Heaux Confessionals

By Triston

"The main ones screaming about their halo are usually the first ones to use it as a cockring." (Heaux Confessionals©, verbal slap #153)

I am Triston/Theron/Micah/Heaux Black/ElectroNegreaux, but you can call me...

Sir Negreaux, the Godfather of Heaux, leader of the WonderHeaux Nation©

HEAUX
(pronounced 'ho')

(taken from essential Heaux Confessionals' vocabulary appendix)

1) [noun] American English slang taken from the word homage, with the twist of a French spelling to imply prestige and class; not to be confused with ho

2) a literary nod to Josephine Baker, one of the most famous American ex-patriate artists of her time, and the godmother of the WonderHeaux Nation

3) [verb] to have gorgeous sex with sinister style

I'm hung, but you won't want to hang up on me and risk the disconnect...

Heaux Confessionals© is uncut: a marriage of the raw, decadent and unconventional.

This pulp friction literary barrage will leave no one unscathed. Come along on this literary joyride of the Berlin that is just beneath the surface and has always been so expertly hidden. Until now...

Enter this world as I claw my way through the city of the moment: Berlin. The unfathomable, imagined. A place of no rules, and no boundaries. A city where there is no sexual divide. Metrosexual, bisexual, yes. Gay or straight?

Not a chance.

In a city where every language is spoken, there is only one that transcends them all. Everyone speaks heaux…

How fab is your heauxcabulary?

Whatever the setting, there is always a story to tell. From the erotic to the exotic, to the raw and heartfelt, every aspect of life is covered with a touch of cynicism and caustic wit. Every heaux has a story to tell. This is mine. Join me on a wild and raucous ride, if you dare.

From the drama onstage and off, with the backdrop of a city like no other – Berlin, the characters take you on a never-ending, spiraling adventure. A city in the midst of change filled with artists ready to change it. This is the second wave of neo-Berlin currently gritting it out on the toughest streets in central Europe. This is the place where dreams come true, or burn by the wayside. These are the stories of those select few doing the damn thing, and paying their dues on the way. There is never an easy way out. And in Berlin, even the ones that break through get a little dirty.

It's 'Fame' with an edge.

It's 'Survivor', because only the strong manage to get through the drama of it all. There will be casualties.

It's 'Rent' for the new millennium.

It's 'Sex & The City', on a real budget.

Welcome to Heaux Confessionals©.

Sho(r)t stories featuring tales of trickery, lust connections, love profusions and the daily grind that can be most unkind.

Enter New Berlin.

Enter Heaux Confessionals©.

Think 'Running with Scissors' meets 'Confederacy of Dunces'.

For previously published books, check out my chapter in the 2009 anthology from Soft Skull Press: 'Hos, Hookers, Call-Girls and Rent Boys'©, reviewed in the New York Times...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triston
• Release date: Feb 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301040445

Triston

Triston is a performance artist, writer, event organizer, and activist. As a writer, he has been published in The Huffington Post, Trespass (London), Adaras Magazine (Miami) as well as featured in publications such as the New York Times, Vogue Italia, and other on-line and print magazines in the U.S. and internationally. He is currently working on his memoir about life in Europe, Heaux Confessionals. As a solo performer and with his band $kandal Du$t, he has toured in some of the world's most renown clubs, simultaneously maintaining an underground renaissance, blurring the lines of all that is traditional and leaving his indelible, and ultimately unforgettable impression. There is no divide. Brace yourself. Twitter: Heauxfessional1 Facebook: Heaux Confessionals $kandal Du$t link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSAEbTS1Src http://scallywagandvagabond.com/author/triston/

Book preview

~ PREFACE ~

Heaux Confessionals is more than a memoir. It is a long-running, written documentary of the world I...we...live in. I’ve been writing this collection of short stories for over ten years, which cover all aspects of my life. Initially, Heaux Confessionals was just going to be a collection of my greatest hits, sexually speaking. Because after all, sex sells and people always want to hear about that.

Why Heaux Confessionals?

I’m no fool. Although all my professions have stories worth telling, it is the undercurrent of sex which compels most societies. For every tale of trickery I cover, there are other spectrums of my life to describe. But it is sex which ignites, so I aim to satiate your quench to clench. I personally believe in extolling every chapter, but who am I to deny someone’s particular flavor?

