SAD CONFESSION: "I" Would Have Made A Horrible Gigolo"
This is Richard Gere
Right now, I am faced with a terrible personal dilemma. I am enduring much personal torture comparing myself against film star, Richard Gere, who added to his fame by starring a monster film named, "American Gigolo."
You all remember this flick, so really, there isn't any reason for me to go into elaboate detail explaining what you already know because I realize that you all have lives to live.
Why Richard Gere is so crucial to my story is that "I" am mentally-torturing myself by comparing how it would have been for me to be a real-life gigolo just like Gere's film that was famous in 1980.
At first thought, all single men at ages ranging from sixteen to twenty, when they just hear the word, "gigolo," their mouths fly-open, drool starts pouring out on their shirts while their minds and judgement turn into Jell-O. Probably grape flavor.
Being a gigolo to uneducated guys only means being with hot girls every night of the week, lavish gifts, being escorted to fine eateries by the same gorgeous ladies, and being showered by expensive clothes, cars, and jewels.
Some life, huh, guys? You better know it's some kind of life. But is that all you know is just the outside of the picture?
Are you really aware of what all is involved with being a professional-gigolo? Guess what? If you have set your bar low, the same amount of preparation also goes into being an average gigolo.
For those in my readership who do not know that "gigolo," the word, means, it stands for an occupation for fitting-men who make a great living just making pretty women happy--doing whatever they ask, at any time of the day or night.
"A kept man," is more fitting to describe this loving-occupation. Well, "occupation," is not the right word. "Job" is more like it. A job that if the man is dedicated enough, he will retire happy and wealthy. With a ton of great memories.
There might be a few of you guys who are ready to blurt-out, "a gigolo? Hey, man! That's the job for me! I am going to quit my job on the oil rig and see whom I have to get this job tomorrow."
Good luck with that is all I can say, for being a gigolo means getting yourself established as a professional gigolo is the first thing you do. And the way that I figure it, you only need to satisfy one, maybe two, rich ladies, and hey, the word-of-mouth advertising will take care of the rest.
That part would have been easy for me since I adore women so much.
But there is a lot more to being a gigolo. A whole lot more.
And that's why I named this story, "I Would Have Made A Horrible Gigolo."
IN ORDER FOR "ME" TO BE A SUCCESSFUL GIGOLO , IT WOULD REQUIRE ME TO . . .
BE AVAILABLE AT ALL HOURS OF THE DAY OR NIGHT
to go to some ravishing woman's six-million dollar home and spend some time with her to the tune of $10,000, cash, check or debit card. Why this "goes against my grain," is because I love my sleep way too much to "not" have a bedtime just for me. I've stayed up for as long as four days and nights at the newspaper where I was formerly-employed as we were working on a huge special section for a hospital expansion, and that is murder, guys. Pure murder. If you love losing sleep, then by all means, "go for it." Be a gigolo.
GETTING MY TEETH CLEANED BY A DENTIST ONCE A MONTH
and this isn't "my cup of tea." I personally have nothing against dentists, but it's the making the appointment, showing-up and waiting for hours and then having to fork-out my hard-earned money for whiter teeth simply because one of my beautiful women clients wants my teeth as white as those of George Clooney. I say, "take me as I am, or not at all." My teeth is my own business. Not those of a woman who says she is in charge of my teeth.
BEING A MEMBER OF THE LOCAL GYM
for a weekly-work out. Oh yeah, "Julie," loves hard, washboard abs, pecs, and other muscle names. I hate gyms. I hate the aroma of male perspiration. And some personal trainer named, "Lukie," yelling at me through a bull horn to "work it, buddy," and other stupid motivational phrases. If a lady client isn't satisfied with my company and love-making skills without noticing that I am few pounds overweight, then so long, babe. I got to have my Butterfinger candy bars and McDonald's Whopper's at various times of the week.
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More about Richard Gere
This Guy - - -Take A Good Look At Him
HAVING TO WEAR TIGHT-FITTING DESIGNER JEANS
because one of my spoiled women clients love to have role play and me as John Travolta, starring in "Urban Cowboy," when I am called to her expensive, security-controlled houseboat in Malibu. Hey, I love worn-out Faded Glory jeans. Learn to love it.
BEING FORCED TO IGNORE THE AGE-DIFFERENCE
in "Jacqueline," the 77-year-old, wealthy widow of a highly-successful oil baron in Omaha. Now, looking past her sagging body is one thing, but actually flirting with her and nibbling of her wrinkled neck, well, I just have a certain boundary that I will not and cannot cross. I do have some principles.
BEING ABLE TO "COOK-UP" SMALL TALK
right before I retire from an 18-hour day of gigoloing. Yes, it would be my luck that the last gal, "Sylvia," would have a sudden-urge for some long-distance "pillow talk," at 3 a.m. and she hits me up for some whispering and it's all I can do to keep my eyelids from closing. Talk about work. Buddies, this is harder work than paving a road in Fulton County, Georgia, in mid-August. And as for small-talk, all I got is, "huh? Yeah, you are one hot lady," "do what? Oh, zzzzzzzz, sorry. Here's my Alan Alda impression . . .zzzzzz"
ALWAYS HAVING TO PERFORM NO MATTER WHAT
the circumstances may hold. Let's imagine that a new lady client, "Judy," is a 22-year-old single woman who loves to spend her daddy's money, but one problem: "Judy" is a nymphomaniac who pays me $500.00 an hour in cash for my "marathon romance skills." As in the point made in above item, this is tough work. If I can hold-out for say, two hours, impressing "Judy," with my fluid moves and then ten minutes later, a "you ready?" comes from her pouting lips and I would have to say, "girl, find yourself a machine, for I am only a man," and vanish.
OH, TALK ABOUT TORMENT, HAVING TO PRETEND
that "Judy's" best friend, "Maxine," a 30-year-old divorcee who has secured half of her pro-athlete's fortune, but she is 55 pounds overweight, well, that would be like waking up in the lowest realm of Hades. I mean, I am, at heart, a realist. And rather than hurt "Maxine's" feelings, I would make-up some easy excuse and not take her money. You see, guys, how much a pro-gigolo has to contend with?
AND THE "MAIN" REASON THAT "I" WOULD BE A HORRIBLE GIGOLO
is that if Pam, my wife, ever found out, well, there would go my newly-found part-time job as well as my life.
What about you?
This Gorgeous Woman
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