Best He Ever Paid For...

So did you like that story about Dyci the last time? I bet you did...

Sh*t I loved telling the story just as much as you liked listening to it. Hell, it was even better to have it done. I mean her mouth was like a machine...just sucking....and sucking...and...well, sucking. D was definitely a pro at her job; but since her mom was who she was, then I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. No telling how long she might have had Dyci turning tricks. But, hey, that ain't my problem.

Today was one of those rainy days, but sex still sells regardless of the weather. Truthfully, bad weather (aside from tornadoes, hurricanes) is the best time to get ya f**k on. Especially when you drop a lil' thunder and lightning in there...then right when you bout to hit that spot and then you hear that BOOOOOOOMMMM!!! Man, that sh*t is awesome. Bi***es love that!!!

I remember Colony set me up to see this one "mark." Dana...I think that was her name.

Dana....

I met Dana at a cocktail party that Colony threw at the Twelve Hotel in Atlantic Station in a few months ago for some fake ass ni**a named Ephram Dickens who was running for city council in Atlanta. She had briefly introduced us but I could see right threw his Brooks Brothers suit that he was one of them leach types that Colony loved to drag around in her pocket. Maybe about 6'3, 220, football player mold, but he looked soft as a marshmallow. But the nig was charismatic, almost like me; and just because I was a people watcher, I have occasionally noticed how he was working the room to garner votes and campaign support. Colony was working the room just the same, just that her support was on a different note. Had to give it to her though...that ho knew how to make sure she was amongst important people. I'll discus that later.

Colony had "her people" working the room, including myself, trying to get a feel for some new clientele and make sure the old ones were still in the fold.

"Braylon...I have someone I think you should meet."

I had to admit. First time I saw her, I mean a real look at her, she was cute as hell. You know like that Drake song "Best I Ever Had" where he talks about the chick with no makeup on, wearing sweats and a t-shirt...well, that's the vibe I got from Dana. Maybe 5'4 or 5'5, but the woman had some beautiful titties sitting up nice in her evening gown.

"Braylon Davis...this is Dana."

"A pleasure.."

Dana smiled "Pleased to meet you, sir..."

Any woman Colony introduced me to was 90% times the mark I was supposed to take for the evening. Dana was no different. After a few drinks, a couple of dances, she suggests that we leave.

Mind you, whenever I leave with a woman, there is no secret that she's going to or at least has the potential to get fu**ed. Naturally, they were just hip to the game. Some I had to entertain for a few minutes or hours...other just knew they wanted to get smashed. No real shame in that, I guess. Hell, I was getting paid.

But...oh yes, there is a but...I didn't f**k them all.

Weird? No... That's called G...or game for you slow folks.

I knew the Twelve had some posh rooms, but damn!!! Things were so laid out in there, it looked liked something like a room fit for some VIP type person.

There weren't any panties for Dana to throw to the floor, nor was there a bra...Man, her body looked just as good out the dress just as it did in. Now, although I was a big titty kinda guy, those mouthful C-cups looked delicious. Her Hershey brown nipples made my mouth water just before I palmed her round ass and hoisted her into my arms.

We kissed like animals. I wasn't the kissing type, never even really kissed when I was in a relationship...Yes, I had a girlfriend at one point and time...but she rushed into my face. Our tongues rolled as we twirled about the room, dancing naked. The rain had began to come down a bit more, tapping the window pane.

That was right when I tapped that ass. The pu**y was wet as if she had been outside soaked before we came in. At first she just laid there on her back, running her hands up my arms and around my back, breathing heavily with each thrust. She wasn't much of a talker, but I could tell that she was enjoying something or at least trying to get herself to that point as I didn't have to instruct her to do anything like hoisting up her legs. Dana just let me have my way...and you know ya boy was all over it...

Just as the pace got faster, I could hear her muffle something. Like she was telling me something about her back...

"From the back. Turn me over..."

No problem. Quickly, I obliged her request, not missing much of a beat as I tore into her petite flesh. The constant drilling against her walls was causing a ripple effect within me as her ass violently gyrated at the behest of my thrusts. She didn't scream...no yelling...but she moaned.

Moaned better than some of the marks that I had ran through recently.

That was my cue. Usually, unless they request it or I can sense that they are just a quick f**k kinda job, I take my time. I like to toy with them in my own diabolical way...tease them...grind them like they wish to be done with a man they hadn't paid for...then I screw them like whores. They get a nut. I get mine. I get paid. Everybody's happy.

Then she hit me with something weird. I'm ravaging that ass and she is beginning to moan louder and louder...sh*t is feeling great so I'm getting ready to top it all off.

"Don't c--"

WTF? Don't do what?

"Don't c---um in me...don't cum in me..."

If that wasn't about a b**ch! I mean, I had a rubber on. And I had never had an incident before where anything happened.

"So what do you want then," I asked, still pumping away.

