Here's to popping your cork!

Well, my darling boys and girls, it's that special evening when we all have permission to pop our cork.

Whether you'll be snug at home with your loved ones or out on the town, I'll be thinking of you.

This year has blessed me with the generosity of wonderful friends, the love of an incredible SO, the soul-enriching rewards of hard work and the knowledge that my world is as close to perfect as it can possibly be.

Thank you, all. May your new year take you wherever you want to go. The only thing I ask is to be part of it-- in body or in spirit.

Bless you, and ....

Happy New Year.

A flaming sword: Truth, lies and double lives.

This week on TER, a hobbyist posted a rather repulsive question that's been haunting me like a bad song ever since. (I'm reproducing it here verbatim.)

How many woman live a double life? I've been a hobbiest for about 15 years and meet alot of wonderful ladies and not so wonderful. once in a while I get to know some of them as we talk before or after our session and they start to tell me that their boyfreinds dont know what they do or they have a regular job during the day. thats why they dont show their face. I got to admitte that turns me on a woman has some poor smuck at home thinking his woman is faithful to him or at their job she some teacher or lawer,admin assitant, any way I would love to here from some ladies and what kind of lies they tell thier spouse or freinds.

Wow. I couldn't wait to reply:

It's distasteful enough that many women have to lie to their loved ones about what they do. But to ask for sordid details about it-- for your own sexual titillation-- well, that's a pretty low source of amusement.

Lives can be ruined by lies and by truth. That so many of us have to balance on that tightrope isn't sexy. It's sad.

Several other folks pointed out to Mr. Sensitivity that men often live a double life as well... and the lies they tell their wives and family are hardly a sexy topic.

That's true enough, but let's be honest. The men who occasionally dabble in the hobby may have to account for their time and money with a lie or two... or three, depending on the level of their involvement. But lead a double life? That seems rather grand for the Ohio pharmacist who tickles his fancy at the annual convention in Toledo.

Providers, on the other hand, routinely juggle flaming swords. Law enforcement, psychos and the sexual whims of strangers go up in one throw; ruinous exposure to our family and friends comes down in another; and all the while, the floor tilts under the pressure of our own internal voice, chanting "What if? Then what? What kind of woman are you?"

A double life is almost necessarily a life in conflict. For our clients, I believe, the central conflict is hiding their true sexual nature under the veneer of monogamy. What their wives can't (or won't) give them-- variety, intimacy, excitement-- they find with us. While it's clearly a choice they are willing to make, I doubt there are too many men who really relish the subterfuge involved in seeing their ATF.

For the women who become providers, the conflict lurks under the veneer of our accommodating nature. We're wired to please. So it's a sweet moment to see that poor, needy soul achieve his moment of brilliance in our arms--- until the reality of the cold cash makes its equally compelling appearance.

Are we givers-- or takers? Our love is bought and paid for.... and I believe there exists many a fine provider who secretly loathes herself for accepting any payment other than gratitude. And to compound that ambivalence by half-truths and the emotional distance that secrecy imposes... well, there are many women who find it an unacceptable divide.

I don't live in that morass-- most of the time. In my evolution from a sexy girl to a sexy woman, then a swinger, then an escort, the joy and value of my sexuality has been drummed into me by sheer numbers. I'm thrilled to provide a thrill. And I've never been ashamed of being compensated for it.

But do I want to openly claim it as my birthright-- and with it, the scorn of society? Perhaps no more than my clients want to be labeled as tricks or johns. The unfortunate reality is that even in puritanical America, customers are readily forgiven. Providers are not.

Am I making a case for hookers as heroes? No. Am I making a case for cheating, lies, or bad faith between men and women? No again. But what I am making the case for is the recognition of what drives all of us: the need to be seen, be heard and achieve a sense of accomplishment and worth.

That white-hot sword drives a hard bargain. It's up to us whether it's worth it.

36-24-36, Hut! I was a happy little fan till....

This morning, the highly resistible (as opposed to irresistible) Bill Parcells showed up on the local news amid speculation that he'll be joining the Dolphins front office.

Well, thank God. Not that he's joining the local down-on-their-luck boys, but that he's NOT going to be Coach. Being their Coach would mean a whole new era of forced participation in the Parcellsization of the media.

I've already lived through the "Tuna's" ignominious reign in New England. Then he ham-handed my original hometown team, the Cowboys. And now-- it seems I can't get away from him.

From the moment he shows up, even veteran sportscasters lose their normal equanimity. His bluster defeats rational thought. And when a things don't go the Tuna's way, well, watch out.

Is he an indisputably excellent coach? Yes. Is he an indisputably obnoxious man? Yes again. Can he help the hapless Dolphins regain their balance? I hope so.

Is he a welcome addition to Tabu's world (which does include enjoying men in tight white pants?)

I think you've already figured that one out.

Of course, I'm always a "ho".....

but sometimes I'm a Ho-Ho-Ho!

So today I'm here to declare joy to my own little world-- the world of swingers, hobbyists, my UPS man, Tom Brady, Bear Grylls and Matt Damon. (All of whom I'd like to unwrap under the tree.)

Yup, here in my Hollywood, everyone's getting in the holiday spirit-- and into my panties, I might add. Saturday night I sashayed down the street dressed in red... and from the looks I got from the fellows driving by, it seemed clear that Christmas doesn't come just once a year!

Kissing under the mistletoe, orgies under the tree.... I love the holiday traditions! Spice them up with Tabu twist, of course, and the results are naughty and nice. Mmmm....let me dip my tongue in a pool of creamy eggnog and let it slowly roll down onto my breasts. Sometimes calories just don't count!

Milk and cookies for Santa? Gee, I don't know. There's barely enough for me, the reindeer and all the elves. Of course, I have very discriminating taste in elves.

It just goes to show that in 2007, the holiday spirit still reigns. And even if the Dow is sagging, my favorite cocks are still standing strong. So join me in celebrating a not-so-silent night.... and may you have many of your own!

And the Oscar goes to...

OK, my last blog asked the question-- "Why don't fellows repeat when you have a great session?"

Tokai presented an interesting answer and one, I confess, I hadn't thought of... even though I suppose it's very obvious to the hobbyist. A really good provider makes the gent feel as though it's been great for her... even if it's actually been less than stellar. That's her job. So, he asks, how can a gent tell the difference between genuine arousal and pleasure and a Meryl Streep-worthy performance?

It's a conundrum. But if you want to look at it from another point of view, forget the provider. The flip side is how we've made the gentleman feel. Though I'm no Ph.d in sex, I've been around this phenomenon a few times myself... and I think I can tell when a raging hard-on, star-struck gaze and breathless thanks are the result of genuine chemistry. There are sessions and there are extraordinary encounters.

I believe the extraordinary encounters - the 10/10s - deserve the chance to be repeated.

So here's my challenge, if you care to take it. If you've had a mind-blowing experience with me-- or any lady-- take a chance and see her again. Should either of you expect the same to-Nirvana-and-back experience? Why put pressure on yourselves? The chemistry that kicked your endorphins into high gear will very likely still be there--- and so will the chance to create another delicious memory.

I love my job. And when my most memorable encounters turn into the opportunity to create an even deeper level of pleasure and connection... well, that's simply the best.

And as Christmas approaches, I think this hard-lusting vixen and her friends deserve the best. Don't you?

Love 'em and leave 'em?

Yesterday, a hobbyist brought up an interesting question. When you have a fabulous experience with a provider-- one that transcends normal pay-to-play titillation-- do you repeat with the lady or flee, in fear that you'll develop too much emotional attachment?

I've had several clients with whom I've had totally rocking, over-the-top, mind-blowing experiences. As I said goodbye to them, still panting, I could hardly wait until they returned.

It's a frustrating mystery to me why some never came back.

I'm not the type who usually has guys "fall in love" with me-- I'm sexy and giving, but it's clear that I'm not available for anything more. So I don't think an untoward emotional attachment explains it.

