Here’s a few excerpts from her article:

So my husband and I got a whore. I’m hoping, unless you’re some sick depraved dissolute of a person, this isn’t the kind of thing you hear everyday. If it is, fuck you, I thought it was pretty gangster. So, ok, where do I begin? I wanted to do something special for his birthday, isn’t that how all these stories start? We were married for just over a year, and in Gemini years, that’s like twelve.

The adventure started when I called up my asshole friend, Chelsea and asked if she knew any “massage therapists”. Chelsea insisted that this chick would come over and with the proper amount of alcohol, do whatever we wanted.

That night, I made the arrangements. I set the mood, turned on some Enigma, and poured champagne. My husband, however, paced around the house like a lunatic, wondering if he was going to get arrested for having a hooker visit our home. The girl arrived at the proper whoring hour of 9pm. I answered the door in a see-through bra and undies. I led her upstairs to my bedroom where she set up her massage table. About thirty minutes in, I started to realize something was wrong. This girl wasn’t a prostitute!! This girl was a legit massage therapist! Fucking Chelsea set me up. The entire hour she wouldn’t shut up about my rotator cuff and various bulging discs.

…As we scurried out of possibly the saddest airport on Earth, I honed in on a photo of a thin brunette with elbows for boobs and made the call. “Hello?” A cutesy voice chimed in instantly.

“Hi, um, Ava?”, I stuttered. Come on Jenny, pull your shit together, you are a bad ass renegade on the run.

“Yeah, well, my husband and I are in town tonight and we were wondering if you (we?) could get together”, I coughed out.

“Sure, what time were you guys thinking?“ she said plainly. Dude, this girl is a hooker right? I mean, she realizes that I am talking about sex acts? Her tone made me feel like I was hiring a fucking babysitter!

“Why are you not weirded out by what a freak I am?“ I thought silently.

“How about, four?” I said. I am a total loser!

Who calls a whore when it is still light out? Better question, who wants a whore coming to their room when they are stone sober and on their way to a family birthday party? I’ll tell you who bitches, me the renegade, that’s who!

“Sounds good. Why don’t you call me when you get to your hotel, give me the room number and I’ll be there.”

“Done”, I cooed and hung up.

We checked into the Four Seasons under the name Drew Peacock.

…

Before I could answer the question, there was a knock on the door. My husband opened it to reveal a no more than three foot tall Filipino chomping gum and twirling her hair.

“Eva?” he exclaimed. “Hi, guys.” she purred as she walked over to a chair and sat down.

I was a bit taken aback. This girl looked nothing like her photos online. In fact, to me, she kind of resembled one of those little island pygmies from Gulliver’s Travels. I wasn’t sure how this was going to work out.

“Why is everybody so giggly?” she went on.

I really only had one way of answering this which was, “Well, because you are a hooker and you are in our hotel room.”

“Oh, and you didn’t mention that you were a gartenswerk in your profile.” I decided against saying anything. Further laughter ensued until finally my husband said, “So, should we talk business?”

I took this to mean that he was willing to look past the munchkin factor and proceed as planned. Eva asked for three hundred dollars just to talk shop. She explained that it would just cover her bills and her “door fee.” Bullshit the kind of party we were going to have was up to us. In other words, hinged on how much more cash we were willing to fork over.

“Why is Bilbo Baggins being such a sheisty little bastard?” I thought.

Frustrated, my husband handed over the money and bluntly said, “OK. What can you do for three hundred more?”

Eva, laughed and asked us to hold as she called her fucking nail lady and told her she was going to have to push her appointment back an hour. We just sat there as she described what was going on with her acrylic and how she needed her fill a week sooner than usual. Once she hung up, my husband notified me that he was going to have to run down to the ATM for more cash.

…

My husband burst back into the room just before she asked me to start spinning the bed sheets into gold. He was out of breath and Eva talked over him.

“Ok, so, I will go down on him, and you can sit on his face, ok?” she declared.

I was jarred by how fast she got down to business when the money was near. She was like a shark circling its prey.

“Um…ok.” I gulped.

As she started to pull her rip-away outfit off, my husband stopped her.

“You guys, stop, this isn’t going to happen!” he stated. “I went down to the ATM and I couldn’t get anymore money out!” he said frankly. The shark looked angry.

“Do you accept cashier’s checks, I offered?

“No.”, said Eva, putting her top back on.

It was now five o’clock. An entire hour past and we accomplished nothing. Eva got back on her cell and made another call.

“Yeah, they can’t get anymore money. Just pull around front. I’m coming down,” she said, to who I assume was her pimp on the other end of the line.

…I was able to convince my husband to stay another night by promising we could spend the next day lounging by the pool and sipping mai tais. My ulterior motive of course being, “operation: finish what I started.” I told him that in exchange we were calling his host friend who works in the casinos and having him send us the most professional call girl he knows. He obliged and within thirty minutes our phone was bombed with photos of the “merchandise.” Aside from feeling like a dirty old man, I felt accomplished. “Finally, a professional” I declared. My husband stared at me like I was a small Larry Flynt. We texted Keisha, (hooker # 2) that we would love to meet up sometime tomorrow.

…

The chick was wearing five-inch heels and had tits that seriously could have knocked anybody under six feet tall unconscious. There was no way she was passing for anything other than maybe Barbarella. In other words, she was hot. I took my cues from the previous day’s disaster and cut to the chase.

