The Naked Truth: The Real Story Behind the Real Housewife of New Jersey--In Her Own Words by Danielle Staub Page B
Authors: Danielle Staub
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smelled
very
good.
When you get close to someone’s neck, you begin to feel each other’s energy a bit. With our senses already heightened, a level of intrigue was definitely evolving between us. Whether the aroma banter was idle conversation or not, it didn’t really matter. The scene in the elevator was getting sexier by the second.
Suddenly we were alone together in the elevator. Neither of us had realized our friends had already gotten out. Don gently placed his hand on the back of my neck, brushing my hair off to one side while pulling me toward him. He softly pressed his lips against my neck, near my ear. As he breathed on my neck, I began to feel aroused.
Don pulled me up against his body and we started kissing slowly. It wasn’t one of those hard-core, faces-slamming-into-each-other make-out sessions, but passionate and sensual, and we ended up kissing for what felt like ages. We even stopped the elevator to continue and not be interrupted (the Grand had many elevators, so this wasn’t a big deal). Don and I were kissing like two kids who were forbidden to see each other. When we finished, we checked our appearances in the mirror in the elevator, finally formally introduced ourselves, and politely shook hands. We started the elevator back up, and I pressedthe floor where I was going. He said he was going to the same place . . . the penthouse.
We were both headed to the same party. Once inside, Don and I separated, but we had our own little secret. For the rest of the night, we just shot each other knowing glances and smiles and got on with our evenings.
Don was a good kisser, and making out with him that night was like having sex for me.
On another occasion, I was at a modeling party and encountered the music legend Prince. All I am going to say is that he was the best kisser out of all the celebrities I have ever been with.
I realized over the years that being with a celebrity isn’t more important than being with an average guy who appeals to you. Celebrity has never been a big deal to me. I wasn’t impressed with stars’ status or who they were professionally. They were just men in my eyes. I am more concerned about being with a man who truly loves me—at the end of the day, that’s the only thing that counts, the basis for what can last forever.
I stayed quite busy modeling and was making a good living for a young woman in her twenties. However, my girlfriend Tanya, who was modeling bathing suits just as often as I was, seemedto have a lot more money to spend. European designer shoes. Expensive designer clothing. Sports car. Dripping in jewelry.
What is she doing differently than me?
I thought.
One day, Tanya opened up and told me that she was getting paid through an agency to go on dates with men—wealthy businessmen—who would come to the South Miami area often. These successful moguls had their own planes, yachts, and endless amounts of cash to spend to have a good time, but due to their busy schedules, they had no time to look for women. They weren’t interested in going out to dinner alone, traveling alone, yachting alone, etc. So Tanya was an available girlfriend whenever they arrived in town.
Tanya told me that she was a “regular” for three or four male clients. From working in the restaurant and bar business, I understood what a regular was. To me, that was someone who came into the same place on a regular basis, sat in my station, and tipped me well. Tanya informed me that her male clients didn’t date other girls when they were in town, only her. I quickly became intrigued.
“Where do you go on dates with these men?” I asked.
“We only go to the finest restaurants and the hottest clubs,” Tanya responded.
“Do you have to have sex with them?”
“It’s not required and completely up to you.”
“Is it safe to go out with these men?”
“Absolutely.”
“How much do you make?”
“A thousand dollars an hour with a minimum of ten hours.”
Wow, that’s a
very
good.
When you get close to someone’s neck, you begin to feel each other’s energy a bit. With our senses already heightened, a level of intrigue was definitely evolving between us. Whether the aroma banter was idle conversation or not, it didn’t really matter. The scene in the elevator was getting sexier by the second.
Suddenly we were alone together in the elevator. Neither of us had realized our friends had already gotten out. Don gently placed his hand on the back of my neck, brushing my hair off to one side while pulling me toward him. He softly pressed his lips against my neck, near my ear. As he breathed on my neck, I began to feel aroused.
Don pulled me up against his body and we started kissing slowly. It wasn’t one of those hard-core, faces-slamming-into-each-other make-out sessions, but passionate and sensual, and we ended up kissing for what felt like ages. We even stopped the elevator to continue and not be interrupted (the Grand had many elevators, so this wasn’t a big deal). Don and I were kissing like two kids who were forbidden to see each other. When we finished, we checked our appearances in the mirror in the elevator, finally formally introduced ourselves, and politely shook hands. We started the elevator back up, and I pressedthe floor where I was going. He said he was going to the same place . . . the penthouse.
We were both headed to the same party. Once inside, Don and I separated, but we had our own little secret. For the rest of the night, we just shot each other knowing glances and smiles and got on with our evenings.
Don was a good kisser, and making out with him that night was like having sex for me.
On another occasion, I was at a modeling party and encountered the music legend Prince. All I am going to say is that he was the best kisser out of all the celebrities I have ever been with.
I realized over the years that being with a celebrity isn’t more important than being with an average guy who appeals to you. Celebrity has never been a big deal to me. I wasn’t impressed with stars’ status or who they were professionally. They were just men in my eyes. I am more concerned about being with a man who truly loves me—at the end of the day, that’s the only thing that counts, the basis for what can last forever.
I stayed quite busy modeling and was making a good living for a young woman in her twenties. However, my girlfriend Tanya, who was modeling bathing suits just as often as I was, seemedto have a lot more money to spend. European designer shoes. Expensive designer clothing. Sports car. Dripping in jewelry.
What is she doing differently than me?
I thought.
One day, Tanya opened up and told me that she was getting paid through an agency to go on dates with men—wealthy businessmen—who would come to the South Miami area often. These successful moguls had their own planes, yachts, and endless amounts of cash to spend to have a good time, but due to their busy schedules, they had no time to look for women. They weren’t interested in going out to dinner alone, traveling alone, yachting alone, etc. So Tanya was an available girlfriend whenever they arrived in town.
Tanya told me that she was a “regular” for three or four male clients. From working in the restaurant and bar business, I understood what a regular was. To me, that was someone who came into the same place on a regular basis, sat in my station, and tipped me well. Tanya informed me that her male clients didn’t date other girls when they were in town, only her. I quickly became intrigued.
“Where do you go on dates with these men?” I asked.
“We only go to the finest restaurants and the hottest clubs,” Tanya responded.
“Do you have to have sex with them?”
“It’s not required and completely up to you.”
“Is it safe to go out with these men?”
“Absolutely.”
“How much do you make?”
“A thousand dollars an hour with a minimum of ten hours.”
Wow, that’s a
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