I was originally supposed to go with BL, the hot, 42 YO Barely Lesbian I had been seeing, but a few weeks prior, she suddenly began dissing trance – the most prominent genre at WMC – stating she was only going because of the dubstep, a still-obscure, downbeat genre that was being featured at a few smaller WMC events for the first time.  Then, only two weeks before WMC, when I got into the specifics of making plans, she sarcastically told me I should take my sugarbaby instead.  While it was an excellent idea, especially considering BL’s new-found disdain for trance, I knew my sugarbaby had her toddler and wouldn’t be available until the Saturday of the more-or-less five-day event starting on a Wednesday, and I had vowed to myself to make it to Thursday’s Juicy Beach party at Nikki Beach for the first time, so I told BL I wanted to go with her, not my sugarbaby, but she was noncommittal.

My friends Tommy and Cheri (real names) were going, but they were staying with another couple, the guy of which was a rockstar in the 70s, and with whom I could not stay again (as I had for one night during WMC ’07 when Tommy and Cheri invited me to sleep in a backyard tent with them).  Also, they were only going Friday night to Sunday, weren’t planning to go out Friday night or Saturday night, and already had tickets to Ultra for all of Saturday, while i was more interested in hitting the clubs.

A chick I had just met in the fitness center of my condo complex was going for a whole week, but she was staying in a house in North Beach with people I did not know, and told me her goal for the week was to meet a rich guy, which I am not.  Also, that guy had to be under 50, which I am almost, and which she appears to be almost, but no matter.

Finally, on the Sunday before WMC, 21 year-old hooker Tori, attempting to fulfill a promise she had made to herself to herself less than two-weeks earlier – to return to Trapeze swingers club every two weeks – asked me to take her again that upcoming Saturday, during WMC.  When I mentioned I was planning to be at WMC, she got excited about the idea of returning, and suggested we combine the trip to Trapeze with WMC, and I told her I’d get back to her about that, giving BL a couple of days to change her mind.  BL didn’t change her mind, or if she did didn’t tell me, and so I told Tori I’d go.  Unfortunately, by then, The Dominatrix who I had introduced to Tori when I introduced Tori to threesomes and who is now Tori’s de facto madame and possible future mother-in-law, was having none of it, telling me they both needed to work and make money.

I then called my sugarbaby, since i figured doing a single-night trip with her was better-than-nothing, and maybe, considering how hot she is, the best option overall.  Unfortunately, she had her son until about 6 PM on Saturday, so the earliest we could possibly get to Miami would be 10, and she then happened to mention she already had plans with another guy for that night (“but it would have been fun, though”).

My alternatives at this point were groveling to BL and risking a return of her wrath, not to mention her dissidence from trance ruining the trip, or going with one or two women that I am not attracted to and don’t know well.  Not liking those options, I didn’t exercise them.

The next day, The Dominatrix called me back.  She’d gotten tipped off that the Tampa cops were going to be doing a sweep of hookers that weekend, and decided that she and Tori would work the weekend in Miami, splitting the cost of the room, and partying with me in between their paid-for sex.  Eventually, The Dominatrix decided to take her 15 YO son Joey, which I didn’t object to since I didn’t know who I’d be able to hang out with while his mother and Tori were fucking, something they expected to do – based upon their lucrative sexcapades Super Bowl weekend -  for much of WMC weekend, as well.  I was skeptical that young clubgoers with game and good drugs would be buying sex as much as the wealthy businessguys that compose most of the Super Bowl’s live audience – and even more skeptical that the girls would pay me for the room, especially after I learned shortly after we left that The Dominatrix didn’t have the promised deposit money (which she had used to pay for her probation) – but I was too happy to have traveling companions so I kept my mouth shut.

The next day, as I earlier reported, The Dominatrix beat up Tori, bloodying her lip and driving her out of their sugardaddy’s house half-naked into the rain, and she eventually took refuge at my crib, soaking wet, bleeding, and not smelling too hot, again leaving me in a quandary as to whether I was going and with who.  The Dominatrix eventually texted me, told me to take Tori, and then changed her mind and decided to go anyway the next morning.  I won’t bore you with all the details of the dispute, but things were very testy for a while.  Nonetheless, by late Friday morning, Juicy Beach 2010 already a memory for others, the four of us were finally on our way.

