The phenomenon of “regulars” is one of the stranger parts of more lascivious lines of work. On one obvious level, regulars are ideal. They keep you flush with cash, you know what to expect, and you don’t have to be afraid of getting arrested. On the other hand, you can’t choose your regulars, and if there is some mathemagical formula that keeps a client coming back again and again I’ve yet to ascertain it. My regulars weren’t usually the guys I felt the most sexual chemistry with or the ones I liked the most. I did get a lot of blowjob fetishists due to my now thoroughly mentioned expertise, but for the most part they seemed as random as a game of naked Keno.
And the relationship you develop with a regular is a nebulous one. In a way you “know” this person. After six months of meeting someone weekly for sex, an intimacy is bound to develop, and while some of my regulars wanted me to come in, do my job, and go, others knew quite a bit about me and my life. They might ask me about a paper I was working on, or when I was heading home for Christmas, and somewhere in between the chit-chat and the hanky-panky we would begin to feel like friends.
But the truth is that when I was on the job, even with guys I liked, even when I was talking about the paper I was working on, I was always dancing around the big lie: that I would be in their apartment for any other reason than the money they were paying me to be there. I projected an image that was me but not-quite-me. I could never be truly myself, because a real flesh-and-blood woman wasn’t what they wanted. They were paying for a fantasy, and, well, you can’t be friends with a fantasy.
Except that R. and I seemed to be becoming friends.
As previously mentioned, the sex was outstanding. When we rolled around on the motel bed, the muffled moans coming through the walls, the outside world, even the god-knows-what the mattress was probably infested with melted away and we just FUCKED. Someone could probably have broken in and stolen everything in the room but the bed and it wouldn’t have stopped me from grabbing his ass and pulling him deeper inside of me. He knew just how to handle me- a little rough as he squeezed and pinched my nipples, holding my arms down as he parted my legs, whispering “Eat my cum” as he pushed my head down into his crotch. Once he brought along a paddle that he used on my ass to such great effect that the experience quickly entered the top 5 sexual experiences of my life.
But the real anomaly was the time we spent with our clothes on, smoking a joint in the darkened room and trading the intimate details of our lives a thin wall away from regular city street noise. Our time together felt sort of glam and scummy in an old New York way, which we both appreciated, as we did kitsch unearthed at flea markets and thrift stores, outsider culture, losers and weirdoes. It has been my experience that there truly, really are only two kinds of people in this world: those who take pleasure in the bizarre and those who don’t. Like me, R. was a freak lover. It was this aspect of his personality, I think, that let him see me for more than just a hooker. Sex workers, like carnies, junkies, transvestites, swingers, punks, and perverts…well, we were his people. I could tell that his respect for me was genuine, no matter what I did for a living.
And I respected him just as much, no matter that he was paying me to.
Still, when R. stopped calling, it took me awhile to realize it. He was just a client, after all, a man I spent about two hours a week with. And once I did realize it, there wasn’t much I could do. Repeat business is at the client’s discretion; if a regular stopped scheduling appointments, I couldn’t exactly call him up demanding an explanation. Always, in the back of my mind, I knew that no matter how friendly I was with a regular customer, our relationship had a time stamp on it. Eventually my pussy would become as boring to them as their wives’ and girlfriends’ and they’d move on. Still, months later, I sent R. an email on a whim.
Now whatever happened to you? Did you settle down with a nice girl and swear off naughty ones? Or does one really eventually tire of ceaseless orgasmic pleasure? Maybe you've moved on down the sex worker buffet (admit it, I'm prime rib and the others are bologna).
I kinda miss you these days!
xoxo
CCG
Waiting for his response I realized that despite the illusion of closeness that shrouded the seedy glamour of our paid fucks in the St. Marks Hotel, I really didn’t know anything about R. Not his background, his marital status, what he did in his free time. Sure, we had swapped intimacies and bodily fluids for months, but where had he gone to college? What was the name of his best friend? What did he watch on television on Thursday nights? Away from our hotel hideaway, we didn’t look much like friends at all.
Then I received his reply.
I'll never give up the naughty ones.
And you are indeed grade A Prime Rib.
My absence is due to a family situation: My mom 's been very, very sick for the last 2 months, could be near the end. Not much time or energy for myself as of late.
But I do miss our time spent during the heroin hotel short stays. And your adorable mug.
So - I should find some time soon - I will work on it (not that this helps you pay the bills, but it's a really weird time in my life). Talk soon.
xoxoxo,
-R
I quickly wrote back.