I was about to bust while she was still talking. At that point I really didn't give a f**k, but I wanted to see just where this was going.

"Pull out..."

Now this chick was really tripping. What did she expect me to do with this buildup if she wanted me to pull out?

So you know what I did?

I kept pumping. I was right there, at the edge, and she was still moaning like I liked it. That shit turned me on so bad, I was prepared to just have her yell and bi**h at me if I cam while still inside her.

In what must've been a premonition, she bucked back at me and jumped off. I wanted to choke her, but what happened next threw me for a loop:

She ripped off the rubber and started sucking me. Kinda made me feel like that situation with Dyci, but just as I was about to spray her mouth, she plopped down on her back and jacked my lust all over her breasts. I groaned like a beast as the last of my juice dropped on top of her. Sh*t looked like a freaky cupcake.

All she could do was smile, playing in my semen, rubbing it. We both cleaned up in minutes, deciding that it was time for us to return to the party.

"I needed that," she said.

"I know you did..."

So back to the party....

Dana and I are sitting by the bar, chatting as if nothing was going on until I hear a man behind me speak up.

"Babe, I've been looking for you. There are some folks from the Boys and Girls Club I want you to meet. Maybe they can help you with that after school program you were looking into for me."

Babe?

"I wasn't feeling that good...walked around the hotel...took a LOAD off...," she replied. "Came to get me some water and I ran into Mr.---"

The man looked at me. Surprise, surprise. "Mr. Davis...right?"

"Councilman Dickens...," I bleeped out.

Dickens smiled back. "No...not yet, but with support like you and Miss Sparks, we may just get there!"

I nodded my head in sarcastic agreement. The nig just looked slimy and I was really hoping that he got out of my face. Yet, the thought that I just squirted some of this "life juice" on his wife made me feel a little bit better.

Dana nodded to me and slyly smiled just before she took off with her husband. She had not paid me, but I knew I'd get my cut out of Colony. She had prolly pulled it out of that ni**a earlier...gaming him up on some political payback sh*t.

Guess, I'm all up in the Dickens campaign now...

I should prolly get a thank you card and ask him what my d**k tastes like...

--B.A.D.

Coke and a Smile...

My bad for being away from you for a minute...Been a little under the weather.

Damn migraines.

That's the one thing about what I do that bothers me sometimes:

A n*gga's health/dental benefits are all contingent upon how much he brings in,,,

But then again, who the hell sets up a health/dental plan when you spend a lot of time drinking, drugging, and f**king?

But I am doing a little better, but I decided to just take a break and not take any appointments. Sometimes, you just gotta get a minute to yourself. I told Colony to just hold them all, especially since they were some regulars who occasionally requested my services. You know that b**ch ain't wanna hear that. Talking some "one monkey don't stop no show" sh*t. Clearly, she don't know I'm still gonna get paid.

Oh! Man...so let me tell you about some crazy stuff that happened to me last week. So I'm laying up in the bed last Friday, just really not feeling too hot...and like I told you earl er, I told Colony to just hold my appointments.

So I'm just relaxing, watching some TV...it's around noon or so, and I get a call--from Dyci.

Now I've gotten calls from Dyci before but it was usually something that had something to do with Colony. Colony never really used her own cell phone. Not really sure what the hell that was about, but whatever...

"Mama C told me that you weren't feeling to good...complaining 'bout how you wasn't coming by the club. Just thought I'd check on you."

That was nice of her. I mean it was two years since I had met Dyci...two years since she was my first real piece of the game. There were no hard feelings (aside from the hard d**k I fed her that night) , and we actually were able to really just chit chat every now and then. True, when we were at the club, we were always working the room, but when there were down times, it was nothing for her to just shoot me a quick call. No harm?

"I'm good. Just a little headache. But thanks for the call though."

She was probably on her way to some mall or boutique from class...or she just got through "running" and had totally missed class altogether. Sometimes I forget that she's 19 now...but sometimes catching her with a book bag downtown reminded me that she was now a sophomore at Georgia State.

We rap for a second or two about school and "work," like how this old dude she met in the Lobby at Twelve was telling her how he'd take her away to some beach resort and trick it off to her, then come to find out the nig really was blowing hot air up her ass. But I knew Dyci...so when she said she did come up on about $300 for popping off some banker in the bathroom, it wasn't hard to believe.

"Well I was out your way...thought maybe I'd roll by for a few. Picking up some lunch. Maybe you'd like some?"

Again, no biggie. "Sure."

Fast forward to Dyci spit shining the top of my head...sh*t was like something fresh out a Superhead video. Baby girl had a definite skill. That head was worth at least a hundred.

She did this thing...held the shaft at the base with all five fingers, short stroked it a few times just before she bore down on the tip with a vacuum-like suction.

How could I see what she was doing? Because i like watching chicks give me head!!! Something powerful, almost narcissistic about watching a young freak (hell, an old one too) bob her head on that meat.

