Monday, December 07, 2015
I came upon this in my blog history as a draft. I hadn't finished. When I read it and recognized the person I was writing about, I felt guilty actually because this guy is in hospice right now dying. I felt the range of emotions with this client. He was old not by numbers, but by condition. He is younger than my father who is in great shape by comparison. I came to love Old Guy as I call him because I came to know him as a person who really loves people and wants everyone to be happy. I saw him cry when the Connecticut school children shooting happened, when it was the 50th anniversary of JFk's death, when he saw a show on children in Africa who were suffering and he wanted to give them all he had. Even when he constantly interrupted me, seeing his desire was to help overcame my usual feeling of annoyance. He contracted cancer and began treatment. The treatment seemed to debilitate him and he began losing coherence and mobility. I saw him last a month and a half ago, not knowing it would be the last time he was able to function as an adult. His care taking team has my number and updated me on his hospital stays and returns. I visited him once in hospice and stayed an hour. I felt uncomfortable there. I tried to touch him to comfort him but he was restless and kept saying "let's go!" but he was confined to his bed. I call the care team and find out he is still hanging on even he hasn't eaten solid food in weeks. I told her, "if he asks for me, I will come. " Meanwhile I await his ashes, as I am the signed and designated recipient to spread them in California where his wife's ashes are. I am honored to be the one he entrusted to do that. He said my agreeing to do that was "the nicest thing anyone ever said to him." And while I'm on the subject let me tell you about his stepchildren. He married their mom after they were grown and she had more money than he had, as in assets. These went to him and then will go to her children when he dies. Since I allowed him to take pictures of me and he blew them up into huge (and not attractive to me) framed wall hangings, his step children on the rare once a year occasion that they visited him were told, "That's my girlfriend." I chided OG for telling them that but he innocently protested that they were excited to meet me. Yes I did have to shatter his fantasies by informing him that they only were interested in their money and me as a possible taker of their inheritance. So the stepson convinced OG that he wanted to meet me for lunch and I said let me call him. That day on the phone, clarity and honesty possessed me in tandem and I just told him straight up, "I am not after your money, so if that is your concern, don't worry." That is the distilled version. As I was talking, I was impressed with what I heard coming out of my mouth. I must have set his fears to rest because no more lunch invitations were forthcoming. I just hope when OG dies and I will request plane fare and 1 night hotel to do the ashes from the step children that I get it. If not I will finance the trip on my own dime because I know I am the one living person who loves and appreciates him the most.
Last night I couldn't sleep because I ate baked brie (dairy) and bread (gluten) As my boyfriend complained, I was making noise out of all of my orifices. A lovely vision. At 5 in the morning my hands felt my pubic hair and its surroundings, my thighs and my belly. All that skin and softness and loveliness felt good to my hands. I thought how rare it is for me to celebrate my own yearnings, my own instincts, that emanate from my own pussy. I only use her to please others. How unfair it is to subject her to that position. I tried to excite myself with my finger and gave up quickly. I am totally spoiled by the electronics of vibration and my finger just can't compete. a few more minutes of sleeplessness and I tried again this time conjuring up a fantasy I don't think any porno site has enacted. The originality of my fantasy was compelling. There were 2 women. One I was watching first as an instruction before it would be my turn to submit to the pleasures that I saw her submit to. Every time I felt my boyfriend stir, I stopped and waited until he settled so he wouldn't interrupt me. Finally my finger succeeded in getting me off to a different orgasm than I usually experience when I am working and using my hitachi wand.
and totally resonated with it.
As a ho, of course I play along but not totally. I sense guys who say they only care about my pleasure want me to respond with praiseful exuberance, which I cannot fake. Instead I bring them to earth telling them that is a common theme, (which is true) and perhaps is a pendulum swing from the 'men are only concerned with themselves and their cocks' era that most men are no longer dwelling in (at least men I interact with).