Don't worry, I wasn't trying to con you out of any money. Just missed your company and was wondering about you so I thought I'd check in.
Sorry to hear about your mom. Hope you're keeping some mental space for yourself and that things improve soon. I know our situation isn't your typical one, but I consider you a friend.
xoxo
CCG
And just as quickly, he responded.
You are such a sweetheart - I knew there was a reason
I liked you so much. It's your southern soul.
Really, thanks for the kind words - I miss your
company, as well as your therapy. And I consider you a
friend beyond our business stuff - "typical" can go
fuck itself anyway.
Talk soon.
xoxox
-R
And, just like that, somewhere between the hanky-panky and the chit-chat, we were friends.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Thanksgiving
This year, I am thankful for:
Red wine
Nasty porno
Hangover cures
MAC's Red Russian lipstick
And my silver bullet vibrator, the only sex toy I've ever needed.
Most of all, I'm thankful to all of you for continuing to read my writing, even when I'm not writing about getting stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. I'm going out of town, but I'll see you next week.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! (May you use all five fingers.)
Red wine
Nasty porno
Hangover cures
MAC's Red Russian lipstick
And my silver bullet vibrator, the only sex toy I've ever needed.
Most of all, I'm thankful to all of you for continuing to read my writing, even when I'm not writing about getting stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. I'm going out of town, but I'll see you next week.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! (May you use all five fingers.)
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Blowjob Tutorial
Since I began brazenly declaring myself the Michael Jordan of blowjobs on this website, many people have written to me asking for advice on how to give a great blowjob. There are a lot of reasons I haven’t done so. First of all, my style is pretty instinctual. I don’t really go out of my way to try to be good at giving head, I just always have been. For all I know the stuff I’m consciously doing is less important than something I’m unconsciously doing. Besides which, I’m pretty sure if I tried to analyze the sloppy-mouthed voodoo I perform when I give oral sex, it would look something like this:
Watch a porno. See those girls voraciously swallowing cock like they can’t get enough of it? They’re doing that because people are giving them money, but another popular motivation is love. Pretend his cock is beer-flavored and you won’t disappoint.
Still, I suppose it can’t hurt to give you a blow by blow of my blowjob technique. Please remember that College Callgirl is not responsible for the success or failure of these pointers. In the end every guy is different. It’s important to gauge his reaction and adjust your technique to what he likes as you go along.
THE BASE
If you simply wanted to get a guy off as quickly as possible, all you need to do is lock your lips at the base of his cock and suction them up and down the bottom ¾ of his shaft at a quick, steady pace while pressing your flattened tongue against the underside of his dick. Make sure you are applying pressure with both your lips AND tongue. Keeping your tongue engaged at all times is key. I try to keep mine moving at all times. This is how you get 90% of guys off. It helps me keep from gagging to hold his cock steady at the base and bring my lips down to meet my fingers. You can do this very slowly for a more intense feeling, but make sure you move at a steady rhythm. Some guys like it faster or slower; you may have to ask, or more likely, he’ll tell you.
This is your power move, the one that is actually going to bring him to orgasm. A true hooker blowjob needs only this one move; if scientists were to create a blowjob machine, this is what it would do. The other moves I’m going to teach you are artistic flourishes; you use them to add flair and style to your blowjob or to slow down the action a little.
SALIVA
Don’t be afraid to just slobber all over his love muscle. It should be as wet and sloppy as possible, especially during your power move. A good blowjob makes loud, gross suction-y noises. When I’m done, I’m usually covered in my own drool and leave a wet spot on the bed.
USING YOUR HANDS
If his dick is too big for you to take the whole thing in your mouth, you’ll need to use your hand too. Slobber all over his cock for awhile first so your hand will slide easily up and down instead of just catching on his dry skin. The most important hand move is the twister. When you slide your hand up his shaft, twist your wrist. A twisting motion gets you into a smoother rhythm than the straight up and down. Slide your hand up and down on the base of his cock in conjunction with your mouth moving up and down on the rest of it. The hard part is finding the correct grip: again you may want his guidance.
Another good trick is to wrap your hand around the top of his cock and put your mouth over your hand. Then slide your hand down the shaft and your mouth down on top of it in a fluid motion until your hand meets the base of his cock. It will feel like you’re sliding your mouth all the way down him even if you can’t. It’s times like these I wish I could draw; I’d make little diagrams.
THE BALLS
I usually start out by paying some attention to the balls. There are three basic ball moves: you can put them in your mouth and suck them (LIGHTLY), lick them with a flattened cow tongue, or tense your tongue into a point and run the tip of your tongue all over them. I alternate between all three. Sometimes I lift them up and lick underneath his balls.
