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.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
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.
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.
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