Alouicious – The Story of a Gay Escort

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How I became a gay escort

Fiction. Part 1

There’s a common misconception that if you work in the escorting industry that you have ‘ended up’ there after a long and turbulent journey through drug abuse problems and childhood trauma. People paint images of scarcely clad, dishevelled women selling blow jobs on street corners in the dead of winter. Of controlling pimps and manipulated men doing dirty deeds in suspiciously stained hotel rooms against their will. The truth couldn’t be further from this ludicrous imagery. In my community of escorts, we navigate the industry by building and running our own individual businesses in the most efficient and lucrative ways possible. There are no pimps, there is no coercion, and everything we do, we do it because we so choose. If you were expecting a dramatic sob story about a man who lost his way, you will not find that here.  

I led a very bog-standard life up until the moment I met Alex. I went to school, I went to the University of Manchester, graduating with a first class honors bachelors of science in International Business. I had done well; the problem was that I graduated with student debt as potent as the qualification itself. So, I embarked on a mission to get a cash-dense graduate job that would utilise my entrepreneurial skills as well as help me set myself up post university. I worked for a couple of start-up companies, I did marketing for a cowboy company, I would work long hours for difficult people on a less than average salary – I was tired, fed up and deflated. It was at this point that I decided that I wanted to start my own business. It would be the perfect way out! I just needed an idea that had a low startup cost, and a high mark up, as I wasn’t yet the banked-up business owner I intended to become.  

I went for a drink in the city that night, I stood at the bar waiting to be served, the establishment was rich in white marble and lit up with bright and luxurious light fixtures. I had put my best foot forward this night, my hair perfectly slicked back, my dark Italian features stood out against my perfectly ironed white shirt. A splash of creed on my skin, just enough to leave an intoxicating scent in the air that fills the steps behind me.  

I was waiting on an old fashioned when a man, dressed almost identically to myself came and sat next to where I was stood at the bar. He turned and smiled in my direction. Initially, I felt uncomfortable. 

“You okay?” He asked. I nodded. “Alex Porter” He said as he put his hand out to shake mine.  

“Alouicious”, I replied, matching his hand with mine.  

Alex laughed to himself “Alouicious? That’s perfect, alright Alouicious, I have a proposition for you, keep your mind open, and listen very carefully. I am an escort, I rent my companionship to those who require my services. I need help, and you look right for the part. I have a client I can’t see tonight. £150 an hour to take them to dinner, and we go from there?” 

    I was struck by his forwardness, it felt like such a surreal proposition. There was a writhing knot in my stomach that was urging me to tell him to leave. But I was a perfect combination of fed-up, intrigued, open minded, and ready to go – so I obliged. I figured, what’s the worst that can happen?  

“What is their name?” I asked. Alex smiled.

My first time on the Job

Fiction. Part 2

“Alright, so here’s what you need to know.” Alex said. He leaned in until his lips were but a centimetre from my ear, words tip-toed out of his mouth and danced their way into my ears in a way that raised the hair on my skin. Tantalised, I listened intently.  “You will meet him here, at this exact spot in approximately 25 minutes, I’ve arranged it all.”  His name is Steven, he works in finance, his nipples are sensitive and he’s a Taurus – if you know what I mean.” I didn’t.  

Alex continued with his brief. “He drinks overpriced craft beer because he thinks it makes him different from the other middle-aged post-divorced men, but he will treat you to overpriced vodka cocktails so, apples and oranges. He’ll most likely open a discussion about your favorite car in the first ten minutes just so that he can show you a picture of his latest mid-life crisis. Just go with it, it keeps him sweet.  He always smells great and he’s a good man overall so, just have fun!” I couldn’t help but feel a little like a baby sitter listening to the frantic listings of a child’s bedtime routine by their freedom-deprived mother embarked on her first night out in a year. 

Alex scribbled his contact details on a whiskey dampened napkin before folding it up and placing it in my hands. “If you have any problems – give me a call.” I was in it now, there was no turning back now. Well, I probably could have turned back, but for a reason unknown to my consciousness at this time, I wanted Alex to like me.  

