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The content of this blog is purely for entertainment purposes and in no way promotes any illegal activities between

buyer and seller. Mutual arrangements are for companionship and time spent only.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014


Fans of Asian escorts often lament that while their devotion is unconditional, they'd really like to find that rare naturally busty and/or bootylicious Eastern lady. But alas, they're few and far between. Wanna know why Sunny was so popular? Well, actually for a few reasons. Like…she was pretty, friendly and oh yeah…naturally busty! And just like baseball and Ballantine…there's a combination you can't beat…but there she goes - she's out! (By the way…if you understand what I just wrote, you're old!)

Anyway and to the point, a very naturally busty - and firm - Asian has now hopped on board. She used to work at JEWELS and GC, but has now migrated to a spiffy new place located in the Village. I voyaged over yesterday to shoot some pix of the double-d delight, and I can tell you that the new plant is pristine and worthy of a visit. 

I can also tell y'all that upon inspection, I found her old photos to be awful in so many ways. Terrible lighting, poor poses, too much  makeup and photoshop to not just her body - but face as well! Really not representative of the real girl though she clearly is the photo subject in the images.

And so it's good thing I brought my camera. I would not have been happy publishing her old photos. Having said that, CANDY (646-831-4555) was not the easiest photo subject. Some girls live to show off for the camera - and others (like Candy) live to perform behind closed doors. Her reviews are good and I have it on good authority her body rubs are supreme. That's an Asian thing. It's in the culture for whatever reason. 

Anyway…here are two photos I took just yesterday. They're almost photoshop-free. Just a little lighting and smoothing is all I added. The dimensions are correct and untouched. Enjoy!

Tuesday, April 22, 2014


If I've heard this story once…I've heard some version of it a thousand times. And it always ends with a ker-plop - and a visit to Sprint, AT&T, T Mobile or some other cell phone carrier.

I've been using cell phones ever since I got my job at Action 17 and a half years ago. And I'm proud to say that not once have I lost a phone let alone dropped one in a sink or toilet. But I don't think there is one escort who can make that claim. And what I wanna know is what the fuck is it with these girls that they're constantly replacing water-logged phones they mindlessly submerge? 

In just the past 3 days, not one…but two of my buddies fell victim to their own sloppy designs. But at least with one…she found a new way to soak her phone. No, it wasn't the sink or toilet. It was the pool. Girlfriend is in Florida currently and while going for a swim…you know the rest. Ker-plop into the deep end.

Maybe two days later, another old friend called to say that she was sorry for not calling but she had to get a new phone and couldn't recall my number. Knowing what a space case she is, I couldn't restrain myself: "Let me guess. So you lost your phone…or you dropped it in the sink or toilet." Response: "Something like that." It turns out it was the toilet with the magnetic force that afflicts so many escorts.

And speaking of being sloppy and absent-minded…I know I wrote on this subject previously, but for the life of me, I cannot find the old post. I searched the terms "toilet," "water," and "cell," and the entry is somehow nowhere to be found! But that's probably a result of me losing 180 posts a couple of years back thanks to a certain duo. Readers of this blog know what I'm talking about.

Anyway…the message: Girls! Secure your phone. Save yourself from the "ker-plop syndrome." IPhones cost a lot of money. And they don't work too well on a scuba dive.

Monday, April 21, 2014


Will wonders never cease! I just got a call from TWINKLE (917-861-6600) whose owner I haven't heard from in a coon's age. For a second, I didn't even remember her…and rumor had it she has a partner who doesn't like me - though I don't even know who that partner is!

Whatever…apparently all that is in the past and sooo…welcome to Twinkle NY! Here goes with their bevy of beauties. Ooo la la!

Sunday, April 20, 2014


The following is a stupid story I completely forgot about until tonight. Maybe it was the "When I'm Sixty Four" post that reminded me. I'm really not sure. So anyway…here goes:

After my old man left CBS and then failed at establishing his own record company, Popsicle settled into life in LA living aboard his yacht. So he put the old barge on the market for daily rentals and lo and behold, he got a bite. Seventy five hundred bucks for the day and he was good to go.

When that day arrived, guess who the client was! George Harrison of the Beatles. Now the old man wasn't all that impressed. Remember…he himself had 17 gold and platinum records. Plus, long hairs like Harrison were emblematic of his fall in the business. Regardless, $7500 was $7500 and daddio did his Chicken of the Sea thing ferrying George wherever he wanted to steam. 

Accompanying the old man as crew was my cousin Paul, one of the most full-of-shit individuals you'd ever want to meet. Paul was my Uncle Bill's greatest nightmare. He just couldn't believe Paul was his son. They could not get along. Just for example…my uncle insisted that Paul marry his live-in girlfriend because it wasn't right to live in sin. Uncle Bill was old school that way. So what did Paul do? He relented…sort of. The couple married and had their reception at Tavern On the Green where all Paul's friends dropped acid and got stoned on pot in the bathroom.

The next day Paul and his "wife" split the proceeds (all the cash presents) and went their separate ways…never to be together again. And get this! The night before the wedding, Paul swapped mates with his childhood chum Richie DelNunzio - just to celebrate the nuptials. OK! So now you know about Paul. Back to the charter with George Harrison.

So they're out on the high seas when Paul and the old man spot a fucking shark! To them…sharks were the scum of the sea - and to be shot on sight! Seizing the opportunity to make a kill, Paul ran to the bow and fetched Popsicle's shotgun and started popping off at the shark. Sooo enlightened!

Whatever…Harrison's on the front deck meditating while this is happening...all while munching on a chicken wing…and gives Paul what for for shooting at a shark with no cause. And Paul delivers his classic line..."I suppose you think that chicken you're eating just upped and died." Ha ha! 

What was lost on Paul was the reality that the chicken had been murdered so George could eat it while the shark was getting snuffed just because in Paul's eyes, it was the scourge of the sea. But then again when you think about it…that shark caracas wasn't going to go to waste. It would become food for other fishies. 

Whatever…the point is…ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) has a new girl named NANA…and SECRET DIARY (917-531-1867) is proud to announce the arrival of KENSIE, who's looking remarkably bootylicious for a girl from The East! 

But before I post images of the cheesecake…a story about my Uncle Bill, one of the most earnest individuals I've ever known. As I've said before, my uncle was part of the Greatest Generation. He was a medic on the front lines in WW II.  Obeying his Hippocratic Oath (Bill wasn't just a medic but a licensed physician as well), my uncle once travelled 4 hours round trip to fetch diphtheria serum to save a German SS officer's life. Of course, all his colleagues were of the opinion that he should let the fucking Nazi die. But not Bill. He took the oath and aimed to uphold his end of the bargain. And so…he saved the officer's life!

Months later, German aircraft strafed and bombed his unit…and aimed their payload directly at the building with a red cross painted on the roof. This of course was against the rules. But war is war - and Nazis were Nazis! And killing the American wounded was all part of the drill.

