Honesty.

Too much goddamn honesty on this blog, that's my problem!

I'm a hot slinky 110-pound double-D cup who's "known," if you know what I mean, in the Manhattan social scene, but in my other life I'm a high-priced callgirl. I pick my clients--they have to be rich, hot, suave and genuinely caring if they want the privilege of paying $1000/hour. Often they don't even fuck me but just pay my rate to have me on their arm for a haute social function. Sometimes they take me to Bermuda. I use the money to buy perfectly-chosen designer outfits and get schmancy spa treatments and decorate my huge private apartment with tasteful art that doesn't have wolves or Bruce Campbell on it.

I have manageable hair.

Every time I fuck I blow men's minds with skills you don't even know the name of. I can take it in every hole all the time with ease and class. If he wants to hit me I take it like a champ, and if he wants me to hit him I'm not awkward and fumbling at all. I know exactly what all my limits are and I always express them perfectly honestly upfront. Men always respect them and never try to play any headgames with me, because they know me better than that.

The sex always goes perfectly; I'm always wet, he's always hard, we both always come and we both always love every minute of it. Afterwards we drink fancy wine and talk about those things that really smart sophisticated people talk about. Then he offers to let me sleep over, but I tell him that would cost extra and I'm on my way; I'm an emotional rock who can take or leave anyone.

This is my sex blog, and it's about all the awesome sex I have when I deign to make men's fantasies come true.

I never get any weird ingrown pubes.