Memoirs of a Man Whore Read online

  This is the story of my life working as a professional gay man whore. I wrote this book simply to share some of my most unusual situations in order to entertain others while telling a true story about the weird world of sex work that I have experienced over the last five years. Two whores are never the same so I cannot speak for any other whore than myself. I am simply writing this for entertainment purposes, and for all the weird shit you are about to read, it is all true so take it or leave it. Maybe it is what you would expect but more than likely it is not. If anything I hope you enjoy some of the strange stories I have included about the kind of sex work I have engaged in as a male prostitute.

  Being a hooker is sort of like playing roulette. I never know who is going to walk through the door when I meet a new client. He could be young, old, white, black, asian, latin the variations are endless. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised, other times I am not so excited. And then there are times when I have to remind myself, that I am a whore and have to do what I have to do. I have had men of all shapes, sizes, ages, and ethnicities receive my services.

  I always try to give the best experience possible to my clients regardless of who they are. I share my authentic self for an allotted amount of time and embody their most personal sensual and sexual desires and fantasies.

  Not all whores are treated equally, the world of prostitution is a vastly broad experience. For some being a whore is a total nightmare. Eileen Wournos obviously had more than just a bumpy ride as a whore, so her story is much different than mine. I am very thankful that I have yet to resort to murdering any one of my clients. I am sure being a female whore is an entirely different ball game altogether since it appears that many women get exploited or abused in such a role. I have never been disrespected or mistreated the entire time I have been working as a

  whore, and I do not tolerate any kind of rudeness or abuse from anyone. If anything I am respected and worshipped on a pedestal by my clients, and I have yet to endure any type of bad experience as a gay male prostitute, or whore as I lovingly call it.

  I used the word whore frequently as a word to describe what I do, and it is a label that I take on with pride. Hooker, escort, prostitute, sacred intimate, whatever label anyone chooses for themselves in such a role is fine, I just prefer the word whore. It does not have a negative connotation in my world, nor does it in this book. I will use the word whore throughout my stories, and I use it in a positive way because whores are fucking awesome people who should be respected. People usually have preconceived notions about whores and what they do but there is no cut and dry way of being a whore. We all create our own realities and I am thankful that I have been able to have fun, strange, sometimes crazy experiences working as a freelanced whore .

  There are many who have a negative opinion about whores in general and that is fine. Some believe we are all derelicts and dregs of society and that is ok with me. This book might even cement those negative opinions, honestly. I write simply to inform and entertain without trying to change anyone’s beliefs or opinions about whores in general. I merely hope to entertain, excite, and enthrall a small handful of readers as I relive some of my most notable memories I have experienced as a gay male whore. These are my own personal stories that I share gleefully for the joy of it. I might provide some thoughtful insight peppered between laughs and bouts of disgust throughout my strange, completely real, first hand accounts of my experience as a whore. My stories may entertain or horrify you, or maybe a bit of both. Some of them may be sexually arousing or appalling. It is all about personal perspective. Again, I am just sharing some of my personal times and moments in a career of whoredom to entertain you my dear reader, and I hope that you enjoy.

  Chapter 1: Training in Washington D.C.

  So there I was, at 25 years old standing in the middle of a huge mess. I had no college degree, and a criminal background thanks to my own misguided youth. As a result my career choices were very limited. I had to work retail most of my early working years and I hated it. At 25 I had just lost my job at a food assembly line for a local grocery chain in Portland Oregon. It could not have come at a worse time since my mentally ill roommate had abandoned the house that we rented together the very same day. Somehow he was successful in his manipulative powers to convince our landlord to release his name from the lease we shared. I was all alone in a three bedroom house with only a couple of weeks to figure next month’s rent, and I was not going to be out on the streets. I had to think fast and outside of the box if I was going to survive the situation and with no aid or resources at my disposal. Finding a job that would pay more than minimum wage that didn’t do a background check would be next to impossible. I knew I had to resort to some kind of freelanced way to make large amounts of cash as quickly as humanly possible.

  At the time there was once a website called rentboy.com which was once an online fixture within the digital gay world. I had heard of the site in passing, and seen banners for it constantly plastered across porn websites and hookup apps, but I had yet to think seriously about utilizing the platform until that moment. Shaken and desperate as I was, I knew I at least had a fighting chance, being a decently attractive male at the age of 25. I stand tall at 6 feet, blue eyes and light brown hair. My package doesn’t reach my knees but I knew I had nice enough equipment, a decent body, handsome features, and a strong will to contend with the other guys that were listed on the website. I literally had nothing else to lose so I decided to pay the 100 dollars to post an ad on the website and give it a go.