I decided to pepper this memoir with other aspects of my life as well, to give the reader the full spectrum of my life as a black American living in Europe. I am serving up a no-holds-barred analysis of how people of color are treated in this region of the world. I would be doing a disservice to my community if I ignored it, as is often the case in Europe. The opinions expressed in this book are mine. I’m not asking anyone to agree. I am far more interested in a continual dialogue and open discussion of race relations within the EU. For the Europeans that question my views (as is often the case) my challenge to you is to go outside your comfort zone and ask ten people of color (assuming you even know ten) what their daily lives are like and how they are treated as a minority. Listen to them if they choose to truthfully discuss what is going on and most importantly, don’t dismiss their views as hysteria or unfounded. In my experience, this is the most common reply when I describe my existence in Europe as a black man.

Heaux Confessionals is also sprinkled with heauxkus, my own bastardized version of a haiku that seeks to paint a picture of a situation with a few lines. Also, there are more than a few verbal slaps, my little nuggets of wisdom I have had to impart to an individual for whatever reason that you may need to incorporate into your own life. There’s one for nearly every situation. Use at your discretion!

So please, I hope you enjoy Heaux Confessionals. I hope you find it to be a wild romp and that by the end of it, your loins are aroused and you have gained a little insight between the stories of sex, drugs, rock and roll.

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snatch bumpin’ at the end of the night?

better set the trigger off right

pulsating lust

give it your all

seeps down the crevice

of the sugar wall

break every law in the jurisdiction

guilty as sin

of carnal pulp friction

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"Once you go black, you can go back...you just don’t want to!"

(Heaux Confessionals, verbal slap #54 – Black History Month, special edition)

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~ CHAPTER I ~

Whisper In My Ear

And what is it like to be a big-dicked, beautiful black buck of a man in Berlin?

Not that I would have to anyway, mind you, but the predatory instincts which I’d like to believe I possess within me, are not necessary in this environment. I am prey in Berlin like no other. With the right calculations, a sexually deviant mind can be a terrible thing to waste. You, the reader, will only be privy to the general overview of my sexual existence in Berlin. Feel free to ask me personally; if you are brazen enough, far be it from me not to answer in depth. I have no secrets. Where to begin this sordid overview?

My first week, of course.

The very day I descended upon the Sodom and Gomorrah that is Berlin, I was sexually booked for the week. Sightseeing plans were combined with the sexual excursions, as I criss-crossed the neighborhoods of Berlin on pure carnal instinct.

The Palast der Republik, The Wall, Alexanderplatz?

These historical landmarks were but mere blips on my mental register as I sexually surveyed the Berlin scene. With every passing day, I was testing the theories of the Kinsey reports to boundaries previously unforeseen. Completely safer sex, of course. No city could ever fashion me that delirious. If you want those stories, ask another muthafucka because I’m not the one.

Oh yes. the rendezvous week of sin consisted of some of the best (and relatively fresh) that Berlin has to offer. Because contrary to popular opinion, I am not a slut. But, that being said, I always prefer quality over quantity any day.

But not this day. Not this week.

This was the week of the lust connection. I made the brash decision to combine both quality and quantity. Not because I’m greedy. The truth is, I like to multi-task and stay busy whenever possible. Besides, quickly thereafter I discovered that in Berlin, sex was just that: a thing to do...

But back to the story at hand.

Let me tell you. When quality and quantity combine to produce just the right mix, it can be a very beautiful thing. You probably want names. You may want numbers. Whisper in my ear and I’ll whisper in yours. Believe me when I say the sunsets and sunrises were blurred like never before. I don’t remember a single meal. I don’t recall which clubs exactly. But I do remember every position.

It was easy to fulfill so many of my fantasies so quickly because in Berlin I fit the description of the black mystique. I fulfill the part of the bargain because I want to, not because it’s what they think I have to offer. Everyone secretly desires to be someone’s fantasy. Justify your lust, I say. I would be more specific but I am considered a keeper of the mystique. Fret not, however.

I am always searching for eligible members.

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I’m not rich and famous

I’m respected and noted

choreographed, acted, sang it, wrote it

been doing this since Gaga and Brit Brit

were still in the womb

unaided by Photoshop, Audiotune

dare to take a challenge

break a sweat

I’m a multi-hyphenate, triple threat

my art is my life

my being, my pride

I never knew there was a box to think inside

when I exhale...

it’s a ground swell

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You seem to be allergic to work. Get vaccinated, bitch!

