I have made a commitment to myself this year to do more writing and utilize my blog to show what I am working on for my book “A Hooker’s Guide to Happiness”. Here is how I’m thinking it will start:
My name is Lance Navarro and I am a Hooker. I don’t often use the term Hooker when discussing my work, typically using the more socially agreeable term “escort”, however in truth, “Hooker” is more forward and honest and less euphemistic than “escort”. It’s extremely rare that I am paid JUST to go to a show with someone, or to dinner, or sit around and talk for hours on end. Though these activities can be a component of work, they are almost never the solitary focus of the date. My job is to have sex, and by way of sex, I entertain, educate, and facilitate better physical and psychological health. This is probably not the perspective that a majority of people have of a sex-worker or “Hooker.” We are inundated early on with a generally negative view of those that engage is sex acts for money. We are told that these people must be uneducated, desperate, dirty, working on the streets, likely molested as a child, drug-addicted and in a chronic state of self-loathing and sadness. These taboos exist because there are examples out there of this type of person. Someone who, because of a social system that ACCEPTS there will always be homelessness and poverty, is forced to make choices outside their level of comfort or ability in order to survive.
No one can ever excel at something unless they have a passion for it. If you are passionless about your work, than you are a WHORE. I know because I was once a whore, 6 years ago, before I became a Hooker. I will get to my previous career in retail later in this introduction. If you have no passion for your work, it drains your life-force. It’s debilitating when you commit so much of your time and energy to something without having any understanding of how your work is helping the world. If helping the world is something that doesn’t really interest you, well, you might as well just stop reading this book. I deeply believe that the process toward self-awareness and actualization is cyclical, between the world and us. We must first start by seeing the world in a different way, by seeing others in a beautiful way, being less cynical and judgmental and more optimistic and compassionate, we will begin seeing ourselves in a different way. When we see ourselves as “gorgeous, talented and fabulous” (to pull from my favorite Marianne Williamson quote, which I’m going to put at the end of this paragraph, because I love it so much), we become better people. When we allow our love and light to replace our fears and insecurity, our presence makes the world a better place. As Mother Teresa said, “There are no great acts, only small acts of great love”.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
I frequently joke that I felt like a much bigger whore when I worked in retail. It always gets a good laugh, but I mean it literally. When I worked in retail I was part of a system that was ultimately designed around ONE principle, MAKE MORE MONEY. It didn’t matter how well I did last year, the following year needed to be even better. I did things all day long that I didn’t enjoy and many things that I didn’t even understand the point or value of. I enjoyed parts of my job, but I certainly wouldn’t say I had a passion for it. It’s very rare that I don’t enjoy my work anymore because I have a passion for what I do. I have nothing but compassion for those sex-workers who feel trapped, depleted and desperate, the same that I feel for the working poor, who, at minimum wage, struggle to survive, much less ever get ahead. It’s a hard world to live in when our self-worth is so tied to our financial-worth.
I feel blessed that I get to do something that draws on my natural skills at connecting with someone on an emotional, physical and spiritual level (and sex is spiritual, why do you thing people scream “Oh God” so much during it). Notions like young or old, fat or skinny, smooth or hairy are insignificant when I am looking into the eyes of a man who is so deeply appreciative of the bond we are sharing, he’s loving himself and loving me inside of him. He is learning things like how to relax, how to trust, how to allow himself to receive pleasure and how to better bring pleasure. He is learning to communicate verbally and non-verbally and how to ask for the things that he wants and realize that there is no shame in asking. He is satisfying the biological need to connect with another human being, and not just anyone, but someone that can help restore the loving energy that life, and all the stresses of it, have depleted. I recognize that I play very different roles with each of my clients, however they almost all tell me that it is my gentle and compassionate nature, as well as how honest and open I am, that makes them want to spend time with me. While they like my body very much, it’s whats inside that makes me the man that I am and makes me exceptional at what I do. After you hear that enough times, you start believing it.
Now that you know a bit about who I am now, I’ll give you a little background at how I arrived at this place in my life. Like so many of life’s journeys, I never expected to be where I am today, and as, so often the case, I couldn’t be happier.
Eight years ago, my life underwent the greatest transformation so far when I moved from Richmond, Virginia to the east bay of California, just 30 minutes outside of San Francisco. Though I was very accustomed to moving, as my mother, twin sister and I did it 7 times between the age of 5 (when my parents divorced) and 13 (made our final move to Williamsburg). Prior to Williamsburg all of our moves were less than an hour away from one another, and all in Virginia. I had never lived outside of the state of Virginia, so after finishing college, with my Bachelors in Fashion Merchandising, I was ready to seize any opportunity to get away and start a different life in a different place. I began working for an upscale fashion realtor, based out of Seattle, when it opened its first store in Richmond, just a year and a half before I graduated. In order to avoid libel we will just call them Dormsnort.
