The online diary of a gay courtesan.

This may at first come across as a vulgar and gratuitously sexual entry; however, if you will bear with me, I will tell you why I have chosen to write it…

Yesterday I was drowning in one of my pools of emotion. I have climbed out of it much quicker than I normally do when I am mired in whatever mud my rivers churn up within me. I am not apologizing, because my emotions are part of who I am.

I spoke for an hour with my friend Jen, and we realized that I’m getting better at reining in my stallions, but that I need to focus on matching the level of my response to that which is appropriate. That isn’t to say that I am wrong to unleash the cavalry, but that I need to be more careful about when and to what degree I rattle the sabers. Almost a year ago Allen taught me to avoid scorched earth, and now I’m realizing the value of a gradated scale of alert at the airport.

Be that as it may, I then went into the normal tailspin of shame afterward for not having better control over myself; however, this time I did something special to make me feel better. I have commented on the types of touch I perceive, and after a bad day, I realized that I needed some sexual healing. (continues below video)

I went to Matt’s house almost too drained to even want to go, despite the fact that if there were ever someone I have met who should be in porn but isn’t… it is this boy. He is a fuck machine. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, a super lean body with compact and defined muscles, a cute face, an exquisite ass, and a huge dick. This 23-year-old boy was made for fucking, and he can do it for for hours. He can’t get enough! Just what the doctor ordered.

I always enjoy watching our sex in the mirror, because he is so responsive to small flicks here and deep kisses there. He writhes and moans, and is generally exceedingly flattering to my ego. But I was still just a tad distracted…

Until I caught my own eyes in the mirror and saw that I had finally connected to the moment. Between trying to suck my cock right off my body (and then trying to rip it off with his butt) I had no choice but to take the plunge… My survival was at stake! LOL

After a very long time he finally exploded into the most beautiful orgasm. His fair skin blushed red and he simpered like a little puppy. He is precious. So it was my turn, and I requested that he sit on my face while I masturbated to finish.

And then, in that precise moment, it finally occurred to me. While the mean-spirited cellar gnomes who had upset me so badly were in their little huts, groveling away over their computer screens about my latest controversy, I had a beautiful boy’s asshole in my mouth while I was jetting cum everywhere. And suddenly… those horrible people didn’t matter. They don’t matter. At all. They. Don’t. Matter.

What matters is the connection you make with people who hold you dear, and that this connection is one that nurtures you. I do not regret defending my friend. I do not regret being upset for what is happening to him. But my friend is the one who matters, not the dickhead who is bothering him. That boy last night who thinks I’m the sexiest man he’s ever met: He matters. The clients who experience joy, because they have spent quality time with me: They matter. My family matters. My cat matters.

Assholes don’t matter (unless they’re attached to the beautiful boy sitting on your face).

I believe that over the last year or two I have made it clear that I am a person of shifting moods, someone who is as faulted as anyone else, but who at least struggles with the internal questions of how to grow and become a better man on various levels. I have also written about what a friend is to me, and how precious that is in my mind and heart. With that in mind I would like to talk for a moment about sabotage.

I have written about sabotage very little, because I feel giving vent to it reinforces the stereotype that adult entertainment is more cutthroat than other industries. This is a perverse hypocrisy. I spent years in standard jobs, and to imply that sex workers are more manipulative than divorce lawyers, priests/preachers, bank CEO’s, school administrators/principals, or tenure-track professors is to throw very large rocks in very fragile glass houses. Politics is a game I do not play, not because I’m too stupid, but because I have no tolerance for hypocrisy and treachery.

With that said, there is a situation where a particular escort seems to have targeted a friend of mine. He shifts his own travel itinerary in order to get to a city a week before my friend. He then sees many clients, so that their finances are depleted just before my friend arrives. This Judas also casts aspersions on my friend. I don’t know the cause, and, frankly, I don’t care. My friend helped this person extensively in the past, and now he has decided to specifically undermine my friend in various duplicitous ways. I have never done this on my blog, but I will do it now:

Daddy can control the content of his own site, but he cannot control the content of mine. My readership covers people in 38 states, 24 countries, and four continents. I can make my content concerning you searchable with tags, including your name, that will show up in search engines.

I am a very nice person, but do not fuck with my family or my friends. I do not seek out confrontation – I loathe it; however, when in Rome…

(fade up to Star Wars theme song by John Williams)

Okay, sorry for the overly dramatic beginning. Well, my roommate got my car started, and all the electrical bugs got fixed, but the Miata ended up costing me $500 more anyway: The rear brake calipers started leaking, and they sprayed brake fluid all over the brake pads… Long story short: Had to get new brake pads (which were more than 50% worn anyway, so no biggie – they would have needed replacing anyway soon), but I also had to get new brake calipers. But the car drives like a dream again. Just have to figure out where the water is coming from that is flooding the floor panel under the passenger seat… HMMMM! Anyway, there you have it.

BUT!!