Also, if you cup them while you are entering the home stretch, you’ll be able to tell he’s about to cum as they get higher and tighter.
THE HEAD
My next move is usually to give his shaft several long licks from base to tip. This is the ice cream cone move; it looks sexy, it’s a nice touch, but it’s not going to make anybody cum. While conducting the power move, I come up from time to time to give the head a little attention: sucking on it, moving my tongue in a circle around it, and flicking my tongue over that spot on the underside that all the sex websites tell you is el sensitivo. In my experience, guys don’t really go that wild over attention to that spot, but these are just flourishes anyway.
I tend to get a bit wrapped up in my work that I forget to make eye contact, so head action is a great time to look up at him with puppy dog eyes and his cock in your mouth.
FACE SLAPPING
I mentioned this in my tips to get him to cum faster, but at least once during the beej, I usually pop his dick out of my mouth and slap it against my tongue or face, then look at him while I rub his cock against my cheeks and lips. Guys are visual, this is just a little something dirty for him to look at.
DEEP THROAT
I can’t really teach you how to deep throat, that’s between you and your gag reflex. The important thing, I think, is to make an effort to take him in as deep as you can, even if it’s only for a few seconds. It’s hard to explain exactly how I do this: try concentrating on relaxing your throat and jaw. As I mentioned before, it helps me to steady his cock with my hand when I go deep, and breathing in instead of just holding your breath also helps abate that “gonna puke” feeling.
THE BIG FINALE
When you’re ready to finish him off, go into the power move and don’t vary your pace for anything. If you’re cupping his balls, you’ll often be able to tell when he’s about to cum as they tighten up. I speed up a little bit at the end, and when I feel him start to come I push my head down as deep as it will go and suck slowly and intensely at the base, letting his cum just shoot down my throat (if I’m not working and there’s no condom).
So there you have it. That’s more or less what I do and it rarely fails. There are always going to be exceptions; if you try something above and he doesn’t seem to like it, pay attention to his reaction. And you don’t have to Clara the Cocksucking Clairvoyant, either. If you don’t know what he likes, just ask him!
Watch a porno. See those girls voraciously swallowing cock like they can’t get enough of it? They’re doing that because people are giving them money, but another popular motivation is love. Pretend his cock is beer-flavored and you won’t disappoint.
Still, I suppose it can’t hurt to give you a blow by blow of my blowjob technique. Please remember that College Callgirl is not responsible for the success or failure of these pointers. In the end every guy is different. It’s important to gauge his reaction and adjust your technique to what he likes as you go along.
THE BASE
If you simply wanted to get a guy off as quickly as possible, all you need to do is lock your lips at the base of his cock and suction them up and down the bottom ¾ of his shaft at a quick, steady pace while pressing your flattened tongue against the underside of his dick. Make sure you are applying pressure with both your lips AND tongue. Keeping your tongue engaged at all times is key. I try to keep mine moving at all times. This is how you get 90% of guys off. It helps me keep from gagging to hold his cock steady at the base and bring my lips down to meet my fingers. You can do this very slowly for a more intense feeling, but make sure you move at a steady rhythm. Some guys like it faster or slower; you may have to ask, or more likely, he’ll tell you.
This is your power move, the one that is actually going to bring him to orgasm. A true hooker blowjob needs only this one move; if scientists were to create a blowjob machine, this is what it would do. The other moves I’m going to teach you are artistic flourishes; you use them to add flair and style to your blowjob or to slow down the action a little.
SALIVA
Don’t be afraid to just slobber all over his love muscle. It should be as wet and sloppy as possible, especially during your power move. A good blowjob makes loud, gross suction-y noises. When I’m done, I’m usually covered in my own drool and leave a wet spot on the bed.
USING YOUR HANDS
If his dick is too big for you to take the whole thing in your mouth, you’ll need to use your hand too. Slobber all over his cock for awhile first so your hand will slide easily up and down instead of just catching on his dry skin. The most important hand move is the twister. When you slide your hand up his shaft, twist your wrist. A twisting motion gets you into a smoother rhythm than the straight up and down. Slide your hand up and down on the base of his cock in conjunction with your mouth moving up and down on the rest of it. The hard part is finding the correct grip: again you may want his guidance.
Another good trick is to wrap your hand around the top of his cock and put your mouth over your hand. Then slide your hand down the shaft and your mouth down on top of it in a fluid motion until your hand meets the base of his cock. It will feel like you’re sliding your mouth all the way down him even if you can’t. It’s times like these I wish I could draw; I’d make little diagrams.