I suppose I was approaching it as more of a blind date than a job. If I looked at it any other way, would I be considered a sex-worker? And if so, was I comfortable with that? As I minimized the experience to overcome my self-judgment as much as possible, my mind meandered down an alternative path. I couldn’t help but wonder what happens if he doesn’t like me, does he get his money back? How does this work? Is there a money back guarantee on my time? I was midway through composing a frantic and lengthy text message to the number that had been scrawled on the napkin Alex left behind when I felt a tap on my shoulder.  

For the second time this evening I was approached at the same spot by a man I had never met before. A man of grand stature, his eyes drooped with tiredness, his shoulders hunched and his mouth rested slightly gaped, he appeared strikingly bovine in nature, is that what Alex meant by ‘he’s a Taurus’? 

“Alex told me you’d be here”, I heard Steven’s voice mutter from behind me. I turned to welcome him with all the ‘tits and teeth’ I could muster. 

“Hello, hello, welcome! I’m Alouicious, let’s get you a drink!” I exclaimed in my best telephone voice. I sounded offputtingly like a holiday rep overenthusiastically trying to usher unsuspecting holiday makers into a false sense of certainty that they would have a good night if they stuck with me.  

Steven nodded at the bartender, “I’ll have a pint of Raging Bitch,” he ordered. , I filtered the words ‘Why yes you will, if you play your cards right’ through my mind until they were just thoughts – I’m on my best behavior.  

In the interest of being as honest as possible, straight off the bat, I judged him. His clothes hung from his bloated body in a clumsy and disheveled manner, his stubble was less Zach Effron and more Tom Hanks in the beginning stages of his castaway beard growing process. I took one look at Steven and wondered what on earth had gone wrong and how on earth we would be able to find in common.  

“So, er, do you like cars? “, he asked, just like clockwork. I replied with honesty.  

“I don’t drive, but I’ve always liked the idea of doing up a van to travel Europe in. I’d drive through the Eurotunnel and begin in France. Id kit it out with a bed and a kitchen, and cover it in fairy lights – like you see on Instagram.” I replied, waiting to see how he would manipulate this into showing me a photograph of his Ferrari. 

 His raised eyebrows held his surprise high on his face. I began to panic, unsure about whether or not I should be putting on a persona, establishing a new, more attractive character for the client. I tried to back-track my statement. 

“But, the fast ones…” I started to waffle in an attempt to be someone who he could relate to.  

Steven stopped me from talking. He told me about the time that he travelled across Europe in a campervan in his youth. How he’d ended up in Portugal where he fell in love with a man named Lucas. He told me a whirlwind tale of adventure and heartache. Of unfair societal expectation, of emotional persecution and one of the hardest decisions he’d ever had to make. He ended up back in the UK, in a loveless marriage to a woman so that his family would accept him. In a series of secret letters, he learned about how Lucas had moved with another man, because he couldn’t wait for Steven.  

He eventually got divorced. He had started hiring Alex, not for sex, but to spend time with someone he couldn’t be abandoned by. I realised at this point. that when he asks about cars, he’s not creating an opportunity to show off his latest mid-life crisis. He is just trying to figure out what version of himself his companion will accept.  

By the end of the evening I was exciting over potential travel plans. He was sharing debaucherous tales of the places he had been and people he had met along the way. He was interesting and fun and had a thirst for life that I had not expected. He warned me how dangerous it is to not live your life completely as yourself, and told me about how damaging it is to conform to others expectations. I left the bar that evening feeling fulfilled, reflective, and £450 richer after Steven slipped a small wad of £20’s into my hand on our way out. I had almost forgotten I was being paid for the three hours we spend in each other’s company.  

The term “don’t judge a book by its cover’ has been muttered from the mouths of wise people for countless years, yet so many of us consider ourselves to be a good judge of character without considering the implications of judging character quickly. My evening spent with Steven was the first time I had really realised that these judgements can be damaging and stunting and not at all the extrasensory perception I had once believed my habit to be. He made me think about the people that I had encountered that I never got to know, the layers of human that lay beneath the surface are more layers that we can connect with. I’m grateful to Steven for teaching me not to judge a Taurus by his bovine nature. 

Horsing Around – Yay or Neigh?

Fiction – Part 3

Since my experience of playing good-cop for Alex’s client, I decided to launch my own platform upon which to I can meet clients of my own. Consequently, my work has launched me into a wealth of bizarre and brilliant experiences. Many of which I could only have imagined in my years prior to entering the world of rented companionship. My new clients often ask me, as they explore the limits of my services – “what has been the most curious request a client has made from you?” 