When you're paying, presumably, for a mind-blowing time, why wouldn't you want to repeat? Some of my 10/10 reviews came from just such sessions--- but even those hobbyists haven't always become regulars.

My escort girlfriends and I have talked about this phenomenon many times-- so I know I'm not alone.

Boys-- if we REALLY rock your world, reward us with repeat visits! You wouldn't want us to cry ourselves to sleep!

The Sexiest Spot in Hollywood... Were you there?

OK, boys and girls, please raise your hand for this morning's Hottie Roll-Call. Only those in attendance at last night's TER Meet and Greet may respond.

The boys first. Organizers and hosts extraordinaire Haya and Sofla? Yes, I see Haya, waving weakly from a plump bed pillow.... you deserve your rest for all the work you put in, darling. And Sofla, one of my personal ATFs, already springing into action this morning.... thank you for your delightful and oh-so-delectable presence.

Swimtreker, who accompanied Boca's hottest new babe, Sabrina... welcome to the class! Keystone, I see you smiling at the memory of my decolletage... and another west coast boy, Wilco, hope you enjoyed our chat. TrueBrit, you're a charming addition to this side of the pond... and feisty Bob, your humor spins a wicked web. Tredence, I haven't forgotten your shy smile... and Chivas, I like to save you for last. Yum.

And the girls... what a bevy of booties! I mean beauties, of course... although there were booties, boobies and mile-high legs everywhere I looked.

The MILF contingent came out in all its glory... Jessie, Summer and my special partner -in-crime, Allie... say hello, you gorgeous ladies. I'm proud to be among your ranks.

New York's lovely Laney, what a petite cutie pie you are! The longest legs prize went to newcomer Courtesan Jess. Good Golly Miss Molly, I saw you bring your A-game... and Toni, whenever there's sexy fun to be had, you're in the middle of it. The west coast ladies weren't to be outdone.... thank you making the trek, Kristen and Ellyse!

Kisses, giggles and phone numbers made the rounds... and the only one missing was Sly, our revered Moderator. We missed you, Mr. AWOL-- so you had better make the next one!

So from this other hot spot in Hollywood, Tabu's Lair, I want to say "Well Done!" to our Party Central crew and everyone who made the Hard Rock the place to be last night.

You all rock.

Red Lipstick

I love my luscious red lips. Years ago, when I tried to keep my lipstick in place through kisses, sips of champagne and blow jobs, I was one frustrated diva.

Then one day I noticed a swinger friend of mine whose lips were always perfectly berry-stained, no matter what her horny little mouth had gotten her into.

Well, inquiring lips needed to know. "Oh," she generously explained, "I have this special lipstick called LipSense. Once it's on, it's on."

That day went down in Tabu history. And from then on, my own pout found the perfect orangey-red that suited my auburn hair and ivory complexion. And when I've glossed them up, even I want to stick a dick in them.

So what it is about red, shiny lips that make me-- and most of the hornsters I know-- want to come closer?

Desmond Morris speculated in The Naked Ape that we're genetically coded by evolution. Moist, deep-colored lips on the mouth, he contended, was a strong instinctive reminder of the lips down below. So when the female of the species (and that would be me) wants to attract the opposite sex, a moist slash of deep pink or red serves as a "Hey, you!" to just the right boys.

Now, the current fashion calls for pale lips and a more heavily accentuated eye... so as not to put too much color on the face, I suppose. But those girls look dead to me. So I'll stick with what's working for me... and for those who do end up putting something in my hungry little mouth.

In my case, red stands for "Go!" But then, you knew that, didn't you?

IHOP, YouHOP, Let's all Hop on...

It's been very international at Tabu's lair this week... a splendid opportunity to get a taste of so many different cultures, don't you know. And culture maven that I am, I simply lapped it up.

Which led me to think about my own personal U.N. While I can't claim that I've visited all these counties, their countrymen have visited me... so I feel just the tiniest bit of kinship with...

Austria, Italy, Spain, Germany, Greece, Norway, Canada, Wales, Mexico, Brazil, France, Colombia, India, England, Israel, Venezuela... and then the various states, of course... the state of horniness, the state of eagerness, the state of arousal and the state of bliss.

But who hasn't gained at least temporary citizenship within my borders? (That's a rhetorical question, in case you didn't recognize it.) I love the idea of traveling the world on an infinite Eurail Pass... hop on, hop off, wherever a sidelong glance seduces me to stop.

Might I have a secret yearning for a Yuri? Is there a Sven lounging in my future? Ahhh....so many horizons, so little lube.

I'm still waiting for you to stamp my passport!

This Orgasm rated "R"

for retail!

Yes, I succumbed to my inner diva (a rare occurrence, actually) and I went shopping for a hot new dress to wear to a very special occasion. When the local TER boys hold the first S FL meet-and-greet on Dec. 4th, I want to be there in style.

Well, a trip to Betsy Johnson snagged this little vixen a killer dress. And I mean KILLER.

For those of you who'll be there, I want to hear if you think it suits my penchant for old-school glam... because I know I'm going to feel just like Rita Hayworth.

Does the dress make the woman? Or does the dress make you want to undress the woman? I'll be happy either way.

The Boink Button... push it if you dare!

Gosh, I'm learning to love technology. Since I got my new flat-panel TV with high-def and all the other sexy features I'd been yearning for... well, recreation at the Tabu household has taken on a whole new dimension.

Yesterday the handsome young Comcast technician came over to hook up the new DVR system. It was hard not to notice broad-shouldered Xavier, his dark skin setting off a gleaming white smile... and of course, as he squatted in front of my TV, his strong butt was very nicely outlined in his UNIFORM pants. (you know I love a uniform!)

Well, anyway... I managed not to jump him. But after he left, I had to explore all the capabilities of the new system. Soon it was time for the Patriots vs Bills game, and the SO and I settled in for a little NFL action. A lot of kick-ass developments by the boys in the tight white UNIFORM pants, and Tabby was getting frisky. But at the same time, I didn't want to miss the game.

Enter my DVR! I found the "Live" button and hit pause. Oh my god-- Tom Brady, frozen in mid-throw... and the whole game awaiting my god-like power to re-start time.

I giggled and glanced at the SO.

"Want to boink?" I offered. "I've just stopped the game and we can do anything we want. You know, make a sandwich, walk the dog, get a blow job...."

Well, for my red-blooded American hornster, boinking beats football any day. And for this red-blooded American vixen, the good life means squeezing the best out of every moment.

Stealing time for stolen pleasure... and then getting it back again. Score one for me.

Has anyone noticed?

That I renamed my blog? (I know, you've got bigger things to think about -- especially the gent I met last night from LA-- wow-- ) but seriously now....

I was ready to give the ole girl a little different flair.

Votes yes/no?

Turning my back on my blog?

Never!

Thank you to the friends who have called and written in the past few days to check on me... I'm extremely flattered that anyone noticed I've been slightly AWOL from the boards and my blog.

I'd love to report that something dramatic has rained down on Tabu-- the FL lottery, perhaps?-- but alas, it's simply my real-world business taking a time-consuming turn.

Am I still luring new victims into my lair? Well, this week I'm entertaining friends from Texas, California, Kentucky and Florida... so there's no shortage of succulence in Hollywood!

Can't wait to see my usual suspects and the new friends traveling down to Paradise!

I'll be watching your back. Will be watching mine?

Being treated instead of tricked... priceless!

Yes, I celebrated an early Halloween at the swing club on Saturday night... but on Oct 31, Halloween night, I had a hot date on South Beach.

What a scene! On my way to the Ritz, I spied three queens and a king (will disco or Elvis ever die?), a punk rock diva and at least four hookers... one of whom was sauntering into the Ritz.