So disenchanted was my uncle over the German's sense of foul play, he immediately ordered those in his command to paint over the red cross on the roof of the hospital - and add one to the roof of the unit which held all the German prisoners...as in...bomb that, you fucking bastards! 

And so…Bill kept his oath and at once gave the Nazis what he felt they deserved - and all with a clear conscience! Anyway…enough of that!  Here's da goils! 


Among the birthday greetings I received yesterday, there's one I'd like to share in a post rather than in the comment section. It comes from my almost 93 year old mother who not surprisingly, isn't the steamroller she once was. Not very many years ago, there would never have been a typo - just for example. And according to my brother, she can no longer navigate 18 holes on a golf course either. More like 3 at last report. 

Anyway…her communication is atypically cute and endearing. I guess there's something to be said for that old "mellowing with age" theory after all. So without further ado…here it is…my completely unedited birthday greetings from Florida. And I might add that after my refusing birthday presents for years, mom insisted that I couldn't say "nothing" this time around when she asked what I wanted. So I asked for Paul Shafer's book.

Billy - It's that time of year again! And you're 64!
I remember very little these days, since old age has made inroads into my memory mechanism, but I remember literally hunreds of thinkgs about you as though they happened yesterday. I wish I could say they were all good. Boy, you were some brat! But you were a very handsome child despite your erratic behavior. One thing I remember vividly is that you wouldn't go to sleep without your phonograph ande all your records. And the phonograph needle! And then you would g to sleep by knocking your head against the headboard repeatedly. Do you suppose all that knocking explains some of your behavior?
Am going to find that book you want but it may take a while because I'm dependent on my driver to get to a store. (I don't drive anymore because I don't see well enough to pass a driver test.) Hope you have a graqnd 64th! Love, Ma


All people have a name given to us at birth. But often, that's not the name we go by. Over time, our personality determines how people address us. A tall guy might be known as Stretch. Or a diminutive dude as Shorty. Even within the parameters of our natural-born name, there are variations. Maybe you were born James (as was my brother). You could be James to a schoolteacher. Or Jim to a conservative trying to be hip. Or Jimmy as he still is to me today. Take Daniel. Could be Dan or Danny, right? Or maybe he sucked at athletics in his youth and the jocks might call him D-ball. OK! You get the idea.

Me…I was born William. Simple common name. My old man used to call me Wilsssson (with a ringing redneck "s.") Probably because he thought I had personality. But generally, I became Billy. That changed during college. I became Willy. I'm not sure exactly how that happened. But once college was over, that phase ended and I went back to Billy. Throughout, some people referred to me as Bill. I always felt that people who called me Bill didn't get me - or were bad listeners. I never introduced myself as Bill - ever! So why would they call me Bill? Because it made them feel comfortable? Never got that. If somebody introduced herself as Nancy, would I take to calling her Nan? Back to "Bill." Was it disrespect or simply cluelessness? Either way…not working for me! I told you my name was Billy. Why would you call me Bill?

Maybe 14 years ago, I gave myself a new professional name. Previously, I'd been Billy From Action…but I needed a new moniker after I left the publication. So I came up with Dollar Bill...as in…"get the best bang for your advertising buck with Dollar Bill." Now there are actually some people who address me as Dollar Bill! I take that as an unnecessary sign of deference. As if I'm an exalted somebody. What's that?

OK, enough! There must be a point to all this! And there is. If I like somebody (and especially if it's a woman with whom I want to...or am having sex with), how they address me matters. Just for example…a long time ago, I had a neighbor with whom I developed a sexual relationship which lasted for years. The woman had a big ass and a small brain as evidenced by the fact that she called me by a bastardization of my last name. Yup! She fucked up  and used that mistaken name for years. Eventually, I got her to correct that error (no easy task…kind of like teaching somebody who says nucular to say nuclear). But still...it all seemed so impersonal. I felt like a dick with a body attached to it. You get my drift. She never knew anything about me save the obvious.

I had another similarly superficial relationship more recently with a girl who called me Bill. Never anything else…and indicative of the not-so-personal nature of our interaction. If you don't know that I don't like the name Bill, then you don't know me. That or you're so into yourself you just don't realize. With her, I think it was the latter. Call me William if you have to. Just don't call me Bill! Fortunately, almost nobody does! 

With Koreans, everybody's uniform. I'm not William…or Billy…or Bill! I'm "Oh...Billy-ah!" Or occasionally Oh-pa! That's Jolie's. It means big brother in Korean. While it connotes family and not any sexual heat, I like it. It's respectful. Ditto with the "ah" suffix. "Ah" in Korean is the same as an Indian calling you "my friend." 

My latina girlfriend never called me by my name at all. You'd have thought I was born "Mi Amor" with her. I didn't object - except for getting smacked in the face too often. That I didn't think was cute at all!

Many years ago I had an FWB who simply called me "Dollar." I was Dollar Bill to her so she just shortened it up and began calling me Dollar. But the girl gave it a personal touch. I think that was what made the difference. 

Right now there are two women in my life who actually have love for me (besides my mother). One is not a sex partner. She calls me Billy and has for literally the 15 years we've been acquainted. And the other…a lover…calls me "Dolly." Never once has she called me Bill or Billy that I can remember. I've always been "Dolly." I give her props. It's sort of original. And it's got a boy toy ring to it. Works for me! Whatever…nobody has ever called me Dolly before or since. 

One of my favorite all time songwriters is a cracker named David Alan Coe, a guy who wrote a seminal country and western tune called "You Never Even Called Me By My name." And this is a take off on to that composition. Big tits, a phat ass, and a pretty face are all important. But how a girl addresses you - and with what name which makes her feel comfortable - is a very personal thing. And for me, that matters as much as all the tangible stuff. If you like me…and address me with a personal inflection, you've already won half the battle. Call me "Bill" and you'd better have a smokin' body part or I won't be interested. And if you continue to address me as Bill, you'd better serve up that body part on a platinum platter if you want me to stick around! You get the idea. And now…for a bowl of Cheerios and a ride in the Spring air. I'm out!

Saturday, April 19, 2014


One of the problems I face taking pictures at GC (917-547-0723) is the limited number of backgrounds available. I mean…those shots in the hallway serve a purpose all right, but a plain white background over and over again can get tired. It's true that a couple of the rooms have overhead lighting…but the nature of the light the fluorescents give off…and the red walls...aren't exactly ideal for photography. Still, I like Raquel's picture given the circumstances. Looking for alternatives, I've lately discovered the old Asian partition stand-in. Can't go wrong with that, right! (Ugh!)

Well…I actually got what I consider decent pictures of TRINITY and DESTINY using that partition. But IMAN'S best pose was ruined by the flash bouncing back off the divider. Not content to forgo publishing her picture, I decided to take the girl out of the background and alternatively placed her in a strip club…and in a rolling Japanese meadow. Both look preposterous but still, there's no denying the appeal of Iman and the perfect pose.  