There is something wonderful to share: While I was getting my brakes fixed I went to lunch. At the table next to me were two of the happiest women I’d seen in a long time. They were having such a good time together. OMG! Their energy was captivating. They were laughing deep in their bellies, and it was like listening to music. They had beautifully braided hair, and their dresses were covered in colorful African (or African inspired) designs. Their bangled jewelry clinked like little bells every time they’d throw their hands up in hysterics. They were so happy!

“I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“Yes?” one said with a delightful glitter in her saucy eyes.

“I’ve been having a rough time lately, and, although I’m not listening to your conversation, I can’t help but overhear how happy you both are. I just wanted to tell you that I feel better for having heard real friendship next to me.”

“AWWW! That is so sweet! And you know what, baby? Whatever is getting you down… It’ll pass.”

“I think it just did.”

Now… time to go pack some boxes, so I can start moving into the new home I’ve found for me and Sméagol. He’s playing in the tape and cardboard: He’s always so happy to see all the new places to hide and ambush me from. His collar jingles as he’s playing, and it reminds me of the laughter of the two friends.

I feel good.

I am fucking fabulous!

People can say whatever else they want about me, but one trait should outshine all of them: I am resilient. I don’t understand how or why I attract the type of Mongolian cluster fucks that are magnetized to my presence, but I have been given the gift of survival. I find a way. Therein lies the balance, I suppose.

Because of complications with money that began when I went to Biltmore a few weeks ago for a vacation, rather than do the third Sean Cody movie when it was offered to me, I am under some extreme financial strain. In retrospect I should not have taken that particular weekend off with that particular person. The trip has definitely not proven to be worth the loss of thousands of dollars. The views of nature were pretty, and I had a good time, but now I find myself wishing I’d just gone to San Diego when they asked me to. The positive: I have remembered why it’s important to look out for practical needs before fantasies. I’m not bitter. Sour perhaps, but not bitter. I’ll be sweet again in time. (Please remember honesty and communication in your interactions with others.)

Also, this weekend we’d booked 14 models for a project to have only three show up. Some fast proactive thinking on my part saved the photoshoots, but the stress wasn’t needed. But this too ends happily: We got pictures of eight models, and the diversity is very nice.

Oh, I have made a decision: I will never dance at Secrets again. I will keep going to D.C., but not to be at that club. I have peeps in the capital city, but Secrets will never exploit me again. So, there’s another happy conclusion.

However, one issue that has come up in addition to the rest: My car won’t start. I got back from an intensely overwhelming trip to D.C. to find that the battery in my car had died completely while I was gone for four days. When we pulled it out it was obvious that it was the original manufacturer’s part: My battery was eleven year old! Impressive, but going dead when I needed to get to Atlanta was extremely unhelpful. It was 8:45 on a Sunday night. I was lucky to find an Adanced Auto that was open until 11:00 pm. Replacing the battery caused an arc of electricity, and the fuses blew. They couldn’t be taken out without special tools. It was 10 o’clock at night, a thunderstorm was blowing in, we’re replacing parts to my car in the dark, and I need to get to Atlanta by 1:00 in the morning. Not happening… At least not with my car…

But this is where the deal gets sealed: I know I am fucking fabulous, because of the people who surround me. I know some total angels. If I weren’t amazing I wouldn’t be loved by amazing people. “Show me a man’s friends, and I’ll tell you his character.” Mhm. I must be pretty fucking fabulous, since the people I know are absolutely incredible.

My family and friends encourage me and help me. My roommate, her boyfriend, and my nextdoor neighbor are going to get my car running while I’m gone (or at least try to). My roommate took me to Amtrak at 1:00 am, so I could take a train to Atlanta. I’m travelling in Florida with two guys who are wonderful people. My collaborators at home and in D.C. inspire me with their generosity and faith in me. What else is there to say? How could I ever doubt that I am loved? The proof is in the pudding:

I. Am. Fucking. Fabulous.

Today I’m turning 24 again. This is becoming a habit. But it’s made possible by avoiding the sun, not smoking, not using soap on my face, exercise, lots of water, a relatively clean diet, and using a moisturizer with SPF 15 or higher. Oh, and by laughing at least 10 times a day about something that makes me happy.

In my belief system today is the most important day of my year: The Naming Day. I’m going to go celebrate me. And the goddess couldn’t have given me a more perfect day. The sun is out, the sky is a dark blue, a breeze is whispering across my cheeks, the day creatures are singing/scampering/frolicking, and I have amazing people and dreams in my life.

I was very sad for a few days after the shocking news about MJ’s untimely death. And it still hurts. I just watched Janet Jackson speaking at the BET awards, which was followed by a very moving preformance of “I’ll Be There” by Jamie Foxx. It reminded me of a couple points of Thanksgiving: I was inspired throughout my life by a beautiful soul who will hopefully be at peace; I am beginning a personal cycle of renewal and rejuvenation (which is gracious aging comingled with deepening wisdom); and I am looking forward to making progress on several goals.

Happy new year to you all. I can be egocentric today: It’s my birthday. Thanks for all you do. XO