With that lead-up out of the way – a lead-up that seemed to consume the better part of my WMC experience – here are some of my observations:

Fuckonomics:

The Marketplace:

Its gotten a lot cheaper to buy sex in Miami.  At WMC in ’08, outcall was $200/hour, but with a two-hour minimum:  a total of $400 to get laid.  This year, a clean, well-dressed, passable middle-aged black woman asked me right out on Washington Ave. if she could blow me for $20.

Tori and The Dominatrix were starving – literally.  They came down with no money, and ended up breaking into a can of tuna fish the owner of the condo we rented left behind.  Tori didn’t make a penny, in part because when one guy saw her and realized she had used pictures in her backpage.com ad of a girl who was thinner – and Tori’s a bit of a but-her-face to begin with, even when her lip isn’t swollen and scabbed from being beaten by The Dominatrix – he went ballistic.  He wanted to fuck The Dominatrix instead, but then started suspecting they were both cops and took off.

Tori had run her ad Friday before we left for Miami, and, with the picture of the hot chick on it, the phone she was sharing with The Dominatrix quickly started blowing up.  Unfortunately, however, we arrived too late for her to service downtown Miami businessguys on their way home, and despite re-running the ad, the phone – which kept losing its charge to boot – never ran with nearly the same prolificence.

The Dominatrix had little better luck.  She relied on someone else to place her ad, and it didn’t get posted until 11 on Friday night.  We had a weak, essentially nonexistent, wireless connection in the condo, and her period hit just as we got to Miami.  The next morning she apparently ate something which made her both vomit and have diarrhea.  She finally got a client Saturday evening- not from her ad but by meeting a guy in the club when he pinched Joey’s rear-end who later invited her to a party in his room.  I’m not sure how much she was paid, but all she had for me when she came back from a multi-hour jaunt with Tori in tow was $50, and not much else to show except a box of tropical wines from Miami Winery.  The guys who gave it to her – who claimed to own the company – told her the box of 3 bottles was worth $400, but they are available on this website for less than $35 total.

A big part of the problem was that, within an hour or so of The Dominatrix placing her ad, another 200 ads went up on backpage.  Not only were girls selling it cheap on the streets of South Beach late at night, but gone were the two-hour minimums, replaced by 15-minute “full-service” sessions for $50, while Tori and The Dominatrix were only advertising full-hours for $200.  By the time they starting advertising $100 half-hours, it was too-little, too-late.  They even watched one of their clients get swept-away by hot street girls within 20 feet of the front entrance of our building, and when I returned from the club at 6 AM Sunday morning, two hotties had waylayed three guys right on our corner.  The facts that The Dominatrix has been complaining about not getting dick for weeks (she doesn’t count it as getting it when she gets paid), and that the lack of business meant that she couldn’t go to Trapeze for dick even if she was going to swing on-the-rag anyway, only added insult to injury.

Fuckonometric Principles are Spreading

As for me, one of the great things about freely paying for sex is that I can go to an event like WMC and not really care if I get laid.  Sure, there were plenty of incredibly hot, topless-and-thonged chicks all over South Beach I wanted to bang – and I made some moves – but its not like earlier in my life, when I might have found myself in a Chili’s in Pembroke Pines, eating fajitas with REO Speedwagon playing in the background, trying to get some ‘free” sex at the expense of enjoying WMC.

I was there for the scene.  If I was going fuck, it was going to be on X, and preferably involve multiple chicks, or at least one seriously hot one that was part of that scene.  And until mid-Saturday, I was still holding out hope for the orgy at Trapeze.  When it was clear it wasn’t going to materialize, I set out to plan my Saturday night.

Tommy and Cheri would be at Ultra until around midnight, they didn’t answer my text, and I didn’t expect them to have the stamina or motivation to party-on after that.

While Joey had managed to get into Tantra the night before, when D:Fuse was spinning, I figured the chances of him pulling off a similar caper two nights in a row were slim, and I was determined to see top talent that night, anyway, which would make his entry into the more-crowded clubs even more unlikely. Plus, he had no money, so I would have to pay double.  Nonethless, we cruised Washington Ave. to get a feel for the situation, but IDs were conspicuously being checked outside Mansion, which is only a block from the condo, precluding his getting into David Guetta’s legendary Fuck Me I’m Famous Party even if I wanted to drop $100 each for us which i didn’t.  A couple blocks north, IDs were being scrutinized outside Kascade’s less-expensive, young-pussy-filled show.

