tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34752328444327757062011-04-21T17:13:14.701-07:00A journal of lost inhibitions, lewd acts, and sacred profanities...Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.comBlogger301100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-21346488389232315672009-01-07T13:19:00.000-08:002009-01-07T13:43:18.753-08:00

When I think of you, I can't help but think of them. A wish. A fantasy out of nowhere. Our unborn children, holding hands, in the night of the abandoned playgrounds, theme parks, places forgotten a long time ago and left to the wind, weeds, and rust. Then, irrationally, I'm angry with you for not feeling the same way. Then I'm angry at myself for being irrationally angry. It goes on like this.*"

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-69277951812245170452008-12-30T15:09:00.000-08:002008-12-30T15:14:03.921-08:00

Soon, then, the compartments will swallow you like they do, they always do. First you will be in a large compartment so vast I won't even realize it's there. Then, that compartment will shrink. And narrow. And shorten. Before long, you will be in a small room, in a mansion full of many rooms, where it won't hurt, though you'll be a tooth in the gears of my divine discontent machine. Then I'll

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-40445651883103087952008-12-23T15:04:00.000-08:002008-12-23T15:13:41.354-08:00

Oh Comely - Neutral Milk HotelOh comely, I will be with you when you lose your breath,Chasing the only meaningful memory you thought you had left.With some pretty, bright and bubbly terrible sceneThat was doing her thing on your chest.But oh comely,It isn't as pretty as you'd like to guessIn your memory, you're drunk on your autonomy.It doesn't mean anything at all.Oh comely,All of your friends

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-19411091495462563802008-12-16T23:58:00.000-08:002008-12-18T03:39:02.860-08:00

I'll tell you about the woman I love, then.We've known each other half our lives. I turned 34, two months ago. We met in high school. Actually, no, I saw her on a bus on the way to my high school orientation, she and her best friend, sharing a seat. Later, they turned out to be my classmates. I had a huge crush on her best friend for about a year. But Cheryl I formed a subversive, special bond

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-50893368157140611202008-12-10T22:10:00.000-08:002008-12-11T00:25:37.594-08:00

"I guess if you don't want to talk to me, that's fine," says my mother on the VOIP line. I roll my eyes and breathe."Look, we spoke 5 hours ago. And I just spent 2 hours at the gym. I'm really, really tired.""I know, I know. Okay." There's an uncomfortable pause. "Call me tomorrow, then."We hang up. I won't call, of course. Because she'll have called three times by this time tomorrow, and if I

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-14464668212064635172008-12-10T13:42:00.000-08:002008-12-10T14:05:19.889-08:00

This body, once thin, stiff with pain from a freeway collision, a previous illness, a back injury in the military, is now lean, and strong. And getting stronger. My trainer and I work three days a week, and we indoor climb two days. And now I'm looking at a Pilates Studio for something twice a week. To work out the muscles I don't hit at the gym with the weights and the resistance. I go now for

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-60205434444762065382008-12-08T01:05:00.001-08:002008-12-08T02:28:57.888-08:00

I'll call her Lana. And her juices were drying on my sticky fingers like fruit sap, as I drove down the canyon from her home at 4.30am last night/yesterday morning. I was also heartbroken--I'd fallen in love with someone, and it hadn't worked out very well, and I was recovering, or attempting to recover, and so I drove to fuck Lana in an attempt to fuck this other woman out of my system.It was

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-25129606501010457352008-07-31T01:20:00.000-07:002008-07-31T03:00:43.250-07:00

An earthquake that ripples underneath a car moving in excess of 70 mph on the freeway feels like a tire explosion. It is a sick, disturbing quickening that happens in your stomach, especially if you've lifted off by instinct and realize too late you fucked up, and now the tail end is going to whip around you and face the wrong way. That never happened. Instead, the front end of the Toyota

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-70398394473003794552008-05-27T01:35:00.000-07:002008-05-27T03:02:06.665-07:00

We're heading West on 3rd in The Maestro's 5, with Tchaikovsky on the stereo, volume turned up to "Jesus". He hands me the hash joint. Waves his free hand in the air like a conductor, driving with the other."Is this The Nutcracker Suite?" I yell over the symphony."No, it's Swan Lake!" he yells back."I always get the two confused when I hear them!""Same composer, that's why!""Other things I

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-41306207992982521552008-04-14T05:29:00.000-07:002008-04-14T05:30:56.541-07:00

Sleepless again. It's been like this the last 2 weeks. This is the week we finish the script, but The Maestro and I didn't write all of last, as if we wanted to delay the end. Inertia. Coupled with the fact that as soon as we sign off, it's pretty much out of our hands, and subject to market forces, the realities of which have very little to do with logic, and reason. Six months. No, seven months

