. I can already see the Lifetime movie, “Call Girls and The Killer Clown”. I guess my fear of bringing attention to myself by running screaming down the hallway trumped my fear of clowns because somehow I found myself in his hotel room with the door shut behind me. I had two choices. I could run for my life or I could stay, face my fears and let Pennywise pound me foolishly. I went with the latter.
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