I had run into the hypergamous broad from my apartment complex that afternoon on Collins Ave., and, in a highly-inebriated state, she informed me she was going to be at Space in downtown Miami that night, where Paul Van Dyk was headlining an all-star lineup.  I’d long wanted to see PVD at Space, where he has played at least one night every WMC for the past 10 years, and which is about the equivalent of seeing the Dead at The Fillmore, The Ramones at CBGB, or Sinatra at the Desert Inn, but the place is huge, ticket prices were steep ($60 before midnight, $80 before 2, and, as I found out when I arrived after that, then go to $100), I’m not into the chick enough to want to have turned the night into, effectively, our first date, and I didn’t want to be a loner clinging to her crowd, which I had noticed back on Collins included a guy so ripped he made me look subhuman.

My choices dismal, I briefly considered going to Fuck Me I’m Famous alone, especially since parking near Space can be hefty enough to account for the difference in cover charges, but I decided against it.  Not being famous – yet -  I knew I wouldn’t be getting laid, but neither did I want to see all the famous guys around me getting laid by Sexy Bitches, either, while I was alone.  The Dominatrix had seen Tiesto in the crowd the night before – if he was back again, that probably would have been a half-dozen girls gone right there, not to mention dozens of others who’d suddenly consider a guy like me a depressing consolation prize. Besides, I reminded myself why I was there, and while I’d seen PVD just this past November, where I saw him wasn’t Space, and the lineup at Space also included Filo & Peri, Pete Tong, Tocadisco, Cedric Gervais, Yves Larock, and host of others.  I figured if I got to Space fairly late – say just before 2 – it would cost more than if I got there early, but at least I wouldn’t be clinging-on to my apartment complex-mate, or wandering alone as long, either – well worth the $20 tradeoff.

On the way downtown, around 1, I began having second thoughts. As I learned by turning on my radio to Sirius Area 38 which carried the event live, PVD was already spinning, which I assumed meant that by the time I parked the car and made my way up the line, he’d be done and presumably on his way to getting fucked at the Fuck Me I’m Famous party.  I eventually continued downtown, and when I finally found a reasonably-safe parking spot under $20, it was already after 2, and the ticket price had jumped to $100.  I checked out the other acts and prices at the neighboring clubs, and decided I’d take the plunge, anyway.  What’s $100 when it appeared that I was paying at least $350 just for the room?

I was immediately reminded.

No sooner did I reach the end of the line when, right next to me, was a group of 30ish, game-wise, Guyinists.  They had just found out it would cost them $100 each, and the leader did a body-count, figured that between the 7 of them they would be spending $700 just to get in, “and you know what we can do with $700 instead” followed by silent group contemplation of each of them doing two hookers at a time for a half-hour each, all eyes surveying the others.  I’m not sure what they ended up doing – the silence was interrupted when the leader advised the others how many “capsules” they had left and how long the capsules would keep them awake – but I had heard enough, and went two doors down to Pascha’s, where Jonathan Peters and The Martinez Brothers were spinning for only $40.  Or so I thought, since, in typical Miami-club fashion, I was told by the cashier after enduring the line that it was $50 unless one of the door guys had given me some sort of ticket.

I went in, anyway.

I later found out that PVD wasn’t lying when he advertised his peformances at Space as a “marathon” – he’d spun 44 tracks the night before, and was undoubtedly still on the decks until the even wee-er hours of the morning on this the second night, when I assume he was really going all-out.  I should have sprung for the extra $50 – I can’t do a hot chick for that around here, anyway.

Finally, its not just hookers and payahs who are keenly aware of Fuckonomics in Miami – Diesel, which has a large South Beach outpost, has a new marketing campaign centered around the slogan, “SEX SELLS.  Unfortunately, we sell jeans.”

Perhaps Diesel shareholders can take some solace from the fact sex isn’t selling as well in Miami as it used.  Ask Tori and The Dominatrix.  They’d have made more money WMC weekend working minimum wage folding pants at a Levi Strauss outlet.