And a very interesting idea came to me this evening as I lit the Chanukka candles. I prayed for enlightenment and that I might be a vehicle for the enlightenment of others. Isn't that the same idea as men wanting to be vehicles for women's pleasure. I want to be the one who brings enlightenment. Seems pretty egotistical, if I do hear so myself. There is a book floating around my house, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, by Chogyam Trungpa which advised me that getting past one's ego is the beginning of the Bodhisattva Path which is my grandest aspiration, but I fear it contains fragments of ego gratification as well. For those not versed in these ideas, A Boshissatva 1. (Buddhism) (in Mahayana Buddhism) a divine being worthy of nirvana who remains on the human plane to help others to salvation.
Friday, September 18, 2015
What does it mean?
Between sex we drink wine, talk, take a walk in the nature. meet tourists and have them take a picture of us as a couple. We don't know each other well because we have spent an hour together 20 or 30 times, half of it taken up by non-verbal activity. I feel myself insecure with what I am sharing. Wondering if he is even interested in the way I think about the world. It seems 180 degrees opposed to him, although we have politics and liberal ideas in common.
I felt taken care of and I thought about this more this morning. I am attracted to men who I feel safe with, taken care of like I can relax. (can they relax?) I wondered if this related to my dad and the answer was no, I did not feel taken care of by him, although I'm sure I was. My grandpa made me feel taken care of. I rode in his Cadillac in the front seat on that pullout high seat (without a seatbelt or carseat back in the day). He constantly kissed me (which I did not relish, but endured) He told me where we were going (usually to his client's house), that he loved me. My adult brain imagines that I felt monetarily secure, although do children feel that? He wasn't anxious or withdrawn, he was only thrilled to be with me. I felt treasured and adored. Not in control, but in loving, safe hands.
I tried to remember if I ever felt like that with a woman and my dad's mother came to mind. When I was at her house I was taken to the candy store on the street corner and told, "Get what you want, sweetheart." followed by "Eat what you want, sweetheart." There was no limit to the amount of sugar I was allowed. We baked things together and played 500 rummy at her kitchen table while the goodies were in the oven. When my mom took us home, she smiled beatifically at the car window, blowing kisses and waving. I felt sad to leave her, the font of so much love. Her body was big and mushy. Her hug was like being enveloped by soft flesh.
I didn't want to leave my client, but I also did want to have my life as I live it. It wouldn't be the same feeling if it progressed into a relationship, I am sure of that. I love my boyfriend and his emotional accessibility. He also adores me and expresses it and makes me feel like the queen of love.
Then I went to see old guy today. I am the highlight of his week. He tries to take care of me and I appreciate his efforts. He buys wine and snacks, he sets out a glass of water for me. He tapes things on TV he thinks would interest me and lends me books and videos. He would buy me a $7000 dollar trip if I would take it with him, his last hurrah. I am not tempted to go. [let me also say the trip would be paid for, but I would not earn money as a companion. This fact is relevant] I know it would be a test of my endurance which I would fail. I am sad that I can't give him this gift that would be so great for him. I give my realistic excuses. But when I really want to do something, I make it happen. when in the past I wanted to travel with the man who became my boyfriend, I went to San Francisco with him and Chicago. In memory those were days I felt taken care of by him. I bought no airfare, booked no hotel and he manifested it all with a car waiting with his name on it, a bottle of chilled champagne in the room. An excellent restaurant with reservations. He reminded me of James Bond. Perhaps this is wooing behavior and I got wooed, moving into a relationship where daily tasks take precedence over romance. These paid hours are rare treats where the effort and energy of romance can flow in designated intervals . Reminds me of Esther Perel's book Mating in Captivity.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Oh and this. I am also a therapist, and I have become frightened of telling that as a truth because that job is governed by strict laws of ethics and morality determined by a board and enforced by the state. Of course these 2 personas never the twain shall meet…. I hope. My sex client wanted to become a therapy client. He probably figured he knew me well enough to trust me and had issues in his real life that weren't resolving. He came to my other office and we interacted clothed. It didn't feel right. Although he knew I wasn't judging him, yet he wasn't able to tell me truly what was troubling him. We tried 3 times and then he wanted to go back to the other version of me. Ethically I had to wait 2 years and even if my odds of getting caught disobeying that mandate were slim, I wanted to follow the laws since that profession has them. We waited 2 years. He returned as a sex client. He still wanted to be able to talk to me sometimes about his real life issues so we renamed our interaction "Intellectual Exchange." That way I could determine the ethical laws of how it could be done. We did the talking after the sex work (for half the price of sex work). We did it naked and stoned. Wow! it was so much better than sitting clothed in my office. He was able to be honest and vulnerable and I was able to use techniques that are not psychologically labeled, yet have the same results. That day we were able to figure out his problem and he has dealt with it successfully. This is my greatest happiness. I'm telling the blogosphere but anonymously. I am so happy to be of true service to others. I read that as a Jew, this is what the Torah teaches is our purpose in life, so the God, that I don't believe in, would see me as ethical.