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-8707435066600628272008-03-17T01:30:00.000-07:002008-03-17T08:01:50.361-07:00

Everywhere, the picture looks like I’m watching life through a broken television. A tube worn out, colors faded, the sound in mono. It feels like real-time nostalgia. When the present moment feels so very far away.Sometimes it’s a carousel of feelings and memories, jumbled together with no context. It’s a Christmas morning that never happened but should have; it’s my first time alone in a new

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-25537806673599796152007-12-21T13:52:00.000-08:002007-12-21T14:15:34.520-08:00

"Oh these moments in time, my friends. They make us remember how we'll always feel. Hours, minutes, seconds captured, embellished, sung about. We can make you think or feel anything we want."- Long lost Morrissey quote that never existed.The state of my industry is as dismal as the weather at the moment. Everywhere I turn, I see cutbacks. Expense accounts shriveling. Development money dried up.

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-91565270496359894022007-12-16T22:32:00.000-08:002007-12-17T01:52:54.873-08:00

Bob Addict paces the floor while Jim Addict sat behind him at a desk, chairing the meeting, occasionally checking his phone for text messages."I don't ever wanna go back there again, man. I don't ever wanna feel the way I felt that day, man, 'cos what they say is true, man, you never forget the last day you got high. And I don't ever wanna question my sexuality like that again, man. I don't ever

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-86969642157194445662007-10-24T03:16:00.000-07:002007-10-24T06:35:17.423-07:00

A rambling break from the hiatus to say this:In the months that I've moved to this city I've seen a different kind of action. In other words I haven't fucked anyone but a lot else has been percolating in the soup of things.The scene earlier tonight had become familiar over the past few weeks: me, stretched out on the Maestro's Italian recliner, in DK jeans and a v-necked undershirt, barefoot. The

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-10378495662059369202007-09-13T12:18:00.000-07:002007-09-13T12:29:38.478-07:00

Ouch. I've been soooo slack. And for that you must forgive me—my gentlemanwhorish life has been in upheaval for the past couple of months, and things became far too busy to write.The upheaval has been of the good kind, if you're curious. There have been absinthe, hash and pot parties with Euromodels. There have been new friendships forged, and some really cool career opportunities have come my

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-22677949034532610242007-08-09T11:16:00.000-07:002007-08-09T11:56:36.227-07:00

"Does your camera take good pictures?""Yeah, why?""I need some head shots. I'm trying to get some commercial work.""Wow, cool, yeah come over.""Can I borrow your printer so I can type out my resumé, too?""Of course."She was from Wichita, Kansas, and was still new to the city. She was renting a room from a friend of mine and the first time I saw her over at his place, I was slightly startled."I

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-60492355771195824502007-07-08T10:44:00.000-07:002007-07-08T18:40:02.616-07:00

I stood in the noonday heat, sweating and getting a farmer's tan, as she rifled through my old junk—a 25 disc CD-changer, and old TV/VCR combo, my books. I was stoned and drinking Laotian beer, my head buzzing, and I felt like a reptile; an iguana baking in the sun.She was friendly. Attractive. In high end running pants and a tank, and sweating lightly from a brisk walk or slow jog. She told me

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-40348292429778120172007-07-02T12:53:00.000-07:002007-07-02T15:00:40.729-07:00

She was a Jewish woman in her early forties from the upper middle class. She had lovely Eastern European bone structure that was just slightly weathered, and dark hair. She was sucking my cock in the hotel room chair that her husband had reserved and paid for. He had dropped her off three minutes earlier. It made me feel bold, and I reached down and tore her blouse open. The buttons exploded

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-35531450891895860142007-06-25T03:07:00.000-07:002007-06-25T10:21:50.687-07:00

"Are we in a trailer park?""I think so.""Shay said it was a 'mobile home area'.""Isn't that just a trailer park?""I guess.""I suppose it's a decent trailer park."We were cruising in J's hooptie and it was dark outside. Two or three of the mobile homes had lights on in bedrooms and so forth but that was it. We were here to meet D, a petite blond for a threesome. It was referral sex. A friend of

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-81781850493007462462007-06-22T16:54:00.000-07:002007-06-25T03:10:12.726-07:00

A major project and a life suddenly busy with details, have kept me from updating this blog as much as I'd like to, playing tag with La Fille Mariée and entering Sugasm, as Curvaceous Dee inquired.When I was a schoolboy, I was bad with my homework, too.However, I want to very much thank Chelsea Girl for picking up my Ninth Post in Fleshbot's "Peep This" Sex Blog Roundup. I did not know this

