Tag Archives: #escort

A Prostitutes Guide To Becoming A Role Model

I mean, really, I was an escort which we all know is a hell of a lot classier then a prostitute, right? Ha.  At the end of the day if you gotta take the dick outta your mouth before you go home from work, you is a ho.  It wasn’t my proudest moment. In fact it helped stick me into a deep depression that fed my drug addiction and insecurities. Oddly enough at the same time it fulfilled this need I can’t seem to find an ends to, called adventure.  It wasn’t all bad.  You get to be who ever you wanted to be for that moment in time.  It was mysterious, and it was bad.  It turned that scared boy into a man in a very short period of time and gave me plenty of other opportunities that became positive experiences in life.

I never thought getting into sex work was going to effect me in the future.  Maybe that’s the beauty of being in your 20’s.  You’re too stupid and clueless to realize how your actions will shape your future, so you do them, have fun, and pay for them later.  It’s pretty much the young adult mantra.  It didn’t stop with escorting.  Movies were made and pictures were taken.  This thing called the internet was starting to catch on.  I had no clue it held the ability for these videos and pictures to last FOREVER.  So naturally, I thought it would be a good idea to become a teacher.

First I became a hair stylist.  My fast lifestyle fit right in with the crazy, neurotic lifestyle and culture of doing hair.  The industry did so much for me.  I was in sex work for 10 years, and there was no place I could think of other then a gay bathhouse that my resume would stand a chance.  Cosmetology gave me a second chance.

I wanted to be a teacher for the people that wanted their second chance.  I do it so I can make a difference. I tell them that I was once beat down and broken and pulled through to tell the story.  If I can do it, then anyone can, and I am sure to remind them of this whenever they need motivation.  Anyone can facilitate the information.  It takes something extra to care about the people that you are giving the  information to.  Sure getting “Happy Fathers Day” texts makes me feel like an old, wrinkled fool, but it lets me know that I am doing exactly what I set out to do.  When the administration is getting down on me and I start to get discouraged, I quickly remind myself that I am here for the students.  I’m protective of these guys, I get attached and I cry when they graduate.

It’s  kinda awesome getting to be this guy.  Someone that gets respect and someone that people look up to…as long as they don’t find me butt ass naked on an internet search at least.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Attention Whore

Clearly we are talking about myself.  That’s all I ever talk about on my blog.  Me, myself, and I.    As far as I know, I’ve always been this way.  I’ve always demanded attention and I got it.  I still do.  As a little kid I was always talking, always wanting to be center stage.  The incomparable Britney Spears sings “All eyes on me, in the center of the ring, just like a circus…”, “All of the boys, and all of the girls are begging to if you seek Amy (F U C K ME), and of course my favorite song from her crazy days, “and the crowd is screaming gimmie gimmie more…”.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I have a lot in common with Britney Spears.

I know what it feels like for everyone to want to know me.  To be popular.  I know what its like to not feel that way too.  I changed my image.  I created the person I am today by taking bits and pieces of the people I wanted to be.  If people hate me, they are probably jealous.  Any press is good press.  I’m an ego maniac.  It comes at a price.  My amount of close friends is limited.  I’m afraid  to let people in and know the “real me”.  I don’t think I fully trust anyone, because I know there are people that love to watch me fall.  I’m pure entertainment in all forms of the word.  It fuels me.  It keeps me alive.  The older I get I watch the ways I seek out attention change.  My career path.  Being an educator, a whole new outlet for people to look up to me.  This time its a positive change.

When I had no self esteem something grabbed my attention and changed me.  It sounds sick, gross, immoral, and wrong.  Everything I wanted at the time.  I became an escort.  Never number one, but always number 2 as far as requests.  People wanted me.  It was refreshing.  I got off on the fact that these men wanted me so bad.  It turned me on to be wanted for the show.  Doing porn came natural.  It was a job.  I was entertaining.  My body became a commodity.  Something for sale.  Sex meant nothing other then money.  Lots of it.  I pretended to be something different to each client.  The stories I came up with on my way to a call glorified the situation.  I loved playing a character and being someone that I wasn’t.  I guess I didn’t love the real me, but I’d never trade that time of my life for anything.  No regrets.