Anyway…here are the fruits of all my recent efforts. Clearly, none are in the professional realm but hopefully, they all get the job done. And that job is to capture what makes each girl appealing to the discerning male's libido. 


Most Beatle fans view the Sergeant Pepper album as one of the group's best. But not me. I thought it was the beginning of the end for the Fab Four. Every album before it was excellent. But when the boys hit their drug phase (actually it began with Revolver)? Not so much. Just my humble opinion. While I liked the title song as well as "Lucy," "With a Little help From My Friends," and "Lovely Rita," several of the other compositions sounded like filler to me. Yet, one of those snores in particular has relevance today.

As cornball as it could possibly be, "When I'm Sixty Four" was my least favorite song on the album. I mean…"will you still need me…will you still feed me?" are hardly the Beatles' best lyrics. Yawn! In the interest of accuracy, I just googled the song to find about what I expected: verses about digging in the garden…and the grandkids…and mending a fuse and what not. Ya know…typical activities for dottering oldsters.

Whatever…here's the funny thing. Today, I'm sixty four...and I'm not appreciably different than I was when I was twenty four. No wives…no children…no grandkids certainly. No dottering…no gardening and just none of the stuff old people do! Yet the calendar doesn't lie. I'm sixty four!

I was over at GC last night where the truth had been revealed. Ya know…the truth about my age! Sidaya had previously guessed 45. Jazmine? 35 (ridiculous)! Natalie? A little more realistic: 55! Yet all agreed that age is just a number...and a number that's only in your mind. And all were of the opinion that I don't even begin to resemble the old guy I'm actually becoming. I figure I owe that to genes, and no wives and children to wear me down.

Anyway…I can't complain. In a year, I'll be doing all kinds of crap at half price…and I'll have free hospitalization insurance in the form of Medicare! Seems crazy! How could an adolescent like me be nearing the age of old timer benefits? It seems like just yesterday I was anxiously awaiting my 18th birthday so I could go see a dirty movie! Now? I anticipate my 65th for all the bennies! 

Well…sixty four or not…I had a little celebration with JAZMINE. And it wasn't tea and crumpets for the sedate old couple. While there may be snow on the roof (actually, the roof is shaved), there's still some fire in the furnace. Life goes on…until it stops. No time to ponder my navel…at least when there's a cute girl around!

Friday, April 18, 2014


Like guys, girls can be very judgmental of a prospective partner. Like just in the area between his legs, chicks will harp on the length, width, shape, angle of the dangle and hardness of a guy's unit. Does the candidate ram too hard...or conversely, have no power to his stroke? Does he last long enough? Does he go on forever and wear her out? Does he want sex too often...or not often enough? Then we get to ball size and the hanging quotient. The criteria go on and on!

But there's one I haven't mentioned...one which I call the "tip of the rubber" criterion. Guys! Can I get a witness here? After you've mounted, made love to (or whatever), and then retreated from the Promised Land with satisfaction, what does the girl do? She looks and reaches down to feel the tip of the rubber to judge you and the entire experience on how much ejaculate she finds swishing around the tip of the condom. Yup! It's not enough that you get a big, phat hard-on and gave the girl an orgasm! She wants to know that you shoot a lot, too! 

I get the idea that this is a self-esteem issue with women. The more cum they see at the end of the rubber...the more attractive and virile they feel about themselves. It's almost as if they go to their friends and say "Wow! So-and-so fucked me really good and you should have seen how much I made him cum when he got his. He was like a geyser!"

Sadly, I am not a huge cummer. On occasion, I've had wet, soak-you-down kind of orgasms. But they're the exception rather than the rule. And at my age, they become the exception more and more. Regardless, the "tip of the rubber syndrome" is yet another peculiar quirk of the fairer set. 

Me? I've had a few squirting girlfriends who made a fucking puddle on my sheets. This is not a turn-on for me....as in...soak your own goddamn bedding, sister. You could have at least warned me so I could lay down a bunch of towels under your nympho ass! Yeah, it's cool that a woman blows a big wet load because I'm such a spud. But really...I don't need a tidal wave to bolster my male ego. I guess my self-esteem isn't all that lacking. Or it's so lacking that I've given up all hope!


Years and years ago after graduating college and then leaving a PHD program in favor of playing the guitar, I settled in New York City to pursue my musical dream. As you can imagine, I wasn't always fully-employed and often considered driving a taxi to fill in both time-wise and financially.

One of my college quadmates (Alan Rosenberg, a fairly famous actor and ex-president of The Screen Actors Guild) and I stayed in touch after graduation. And Alan was the guy who turned me on to cab-driving. It just sounded like so much fun! But I had a problem. I knew the mentality of my fellow musicians: We all prided ourselves on being full-time, meaning…it was all we did to earn a living! And I was afraid if somebody saw me driving, it would totally blow my reputation. Whether that sounds ridiculous or foolishly paranoid (I mean, come on...New York is a big city) it turned out to be neither. Once I began driving, it didn't take but one week behind the wheel to run into at least half a dozen musicians or old girlfriends and…for my rep as a full-time musician to be blown.

I kid you not. There was a promotion man who wanted me to produce a record for him - on his budget! The first day out I ran smack dab into the very guy on 57th Street and once he saw me driving, he stopped taking my calls.

Whatever…enough of that. To the point (finally). One of this blog's readers was kind enough to leave a few links in a comment after the volunteer post…and I followed those links to a site which actually looked like they might need me for something. The second event I perused was called "Dress For Success," an initiative designed to distribute business clothing to indigent women so they can look halfway decent when applying for a job. Check it out! The directions to the event read like this: "32 East 31st St. right next to ATHENA SPA!" This is not a joke! Talk about worlds colliding!

In case you haven't figured this one out yet…ATHENA SPA is a spa which appears on the sidebar of this very blog! And here my first venture in volunteerism is using its location as a reference point. Too fucking bizarre! Talk about worlds colliding! We think we inhabit a big city in which we can operate unobserved and then guess what! Ka-boom! 

Thursday, April 17, 2014


I had a brilliant idea yesterday. I decided that it's time to become a volunteer. Now, I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone that I live in an insular world of takers and hedonists. Not surprisingly, via my experience as an escort blogger and ex-adult ad rep, I've met some of the most selfish people the world has ever known. Maybe it's time I mingled with some givers for a change. Mostly, I sit around doing nothing anyway so I figure I could only gain from volunteering.

OK! So first I checked out the Bowery Mission website thinking maybe I could go serve meals. Guess again! The Mission only accepts groups of people for that job. No individuals! And even if you organize a group…you're still going on a waiting list for that privilege! Yikes! What…am I applying to Harvard here? 

But all hope was not lost. The Mission needs mentors, too! Hmmm! On what subject would I mentor a homeless guy - or a child? How to create an escort ad in photoshop? How to convince an escort she really needs an ad in the Village Voice? Probably not! Maybe I could teach somebody how to write - or play the guitar - or read or write music. Alas…no programs like that at the Mission. 