After slipping out of my jacket to reveal an elegant silk blouse that draped the girls invitingly, my eyes were caught by a flash of white-- my date, smiling as broadly as a Jersey boy can.

A warm, welcoming kiss later, we were off to renewing our friendship. As we strolled down Lincoln Road, arm in arm, I was struck by the ease of it all. Twice a year or so, my friend schedules our date months in advance... and we both look forward to spending the evening together.

Dinner at Emeril's? Why not? For a girl who subsists on quick eats from local joints, it was sheer luxury. Even better, we caught up on his life and mine. We've achieved that sweet balance of affection and understanding that makes our relationship exciting, yet still maintains the necessary boundaries.

After dinner, morphing was the name of the game... and evil Tabu reminded my enthusiastic boytoy that it had been far too long since he had submitted to my sweet discipline.

Midnight approached, and it was time for this girl to ease back into her coach and her life. As I navigated my way through the masquerading streets, I smiled a secret smile. Being Tabu is a trick of my fertile mind. Being me, a pure treat.

Jailhouse Rock!

It's a tough job, but somebody has to screw it.

Saturday night was Halloween at the swing club, and it just seemed right that I unveil my latest Tabu persona for the amusement of my prisoners... I mean, friends.

And among the angels, pirates, schoolgirls, nurses and gladiators, a redhead in black definitely caught some eyes.

"Oooh, officer, please handcuff me!" one middle aged tryster pleaded. His wife, a buxom brunette spilling out of her witch dress, shoved him forward for detention.

"Yes, take him in!" she laughed. "He's already been a bad boy!"

So many victims, so little time. My trusty nightstick ended up persuading some nasty little vixens to ride off into the sunset with Sgt. Tabu... while others watched with envy.

It was clearly a case of following my instincts... because you know there's nothing I like better than taking advantage of a willing suspect.

So if you see this officer out on patrol, I have a few word of advice. Spread 'em, put your hands behind your head, and let me pat you down.

If I don't find your concealed weapon, I'll provide one of my own!

My fantasy? Real clients.

I'm completely a fan of fantasy. I mean, what's better than spinning a sexy scenario in your mind? You can lovingly concoct every last detail, every nuance, the taboos, the timing, and ultimately, the explosive conclusion. For highly enjoyable "alone" time, fantasies really can't be beat.

Then, there are the people who get off on displaying their naughty fantasies to someone else... preferably someone who will appreciate it as a magnificent display of sexual imagination, I suppose. There's no real intention to carry it out-- they simply want a "Oooh, that's so bad!"

Well, guess where I come in.

This week I received another in my ongoing series of "Just Tell Me I'm Naughty" emails from prospective "clients" seeking my approval. They're all worded similarly: tell me what you think, is this too far out, blah blah blah. Unlike emails from real clients with a specific roleplay request, who actually want to book time with me for a sexy session, these are unmistakable both in their tone and their lack of supporting information (such as my booking form.)

Here, edited down from its original, mind-numbing length, is a sample.

I have this crazy fantasy of being humiliated by my wife being with another man... You still really love me, but I no longer satisfy you and you met someone else. This has started to come out by you being verbally abusive to me over time. You begin to tell me about your lover. I see your eyes darting around the bar as if you're looking for someone, but I see you definately are openly flirting.. It kinda of excites me too.. And that time you had me go down on you... Well, I knew you'd been with someone, but it was so exciting... My heart was pounding... I knew what I was tasting. So, once I started... After that, I'd secretly go into your hamper to pull out your dirty panties and I would relish its wetness. You've been suspicious of this for a while and now of course, I'm your "panty boy".... you begin to whisper in my ear..."Panty boy, I know you know that I'm f*cking other guys... You perv, you love it too don't you? You're pretty pathetic, knowing that I'm with others, but geez, smelling my wet panties after... god you're a wimp!" You sit on the bed and lean back, gently rubbing yourself through your jeans. "You know hon, I still care for you, and at that same time I think you're a pathetic wimp. Well, panty boy, it's out now... I"m going to f*ck who I want, when I want and you're going to keep paying the bills." "Look at your little cock panty boy... no wonder you can't do it anymore." You straddle me, here panty boy, use your tongue that's all your good for now.. You cum. etc etc etc

Sigh. What's sad is that this cuckold fantasy is quite common-- and enacting it wouldn't be difficult. But I'll bet you a thousand dollars that the writer will never come through with anything more concrete, like a booking... and if he does, I'll bet you another thousand that he'll cancel before it happens.

I've been down this little road too many times now to take him seriously, poor thing... so I had to write him the following response.

Dear John- I've discovered an interesting fact through my going-on-four-years of escorting. The more elaborate the scenario that someone presents, the less likely they are to actually book a session and show up. Isn't that odd?

Maybe they really just get off on the idea of a professional reading it and considering it, then responding how it turns her on.... or maybe it's all about writing it out for their own titillation.

Either way, I've learned that very few letters like yours end up in appointments. So if you're serious about enacting this roleplay, I'll merely ask you to get in touch with me, through my website booking form, a week prior to your visit. We can get all the details straight then.

Maybe he'll surprise me. That really would be fantastic.

Seven and... Oh!! (My day at the Pats game!)

Well, thanks to my new friend from the west coast, I got to sweat for 4 hours today. Yes, my stamina's pretty good for a old lady in her 40s... but I can only wish it were in service of a prettier cause. The Patriots, in case you were otherwise engaged, simply decimated the hapless Miami Dolphins at Pro Player Stadium. And like the little girl in the Shake and Bake commercial, "I helped."

Since I was only mildly sympathetic to the local boys-- who seemingly came on the field already mentally composing their post-loss locker room soundbites-- I had a grand ole time rooting for Tom Brady and his crew. And what was even sweeter-- my seats were among a gaggle of NE fans in their blue and red jerseys. The portly gent sitting just below me with his pals- all having traveled from Boston for the game-- truly appreciated the way I jumped up and down when the Pats scored again and again. (As a woman, this is when you wish the Jumbotron would catch your boobage making its play for fame.)

The SO- who's only mildly interested in the antics of the NFL- watched bemusedly as I alternately dabbed sweat from my ladylike brow and careened to my feet, screaming "Get him!"

By halftime, it was obvious that even the perky Dolphins cheerleaders were working hard to maintain their spirit. (And by the way-- are hair extensions a prerequisite for being a pro cheerleader? Half of their choreography seemingly consisted of them throwing their manes to and fro. But I digress.)

The highlight of halftime was not the Air Force Band- whose rather stolid performance reinforced my ideas about creativity in the military- but the moment they introduced the pilots who had blasted over the stadium in their F-18s after the National Anthem. The camera zoomed in on the crew in their modest brown jumpsuits-- strong jaws, keen eyes and a gagillion horsepower at their fingertips-- and as they made their "Aw, shucks" waves, I thought, "Aw, yes!" But then, I'm a sucker for a uniform. (Just ask my UPS man!)

Well, a girl can only glow for so long, and by the beginning of the 4th quarter, Miami's fate had been cast. It was time to go.

On the ride home, I counted up the firsts. My first game in Miami. My first Tom Brady jersey. And my first game day courtesy of my left-coast client, and, of course, Tabu.

Let the celebration begin!

From a universe of words, a single language

Slowly he lifts the hem of her burka. Her slim brown legs part, beckoning his tongue to explore her hidden recesses....

From the floor-to-ceiling window of their high-rise, the Sydney Opera House glistens in the sunset... she turns and catches him staring, mesmerized by her silhouette, her filmy dress barely concealing her thighs....

Giggling in delight, she disappears from view as she pulls the Shetland wool sweater over her head; in the chill Scottish air her nipples harden as he watches....

And in south Florida, a writer smiles secretly at her laptop; today her words have lured a small universe of readers who dream her own dream: a vision of silky skin in shades of clam shell and bronze, salmon-pink and cafe au lait, and breath rising and falling in the deepening hush of release.