Dyci had been getting it in for at least 10 minutes and i had to shoot because if she was gonna f**k me by now, she would have...you know what was about to happen.

SPLASH MUTHAF**KA!!!! HAHAHA!!!!

A piece of me laughed every time I bust in her mouth. Like her jaws would fill up like a chipmunk carrying a load of ...NUTS!!! LMAO

Shoulda seen this young freak b**ch swallow that milk.

DAMN!!!

So I go clean myself up real quick, knowing what I did was probably wrong, especially in Colony's eyes.... She prolly cared less that I had been smashing her daughter for at least a year, but we just kept it under wraps just to be safe. I liked that she thought enough to keep the scene low and knew enough to play her part. At least her mama taught her something right. But Dyci was cool like that.

She chilled for a minute, ate her "other lunch, and packed her things. I wasn't no "customer" so I didn't have to pay, but Dyci was like that little girl from the neighborhood you knew was going to grow up to be cute but you were kinda old...so I'd slip her a quick hundred or two just because times get hard. Maybe she'd get her a new pair of earrings or shoes or something.

I walked her to the door and gently kissed her on the forehead, saying my goodbye, smiling because she sucked so effortlessly but looked just as good as when she got here. She winked at me just as she turned to walk away.

Guess it was this understanding that, you know,...we do what we do...but she and I are so cool--that a quick nut was like sharing a Coke:

Just smile and keep moving.

"Some Fresh..": An Intro to Colony Sparks (continued)

So where did we leave off...Colony, right?

Oh yeah...she said,

"So what ya'll think?"

Now here I am sitting here with my d*ck hanging out in the middle of this club. Damn strangers staring at my sh*t like some science project. Felt kinda gay with them nigs looking at me, conversing amongst themselves about my package. The 3 women that were in the booth made it a little better, but still. I mean, I like my d*ck, but for some grown ass men to be just examining it like that? No thank you.

3-3

That was the vote, which mean that Colony had the deciding vote. Again, she grabbed me by my shaft and copped a few more strokes. She must have liked liked something to have given me a part time hand job twice.

"You're nice, but I'm not all the way convinced," she said. "Not that I don't trust the word of our mutual friend...I just need a little more."

WTF!?!?! What more did she need? The b**ch had me naked in the middle of some freak club getting judged!!!

Something in my head was telling me to just pull up my pants and leave. Yet, there was also something telling me to think about those students loans that were piling up...those credit card bills...Mama needing money here and there. Sh*t, I didn't even have a job plan...and I was going to be graduating with a master's degree in about a month.

You're probably thinking WTF, right? Yeah, so was I.

"Need more like what," I asked.

Grabbing my shoulders, Colony turned me around towards the bar, d*ck still hanging out. Several people were sitting at or near the bar so I was a bit confused until she pointed out a very sultry, young woman who seemed to be looking right back at us as if on a cue.

"Her name is Dyci." (As pronounced like D.C.)

On a scale of 1-10, Dyci was an 11....long legs, mulatto skin tone, and walking right over to us!

"F*ck her..."

Again, I thought this was another joke. But my pants were still down and my d*ck was still hard.

"It's not rocket science, baby," Colony ribbed. "You wanna live in my world, you gotta play by my rules."

Dyci was now looking me in my face, trying hard not to look down at my protruding hard-on.

"Dyci, do Mama C a favor..."

Mama C??? This ho is trippin'.

Dyci's eyes lit up like she had been waiting for this opportunity all her life...or at least all night.

"Take Mr. Davis, here, and give him a tryout," she said. "Then let me know what you think."

I wasn't down with this sh*t. Just a random hank fu*k on some out the blue hank. HELL NAW!!!

"Colony...uh Miss Sparks...Mama C...no disrespect but I'm not sure about all this."

She looked a little mad when I said that. Not sure if this is right, huh?"

Yep.

"You like money?" "I know you like pu**y!!!"

Ok?

"How about this son...Braylon Davis, this is Dyci, my daughter...flesh, blood, and bone..."

That was sick as the fu*k.

"I'm here setting out this young P for you and you got the nerve to think about it?"

You could guess that I obviously didn't walk away hence the story about Myra and the lunch date..but after Colony having a gun put to my head, a few shots of Patron', and an available condom in the room ready for me, I guess I was stuck like Chuck. I will say this though: Dyci was a hot piece of ass. So you know I had to tear it up.

The smile on Colony's face meant that Dyci gave me a good review.

"Sorry about being so harsh, but I'm a business woman and I don't BS around."

I understood that.

"Also, she added, "let me apologize now for taping you having sex with a 17 year old girl. Fu**ed up, I know...and yes, Dyci is my real daughter. But this is a game I play to win...favor or not."

That dirty b**ch!

"We got all the footage. From all angles and sides. But Mama definitely likes."

I was still trying to wrap my head around banging this 17 year old girl.

"So what I'm gonna do is give you this stack for a job well done...and offer you a piece of the pie."

