The Escort Society

I woke up this morning feeling really fucked up. I watched the news, tried to go to work, but hung around in my flat instead and jilled off. Three times. While fantasizing about the beautiful German boy I booty called last weekend (or was it the weekend before last?). That was also fucked up. He’s about 6 years younger and still living with his parents, but you wouldn’t think so in bed. He’s very good at handling women. One of the best. No one has bowled me over this much since Alexander, and believe me I wish I could stop going on about him - I’ve long fogotten how it feels like now- but I can’t help it.

I met Casper last year in a club. It wasn’t a random thing though. He’d just moved into town and gotten to know another German guy working in the same building as I was. We were going to go to a club that evening, and he told Casper to come along. I wasn’t in a regular state of mind that evening for whatever reason, and I made out with him. Frankly I knew he didn’t really like me, for whatever reason… He’s one of the few men I meet that don’t like me the way men normally do, either as friend or lover… but I didn’t particularly care. We had sex outside later, in some garden by the river. There were people looking but trying not to look. He didn’t seem bothered by it. I was, a little, but it isn’t as if I am a stranger to public sex.

He took me back to his place (his parents are away a lot) and we did it on his dad’s bed. To be honest, if I did it on my dad’s bed, I’d feel really weird about it. Anyway, we didn’t meet up after that until a month later. Where I met him at a house party and he insisted on following me home. Which was a nice surprise. But he left at 6 in the morning, right after we’d done it. That was not nice.

I haven’t contacted him since until last weekend (or the weekend before). He called me at 1 in the morning and asked me if I was coming out. I said I would. He called me later on again to tell me that the first caller wasn’t him, some guy and taken his phone and played a prank on a few of the girls in it, and that he was really sorry it happened. But he was going to so-and-so, so I could come and meet him there if I wished.

I was a bit skeptical about my named being picked out at random, to be honest. In any body’s phone book, I’m probably one of the craziest persons in the list. Why must it have been my name? Of all the people they could have called…

I didn’t managed to catch him at the club. My phone was in the cloak room, and I missed his texts to tell me that they’d moved somewhere else. But I called him anyway, at 5 in the morning and asked if I could come over to his place. He said sure.

It was a good night. He just felt good, which was what I wanted and needed, I suppose. He was young and sexy and strong and beautiful. He must have slept for an hour before getting up claiming he had lots of work to do. I told him I’d leave him in peace after I slept for another hour to gather enough energy to head home.

Later on in the day I caught him on MSN and said “You don’t really like me when you’ve sobered up.”

He said that wasn’t true. But that sex with me was more like a sport than anything.

You know, personally I don’t find that insulting, but it is a rather blunt way to put it. I’ve had lots of sex that was “just sport”, I’m just not saying it, I suppose. Maybe it was good that he did, maybe he’s so young he expects it to be something much more for it to be worthwhile. Maybe he’ll always think this way.

I’m starting to really like younger men. Boys, rather. They can be loads of fun, and they don’t have the baggages and insecurities that older men have. Some can even be surprisingly mature, sweet and understanding. And they are beautiful.

Alexander, who is only slightly older than me, had two girlfriends several years older than he was (around their 30’s) before me. One of the first few things he said he liked about my body was that it was “fresh”. *laughs* The men I love have such tact don’t they! But that’s excatly how I feel now, on them.

I’m really sick and tired of always feeling like I’m missing something in the sexual equation. I’m young and beautiful, and I think it’s my time I had my fair share of that too.

Alexander called me last night. He was going to write an email, but decided to call instead. He doesn’t write very well in English, it’s a third language for him. I was quite surprised. I think a fair amount about him (as is obvious), but didn’t quite think it worked the other way around. Maybe it doesn’t, who knows. At the core I guess, we’re still good friends.

So many things have happened to him since I returned to Singapore, I’m thoroughly jealous. He’s moved to a new city, started working with a Dutch company on a project in Dubai, and on the side, is now opening a funky bar downtown in Vienna. I have three years to catch up.

He’s also had to go for an operation, which was the only worry and speck of complication in an otherwise enviably charmed life. He had a really bad back, but it wasn’t the spine or the muscles… they eventually fixed it by making little cuts in his kidneys.

When we said goodbye on the phone, I said, “Hey, you know… … I think about. Sometimes.”

“Yes. Don’t worry. Me too.” He replied.