Solitude is a luxury. In the hours that I slip not away from the distractions of the world, but so deeply into them that I emerge into a pure conviction of what's universal, I send a version of myself across time lines, datelines, and oceans.

Often silence echoes back. But sometimes, Yes, I hear from the waves. You have spoken the wisdom of my body.

From that distant witness, my afterglow is earned.

Playing the Numbers (A Life in Review)

Getting into the sex industry, like opening a Swiss bank account, is something many people dream of, but few actually experience. Lucrative, glamorous, and illicit... the appeal is understandable. The workings of the real thing-- a little more complicated than you'd think.

I know that when I decided to become Tabu, I was simply a sexy beginner. I'd figured I must be somewhat qualified to give it a try; I'd notched many a bedpost as a swinger and spent a lifetime honing my sexual skills. So at 40, I hoped, I'd be tucking a little extra maturity and business savvy in my g-string.

Well, I got up my nerve, had the SO take some pictures, and placed an ad on Eros. Within a month I found a stream of happy clients paying, playing and coming back for more.

Of course, my innocence couldn't last. One day a smiling customer asked, "Why don't you have any reviews? You should be on TER!"

I looked it up and realized that I had one more cherry to lose.

Like everyone who first logs on The Erotic Review, I made a startling discovery... that the culture of pay-to-play has as many aficionados as Fantasy Football-- and almost as many stats.

Literally thousands of professional escorts were profiled-- and each was scored by their customers on both looks and performance. To bolster the numerical scores, the clients fleshed out their impressions with detailed written "reviews"- some quite elaborate- that lovingly recreated the session they enjoyed.

Or not enjoyed. And there's the rub. Didn't float your client's boat? Whoops- your score reflected their disappointment.

8s, 9s and 10s are the gold standard. Average scores- 6s and 7s- well, you'll still make a living, but you'll be ordering the meatloaf, not the Maserati.

Who'd have thought there'd be a Consumer Reports for hookers?

So far, I've been lucky... with three years and more than 50 reviews under my garterbelt, my business has been enhanced by the credibility that my solid numbers provide. And I have yet to encounter the dreaded false review-- a made-up, sometimes detrimental account of a session, submitted by a player looking to achieve free membership on the site.

But I have been amused by the liberties some reviewers take with the truth... unless they really did take that provider to her 5th screaming O.

In the world of reviews, scores, and endless speculation over the virtues of provider A, B or C, some participants assure me that there's a clear parallel to the "real" world.

"Hey, I get a performance review, too, and my salary depends on how well my boss thinks I'm doing," a client once remarked to me.

"Of course you do," I agreed mildly. "But until your performance review is published on the Internet, with graphic details about the size of your cock, how well you went down on me, if you could f--k for an hour straight, and whether your belly's as flat as the GQ model I saw last week, then I'm not so sure you can really make the comparison."

Well, that ended that particular observation... but I have no delusions that my life on the review boards will end until I decide I'm finished with Tabu.

When I do decide to hang up the stilettos, I'll be a little sad, to be sure. But in honor of my many friends who have graced me with their approval, I can only hope I'll go out with a bang.

That's a 10 worth wishing for.

How do I glove thee? Let me count the ways!

This week I took a happy cyber-jaunt to one of my most beloved stores: Condom Depot. First, it makes me giggle to make the association with Home Depot, one of my favorite places to flirt with the tool-boys. Second, this web store spells pure condom nirvana to a heavy user like moi. (Let's face it-- I'm a swinger, a pay-to-play girlfriend and I love to glove with the very best!)

So when faced with the hundreds of choices-- tropical fruit flavored? extra-small? ribbed with warming lube? Plain ol' plain ol'..... how does even a condom aficionado throw the dart?

Well, it's a tough job, but it's one I tackle head-on.

After much experimentation- economies of scale taken into consideration- I opt for Durex Extra-Sensitive for everyday, normal-sized boys and toys, Magnums for the XL set, and a few flavored varieties for those times I have to follow it up with my mouth. (Regular condom after-taste? Can you say "yuck?")

So a hundred bucks later, I'm basking in the certainty that my UPS man will be soon be knocking on my door with a box that lets me play out my real-world fantasy... living the life of a carefree sex kitten with all the "tools" she needs.

Freedom never cost so little.

The rewards of wickedness

Ah, the perils of unleashing the wicked Tabu!

This weekend, I gleefully introduced a impudent boy-toy to the sweet torment of serving a Mistress... while his wife looked on in utter delight.

This is what happens when you take the swinger out of the girl and let the devilish dom emerge unfettered....

And wasn't it amusing how his cock kept leading the way to his downfall? Always hard, thrusting in my face, demanding attention.... only a swift correction or two could calm the excited initiate, and then, only for a moment. Soon my breasts were gleaming with creamy drips he couldn't contain.

It took well over an hour of inflicting my will on the boy before he was sufficiently humbled... and then, with his wife's enthusiastic permission, I rewarded his obedience with a permission of my own.

It didn't take long.

The King of Wrong Thinking

I love a nice surprise, don't you? Pretty flowers, delivered to your workplace-- that ought to make any red-blooded American girl dizzy with glee. Except in this case, my "We've-never-met-but-aren't-you-impressed-with-my-thoughtfulness" suitor had it very wrong. Very wrong.

My Mistake #1: Since he were a first-time visitor, and from out of town, I trusted him with my confidential incall address (just the condo building, not the apt number, thank God) so he could Mapquest it ahead of time.

His Mistake #1: Without asking if it was welcome, appropriate, OK or even possible to have flowers delivered to me there, giving that address to a local florist and sending flowers to "Tabu" the day before our appointment.

General disaster #1: Getting a call on my "Tabu" phone from Joe Florist, asking loudly at my condo building entrance, "Hey is this TABU? What's the code for your apartment? Can you buzz me in, I've got flowers for you!"

Me, from 10 miles away in Ft Lauderdale: "WHAT?! Flowers? Where are you?"

He names my exact address. Me: (thinking) WTF?? "I'm sorry, but I'm nowhere near there right now."

Joe Florist:"Well, is there someone else I could leave them with? A neighbor? I can buzz someone from the intercom here..."

Me: "No! Can you just leave them by the door? Or take them back to the shop?"

Joe Florist: "Is there a manager's office I can leave them at? '

Me (thinking, oh, yes, I'll go identify myself as "Tabu" so I can retrieve them!) "No, please just take them back, maybe I can pick them up later."

Joe Florist: "Well, OK."

Now I catch my breath and think-- what if this whole thing was a set-up? LE could use the "flowers" routine as an excuse to get my apartment number, maybe spring a little surprise on me. So I Google Joe Florist and find the shop.

"Did you have a delivery for (my address) this morning?" I ask the polite girl who answers.

"Let me see," she replies. "Is this Tabu? Yes, I just got a call from my delivery man, he said he spoke with you and you seemed a little reluctant to to help him make the delivery."

I make an attempt to sound normal and say, "I'm sorry, I have to be very cautious because I rarely give out that address... I had a stalker and I'm very nervous when someone seems to be looking for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replies, "we didn't know. Would like to pick them up later today? I can keep them for you here. "

"That would be great," I assure her. "Thank you very much. Oh, but before I let you go, can you tell me who sent these flowers? I wasn't expecting anything."

"Oh, no problem... let's see.. the card reads "Have a wonderful day, blah-blah, signed "Very Distinctive Nickname."

Ahhh. Mr. Distinctive Nickname- my client scheduled for the next morning. I look up the cell number he provided me and give the gent a call... fortunately for him, I get his voicemail.

"Um, Nickname, this Tabu. I know this going to sound very strange, because I can't imagine that you would do this-- but did you happen to send flowers to me today? I had a deliveryman looking all over for me at my incall address... and I don't live there, I try to keep a very low profile there, I'm only there when I have an appointment. Anyway, it made me a little crazy that it could have been LE, so can you please call me back and just let me know if it was you? They said the card was signed with someone whose nickname was very similar to yours."