THE BALLS
I usually start out by paying some attention to the balls. There are three basic ball moves: you can put them in your mouth and suck them (LIGHTLY), lick them with a flattened cow tongue, or tense your tongue into a point and run the tip of your tongue all over them. I alternate between all three. Sometimes I lift them up and lick underneath his balls.
Also, if you cup them while you are entering the home stretch, you’ll be able to tell he’s about to cum as they get higher and tighter.
THE HEAD
My next move is usually to give his shaft several long licks from base to tip. This is the ice cream cone move; it looks sexy, it’s a nice touch, but it’s not going to make anybody cum. While conducting the power move, I come up from time to time to give the head a little attention: sucking on it, moving my tongue in a circle around it, and flicking my tongue over that spot on the underside that all the sex websites tell you is el sensitivo. In my experience, guys don’t really go that wild over attention to that spot, but these are just flourishes anyway.
I tend to get a bit wrapped up in my work that I forget to make eye contact, so head action is a great time to look up at him with puppy dog eyes and his cock in your mouth.
FACE SLAPPING
I mentioned this in my tips to get him to cum faster, but at least once during the beej, I usually pop his dick out of my mouth and slap it against my tongue or face, then look at him while I rub his cock against my cheeks and lips. Guys are visual, this is just a little something dirty for him to look at.
DEEP THROAT
I can’t really teach you how to deep throat, that’s between you and your gag reflex. The important thing, I think, is to make an effort to take him in as deep as you can, even if it’s only for a few seconds. It’s hard to explain exactly how I do this: try concentrating on relaxing your throat and jaw. As I mentioned before, it helps me to steady his cock with my hand when I go deep, and breathing in instead of just holding your breath also helps abate that “gonna puke” feeling.
THE BIG FINALE
When you’re ready to finish him off, go into the power move and don’t vary your pace for anything. If you’re cupping his balls, you’ll often be able to tell when he’s about to cum as they tighten up. I speed up a little bit at the end, and when I feel him start to come I push my head down as deep as it will go and suck slowly and intensely at the base, letting his cum just shoot down my throat (if I’m not working and there’s no condom).
So there you have it. That’s more or less what I do and it rarely fails. There are always going to be exceptions; if you try something above and he doesn’t seem to like it, pay attention to his reaction. And you don’t have to Clara the Cocksucking Clairvoyant, either. If you don’t know what he likes, just ask him!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Ink Stink
Susie Bright recently did a podcast based around my Top 10 Tip to Get Him to Hurry the Hell Up. You can listen to it here.
In celebration of this nod from the noted sexpert (whose significance I explained to a friend by saying “she’s superfamous in sex pervert circles), I decided to post another Top 10 List. But it’s a Monday, and I’m feeling more grouchy than salacious, so instead of sex you get PAIN.
In the far-far away where I’m from, one of the many ways we display our whitetrashiness (other than proudly brandishing our Big Gulp sodas) is by giving each other drunken underage tattoos. True story: my best friend from junior high let some drunk guy at a party tattoo “Monsta Mack” on the small of her back.
I somehow escaped my formative years unscathed by lopsided hearts or stars; all my tattoos were done by licensed professionals. But since I recently started saving up for a half-sleeve, I’m ready to reflect on how bad it could have been.
I know some of these are obvious, but their continued ubiquity makes me think that some people are still not getting the fucking memo. Why are people still getting tattoos that are so bad they’re considered clichés?
The Top 10 Lamest Tattoos
10. Tit rose
The tit rose is like the car on cinderblocks in the front yard that is your chest. Nothing screams “trashy old whore” like a romantic symbol of love smacked onto one of your funbags. Trashy old whore can be a great look if it’s what you’re going for, just be aware that getting a rose tattooed on your tit will make it happen.
9. Tramp stamp
Look, I get it. The lower back is a sexy part of the body. I understand the impulse to get a tattoo on the wide expanse of creamy skin peeking out from over the waistband of your lowrise jeans. But once the expression entered the style guide at all major men’s magazines, it stopped being a viable tattoo option. The only acceptable lower back tattoo to get at this point is an actual stamp reading “TRAMP” or a drawing of a target or something. Then you go from looking like a slut to looking like a funny slut.
