Adult Services: Whether using a phone book or website, it’s a dead end to look for any other term. Some phone books have removed the section altogether, preferring “Adult Entertainment” to legally cover stripping, basement/garage modeling, jumping out of cakes, and the like. “Services,” on the other hand, ensures the exchange of sex for money, though it’s never wise to ask the friendly voice on the other end for specifics. Trust me, “That’s between you and the lady” will meet every awkward inquiry. And for fuck’s sake, don’t ever pick up a streetwalker.
Bargaining: Do not, under any circumstances, try to negotiate a fee upon arrival. It’s even worse to do so after you’ve taken off your clothes. If the cost is $100, the best ladies are all-inclusive, but there are still rackets about that require additional tips. Yes, you may have to learn the hard way. If you hand over your money and she isn’t naked herself within 30 seconds, I hope you brought additional cash.
Comfortable: As in, “Maybe you’ll get….” If you hear these words upon arrival, get naked. Yes, completely naked. Leaving your socks on will only cause the lady to repeat this phrase or, in extreme cases, call her dispatcher. If you’re in the buff, it’s unlikely you’re a cop, or at least that’s the assumption.
Dental Dam: If you’re the crazy sort who needs to eat a much-abused pussy, failing to use a dental dam will likely send you to the hospital. I munched once (and briefly) sans protection, and I’m not sure I ever washed away the odor. Whore pussy is for tapping, not immersing the same tongue that expects to savor a Big Mac afterwards.
Erection: If you have a raging one on the drive over, you will not exceed three minutes in the sack. If you still don’t have one after she’s tickling your balls, I suggest the other persuasion.
Fellatio: Any respectable prostitute will perform oral sex at the opening bell (pity if you get one of those “massage first” chicks), but decline immediately if she pulls out a condom. Yeah, it’s safer, but you might as well be wearing a wool sock. Sure, I’ve gotten off to the mere sight of a chick in the nether regions, but to this date, I’ve never actually enjoyed a condom-oriented blow job. If she rolls it on before you can protest, move directly to sex.
Gonorrhea: You’re more likely to get it from your girlfriend than a prostitute, so dive in with confidence.
Humiliation: Usually very costly and reserved for specialists, you can often convince your regular to smack you around a bit if you overpay for the half-hour session. Don’t ask if it’s your first time, but once you’re comfortable and familiar, a sawbuck or two will likely earn a disparaging comment or perhaps an open-hand slap. Full beatings usually require a doubling of the overall price.
In-Call: Jump in the car, baby, because you’re going to her place. Or his, if that’s your cup of tea. Curiously, this is the preferred method of meeting an adult sex worker, as you can remain relatively anonymous and avoid blackmail schemes such as those featured in Punch Drunk Love. Sure, there’s a chance some dude is hiding in the basement, waiting for you to be naked, vulnerable, and amenable to handing over your wallet, but that’s not likely to happen in your more upscale, non-Detroit/Newark markets.
Jerking Off: Sure, she’s a pro, but do not ask for a handjob from a prostitute. She’s not only beneath such rote behavior, she’ll likely do it half-assed just to piss you off. Still, that’s not as bad as paying $265 and only being allowed to jerk yourself off. Bitch wouldn’t even remove her top! Not like I’d know or anything.
Kissing: It’s pretty much conventional wisdom that prostitutes don’t like to kiss because it’s “too personal,” but that’s one of the oldest myths running. They don’t want to kiss because it’s likely your breath approximates her pussy after an atypically busy afternoon. I slobbered all over a tubby whore once just to say I did, but dragon breath was the last thing my tentative erection needed for the good fight. A peck goodbye is the preferred method. Making out is for teenagers and drunks.
Love: If it existed, you wouldn’t be here.
Music: I can’t remember ever visiting a prostitute who didn’t have music playing, though on one occasion, I fucked in a motel room while the television was on. Maury, if I’m not mistaken. Acceptable tunes include Enya, Seal, Marvin Gaye, and light jazz, though R&B will work in a pinch. Avoid heavy metal and country at all costs. AC/DC is for strip clubs.