And what a surprise. Maybe Nickname gave it a little thought before he arrived the next morning for his appointment... because he blithely denied being the sender.

"You must have another admirer," he remarks innocently.

Yes, I'm sure I do. But hopefully not as wrong-thinking as a certain someone who probably meant well, but clearly gave the gesture no thought whatsoever.

The upshot of all this.... I carried through like a pro and gave the fellow the best session I was capable of. But underneath, all I could think about was: you f--ked up, you were called on it, and instead of owning up like a man, and saying, gee, I'm sorry, I should have asked you if it was OK to put you in a very awkward position... you squirreled out of it and expected me to like it.

Well, you've got the wrong doormat, honey. I didn't berate the issue... I didn't tell him I knew he was lying.. I didn't do a lot of things I was tempted to do.

But when he grows up to be the "experienced hobbyist" he bragged about being, maybe he'll learn about a little something called discretion. And being a man. That's the kind of client I like best.

Looking for a few (very) good men!

Last weekend in Port Charlotte, my west coast friends introduced me to the lovely old Boca Grande lighthouse. And you now what lighthouses look out for, don't you? That's right... seamen!

So I really couldn't help it if my mind wandered for a moment while I was scanning the horizon... between the sexy hosts, their equally riveting friends and my own devilish first mate, the tide wasn't the only thing that was coming in.

Now that I'm back from my little jaunt, the sea air still has me flying high. So it only seems fair that I put out the semaphores for an expert crewman to fly my jib, weigh my anchor and shiver my timbers.

After all, when Tabu booty (er, I mean duty) calls, aren't you ready to hit the deck?

Hobbyists: Which is the Deeper Satisfaction?

Lately I can't get a little conundrum off my mind. Here it is.

When you and your lady-of-the-moment lay back on the pillows and take a deep breath of release after incredible sex, it's clearly an exhilarating moment for both of you. She gave you pleasure... you returned the favor.

But after you've returned to your regularly scheduled programming, which stands out as the more lasting mental satisfaction?

Is it the memory of your own physical rush and release, the intense sensation that she provided you? Or is it witnessing her hardened nipples and quickened breath...and knowing that through your own expertise, you rocked her world?

Lately I've come across some clients who clearly cared at least as much about my gratification as their own... and who later remarked on their happiness that they could please me. Others thank me profusely for what they receive, and seem content with that alone.

So, hobbyists and readers, to which camp do you belong? Or do you?

There are no points or penalties for either answer... so please comment!

Are you ready for some football?? (My backfield's in motion!)

Today I got to combine two of my favorite things. F---ing and football.

(Yes, I'm much too delicate to say the f-word in my blog. But I'm not too delicate to tell you all about it, am I? Saucy wench!)

ANYway, I made the acquaintance of a lovely West Coaster who not only reveres the Dolphins, but traveled 3000 miles for yesterday's game. How many fans would suffer through the heat, the humidity, the parking at Dolphin Stadium and the Cowboys, and still make it to see me this morning? Well, this fan did, and it was a major pleasure.

But I admit I did tease him just a little. After all, I did grow up in Big D, and following "The 'Boys" is a requirement for citizenship. But when I saw he cared not a whit and focused on my tits, I was on home ground.

You know how I like to go through my fellows' pants to find my favorite drink? Well, I found it-- --plus the second part of my special Tabu gift. TWO tickets to the Miami-New England game in October.

SCORE!!

Now, I'm on the hunt for a sexy little Patriot's jersey (OK, I lived in Boston 16 years, I have to support the Pats...) to go along with my tight jeans and backfield in motion. So look for me in the stands--I'll be the redhead with the wicked grin... and a sweet memory about how those tickets came my way!

My time? 350. My name? Priceless.

As a hobbyist, how do you prove you're cool? In our pay-to-play world, the easy answer is the provider reference. You see a lady, you behave well, she vouches for you when your other ladies ask.

But here's the question. How much can you expect from a lady you saw one time?

Last week, I had 2 ladies contact me about "E." I saw "E" once, THREE YEARS AGO. I met him for one hour, we had an OK time, and I never saw or heard from him again.

Now, all of a sudden, I'm his best reference? I don't think so.

This is how I'd like to put the question to "E."

Let's say you go to a new bank for a personal loan. Naturally, they ask for a character reference. Would you give them the name of the mechanic who changed your oil three years ago? He should vouch for you, right? After all, you paid your bill and didn't hit him over the head with a monkey wrench.

Of course, you may have passed 50 bad checks and committed armed robbery in the meantime... but your pal from 3 years ago would have no way of knowing that, would he?

Gee, how convenient.

Honest, protocol-abiding hobbyists and providers understand that you establish credibility over time. I don't hesitate to vouch for the clients I have seen numerous times... and even those who I've seen less frequently. But don't cross my path once, spend three years never bothering to speak to me again and then expect me to put my good name out there for you.

Even though I call myself Tabu, my actions are straight-up. When ladies ask me for a reference, they're trusting me to be honest, to tell them exactly what I know, and to never knowingly recommend a unknown quantity. I've painstakingly built my reputation-- and it's worth a damn sight more than you could ever get from that loan.

Good guys and reasonable guys will never have a quarrel with me. Guys who want to use me-- sorry, I won't play. And that's something you can take to the bank.

The mistresses of thigh-high boots and their boy-toy

When Maylin called to remind me that it was Stefano's birthday, we had to do what every sex-driven vixen does first: decide what to wear!

The rapidly-achieved decision: thigh-high boots. And the birthday boy? Instructed to bring his A-game in supple, muscle-packed leather.

Oooh, and did he bring his A-game. If you were there, I'm sure it wouldn't have seemed quite right that all the hottest women in the club were swooning over one black-clad hunk of sweetness... but to the relief of the other excited gentlemen, we eventually shared the wealth.

After all, even the studliest birthday boy has to blow out his candle... and then, everyone gets to eat cake!

Like exotic treats? When they're not playing with their friends, Maylin and Stefano happily rendezvous with singles and couples for a extraordinary celebration of the senses. For more info, click on hotescortcouple.com.

Just bring your own candle. I know you'll be blown away!

Chicago's finest (memorable moments on the road)

The Wonders-of-Modern-Technology Dept.

Client: (admiring my breasts) "Who do I have to thank for these? You-- or your surgeon?"
Me: "Well, she did do an excellent job... but remember, I supplied the raw material!"


The What-Does-the-U.N.-Know? Dept.

Me: (undressing a young Asian client only to discover a large piece of equipment) "My, you certainly dispel the myth about Asian men!"
Client: "Well, I'm only half-Japanese."
Me: "And I think I know which half!"

The Guess-I Should-Have-Had-a-V8 Dept.

After working assiduously for 45 minutes (and failing) to get my creamy reward, the client calls me off his erection and remarks ruefully, "Maybe I shouldn't have jerked off twice yesterday, looking at your pictures!"

The Salary-and-Benefits Dept.

Regular client, after completing our date: "Man, I really need to find a better job. "
Me: "But I thought you liked your job."
Client: "Well, I just need one that pays $350 a week more!"

*************************************************************************

I love a good O with a side order of giggles. Thank you again, my midwestern lovelies. See you in the spring!

A Charmed Life: when Pavarotti kissed me

Even the greats must make their exit, and in Italy early yesterday morning. Luciano Pavarotti stepped behind the curtain and will be seen no more.

In his later years, Pavarotti allowed his enchantment with celebrity to overwhelm his very real and exquisite talents. But even when he had to be carried on and off the stage, suffering from self-inflicted gout, "the voice kissed by God" almost never disappointed.

