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!"

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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.