Dormsnort hired me to work in the young men’s department, where I learned the importances of a well executed sweater fold, waterfall merchandising and color stories. My sales and dedication to customer service got me recognized by the store manager and 2 weeks after I finished college, she offered me a management position in Women’s Accessories, a department I knew almost nothing about. After 2 years of excellent business in that department I saw an opportunity to finally get out. Their was an opening at their store in Walnut Creek, CA, a city that is pretty much know for it’s downtown shopping district, and almost nothing else. It is the place where all of the wealthy in the surrounding towns and cities come to spend their “silicone-valley” money. The hills of Alamo and Danville and just littered with mansions, one after another, the big ones going for $20 million, the small ones a petty $5 million. An INSANE amount of wealth concentrated in an area where there was an availability of land where the wealthy could build their palaces, with their land and their fences and feel safe. With mansions and new money inevitably comes trophy wives, and at Dormsnort we loved them, they paid our bills. Shopping wasn’t something done out of necessity, but as a social outing, meet for lunch, do some shopping downtown, then hit the gym before the husband gets home, greet the kids warmly over the intercom, then order dinner.
I embraced the changes in my clientele from my previous store and sought to discover ways of improving efficiency and service and was well respected and valued in the store. Then things changed. It was 2008 and the first recession hit. Suddenly and unexpectedly our store manager was replaced, then the new store manager started implementing strange practices, like having all managers manually signing in and out of a book each day. We were on salary based on a 44 hour work week, and I suppose they wanted to make sure that all managers were working at least 44 hours. Suddenly many managers started working 70-80 hours a week, something I refused to do, as a personal life was essential to me. I would still work 46-50 hours a week, but I felt that if I was performing my job efficiently, there was no reason for me to work extra hours that I’m not being paid for. I can only assume this played into the decision the store manager made to ask me to step down, stating that the job was just too big for me (with no statistical justification). I was pissed, but more than pissed I was terrified. There was no way I could pay my bills on what I would be making as a sales person, it would mean at least a 50% reduction in my income. I asked to be relocated to another store, as my ego simply could not handle being demoted and still working in the same store. They secured me a spot at the San Francisco store, in Men’s Suits. Unfortunately, this turned out worse than I feared, with the ongoing recession, sales of men’s suits dropped sharply, sharper than any other department and within 6 months they had to start laying off people. Being the newest in the department, I was one of the first to go. I felt quite differently about my layoff than I did the prior demotion. I was actually relieved to be getting out of something that was so draining and disappointing, and when I found out I would be collecting unemployment based on my pay as a manager, I was downright giddy.
Just prior to my layoff I did my first porn shoot for Raging Stallion. It was something that I had thought about doing since I was in college. I knew that I was well blessed with the necessary “equipment”, but it took me many years to get the body. While my larger motivation was the affirmation (and I don’t care what porn stars say, that is the driving motivator), with my reduction in income, I could also certainly use the money. I submitted a couple selfies to the casting agent, who then invited me to come in for a quick photo shoot with good lighting and camera. After we finished, he said, “These look great, you have an amazing cock, nice body … and now… you said in your application that you are experienced at fisting, now, are you really EXPERIENCED or is it just something that you’ve TRIED”. I thought, MY GOD, this is definitely not like any job interview I’ve ever experienced; so complimentary, so dirty, so honest, I LIKE IT! I told him that I was quite experienced and capable when it came to fisting and he offered me a job, a swap-fisting scene being shot in 3 weeks. So began a lifetime of typecasting! Once a studio with a fetish market finds out that you can take a fist, it seems that is all they want you for, even when you are the most endowed on set.
I had been dating this guy named John for about 6 months when I landed my first porn shoot. I had told him from the time that we met that I had hopes of being in porn in the near future. Though he never expressed any real resentment to the idea, once it became a reality, he was less than comfortable with the idea. We had a typical monogamous relationship, and by typical I mean it became nearly sexless after the first 2 months. He wanted to know exactly what would be happening on the set, what I would be doing and what I wouldn’t. He made it clear that he’d prefer their not be much in the way of intimacy. I wanted to respect his feelings and comfort level so I requested that the shoot be pretty focused on just the fisting. I wish I had not put such restrictions on the shoot, it was childish and limited the authenticity (of which their tends to be little in porn, but we will get to that in a bit) of the scene.