Like many Italian men, Pavarotti was a notorious flirt. During his first American tour, he sang La Boheme at the Dallas Civic Opera. I was a local insider from the classical music radio station, and was thrilled to meet the brilliant young tenor. At the reception, the hostess led me by the hand through the gaggle of socialites and hangers-on encircling the beaming artist, who was busy devouring a canape.

"I'd like you to meet one of our very accomplished young ladies who supports the arts," she rather grandly introduced me.

He took one look and thrust his wineglass at a waiter. Before he spoke he held out both hands to take my own.

"This beautiful young lady is a lover of opera? Ah, and to think that I was chosen to sing in her presence!"

Before I could think quite how to reply to this unexpected pronouncement, the burly but appreciative tenor pulled me gently toward him, released my hands to cup my face and kissed me with frank enjoyment.

The bejeweled onlookers gasped, and then giggled nervously. These randy artists, I could see them thinking. You never know what liberties they will take!

In the years that followed, I often thought fondly of that kiss as a moment of ebullient spontaneity in the life of an artist who would later be lionized by the literati and illiterati alike.

In our smaller lives, our occasional brushes with greatness can take on mythic proportions. This was merely a kiss. But I've never forgotten it, or him. And neither will the world.

My sex diary: the loooong holiday weekend!

Labor Day's not just for hot dogs anymore! (Sly dogs, maybe...) because my Labor Day weekend started and ended with a quite a bang!

Friday: some honest work in my SO's business till 4:00, then a long, slow journey with my tongue on a new conquest... and aren't I happy to have a Scandinavian sailor on board!

By 6, on to a local swinger's meet and greet at a trendy watering hole. How much cleavage can there be in South Florida? I spotted enough (mine own included, of course) that the silicone alone could float the afore-mentioned sailor's entire fleet. But ah, the sight of those pretty boobies and twitchy hips. Flirtation's king and the pheromones were mixed right in with the Sour Apple Martinis.

Saturday: A long-awaited house party at a local couple's mini-manse in Ft Lauderdale... sleek bodies, sweet perfume and a simply delectable spread. Oh, and the food wasn't bad, either!

Sunday: my lazy afternoon climaxed with a visit from another new friend-- and when I say climax, I mean it... this close-to-50 Romeo gave me a run for my money with his talent for explosions. I think I counted three before the clock struck the hour.

Thank goodness I took my vitamin S (you know, for Sexy Stamina) before we drove to the swing club... Labor Day Sunday attracts one of the largest crowds of the year. Yes, you've got it right-- wall-to-wall balls and no wallflowers allowed.

The SO and I put out the word, and carried off the cream of the crop for a real back-to-school all-nighter... when fun doesn't start until 1AM, sunrise simply means it's time to re-fill the lube.

Labor Day: even the most dedicated worker bees-- all serving the Queen, of course-- demand their honey... so after a brief nap, the remaining crew treated ourselves to Bloody Marys and a delicious recharging. Spinning the mental highlights over brunch makes for some VERY interesting conversation... and eavesdropping. (Was that you whose ears were turning red?)

Tomorrow is Tuesday, and my naughty girlfriend and I are jetting off to debauch the sexy brethren of Chicago one last time before the snowbirds fly back south. Then, it's Florida's version of winter, and a happy uptick in our very favorite work.

It seems a fitting bookend for Labor Day.

When I wish upon a stud....

Lately I've been dreaming about having sexy doings with all sorts of unexpected partners.

Last week, I was a naughty law clerk helping Sam Waterston with his briefs.

Before that, I was getting kinky in the fetish store-- with a tattooed wench named Dare.

This morning, I awoke still feeling the spell of animal magnetism.....in a London flat, an ethno-biologist had enlisted me to write his book... and his menagerie of wild cats, pythons and macaws were eyeing me with more than basic instinct.

Next week, I'll probably dream myself into the D-cups of a red-haired vixen-for-hire.

That does it. I've got to stop the pizza before bed.

Discrimination on the perk (Or, even escorts need their Joe!)

Last week, while waiting for my flight in Detroit, I killed some time wandering through the gift shop.

One display immediately caught my eye: Your Profession on a Coffee Mug. And there they were, cute as daisies, arranged alphabetically by dozens of titles...

teacher, lawyer, secretary, coach, bartender, mom....

Finally, I thought. I'll find a mug for my special job!

Hurriedly I scanned the "E"s..... but no. Then the "P"s...... no again. Even the "H"s. As a last resort, I dropped to my knees to check that lowest of all possible rows, the "W"s.

The electricians, police officers, hair stylists and window-washers could all enjoy their java in a personalized yellow and black cup... but where did that leave me and my friends?

Talk about a whorrendous oversight!

But you know, it got me thinking. If I run into this kind of discrimination again, it might just inspire me to start my own line of goods for my beleaguered colleagues. Now all I need is a name.

How's Abercrombie and Bitch?

The Miki I never knew

I never met Miki the MILF, but she was a legend in the small world we inhabit. Justly known as an irascible, confident, balls-to-the-walls wild woman, she never failed to make herself heard.

Miki passed away from natural causes at the age of 50 this past week, and the outpouring of genuine loss has been striking.

Someone told me recently that my somewhat "feisty" persona could hurt me with clients who are less than sure of themselves. Well, I'll never equal the ballsiness of Miki the MILF, and even those who disagreed with her strongly-voiced opinions have wiped away a tear this week.

Miki, I wish we'd met. I think we would have been friends.

Confessions from the Campaign Trail, Part 1: Detroit

The day of his interview, the senatorial candidate from Michigan seemed nervous as he entered my room.

“I’ve, I’ve never been interviewed by the New York Times before,” he stuttered, as I invited him to sit. He glanced at me furtively before dropping stiffly into the chair.

My dress’s low neckline had slipped open just enough to reveal an edge of red lace. I took my time correcting it.

“So, Candidate Moreman,” I began. “While you’ve been very successful in business, this is your first foray into the political arena. I wonder if you’re prepared for the media scrutiny you’ll be undergoing? I notice you didn’t bring your press secretary with you today.”

“No, I didn’t feel I needed to put any ‘spin’ on my positions.... the thrust of my platform is very straightforward. Why– do you intend to trip me up with trick questions?” he asked, a little spirit surfacing in spite of himself.

“Hmmm. Trick questions? No.... I’m just looking to uncover the man beneath the positions, if you know what I mean. After all, your press machine has worked up enough interest that the Times sent their best political reporter here to speak with you. I’d consider that quite a coup, wouldn’t you?”

Before he could speak I leaned over and adjusted the hem of my skirt, which had crept up on my thigh. I glanced up at the would-be Senator and caught his eyes darting away from the line of my calf and the high-heeled pump dangling from one foot.

He cleared his throat before replying. “A coup? No, just a welcome opportunity to spread the word about my ideas for the people of Michigan.”

“Speaking of spreading the word, candidate,” I spoke in a lower tone,”There have been several very interesting rumors spread about you. For example, several sources have revealed to me that your personal relationships have taken– well, let’s say unusual turns."

“In fact,” I continued, “my research indicates that your carefully-honed image as a traditional, heterosexual family man may be one of the best shams in recent campaign history.”

Moreman gasped as he straightened up in his chair. “I beg your pardon, young lady! I’m the proud father of two beautiful daughters! ”

I paused a long moment. “That doesn’t mean you don’t like sucking dick, though, does it?"

Before I knew it, the enraged businessman had leapt to his feet and grasped me by the shoulders. He pulled me close in a tight grip and whispered fiercely. “You print that and you could ruin my career– and the lives of my family.”

“Well,” I gasped, breathless from his strong arms encircling me, “I don’t see how I can avoid it. Unless, of course....”

“Unless what?” he demanded.

“Unless you prove to me otherwise.”

His eyes glittered with determination. "Prove to you that I'm man enough to get excited by a beautiful woman? Is that what you're looking for, Miss New York Times? Because I think I can show you exactly what kind of man you're tangling with... unless you don't know what this means." He slipped his hands to my hips and pulled me into even closer contact with his strong torso... and a surprisingly large bulge that ground against my tight skirt.