8. Anything utilizing a body part
I can still appreciate the simple charm of the mermaid that wriggles when you flex a bicep, but for the most part any tattoo that works in tandem with a part of your body as a sort of visual pun is out. So if your asshole doubles as the mouth of your tattoo, or a cute cartoon cow is grazing at your pubic hair, you are a fucking ridiculous person.
7. Cartoon characters
I am kind of anti-cartoon. I’ll indulge in the nostalgia of watching cartoons from my childhood, but I’m not into the phenomenon of adults without kids going to see the latest baby movies like Ratatouille and Shrek XXV. So I’m WAY not into actually getting a character from a cartoon tattooed onto your body. And a result of growing up in a place where they are considered haute couture, I HATE HATE HATE Looney Tunes. The only thing trashier than wearing the Tasmanian Devil on your oversized T-shirt and no bra at Wal-Mart at 2 am is choosing to permanently embed him in your skin.
6. Chinese characters
Played. If you must represent Chinese culture on your body, why not get something universally relatable like a delicious fried wonton?
5. Dolphins/ Butterflies
Hey, the 90s called, it wants its tattoos back. Also, aren’t the Smashing Pumpkins good?
4. Tribal
You might as well just get a tattoo that says, “Hi, please let me date-rape you at my frat house to the sweet strains of the Dave Matthews Band.” I guess that would take up too much room.
3. Stars
Stars are cute and everything, it just seems like they’re more common than herpes. We’re talking about choosing to permanently alter your body with a piece of art that expresses your identity to the world. Can’t you take a few minutes to brainstorm with a notepad before you just say “Fuck it, gimme some stars”?
2. Words
This can go to one of two extremes: either the lone word curling cryptically across your skin (which, like, save it for your Livejournal) or a whole freakin’ novel. If I want to read, I’ll buy a book, not stare at your ass.
1. Neck tattoos
I’ll admit that these can look cool, but the thing about a neck tattoo is that you’re kind of saying, “I give up.” Sure, some people are lucky enough to be able to work in a creative field where nobody cares where they tattoo themselves, but most of us are effectively limiting our job options when we get a prominent tattoo that can’t be covered up unless you wear a turtleneck every day. Neck tattoos are a lifestyle choice. Plus, this guy's a douche:
In celebration of this nod from the noted sexpert (whose significance I explained to a friend by saying “she’s superfamous in sex pervert circles), I decided to post another Top 10 List. But it’s a Monday, and I’m feeling more grouchy than salacious, so instead of sex you get PAIN.
In the far-far away where I’m from, one of the many ways we display our whitetrashiness (other than proudly brandishing our Big Gulp sodas) is by giving each other drunken underage tattoos. True story: my best friend from junior high let some drunk guy at a party tattoo “Monsta Mack” on the small of her back.
I somehow escaped my formative years unscathed by lopsided hearts or stars; all my tattoos were done by licensed professionals. But since I recently started saving up for a half-sleeve, I’m ready to reflect on how bad it could have been.
I know some of these are obvious, but their continued ubiquity makes me think that some people are still not getting the fucking memo. Why are people still getting tattoos that are so bad they’re considered clichés?
The Top 10 Lamest Tattoos
10. Tit rose
The tit rose is like the car on cinderblocks in the front yard that is your chest. Nothing screams “trashy old whore” like a romantic symbol of love smacked onto one of your funbags. Trashy old whore can be a great look if it’s what you’re going for, just be aware that getting a rose tattooed on your tit will make it happen.
9. Tramp stamp
Look, I get it. The lower back is a sexy part of the body. I understand the impulse to get a tattoo on the wide expanse of creamy skin peeking out from over the waistband of your lowrise jeans. But once the expression entered the style guide at all major men’s magazines, it stopped being a viable tattoo option. The only acceptable lower back tattoo to get at this point is an actual stamp reading “TRAMP” or a drawing of a target or something. Then you go from looking like a slut to looking like a funny slut.
8. Anything utilizing a body part
I can still appreciate the simple charm of the mermaid that wriggles when you flex a bicep, but for the most part any tattoo that works in tandem with a part of your body as a sort of visual pun is out. So if your asshole doubles as the mouth of your tattoo, or a cute cartoon cow is grazing at your pubic hair, you are a fucking ridiculous person.
7. Cartoon characters
I am kind of anti-cartoon. I’ll indulge in the nostalgia of watching cartoons from my childhood, but I’m not into the phenomenon of adults without kids going to see the latest baby movies like Ratatouille and Shrek XXV. So I’m WAY not into actually getting a character from a cartoon tattooed onto your body. And a result of growing up in a place where they are considered haute couture, I HATE HATE HATE Looney Tunes. The only thing trashier than wearing the Tasmanian Devil on your oversized T-shirt and no bra at Wal-Mart at 2 am is choosing to permanently embed him in your skin.
