So you want to be a Call Girl?

Indie Edition: 

I’ve met a few civilian girls (most of them are strippers) who have been aware of my career choices and most are extremely intrigued by all of the glamorous aspects of the job: earning potential of 1k or so a day, hanging out in lingerie, fancy men who like to wine and dine.  Anyone who hangs around the hobby community for more than a month witnesses several young girls ducking out shortly after jumping in.

 Someday when this is all less taboo, I will host start-up workshops for any interested women:  “Make money fast with limited start-up capital!  No experience necessary!  Call our 1-800 number for a free informational packet!  Call now and we’ll include the variety box of prophylactics, an everyday value of $49.99.  Sign up for our workshop and we’ll even throw in a gallon of lubricant!”  The classes at these workshops would be wonderful and informative, and I will brainstorm those things later on I am sure.  Before a gal should even sign up, she needs to get through the following exercises.

 Stranger-gram

Unless you have a very keen spidey sense, too many security devices at the incall, or very obtrusive and fail-proof screening techniques, you never really know who is coming to your door.  Wake yourself up a little early someday and go someplace busy.  Airport, Borders, Wal-Mart.  The trick is to find a very ordinary, family friendly place.  (Neimans or REI won’t work for this exercise.)

The Truth about Older Men

When I began the hobby, I had two major concerns about my clientele that I knew would either make or break me.  I was afraid of the old ones and the ugly ones.  As far as I knew, the oldest of my partners in the swingers scene was late 40s, and the ugliest always looked fuckable after several ounces of liquor.  The younger, more handsome clients that stop by often repeat my initial concerns, so I feel that it is now time to divulge the truth about age. 

I was never very good at math, so I can’t begin to tell you the age of the average provider or hobbyist, but one thing that I am very sure of is the gap between the two.  The ideal provider is firm and perky.  She smells sweet and is full of energy.  Because of the strain of hobby life, she is often single and childless and keeps silly hours.  Perhaps she has to be naive and unwise to even enter the hobby in the first place, but then again, maybe she needs to be jaded by years of hardship and lousy men as well.  32 sounds like a good age to me.

 The ideal hobbyist is a little more tempered.  He has an established career which allows him the extra $200-$800 a month of cash which he doesn’t have to account for.  He isn’t worried about paying rent and doesn’t skip out on work  for a week when his engine blows.  He has a simmered-down marriage or is scratching an ever present itch after a divorce.  He is 51.

 I began hobbying at 22, so if my calculations are correct, I would spend half of my time with men that were more than twice my age ( several being a decade or so older than my own father).  I figured this would scare me off, but in the long run, it is one of the things that kept me coming back for more.

ISO something free for a change?

I initially planned to end the life of Ms. Lolli upon ending my hobby career; however, once I left Texas I discovered that the little slut wouldn’t go down without a fight.  Although I’ve been doing a fine job of keeping my legs shut, keeping my mouth shut has proved to be slightly more difficult.  This is the new home of Jenns.  I will be honest and uncensored and hopefully I will prove to the hobby world that not all providers are in it for the money but that all hobbyists are in it for the sex.  I doubt I’ll be very insightful but I’m hoping that I’ll be entertaining at the very least.

 Take a seat, zip up your pants, and don’t worry about reaching for your wallet.  Enjoy.

Love is a Battlefield

I seem to have a knack for picking-up men in bars. When I first started practicing this skill in college I was quite impressed with myself. The more I flirted, the more I realized that picking up men for sex was about as challenging as bumper bowling. It was at this point that I stopped feeling the need to brag.

Several of my trusted male friends and clients suggested that I pick-up my own copy of Neil Strauss’s The Game. After a lukewarm session with a new gentleman, I threw on a dress and decided to take action. Strolling into my local Barnes&Nobel on a Tuesday evening I was surprised at how many others were in the mood to do a little book shopping of their own. Pushing my way through the sea of children and 30 somethings in suits, I was still unable to find a section that looked remotely useful for the 20-something player like myself.

After being trampled on my way over to the fiction essays, where I had planned to escape the chaos, the intercom announced that a book-signing was taking place upstairs. The sea of stunning women and serious looking 30 something men in suits suddenly made their way up the escalators as I spied a banner promoting the appearance of the author of Love Survivor.* I thought to myself that it must be one hell of an exciting love story to bring out the sexiest bibliophiles in all of Austin.