In a lot of ways I’m not a very romantic personality. I’m normally not thinking of men I’ve dated in this way. Usually I forget them. But Alexander was just right for me. Not in every way, no one’s right in every way, but it was a good relationship. It wasn’t explosive, I wasn’t obsessed with him. It was good because the fundamental contents that made the deal were there. And yes, I do weight every individual on a scale of intelligence, ambition, talent, fun-factor, and looks. We all do it, surely, even if you’re not as aware of it as I am.

“Why are you such a sex fiend huh? Sandra?” He whispered into my ear as he fucked me. It was dark, all the lights were off. He was on top of me. I liked it, it felt like we were doing something very bad.

I laughed. “Are you accusing me of being a nympho?”

“No.” He said, one hand holding my chin, tight, his weight partially placed on it, pressing against my throat.

“Why do you do this?” He asked.

“Because I love you.” I said.

The sarcasm lingered in the air. We fucked. He came quietly. I screamed.

“Why are you such a sex fiend?” He asked, again.

“I don’t know.” I said. “I think deep down, we are all fucked up inside. I don’t think I’m special. Not when it comes to this.”

Frederik is silent. He got up and went to the shower, I stayed in bed. It was already 2 in the morning.

He came out of the shower, towel around waist, and asked if I would like anything from room service, because he was going to get himself a sandwich. I told him I will have whatever he is having.

We talked for a bit. He has two children, a daughter at college and a six year old boy. I wonder if it disturbs him a little that I’m not much older than his girl. I don’t think so.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” He tells me, again. “It’s dangerous, and it’s a waste of your time.”

“You know I’m not stupid. I need the money, it’s an investment. Some people are born into a large inheritance, I’m born from a good gene pool. Besides, I think you really like me.”

“I do.” He said.

“If I shouldn’t be doing this, then you shouldn’t be seeing me.” I said.

“I know. But this is my only vice.”

“Good for you.” I said, landing a finger on his chest. “It’s definitley not my only one.”

It was 4 in the morning when I left. I felt good. Men like him make me feel really good. But this feeling good is a strange, dislocated sort of feel good. Like being transposed to some sort of wonderland with gold doorknobs, room service and richly carpeted floors. And sex between two people who know each other and don’t know each other. It is quite exhalirating.

Writing this blog has become quite cathartic.

I met Nikolai late, late, the night before, the night before, the night before. It was what one might call, a planned coincidence. Russians are very good at such things. The girls were chilling out at Shane’s and it was looking set to become a fairly decadent affair. At 4 a.m., I was tired but couldn’t sleep, and their pleasure of choice didn’t sit well with me (there some some hedonistic things in life I am allergic to, unfortunately). I went down to the Pump room, because I had a feeling Nik would be there. He said he would be. We had facebooked before, quite sneakily, behind his fiancee’s back. There was a mass facebook message sent out last week, and the both of us were on the list, and he replied to all and I replied to him only. Which was a planned mistake. I think my subconcious wanted to do it.

Nik was actually later then me to hit Clarke Quay. In the mean time I had been drinking bourbon and checking out the men. It was 4 in the morning and the desperate hour. There were nice looking men around, but… honestly, Sandra. Honestly (you do not need another one night stand).

He turned up, we danced till the club shut, and left to find some other activity. Of which there was none, really, I did not need a kebab.

“So let’s head back to my place.” I said.

“Sure.” He said.

I started for the taxi stand.

“I’m here on my bike.”

I laughed. Of course he had a bike. Of course. It was a Harley. I’m not big on bikes personally, oil guzzling does not turn me on, but it was still cool.

We headed back to my place. It was strange at first. Nik and I have had been in some weird situations before, where in which I was very drunk, and had the excuse to do what I pleased because I was very drunk. They were no big deals, but I think it’s been obvious to the both of us that we’d really like to get into each other’s pants. Someday. I never bothered pushing it. When you push it, it gets weird.

That night, I was also substantially drunk. I pushed him onto my bed, he took off my clothes (undoing my bra with one hand, under one second. A big turn on. For some reason the men I see are always somewhat shy and have bumbling hands. Good boys apparently love bad girls), and ran his hands all over me. And he was tall and strong and well, like a real man, you know. Not weak. He could lift me, easily, fuck me good, wrestle in bed with me. I’m really fit and I like a man that can beat me to it. The other day, someone picked me up and said I was heavy. I’m not heavy, fit guys can easily benchpress twice my body weight. I was not insulted, but I was not impressed.