My resolution wavered. Should I expose him... or let him expose me? When a jolt of pleasure shot up from between my legs, the answer seemed inevitable... but so very, very wrong.


(Part 2 in a future issue.)

"Write when you get work...."

That's what they used to say when they sent the youngun off to make his way in the world... and I guess it still holds true. Except now, they probably say "Text when you get work!"

My problem? I can't text (long fingernails and tiny keyboards- not a match made in heaven) and when I do "get work," I'm too busy to write!

So for the blog fan who emailed me yesterday, mea culpa. But sometimes Tabu has to be in Tabu mode... and these Michigan boys, well, let's just say they like Florida girls.

So far I've been a harlot, a saint and a reporter from the New York Times.... yes, a typical day (and night) in the life. Yummy.

Juicy details? Maybe tomorrow!

During today's flight to Detroit, a big-eyed blonde

made her way down the airplane aisle and whispered, "May I sit here?"

My seat-mate and I- two steady, middle-aged customers- gave her one quick look and moved our feet aside. The poor dear was clearly terrified.

Four rows ahead, a jovial drunk had turned into a threatening one... and while the burly male flight attendant had a serious talk with him, our nervous friend had made her escape.

"I can't believe there are people like that," she murmured, never taking her eyes off his bobbing head. "He was going to hit me!"

After a few moments the flight attendant came back with reassurances.

"You just stay on board for a few minutes after we land," he advised her. "We're going to detain him so he can't do you any harm once you deplane or while you're getting your baggage."

Somehow this failed to comfort our frightened friend.

But sure enough, after we landed, there was a pause while two of Detroit's finest shouldered their way onto MD-80 and cuffed the charmer. An outburst not fit for my delicate ears met this show of force.... but by then, the entire plane was riveted.

As I stepped onto the jetway, I couldn't resist. Pausing by one of the officers assembled to handle the fracas, I looked up and smiled.

"What would we ladies do without you?" I asked in my most innocent tone. "Sometimes you just need a boy in blue!"

He visibly swelled in his uniform shirt, fighting the smile that threatened to take over his face.

"Just doing our job, ma'm," he downplayed.

Playfully I gave his name badge a light pat as I moved past him. "Well, keep it up, officer!"

And I meant every word of it. Just not on my beat!

Revved for the Motor City....

OK, I know the auto metaphors must get old for the Detroit boys, but let's face it... what else describes it so well?

I'm thinking about you and my stomach has a little flutter. My mind's racing with kinky little ideas for my roleplay boys. And there's simply no match for my sleek, pink manicure... I'll be let my fingers do the walking over those sensitive nipples. Mine or yours, you ask... well, if you're lucky....

To be continued!

Verrry Interesting Update!

Remember the infamous "Joe" who left his computer at home-- with my email on the screen for his wife to find? (See "Death by Escort" below....)

Well, here is his latest communication to me, in its entirety.

I want to apologize for the stupid e-mail I sent you. The excuse I gave you was a lie.

I had an attack of conscience which didn't allow me to go through with the appointment and was too stupid to just say so. I was ignorant of your position in the situation and for that I'm sorry. You will not hear from me again.

Well. sometimes people do stupid things, and sometimes they do the right thing. I'm still not thrilled with Joe's behavior... but at least he stepped up and admitted the truth.

I don't have to point out you, dear friends, all the lessons in this little episode... but I will make one request on behalf all of escorts everywhere. If you're mulling over whether the hobby is right for you, please, take all the time you need.

We'll be here when you decide.

Tabu and Allie: A "Class" Reunion!

So my girlfriend Allie has been in NY all last week, visiting her family.... and poor little me was left to sloooowly melt here, all alone.

Well, that sad scenario, my friends, is about to change.

Welcome home, Allie!! To celebrate her return tomorrow, we two bad girls are issuing you a special invitation to attend our "Class" Reunion-- at a special celebration discount.

Join us in Hollywood for a delectable two-girl encounter and you will save a Benjamin off the normal gift. (Need I be more explicit?)

Call me at 954-839-6368 or email now for your reservation. There's nothing like a meeting of the minds (and everything else!)

Let's get re-acquainted. Mmmmmm.

Death by escort?

I rarely get upset, but this weekend I was stunned by a would-be client. After making an appointment and exchanging several emails about his desires, he canceled the day before the appointment. However, that's not the issue. This email is.

Sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner, a day trip to NYC turned into the week. Worse than that, while I was gone, my wife discovered our e-mail traffic. Stupid me left w/o taking my laptop with me and also left it in standby. Long story short, when she opened it, your last e-mail was on the screen.

So, unfortunately, you will not be hearing from me for a while, but if things continue, you could hear a lot more from me in the not too distant future.

"Joe"

My reply:

Dear Joe:

If that was indeed what happened, you have been careless with more than your own behavior-- you have compromised my security as well. I don't need vengeful wives knowing my email and website.

There is more than one party at risk here. If you do hobby in the future, I would urge you to consider your actions a lot more thoughtfully.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to make your acquaintance at this point. I hope you understand why.

sincerely,

Tabu


If a client wants to get caught by his wife-- leaving hobby-related email on the screen of your computer at home?-- I really don't care. But don't use me or any other honest escort as the weapon of your self-destruction.

An escort's job is risky enough. Cops, stalkers, thieves, rapists-- they're all among the lovely folks we have to guard against. But when self-absorbed clients add themselves to the list...

When I hear a woman's voice on my phone today or next week, I want it to be another escort, calling for a reference. Not Mrs. Joe.

This weekend, I had to remind myself that my smart and discreet clients are the joy of my working life. Now, if you could only educate the rest of them.

**********************************************************************************

FOLLOWUP: After I posted this on the The Erotic Review, one gent had this to say in response:

The guy made a mistake, what do you want? It will almost certainly hurt him more than it will you. Don't use e-mail then. There's somebody pretty self-absorbed here, but it isn't Mr. Joe.

My reply:

You're absolutely right, Bob-- I AM self-absorbed... especially when it comes to my personal safety and peace of mind.

One of the reasons I was particularly upset by this occurrence-- not the first one, mind you-- is that in this fellow's blithe little note, he showed NO remorse and NO recognition that he put me at risk as well as himself.

And this is where you come in. But because some people can't be trusted to use the brains God gave them, you suggest I should give up using email.

I guess notebook paper is out as well-- last year, I had a wife call me and threaten to spray-paint "Whore" on my front door-- after she found directions to my incall in her husband's pants pocket.

So let's see-- I guess that leaves the phone as a safe option. Unless you count the fellow who recently left a message for me to call him right back... and when I did, his wife answered. Yes, he was at home-- with wifey in the next room.

Until some clients start thinking defensively, I really don't think that escorts should be expected to give up all forms of normal communication to keep them safe.

Oh, wait-- I've got it... smoke signals! Maybe that would work. One puff for "Yes," two for "No," three for "I'm an idiot."

respectfully yours,

Tabu

No Batteries Required (Or, what makes Tabu hum!)

We're all grownups here, so let's be frank. Between my hobby (swinging) and our hobby (the Hobby!), your little vixen gets some action. So, you might ask, does that mean that I'm a constantly-seething cauldron of unmitigated passion?

Um, almost. The other day, I gleefully let my mind run free over all my favorite things... the little moments, gestures and fantasies that can make my panties sticky.... and I came up with the ones I always welcome with a wicked grin.

Not-to-be-denied erections. I admit it. There's something very fulfilling in making an ostensibly cool customer lose his cool-- and watching as he raises a tent-pole in his pants. (And darling, don't try to hide it with that throw pillow. Tabu sees all, knows all, and conquers all.)