Had I said "no," who knows who would have gotten a hold of that tape or what Jan/Dr. Rix would think. The things racing through my mind...

Colony slid a card to me across the table with a location of a spa...Spa Sydell...and requested I meet her the following day around 12 p.m.

"I'll know you're serious if you show up...or on the brighter side, you can use that $1000 as a down payment on lawyer fees should you decide to start talking...to anyone."

Needless to say, I didn't talk. In fact, I was 30 minutes early to my appointment.

-B.A.D.

Nothing But "some fresh": An Intro to Colony Sparks

In the two or so years that I have been a "working man," I have made a few contacts and met quite a few interesting people. Not to mention, I have amassed a considerable amount of money. My mama ain't raise no fool. So I don't go out like some of these other young nigs with money and just spend it on dumb sh*t like rims and big ass jewelry. I invest...in ME. The style...the charm...honing my cultural skills to make m product all the more marketable, Folks, you are looking at a walking conglomerate. With each client that I entertain, I am making sure that I set myself up to come out of this situation on top (no pun intended) when I do decide to give this life up for good.

Now, don't get me wrong, I have bigger aspirations. And I clearly don't plan on doing this forever; however, my dreams of writing s self-help relationship book like that one Steve Harvey just did will continue to be on hold until further notice. Even with a decent amount saved up to publish the book myself, there is so much more out there...calling me to keep pumping, keep playing. The game is definitely money driven, and the woman behind the scenes always seems to keep me busy.

Ladies and gentlemen: I give to you Miss Colony Sparks.

Imagine a cross between Amber Rose (Kanye West's current girlfriend) and Strange' (Grace Jones' character in the movie, Boomerang). Toss in a slick talk and a strong business acumen, and there you have it.

I don't think many folks inside or outside the Triad Club knew much about Colony...and she probably liked it better that way. What I did know, was that from our first meeting, she was going to be playing a very integral part in this game.

Now I was 26 at the time when I met Colony; but even before she could open her mouth, I could tell she was a boss b**ch. And I didn't know that the Triad itself was the "swinger" spot that double as a VIP room for one of the more ritzy establishments in downtown Atlanta (that will remain nameless for the time being); however, when you see the people around you looking as friendly and getting that erotic vibe, you know that some of these folks wasn't in there for just the music.

I turn to my left...2 silhouettes in a shaded room, revealing a long haired woman getting it in doggy style. Dude looked as if he was going pretty hard on that ass.

I turn to the right...2 very good looking women, one of whom looked like Wendy Raquel Robinson ("Principal Greer" from The Steve Harvey Show/"Tasha Mack" from The Game) , were in a corner booth area all upon each other, almost to the point of kissing. I must have been looking a little too hard as one of them winked at me once they saw they had a captivated audience of one. All this, and somehow I had totally forgot that Colony was trying to get my attention by calling my name. I was just a little too into all the sensuality that was floating around.

"So you're the young guy that Jan told me about..."

Good dick obviously went a long way.

"I...I guess I am," I replied. "Braylon...Braylon Davis."

Somehow, I was sure she had a full dossier on me. A Cheshire grin across her face must have meant that my naivete' amused her as she nodded to what looked like a council of 3 men and 3 women that had been sitting in the booth with her.

"I will give it to you, Mr. Davis...you're a pretty young b**ch if I've ever seen one."

Even after hearing Dr. Rix use that term, I still had yet become comfortable with it being used to describe me. Bashfully, I thanked her. I was glad that she wasn't able to read minds and know what I had really thought about all this.

After fielding some secretive comments from her associates (along with my own personal awkward moments internally), Colony looked at me with a hungry glare.

"So let us see it..."

I laughed at her because she really couldn't have been serious.

Take off my pants and show my dick to all these people??? Fuck no! I didn't ask for all this.

"Mr. Davis, let me be quite frank with you right now. You're here as a favor. Normally, I don't fool much with outsiders, but word is that you have quite the package."

Colony explained to me that this sh*t "wasn't for play" and that Dr. Rix had somewhat begged her to include him in the game. She gave a somewhat impressive spill about how "her world" is like a fantasy land; and that for the right price, dreams could rise and fall at the snap of her hand. Such an opportunity to mingle and entertain some of the city's wealthiest, and making sure I did a good job, could help along with my career...but only if I was in it to win.

She stood up from her seat. Damn, she was wearing the hell out of that gray pinstripe pants suit. There was no blouse as only the rise of her very full breasts were covered by a hint of a black lace bra.

She circled me like a predator getting ready to strike, until she finally stopped in front of me...starring me in my eyes. Swiftly, she pressed her breasts against me and grabbed me by the waist.


Sh*t was weird as hell but I kinda got "rocked up" as her hand found its way down to my package.

A few quick strokes and I was all hers...stiff in her hands, distracted as she slowly slinked down my torso to greet me in only the way she would greet "some fresh."