So I moved on to the Salvation Army and filled out an application to help serve food two Wednesdays a month. No sooner had I forwarded my materials than I got an email back: "Sorry! We only accept volunteers through church groups. Thanks for your interest but no thanks!" Wow! I didn't know I have to be active in the church to volunteer! I'm in fact, not a big believer in organized religion. So now I have to pretend to be something and somebody I'm not in order to give my time free-of-charge? That doesn't make any sense.

Undaunted, I moved on to another site whose name I can't remember. With them I had to fill out a fairly lengthy questionnaire which at the end asked if I'd ever been convicted of some sort of crime in the sexual offender area…and then required that I list two references. I stopped right there! They wanna know if I'm a child molester? Let's see. Maybe I could enlist the help of NATURALLY BUSTY BERTHA…or THE POONJAB PRINCESS as references to clear my good name! Or maybe not!

Suddenly, volunteering felt more like applying for a paid job than it did for giving of my time and effort. To be fair, it appeared that I might be able to volunteer serving food in Harlem. And maybe I'll go that route. But I live on the Lower East Side. Wouldn't it make sense that I volunteer in my community - a neighborhood which clearly has its own needs? 

Well anyway…I haven't given up yet and I'm sure with enough industry, I'll find somebody who thinks I'm worthy. But I gotta tell ya. It ain't that easy! And another thing I noticed. It doesn't appear that there's any shortage of volunteers in New York. That's a lesson right there. Apparently, not everybody is as selfish as most of the people I know. And that's a good thing. I'll keep y'all posted on my progress in the world of giving. After day 1, I don't feel I've made any progress at all. But there's still hope. Only time will tell.

On to something more than three people care about: THE MAGNIFICENT LOLA (347-678-3155) will be giving of herself in Manhattan for the next three days starting tonight. I'm sure she's volunteering to show you a good time - but not for free I have a feeling. Now if she were…that would be something!

Tuesday, April 15, 2014


I love Page Six days. It's all about cheesecake and nothing about using my brain to desperately try to say something new.

OK, guys! I know there are some OSUCA fans out there.  I can't be the only one. Well, guess what! She'll be available for consultation at LOVELY ASIANS (212-470-0409) all this week. Carpe diem. Here's a new pic of the princess.

Yesterday was actually kind of a work day for me. So I strapped on my foul weather gear and did my thing! HOT LIPS (646-309-0453) has a new girl named SALLY…and GENTLEMAN'S CHOICE (917-947-0723) has a new cutie from Florida named SASHA. Plus TRINITY wanted new pix as well. So here goes with the aforementioned cheesecake. Enjoy!



The world is full of whores. Of that there can be no doubt. For every person of high moral fiber, there are 100 who'll commit all manner of ethical indiscretions in the name of greed and avarice. For every Ghandi, there's  a money-grubbing prostitute willing to compromise everything in pursuit of the Golden Idol. We need only look toward Wall Street to see some of the richest and nefarious flatbackers mankind has ever known. 

But this is way too grand a scale for me to ponder given my station in life. I leave the real whores for somebody else to ponder. I'll stick with escorts for the moment. The fact that I see them as more upfront and less whorish than the majority is of no consequence for I am nothing in the great stream of things.

This entry is about dignity. And I maintain that a girl who leaves her customers satisfied has much more than say a dentist who tells his patient he has 20 cavities when he has but one. Or a mechanic who pretends you need a new transmission when a quart of fluid is all you need. Or a stockbroker who sells you into a fund he knows is dog shit just to make a commission. Or…on and on and on.

But for whatever reason, society disagrees. It views escort work as immoral and undignified. That's why they call them whores! Such a nasty yet descriptive word! But what's so wrong with providing a much needed service? Nothing in my estimation. Any job worth doing is a job worth doing well…especially when it's in the therapeutic realm. Getting your tooth filled properly is satisfying. Ditto for having what's actually wrong with your car repaired at a reasonable price. But an hour with a good escort who takes pride in her work? No comparison for most guys who read this blog. You don't think back and reminisce about your mechanic making your car run smoothly - or you dentist fixing your teeth. But a good experience with an escort? A lifetime of daydreaming nostalgia!

To the point! I've known a lot of escorts who provided superior service far exceeding a regular girl's performance or enthusiasm. But somehow once out of the room, the girl's life falls apart completely! That hour she's in the room the woman excels. But once out of her eminent domain? OMG!! Pimpish boyfriends? Bad living situations? Substance problems? Desperate financial straits? They too are the domain of way too many escorts.

You'd think given the money they make, you'd find a multitude of women living a rich, cultured and comfortable life outside of their work. But those escorts are in the distinct minority! How do you make well into six figures per year and be homeless? Now that's a trick at which escorts excel!

And it's really a shame. A lot of the escorts I've known aren't bad people. And they're not bad-looking. And they're good at what they do. But success in life according to the usual yardsticks - or any yardstick? Disaster! I guess it's because of the stigma attached to their choice of career. Or maybe they're just losers - and that's why they do what they do.

Whatever…it's too bad so many otherwise attractive women lead such undignified existences. It's a big turn off. With the cash they make...it would be really easy to set themselves up nicely. But most don't. That's all I'm sayin' today. Peace!

Monday, April 14, 2014


There's an old adage in the real estate business that goes like this: For every shady tenant, there's an even shadier landlord. And trust me…when it comes to landlords in the escort business, they far exceed the renters by a country mile when it comes to the shadiness factor.

Within the confines of the subculture, tenants are unusually good. They're happy to have a place in which to conduct their marginal type business and exercise due diligence thus paying they rent on time rather than elicit the ire and/or scrutiny of a meddlesome landlord. But the landlords? It's a field day for them.

In the escort biz, you can classify landlords into two types: those who know what's going on…and those who don't! Whichever…both can be unscrupulous.

Take my old buddy Kelly for example. To  start her own business, she subleased a place from a spa owner without properly reading a lease which explicitly stated that the place could only be used for hair and nails. And guess what happened! Quickly, the landlord figured out that the new tenant was not doing just "nails" and slapped a piece of paper on her door demanding that she leave - but not before paying the entire amount due for the rest of the lease - which was $227,000! Ouch!

Naturally, I got a panicked call from the phone girl asking if I knew a lawyer. So I contacted a barrister I knew and what was the first thing he did? Dude went over and got a massage! Priceless. But the point is…even the type of landlord who didn't want to lease to the type of business Kelly was running wasn't above taking advantage of the situation and trying to rip her ten new assholes financially.

Then ya got landlord #2…the guy who knows what time it is and figures he'll take a chance (there are laws against landlords renting to illegal businesses) because a) he's having problems finding a tenant for the space and/or b) he knows he can have his way with somebody who's operating one of those peripheral type businesses.