The Stevie Wonder head roll. Yes, I may be kneeling between your legs. My mouth may be too full to speak. But I'm sneaking a look at your rapturous expression... and when your eyes roll back in your head and a groan escapes from deep inside your composure, a little electricity travels right down my spine.

The partner in crime. Have I divulged one of my little kinks? Then bless you if you whisper those naughty somethings in my ear... and watch my reactions as you add an extra filigree of lust to the mix. You shall receive the kingdom of heaven.

Embracing your inner porn star. When the mood's right for raunch, you can't go wrong... so forget you're a doctor, a lawyer or that you play one on TV. When you become Tabu's boy-toy, the immediate forecast is wet. Very wet.

Swoon happens. Unforgettable moments unfold when the heat rises and we realize that we're dealing with a force larger than ourselves. That's when I like to lie back, surrender my will and give you everything between my ears and my legs. Feel the rush? It may be your tongue that's dissolving my self-control... or the tingle that translates from your fingertips.... or the room that's spinning on the axis of your hard cock.

Only two words are necessary here.

Take me.

Infamous! (And for all the right reasons!)

It never fails.... get me in an airport, and I set off the detectors. Tabu detectors, that is!

On my way to visit my sweet old folks last week, a surreptitious fan waylaid me in the Delta jetway--

sidling up to me from behind, he whispered,"Maybe I'll get to sit next to the INFAMOUS Tabu!"

Well, sorry, Charlie-- but you did make me laugh at 7AM... not the easiest task when my caffeine meter is still on LOW.

I'm so glad to be back home in Hollywood. I can only keep my tits tucked in for so long.

See you soon!

The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Hobbyists

What separates a decently successful hobbyist (sometimes gets the girl he wants, strikes out as often as he hits, expends a lot of cell minutes trying to hook up)...

from the hobbyist who quietly and confidently enjoys the sensual delights of his absolute favorites?

After three years in this delicate dance, I've seen the good, the bad and absolutely unforgivable. In the process, I've learned a few things myself. So for the fellows who'd like to improve their average, I'm offering the following observations. May they help you score the big Kahuna, whoever she may be.

1. Highly Effective Hobbyists PLAN AHEAD. This is especially crucial when a lady's on tour. After I've advertised on my blog for 3-4 weeks, Eros for a week and announced on TER several times in advance of my arrival, I still get initial calls on the very last night of a tour. To my great amusement, these spontaneous souls are shocked that my time is already booked.

Would you wait for the night of the Prince concert to call TicketMaster? OK, then.

2. Highly Effective Hobbyists OFFER THEIR CREDENTIALS. If I don't know you, a one-line email stating, "Hi, I'm Joe, Are you available tonight?" is going straight into the trash. The reservation form on my website has been crafted to get just what I need from you-- no more, no less. And since many of us ladies also offer easy screening shortcuts through Date-Check, RS2K or Preferred 411, there's really no excuse for the old "I didn't realize you needed to know who I am" ploy.

Would you let a nameless, potentially nefarious stranger into your bedroom? OK, maybe if her tits were big enough. But we girls have tits of our own.

3. Highly Effective Hobbyists DO THEIR RESEARCH. Nothing charms a lady more than the fellow who asks her to reiterate every piece of information that's already on her website, her ad, her TER profile, or her blog.

Even the MILFs among us don't have the time or the inclination to spoon-feed you. After all, aren't you the boys who sent a man to the moon?

4. Highly Effective Hobbyists LEAVE THEIR EGO AT THE DOOR. We know you're a big man at work. Leagues of lowly-paid minions cower at your presence. But lording it over the lady you've selected for some very intimate companionship is simply bad form. Of the dozen or so clients whom I truly detested and will never see again, the main common denominator was arrogance.

Yes, we're here to please. But you know the saying.... if Momma ain't happy, then nobody's getting the goods.

5. Highly Effective Hobbyists LEAVE US WANTING MORE. You wouldn't linger at the party till the exhausted hosts stagger off to bed. So when you're enjoying the lady's company, be equally aware that when the party's over, it's over.

We want to feel regretful that you had to leave after only an hour... not remember that we had to drag your ass to the door after you camped out for an extra 30 minutes, sloooowly tying your shoes. That's what loafers are for.

6. Highly Effective Hobbyists LIKE WOMEN. As odd as it may sound, some of our clients resent us, look down on us, and simply don't have our best interests at heart. These are the fellows who quiz us on our private lives, ask our real names, disclose confidential details to other parties, or gossip about us to their other dates.

It wasn't attractive in high school, and you can't fit into those pants anymore, either.

7. Highly Effective Hobbyists KNOW IT'S JUST A HOBBY. Yes, we adore being your girlfriend for an hour or two... and when you're genuinely nice, we often have very fond feelings for your presence in our lives. So let's agree... we won't fall in love with you, call you at home, get our feelings hurt when you see another lady, or boil your rabbit.

Do the same by us, and we'll be good.

Why Johnny can't read, or, what the teacher's doing after school

This trip to Chitown has raised even my kink factor a little... and I have to love it when what appears to be a mild-mannered GFE boy devolves into a hot little freaky boy....

Yesterday, Miss Tabu was a loving schoolteacher, who had to hold her favorite student after class for a serious talk. While I was cleaning the blackboard, my sweet student carefully donned his fishnets and skirt, stuffed his bra and once into a long blond wig, emerged as "Amy."

Poor girl... she trembled as I sat close and reminded her that she was only 14... too young to be caught behind the bleachers, experimenting with boys. It was clearly my job to show her what boys can really do. After an intimate first-hand demonstration, she shudderingly agreed that Teacher knew best.

Detention was never like this.

Good news/Bad news... and espresso!

Damn, I love Chicago.

Some of my all-time favorite clients call this city home-- and don't they make me feel right at home every time I'm here?

This morning I get to see a charming example of old-school sexy... the man George Clooney wants to be when he grows up. Later, a creative young type who always makes for an interesting interlude. The next few days are punctuated with the anticipation of new friends and the warm glow of getting to know older friends all over again.

I'm sorry to say I had one regrettable cancellation so far- a 2-hour date on Wednesday afternoon. Darn business trips, don't you hate them? After all, what does London have that I don't? OK, Big Ben. But after that, it's close.

On the other hand, I had a lovely surprise when an old friend called yesterday. I can't wait to say hello with a delicious kiss.

And finally, when I woke up early this morning (I'm still on eastern time!) I explored my neighborhood for a decent cup of Joe. Voila! It's amazing how a little espresso makes everything hum.

What's the forecast for CHICAGO??

When I was there in April, a freak blizzard made my nipples harder than the IQ test for Mensa. So this time, I'm bringing the heat with me! (Miami heat, that is!)

From Monday, July 9 to Thursday, July 12, a sultry breeze will be circling downtown... and with it, the warm promise of:

- delicious Tabu kisses
- pulse-quickening, full-press Tabu passion
- and explosive Tabu satisfaction

Do you like to slip into a little mental anticipation? Let the Mistress of Roleplay take you into a parallel universe of pleasure!

Any way you map it out, you'll be VERY glad you came.

Pre-booking highly recommended... RS2K, Date-Check and Preferred411 members given highest priority!

Traveling with playmate Allie for supreme duo delight!

Please don't wait to secure your assignation with mmmmmmm.

Touring gift: 350/hr, 550/1.5 hrs, 700/2 hours
Incall only, please.

Can't wait to get you wet!

Home for 2 weeks, so let's get it in gear!

I'm back from vay-cay, and I'm SO ready to rumble!

You boys just don't know how much being Tabu has become a part of my daily naughtiness! I positively miss her (and you!) when I'm in vanilla mode.

The other day, I was in a social setting and after one Martini, I totally forgot my real name for a second... I almost introduced myself as Tabu. Now that would be hard to explain!

So let's give Tabu her due. Keep me busy till I leave again on July 9.

I can't wait to get my hands on you!