Birthday Girl
There I was, entering the last year of my twenties, feeling horribly alone and unsure of what the future held, not to mention desperately in need of a sympathy screw. Meanwhile, my saved luxury birthday money was burning a hole in my pocket.
Thus, the male prostitute.
The idea came to me as I was idly (and miserably) scanning the singles pages in the newspaper. The sedate ad for male escorts caught my eye, its italic text inviting and secretive. Discreet, caring, talented. At first I dismissed the idea as preposterous, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about it…
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Thursday, July 28, 2011









