Tag Archives: #prostitute

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.

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Auto Biography Of An Addict Part 3 (Coming Out)

Life is tricky.  People come and people go, but for me one person has always been there.  That’s my best friend Beth.  I met her on my first day of High School ever.  After I graduated, I left my Wheaton life behind and reconnected with her.  Beth was a raver, outgoing, and a lesbian.  Everyone loved her and I still do.  My coming out experience could have be a disaster, more then it ever was, if I didn’t have her by my side. I did my first everything with her and I’ll never forget the first time I did ecstasy exclaiming “If I knew drugs made me feel like this, I would have done them a long time ago”.  Whatever I did with her, I felt safe.  She told me what it would do, how I would feel, and how long it would last.  We did everything together, everyday.  Then she took me to The Royal.

The Royal was a scummy banquet hall above the restaurant of the same name located at Milwaukee and Fullerton in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood.  Every Thursday they held an event of gay teens under the age of 21.  Unlike other raves at the time that were held in old warehouses or busted up laser tag arenas, The Royal was the same time, same place and every Thursday.  Even on Thanksgiving.  While rolling my balls off on ecstasy, I walked up the stairs to the smell of stale cigarette smoke and the pulsating beat of the music.  I have never seen so many gay kids in my life.  I didn’t even know that something like this could have even existed.  A lot of the people I met there are still life long friends that I cherish so much today.  That place was packed, a full house, probably breaking some fire hazard laws while giving young gay youth a place to express themselves.  It was such an accepting place. It was more then that, it was a movement.  I found there that I loved to dance, and I learned how much someone can actually sweat while dancing.  As my weekly visits continued, I watched my popularity rise.  I never had friends like I thought I did then.

My mom caught on quick.  I never had guy friends anyways, and now the phone was blowing up.  I shrugged them off as just Beth’s cousins that I was hanging out with.  Even the most naïve person in America would be questioning the boys that were on the other end of the phone.  When I was finally confronted by my mom, I explosively confirmed my abnormally.  She tackled me and pinned me to the ground in our new house that she and my step dad just had built.  She kept on hitting me, yelling out slander like “faggot” and Cock Sucker”, the whole time knowing there was nothing I could do to defend myself.  I could not hit my mother like I watched so many men do before.  This was probably the 8th time I had been kicked out of their house, but the first time for being gay.  I told myself that I was never going to go back after that, and I didn’t.  I found acceptance and a new family in the community that at the time was still brand new to me.

I moved what I could into Beth’s basement and my mom threw away the rest of my belongings.  Quickly bills began to add up and not get paid because I had no idea what true independence cost.  Beth was an up and coming DJ at that time, who is extremely successful today, and along with her mentorship, I learned how to spin records.  I submerged myself in the music.  I lived for the parties.  Ecstasy, coke, weed, acid, K, and whatever else I could get my hands on became the way of life along with landing a residency DJ job in the city.  I was now well on my way to disaster.  I loved it.

After my time in Beth’s basement ran out, I found myself living on different friends couches and in their apartments until an old friend Amanda gave me the opportunity to share a one bedroom apartment with her in the suburbs.  She was a stripper and I wanted what she had.  On the eve of my 20th birthday I answered an add for a male escort agency.  I was already dancing at the time, and gay boy strippers made pocket change compared to what Amanda was bringing home every night.  I wanted more.  For the next 5 years I juggled being a DJ, prostitution, dancing, and porn star as my main means to making money.  After being exposed to the true dangers that the life brings, while dating my first boyfriend with the same occupational back round, I made a decision to leave him and admit to my family my shortcomings and loss of morality.  I packed my bags and moved back in with my parents to go to beauty school, again making a decision to run and change my life forever.

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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.

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