  Armed with a cheap digital camera and some ingenuity, I took my own photos both nude and clothed. I tried to capture all of my best aspects of my body and face for the visual part of advertising myself online. I knew nothing about escorting and had nobody to guide me so I had to figure everything out on my own one step at a time through raw experience. Things started off slowly and I needed help figuring out logistics. I didn’t have any mentors or friends that were willing to show me the ropes so I looked to the internet to do my own research since I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

  After selecting the best amateur selfie photos and the membership fees were paid, my ad went live. At first I received almost no calls or emails which was discouraging. I knew that that I had to be patient but there was an inevitable sense of urgency calling me to action. I needed to figure out how to drum up prospective clientele interest. After tireless internet researching, it was on the actual Rentboy website that I discovered the most vital information on self promotion as a male escort. After viewing dozens of articles and postings on the main page of the website, I found a bulletin board section and perused the multiple posts of the webmaster.

  One of the most recent updates included an offer to complete an actual in-person class titled the “Whore 101 class.” It was an exclusive single day class with a 300 dollar fee of tuition featured in one of the bulletin posts. The instructor teaching the 8 hour long class was a man referred to simply as “Legendary Jim.” There was a flippant claim “that anyone who attended and completed the course would become educated on the most basic fundamental practices and necessary essential knowledge required for any whore that aspired success.”

  Naturally my curiosity led me to click on the link to Jim’s personal website which was quite impressive to say the least. It was obvious simply by the design and content of the website that Jim was a well established and highly successful escort. The site collectively portrayed the image of an interesting well cultured professional man highly experienced in providing sensual and sexual satisfaction. His online persona curated him as a mysterious figure, with a certain mystique and elusiveness that felt organic and daring. He created an online persona that naturally evoked interest to know more abo
ut him with an ethereal and elusive air. He was very clever by carefully divulging some snippets of intimate information about himself yet still remaining mysterious enough to appeal to intrigue. He marketed himself openly without revealing much of his own personal information. There was also a colorful blog section which included sexual scenario suggestions with ideas and personal tales of sexual fancy to excite the mind of the viewer.

  His photography was done professionally which portrayed him as sexy and sophisticated, without anyone one of the photos revealing his face. Each picture had him conveniently posed in ways that hid his face, yet most of the pictures revealed everything else about his body. At first I thought that hiding his face was sketchy but his travel blog entries sounded legitimate. His upcoming world tour included future dates and a map peppered with small red dots of the various places he was going to be traveling to throughout the year. He was going to be on 4 of the 7 continents all within the year and that was enough to convince me that he was the real thing. I was also sold on the Whore 101 class completely.

  The initial onset of excitement and inspiration felt almost delusional. There was a mixed sense of urgency and possibility burning within me. I needed to take this man’s class, and my decision was final. What better way to learn how to be a hooker than taking a class taught by an upper echelon globe trotting whore? Eager to learn more I went back to the advertisement for the class on rentboy where my enthusiasm reached a screeching halt. I was too excited to read the details of the fine print before. The class was to be offered only once, and it was being held in person in Washington D.C.

  My initial discouragement didn’t stop me entirely. For whatever reason there was still a sense of determination that compelled me to write an email to Legendary Jim. I was seriously eager to take the class but being stuck in Portland Oregon without any means to travel was the real roadblock in my way. I wrote to him simply curious if there were to be any planned future incarnations of the whore 101 class.

  It took a while to ponder the perfect email subject line that would grab Jim’s attention from the myriad of emails that he probably received on a regular basis. My email read:

  Subject: What makes you so Legendary?

  Body: Hi Mr. Legendary Jim, my name is Daniel Di Angelis and I was just curious if you

  were going to do to more than one session of the Whore 101 class since I am all the

  way in Portland Oregon and cannot make it to the one scheduled in Washington DC.

  Thank you

  503-885-4315

  ___________________________

  I also included a few naked pictures of myself as attachments. And with a sigh of slight frustration I hit send, and then forgot all about Jim and my crazy dreams about attending his class. After a couple of weeks came to pass my heart had already given up hope when I received a mysterious phone call from an unidentified number one lazy Wednesday afternoon. The number that was illuminating on the screen of the phone said Washington DC beneath the display of the caller id. Suddenly the memory of the email flooded my mind as I scrambled to answer the call.

  “Hello?” There was a long uncomfortable pause before a very deep and gruff voice came through into the phone receiver with sharp clarity. “Hi there I am calling for Mr. Di Angelis please.” “This is him.” I tried not to sound too excited. “I am actually in the middle of a session checking my emails and I liked what I saw.” His voice sounded like that of the Big Bad Wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “Allow me to explain that at this very moment I am using this certain shit eating fuck pig as a chair, since he is a complete useless waste of flesh otherwise. I am literally using him as my couch while we speak.” He cleared his throat before spitting loudly followed by a pitiful groan in the background. “I saw the pictures you sent me, you are a hot piece of ass boy. Very sexy. I want to fuck you deep and hard. Are you in any way interested in traveling here to DC for a private one on one version of the Whore 101 with me? This would also be a training session with me where you would watch and assist me in action. The fuck pig I am currently using as furniture, is willing to buy you a round trip plane ticket and pay you $4,000 for the training session. I would need 500 bucks of that from you, for tuition fees, and you can stay with me for free at my place over the weekend. Brian is a long standing piece of shit that I will use like a dummy to teach you some skills on. He will be the stage prop. He would love for you to practice abusing him too, the sick fuck. I would get a kick out of it too. How does that sound boy?” His low-pitched sultry growl of a voice intimidated me a little.