A quick motion and the next thing I knew, my pants we down to my ankles and all my sh*t was out.

B**ch didn't even kiss the head or anything!!!

She just stood up, looking at me. Then turned to her "council"...

"So what do ya'll think?"

(To be continued...)

Equal Opportunity Employer: Beggars Can't Be Choosers

You know what?


I completely forgot to let ya'll in on that "lunch date" I was telling you about the other day.


Well, let's get right to that.

I pull up to Luckie Food Lounge (yes, they do serve lunch) about 1:15. Valet was a bit slack but hopefully, that eager young nig who took my keys has enough sense not to scratch my truck. The lunch crowd, normally, isn't that bad so I figured spotting my "mark" wouldn't have been too hard.

(I will explain the term "mark" more in depth later.)

Let me mention first that the set up was a blind date; and in my business, blind dates are not for the close minded. The main focus going into a situation like that is to get that money. That's what alot of these nigs don't realize these days. Acting all uppity and sh*t. I don't see no damn money falling out the sky.


But back to what I was saying...the only real problem with these "blind dates" is that the friend who decides to procure my service (or any services at that) fails to assess the situation as it should be. In other words, they figure that beauty "is only skin deep" and tend to leave out minute details about what the person might look like or if they have some kind of condition.

In some cases, I believe them.

Wait, how much is the insurance on both an 08 Ferrari and an 07 Escalade? And considering that the Ferrari is only driven in the city limits on the weekends?

Trust, my insurance company doesn't take compassion as payment on the third of every month, so being ready for any situation is necessary when it comes to getting paid.

For example, I was hired as a "date" for a fundraiser type gala a few months back as a date for a woman named Myra Dawson. Myra...oh, Myra.

Now mind you, Myra is in her mid-50s but she got that Tina Turner thing going on so she still got one helluva body. Myra is also one of Atlanta's black social elite and very heavy on the city's political scene. I would probably have to kill you if I told you which state Senator she had been married to considering that there is still a pending investigation into her late husband's business dealing as it pertains to his death.

So keeping the story short, Myra:

* Has money (longer than that of her deceased husband who came from money himself).

* Political influence and power (who do you think is pulling behind the scenes moves on the state's HOPE scholarship initiative).

* A very, very, able handicap (I'm gonna tell you in a sec. Just wait.).

During a recent gala event at The W Hotel (as her date), I noticed she had a slight limp. Wasn't nothing I was really concerned with because it was either from some sort of surgery or just natural progression of age. So I...

Man, f**k this...

The moral of the story is that despite the fact that Myra had a prosthesis didn't mean that her feminine parts didn't work!!!

Oh and please believe, I waxed that ass!!! She popped off that plastic (OMG I thought I was about to pass out when I first seen that sh*t. Was like that scene from I'm Gonna Get You, Sucka) and in I went. Even in her old age, she still had a little gush to it; but, mentally, I had to block that nub of a leg out and keep cool because moments like that don't happen to people everyday. You'll probably get freaked out if I go into more detail; but like I said, closed minds don't get paid.

So back to the "mark" (A "mark" is a name I generally give for my clients) who was sitting in a rear booth in the restaurant, looking to be preoccupied by a PDA and some paperwork. I will admit, she was a cute, thick sista...kinda like a poor man's Jennifer Hudson.

Lisa, Lisa Morton was her name and she was a lawyer...better yet, a partner at one of those huge firms downtown that specialize in criminal defense. Can't remember the name though. There wasn't a ring on her finger to signal she was married, although I had already done some preliminary research on her before our rendevouz for my own piece of mind and conversation purposes.

The first 30 minutes or so we just talked about our backgrounds, like where we went to school and whatnot. We even figured out that we knew some of the same people, or at least met some of the same folks in passing. Even though I knew what she did, it was easy to see that she was happy in her career choice as she seemed to go on and on about her job. It wasn't until she inquired about my business that the situation itself became a little tense.

"So what do you do," she asked.

I'm a consultant...with a event planning company," I replied. "Opulent Creations..."

I tried to stay away from explaining to much of what I did as I knew little about actually planning an event as I did about "entertaining" people. To throw her off, I even tossed around a few events that I had hoped she had heard of before to at least make her think I was legit.

In the meantime, our food and come; and after we had eaten and talked a little more, it was about time to wrap it up. Truthfully, I figured that f**king was not on menu for this one, and I, for one, didn't really care to do it anyways. I had already gotten paid by her friend beforehand so there really wasn't anything left to do. It was a nice lunch. We probably would never see each other again, despite possibly changing professional information and saying our parting pleasantries. She didn't look like one who would be a repeat customer, nor could I really consider dealing with her outside of a professional environment.

So I pay for the meal and we give each other a friendly hug...I make ready to leave. Mind you, I didn't notice that she had pulled out her pocketbook.

"So how much for one more hour?"

That definitely threw me off guard, but I chose to play along.

