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Plans for the Evening Male escort lucks out in unexpected ways with female client. The Escort Business woman hires an escort for the evening. The Face-Painter Ch. On My Arm Mature woman treats herself. Natalie's Vegas Birthday Ch. Ross's Revenge A male escort turns the tables on his client, or does he?

The Male Escort Ch. The Acting Lesson There are parties, and then there are very private parties.

A Male Escort by Accident - Gay Male - welldamtifomarb.gq

A Widow's Tale Her mourning passed, Maggie's libido returns. So yes; as you can see reading between the lines, I have two strings to my bow; I am willing to stimulate a guy, not by engaging him in a scintillating conversation, but sexually by what is usually referred to politely as anal stimulation; this is another euphemism to avoid the crude harsh fact which is that I fuck his arse if that is what he wants. But when it comes to discipline, I have some masochistic clients who use my services uniquely to provide them with what is usually referred to as CCP -- Consensual Corporal Punishment: And finally I have my favourite type of client, who wants me first to shred his arse with a cane or whip or whatever and then go on to fuck him.

This is what I think of as the full enchilada and I just love it. In fact, I love all aspects of my work as the mere thought of both anal sex and corporal punishment turn me on sexually. At the end of the day, sex is the one human activity which never fails to please; at least that is the way it seems to me as I never tire of it; either professionally or socially or any other way. I suppose my intense desire for gay sex is tantamount to an addiction; like those drug addicts, who once hooked cannot do without their daily fix; well so it so it is with sex and me; I cannot do without it; I am an addict!

But what a marvellous addiction it is, for it always gives me great pleasure and equally does no harm to anyone.

To be quite clear, I never force myself on anyone, so I have to believe that my passive partners, whether regular or casual, enjoy what we do together just as much as I do. In fact, I did not become a Male Escort by design; I just sort of slipped into the profession -- if profession is -- by accident, in spite of my own initial misgivings as to what I had, on a couple of occasions been inveigled into doing. Anyway, as you will learn, I did subsequently become what I am today -- a Male Escort -- and I really do enjoy my present life.

But I am sure that the astute reader of this story will have noticed that I, a Chicagoan, and an American by birth, refer to a client's arse and not his ass. Well the former is the vulgar word that the Brits use crudely to describe a guy's posterior whilst the latter word is the American equivalent for that same part of his anatomy, but which for the Brits implies a donkey-like animal; so the word ass as such, does not capture their sexual imagination.

So how come then, that I, essentially in all that matters the quintessential, all American Mid-Westerner, use the English word to describe that part of a guy's anatomy which takes up so much of my attention? Well, the fact of the matter is that I am myself actually half English; born in the USA to an English father and a Bostonian American mother, who traced her lineage back into the mists of time when everyone in the then Un-United States was of British extraction.

And so having been born on American soil, I am by nationality an American citizen. But my immigrant father, who himself became a naturalised American citizen, also went and registered my birth at the British Embassy; so I enjoy dual nationality: American and British. How my parents came to settle in Chicago, a city of which my Bostonian mother totally disapproved, is a long and uninteresting story with which I will not burden you.

Suffice it to say that my father became the CEO -- for British readers of this narrative, the Managing Director -- of a large conglomerate and, over a period of years, thanks to the exaggerated salaries which such firms pay their top people, became a very rich man. And so, money counting for something, even though it was not the old money my mother clearly would have liked it to have been, she made a sniffy if a nevertheless somewhat-disapproving best of the luxurious lifestyle which my father's income allowed us to lead in Chicago.

We lived in a spacious upper floor apartment the lakeside road called Lakeshore Drive just north of Chicago downtown centre, known locally as the Loop. In realtor -- that's an estate agent in British English-speak -- our apartment enjoyed uninterrupted views over Lake Michigan. Speaking for myself, I find looking over a large expanse of water utterly boring; but that is just my personal view. And so, as I grew up, in common with other boys of similar wealthy backgrounds to me, I was sent first to a private local day-school and then from the age of about nine, at my mother's insistence, was shipped off back east to an upmarket boy's preparatory school in the Boston area, where I was, of course, a boarder.

I never really worked out whether my mother wanted me to have a true, blue-blooded, snobby, Bostonian-type education or whether she just wanted me from under her feet.

Not to put too fine a point on it, my mother and I were not terribly close; if I tell you that from an early age I always called her mother and never mom that will give you an idea of the level of intimacy that I enjoyed with her. Anyway I actually quite liked being at a boarding school even though things were much stricter than they had been at my day school back in Chicago. It was at this school that I first encountered the doubtful joys of corporal punishment in the form of a well-paddled bottom -- I had not become conversant with the word ass at that stage in my life -- which was dispensed by the school principal to correct -- don't you just love that word?

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As this was a traditional old-style school, the paddle was suitably drilled with holes to make sure that it mated correctly with its target, which was always the offender's bottom. Visits to the principal's office were for me, frequent and painful; for Mr. Carter, as he was called, was an absolute expert in the paddling of his charges; an act which he carried out with monotonous regularity and always with considerable vigour. And so by the age of about twelve or thirteen when my time at prep school came to an end, I was already all too familiar with the pleasure associated with a sore ass -- which vulgarity we had all, by that age, adopted.

It's quite amazing how quickly even well-brought-up lads such as I, pick up and use the vulgarities so common at even the best of schools and then bring them out purposely to shock their parents. Oh and I see that I forget to mention that the paddlings were always applied to the seat of the miscreant's pants. Well I suppose I might as well come clean and tell you that Jeremy is not actually my real name, but just the name I use professionally as a Male Escort.

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