The Scene:

Fashion:

For years now, Miami has served as a springboard for all manner of sexual depravity – both the good and the bad – as well as accompanying epidermally-generous fashion trends.  This year was no exception.

Besides Diesel jeans, skimpy Victoria’s Secret panties, or at least what looked like Victoria’s Secret panties (and I’ve been buying a lot of Victoria’s Secret panties lately, so I know) were being worn in public at various daytime venues all over South Beach.  Girls – many of them – were showing up at $40 – $75 a head pool parties wearing them,unaccompanied by even so much as a wrap.

The fashion at Pascha’s  – or lack thereof – was a little more disturbing, at least to me.  There were shirtless, ripped guys all over the club, each of which was in the embrace of one hot chick or another.  Even if I still could get into that kind of shape  – and two chicks there harshly reminded me I’m not in that kind of shape now – it doesn’t pay for me to do so given how easy it is for me to get sex just by paying.

On another interesting note, there were an unusual number of  – how can I say this politically correctly so as not too offend the quick-to-hate groups? – Ts in the club, mainly Trans Women, mingling quite comfortably with groups of friends which patently included Gs, probably included Bs, and even appeared to included some of us oft-hated Ss.

Attitude:

Its not just my apartment complex-mate who’s hypergamous.  Miami is probably the national hotbed of the threesome, populated with average girls that would rather lick an alpha guy’s balls while their hotter girlfriend gets to suck the cock, than have a regular guy’s cock and balls to themself- unless the regular guy gives them $50.  On two separate occasions, chicks who weren’t that hot but weren’t getting any alpha attention decided to initiate disingenuously fucking with me, one while in the presence of her truly hot friend and the friend’s boyfriend, and two others hanging out unaccompanied at Pascha’s.

If they only knew they were dealing with someone who Jenny Hendrix once wanted to fuck me. (Ed. note  WMC occurred before I learned that she may have been just as horny at the thought of fucking Ron Jeremy).

It wasn’t just chicks with bloated self-esteem that dissed me – I was dissed by none other than noted swinger’s party promoter Nathan Bliss, who denied Joey and I entry to his “bisexual” chick and swinger-centric clothing-optional pool party.  I wasn’t insulted – even couples can’t necessarily get in, and he targets the under-40 crowd – until Joey approached Bliss without me and asked if he could get in if he brought “his girlfriend” back.  Nathan, apparently not realizing Joey was a minor, agreed, but went out of his way to rudely point out that no matter who I returned with, I wasn’t getting in.

I know I was wearing a lousy outfit that day, but I like to think that Nathan, who has me on his mailing list, had somehow heard through the grapevine about my large schlong that I could be displaying around the pool, or that Jenny Hendrix had once wanted to fuck me, and didn’t want the competition.

Kids:

As I joked at Side Splitters comedy club and reiterated in a recent post, now apparently gone from the cloud after a server crash, I’m not exactly into the idea of having kids anytime soon.  However, after a weekend of hanging out with Joey, I know that if I do have kids anytime soon, I will do so by adopting a teenage juvenile delinquent.  He was my main hang-out partner for WMC, and he was a pleasure – and of course, one great thing about adopting a teenage juvenile delinquent is not only do you never have to change his diapers, but there’s a good chance he’ll end up incarcerated – like his two older brothers – even before he graduates from high school, so its not necessarily even a long-term commitment.  In fact, in Joey’s case, he’s already facing criminal charges.

Not only did Joey get into Tantra, he did it with gusto, drinking, dancing, and grabbing a hot chick’s ass and getting a favorable reaction in response.  He was given a stack of 40 cards to hand out to prospective contestants for the Maxim party’s modeling contest, and in less than a day, went through all of them.  He actually was allowed to do a lap of the Maxim party for free, and ably followed my lead sneaking onto the pool deck at the Gansevoort, from where we watched the proletariat revel in the teeming beach party down below.  I wasn’t too keen on the idea of buying him Four Loko under pressure, after I refused out of respect for his mother to give him coke or ecstasy or buy him cigarettes, but no problems resulted, and he promised to reciprocate by hooking me up with ecstasy, as well as other unmentionables, at high school prices.