I’m desired.  I’ve never felt love.  No one has loved me.  They have desired me.  Lust, not love.  I don’t think I’ll ever know what it feels like to be loved.  Its my fault, I don’t do anything to be loved.  I push everyone way.  It’s what I do.  It’s my “thing”.

I get what I want so its not all so bad.  I get the job, I get the boy almost EVERY time.  My Tinder is blowing up and my stalkers are at an all time high.  I can’t be in a relationship because I don’t want to loose my fans.  I’m a mess!! Sometimes I hate myself and that’s crazy because a lot of people would want to be me, look like me.  Beauty comes at a price.  The problem with me is that I always want something more.  More from myself, more from a relationship, more from life.  I’ll never be content, however I’m not sure that I’ll even want to be complacent in where I am and what I am doing.  It’s me, a free spirit.

I get scared of what is in store for me when my looks fade.  I’m all ready getting fat and developing old age spots on my face from too much tanning.  Will my personality be enough? Will I be able to inspire people with my knowledge of life?  Will I die alone?  Is that so bad anyways?  Who knows.  God knows.












Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

The Agency Chicago

As far as I was concerned, and as far as I still know, I worked for what was once Chicago’s premier all male escort service.  Just one phone call and $200 could buy you an hour of time with any boy offered on the website.  The Agency offered a buffet of men, all shapes and sizes however known exclusively for its prime selection of fresh, twink, meat.  As it turned out, being 19 year old, 5’8″, 135 lbs, tan, tight and having over seven inches between my legs was the answer to the formula that makes someone a “twink”and an escort a lot of cash.

I just got kicked out of my house for being gay and was sharing a 1 bedroom apartment with my friend Amanda while waiting tables.  I knew I would never make the money I needed to survive on my own for the first time in my life.  I was looking in the classified section of the “Gay Chicago” magazine and i saw an ad that started something like “The Agency Chicago is looking for a few good men…” I knew exactly what they were looking for and exactly what this job would require.  If I knew then how calling that number was going to forever change the person that I was I’m sure I would have dialed it even QUICKER.  Never in my life can I recall feeling as insecure as I felt then.

The man on the other end of the line had a smooth, calming voice.  The questions were minimal. “How would you rate yourself on the scale of 1-10”  I answered with an 8, stating that nobody was perfect and got a laugh out of the man on the other end of the phone.  I met the minimum requirements to meet for a face to face interview, and it was set for 8PM in the Kmart parking lot just off the Addison exit and 90.  Today, an Olive Garden stands in the same space I became a escort.  Its funny how something so commercial can exist in a place that changed you forever.

I jumped in the car, and the story goes that without hesitation or even being asked, I whipped out my hard dick.  I must have been subconsciously turned on by the power of sex and had adrenaline pumping hard through my body.  I was hired on the spot, and thats the moment that Daved became D.J.  This is where my life story of debauchery, sex, drugs and hip hop really begin.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,


I was going to title this blog “Starting Over”.  Since today has been a good day, and I’m feeling more optimistic now then when the idea originally sprung into my head, “Reinvention” became the title.  To me, reinvention is a positive way of saying the latter.  Reinvention also makes me think of Madonna.  Love her or hate her, she symbolizes strength and originality to many people and I can’t deny her that.

Yesterday I posted a quote from another blog.  “It really is remarkable how many time your heart can be broken without you actually dying.”

This got me thinking not only about romantic relationships that have broken my heart, but also life events that have left me heartbroken.  I started to notice a pattern and realized this is not the first time I’ve found myself starting over after a broken heart.  I switched high schools my junior year to get away from the kids that knew I was gay before I knew what that word was.  I was the first gay person I ever knew and it was scary.  I left John to move home and go to beauty school, to stop doing porn, and to stop escorting.  Using my body for money was a way of life for five years.  Tony and I moved to Florida together to escape the first part of our distrustful relationship, only to basically flee Florida for home to dissolve the second half.  Which leads to me today.

Looking back on these big chapters of my life, I can faithfully expect to have at least that many more.  Moving forward, these next chapters are going to be free of drug, physical, and emotional abuse.  I want to promise myself this right now, on this blog, to the world.  The next chapter is going to belong to me, and not the negative after thoughts of a co dependent person that relies on a relationship as a crutch.

I’m never going to say that I’m starting over again.  Not after today.  That sounds weak.  This is a true reinvention.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,