Take Rainbow for example, an Asian place which entertained in the neighborhood of 90 guys per day! Guess how much they were paying for that basement shithole nobody would want to rent! Twelve grand a month. That's how much! Yikes! The owner knew they were making money hand over fist and kept upping the rent accordingly as if he had a stake in their enterprise! And this dude had Episodes on another floor - and an illegal hostel on yet another! Talk about an operator!

Anyway…the reason this comes to mind today is this: A friend of mine who was actually living in what I would call a vice building, decided to move out and sublease her space. And guess what! The landlord wants $1000 to change the name on the lease. Talk about a fucking shyster. Hello! Every floor  in your building is rented to marginal tenants, dude! And the owner is a religious Jew! I always wondered how those guys reconciled their religion with manipulating tenants or paying escorts for their time when they're married with children (which many do) for that matter.

Whatever…the world is full of shady mother fuckers...and I'd say I'm one of them but honestly, in comparison, I'm a fucking boy scout. I'm the type of guy who gives the money back when somebody overpays me! Go figure.

Sunday, April 13, 2014


When it was a game...as in...when it was a game somebody could afford to go to. Recently a friend asked me if I'd seen the Met game that day. Met game? I haven't watched 10 minutes of baseball the entire season. Zero interest...at least until October when I might watch a game if either the Mets or Yankees are involved. But it wasn't always that way for me. As a child, I went to all the ball parks in the Metropolitan area. Yup! I saw the Bums lose a twin bill at Ebbets Field. I watched Jimmie Pearsall run the bases backwards when he hit his 100th career home run at the Polo Grounds. I was at the park when Roger Maris hit his 61st home run. And best of all, I saw Mickey Mantle pinch hit a home run at the original Yankee Stadium when he was drunk!

Saturday, April 12, 2014


For the past 20 years, I've been using the same accountant to file my taxes. What was I thinking? The guy gave me an incredibly bad piece of advice about a year ago so I decided to fire him...do a little studying...and get the job done on my own. And I gotta tell y'all…with endless tutorials, pamphlet pdf's and free software available on the web, it wasn't that difficult. The only glitch I had was...somehow, the Fed had fucked up my birth date and thus, my returns were getting rejected. But one call to the IRS resolved the snafu and I'm billed out and bound to go.

But all that isn't what I wanted to talk about today. Something else gave me pause this week. And that is the reduced amount of traffic on this site in the past few days. For a second, I began wondering what was happening until I realized "schmuck! It's tax deadline time. Nobody's spending! They're not even window-shopping!"

A long time ago when I began selling tv ads, one of the media outlets' owners told me not to sell anybody on his product until after April 15th. "The ads won't work," said Ben. "It's tax time and nobody spends until after the 15th." Judging from the numbers on this blog for the past few days, I have to acknowledge his wisdom. Even GC lamented that they've been having some slow shifts recently. And that's a busy place - usually!

Anyway…you would think that a significant portion of America's taxpayers would be partying in anticipation of getting their refunds. But apparently, it's not the overwithheld wage slave who indulges himself spending time with escorts. That set of royals appears to be in the position of settling up come April 15th. What are ya gonna do?

Thursday, April 10, 2014


Sometimes you listen to an old song you once played over and over again on your phonograph and wonder "why the hell did I ever like that? Like…it totally sucks!" But then on other occasions...you can't believe how the tune stands the test of time and it's like "wow! I had really good taste back then. This shit rocks 50 years later!"

One of those ditties in the latter category is a number titled "Chantilly Lace," a song written and performed by a Texas DJ who not only invented the Wolfman Jack voice during his vocal performance…but actually embodied everything that was country, rock and roll, and soul in his timeless rendition!

And how's about all the kids with their "ific" buttons (as in flavor-ific) chewing Beech Nut gum, no doubt shoved in their mouths by Dick Clark's sponsor. Talk about takin' me back! So here's the Big Bopper for your edification and enjoyment. And speaking of Big Boppers…check out JAZMINE (as promised last night) from GENTLEMAN'S CHOICE (917-547-0723). Enjoy!


I find the work names the girls use for themselves endlessly fascinating. Like with pimps…they generally name their chattel after cars - which is why there are so many Mercedes and Porsches in their crew. Or as I used to say…it's not a Mercedes…nor a Porsche…it's Alexus! Haha! Another overused name in their subculture.

Generally, you'd expect owners would give their employees sexy names like Bridgette, Beyonce or Lisette. But I remember seeing an ad for a girl named Maude a few years back! Maude!! Whatever the picture looked like...all I could see was Bea Arthur. Not exactly a hard-on inducer I'm sure we can all agree.

Tending toward the functional rather than the seductive, one Asian place called themselves Bunny Girls...and simply gave the girls numbers so you'd call up and ask something like "is bunny #2 available tonight?" Sooo personal! And then there was another Asian place which named the staff after European cities as in…London, Vienna, Berlin and Paris…which brings me to today!

HIYAKO SPA (212-679-3681) has a new girl they've named PARIS. Cute! An Asian girl whose name is the capital of France. Makes sense to me - in a topsy turvy world. But really…who cares? The old expression "what's in a name" comes to mind. And the answer in this case is "nothing" if you ask me. She can be named Beulah for all I care…just so she looks good. That's what matters!

Moving on...apparently, my opinion that Hiyako's girl TAMI had pictures taken which didn't do her justice came to the house's attention - because she shot some new ones recently. Cute girl in the flesh but still…i'm not crazy for her new photos.

Finally, for guys who like their nubian princesses naturally busty, GENTLEMAN'S CHOICE (917-547-0723) has a new girl named JASMINE who fits the bill. Unfortunately, she was occupied when I went over there so no pix for the moment. I'll have to double back and get the job done. But in the meantime…here are those Hiyako girls…and a Family Guy bit about Maude:

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


Walking down my block a few weeks ago, I was gratified to see a bunch of books perched on the edge of a dumpster - all of which begged to be read by a passerby. So I took a few minutes to browse and came home with something Snooki wrote (I threw that out immediately), a book called "In the Belly of the Beast" (a collection of letters written to Norman Mailer by a violent felon from prison), and an exhaustive biography of Alexander Hamilton.

I began with the prison book - as that seemed like it would be much juicier than the biography about the first Secretary of the Treasury. But it wasn't. I know Norman Mailer (the prisoner's de facto sponsor) was a big liberal genius...but I disagreed with his assessment of one Jack Henry Abbot, the convict and author. Mailer took him for some sort of new age philosopher. I took him for an incarcerated whack job. After about 50 pages of Abbot's obtuse observations, I gave up on reading his crap and went to google him. And that's where I found some interesting reading!

It turns out that Abbot wrote all those letters to Mailer after "The Executioner's Song" was published to let Mailer know that his work wasn't as authentic as the author might have liked. So impressed with Abbot's work was Mailer that through his influence, Abbot's letters were published and the prisoner himself released. And what happened? Two weeks after getting out, Abbot got in a hassle with a waiter at the Binibon just around the corner from my apartment and killed the guy when they "took it outside." Understandably, Mailer was the target of a lot of criticism for sponsoring the killer who clearly, was not ready for life on the outside. 