What am I doing in this post? I am kinda bragging of my job satisfaction and benefit to humanity. Why am I doing it? I have a fantasy that I say to some random person someday, "I'm a sex worker." and they say, "Wow! that must be such a satisfying job." instead of "Wow! that must be awful and you must hate it." and secretly think, 'you must have been abused as a child and not feel worthy of a better life.' I am debunking myths. Please participate.
Thursday, September 05, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
My other client today was a recently separated man who isn't ready to begin a new relationship. He was married 21 years with 3 kids. He hoped to stay married as they promised, to death do they part. Suddenly his wife was not interested in sex and then also not in him. They remain friends. He said dating was scary, but being touched was like a food he was starving for. I was his first experience in this realm of paying. He said I exceeded his expectations, he was going to sleep well tonight and he booked a next appointment in 3 weeks.
On days like today, I feel like I am doing important and necessary work that feeds the soul of people in ways they cannot obtain otherwise. I am glad to be able to give that. I want the world to accept this as truth too. We almost have unanimous gay marriage. Transgender and Sex work are the next frontiers.
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
This was a draft I found so I am publishing it late
Ode to Men
You bring me your Self.
And I never know what is going to emerge,
Even if you use acronyms or code words
Your enactment is going to be uniquely yours.
And its going to pull from me a response that is wavering around my core but an ever expanding version of that wave.
That's what I endlessly live/love discovering.
On the keyboard o and i are next to each other so I meant to write Love but I wrote Live and then I realized they were both true. That is why they are called smartphones.
Monday, March 05, 2012
Laying in bed unable to sleep, I tried to remember every boy I ever flirted with or had sex with. (not professionally) The list was extensive. Some of the guys I hadn’t thought about in 30 years or close to it. Some I didn’t even want to fuck; I just allowed it. Some seemed hot and sexy... until we kissed. I can’t remember one kiss that felt like those you read about in novels where every inch of their being is melting and quivering from the currants of fierce desire and passion. I feel cerebral and visual turn-ons, but they don’t travel below my brain. I remembered clothes I wore in those scenarios which I used to think were beautiful. They seem ugly in retrospect. I remember things men said in other languages (French, Spanish, Portuguese) that still hold a good memory. I remember weird ones. I was always fascinated by weird people. Not scary weird people and I believe I could discern this in my gut because I never felt threatened or was victim of violent treatment. When someone acted weird, instead of wanting to get away from them, I couldn’t wait to see what they might say next. I remembered K... at (name of college). He was strange. He called me Miss ...... and told me he was accepted to the University by sending an application full of scribble. I think we had sex once and his dick was small. After he came, he disengaged quickly and exclaimed, “That was horrible!” I knew it was no reflection on me. What fascinated me was how he either couldn’t hold in such a mean comment or why he would choose to insult me?
