The Alphaville Herald

The Prince Diaries — Into The Wood

by Alphaville Herald on 25/08/08 at 11:14 am

by Prince Plutonian, virtual rent boy

He looked at me before unzipping his pants.
I froze.
“Aren’t you gonna do anything?”
Yes, I kept thinking, as he pulled out his tallywhacker. Really, Prince… you need to do something. But no matter how many times I kept telling myself to please this guy, I couldn’t move.
So there we were, on his bed, completely naked… and I choked.

How the hell did I get myself into this situation?

It started, like all the good stories do, with a girl called Ginger. I hadn’t been living my Second Life for long before I met her. She was dazzling, from head to toe. And I mean really, her sparkling outfit almost blinded me. At first I thought she was just dressed to impress… and then it dawned on me she was dressed to be undressed. She was a hooker. Or to be more precise, an escort. We struck up a conversation about how good we both looked, which then turned to Gucci and Prada (as well as some Vivienne Westwood and Rick Owens thrown in for good measure). It was at this point she realized I had to be gay. I’m sure I don’t know how she reached that conclusion. Does fashion knowledge really mean you’re a screaming ‘mo?

Anyway, as a writer, I was curious to know what it took to be an escort. As a penniless hobo, I was even more interested to find out if I had what it took to become one. Turns out I didn’t — I still had no penis. Little did I know I had to actually go out and either buy myself some tackle, or find some freebies. Ginger assured me there are free genitalia lying around all over the place but something about that image really didn’t sound right to me. So, with the escort business dissected for me by my big breasted friend (seriously, they’re like air bags), I headed out to find myself some manhood. It didn’t take long of course: sex is the biggest part of Second Life, there’s no denying that fact. But I soon found out that when you’re planning on buying yourself a dick, it’s probably best not to impulse buy, as I found out later when I stood mesmerized by a dancer’s much bigger, and much better wang.

His name was Bruno and he was beautiful. Seriously, I could have jumped him there and then, but considering I didn’t want to be labelled a freak of nature, I decided against it.. I struck up a conversation with him and before long, he was telling me all the best places to go for hair, skin, body part, clothes, etc. We sat in a cafe and talked over coffee about his dancing. I should tell you, he isn’t an escort — he’s purely a dancer — but dayum, I wish he was. I would’ve sacrificed the little cash I had to buy him there and then. But again, I restrained myself. Together, we went to a clothing store called ‘Primitive Design,’ which is now my favorite place to shop. Its stock is grungy, sexy, and affordable — something all male escorts need to be too. In fact, eighty percent of what I wear is from Primitive Design. I’m like a walking billboard… I wonder if they’ll pay me?

So with the delightfully dashing Bruno on my list of friends and Ginger’s advice still lingering on my brain, I decided I wanted to be an escort. I could earn good money, I could have fun, and I could make my profits go towards my ultimate dream: whatever that is. For now, I haven’t got a bloody clue what that is, but that’s okay… who here does? (Don’t raise your hands!) So off I went to a club, to get a job… and then I went to the next… and then the next. Turns out, there’s this universal rule that you have to be thirty days old before anyone will hire you. So, what, you’re supposed to live for thirty days without any income? However, I endured, and finally found a place I now call my new home.

Lotus has everything you could want but most importantly, it had everything I needed: good colleagues, great management, and a pole to wrap my legs around. I went back to Ginger to get some help about putting an ad together, so I could advertise my services. She told me what to write, how to write it, and then asked me if it was really something I wanted to do. At first, I didn’t understand what she meant by that. I blindly nodded with a grin and posted my ad up on the wall. I even got Bruno to teleport over to take a look. He was very impressed by the photo (and my new outfit) and I was sure he secretly wanted to rent me out.

He didn’t. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to, (and yes I know that deNile isn’t just a river in Egypt!)

My fellow staff members helped me get started at the club and I met some new people, people who were always wearing a smile (maybe a glitch in the skin?), and people who supported each other. I always tipped them for their dancing. Before, I didn’t realize how tiresome it could actually be, but after the initial excitement, I got it. When there’s people in the club, it’s a riot, but when it’s a slow night… it can drag on for a while. It was one of those nights, as I was contemplating my new and exciting life as a rent boy, when I finally got a message from a prospective client. I won’t reveal his name for privacy reasons but we’ll just call him Mr Shlong. He wanted to meet me in person and possibly hook up for a ‘date.’

I was overjoyed. Finally I was gonna get some cash for my hard work. So I went to his house and saw him in the flesh. Nice looking fella, a little older than I’d normally go for, but hey, he was paying me so I couldn’t really complain. He asked me into the bedroom and showed me his sex bed. It was a nice red bed, with lots of balls on it. Of course, I was used to dealing with balls. He laid on it and asked me to join. That’s when I realized something I really should’ve thought about a long time ago…

What the hell do escorts in SL actually do?!

Shit. All this time I’d just been going along, thinking I could earn some good cash… and I didn’t even think it all through properly. I didn’t know the escort lingo, I didn’t know much about what to do with the pose balls, and I certainly didn’t know how to talk dirty to this guy. Would I offend him if I was too rude? Or would he want me to be rude? What if he wanted me to say things I really didn’t want to say? Damnit, Prince! You’re a male prostitute, this is no time to be a snob! So there we were, on his bed, his luncheon dangling between his legs, and I was doing nothing.

Well, it appeared like I was doing nothing. In reality, I was sending Ginger a private message, typing as fast I could, to try and get some help on what the heck I was supposed to do with Mr Shlong! It wasn’t long before Ginger calmed me down and guided me through it. After about twenty minutes of sex, I started to get into it, and then it hit me like a slap in the face. No, not his penis… it was an epiphany.

Being an escort is more about dirty talk and sexy moves. Sure, that’s apart of it, but it’s only a small percentage. Being an escort is about having a personality: being able to carry a conversation, to talk to your client like he is your friend, like he’s special. Because really, don’t we all deserve that anyway? And so what if someone has to pay for it? Isn’t it better we pay for it rather than not have it at all? Everyone deserves a little companionship. Besides, I really, really like sex. It’s a hobby of mine

My first date went extremely well and I was paid a decent amount, as well as a tip. I felt on top of the world. Things couldn’t get any better.

Little did I know there would be a private detective waiting for me. Apparently Mr Shlong wasn’t as available as he’d made out.