6. Chinese characters
Played. If you must represent Chinese culture on your body, why not get something universally relatable like a delicious fried wonton?
5. Dolphins/ Butterflies
Hey, the 90s called, it wants its tattoos back. Also, aren’t the Smashing Pumpkins good?
4. Tribal
You might as well just get a tattoo that says, “Hi, please let me date-rape you at my frat house to the sweet strains of the Dave Matthews Band.” I guess that would take up too much room.
3. Stars
Stars are cute and everything, it just seems like they’re more common than herpes. We’re talking about choosing to permanently alter your body with a piece of art that expresses your identity to the world. Can’t you take a few minutes to brainstorm with a notepad before you just say “Fuck it, gimme some stars”?
2. Words
This can go to one of two extremes: either the lone word curling cryptically across your skin (which, like, save it for your Livejournal) or a whole freakin’ novel. If I want to read, I’ll buy a book, not stare at your ass.
1. Neck tattoos
I’ll admit that these can look cool, but the thing about a neck tattoo is that you’re kind of saying, “I give up.” Sure, some people are lucky enough to be able to work in a creative field where nobody cares where they tattoo themselves, but most of us are effectively limiting our job options when we get a prominent tattoo that can’t be covered up unless you wear a turtleneck every day. Neck tattoos are a lifestyle choice. Plus, this guy's a douche:
Friday, November 9, 2007
Calihornification
Why isn’t anyone watching Californication?
Can it just not compete with the high concept cable TV we’ve come to expect from channels like Showtime and HBO? “Suburban mom sells pot” and “Family lives in funeral parlor” are simple equations that add up to lots of buzz. Californication doesn't have a "gimmick" except for showing lots of sex, but I'll tell you what it does have: HOT ASS DAVID DUCHOVNY.
I was never into him before, but his character on Californication is so hot he makes my pussy sweat.
He plays disaffected NY cum LA writer Hank Moody, a hilarious badass who alienates everyone around him with his drunken sexploits and propensity to punch first, ask questions later. Also charming is Evan Handler (pretty much the only thing about Sex and the City that still looks good in the post-syndication afterglow) as Moody’s agent. And if achingly hot bad boy Mulder wasn’t enough for you, the show’s got heart, too. Moody’s Crass-T-shirt-wearing daughter is the kid you hope you draw in the reproduction lottery, and his quest to reconcile with his engaged ex feels sweet without being sappy. By the time I got to the finale, I was tearing up and I wasn't even on my period.
I thought this show was gonna suck too, but now I am giving you the College Callgirl guarantee of its watchability: that means if you don’t like the show, you can kick me in the box. The whole first season is on demand on Showtime if you want to find out the fate of my ladyparts.
Can it just not compete with the high concept cable TV we’ve come to expect from channels like Showtime and HBO? “Suburban mom sells pot” and “Family lives in funeral parlor” are simple equations that add up to lots of buzz. Californication doesn't have a "gimmick" except for showing lots of sex, but I'll tell you what it does have: HOT ASS DAVID DUCHOVNY.
I was never into him before, but his character on Californication is so hot he makes my pussy sweat.
He plays disaffected NY cum LA writer Hank Moody, a hilarious badass who alienates everyone around him with his drunken sexploits and propensity to punch first, ask questions later. Also charming is Evan Handler (pretty much the only thing about Sex and the City that still looks good in the post-syndication afterglow) as Moody’s agent. And if achingly hot bad boy Mulder wasn’t enough for you, the show’s got heart, too. Moody’s Crass-T-shirt-wearing daughter is the kid you hope you draw in the reproduction lottery, and his quest to reconcile with his engaged ex feels sweet without being sappy. By the time I got to the finale, I was tearing up and I wasn't even on my period.
I thought this show was gonna suck too, but now I am giving you the College Callgirl guarantee of its watchability: that means if you don’t like the show, you can kick me in the box. The whole first season is on demand on Showtime if you want to find out the fate of my ladyparts.
Tila and the Other Children
You don’t have to tell me how weird what I’m about to say is. But like many trashy TV devotees, I have been watching A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. That’s NOT the weird part! It has been driving me crazy trying to figure out who Tila reminds me of. And finally, this morning, it hit me:
Tila looks like child beauty queen Swan Brunner, from HBO’s Living Dolls. Compare:
I think it has something to do with her wee mouth and the way she seems to constantly tonguing the back of her teeth. Even the way she talks is like a little kid reading cue cards. She kind of lets the words tumble down her tongue like children tobogganing down an icy hill. They don’t actually run into each other on the way, but it kind of seems like they might. Why is this woman a prize again?
