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