Great story - unless you were the waiter! Anyway…here's my review of "In the Belly of the Beast: Letters From Prison…and my take on Norman Mailer's role in bringing this psycho to the public's attention:" The book reads mostly like the self-indulgent horse shit it truly is…and Mailer is an idiot for getting duped by a common killer (Abbot also murdered an inmate while behind bars). That's super liberals for ya! What works in theory isn't always practicable in the real world.

On to the Hamilton book. To my surprise, I found that work to be much more interesting than the prison letters. I'm not about to go into the "Top Ten Things You Never Knew about Alexander Hamilton" because I don't think anybody would care. But there is one relevant quote from a book which contains several word-for-word passages penned by Hamilton throughout his life (and by the way, Hamilton was an excellent writer whose talent with the pen was his launching pad to fame and notoriety). 

While recommending some guy for a commission in the army, Hamilton praised the man with these exact words: "He is just what I should like for a military person except that he does not whore or drink."

It's not that I'm unaware of a soldier's predilections - or a miner's - or a seaman's - or any one of us for that matter. It's just so much fun discovering these pithy quotes from one of The Founding Fathers. In Hamilton's eyes, his friend was perfect for the military despite the fact that he didn't get drunk and consort with lewd women. Too funny! 

Anyway…my moral for the day: Better to pay escorts for their time than get in a shmassle with an ex-con. And beware the mission of a bleeding heart liberal who views his world through rose-colored glasses. It could get you killed!

Tuesday, April 8, 2014


Too often, the objects of our extreme affection are here today and gone forever tomorrow. Just when you think you've found your perfect girl? Bam! She vanishes - leaving many a red-blooded male in the lurch. If I had a dollar for every guy who e-mailed me or commented about his separation anxiety concerning somebody or other's disappearing act, I'd have a pocket full of dollars.

So anyway…one reader recently requested that I repost an old photo of his paramour Sunny, who has (to his chagrin) just recently exited the fold for greener pastures. And once I went searching for Sunny's picture, I figured I might as well include a few more as well. No doubt, these photos (all taken by yours truly I might add) will leave you with some bittersweet memories - hopefully more sweet than bitter. There were a few others as well - but the images weren't captured by me. And given that the guy complimented my meager photography skills, I decided not to include anything shot by anybody else. 

So here goes with the mammaries. Enjoy!

Saturday, April 5, 2014


Here's a moldy oldie about a surreal sales experience from back when I worked for Action Magazine. My days of selling to dungeons are long gone...but the repulsive memory still lingers.

No, that's not a typo in the title. This is a story about "fisting." Now, I'm not a fisting kind of guy. I don't want to fist anybody...I certainly don't want to be fisted...and I wouldn't be caught dead within a hundred miles of anybody who was getting fisted unless I was selling an ad. And me being an adult ad guy...you know more or less what's coming next!

So I was at the legendary Hellfire Club many years ago...at some sort of function where one of my dungeon clients (The Den of Iniquity) had requested I make an appearance to photograph some of their dommes. As I've said before...the dungeon scene does nothing for me unless one of the dommes is really hot and she wants me to fuck her. And obviously, that almost never happens. But if they want an ad, I'll go do the business. I'm not prejudiced like that.

Anyway...while I was in between photo subjects, a dungeon owner approached me to ask about prices in Action Magazine. And like a good salesman, I whipped out the paper and began my hustle. Going almost unnoticed in the Caligula-like atmosphere - and only ten or maybe fifteen feet away from us - was a domme fisting the life out of some fat, hairy dude who was moaning like a baby so audibly that he was fucking up my sales pitch.

I couldn't believe it. Here I'm tryin' to sell a fucking ad in this hell hole and I'm getting thwarted by some wimp bawling his eyes out because a sicko domme has her arm halfway up his ass! And all I could think was..."Dude! Man up you fucking noodle! Whip out a big, fat hard-on and nail the bitch. Pound her good! Make HER moan and groan. And if ya can't do that, how's about shuttin' the fuck up so I can make this sale?!?" Well obviously, that wasn't gonna happen! But golly! What the hell was wrong with that guy?

I honestly can't remember if I sold the ad or not but I certainly DO recall vividly the feeling of disgust and amazement I felt at witnessing this scene. I mean...people can do what they want if they're doing it consentually but come on...a fist up your ass? That's not a man!

The other time I had a similar feeling of revulsion was at yet another dungeon whose head mistress had a slave who catered to her every whim (not uncommon in the dominance game). And while I was hanging out in the office doing something related to selling the owner an ad, her slave came to the door of the office dressed in full maid regalia to drop to his knees and ask the boss if there would be anything else she needed.

With this guy, my immediate reaction was to hold back my laughter. But it wasn't long before I switched back to "man up" mode. Ya know...like..."Get off your fucking knees you doofus. Your mistress is no queen. She's a fucking whip whore! In fact, she used to own a whorehouse and used to be a whore herself until she got tired of getting arrested. So she opened up a dungeon! Her natural state is to be on her back getting stretched out by a stud with a big dick. Man up, bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?!"

Well anyway...I tell you this story because a friend of mine asked me just yesterday if I'd ever fisted anybody. My answer was an emphatic no...but the question DID bring these two stories to mind. So the moral is...if you're into fisting, that's fine. Just don't partake ten feet away from me while I'm trying to sell and ad and we'll be cool!


In the figurative sense, you could say I do my fair share of "sleeping around." But speaking literally, I do not. While I have no sleep problems per se (I rarely toss and turn), the moment you put somebody in bed next to me is when the problems start. I'm just one of those people who likes to sleep alone…and I came to find out I'm not the only one.

As I mentioned recently, a girl with whom I've been intimate for many years proposed that she stay with me (which includes literal sleeping together) when she returns to New York - something we've simply never done. And that's not a  coincidence. The girl herself says she can't sleep in a bed with anyone else. That makes two of us!

So I was describing this situation (that we're pondering spending an entire night together) to a mutual friend and guess what she came back with unsolicited? "I can't sleep with anybody else either. When I used to stay over with Brett" (her ex-boyfriend), "I'd just toss and turn all night!" Go figure! Maybe this isn't such an exclusive club after all. 

I tell y'all this for no particular reason except that the subject is less controversial than say...ragging on a few people who've really been pissing me off lately (what I was going to write about). Just not in the mood for the inevitable splashback I always get from going off on some loser.

Well anyway...on to some page 6 stuff. Duty called last night and I found myself over at GENTLEMAN'S CHOICE (917-547-0723) taking pictures of a lithe, supple and intoxicating new cutie named SIDAYA! And a unique individual she is! Sid girl is multi-lingual (she actually speaks Russian) and her English is decidedly upper crust and British-sounding. It's clear to me that this is a lady with breeding and style. I didn't ask a lot of questions about her journey to America - or the escort profession - but during our time together, I did discover that this is Sid's initial foray into the companionship fray. So if that old assembly line feeling is getting you down, Sidaya would be a good choice for your next rendezvous. Personally, I was lovin' her long legs and round little booty! Plus, she guessed my age to be 45! Gotta love a girl like that!