  “That would be amazing.” I didn’t know if I believed him or not. There was a sound of something slapping bare flesh, followed by faint moans of pain that faded into the static. “ I’m gonna wanna fuck you a whole bunch while you are here, are you cool with that boy?” “Of course!” I replied enthusiastically feeling the rush of eagerness for the unusual and unexpected opportunity. “Oh and what is your shoe size?” “Eleven” I replied.

  “Ok boy so the dates have been chosen, so mark your calendar once you get the itinerary and you will receive an email with your plane ticket information and travel details. I look forward to meeting you boy so don’t fuck it up.” He hung up. Before allowing the overflowing rush of excitement to happen, there was still some haunting doubts and a bit of disbelief that Jim’s offer was really going to manifest.

  Then then the Ping sound of a new email came through. It was Jim asking for my personal information in order for the flight to be booked. Still skeptical but with good faith, I gave him all of my personal information and hit send. Another twenty minutes went by before another response came through from Jim. Sure enough, the plane tickets were purchased and attached with my full name. It was officially going to happen. I did a victory dance around the room in dizzying circles like a teenage girl that was just asked to Prom. I never thought that I would ever embark on a journey to the Nation’s Capital to learn how to be a professional man whore! I packed my bags almost a week too early. I was so happy for the opportunity, and this was such huge a deal to me. It was all so unreal and unexpected it was hard to believe that it was actually happening.

  Finally the day of travel came and my flight carried me off into the Eastward skies. I arrived at the airport in DC at the beginning of a beautiful springtime sunset. After exiting the airport terminal, I walked along the sidewalk to enjoy a breath of the fresh East coast air, before lighting my patiently awaited cigarette. I took a long slow drag on my cig, watching the red hot tip glow brightly on fire, feeling the intensity of the heat generating from the burning cherry. I let the the smoke drift from within me like a censer. I felt my anxiety fade to calm as the rolling smoke disappeared into the atmosphere as I exhaled clouds from my mouth and nostrils like a japanese dragon.

  My vision shifted into focus as I calmly watched the congested weave of airport traffic ebb and flow in through the airport parking zone. Like long brightly lit neon veins of white and red, the vast sea of cars were moving erratically out of sync with each other, guided by boundaries of painted white lines on cold concrete. It seemed to have little positive influence on the traffic as it lurched slowly forward. Headlights darting, and angry horns honking with choruses of chattering voices echoed angrily off the pavement pillars of the airport complex in a metropolitan symphony of fast paced life.

  I had texted Jim the moment I landed, but how would I know which car was Jim’s? How would he differentiate from the mass of cars that were aggressively pumping forward through the the congested bottle necked driveway of the airport pick up area? Other than his fully naked body, I had no clue what he looked like.

  A few more moments passed by as the crowd of metal boxes continued to roll past me. After verifying the time I started visually scanning the faceless crowd. Nervous anticipation made the time pass much slower, standing curbside patiently awaiting Jim. I knew which car was his the moment he arrived. His convertible sports car was a clear and bright contrast to an ocean of bland neutral metallic car paint. H
e shifted through multiple lanes weaving effortlessly between frustrated mini vans and bland colored sedans. He traversed the angered crowd of auto congestion shifting lanes darting through the painted lines. The roar of the powerful engine coupled with the thudding bass of his subwoofer was growing louder as he got closer, syncing up with my excited heartbeat.

  He pulled up to the curb in a screeching rubber halt which echoed loudly from the friction on the pavement. I tossed my bag in the back seat and hopped over the door into the passenger seat. I greeted Jim with a tight hug before backing away to see his eyes for the first time. He was much sexier than I had envisioned him to be. He was about 35 or so , with tan skin, a muscular build, and a commanding aura about him. His wavy brown hair complemented piercing green eyes that saw right through me and into my soul. For a brief moment we remained locked in each other’s stare, temporarily oblivious to the chaotic traffic jam that continued angrily moving around us. “You ready?” he asked grinningly. I nodded smiling back and felt the powerful engine purr as we went from 0 to 60 in a matter of seconds.

  As we glided down the road and onto the freeway I took one last look at the sunset as the wind rushed through my hair. I felt so free flying down the road with Jim. My body became increasingly heavy as the gravitational force of inertia pressed me deeper into the bucket seat. The warm sunset had began its transition into a night that was giving way to a beautiful star kissed sky.

  As we sped through the city Jim casually announced various points of interest along the way to his place. We passed the Smithsonian, The Lincoln memorial, and various other capitol buildings and hotels. The spot lighting effect on the Government buildings created a sense of towering grandeur as they stood shining in bright white light against the backdrop of a dark night. The giant obelisk that stood tallest of all the buildings, the Washington monument, was a beautiful and powerful sight to see. Just like a big rigid cock. And then of course the most recognizable landmark, the WhiteHouse. “I live right in the middle of Dupont Circle.” The way in which he announced it clearly indicated importance, yet I shrugged completely ignorant of the prominence of the neighborhood he lived in.