I was quite drunk and a little nervous. It was all slightly weird, why was this happening? I knew Sarah, this isn’t right but I don’t care. Did he care? No, not really. You do what you want to do, nobody owns you. Relax he told me, his hands steadying my hips. He moved under me, it felt really good. Sex hadn’t felt this good since Alexander.

Yes I know, Alexander, Alexander, am I really recalling him as he was, or do I sweeten the memories? We fought once, because I found out he had cheated on me. I didn’t really care, I was just looking for an excuse to have a violent fuck. I kicked and punched and screamed at him. He pinned me to the wall and fucked me. People came into the flat, they were visiting, everyone was wondering what was going on. We didn’t care. It was his apartment, not theirs. We sat outside after and behaved as if nothing had happened, which in a way nothing had.

Nikolai made love to me like a man who knew what he was doing. So many men don’t. He knew what to do with me. Yes. We still have some things to work on, I need it rougher, more violent. I want you to make me cry and beg and scream and sigh and sigh and sigh. And then when the storm is over we’d sit on the couch with a Gin and T and talk about life. For abit, before making love again.

I won’t be seeing him for a few weeks.

It’s not a big deal.

Normal rules of how people behave should not apply to me. After being told your crazy by just about everyone you know, you become pretty convinced of the fact that you are. My behaviour isn’t odd, really. It’s just mismatched. I’m a self proclaimed gay boy stuck in the body of a woman.

You hear lots of men say they are really a lesbian in a man’s body, this is not true. Most lesbians (not all) are very much more loyal to each other then men are to their partners.

I’m not sexually loyal, and I don’t think I can ever be. I have been. Once, but to do it, I killed my ability to desire for men completely. As you can guess, the relationship ended badly with the ex cheating on me with a Thai massage girl, and me with a professor when we were at a convention in Switzerland.

Even with Alexander, I was not a good girl. But my feeling is, why should it matter? Why should anything matter, as long as the other person doesn’t know about it. There are more important things in life to think about then this, surely.

I went on a date, a real one, with a friend of a friend. It was okay, but he was not my kind. Every move was calculated to get me into bed. There was an assumption I did not appreciate. I wanted to tell him, you know, I could fuck you. We could fuck, and it would be alright, but there would be nothing in it because I don’t really care about you, and you don’t really care about me.

I feel as if I can appreciate a relationship between client and escort, and I can appreciate picking up someone randomly at a party with people you are somewhat acquainted with - from work, or certain interest circles, for example, but not from a date out of the blue, calculated to get laid. Some people really like that, but personally, I feel like it is something that is had out of the context of society.

The only time I do a date before sleeping with someone is when I’m escorting, but that’s different, because you already know what the deal is. In my life outside, I prefer to have slept with someone first before I actually go on formal dates. It’s less stressful for one thing, because the guy is not doing all these things to try and impress you and is just being himself.

There is also the problem of the social context of which I am normally in. If I’m not at a party, I’m being a total geek, working and learning. I love learning, I’d have weeks where I’d shut my social life and just read, and play around with ideas, and write. I don’t bother to have the time for dating - if the purpose to to have sex, then I’d know within a few moment of meeting someone whether I would sleep with them, and why faff about? The only reason to faff about is because life has it’s own course, and you can’t just sleep with anyone you want, even if you are a young, pretty, fertile woman. Sometimes, it is better to wait. And believe it or not, I have taken my time with some people. If you don’t push it, some day the opportunity will present itself, and it will be good. Much better then it would have been, had you pushed for it.

Last night, Shane called to “invite” me to the house warming of a friend of his. Let’s just say the party was of right out of a Wolf on Wall Street. There are always plenty of sugar babies and escorts at these thing, and they are great. Absolutely decadent. The men are usually sociable, fun, and fairly unassuming. If they are flashy is usually a mock up trailer trash, a la Paris Hilton flashy, but with a good pinch of salt. Basically, they are self-aware.

The babes on the other hand, are a fantastic riot. You have everything. I’m normal when I’m there. Very normal, too normal. You get everything from Romanian lingerie models to Catholic school-girl ah-lians (i.e. the Singaporean equivalent of the Valley Girl). The girlfriend of the owner of the house was one such girl.

