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A Hobbyist’s Perspective: We Just Don’t Give A Shit

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Dear Tits and Sass Readers,

It has recently come to my attention that some of you *cough cough—male hobbyists—cough* think we are talking to you, and while on some days it’s kinda cute to watch you think you matter—to anyone, at all, ever— I just thought I’d take a minute here to set the record straight. If nothing else, the Tits and Sass editorial staff will now have a nice little post to link to the next time one of you forgets his place: silent, pondering, not commenting, and on my blocked list if you happen to forget.

Earlier today, one of our editors posted a call for submissions about how we feel about hobbyists. Adorably, a hobbyist thought that “we” included actual hobbyists. Because, you know. Men have no voice/power/platform/place or places to talk among themselves, so where else could they POSSIBLY talk about their entitlement if not on Tits and Sass?

Answer: Anywhere else you like, but never, ever here.

Presented for your consideration is the full, unabridged “submission” by said hobbyist, annotated with commentary.

Quote of the Week

I once joked that he’s more devoted to his call girl than most men are to their wives – now I recognize it’s a simple statement of fact.

— Jeet Heer on his friend the cartoonist Chester Brown, who recently published a book about his experiences as a john. Heer adds that “paying for sex has made Chester happier and more psychologically balanced.”

Confessions of a Professional Dater

The term “sex worker” usually makes me cringe. By most people’s standards, as an escort, I certainly fall into that occupational category. Living in a country where prostitution is illegal in all but a single state means that labeling myself a “sex worker” is hardly pragmatic. Besides, to call men like myself (straight male escorts) “sex workers” is almost insulting. How great would my life be if I could just sell sex? I have very few clients whose primary interest in retaining my services is sexual intercourse, or even sexual physical contact. Critics of the show I happen to be a part of have no frame of reference for what my profession entails. I will be the first to admit that the show, with eight 30-minute episodes per season, is not exactly made to be educational. Those critics have said repeatedly that women don’t have to pay to get laid. I have said repeatedly that they are correct, but that both women and men most definitely pay for “sex.”

I was raised on the Discovery Channel. Both of my parents were educators and naturally curious people. In my home growing up, there was no shortage of animals fucking on our TV screen. Those scenes were usually over in a matter of seconds, as compared to the sometimes hours of observation and analysis of the courtship rituals that led up to the act. It’s always been fascinating to me that although sexual intercourse among mammals is pretty much homogeneous, the courtship rituals and mating systems that get individuals to the act are incredibly diverse. That (entire process) is “sex.” Intercourse is by far the least interesting aspect. It’s a series of hip thrusts in a few positions. The mating game that happens before intercourse, on the other hand, is captivating. For us human animals living in the “modern world,” our mating game is the world of dating. I am a sex worker, but I am primarily a “professional dater.”

The Annual Sausage Fest

Hahaha... Quit it.  Image via Enriquesantos.com
Hahaha… Quit it.
Image via Enriquesantos.com

Last night, a friend and a few of the girls from work and I headed to a strip club for the annual sausage fest. One night a year, this club shuts down, kicks the female strippers out, and brings out the male strippers. Pudgy Midwestern housewives and sassy eighteen-year-olds alike pour into this place, begging to see men with beefy bodies and thong-draped dicks. So much so, that after the release of Magic Mike this past year, the very large multi-level club had to start taking advance reservations just to get in the door.

My group had such a reservation, and on stripper-time we were early. (By early, I mean, a half-hour late.) Parking was spilling out into the road. Approaching the door, several people told us to turn around and go home; they were only letting reservations in. Ahead, we heard chants of “LET US IN, LET US IN,” from over two hundred angry, horny, determined women. I’d seen male strippers before, and I knew women were generally poorly behaved in strip clubs…but this? There wasn’t even a sausage in sight, yet.

We made it through the crowd of hornballs, and were escorted to the cashier. It was twelve bucks to get in, and we were told there was no available seating remaining. Excellent. The first dancer started, a completely decked-out Fireman, and coworker AI and I knew what we were in for. We’d seen this guy before. He tried to jackhammer AI to death [?] at the last small male revue.

I guess male strippers are in short supply in the Midwest.

Surviving Long Appointments

For lots of money, I bet she could! (image by Anne Taintor)

We all say we want them, but do we really? Longer appointments—all day, overnights, weekends or more—can be great money, but they can also be really taxing on your soul. No matter how much you like your work, staying in character and putting your client’s needs before your own for a long period of time can make anyone go a little crazy.

Whether you’re a stripper who’s committed to a couple hours in the champagne room, a dominatrix with a super-devoted slave, or anyone else who’s found themselves committed to more than they thought they bargained for, here are some ideas for making it through with your sanity intact.

If you have some other tricks of the trade to share, please leave them in the comments section.