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.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
it’s 10 pm. I am eating dinner finally after a non-stop day. My favorite dish. Chicken with portobello and sourcream wine sauce over corkscrew noodles. I have done 3 loads of laundry today. 2 sex clients, one therapy clients. walked my dog twice. I think its time to relax and unwind.
The reason for so much laundry was so much peeing. My first client should start considering my incall his storage space for all the props and devices he designs and brings that all serve to make him my toilet slave which he wants to be but has to be forced into being. I know this sounds like a koan, which it is. [from dictionary.com (a nonsensical or paradoxical question to a student for which an answer is demanded, the stress of meditation on the question often being illuminating.)]
He brings devices to make his forced servitude more believable to both of us. One of our future sessions will include him being used orally by 2 men while I masturbate to his degradation. Today that only existed in spoken word, but I was surprised and delighted to witess he was able to jack himself into an orgasm during our repartee. I made him swallow his own come of course and then rewarded him with copious mouthfuls of pee. (Laundry load #1)
My second client I hadn’t seen in 2 years. He is 72 years old and if any of us look as good as he does at 72, we will be happy. He is a character you would expect to come across in novels. Brought up Irish Catholic, he reasoned early on that if it was the same amount of sin to look at a pussy or to fuck one, he might as well fuck and at least get some pleasure out of the deal for himself. He was always difficult to come although his goal was to suck my (according to him) huge clit and get me off which for some reason he never was able to do. I can’t explain why. I was always like 1 millimeter from the edge. Today was no exception, so I positioned him to use his fingers while I used my vibrator and viola! I am spoiled by vibrators perhaps. Then there was still the issue of his orgasm which he told me to stop pressuring him about, but when I said I had to go pee, he was very interested. I asked if he had ever been peed on and he said no so I got out 3 more towels and set them up under his head and pelvic region. I let my pee soak his face, mouth and then cock while he jacked himself off to the warm stream. This was the first orgasm I ever witnessed from him. He then sat on the couch eating pistachios and drinking a glass of wine explaining to me the way skid marks get on men’s underwear through farts. He prefaced this explanation by explaining that he heard the women of Sex and the City complaining about this phenomenom of men. He told me how he would wipe carefully, take a shower and still find annoying skidmarks on his underwear at night and therefore by power of deduction figured out that farts were responsible. Is truth any stranger than fiction?
I had to say goodbye because I had a therapy appointment which I must constrain myself from speaking about. and after that I came home to my beautiful dog, went online and updated myself on cyberworld, went back to do a second load of pee soaked towels, took her for a walk, cooked dinner, simultaneously doing a load of laundry at my house and wrote this entry.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
At 4 the guy calls. It takes skill and patience to lead these horses to water. “Are you into leather?” he asks “Wearing leather?” I clarify. “Yeah!” “Well not exactly, I don’t have any but I have a PVC dress.” Is he into the dominatrix image or the material, I wonder. “Do you have any thigh high boots?” “ No, but I have thigh high stockings.” I probably need to invest in a pair of high leather boots. They are expensive. The PVC dress was $80. I don’t understand why the material matters. I detect a NY accent but his caller i.d. puts him in Minnesota. He schedules for between 5-5:30 and I leave my house at 4:30 to make sure I will be ready. I haven’t given him my address yet, so when I don’t hear from him by 5, I figure he is fucking with me. I leave a message on his voicemail letting him know I do not expect him. I am usually polite in my first call. I am extending the benefit of the doubt. My trip is not a complete loss. I do laundry, clean the floors and make the place ready in case I get busy tomorrow. I take my dog for her 2 out of 3 walks for the day amid the sound of a repetitive car or house alarm which is so loud I missed hearing my phone ring when the client called. I check VM and listen to his excuse that he was hung up in a meeting. Male corporate jobs sound as unpredictable as mine. He still wants to come over. I call him back and I give him my address. “Am I going to have fun?” he asks obnoxiously. “I believe so.” is my best version of a positive and true response. I feed my dog her dinner so she is sated and get dressed in my PVC and fishnet thigh highs. He arrives and I tower over him. I can tell by the look on his face that he is smitten. I prefer just to be my normal self, but when the occasion calls for persona, I can assume it. I lead him to my liar, offer him wine and sit him down so I can find out who and what I am doing. “I’m very submissive and very kinky.” he begins... This means nothing to me. A person’s definition of submissive and kinky is unique to them. I tell him I find this too vague and I ask definitive questions. He is of the genre, “I want to be Yours.” This does not fit me like a glove, but I understand and appreciate the role I should play to fulfill him. Isn’t it almost like a koan. It will totally please him if I direct him to totally please me but it would not really please him if I was truly honest in what would please me so I have to imagine how he would enjoy pleasing me and tell him that I am pleased by that so he can be pleased. reciprocity? mutuality? I don’t know the name for it but I recognize it. This is the definition of mental gymnastics!
He thinks I am gorgeous. He thinks I am magical. Every time I squeeze his nipples, tickle the insides of his thighs, it sends him into moans of pleasure. He repeats my name alternating it with God. I am both. I am his master, his ruler. He is mine, he loves me, He pledges his allegiance forever (while his cock is hard) I praise his obedience (prompted by his question, “Am I obedient?” He apologizes when his cock is not hard enough to fuck me. I waver here wondering if I should berate him for that (as part of the role) or accept and assure him that he is ok without that part of his anatomy behaving as prescribed. My true and accepting self wins out, unless he had told me he enjoyed verbal humiliation. After I fuck his ass and tantalize his most sensitive parts for an hour he is effusive in his praise for me. He asks if I am married. I hold my fist to his cheek to threaten him reminding him we are not in reality now and we’ll talk later. He tells me he loves me and in a sudden second of self consciousness says, “You must think I’m crazy.” But I don’t. I recognize this subset of male sexuality needing to be taken, to be consumed and to give up his will to a woman’s power. He is begging me to let him come. I say he can’t. I really want to turn around and check the clock to see if I should let him, but I worry it would be too obvious. To assert and prove my dominance over him, I say he cannot come. He writhes and moans, but not too much cause I have him handcuffed to the table. Shortly later I bring him to the brink again and make him promise that if I let him come, he will spill on my breast and then lick it off and taste it. Of course he swears he will obey me and doesn’t at the moment of truth,turning his face away to avoid my cum soaked nipple.
I clean him up and we are now 2 normal people, talking about our lives, our past lives. He was a junkie. Now he is sober. I admire that breadth of experience. He regrets wasting so much time. He is, by all outward appearances, a successful businessman. He is married. He shows me some pictures on his phone of a recent trip and his grandson. We goes to his next obligation and me to mine. Two ships passing in the night but touching at the helms.