More of the Scene:

The New York Post implied that Jeremy Shockey, who is part of the apparently large annual NFL contingent and was also at WMC last time I was there in ’07, fucked Traci Lords at WMC this year.  I know I said wasn’t going to reiterate mainstream gossip, but I lied, just to give you some more WMC flavor.

And on that note, I’ll leave you with what I heard on the radio, but did not see, at WMC this year:  Paul Van Dyk, at Space.

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Here’s a picture porn star Jenny Hendrix (real alias) recently posted on sexypeek from her upcoming “Taxi” parody, which will also be starring future first ballot Guyinism Hall of Famer Ron Jeremy (real alias) in the Danny DeVito role.

As I like to mention at every possible opportunity, Jenny Hendrix once wanted to fuck me.  She also wanted me to lick her ass.

Production just started last week.  I don’t know at this time whether Ron (“The Hedgehog” – real nickname) Jeremy will get – or has already gotten- to do the honors instead. Here he is, just off set, after a day of, uh, er, shooting:

Whoever her sex scene was with, here’s Jenny Hendrix tweeting, just before her Taxi scene, the exact words she was repeatedly exclaiming in the lobby of Pleasure Palace swingers club when she thought she was about to be fucked and licked by me:   “So horny!”

I guess it wasn’t just that she was especially horny for me. She might have been just as horny for, or even hornier for, The Hedgehog.  So much for the ego boost I’ve carried around the past four years since she wanted to fuck me.

Speaking of tweeting, I thought James A. Arnold of Greenville, Illinois,  said it well when he recently tweeted (not sure to who):  “You’re like Jenny Hendrix’s asshole. You are an asshole, but everyone wants to be around you.”

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The Florida Association for Women Lawyers (“FAWL”) has released its 2010 Legislative Advocacy Positions.

Get a load of these three, numbered back-to-back-to-back:

11.Supports ratification of the proposed amendment to the Constitution of the United States relating to equal rights for men and women.
12.Supports legislation allowing female inmates to maintain relationship with their minor children.
13.Support legislation keeping female inmates in close proximity to their minor children.

Apparently, FAWL wants to keep help female inmates – some of whom may be imprisoned for having killed one or more of their children – in close proximity to their minor children.  But a guy in jail for smoking weed?  Fuck him.

I’m wondering how these brilliant legal minds are planning to reconcile their gender bias with the constitutional position they are pushing.  Wouldn’t equal rights require that the guy weed smokers be kept in a close proximity to their children as female murderesses?

Or are the lawyeresses just assuming, like as is the case with so many other laws, that “equal” means laws are only struck down if they favor guys, but not if they favor women?

I’ll answer my own question.  Of course they are making that assumption, which is why they also keep pushing for more female judges, because women are so great at reasoning

and just because.

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Just a few weeks before she was embarrassed in front of the world by her husband’s sexcapades – apparently shocked by the fact that a guy who used to be married to a porn star would want a little strange, or a lot of strange as the case is turning out to be ( the New York Post reports James’ cheating count is up to 4 women, but a source told the Pulitzer-nominated National Enquirer that there are at least 11), Sandra Bullock was recorded advocating domestic violence.

Click here to hear a woman who has been oft referred to as “America’s Sweethart” talking about how she would have woman-handled Tiger Woods.

Bullock, who held out before getting married at 40,  has been quoted as saying, “I’ve always been very skeptical about marriage because I only want to do it once, and I want to do it the right way.”

I guess, then,  she should have married a regular guy, not a wealthy, famous biker formerly married to one of the top porn stars in the world.

Anyway, on a somewhat-related note, I have to cut this post short.  One of the two hookers I am supposed to go to Winter Music Conference with tomorrow just beat and bloodied the other, and the latter just called me to pick her up at a gas station since now that the other hooker through her out of their sugardaddy’s crib, she has no place to stay.

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I received an excellent question today from a Monologues reader:

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Not much beats the anticipation of waiting for an escort to show up.  Whereas on a date with an amateur I’m rarely sure I’m going to get it, and when I’m with a regular girlfriend I don’t really much care (been there, done that, can do it just about whenever I want), an escort is virtually a sure thing with strange pussy of my choosing, or at least pussy I don’t see that often or have ready-access to.