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-56187213615660004962007-06-11T00:36:00.000-07:002007-06-11T01:06:12.427-07:00

"You taste like... spring water or something," she said and laughed, when we were done. M tasted like a woman. Thick and musky and sweet. My face was covered in her brine and my lips were salty with her cunt.Her cunt was a mess, my cum was inside her and I pull her back because I want to taste it, to taste us in her, but she gets up and steps into her panties."To save the best part of you for

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-81163148103326432272007-06-05T15:28:00.000-07:002007-06-06T04:06:12.885-07:00

4 o'clock in the afternoon, I stood at the steps of the dance academy and waited for Reneé. She appeared a minute later, in a short dress and heels. We smiled, hugged, and kissed. She smelled faintly of sweat.Halfway between the building and the car, blood thundering in my brain, I kissed her for serious. She kissed me back, hard. Our teeth clapped. Her lips were soft. She tasted like gum.In the

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-60429515400896723872007-05-31T00:23:00.000-07:002007-05-31T02:14:11.759-07:00

"How many cocks have you sucked since the last time we were together?" I asked her roughly. Her face was in my hands, her hair was plastered to her forehead. She was on her knees, I was on her sofa bed in the living room. She'd moved again. It was hot in the new apartment. She had no air-conditioning. The air was thick."Two," she said. Grabbing my cock. Licking the side of my shaft from base to

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-60027626781480112822007-05-23T15:33:00.001-07:002007-05-23T15:57:20.176-07:00

"I have a finger inside my cunt and a finger inside my ass," she said, as her sigh filtered through the phone. "It feels so good."I listen. I'm laying back on my sofa. I'm hard. I listen."I need to fuck you again.""Yes, me too.""When?""Next weekend? Yes?""Yes."She comes. I listen. She makes beautiful noises. Everything about her is beautiful. She is grace, even in the stagnant shitholes of time.*

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-86127648812033849162007-05-18T03:14:00.000-07:002007-05-19T14:21:58.597-07:00

A hundred strokes of the bamboo cane. 100. The number, arbitrary. It just popped into my head, and to my surprise, she said that was the number she had in mind as well. I was suspicious. She'd never done this before. Did this bitch know what a cane felt like? I decided if she did, she would again and if she didn't, all the better--she soon would. I put in an order for a faggot of canes in 5

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-60868795281669202522007-05-14T23:54:00.000-07:002007-05-16T11:19:25.487-07:00

She was smoking a clove at the window of her studio, a cheap place she rented in a mildly seedy area off the main boulevard. My flight had touched down forty-five minutes before, and I rode the escalator down to the arrival terminal to see her waiting, smiling. She wore no shoes, which I loved. And she was almost as tall as I was."Hi," I said."Hello."We kissed lightly, then hugged each other. I

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-27272467477897779222007-05-05T06:00:00.000-07:002007-05-05T08:54:19.018-07:00

I had taken off the sheets and replaced them with cotton jersey throwaways. And there were no bedposts, so her hands and feet were leather-cuffed apart, with restraint straps that fit under the mattress. E, a Japanese foreign exchange student who played classical piano like a virtuoso, was studying for her MBA in America and as it turned out, acts of sadomasochism and bondage in my home. She was

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-41701734464953871132007-04-30T01:53:00.000-07:002007-04-30T02:29:45.837-07:00

I was a good boy this weekend. It was tragic. However, I'm taking the opportunity to express my gratitude and reciprocate some of the tremendous blogging goodwill that's been directed my way. The realization that this blog had just two posts when this happened is not lost on me.First, none of this would have happened if it wasn't for an arsonist who calls herself Anna Smash, and this little post

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-5783702149220517842007-04-22T13:20:00.000-07:002007-04-30T02:43:39.960-07:00

M is a married woman. Wed to a semi-prominent family in the Business. A gorgeous, renaissance beauty with Guinevere hair and alabaster skin. Her husband is pre-occupied, intoxicated, or soft, because she drives one hour each way to get fucked, hard. And for the both of us, it'd been a while--last September was our previous tryst, in a motel room off the freeway, her fantasy.Last night it took

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475232844432775706.post-63855890066612570232007-04-05T10:38:00.000-07:002007-04-06T09:54:02.017-07:00

She had her blonde hair cut just above her shoulders, heavily textured and cheekily pieced with grease and paste. And I had a handful of it in my fist, pulling her head back, then towards me. She was yielding easily. I had met her 20 minutes ago, and now I could see the blonde hairs on her arm start to stand."You're wet, aren't you?" I whispered. She groaned and mumbled. I put a finger on the

Gentleman Whorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02533615238899790317noreply@blogger.com3