I did everything I could do to prepare for the shoot. I woke up at 7 am, to allow time for an hour in the shower, I’ll spare you the details, but surely you can imagine the preparation it takes to take a fist up the ass and make it look pretty. Also, I couldn’t eat before the shoot, which is hard for me because I am used to a big breakfast. I arrived at the studio at 9 am, and begin filling out my forms. I was struck by how professional this part of the process was, consent forms, tax forms, model releases, it almost felt like a REAL job. I met my scene partner a few minutes later as he arrived with the director and took a seat across from me and began filling out his paper work. After that we walked upstairs to the green room and waited for about half an hour while lights were set and furniture moved around. We then got undressed, leaving on nothing but our combat boots and went in to look at the set we would be working on. My scene partner then went to his duffle bag, pulled out a syringe and a couple vials. I wouldn’t say that I was shocked, but I was certainly intrigued by what he planned on injecting into himself. He explained that one was keverject, an injectable medication for erectile disfunction. While pills like Viagra and Cialis help you get hard, keverject makes and keeps you rock hard for 5-8 hours. I watched as he pulled a small amount of the drug into the syringe, than stuck the needle into the base of his dick. He then lubed up his cock and began to stroke it, for a couple minutes until it was rock hard, and that was how it stayed for the next 6 hours. I couldn’t believe going to that extent for a hard-on and decided that Viagra was good enough for me.
We started the shoot with a little bit of kissing, but tried to keep that to a minimum as I felt that was the level of intimacy that John would not be comfortable with. We moved quickly to working each others nipples and then into some oral, mostly blow jobs, but a little bit of rimming. It was while I was eating his ass that I really became aware of the “presentation” component of shooting porn. You can’t simply let loose and do what feels good, because ultimately it is all about what looks and sounds good. Normally when eating a guys ass, you want to just bury your head in the there, tongue going wild, chin hairs rubbing across his hole, but in porn, you have to make it look good, presenting the ass to the camera, and licking it from the side but making sure not to block the shot with your head or hand. When doing a “reach around”, you want to use the hand that is furthest from the camera. You also want to be tightening your core as much as possible to show definition in the abs, keep your shoulders rolled back and not hunch forward much, otherwise you run the risk of looking like you have fat rolls, LORD HAVE MERCY!
I took his fist first, riding it in several positions for certainly longer than I was comfortable, but I knew that I needed to give them at least 15 solid minutes of footage. I stuck with it until I just couldn’t take anymore, I alerted the director that my ass was finished, and he called cut. He complimented me on my performance and instructed us to take a little break and then we would swap positions. My scene partner once again went to his duffle bag and pulled out his syringe. He dick was still freakishly hard so I asked if he was doing more keverject. He said “No, this is ketamine, it helps me to relax when getting fisted”.
Ketamine is an anesthetic, developed for humans, but now mostly used on children and animals. It can separate perception from sensation, so if used in proper dosage, can minimize the discomfort of something as extreme as fisting. When someone uses too much, however, they can fall into a “k-hole”, which many describe as a near-death experience, in which they are in paralysis and feel almost like they are floating away from themselves. He assured me that he does it a lot and knows the proper dosage and will not fall into a k-hole. I never realized before how prolific drug use is for fisting bottoms. If it can be smoked, snorted or popped, I have most likely tried it, but I had never thought about using anything to make fisting easier. I’ve just always gotten by on practice and relaxation through proper breathing.
The rest of the shoot went well, I fisted him for about the same amount of time that he fisted me, at first on his back, then with my elbow supported on the bench, while he squatted on my arm. In the end he worked my nips while I shot my load, then I held him while he shot his. Cumming, while it is usually a delightful and climatic end to a passionate encounter, felt more like a ticket out. I was exhausted, hungry and was just ready to collapse, but needed to provide the “money shot” before I could collect me check. It is actually in almost every porn contract that you must provide a cum shot or else your scene rate will be cut by a certain percentage. I collected my check for $1500 and went home, hoping for some much needed calming and nurturing energy, but was met with the opposite. John wasn’t happy that there was more than just the fisting and 4 weeks later, when I was offered another shoot, he REALLY wasn’t happy. He said that he really thought I would do the one shoot and get it out of my system. Since I now was an experienced performer, they were able to pay me a bit more for this one, $1800. I had no idea at the time that I would never make that much for a scene again (the average is now about $700-900). The argument that proceeded this shoot made me decide that I did not want to do anymore porn as long as John and I were together.
To Be Continued