"Will $300 more do," she asked.

"Excuse me," I said.

"Well, I hope you didn't think that consultant bit actually worked, did you?"

She got me. I was impressed.

"I mean, you are a little too good looking to have such a semi-entry level position. That suit is by no means cheap. And that SUV you pulled up in is probably an '07 model," she went on. "Plus, I know the types of circles my girl. Amaree, runs in."

"Oh," I answered, still trying to play dumb.

"That just not my circle. But I'm a big girl...and a quick fix should do me some good before I get back to the office."

Slyly, I smiled...not just at her willingness to take control of the situation, but the fact that she accepted the game for what it was...

ALL BUSINESS.

P.Y.B. - Pretty Young B**ch

So...where did I leave off?

Yeah, Dr. Rix...Jan...Mmmm

I must say, I felt kind of bad after realizing that Jan was married with a family. It wasn't that she had made much mention of it in class before. Then again, maybe I didn't pay that much attention to it. Fuck, I ain't gonna even lie, I didn't give a fuck about the details of her family life. All I knew was that her nipples seemed to call me through her shirt when she talked about "pussy power" or how my manhood would stand at attention when she would walk her fine ass into the room.

Tell me how many middle aged, women of color you know with advanced degrees, an open minded perspective, and a body like a 24 year old coed...

Before the romp in the office, I often imagined her round, brown ass vibrating in front of me as I mounted her from behind. My boys used to rag me odd because I had a thing for older chicks....talking bout how they were old enough to be my aunt or something.

Who's the dumb ass now?

Not only did she fuck and suck me, but she tipped ya boy for a job well done.

And what do you think I did with that hundred dollars she gave me?

Man, her husband was lucky as hell. If she was my woman I would've gotten her ass pregnant too.

Back to the subject at hand, it wasn't the fact that she had done me in her office or even that she was married...it was that damn hundred dollars. She just tossed it to me and sent me on my way.

Kinda sounds like some dismissed whore that just got smashed and shown the door. Hell, that was what happened!!!

I was never really one to make many bones about stuff that I didn't know much about, primarily because I didn't care much for drama or answers to questions I really didn't want to know the answer to; however, for something like that to pop off with no warning whatsoever was a bit weird. One day, I just had to ask. I'll never forget what she said.

Braylon, you're a very charming young man...and I put an emphasis on young...I just see so much talent...

Talent, huh?

She said I was what she and her "colleagues" called a P.Y.B. - Pretty Young B**ch..

Bitch? Pretty, I got (slight vain moment...please excuse.) Young, yes (compared to her being at least 40). But a bitch?

Apparently (from what she explained), the term was to be used more as an expression of a physical attraction...almost in the sense like how ordinary nigs be yelling dumb shit at women when they pass by. But being tagged by she and her friends, the guy was a target, someone who looked like they had the potential to fulfill a few "services" for women like themselves. Now whether they chose to drop a few dollars on the dude, that was something totally different. As she quoted "some men just fuck to fuck."

It was hard for me to concentrate when she was talking to me as what i really wanted to do is bend her over the desk and spread her wide; however, the more she talked about "her circle" and "the life," my interests slowly peaked at what seemed like a proposition although she never came out and actually said anything.

The shit she was saying seemed like something out of one of those low budget Trois movies (my favorites, though)--low end fuck scenes...seedy, little secret clubs with secret passwords...all that other bull. She told me that "the game" was more than just the money I could make and, potentially, all the high end pussy I could handle. The opportunity itself lended to some very influential people with connections around the city, and as a college student (broke, at that), why wouldn't I jump at the chance to get some bills paid and set up some career connections?

Most 25 and 26-year old nigs probably wouldn't have had enough sense to put their mind past the fact that they'd be around sex all the time. I, on the other hand, definitely saw this as a come up. Like really, Jan tipped a nigga off with $100 bucks. What was a lonely widow who runs her dead husband's real estate business going to drop for a night on the town and some D?

CHA-CHING!!!!

And even while the thought of my mind wrapped around the money, cars, clothes, and ho's, I wanted the one in front of me. And just as I had half the mind to jump her bones, she turned and smiled...a small card in her hands.

There wasn't much spice or fanfare to the card, which I had then noticed that it was a business card. Yet, there was a name and a title listed:

Colony Sparks - Lifestyle Consultant

"She's expecting your call...tell her Jan sent you."

Then Jan moved closer to my face, caressed my cheek with her hand, and gave me a sweet kiss on the jaw.

"Don't worry...you'll always be my pretty, young b**ch..."

I wasn't sure if this was a goodbye or if Jan was trying to throw me right to the wolves and get me started with a client of her choosing. What I did know, was that meeting Colony Sparks was going to be interesting to say the least.

-B.A.D.

A B.A.D. Man/How Does It Feel To Be Me

You know what?

Where are my manners?

