For the Boys who Boycott Agencies

When I first discovered the hobby I was under the impression that most girls worked through agencies.  In my mind, resources were limited and circles were small enough and selective enough to mandate some sort of internal order.  Structure meant security and perhaps I watched too much Law and Order, but I always imagined that an official network connected every worker with every man who was seeking service.

Most of the clients I met when I put myself out on the market for the first time were very experienced in this dirty world of ours.  They showed me the ropes, taught me the rules of the game, and exposed me to the special touches that give an average gal that little extra edge that we all strive for.  Surprisingly enough, these men all had one thing in common, they were all quite adamant about only seeing independent girls.

Rumor has it, girls affiliated with most agencies are overworked.  They are often described as pawns in another’s game, so the desires and concerns of the provider are almost always silenced.  Several boys are under the impression that agency girls seem rushed and they let a few poor past experiences shape their opinions on every agency they come in contact with.  The pennies they save are for the experience, and some boys don’t feel comfortable having the provider release a cut to a third party.  I understand and am can empathize with some of their concerns, but I am always quick to voice my own opinion on the matter, so here’s my personal take:

For the first several months, I assumed that indy was the only way to go.  I knew I wasn’t perfect at the screening or schedule maintenance, or even taking care of myself for that matter, but I wasn’t quite convinced that someone else could do a better job.  I started to hate the TCB portion of the biz, and the stress of that often overshadowed my skills or patience BCD.  I felt as though I was on-call 24/7.  Weekly ads required daily updates of emails and PMs.  If I was away from my email or phone for a few hours, I could potentially miss out on the few appointments a week that I would be booking. *

The obsessive checking of emails began to wear me down.  It was exhausting to always be on the go and the wasted energy on stress related to managing my business made my appointments less exciting than what they could and should have been.  I was in my “provider-mode” almost every hour of every day and my personal life was affected in a major way.

I am in this business because I like the interactions.  I love sneaking away and going to where no one knows my story or even my name.  I can wear a mask paired with something soft and skimpy.  I pamper boys and have them pamper me in return.  I can save up for a fun weekend of baseball and beer at a nice hotel, simply by putting on makeup and lounging around in a nice hotel.  The touches, the smells, the surprises and the sex are the things that keep me coming back for more.

I know that my time spent between the sheets is very precious to me, but even more precious is the time spent on my daily life.  You know, the parts that will be around long after I retire from the hobby and push those interactions with strangers far out of my memory.  These are the parts that I truly need the time to focus on and taking care of them allows me to be the best at everything in my life, including what I do while wearing my provider hat.

So how does the agency work into all of this?  Simply outsourcing.  I don’t have the time to screen.  I don’t have the energy to flirt with clients through email.  I certainly don’t have the time to maintain a schedule.

• Am I overworked?  Rarely.  I find myself wishing I had more appointments and never wishing that I have had less. 
• Am I upset about giving someone a cut?  Not at all.  I would never be able to make near as much in one day as I can at the agency.  They have more than twice the resources that I have, so it more than averages out in the long run, especially when I’m only working very part time.  Sure, income fluctuates from week to week, but it does so in indy life as well.
• Do I feel like a cog in a factory?  I might be more reliant on her than she on me, but so far I’ve been quite pleased.
• Do the boys feel rushed?  I would argue that they don’t.  Sure, there isn’t as much time for the romancing beforehand, but the pacing is something that any girl can get down with enough practice.
• Will I ever go indy again?  Perhaps, but only if my real life doesn’t allow me to be reliable enough for an agency’s time table.

So boys, go easy on the agency girls.  Refusing to see them simply out of principle really limits your potential excitement in the hobby.  Bypassing a girl you like because you’re weary about the agency is even more obtuse of a stance, at least from where I’m standing.

Truly, the Girls Next Door.

Beyond this hobby, people-watching is a favorite way of mine to kill time.  The more educated I become about life and sex, the more colorful my imagination tends to be.  As long as I remember, my has seemed to run on a single-track, so the tasks that I secretly assign to those I watch is almost always naughty in nature.  Since I started to hobby, not only is everyone I see rushing around on their way to getting laid, but they are hurried because they are en route to the incall.  Every male I come across in the real world is an assumed hobbyist and the sassy females that are somewhat attractive are assumed providers.

I notice others watching me from time to time and I fear that they might be making the same assumptions.  (It certainly doesn’t help that I am paranoid by nature.)  The wink from the middle-aged father at the Marriott when I’m grabbing ice with full hair and makeup.  The 35 yo, 38DD bleach-blonde who notices my large stack of Benjamins at the ATM.  We are all players in a secret game and it is awfully fun to try to pick out your teammates.

 A handful of things turn up my curiosity more than others.  I have decided to create an ever-growing list of everyday items and tasks that hold a different meaning in this world of ours.  (I am always entertaining additions to this list)

•  Plain White Envelopes: An essential item for any hobbyist.  I was touring a swanky condo building downtown, and something in the model unit made me giggle.  In the more masculine-deco unit, the office space had at least 50 of these babies.  I imagined that any bachelor that could afford a spacious $1k/ft2 could easily afford a few dozen sessions. On the same note, any gal that has an excess of envelopes of all varieties is obviously turning tricks.
•  Cash:  Women paying with bills are providers in my mind.  If they are hot and young and the bills are 20 and lower, they are dancers.  Men at the ATM taking cash out are hobbyists.
• Hotel Patrons: I frequented hotels at silly hours before I even knew the hobby existed.  I met men 20 years my senior at the bars and was quickly escorted up to the room and soon left alone with smeared mascara and tasseled hair.  Even so, every single female at a hotel is on the job.  Every man without luggage in hand is there to keep the females in business.  I know my hotel paranoia is a little out of control when I get a bit embarrassed checking-in somewhere when I’m not even on the job.
• Suits at the Riata: In Austin I lived and worked in large apartment complexes.  The majority of my neighbors were fairly young, several of them finishing up time at an area college.  To see a 40 something in a nicely tailored suit was surprising.  When I shared an incall for a few months, at times I’d arrive early and wait for the coast to be clear.  I’d see a gentleman trot downstairs with wet hair and a tie, and I knew the incall was clear.  When it was a good 15-20 minutes until I got the all-clear call on my cell, the mystery of the first gentleman went unsolved.  Because of this, I figured there were at least 3 other incalls in my one building.

I will have much more to add throughout the week.  Feel free to PM me your suggestions!

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.

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.