My whole existence up till now has been a concentrated effort to carve out a happy and successful life without fucking up. I only cum inside of women who I trust and I pretty much treat people the same way I like to be treated. I stayed away from drugs for the purpose of becoming the lone survivor of my Hollywood class to find some half-assed success in entertainment. I tried to do everything the right way because I knew the potential rewards would be much greater than the immediate sins. All that fucking shit was working till I decided to take a break and move back home to the Bay Area.
I am too young for a mid-life crisis. I can only describe what I’m going through right now as a second puberty. Boredom and sex are the two driving forces which have complicated my life more than ever recently. Living in semi-mainstream industry retirement in the San Francisco Bay Area while dabbling in adult entertainment sounded like the perfect breakaway for me when I first decided to walk away full-time from the reality TV mania bullshit I’ve been involved with for so many years. If anything, I thought brainstorming some new adult industry projects during my down time would at least give me an excuse to return to L.A. eventually after some much needed relaxation.
Well, going on almost two years now and I still haven’t returned. My daily life has been reduced to meeting 20 year old girls for desert dates at ice cream parlors and having porn studio execs try to talk me out of working in the business because they say it will kill my mainstream career. Since when did porn studio guys become so caring?!?! If I still wanted to work in mainstream full-time I’d be doing it. Besides, at this point in my career, directing a 19 year old getting fucked in the ass is much more attractive to me than having a 23 year old vice president of production at Viacom fuck me in my ass in his corner office while screaming at me that I’m not worth my fee.
For those of you who follow my bullshit on a regular basis, you know I dated a dancer back in the earlier part of the year. I was a complete novice to the underground big money Silicon Valley sex trade prior to my Saturday night visits to the club to watch my girlfriend dance. The club itself was extremely clean. There was no back room. And a majority of the girls were simple naive college students giving hovering style lap dances to a large contingent of Indian engineers from Google who would carpool to the club after work. However, there were a couple of girls who used the club as a meeting place to hustle guys for high priced escorting dates.
After spending a few Saturday nights at the club drinking Snapple’s and watching my girlfriend do her spread eagle laser light show for a bunch of Arab businessmen who had never seen a fully intact clit before, I began to hear a lot of stories about a woman named Heather. And once word travelled around the club that I worked in entertainment, I started hearing feedback here and there that Heather wanted to meet me. It turns out that Heather is the owner of THE escort service in Silicon Valley. I declined the opportunity to meet Heather. Not because I have any kind of personal revulsion to the escort business. It’s just not my scene. Not something I wanted to deal with.
Months had gone by since I had any kind of interaction with my ex or communication with girls from the club, but I would occasionally get a personal text message from this anonymous “Heather” inviting me to different events and clubs for the purpose of having a “business meeting”. I always declined until the end of July when I finally decided to take one of Heather’s phone calls to see what the hell she wanted after all these months. I thought for sure she was going to try and shake me down for contacts and use my rolodex to pimp out her girls. I wanted nothing to do with that bullshit. Instead, it turned out that Heather was currently residing in Tahoe and she said she wanted to hire my services for a couple of days to help her produce a pilot for a reality TV show involving her girls. Now, my instincts told me right away that this was going to be a huge clusterfuck. Everyone I know from my dry cleaner to my cop friend wants to make a reality TV show. A woman engaging in alleged illegal prostitution wanting to publicize her alleged crimes by producing a TV show… It was such a fucked up yet intriguing scenario on a slow week that I found myself not being able to say no. After all, her voice sounded so sweet and genuine over the phone. At the very least, I would politely decline her offer after only driving a couple of hours and then hit the blackjack tables. At the very most, I would take on this amateur assignment under an assumed name and pocket a few bills and enjoy the amusing dysfunction. And who knows what other shit… What a mother fucking mistake this trip turned out to be.
I arrived last Monday August 3rd and checked into my all expense paid “Scarface” suite.
I knew by the looks of this massive 3 bedroom fucking suite that I was suddenly in over my head. There is no way this woman would have spent all this money unless she wanted something else from me. For the first time in my life I let down my guard and allowed someone else the opportunity to set me up. All the conversations with Heather prior to the trip and the warning signs started passing before my eyes. Now how do I get out of it. What a complete rookie asshole move to get myself into a situation like this. To be continued on Friday.