“We want you to go down on him for six hundred bucks,” I proclaimed. Keisha, being the professional that she was, didn’t bat an eye.

“Great,” she said plainly. In that instant I realized, I love this whore. First, she informed us that she wasn’t into girls and that if I wanted any action it would only be coming from my husband. I was fine with this at the time, but in retrospect, what the fuck? For six hundred bucks, I’ll be telling you what you’re into! She walked us through all the potential upsets: Wife gets hurt and wants to stop, husband can’t get erect; wife and husband can’t focus because they are too aware of the other’s emotions etc. I felt like I was in driver’s ed. and I loved it! This is exactly the type of information I wanted to be armed with. My husband, however, didn’t have the same reaction. With sweaty palms, clearly a bi -product of all the newly discovered potential for failure, he undressed and sat on the bed. Keisha instructed me to do the same.

…

“Do you want to go down on him a bit?” Keisha suggested. In my mind I was thinking, “No, dude, that’s why I paid you the six hundred dollars, to do the work for me! I’m going to be over here eating chips.” Of course, there was no way my husband was going to let me get away with that so I obliged.

The most exciting part of the day was Keisha complimenting me on my blowjob skills. I love approval of any kind. Sadly, however, I think it was pretty obvious that my husband and I were both bored. He quickly became flaccid and we were left with nothing to do but stare at each other.

“I kind of feel like you are a giant baby and we are putting a diaper on you,” I blurted out.

“Umm, that’s not what I wanted to hear, Jen.” my husband laughed.

…On the plane ride home I texted Keisha and thanked her for her work. What ever it was she had done, worked. I was instantly more aroused by my husband. He seemed so mysterious to me. Even though the actual act was relatively boring and a financial bust, the reliving of it grew hotter and hotter in my mind. “What a sweet whore,” I said to my husband, staring down at the flickering lights of good ole Sin City. He laughed and grabbed my leg. Something was rekindled between us. Or perhaps something blossomed that was never there before. I don’t know which it was, but I felt closer.

There’s something about Mary… and it’s a penis.

These pictures were taken yesterday as Cameron Diaz and her boy toy Alex Rodriguez spent some time at a gym in Venice. Even though I really loved Cameron Diaz in the Shrek movies, I don’t like her decision of becoming an ogre in real life too. Seriously, with those arms she could jerk off a rhino. Must just be the HGH side effects she is getting from swallowing all of A-Rod’s spunk.

Guess her feeding A-Rod popcorn during the Super Bowl was less about her being a cute love-monkey to her boyfriend and more about her stuffing food into her submissive date’s mouth. “I don’t care if you don’t want any effing popcorn… you’ll eat popcorn when I stuff it in your piehole and LIKE IT. Now dance for me… DANCE! God I’ve gotta shave my back again. Damn it!”

There’s something about Mary… and it’s a penis.

These pictures were taken yesterday as Cameron Diaz and her boy toy Alex Rodriguez spent some time at a gym in Venice. Even though I really loved Cameron Diaz in the Shrek movies, I don’t like her decision of becoming an ogre in real life too. Seriously, with those arms she could jerk off a rhino. Must just be the HGH side effects she is getting from swallowing all of A-Rod’s spunk.

Guess her feeding A-Rod popcorn during the Super Bowl was less about her being a cute love-monkey to her boyfriend and more about her stuffing food into her submissive date’s mouth. “I don’t care if you don’t want any effing popcorn… you’ll eat popcorn when I stuff it in your piehole and LIKE IT. Now dance for me… DANCE! God I’ve gotta shave my back again. Damn it!”

There’s something about Mary… and it’s a penis.

These pictures were taken yesterday as Cameron Diaz and her boy toy Alex Rodriguez spent some time at a gym in Venice. Even though I really loved Cameron Diaz in the Shrek movies, I don’t like her decision of becoming an ogre in real life too. Seriously, with those arms she could jerk off a rhino. Must just be the HGH side effects she is getting from swallowing all of A-Rod’s spunk.

Guess her feeding A-Rod popcorn during the Super Bowl was less about her being a cute love-monkey to her boyfriend and more about her stuffing food into her submissive date’s mouth. “I don’t care if you don’t want any effing popcorn… you’ll eat popcorn when I stuff it in your piehole and LIKE IT. Now dance for me… DANCE! God I’ve gotta shave my back again. Damn it!”

It seems like Alex Rodriguez and his Hollyweird lover have called it quits:

She may have been his lucky charm, but Kate Hudson and Yankee slugger Alex Rodriguez needed more than luck to keep their romance alive.

“They’re over,” says a source. “They’ve been broken up for a couple of weeks. They just wanted things to die down around them. [Kate and Alex] both seem to totally fine. They decided to move on.”

Together since the spring, the couple were seen together all over the country and most recently in Europe where Hudson was doing press for her latest flick, Nine.

“Kate decided to take her mom to some of the press stuff and premieres as her date – that was good for her,” says the source. “They both have kids and totally different lives … They may not be done working it out though.”

Aww, too bad for them. A-Rod is probably on that same ‘funny business’ that Tiger Woods is on….buying hoes from that Michelle Braun character anyway.

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