An American Belle de Jour

Story by Autdemna

My name is Nick Barrett. I am a freelance writer from New York City. I have been in the freelance business for about 15 years now and generally have written about politics as a contributor for the “Village Voice.” but from time to time I like to get away from the cat fights and social climbing involved in a political climate that has been established in the Empire state over the past 40 years. My editor tries to keep me on the short leash as far as my wandering taste for the unusual. I have published articles on “How Times Square Changed.”, a fascinating piece on the climate change of NYC’s greatest tourist trap after Giuliani sold it to global corporate giants. It rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and some the right. Which in turn lead me to my next piece on Elliot Spitzer. A man with the entire world in his hand. A watch dog for the common man torn down by a weakness for young women who coddled his feelings of insecurity and provided him with an outlet to vent about the corruptions of both Wall Street and Albany.

In working on the Spitzer piece, I had spoken to a litany of prostitutes and people in the “sex for sale” industry. An industry so booming, that during the height of the real estate bubble , purchasing company was pretty out in the open. High profile business men and women were not only judged by the year and model of their Maserati, or how many bathrooms their house in the Hamptons had. They were being judge by the company they keep. New York is the home of some of the hottest and most desirable prostitutes the world has to offer. Men and women of wealth come from all over the world. Paris, London, Dubai, the world over. Some to partake in the exotic and erotic sexual services industry. Others who would delve in something much more torrid and taboo. Spitzer was a provocative character. Learning what makes a man of such stature, a hero of the people , fall to the depths that he did. was one of the more interesting projects of my life. The more that I talked to people in the business the more I heard about a person that I was starting to find even more riveting.

I would imagine it wouldn’t take much to become very interested in what the rich and powerful had a taste for. The E! channel has made a business model of not only showing it but creating it as well.(Hi Kim and Kourtney! Welcome to New York.) What does an endless supply of money buy for you these days when it comes to “sex as a service”? I had met dozens of Madams and P.I.M.P.’s (Persons in Marketing Prostitutes) for some of the top escort services in the tri state area. They had educated me on the preferences of some of the socially elite. Domination, sado masochism, humiliation etc etc. I think we have all seen enough porn or did an “accidental” Google search to know what some of the not so hidden fetishes of your next door neighbors are (remember you are someone’s neighbor as well!).

One thing that I did hear about was these socially elite characters and their taste for what most in the industry refer to as “traps”. A trap would be commonly defined as a man that dresses as a woman. These weren’t just guys with a 5 o’clock shadow that loved to dance in their girlfriend’s panties in their living room. This person has fairly feminine features and can even be mistaken for a woman in a lot of cases. The best and most desired usually are. It would be difficult for most women to tell the difference between one with a vagina and one without. Not quite a shemale, as they do not take hormones or have breasts, but close. Now being a kid from Brooklyn and working in “The Village” for as long as I have, I have seen some odd things and have a pretty open mind regarding what “middle America.” would consider taboo. The practice of spending time with “traps” by men and women struck me a little off the beaten path. This wasn’t just a closed door fetish or something CNBC covered as oddities in Japan. This was happening here. CFO’s and entrepreneur’s of global giants out in public with their ‘showpieces”. Dining at Locanda Verde and Maialino. Dancing the night away at the Boom Boom Room. Even to the discerning eye it was hard to tell a woman from a trap.

So I had asked my editor for some time to look into this interesting phenomenon. He gave me a quizzical look. I reminded him that I was freelancing and technically not on the payroll. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he brushed me off with, “Write what you want but don’t be surprised when you spend “x” amount of hours working on something that will have the circulation of leaving your Macbook open at Starbucks when you are in the bathroom.” That was the stroke of confidence I needed. When I thought about it, I needed a vacation and this was worth at

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