Let me relate the highlight of the night. First she screamed on the phone because the delivery service guy from MacDonald’s didn’t get what she was trying to order. Yes, they were trying to order MacDonalds for some reason. There was food, most of it was eaten, but they just wanted to eat MacDonalds. When the delivery boy came, she got out of the hot tub, topless, took the food and paid him. The boy must have seen the weirdest time of this life. The tub was on the roof, and so was everyone else, and everyone else was barely dressed at this point, whether they were wet or not. It was great. You must remember this is Singapore, and these were Singaporeans. The land of the straight laced. It was refreshing. It’s not such a bad place to party after all. The weather is warm, and the girls are hot and willing.

Sometimes I seriously feel like my life is an abject failure. I know but any objective measure, it really isn’t. I’ve done a lot of things, people meet me and ask how the hell am I capable of doing everything I do, while still maintaining an insanely frenetic social life. Personally I think I just don’t do things as well as I am capable of doing them. I just pray to the flying spaghetti monster that I’m faster then the sucker behind me, that’s all.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m really afriad of feeling things. The last time I felt I really loved someone was over a year now, and even then I was apprehensive. I feel nice things towards people, and I like the men I sleep with, but it never bothers me if I end up in bed with someone else, and when I do, I tend to lose interest after a few nights. I still like them, I just get bored easily. Sometimes I think it’s a symptom of being here, in Singapore. I’m sick of it, it kills me, I need to get out. Be with really cool people, feel something, and most of all… have really great, mind-blowing sex again.

I still live with the memory of how sex and life and love was like with Alexander. He was good you know, a total self-confessed playboy -although in truth he wasn’t as much of a slut as he made it out to be, not more then anyone else I’ve known. Just a hell lot more honest, and also with a hell of a lot more opportunities to take advantage of. He was a real man. You know. He had everything going for him. He was hot, tall, an architect, a professional athlete, and he knew how to seduce a woman and keep her coming back. I don’t think he did it self consiously half the time, he reminds me a bit of someone that grew up with a a number of insecurities about himself when he was growing up, and did everything to make sure that they were never realized. He knew women desired him, bue he never falunted it. He had a way of making women feel really good about themselves. Well actually I don’t know about that. He had a way of making me feel unbelievably good about myself, but he did tell me he really liked me. Which I took me several months before I really believed he did. And there is nothing more satisfying than a man who could carry on sleeping around, and who usually does, to suddenly not do so.

It was easy of course. We weren’t together for long, there was an expiry date on the whole affair, which was just the way we both wanted it.

Perhaps one day I will feel like that again, but with someone I want to really love. That was a play relationship, the type you have when you’re beautiful,  in your twenties, single and planning on staying single.

Valentine’s day turned out to be quite fun for the three of us. Iggy’s was amazing, despite the overpriced wines. Sure I’m not paying for it, but it still irks me anyway how that one meal could send my maid’s kid to a good elementary school for a year, with a really decent lunch everyday. (No, I do not have a live in maid).

Mr. P was really lovely. To be honest, we did not expect him to turn out the way he did. From the conversations, I’ve worked him out to be around 50, but he looked much younger. He’s divorced from a crazy Singaporean woman who is apparently really crazy (something along the lines of swearing she was going to divorce him even before they were married), has a couple of kids, and is now living his life supporting them from abroad designing furniture. He actually turned out to be quite hot, but I guess you would be if you’re building things all the time. I’m always so, so envious of people that can build stuff. Everything in this country is always in a black box, and my carpentry goes as far as assembling IKEA furniture. What a tragic state of affairs. Once I built a book shelf in design and technology class, it looked quite good (but awfully old fashioned, wouldn’t look out of place in Victorian London, except that it was not prescise). But that was it.

The threesome was a pleasant affair, for lack of a more exciting was to describe it. I think it’s just me, I look at everything too objectively. I’m mostly straight, but I appreciate women when they are beautiful, and Tasmin is nothing, if not beautiful. But at some point, I found myself stepping out of my body and looking at her, and Mr. P and myself, and thinking this is sexy, and I’m getting quite hot, but why this schizophrenic state of mind and watching it as if I was someone else peeping through the keyhole? Maybe I’m just voyeuristic, and I’m trying to get an extra kick by pretending simultaneously to be another watcher on the side, hands between thighs, jilling off.

