My dear, late grandfather once told me to never think I was above the fray, meaning that I was no better than any one else. In a genre like t-girls and escorting, contemporarily, now the fetish goes hand in hand with paying for what for what you desire. In saying that I’m not above the fray, I started out in this wild, confusing foray by purchasing my sexual need just like men have been doing since Mary Magdalene accepted gratuity for biblical blow jobs!
I know a lot of girls, we’ve smoked a few blunts and sipped a little Crown, and as my hand came down, I knew I wanted the helmet polished, but as Tessio would say, “for old times sake”, I knew by the end of the day they were going to want something for their services rendered. Sometimes I got lucky, most times I didn’t! Pay for Play is the game; it’s all about the paper!
I can call myself a silver tongued motherfucker who could talk a turtle out of its shell, but reality tells me it’s not going to happen. Pay for play is forever! Even if it’s done by proxy; the “ducketts” must be handed over! T-girls do not have a benefit plan, ya gotta pay!
I’ve gotten enough free booty to count on all of my fingers and toes, but I’m not above the scrimmage to say I’m haven’t or not going to pay for what my little head desire! Shit, even Tiger Woods pays for playing through the ‘howay! We all can’t be Kilakali!
For all the dudes that hide behind their keyboards and brag that they don’t pay for play, well that’s easy for them to say that because they dwell in the shadowy world of cyber space, but the process could not subsist if money wasn’t the carrot that moves the donkey. For all the guys that are honest and live in the large urban areas, they long for the return of the strolls so they can drain their ATM accounts to get at those sparkling booties that sashay under the stars and street lights! As PT Barnum says, “Everybody pays!”
All the real playas keep a jar of Vaseline by their bedside, huh?