Something that surely does beat the anticipation of an escort showing up is when the first escort doesn’t show up and I have to call a second.  Assuming I haven’t become so disgusted or run out of time such that I can’t call another, that second escort is even more greatly anticipated and likely to be the recipient of the contents of even-fuller balls than the first escort would have been.

As you can imagine, when the second escort doesn’t show and I am not too disgusted or out of time or palatable options and call a third escort, the anticipation is even greater, and my balls even fuller, than for the second escort.  In fact, I’m not even sure I’ve let it get to the point where I was anticipating and generating sperm for the third escort.

Until today.

BL gave me a fierce earful on Friday night, and announced on Facebook that I had broken up with her, and my sugarbaby has been tied up for a month with her toddler and isn’t free until next weekend.  Having not done an escort in about six months, I am way overdue and so I kept looking and looking and making call after call trying to find the right girl and the right situation.

Finding the right situation isn’t always easy for me.  I’m very particular, and generally focus my hunt on girls under 5’4″, under 120 pounds, and under 29 (I don’t do “29 year-olds” since I believe that’s the age a lot of escorts – just like amateurs -  claim to be when they are actually considerably older – in fact, I’d much sooner do a purported 33 year-old, so long as she actually looks 33, than a purported 29 year-old, who might be using old pictures).

I also rarely knowingly do girls that aren’t “independent” (i.e., they don’t work for an escort service) or who have a driver, since, at a minimum, sessions with girls whose time is being monitored – or who are merely keeping the driver’s interest in mind -  tend to be rushed, and also since a driver is always ready with the get-away car for the relatively few girls that attempt cash-and-dash.  The one exception I will make is if its a female driver, in which case I will invite the driver-girl to wait inside, a situation which, the one time I did it, resulted in an offer of free sex from the second girl – something my friend and long-time payah, George Martin (real alias), has experienced, as well.

But I decided to break another one of those rules today, that’s how horny I am.  I did something I haven’t done in years – I called an escort service.

I try to avoid escort services for a variety of reasons, in addition to those already mentioned above, one of the bigger reasons being that escort services keep black books that occasionally end up ruining a guys’ careers when the service reveals their names or the black book is seized by law enforcement (“LE” in payah parlance).  Currently, this isn’t much of a concern for me, since I use my alias (“Dirk”), since I use a pre-paid phone not in any way connected to my name (I paid cash for it and refill the time by making cash purchases of a card with extra-time, and usually don’t even refill it for several days so that the store’s security video is destroyed before the card purchase can be connected to the phone), and since I live in a large apartment complex and only give out the street number of the main office.

Services also tend to cost more, since the service takes a cut, and I also like to talk to the girl in advance to get a feel for her personality.  For instance, if a girl calls me “sweetie,” that’s a deal-breaker, though I’ve made one exception  – one I’m glad I made – when the girl swallowed her words in realization of her faux pas in displaying disrespect.  Guys are supposed to dominate – not be someone’s “sweetie” – at least until after we’ve either fucked the chick for free, or she’s taken a load in her face or mouth.

I broke down and called a service today, not just out of horniness – since there were other options – but because of two things.  First, the escort service I called, Rocco’s Escorts, doesn’t drive the girls, so there isn’t quite that time pressure of a guy sitting outside in the parking lot getting antsy and calling and texting the girl.  Secondly, Rocco’s has the girls call you right after you call the service, so you get to the talk to the girl and screen her for “sweetie” and similar tendencies.  Also, Rocco doesn’t take down your address – the girl does – so presumably the service doesn’t have as large and reliable a black book, if it has one at all.

Finally, I called Rocco’s, rather than another service, since Tori (one of her former real aliases), who I met apart from Rocco’s through Craigslist a couple of years ago, occasionally works for him, and had become friendly with another Rocco’s girl, Amber Gold, who not only has won the 2009 award for Tampa Bay’s “Escort of the Year” at the Night Moves Annual Adult Awards, but, who, according to Tori, loves her job so much that she doesn’t wear any makeup (“why wear makeup?  its just going to get messed-up, anyway” is what she has told Tori).  Gotta like a girl who gets down-and-dirty, especially with balls as full as mine are right now.