(Heaux Confessionals, verbal slap #149)

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~ CHAPTER II ~

The Jobs

singer dancer writer model teacher poet bartender organizer lyricist fucker

Heaux Confessionals covers just some of the interesting jobs I’ve had in Europe. When I’m not on stage as a performer, I can be found off of it working as a translator, English teacher, bartender, model, masseur, et cetera. You name it, I’ve probably done it. But in all honesty, the jobs where I have the least problems and most income involve me on stage or nudity. Because Europeans tend to question my America citizenship when it comes to teaching them English. They also tend to want to pay me less money than my white co-workers doing the same job because they think that since I am black I must be African and thus should be satisfied to live in a first world country making any money at all. In other words, I am expected to settle for whatever they care to dole out to me. And you know me, heauxz. When it comes to my money and my skills?

Hell to the goddamn naw!

Because like someone extremely intelligent once said, always try to get paid well for what you do well. This, I have adopted as a personal mantra, so whether I am doing a voice-over ad or you’re requesting to suck on my chocolate disco stick, be prepared to pay top dollar by the minute, hour, inch or centimeter. I have been cheated out of enough money in my other professions, so when it comes to my job as an escort, you know I am not accepting discounts, rebates, or cock coupons of any kind.

Some people that dare to even pick up this book may object to some of my professions.

Let them.

I don’t mind at all. Someone else’s opinion of me is not my business or concern. At the end of the day, I don’t rely on, nor have I ever relied on, someone to pay my bills. And trust me, there have been several offers. In the world I live in and the way I was raised, I can look myself in the mirror with confidence every day knowing that I paved my own way without relying on a handout.

Every service that I provide, I do it well. Ask my students if I’m a good teacher. Ask my editors if I’m a good writer. Ask those clubs if I put on a good show. Ask my clients if I’m good in bed. You will more than likely hear a resounding yes across the (head)board.

I am no slacker.

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Essential Heauxcabulary

IGNORANT

adjective

1. lacking knowledge or training; unlearned

2. lacking knowledge or information as to a particular subject or fact

3. uninformed, unaware, inexperienced

4. due to or showing lack of knowledge or training

PREJUDICE

noun

1. unfavorable opinion or feeling formed beforehand or without knowledge, thought, or reason.

2. any preconceived opinion or feeling, either favorable or unfavorable.

3. unreasonable feelings, opinions, or attitudes, especially of a hostile nature, regarding a racial, religious, or national group

RACISM

noun

1. a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one’s own race is superior and has the right to rule others.

2. a policy, system of government, etc., based upon or fostering such a doctrine; discrimination.

3. hatred or intolerance of another race or other races

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Dear non-Negreauxz: You say you don’t want to discuss racism with me because you can’t win? Well, I don’t see Bob Barker, Pat Sajak, or Alex Trebek coming around the corner to hand me a fuckin’ prize!

(Heaux Confessionals, verbal slap #4 – Black History Month, special edition)

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~ CHAPTER III ~

The Jobs

singer dancer writer model teacher poet bartender activist organizer masseur lyricist fucker

Snapshot Into My Existence

do not be fooled

by the color and the shape

disrespect the struggles

in the city of Berlin

that I’ve had to take

but do make note

that for every situation

once the black fury subsides

the hope of a new day

inspires the will to survive

I’m African...American, not British

but the Cosby Show is dubbed here

so how would you know this?

as I sit on the train

minding my own goddamn business

look, it’s Kanye!

Lenny Kravitz!

Blade!

as if I’m going to like this?

do not be fooled

by the color and the shape

I’m a grown ass man

and after all I’ve had to endure?

I treat myself well when I can

and that extends to couture

although I can be that ghetto thug

shown 24/7 on MTV

today I’m rockin’ a different look, Let It Bleed

catch the show tomorrow at three

would you like to hear

from my lips to your ear

an opera piece?

a musical sonnet?

rap, hip-hop, rhyming?

never really done it

black music that isn’t black music

that’s one of the things I do

I don’t know alot about black music

but I know alot about rhythm and blues

if Amy Winehouse can do it

there’s hope for all of you too

do not be fooled

by the color and the shape

braids, afros, mohawks

and all the hairstyles in between

I’ve sorted and rocked

I’m more Malcolm that Martin

in case you forgot

for the staring

I’ve learned to manage with time

as it is in the streets

we crash and collide

so please don’t touch my hair

and cross that divide

singer-dancer-teacher-poet-painter-fucker

no job too big or small

I answer to no man

in Berlin I’ve learned

to juggle them all

you wanna ride on my coattails

ride on my cock?

schwarze, brüder

could you be more ignorant?

could you be any ruder?

do not be fooled by the color and the shape

do not be fooled by the color and the shape

~ CHAPTER IV ~

Black & White in Europe

(In Black & White)

What is it really like to be black in Europe? If you’re black and visiting Europe, you will not get a sense of how Europe truly is. If you are a visitor, you will be adored and fawned over like a mythical creature. You will receive alot of attention just because of the color of your skin. If you go out, you may find that you don’t ever have to worry about anyone paying attention to you. If you are not considered attractive in your homeland, in Europe you will notice a marked difference.

