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About Houston

Still, I’m chuffed when it works out. Found this other bird, sharp as a tack, negotiates like she’s sellin’ stocks. “How much?” I ask. She smirks, “More than your Aston Martin, babe.” Cheeky! Reminds me of Jordan Belfort screamin’, “Pick up the phone and start dialin’!”—she’s dialin’ my number, alright. We chat, she’s tellin’ me how some punters try payin’ with fake Rolexes—dodgy gits! Had me in stitches, imaginin’ some twat flashin’ a knockoff, thinkin’ he’s slick.

So you want to book a sex worker?

Records show they are both local and from out-of-state–with driver's licenses listing residences in Texas, Las Vegas, Virginia, New York.

I used to have sessions near Carson's Coffee on 3rd; that joint's a mess of mismatched chairs and stray giggles. I can remember one session… oh man, tearful and explosive since the client said, "Life's just a Brokeback Mountain moment." And I snapped: "Everybody lies, so suck it up!" Classic.

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