Nasty Talk: You always think you’re going to use such language (hey, she’s a whore, not my girlfriend), but it never happens. The minute you start saying, “You want my cock, don’t you bitch?” you feel completely stupid for assuming you could be manly. You fear women, that’s why you can’t find any outside the parameters of a transaction, remember? Meek and mild is best, just in case you want to see the little lady again. You are allowed to scream like a banshee during your orgasm, but leave the trash talk at home.
One-and-Done: Few things are as depressing as finding that hot little number who makes you shoot your wad inside of a minute, only to find out that “per hour” is arguably the most misleading term on earth. Most whores are “per load” types, which is their right, but if you manage to find a lady who lets you go as many times as you wish without additional currency, never let her go. I mean, follow her from coast to coast, if necessary. I would suggest jerking off right before seeing a prostitute to ensure a longer experience, but every time I think I can do this, I realize, post-orgasm, that I just saved a bunch of money and am too tired to go anywhere.
Prostitute: An acceptable term in some quarters, but “escort” is pretty much the standard these days. Never, ever use “whore” or “tramp” when discussing business, and if you’re a real gentleman, you’ll resort to “ma’am” as needed.
Quickie: If you’re going to be the sort who can’t fill the allotted hour (or half-hour), make sure you’re dropping no more than $100. My personal record is $150 for five total minutes, but that’s a mistake no man will make twice. Fine, three times. Find a prostitute who allows “multiple visits” during the session, and you’ll never fear the call of pre-maturity again.
Ramada Inn: The worst fucking place to ever meet a prostitute. Yeah, they often have the outside entrances you crave, but they never seem to cool down those rooms in the summer. As strange as it sounds, I’ve had the greatest times at Motel 6, perhaps because I don’t feel so guilty about dripping my juice on the comforter. It seems almost obligatory.
Sexy attire: I never did like it when whores would answer the door wearing a teddy or some allegedly “sexy” item. Such things made me more self-conscious and mindful of the business side of the situation. No, it’s best when they come to the door in every day clothing, like a sweater, blue jeans, or tight-ass shorts that reverberate camel toe. And if they look like they’ve just gotten home from a big meeting, complete with librarian-style hair bun? I’m hard before I hit the foyer.
Talking: Very, very important to exchange words with a prostitute after sex, though no more than 3-4 minutes. Believe me, she wants you the fuck out of there. Still, I learned many things over the years, including the fact that a whore’s number one client is a married cop. My sweet, sweet Gina in Colorado Springs puffed up like a peacock whenever she told me about fucking a high-ranking officer at Fort Carson, or some suit from the mayor’s office. And it made me go all aw-shucks with pride whenever she asked me how my Master’s Thesis was going. Still unreadable, thanks.
U-turn: Once you call to arrange an appointment, don’t be a dick and not show up. If you have regrets, call her and cancel. She has better things to do than shower for no reason. Though you may not.
Voluptuous: They’ll tell you over the phone if they’re in possession of a healthy rack, and it’s best to insist on it. Sure, it’s wise to withhold funds from anyone “full-figured,” but if the only way you’re going to get a mouthful of funbag is to climb Mt. Fuji, so be it. Few things are as depressing as driving across town to find an emaciated chick who looks like that neighbor boy who never eats.
Washcloth: The classier dames will always offer to wipe down your penis after sex, which is more than my damn wife has ever done. Then again, she has to mount me for free.
Xavier: Just isn’t a believable pseudonym. I tried Enrique once, but giggled my way to a hang up. You’re not faxing her a copy of your Social Security card and routing information, for crying out loud; just give her your real name.
Youth: Yeah, I’ve had the ladies fresh from college, or its whore equivalent, waitressing, but your dollars are better spent with the 30-40 crowd. Not only does an older woman have the chops, she’s more likely to convince you that she actually wants to be there, rather than simply being too lazy to punch a time clock. A hot 20-year-old, while good for the loins, will never pull off the head-back moan. But a MILF? I’m buying it, baby.
Zero: When you’re earning $7.25 an hour and still living at home, your bank account will never rise above this point if you insist on more than one whore per month. It’s why the Lawd done made credit cards.
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