But every fairytale must come to an end.

When you live in Europe, this fabled existence gets real old, real quick. I cannot even tell you how many times people have just reached out and touched me on the streets. They try to take my photograph on the train. And why?

Simply because of my physical appearance, the hue of my skin. You get treated like less than human. It’s akin to a petting zoo. But even for a zoo, you usually have to pay an admission fee. Keep in mind that aside from a select few mainstream commercial events, I am, by and large, an underground performer. So people have seen my shows in many countries in Europe, but I am hardly famous, so there is no reason to take my photo on the streets to document me like I’m an exhibit. I don’t allow people on the streets to take my photo. It’s that simple. If I ever become rich and famous, they can click all the fuck they want. But for now?

Hell to the naw!

They stare. Not look. Not glance.

Stare.

Every day, from the moment I leave my flat until the time I return to it, I cannot go anywhere or do anything without someone staring at me. For the most part, I block it out. I wear sunglasses day and night so no one will see where I am looking. But sometimes it’s difficult to block it out when someone is directly in front of you staring. You feel very self-conscious. If they are too close to me, sometimes I ask Can I help you? Some of my European acquaintances think it is cool to be photographed and stared at on the streets, but I sure as hell don’t. It all goes back to treating others as you want to be treated. Germans, in particular, will stare at you so long that sometimes I have figured something must be on my face to warrant such extended gazes. But after a while I finally figured out the equation: The less German you look, the more they stare.

The objectification is off the charts. My book is titled Heaux Confessionals in part as a wink and a nod to Josephine Baker, who was one of my inspirations for coming to Europe. As a black American performer in France, she was marketed as an exotic creature, a chanteuse. As talented as she was as a singer and dancer, alot of clubs played up her physicality over her talent because they knew that Europeans wanted to lay eyes on something so rare to them. Josephine Baker was well aware of her physical prowess but she always excelled in her artistry at a time when black people were only given redeeming value if they were performing for white audiences. Decades later in Europe, not much has changed. I know I have been booked many times simply because of the color of my skin, simply because of the crowds it can attract. I also just happen to be good at what I do, so it is an added bonus for them.

Sustaining relationships is difficult anywhere in the world. In Europe, it takes on an added dimension of difficulty because they are not so inclined to believe that they live in a part of the world that is more racist than America. When I point out to Europeans that they are confusing their fewer cases of racism for less racism, it is always a point of contention yet I find it to be true. Of course Europe can claim it is less racist because they have fewer incidences of racist actions to report. But as I point out to Europeans all the time, their percentage of minorities is significantly less than the percentage in my country. Current estimates indicate less than 1% of the European population comprises people of color. Anywhere that I have lived in Europe, I can count on one hand the amount of black people I see in a week. Unless I am in London, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, Zurich (and a few other cities), I am not going to see a sizable amount of black people. This is part of the reason why I am treated like a unicorn in the first place.

In my experience, most Europeans are attracted to black people but don’t know how to treat them. They are usually attracted to the superficial aspects of you as a black person, which you have no control over whatsoever. In my experiences, it only goes so far until it reaches what I term ‘the point of disconnect’. That’s the point at which no matter how you try to explain it, they just don’t get it. I have lost friendships with Europeans who refuse to believe or even listen to what I have to say regarding my treatment in Europe. They always seem to want to blame the incident in question on anything other than the elephant in the room. Maybe it was what I was wearing? My hair perhaps? I possibly misunderstood?

Because surely it was not the color of my skin. Because Europe is not racist, you see. That’s distinctly American.

As far as sex goes, it is easy to come by if you are black in Europe. Anyone of color in Europe can have an abundance of suitors. I have seen black people that I would consider butt ugly have hot suitors simply because of the color of their skin. After living in Spain and then Germany, I became quite selective with my partners because the majority were not looking for anything serious and so I decided that it was going to be purely physical, then I wanted the best specimens on the market. Two can play that game. If I was going to be treated like a piece of meat, I was only going to share this slab with those worthy enough.