Anyway…here's a couple of the pix I shot of Sidaya…plus two bonus images of yet another new GC girl named EVA BLUE, a stacked and beefy Hungarian buddy SOFIA brought to the party. If you like a curvy, sexy Eastern European…you might want to convene with EVA. She's substantial in all the right places…that's for sure! Getting her to emote for the camera after a long day at work wasn't easy…but I prevailed more or less.

Whatever…here goes!

Thursday, April 3, 2014


Lots of news for today. First, I paid a visit to the new SECRET DIARY (917-531-1867) relocated to the East 30's. The building has just been renovated - which means the hallways are almost as immaculate as the apartment itself - which itself is the usual "you-can-eat-off-the-floor" kind of place to which you've grown accustomed in the Asian community - this one complete with a wine cellar, state-of-the-art stainless steel fridge, and luxurious rooms with queen size beds. Their new spot is a cozy love nook for sure! 

Too often, I miss JOLIE because she always seems to be busy. But on this occasion, we got to hang out for half an hour. I liked Jolie when she was a phone girl…and I like her now just as much - even though there isn't as much of her as they're used to be (she gained a few pounds sitting around eating all day and not burning off any of those calories when she did the phones). Overall…I think I'd have to rate her right at the top of the Asian escort list - unless you include GAGA, who will apparently be returning to New York and appearing at SECRET DIARY in the near future. Jolie showed me a few face pic selfies of Gaga and I gotta tell ya…Lady Gaga (the rock star) wishes she could be as cute as Asian escort Gaga. There's one shot of her working out at the gym that's really cute. 

OK! Enough of that! Moving on…MIA (also a big favorite) has re-surfaced at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409)…and CANDY and (drum roll) AQUA have both returned to GOLDEN ASIAN (646-391-2639) with new pix for your titillation! So there's your "page six roundup" for today. Oh! And by the way! Jolie thought the photos of Lola were the bomb - or more accurately, she thought Lola was the bomb. Hard to argue that point! 

Anyway…I love "page six" days. I don't have to think up anything to write about. Makes my life easy! And now…here's da goils minus Gaga! The selfies stay undercover.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014


You know that whatever business it is…if the employees stay for a long time…that means the bosses are cool. And so it goes with ATHENA SPA (212-683-4484) and NY SPA (212-575-5600). I stop by once a month and for the past 2 years, I've seen the same receptionists - all of whom are "bring home to mommers." I mean…these girls are really cute! Not only that…the places where they work are first rate. You have to see the interior to be a true believer. Talk about spacious, plush and immaculate! I know this sounds like a commercial (which it is) but trust me…the truth is the truth! Go check it out for yourself! Enough said.

For fans of LOLA (347-678-3155) - (and who isn't?)…she'll be  out at the Meadowlands starting tomorrow (Thursday) until Saturday! Talk about GIANTS! Move over LT! LOLA'S in town!

Anyway…here's a few shots of Ms. Honey (Lola) not included in her last post. I had 60 - and a lot of them are good!


Even though he's a hater who lives to whittle away at my very being, one commenter brought up a valid point. Is a "real" photo of the actual girl worthy of that description if that image is photoshopped to enhance her looks? And am I in fact justified in claiming that photo is real? 

In his comment, the reader maintains that I've always promised that only real and unphotoshopped pictures appear on this site. That's an outright misrepresentation of my credo - and one that proves the individual's agenda - which is to knock me down. 

But more important...how much photoshop is permissible under my ethos - and at what point does a real photo become fake once a heaping help of photoshop is applied? And therein, I acknowledge his complaint as legitimate. 

The guys (and girls) who photograph KMP girls use the program liberally - sometimes too liberally for my tastes - and the phone girls' as well. There have been times that those phone girls have complained to me that it can occasionally be difficult to deal with complainants who barely recognize the girl pictured in whichever ad when they arrive. 

Although I can sympathize, there isn't a lot I can do about the situation. I don't take the pictures…and I certainly don't recommend that anybody alter them to the point that the girl is simply unrecognizable! I only ask that nobody try to hoodwink me with outright fake images downloaded from the Internet. Beyond that it's a caveat emptor for the guys. In my defense, I go way beyond the pale compared to most other resources. With the leaders (Eros, Backpage and Craigslist), you're left to your own devices to decipher which pictures are fake - and which are real. Here at least you know they're real. And I should be applauded for that more than criticized for allowing photoshopped images to appear on this site.

Moving on…to my current photographic representations: I do not take most of the pictures featured on the sidebar of this blog. That fact could be considered fortunate by some - and unfortunate by others. Fortunate because the pros who shoot the KMP girls have better cameras and use lights and umbrellas. They are professional - and I am not! But unfortunate because my images are a much fairer representation of the girl than theirs. And often, I relate to the subject more - and thus, get a better pose. Just because you're a "pro" and have fancy equipment doesn't mean you have any talent for the craft. 

Whatever…here's my philosophy on escort photography: I endeavor to get the subject to strike an attractive and sexy pose which accentuates her positives and diminishes her flaws. I then adjust the lighting to eliminate shadows…illuminate the girl…and yes, smooth her skin and ever-so-slightly accentuate her curves to produce an image that gets a guy interested - but not to the point that he'll be disappointed and feel hustled when he sees the girl in the flesh.

It's a tradeoff. My job is to take pictures that make the phones ring - and certainly not to catch a girl on a bad day - in a bad pose - just to make her look as bad as I possibly can. That's ridiculous! I maintain that no client walks based on my photography - and that the great majority do (or at least should) appreciate my efforts in this area. If you go to see a girl whose picture I've taken, I can almost guarantee you'll be happy with my representation of her. And in an age of bait and switch hustlers and three card monty shills…that's a good thing. If I were a patron of escorts, I'd consider this site the last word in truth in advertising. It may not be perfect…but this site's images are screened for authenticity - something you can't say for the leaders. End of story. I've made my case.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014


Like…how many times have I used that corny headline? Who cares? It's just as lame - or clever - as it ever was. And I'll keep using it till it's worn down to the nub. Why not?

Whatever…GENTLEMAN'S CHOICE (917-547-0723) has a new girl named CATARINA! Two cents says you can't figure out her nationality from the title! OK! Send me your address so I can pay up! 

Moving on...I got one shot where her facial expression is really cute - and you can feel Catarina's personality shining through. But alas…I can't show that one. You know how that goes. Regardless, the girl comes complete with blonde hair and the accent which many find sooo seductive. And she was very cooperative during the shoot as well - which was amazing considering it was the end of her first day on the job and she'd just finished a double shift. 

I also had the astounding pleasure of hanging out with SOPHIA. Wow! I'm hungry for that Hungarian. Come to think of it, I could have titled this entry "Behind the Iron Curtain!" Oh, yeah! There is no iron curtain anymore! Silly me!