I know he’s sleazy, but what can I say? He make-a me laugh.
Tila looks like child beauty queen Swan Brunner, from HBO’s Living Dolls. Compare:
I think it has something to do with her wee mouth and the way she seems to constantly tonguing the back of her teeth. Even the way she talks is like a little kid reading cue cards. She kind of lets the words tumble down her tongue like children tobogganing down an icy hill. They don’t actually run into each other on the way, but it kind of seems like they might. Why is this woman a prize again?
Oh, yeah, right.
You know who IS seriously a prize though?
You know who IS seriously a prize though?
I love the little-boy dyke thing Dani is rocking. Not to mention she’s a firefighter (HOT!). When Dani was holding Brandy back from beating up Vanessa, it looks like a sexy bear hug I wanted to be in the middle of. It didn’t hurt that Brandy was wearing panties and high heels. Plus, when you kiss Dani, the Indigo Girls plays.
If I can’t have a piece of Dani, I’ll take Domenico.
If I can’t have a piece of Dani, I’ll take Domenico.
I know he’s sleazy, but what can I say? He make-a me laugh.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Toy Chest
Pete was one of my regulars. He was a bit short and squat (which Mama don’t hate) with dark hair. I’ve never been good at pinpointing ethnicities, but he was something swarthy – Italian? Middle Eastern?
He worked with models, which is something that either a lot of guys who use hookers do or a lot of guys who use hookers claim to do. It kind of makes sense though; the mindset of commodifying beauty is the same, although Kate Moss’s face goes for a LOT more than my ass.
Anyway, I liked Pete. He was a nice guy with a sense of fun in the b-room, who was looking for a playmate more than anything. I generally just walked in, stripped down, and spent an hour rolling around with him on his king-size bed. As part of my continuing education on the various neighborhoods of New York, he lived on Wall Street, which is a weird part of town to come to at night because there’s literally nothing happening. I guess that’s why guys like Pete outsource their own entertainment. I saw him about once a week, and he was understanding about the scheduling conflicts of my class schedule and part-time job. I often went straight from my Thursday night class to his house, leaving me with the age-old debate: is it better to hook casual or learn trampy?
After a few weeks, Pete started to ask me what kind of toys I had. Since we were naked when he asked, I figured he didn't mean Slinkies and Silly Putty. At that point, my naughty toy collection consisted mostly of an aquamarine glittery vibrator and a red buttplug I’d gotten for free. The next email I received from him after this conversation read:
Can you pick up another buttplug (so we can both use them), some lube and a strap-on today, and then come over later tonight? I will pay for them. I am so turned on just thinking about it.
Well, HELLO!
My experience with the buttplug had been limited so far to admiring its cherry red color and feeling contentedly slutty for its existence in my night stand. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted the thing actually, you know, plugging my butt. I had used a strap-on once before, but it was with a girl and I was on the receiving end and the hotness of the experience was hindered by the fact that it kept slipping around and she had to keep one hand on it to hold it in place while she fucked me with it.
But when duty calls, callgirls rise to the occasion. And yes, I’m resisting the disgusting “duty” joke here. I decided one adventure was enough for a session, so I picked up another buttplug and tucked both of them with a vial of lube into my book bag next to my Anthropology textbook.
When I showed up at his pad after class, we immediately unwrapped my bounty (which had that gross, “new sex toy” smell). Once we got our clothes off and made out for awhile, Pete started out rubbing the lube into my asshole and pressing the little red rocket against my rosebud. I’ve trained my asshole to be suspicious of strangers, and it immediately clenched up against the intruder. With slow and careful prodding, he managed to work the tip of the plug inside. I had my doubts about it going any further, but slowly and surely he worked it up there until just the round base was visible.
I’m going to assume that everyone reading this has had SOMETHING up his or her butt, even if just the usual thing. So you are all at least passingly aware of the feeling of a stretched asshole. Once you get used to it, it just feels…kind of weird. Not good or bad really. Just different. And psychologically there’s something quite pleasingly dirty about it.
Once I was satisfactorily plugged, we moved on to the (bigger) buttplug reserved for Pete’s use. His browneye didn’t require the same finessing that mine had; I pretty much just popped that sucker in there and wiggled it around a little. As I moved my head closer to inspect my handiwork, I became very grateful for the piece of plastic between my hand and his ass. He totally had dingleberries.