The black communities in Europe are disjointed. As a black American in Europe, I truly am the minority, because most black people in Europe are not from America, but African. What I have noticed (and what other black Americans living in Europe have also noticed and expressed to me) is that Africans do not usually interact with African-Americans. I notice in Germany, Afro-Germans keep their distance from black Americans and from one another as well. Coming from a country that stresses black unity and strength in numbers, it is disconcerting and shocking to say the least. But after living in Europe for so long I have come to understand it. For Africans, African-Americans are not considered Africans. I agree with that, because aside from the color of our skin, we have no other unifying theme, which Europeans of white descent generally fail to recognize. My experience with black Germans is that to me, it seems as if they are conditioned to not acknowledge their blackness. When they attempt to, then they are not considered German. But therein lines the conundrum, because white Germans don’t consider anyone that is not white as truly German. The few black Germans that I do have as friends prefer to identify more with their absent American father than their German lineage because they feel more accepted by this side of their family. Whenever I teach Afro-German children, they always exhibit signs of social interaction problems because they are treated as outsiders by other white German kids even though they are just as German as they are...but not.

In America, I was called the word nigger twice in my life. And this coming from a black man that grew up in the south. In Europe? I have lost count of the times I have been called the word nigger. And I have been called the word in various settings from train rides to the workplace by my boss. In Europe as a person of color, there is no NAACP to report incidences like this to. Businesses don’t have a division in human resources that handles situations like these. Therefore, you are more or less on your own in dealing with racist actions like this. I remember once when I was attacked by the police in Germany and I ran to one of my lawyers (I had three there) fuming. She told me that I could go to the court and possibly even win but the offending officers would only get a slap on the wrist and I would be out of a considerable amount of money. It takes a thick skin to live in Europe as a black man and I don’t advise it for everyone.

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I’m not just a freak in the boudoir

how dare you forget each and every room?

where your screams muffled as if in impending doom

when I laid it on thick

and kept it out later

hit it so good

that you give up the paper

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Don’t ask me a loaded question if you can’t handle the pearl necklace reply!

(Heaux Confessionals, verbal slap #67)

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~ CHAPTER V ~

An Introduction into the Negreaux Renaissance

Because love can’t pay the rent.

But lust?

Lust has been making ends meet for me in Berlin for months now. Not that I don’t have seven other jobs to juggle to try and make it all come together. But after getting fucked over at jobs in Berlin where I don’t get paid or where I get sexually harassed, I decided to cut out the middle man and make the money I need. I am not trying to get rich. I just want to eat. Berlin is a city where you take all the talents that you possess and figure out a way to hone those to survive.

And how did I get started in this? Of course you want to know. Everyone always does. It doesn’t matter that I am an artist and that you can see me in some show or some article at any given time here in Berlin. No, people always want to know about the sordid tales of prostitution and sex. One of my talents just so happens to be that I am an excellent fucker and there is really no need to deny the truth when it is staring me right in the face.

And how did I get started in this field?

My first weekend in Berlin was supposed to be just that, a weekend. But I fell for the city and decided to stay. After a few months, the company I did work for as a translator refused to pay me, a lawyer was necessary and she had to be paid. I had no shame. I did what I had to do. And like everything else that I do, I researched thoroughly before I threw my hat into the ring. I already knew I could have done it from the first day I moved to Germany. I am a walking fetish here and I get propositions all the time. If I really wanted to, there are plenty of German men that would be my Sugar Daddy. But I answer to no one. I do what I want to do when I want to do it. And although many of the black people here take that route, I have to far too much pride for that. No, the way I want things, they can have me…for the hour. Then, they have to go. The classic fuck and flee. And for those of you that think there is a lot of fucking going on, think again. Just the sight of me naked is sometimes enough for them to get off. It is not my fault they believe in the black mystique. Let them. It makes the time go by that much faster. Not that I could even complain, for my clients are some of the most intelligent, sincere, and sympathetic people you could ever meet.

Prices? Everyone wants to know that as well. What I charge is considered on the high end of the business...and I’m worth it. I have very few clients, and that is how I prefer it. The ones I do have are regulars, because they know quality when they see it. And I choose my clients, not the other way around. Black men are in short supply here. I’ve noticed. And my price reflects that. When approached, everything is laid on the table. And trust me; they are good-looking. They are rich. They are cultured. And so am I. That is what they prefer, and want. That is the intangible, those extra ingredients that make renting me worth it. And I call the shots. I say when. I say how. You’ve seen Pretty Woman.