My next memory game was to walk down the streets of East Village of the early 80’s in my mind, recalling block by block the stores and restaurants that marked my walk from the R train to my apartment. The beggar at the corner of 2nd and St. Marks who hovered around the newsstand showed up as well as Magazine man, hiding behind his upside down magazine, taking peeps every so often at the passersby.
My wakefulness was proving amusing, so I went back in memories to when I lived with my parents. Twice when I was a minor, I got propositioned by older men to sell sexual services to them and twice I did. Suddenly I wanted to remember all the details, but sadly they are fuzzy. There were push and pull factors. I needed money to pay a parking ticket from a time I had driven my mother’s car without permission in the middle of the night. What a ridiculous time to get a parking ticket! Apparently parking at the Art Museum at that 4 a.m. was not allowed. The ticket was $25. What did the man offer me for a handjob? That exact amount. Here is the part I can’t remember. Where was I? The answer I come up with is F......... Park. Why? A sporting event that I was participating in or watching? Did my mom drop me off, but I got the time wrong? Was I waiting for friends to show up? The accuracy is questionable, but he was blond and older which could of been 40-50 by my standards of old back then. Did I do it in his car and was it a black Volkswagon? Where else could I have done it? What did I do after that? How long did it take? Was there mess on my hand? Did I get caught anyway from the parking ticket being sent to my house? Yes, that I remember.
Then I remember a tad more clearly being 16 and I was wearing this grey casual suit skirt and jacket. The skirt has pleats and the jacket was like a woven version of a hoodie. The school I attended was downtown and I was at a city park, near the school, on a lunch break or something, probably smoking a cigarette. The older guy, dark haired and business dressed came up to me and asked me if I would like to go for a drink with him. I thought that would be very cool (even though I was underage) to go to a bar, so I agreed. On the way, he made up some reason he had to stop at his apartment first to get something and invited me up. Now I thought he was going to try to have sex with me and I was prepared to refuse, yet I was curious as to how it would all play out. Once inside he offered me $60. to have sex with him. At the time I was seeing a shrink who got $60 an hour and here I was, not even a high school graduate going to make the same kind of rate. I thought that was impressive and I agreed. I don’t remember if we got naked. It sticks in my mind that I pulled out a tampon prior to the event, but it was toward the end of the cycle and not really bloody. Of this I am sure: I felt nothing except boredom and I wanted him to know how bored I was. I kept my eyes open and looked at the ceiling, while he pumped on top of me. My attitude was: you can pay me for sex, but not for me to enjoy it. It was over quickly and we were back in the elevator to go downstairs. He started trying to bargain me down to a lower payment. I did not think that was impressive or fair and I said as much. Suddenly I saw him getting nervous as a woman approached the opening elevator. I made up the story that she was his wife. He quickly gave me my cash and I walked out of the lobby onto the street.
I was flabbergasted. I had made $60 in 15 minutes. I was impressed by the ease and rapidness of being that rich. I did not think to make a career out of it. (I wonder why not) I was so excited I couldn’t wait to tell my boyfriend who berated me with insulting names like Whore and Skank. I truly did not understand or expect his attitude. I was hurt. I wanted someone to share my pride and excitement in me. Beliefs like ‘Sexuality is the sacred union between 2 people in love’ are nice and I hope true for those who believe it. I would prefer the more inclusive: Sexuality can be used to express feelings and union between 2 people in love and mystical, ritual, and fantasy can all be included. It can also be recreational, a means of exploring self and others and a lens into oneself. There is no definition for “correct” sexual expression (except adult consent). I think it is cool that the young girl in me was so unafraid, so unabashed, so gutsy and ballsy that she made a spontaneous and authentic decision and profited monetarily and otherwise (I learned). She leapt outside the box of societal expectations. If I was the parent of me, I would see all those positive attributes and yet worry about her naivete, risk, danger, and question what made her willing to respond to a strange man’s interest.