When I called, I was greeted by Rocco himself, who is also a local strip-club magnate, and who has a friendly and pronounced New York accent.  I asked if Amber Gold would be available, and for how much, and he told me $250.  Considering I’m a petite-ophile and was booked with a hot 21 YO spinner the last night for $175, and then booked with another spinner this morning for $200, when Rocco asked if he should send Amber Gold, who is not petite, over, I started to balk and said I would think about it.  Rocco began lecturing me that for a matter of $50, its an insult to the girl to negotiate – that the girl would know, and that would be reflected in the session.  He said “if you took a girl out to a nice restaurant, you wouldn’t refuse to buy dessert, would you?” He kept continuing, as I was trying to explain to him that I wasn’t negotiating but merely weighing my various options.

Of course, as I told him, he was preaching to the converted – something I have long taught other payahs is to realize that escorts are as human as anyone else, not to negotiate, and prepare yourself for the date (including by shaving your balls) just as you would for a date with any other hot chick you’ve never met before that’s coming over to your crib to fuck you – or at least how you would prepare yourself for such a date if it were to ever actually happen.  He said 90% of guys don’t know this.  Hence – since compared to me Rodney Dangerfield was feared – I am again relying upon a highly-credentialed expert rather than my own words in the form of this post.

A few minutes later I got a call -  it was Amber Gold.  There wasn’t a trace of “sweetie” in her voice – she sounded a lot like one of my ex-es, was incredibly friendly and talkative, asked when I wanted to see her, told me she had lunch plans with a friend she couldn’t break but could see my soon afterward, and when I told her I was grabbing a quick lunch myself, asked what I was going to eat and then told me she was going for Italian and more or less where, which isn’t far from my place.

Within two hours, she’ll be coated with my semen.  In the meantime, I just hope she doesn’t order anything with a lot of garlic.

While I’m busy having sex with Amber Gold, check out Rocco’s redesigned website.  He asked for my input, and I told him one thing that he should add is the height of the girls, weight not really being necessary since the pictures give a good-enough idea of the girls’ bodies.  He agreed, and told me it was a good idea.  If you have any other ideas for how Rocco might make his website as good as it can be, at the risk of having him hook you up for sex with a hot chick, give him a call at 800.230.9099.

If any of you want to know the details of my session, shoot me an email at DirkJohanson@guyinism.com.

And, remember, and spread the word, that gay guyinist Dan Savage won’t give you advice like this.   The guys of the world need DirkJohanson.

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Don’t ask how I could have gone so long without managing to add that feature.

Anyway, you can now subscribe by entering your email address. The space for doing that is currently directly beneath the Recent Comments section.

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Imagine yourself out in a club.  You’re a regular guy and you see a group of four hot chicks.  You manage to work up the nerve to go over and hit on one of them, and you can’t believe it, but its working.  Her friends keep trying to drag her away, but, somehow, she keeps talking to you.  They finally leave, and she stays.  Maybe because she’s so hot, your drawing upon extra reserves, but its closing time, and somehow – don’t even ask yourself how – she’s actually leaving with you.

Next thing you know, she’s in your bed. Your sperm is everywhere – on her tits, on her face, in her mouth, in your own mouth, on the headboard, even on the kitchen floor.  Your balls are soaked from sweat, you feel like you lost ten pounds, and she just keeps coming at you.  “Everything DirkJohanson told me about Latinas is true,” you think to yourself.  “Except for the fact that there is only one girl, this must be what its like to be Derek Jeter on a typical night,” you conclude.  Your only real question:  are there any wedding planners in The Bronx?

The next day, you drove her home, and soon afterward there’s a loud knock on the door.  She did say something about a psycho ex-boyfriend the night before.  What if he has a switch blade?  You look through the peep hole, and see cops. “Police! Open up!,” they shout. You open the door, and in a friendly but concerned tone, ask, “Officers, can I help you with something?”

“You’re under arrest!  You have the right to remain silent ….”

“What am I being arrested for?”

“Rape!”

“Rape?”