And in Berlin, where there is no such thing as gay/straight, I am booked by husbands who want a black man to stud out their wife. Done. Or by a gay couple who need that extra spark. Ignited. Satisfaction guaranteed. And just what are they getting when they call me that they cannot usually get from those other black boys?

Well, not one to toot my horn (although I can, but more on that another time), I bring all these things to the table, and since my penis is not detachable, they must pay for everything that I come with. I know that some of them just want to see a black man. That is fine too, but that is no reason for anyone to think they are entitled to a special rate. When they call, the price that I am quoting encompasses all of those talents. If you do not take me up on them, that is entirely within your rights. Just as it is entirely within mine to set the bar this high and have it respected.

I am always working, whether you know it or not. When I am on the train, they remember my face. When I dance at that club, they remember my body. When I sing in that lounge, they remember my voice. Berlin is a city of million of people, but it can be as small as a baby pea. For I know that many know that I have this as a black market job. Indeed, everyone in Berlin has one of some kind. This just happens to be mine. And I am not ashamed, because at the end of the day, I look to no one to pay my bills or validate me as a person. That is all taken care of. No outside forces necessary.

And although my home may be Berlin, the truth of the matter is that most in Berlin cannot afford my services. The mayor of Berlin likes to advertise Berlin as ‘poor, but sexy’. Well, Mayor Wowereit is a goddamn lie. I have my own motto for Berlin.

Cheap and skanky.

Therefore, I travel quite frequently. I am requested the most in Belgium. And for those not in the know about Belgian culture, a quick overview. Belgians know quality. If you purchase anything from there, it is almost always of the best quality you can have. And me as an escort, it is no different. I never have to haggle with prices in Belgium. They realize I have certain prices for a reason. In Berlin, I get called and asked to barter as if this were early civilization. There are to be no compromises or concessions. And in Belgium, the question is never presented. And that agrees with me. And my clients are always respectful and courteous, as it should be. If it’s not fun for me, then it’s not fun for them, you see.

Let me tell you about one client in particular. Make that clients, because they are a Belgian couple made up of two very young, attractive guys. And it is not that they don’t love one another, for I can see it in their eyes and the way they move around me. No, they just want some additives and preservatives. A little spice…pepper to be exact. That is where I come in. Of all my clients, they call me the most. And when they call, I always come because I am guaranteed to have fun. They make sure of it.

I remember some years back when Linda Evangelista said she would not get out of bed for under a certain amount of money. Well, I don’t either, and there is a comma involved, just not as many. And just what do we do for my overnight stays in this village nestled outside of Brussels? Well, we fuck of course. I am not complaining because they are hot, and I would do it for free if circumstances were different. But we also discuss everything under the sun, we watch their wedding videos, and occasionally, one of their two dogs will jump into the midst of it all and lick one of us on the ass. Usually me, since mine is the most unfamiliar (I suppose).

And sleep is basically out of the question because when there are three asses, and three dicks, there are always bound to be tasks at hand…all six of those too. And the next day when I leave, I am so tired, I am out of service for at least two days, but it is always a good time had by all, and they always schedule again. Sometimes three times a month, but always at least once a month. I almost feel bad taking their money, but not really. I am shocked they call so much. It is more than the sex. We all know that. I add ambiance. I add spark to their overworked lives, which they desperately need. I know this and they admit it.

So without further adieu, here are the stories. This is only the introduction. I hope you were paying attention. Welcome to Heaux Confessionals.

There’s more later...

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back the fuck up

my jurisdiction is beyond your reach

for I am President, CEO

the head of this CIA

the leader of this pack

the H.N.I.C.

and you muthafucka...

are impeached

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"Fuck The Dow. Fuck NASDAQ. This stock? Never plummets!"

(Heaux Confessionals, verbal slap #31)

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~ CHAPTER VI ~

The Law of Supply and Demand

Escorting for me has usually been few and far between for a number of reasons. The main reason is because I usually made enough money juggling my other jobs that it is not necessary. Secondly, if it were my only job and I did it full-time, I would be bored to tears as it usually meant just alot of sitting around. But the main reason and the main reason for this commentary?

Cheap ass escorts!

Specifically cheap black escorts. This open letter, is a literary slap to their idiocy as a rarity in Europe. Anywhere else in the civilized world,