That pretty much put an end to the ass play for me, and I guided him into less ass-related waters. He tried to use my freshly loosened butthole as a segue into anal, but it wasn’t for sale, so we ended up doing it regular-style with the buttplugs in.
I still have the red rectum raider but I don’t think I’ve used it since (I did wash it though, promise).
He worked with models, which is something that either a lot of guys who use hookers do or a lot of guys who use hookers claim to do. It kind of makes sense though; the mindset of commodifying beauty is the same, although Kate Moss’s face goes for a LOT more than my ass.
Anyway, I liked Pete. He was a nice guy with a sense of fun in the b-room, who was looking for a playmate more than anything. I generally just walked in, stripped down, and spent an hour rolling around with him on his king-size bed. As part of my continuing education on the various neighborhoods of New York, he lived on Wall Street, which is a weird part of town to come to at night because there’s literally nothing happening. I guess that’s why guys like Pete outsource their own entertainment. I saw him about once a week, and he was understanding about the scheduling conflicts of my class schedule and part-time job. I often went straight from my Thursday night class to his house, leaving me with the age-old debate: is it better to hook casual or learn trampy?
After a few weeks, Pete started to ask me what kind of toys I had. Since we were naked when he asked, I figured he didn't mean Slinkies and Silly Putty. At that point, my naughty toy collection consisted mostly of an aquamarine glittery vibrator and a red buttplug I’d gotten for free. The next email I received from him after this conversation read:
Can you pick up another buttplug (so we can both use them), some lube and a strap-on today, and then come over later tonight? I will pay for them. I am so turned on just thinking about it.
Well, HELLO!
My experience with the buttplug had been limited so far to admiring its cherry red color and feeling contentedly slutty for its existence in my night stand. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted the thing actually, you know, plugging my butt. I had used a strap-on once before, but it was with a girl and I was on the receiving end and the hotness of the experience was hindered by the fact that it kept slipping around and she had to keep one hand on it to hold it in place while she fucked me with it.
But when duty calls, callgirls rise to the occasion. And yes, I’m resisting the disgusting “duty” joke here. I decided one adventure was enough for a session, so I picked up another buttplug and tucked both of them with a vial of lube into my book bag next to my Anthropology textbook.
When I showed up at his pad after class, we immediately unwrapped my bounty (which had that gross, “new sex toy” smell). Once we got our clothes off and made out for awhile, Pete started out rubbing the lube into my asshole and pressing the little red rocket against my rosebud. I’ve trained my asshole to be suspicious of strangers, and it immediately clenched up against the intruder. With slow and careful prodding, he managed to work the tip of the plug inside. I had my doubts about it going any further, but slowly and surely he worked it up there until just the round base was visible.
I’m going to assume that everyone reading this has had SOMETHING up his or her butt, even if just the usual thing. So you are all at least passingly aware of the feeling of a stretched asshole. Once you get used to it, it just feels…kind of weird. Not good or bad really. Just different. And psychologically there’s something quite pleasingly dirty about it.
Once I was satisfactorily plugged, we moved on to the (bigger) buttplug reserved for Pete’s use. His browneye didn’t require the same finessing that mine had; I pretty much just popped that sucker in there and wiggled it around a little. As I moved my head closer to inspect my handiwork, I became very grateful for the piece of plastic between my hand and his ass. He totally had dingleberries.
That pretty much put an end to the ass play for me, and I guided him into less ass-related waters. He tried to use my freshly loosened butthole as a segue into anal, but it wasn’t for sale, so we ended up doing it regular-style with the buttplugs in.
I still have the red rectum raider but I don’t think I’ve used it since (I did wash it though, promise).
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Callgirl Sells Ass, Show
Hark! A new show springs forth from Darren Star’s Zeus-like skunk stripe. The Sex and the City mastermind has quilled another deal with HBO, this time to base a series on Tracy Quan’s allegedly autobiographical novel Diary of a Mahattan Callgirl, about which the frilly pantied ass on the cover is the best part. The show will be about a group of high-end callgirls apparently so unashamed by their profession that keep it a total secret from the rich Upper Eastside men they want so desparately to marry. Expect a lot of sex and shoe-shopping. My prediction is that by this time next year prostitution will be the new gold nameplate necklace.
And if I sound bitter, it's because I recently finished a treatment for the Confessions of a College Callgirl TV show.
And if I sound bitter, it's because I recently finished a treatment for the Confessions of a College Callgirl TV show.
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