He was lovely. Like, really, really lovely. I came away from the encounter feeling like he was a wonderful, sweet man. We were gushing about the whole experience over breakfast the next day. We’re still rather new to this whole thing, and sometimes, it is still slightly stressful to meet a new person you’ve never met before and share that intimacy with them. I imagine it’s not that much easier for the other person either, but still. I don’t know why’s that and why it should be. We meet new people all the time, and if the both of you are attracted, sex is definitely not stressful. But this is a bit different. But hey, it’s fun, it’s sexy, but it’s still work. And whatever you do, even if you’re work is fun (which in my regular day job, it also is), I guess work will always have that added element of stress just because someone else apart from yourself has expectations of you.

The boys around me are progressively getting younger and younger, I swear, this is quite intolerable. You know the line in Dazed and Confused, by the character played by Matthew McConaughey? “That’s what I like about high school girls. I get older, they stay the same age.”

Doesn’t quite work well the other way round, I don’t have very much tolerance for childish boys. They do tend to be so cute though. In the studio yesterday, I asked Michael- one of my fabulous friends i.e. gay ;o) why cute guys are socially retarded. He looked at me and said, quite matter of fact-ly, that was why they were so cute. Perhaps. But of course I don’t really think that all cute guys are socially retarded, just the cute ones that are also really hot.

Perhaps, I just don’t know how to deal with boys. I started with men, and used to only understand men. They tend to know a great deal about the world, and the relationships are generally less physical and more cerebral, on a percentage point scale. When it comes to the sex, I assure you, I am similarly insatiable. Young boys (of similar intellectual caliber who would later grow to be very decent gentlemen) tend to know a great deal about one of two things. And I generally had to find those immediate points of interest and go from there. But they do tend to have the added value of that cute, new to the world vibe, which I find refreshing, sometimes. But I suppose they do tend to make women feel like their older sisters.

I’m pleased with the site now. In the next few weeks, we will have Monobeauty shooting a few more photos of us. so stay in touch. If you’re beautiful and sassy and are interested in us and what we do, please do contact us!

I’m going to a ridiculously big party on wheels tonight, organized by Des. He holds THE most ridiculous parties in town, which is as good as it’s gonna get in Singapore. I never used to be a big party person, and am winding down somewhat now, but a couple of years in Europe have pumped in the work hard play even harder ethic into me. It also helped that the clubs were right outside my flat of course, and you didn’t have to get drunk every night to have fun. If you know what I mean.

Francesco invited me over for dinner last night. He’s just back from the charmed continent (*ahemEurope*) this time for a year, at least. He introduced me to to very lovely girls, which I am glad to have gotten to know. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t know enough women. Which is not true, but consider that one can never know enough wonderful women, really. Really. They were so sweet, and really fit too. I was secretly a teensy, weensy bit envious of Erzabet… That girl is tight.The night went on and we all got increasingly drunk, the four of us.  Michiko left us earlier, and at 1 a.m. I bid them both goodbye. I like those people, they are coolness. You know, real bugande, which actually means good vibes. Which for me usually means no bad sexual/romantic tensions. It’s also a major plus that they are all hot. Tight bodies for the girls and a strapping body on the guy, I felt rather at home.

There was some really good wine too. I bought an entire case of Gaston De Veau merlot from Marks and Spencer’s for Christmas, and am slowly working my way through them now. It’s really lovely for the price, especially when you’re buying them in Singapore.

I have a date set up for Saturday. It’s Valentine’s day apparently, and I although I never really forget it, I pretend to myself that I do. I am generally cynical about days declared and marketed for mostly commercial reasons, despite having grown up on an intellectual diet of Friedmanism, but it doesn’t matter anymore since we are all Keynesians now.  The gentleman in question is a certain Mr. Paddington, which was what I initially thought it was. Quite embarassingly I did make a comment about marmalade sandwiches before beign corrected. He called last night. As far as I make him out to be, he’s a sweet, transatlantic Englishman with the best of both worlds. Quite to the point whilst still being very charming, which is something that isn’t easy to achieve really. But hey, I guess if you can’t talk about your fantasies with a call girl, why call for one in the first place? (I can think of a reason actually: So she can encourage you how to talk about them

I’ve been very busy with work, the studio has endless nonsense that needs attending to. But hey, everyone needs to take a break sometime, and dinner at Iggy’s this Saturday doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Especially when someone else is splurging on the Shirako (a type of fish sperm which looks like brains, and is really yummy) and their South Gippsland Pinot Noir. Which might be worth a lot soon if the fires in Down Under don’t abate…