In my haste to tell my story about Dr. Rix, I totally failed to introduce myself. I'd probably give you a business card if I could, but I doubt that's going to happen because in my line of work, the least amount of evidence the better chance my business has to survive under the radar. Not that I wouldn't like to advertise my SERVICES (because I do believe that they are necessary...or more like a necessary evil); however, like I said, the smaller the paper trail, the better.

Guess that kinda makes this account of my life an oxy moron, huh?

Anyway, back to what I was saying. Allow me to introduce myself:

My name is Braylon Arlen Davis.

B.A.D. (Damn, that sounded corny as hell). But I'd like to consider myself one bad mutha-----.

I'm not going to give you one of those classified ads that give all my stats. You know...like:

Handsome black male, 29, college educated (advanced) iso of female companion looking to enjoy leisurely outings.

Uh, no. That shit sounds desperate as fuck. And I, for one, am not desperate.

If I sat down to write words that described my looks and personality, I'd almost feel a bit narcissistic...because I'd really have to get descriptive. Say maybe:


6'3
Athletic
Polished brown skin tone
Mesmerizing brown eyes

Sexy? Nope. I would like to think I was a little more humble than that. But let me take a minute to toot my own horn (TOOT TOOT...)

I could list so many more, but I don't think you'd care to hear me go on and on.

But I bet I know what you would like to hear how I make my living. Hell, by now I would think that you had some sort of inkling about what it is that I do. But...fuck it:

I AM A MALE ESCORT.

Now before you go "Ewww...that's nasty" and all that other shit, let me just politely insist taht you take up the mantra "to each his own." I, personally, don't feel that I need to explain myself to you because what I do is my business (and I do mean MY BUSINESS), but I made it a point to let you in this far. So if you're this far in reading, you're just as bad.

Why, you say? Apalled?

You shouldn't be. It's not your fault that you are hooked, sitting down reading. Just like MY WORK, I was built to fullfill fantasies. As you're reading, you want to know my every move...learn my style...know what makes me tick. I'm the type you'd love to hate but become a fiend for the words that I type onto the screen.

Is it the sexy escapades of entertaining the finest of the city's elite, sexing high end clientele on the rooftop of the SunDial restaurant? Or are you to scared to step into my world, yet rack your brain wondering not just how it feels to be me...but to be with me (for the ladies, of course)?

Seriously, I don't try to come off as some type of arrogant SOB, as I do believe their is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. I just happen to walk the line, yet never enough to turn off a customer. Mama didn't raise me like that. I just figure if you're not paying my bills...hold up, scratch that...You are paying my bills.

What I'm saying is that you can't knock the hustle because I'm getting paid...and paid mighty well, I might add. My suits are tailored. My shoe game is colder taht a penguin giving head on top of the North Pole. A weekly fresh cut is the norm.

Condo in the city? Check. But the bell man won't even let my younger brother come up without my permission.

And you think you're not going to look twice at the black F430 (Ferarri, that is)? You're most definitely right because that's my Sunday car, and I don't work on Sundays (sinners got to get saved...or in my case, saved enough till the next week). So you'll just have to watch me pass by in the champagne Escalade.

These things are necessary to continued success in my business; because in this beautiful, Black Mecca we call Atlanta, I am a commodity. Tell me what woman (in her right mind) doesn't want a STRAIGHT BLACK MAN who not only looks the part, but acts and plays the part of a successful, refined gentelman to perfection. And with a strong sex game to match, too? Shit!!!

Fuck having a Dos Equis...Grab me!!!

And you can have that...and maybe more. For the right price...

Man, sorry about that soapbox, but when you got a knack for what you do, and you know you do it well, you embrace it. Like I'm really tempted to tell you more but I do have a dinner date in about 45 minutes; and if I'm going to be enticingly late, it's going to take me at least 40 minutes to get ready.

It's a good thing I took that payment upfront. On occassions like this, it's necessary (this was a blind date for some corporate lawyer chick whose friend described her as a bitter workaholic who just needs an afternoon squirt) to make sure you get the money upfront. Hell, she don't know I'm gonna be late, but it'll be worth her while.

But thst's another story for another day. So until then...

Stay tuned or stay thirsty. It's up to you.



-B.A.D.

The Pleasure Principle (Dr. Rix)...

When I was in college, I had this one sociology professor, a Dr. Jandra Rix, who once told our Advanced Sex and Sociology class: Men need PUSSY.

PUSSY...

Initially, my first thoughts were that of the statement being something that you tell a 16-year old, possibly warning him against the mythical powers held inside the walls of a woman's innermost sanctum. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more sense it didn't make.

Another enlightened soul once said PUSSY makes the world go 'round. I believe had I taken some sort of poll from every woman that I passed by on a daily basis, they would probably agree wholeheartedly (with or without words). I mean, seriously, PUSSY had the type of power to topple not only the walls surrounding a man's heart, but it also had enough juice (no pun intended) to make entire civilizations crumble to the ground--all because of man's lust for the warmth of the fairer sex.