This is sort of what happened to a guy named William McCaffery.  In fact, McCaffrey didn’t even get a chance to fuck the broad. He was a perfect gentleman, who ran into a cunt, Biurny Peguero Gonzalez, who took a lot of shit from her friends when she blew them off to go a party with him.  Her friends got so pissed, they got into a drunken brawl. In fact, the cat fight was so violent one of the woman’s heels broke a car window, and Gonzalez ended up in a hospital. The “wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white male who hasn’t lived that life” blamed it – and more – on McCaffrey.

Four years of presumably getting his ass-fucked in prison later, in the midst of a 20-year sentence, the cunt recanted after DNA evidence proved her wrong and a priest who she confessed to urged her to come clean.  She apparently figured that now that she’d hatched another kid out of wedlock, only three months old, she won’t have to serve any time at all. She figured wrong, but not by much.  The prosecution asked for up to 6 years, but as the holder of a pussy pass, she got 1 to 3, and will be eligible for parole in a year.  Its actually a long sentence as far as false rape accusations go.

As I commented to The Spearhead, “true justice would tie the length of her incarceration into a multiple of what the guy had to suffer – triple the time seems the minimum appropriate to me. Also, as a fan of creative sentencing, the wrongfully incarcerated guy should be given the option of actually having sex the false accuser. He did time – he may as well get to do the crime.”

Why not?  I’m not talking about mistaken identity cases when I suggest this  – I’m talking about out-and-out lying about rape cases.

Yes, cruel and unusual punishment is prohibited by the Constitution.  However, rape – rape of guys, which is far worse than rape of women for obvious reasons – is already a de facto punishment for even relatively minor offenses, so its certainly not unusual.  And allowing a guy to put his dick in a girl who was willing to leave a bar with him can not possibly be described as cruel.  Vaginas are where penises are supposed to go.  Vaginas get pleasure from penises.  How could the mere insertion of a penis in a vagina – absent violence, STD exposure, or other external circumstances – possibly be described as cruel?  Especially for a woman who apparently likes penises and isn’t going to get one put in her for at least a year.

Of course, while there is a good chance that Gonzalez will be sexually assaulted by a prison guard, since, according to the United States Department of Justice, female guards are more likely to commit sexual assaults than their guy colleagues, not only will Gonzalez never have to give it up for McCaffrey, she has female advocates at her side every step of the way.  Organizations such as the Florida Association for Women Lawyers (“FAWL”) have expanded to become, in effect, an association for women non-lawyer prisoners, and are now advocating for special treatment of female prisoners to keep them in close proximity to their children.

Of course, the membership of FAWL has two words for a guy like McCaffrey, even if he has kids:  “fuck him.”  In fact, fucking – fucking Gonzalez, to be more specific – is what McCaffrey should have been given a chance by a court of law to do.

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As brought to my attention by a Monologues reader, notorious porn producer Dirty D, was finally arrested in Tampa last night for filming a “simulated sex act” involving a 17-YO chick.

While, unlike his most recent previous arrest at a porno theater, I had nothing to do with this arrest, he was arrested on a property virtually adjacent to my office, across the street from Tampa International Airport.

I suspect, and will attempt to confirm, that he was arrested while returning to his car after arriving back in Tampa from the overseas trip that he was one when the shit first went down.

Bail has been set at $200,000, which is somewhere in the ballpark of what it normally costs him for talent for 200 filmed sexual interactions.  Lets hope he can come up with the money quickly, so I can resume stunt-cocking.

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Something happened with my host’s server recently, and this site was down for a few days.  Some recent posts were not backed up, nor some recent comments.  They gave me some technical terms as to exactly what happened.

I’ll have a new post up soon, hopefully by the end of the day, and plan to restore the now-missing posts.   If any of you copied any of my posts since March 3 in their entirety and can email them to me, that would be very helpful.  Also, if you have ideas for a way the posts might otherwise be restored and need to see the technical description of what the host claims happened, let me know and I’ll send it to you.

In the meantime, the host is 247-host.com, and I’m looking for a new one.  Any suggestions are welcome, though the host has to be willing to host adult content and all the other things I advocate.

And say.

And do.

Anyway, you didn’t miss much.  Its not like two hookers asked me to take them to a swingers club free of charge.

Uh, well, actually, come to think of it, two hookers did ask me to take them to a swingers club this past Saturday night free of charge.  And I indeed took them.

More on that later, maybe.

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