But back to Sophia! She's hot! And the hungry one wants some new pictures (as it turns out) - but wasn't quite ready to take the plunge last night as she didn't think her outfit was appropriate. I disagreed. With sumptuous frontals precariously protruding from her shirt, I thought she was sporting the perfect ensemble to wow everybody. Oh well! Tomorrow's another day. But Sophia did stick around to kibbitz during Catarina's session which I assume meant that she's ready to be next!

Anyway…here's CATARINA!

Monday, March 31, 2014


As the old commercial used to say…"this isn't your father's Oldsmobile"…and the words in the title of this entry aren't part of your old man's vocabulary. They're part of your grandfather's! Words! Go figure! One day they're hip and cool…and the next? Passé like a mother fucker and indicative of just how unenlightened the user truly is! 

Way back when…Sal was a gal...Bogie loved dames…and construction workers hooted at broads. And the word "oriental?" One day it was perfectly acceptable...and the next? Dated and racist! "Asian" became the new enlightened term.

So anyway…I have a friend whose Backpage ads are a train wreck.  The girls aren't labeled with their names…the names in the headline don't match the women pictured…and on and on. It's a joke. And get this: The guy who writes the text referred to the employees he was promoting as "gals." Gals. Like dude…in what century were you born? How about hawking all the "colored" gals or "darkeys" the place features? Fucking gals. Can you believe that shit?

Many years ago, I was running ads for a sanitation worker turned escort service owner. I kid you not. The dude was a garbage man until he saw the light - which was putting two skanks in a car for 10 hours and sending them to whomever would pay $150 for an hour of their time. 

So…homey was trying to drum up credit card business (highly illegal) on behalf of a friend and colleague who had just scored a merchant's account and wanted to run cards for any agency I knew of who needed somebody to help him accept cc customers. And of course, he would get a middleman fee in the deal.

In describing his buddy, my solicitor allayed any fears I might have about forwarding people with this disclaimer: "He's a spade…but he's a cool spade." I couldn't help but burst into laughter. A spade? Too funny! How's about a "moolie"…or a "spook" while you're at it?  

Anyway…the point is this: If you're gonna write copy for an adult directory ad, try not to call the women "gals"…unless the "gal" you're advertising is 95 years old. I had an old friend who used to use the word "gal." And guess what! The guy had zero game. He couldn't get laid in a whorehouse - especially using a word like that!

We're in the 21st century last time I checked. Dames, broads and gals have been replaced with skanks, bitches and ho's! Get with the lexicon, buddy. This ain't no Screw Magazine. And just like that publication…those words have come and gone…and are only employed by old farts who drive around in Model T's. 

Moving on…GOLDEN ASIAN (646-391-2639) has a new girl named KARA. Looking pretty good from her picture. Check it out. And LOLA (from yesterday) wants to thank everybody who called to say hi. And I want to thank the guys for telling her how much they like her new pix. Hey! Annie Liebowitz I ain't. But I did get the job done better than my predecessors. So I'm good for something. 


I can't even begin to tell y'all how many times I've been to Florida in my life. It started at age 8 when every spring break for three years running, my brother and I would fly down to St. Pete for a visit with our paternal grandparents. Back then it was kind of fun. All we did was swim and fish all day - two of my favorite activities as readers of this blog are well aware. But once I grew up, Florida lost all its allure. I mean…it's mostly geezers…it's hot…it's flat…it's culturally barren…it's too far. Need I go on?

Once grandma died, the Florida vacations ended. Grandpa couldn't give two shits about his son's grandkids anyway so I was granted a reprieve. But not for long! When my old man became a star, he bought a big ass boat (or two)…docked them in Miami…and flew my brother and me down once or twice a year - which turned out to be the only times we ever got to see him. So essentially, if I wanted to see pops, I had to jump a plane and fly 1500 miles to (drum roll) Florida for the privilege.

Financed by a big corporation to start his own record company, the old man moved to California, a move that promised I might not have to visit Florida ever again. But not to be. Then came my music gigs! First? Four weeks with a no-name show band at a Ft. Pierce Holiday Inn. Next…9 days in Hollywood with Stephanie Mills. And finally...another two weeks at Miami, Ft. Meyers, Orlando and Jacksonville with Joey Dee and the Starlighters. And through it all…still no mountains, rivers or streams!

Exiting the roadwork world didn't help. The old man's record company failed and he retired to guess where! St. Pete - where I'd spent those childhood spring breaks…thus promising more visits until daddio went to the next world in 1994 - which was coincidentally, the same year mom moved down to Palm Beach. Snakebit! And to this day, I wince every time she or my brother (who also bought a place in Florida - conveniently located just 170 miles away from my mother) invite me down for a visit. Like what the fuck?!?!

So moving to the present…I have a long time FWB with whom I've been doing pretty well lately. She's bipolar and I only slightly more stable and thus, we have our issues. But not in the last 4 or 5 months. Everything's been going pretty well and the sex just gets better and better. 

This particular individual has a penchant for moving. Just in the past few years, she's gone from Manhattan…to Long Beach…to Great Neck…to Palm Beach…and then back to Manhattan. But she's starting to hate New York plus...the lease on her crappy walk-up is about to expire. And last week I got the call: "Dolly" (what she calls me)…"I'm done with New York. I'm moving back to Florida. You'll come visit me, right?" 

To quote the girl (when she finds herself in an uncomfortable situation)...I once again find myself in the wrong movie! The likelihood I'll go visit her in Florida - especially since she's going to the Sun coast which is far away from either my brother or mother - is minimal regardless of how much I want to interface with her physically. 

But all is not lost. The girl plans on keeping her NY doctors (don't ask me why)…will be doing some commuting back and forth as such…and has already asked if it's OK that she stays with me on her visits back to the Big Apple. That should be interesting as neither of us is very good at sleeping in a bed with another person and in fact, all through the years, we never have spent an entire night together!

Well anyway…before I go, I'd like to admit that there was one Florida visit I did enjoy. The garden vacation spot was Lake City. OK! Where and what the fuck is Lake City, Florida? Answer: A town of about 50,000 located in north central Florida. Close your eyes and you think you're in the deep south. Nobody's Jewish. Nobody's retired…and Joey Dee and the Starlighers are trading sets with a country western band at the local juke joint. All the tunes on the jukebox are green because they're all country.

I'm sitting at the bar subsequent to an afternoon rehearsal…just sipping a can of Busch as the owner's brother plays green tune after green tune on the jukebox regaling me with the history of each and every artist and song playing. In between, the singer in the house band is next to me also sipping a beer - and musing about the fact that his cowboy hat cost him more than his present automobile. And if that ain't a country song, I don't know what is! Ya think that's a good day? Get this: A couple of girls who you might see on the Springer show actually brought me back to their trailers to enlarge and tenderize my strategic parts after the show. Ah…the good life. Did I mention how much I love Florida?