I avoid questions like this, quickly turning the focus of the session back to fulfilling the desires of the client at hand, but it does get me to thinking – what would I consider to be the most extravagant experience in my time in sex work? Immediately I am taken back to a moodily lit room with emerald green walls, dark wooden floorboards and an overwhelming collection of equestrian related taxidermy.  

I had liaised with the client (whom I will rename Gerry in the interest of protecting his identity) prior to our meeting that night. Gerry had explained that, since the breakdown of a recent relationship, he had been engaging in mental fantasies of ‘horsing around’ with another man. In hindsight, I don’t believe that this was an accurate or adequate description of the experience he wanted.  

The ground beneath my tires crunched and crackled like a steel toe-cap boot treading on broken glass as I drove from smooth, main road onto a graveled drive-way that lead to an old country manner. I drove toward the house, pulling up but a few meters from the door, following suit of the muddy Land Rover Discovery parked next to me. From the front door hung a rusted brass fox-shaped door knocker. There were but moments between me lifting my hand to knock the fox, and the door opening – I assume the sound of gravel rendered the knock moot.  

Pleasantries exchanged, formal introductions made, refreshments offered, refreshments declined, I followed Gerry to a staircase that led us deep into the foundations of the manner. I was partially expectant to enter a room made from stone, lined with medieval devices of torture. In comparison to my expectations, the barn-themed colour scheme, equestrian memorabilia and stuffed horse-heads was a relief – what it should have been, was a clue of what was to come.  

Gerry enthusiastically presented his collection of vintage horse shoes to me, each shoe was rustier than the next. Eventually I was able to catch his gaze. I slowly started to unbutton my shirt – I wanted to see the excitement light up in his eyes as he watched me get undressed before I tended to his requests. I was half way down my chest when he broke my gaze and walked away from me. Puzzled, I watched his movements – my shirt move usually works a treat. He made his way awkwardly to a dark corner of the room, he leaned over to pick something up. I wondered – Why is he stalling? What is he showing me now?  

Gerry lifted something from the floor and turned around to present me with a large, worn, leather riding saddle. My inner dialogue thought, “wow this guy really likes horses, interesting competition”.  

“I want you to put this on” he muttered softly.  

I looked at him for a moment, before realising that he wasn’t joking. “Like, on my back?” I asked, my voiced laced with confusion. 

“Get on all fours and I’ll put it on you, I want to ride you like a good little pony.” he responded. 

Now, I’ll try anything once. I must say I had always considered myself more of a stallion than a ‘good little pony’. But I obliged. I took off the rest of my clothes before lowering myself to the ground. I kneeled and leaned forward until I was on my hands and knees. I felt the cold of the leather saddle being lowered onto my back; it sent an unfamiliar shiver up my spine. The cold pushed deep into my spine, as he straddled me, I felt the weight of him move back and forth.

His breathing got heavier and heavier, as he moved faster and faster, I could hear the unmistakable repetitive squelch of him pleasuring himself as he rode my back. Finally, I felt the saddle jolt, and heard a deep, pleasure filled sigh.  

When he removed the saddle, I turned around to see him stood up, walking to the same corner of the room from which he retrieved the saddle. There was a long tail of horse-like hair was dangling from his rectum – he had inserted a tail-style butt-plug into himself, and now he wanted to fuck me whilst I neighed in pleasure. He came back with a riding crop, a lasso and a set of reins. He put the reins round my neck, to my delight, avoiding my mouth. He held them in one hand, and a crop in the other. He raised the crop into the air. 

“Woooah there, cowboy” I said, before he got a change to lower the whip to my back with force. We exchanged a glance, I nodded in submissiveness. It seems he knew exactly what he wanted. I had expected to come and guide him through his first sexual experience with a male, but he was taking the reins – literally.  

He entered me slowly from behind as he tapped my back playfully with his whip. He rode me as he exclaimed “Good pony!” between pleasure driven pants. His screams got louder and louder the more I neighed. When he finished, and his time was up, we shook hands and went on our merry way. I still think about him sometimes when I’m driving through the countryside and I see a horse grazing a field.  

The moral of the story to both escorts and clients – do not mince one’s words. If I’d have known what ‘Horsing Around’ really meant, I’d have brought my lasso.