Garden of Eden...gone
the ancient city of Troy...gone
Bill Clinton's presidential term...gone (and he didn't even hit)

My point, simply put, is that while a man chases PUSSY, they lose a lot--including their respect, dignity, power...even their humanity.

Simple nigs might call it love. Moralists call it lust. I call it...well, I'll get back to what I call it in a sec.

If I wouldn't have had my mind already set, I just might have believed what Dr. Rix said...that is until I convinced her to retract that statement while she swallowed me whole.

Damn...that Dr. Rix. All of this, I can honestly say, I owe to her.

I remember the first day time as if it were yesterday...and not 5 years ago. I walk into class and sit down my books, anticipating another riveting discussion with the class about some off the wall topic that Dr. Rix would toss out to us at the beginning of that Thursday's session. We had talked about the idea of "pay for play," meaning the exchange of money for sexual services or favors. I had often heard these rappers and entertainers, hell even some of my country ass relatives, claim that they have paid for the comforts of a woman. Some would be as low as a quick $40 fuck while others wanted to just rent a woman for the night and do whatever the hell they wanted to. And when I say whatever, I mean having the chick get on all fours and bark like a dog (that Coming to America type shit) or setting her out to friends that had come along for the ride.

Needless to say, this one chick...I can't remember her name, I assume she must've gotten offended at the talks. Maybe it struck a nerve or something but she goes on to make mention about role reversal, saying:

"There is so much talk about how the sex trade is legalized..and how women can sell themselves for a few hundred bucks. What about men? Where is the convo about men who sell sex?"

I really wanted to get up and give her a piece of my mind as she went on and on about how sex is a double edged sword and that men who...well you know: men who are whores are celebrated and women are vilified.

And then just before the class ended, Dr. Rix replied "Sweetheart, as fucked up as we think it is and depending on where you get it, there is always a price tag on sex. The real question you might want to ask is if the person offering has sense enough to get paid what they are worth..."

I remember following her to her office to ask her about an assignment she had given to the class previously; yet this time, I noticed something differently about the vibe in the room. It was about 6:30 in the evening and most, if not all, the students had gone home. The only people probably left were the janitors.

I'd be inclined to go through the conversation in its entirety, but the only part I really cared about was the sex. Jan (she told me to call her Jan) had an awesome body to be a 40something year old academic. Before I knew what happened she had me plopped down in her leather chair, pants to my ankles. Her hair was still held up in a bun as she showed me the tricks of her trade. I could feel the skin tighten along my shaft as her lips traveled up and down, slowly pulling the life deep within my loins to the top. Obviously a skilled veteran, she stopped just as she could feel my spunk churn near the middle, spit on the head; and just as she watched the saliva and precum cascade down, jumped right back on it and throat the entire thing. And I wasn't small at all...or so I was told.

In like a sultry way, the petite instructor had me at her mercy; although, I was quite reluctant to continue on...even if it was one of my fantasies to sex a teacher. Her dress was that of a one piece that had buttons at the waist. The sound of the snaps still ring in my ears as she slipped off her panties and sat spread eagle on the desk. Luckily, I carried a rubber on me at all times...never knew what was going to happen.

Lusty smashes against her pelvic bone rocked the legs of the table as I had urged her to try to be a little quieter. Man, getting caught...with a teacher...in her office!!!!

I looked into her eyes and saw nothing but a cold stare. Something like that of a predator, waiting for the right moment. There was no mistaking that the quick romp was calculated, planned by this delectable cougar who had taken more than just an interest in my knowledge of the subject matter in her class. She probably could've had any man she wanted; but by some twist fo fate, she chose me.

The more I stroked, the more she bucked. The thrusts got harder as my meat filled her space, growing with each bang. Jan wrapped her legs and grabbed my arms. Greed for the thrill of releasing inside of her took over my thoughts...so much so that within a few growling pumps, I could feel the warm gift shoot toward the barrier of the condom.

Not much was said as we both gathered our clothes and she handed me a study aide once she gathered her bearings. Realizing that I had never really spent so much as 2 minutes in her office, I had just spent 10 inside of her. Really couldn't explain what happened, all I know was that it happened.

Walking away, still having not said more than a "thank you," I noticed a picture on the book shelf. It was her, a small boy, and a man slightly taller than her. They were all smiles and looked as if they were happy. I had never taken the time to notice she had a ring on her wedding finger. But the shine was all clear now, and the little boy in the picture must've been her son.

I didn't really know how to feel...I just know I felt bad.

Damn that was fucked up.

That was what I thought as I walked to the door, peeking out to see if anyone had heard us. Then I remember her calling out to me.

"Job well done..."

And she handed me $100.

As I walked to my car, it dawned on me that the principle behind getting paid for "services rendered" was that it was more than the act of fucking that got you paid, but it was about providing an experience that would leave a positive impression on the person getting SERVED.