Friday, September 18, 2015


this blog hosting has the possibility to see the number of views of each entry. As statistics is one of my hobbies, gleaming for useful data, I found that in the beginning when I wrote a lot I did not et a lot of views. then I looked at which titles got the most views which I am going to attribute to SEO. The winner was "tiny puny cock" at 685. Second was "A tale of two cocks" at 432. Other popular titles were "MILF power," "painful like the dentist" "golf and blow jobs" and "Long time no post" also the period from 7/10 to 3/11 I averaged 75 views per post.
What does it mean?

woo woo

I just came to my blog and read my last post and thought it was awesome. I am writing tonight because I feel like making truth known. That is always my objective and greatest pleasure. Yesterday I spent the day with a client in a very nice location, his house. Recently separated he is spreading his wings of freedom. I like this guy and I can't figure out why. I value and seek self-awareness obsessively. He seems not to know what that is,much less aspire to it. There is no actual concrete reason I can grasp that explains why I am thinking of him today and why I had a great time yesterday. It is not the sex, but hey I'm a hooker and sex is 99.9% of the time included so I will discuss it. While engaging in sexual acts, I aim to be present and self aware and curious as to what is going on with me. I do not feel horny, but I expect to engage so I am ready to act into it. I notice he is seducing which is rare enough that it catches my attention and I try to inquire into the barriers I feel arising to resist it. I want to see what the barriers are and what purpose they are serving me. While I am contemplating this, I also have to perform according to cues and so I sigh, arch, groan, moan etc. While I am noticing my behaviors, I am judging them as hot and then finding them interesting to witness. I try to allow my body to respond aligning  with how I am acting my response, with mixed results. This is as far as I got with it, no answers or explanations or theories.
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

I haven't written in a long time. I write in my mind and it never gets through my fingers. Now sitting here I can't remember what it was… Always the beauty of humanity of people that I see from every angle, that I am so lucky they share or let me witness. I can't believe I am a menopausal woman and still  I have so much business. I am proof that stereotypes of male superficial desires of female embodiment of perfection and youth are not across the board. Men in their 70's and beyond are looking for a peer or closer to a peer. A twenty something woman is often disgusted by a man with wrinkles. I was like that when I was in my 20's. My oldest client is 90. What a joyous appreciating man he is. My client who seems oldest (the least healthy) has asked me to be the one who spreads his ashes when he dies. He claims it is the nicest thing anyone has ever agreed to do for him. His wife died a couple years ago and I will go where he spread her ashes, to mix them together. I have a map. It is out of state. He has no children. I am the closest person to him. He has home health nurses too. I recently took him, as part of our weekly rendezvous, to deliver a stool sample to the clinic. This is my job. The veneer of sex makes the man able to seek out the connection of human companionship and sharing. The flexibility of sex work is governed only by how each individual person chooses to enact his/her sharing is not governed by laws of ethics and morality because it is outside the laws. It is illegal but it is often moral.
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

Two Odes

Ode to Sexuality
Ode: A lyrical stanza in praise of, or dedicated to someone or something which captures the poet's interest or serves as an inspiration for the ode.
I love you sexuality
I live your diversity
I honor your healing properties
I am awed by your strength and perseverance
I thrill by your revelation
I admire your enactment
Your tenacity proves
That your acceptance is inevitable
Your permutations are endless
Your scope constantly amazes me
Your resilience is endless
Your beauty is breathtaking
I celebrate your appearance
In every consensual manifestation
I rejoice in your existence
Making life infinitely more exciting.

Ode to Clients
You bring me yourself
And I never know what going to emerge
Even when you use acronyms or code words
Your enactment is going to be uniquely yours
And it's going to pull from me a response 
that is wavers around my core 
but always a different version of the wave
That's what I endlessly live /love discovering
What you pull from me.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

"It's not the worst thing in the world, In fact its quite awesome" My constant argument

Today as I do every Thursday I visited "old guy." He is in his 70's, not my oldest client, but he seems like the oldest. I know his life history. His 3rd wife recently died. He is lonely. I wish he had friends and family, but he doesn't. He has me. He loves me. Sometimes I feel bad not returning his love but that is beyond my control, I love him in the universal sense of the word. I love his humanity and appreciate his beauty. He takes 2 viagras before I arrive. And his cock gets hard. This makes him so happy. He appreciates me for giving him a place to feel his maleness, even at this time late in his life. He tells me as much as words can, how much he appreciates me. He tries to imagine a future with me. I do not. I am as honest as possible in letting him down as easy as possible. He offers me more money. That is not what I am after. I am the highpoint of his week, his life.
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

gateway drug

The first text he sent me I ignored. It said "Hi, How are you?" Not direct enough and who the fuck are you? I think a polite text gives one's name and a slight introduction. I am not always as easy as a gay hook up site. The next text was the same exact verbatim text, a couple days later. I wanted to work so I replied "Fine." He then continued with, "Are you available today?" (better than: are you free today?- no I am never free) I was booked but suggested the following day. By the time he texted me I was booked until 5:30 so I suggested 5:30. He said it was too late. Then at 5 he texted that he could make it at 5:30 and by this time I had politely asked and discovered his name. He said he had seen me before about a year ago. When he arrived, I didn't recognize him, but I knew he was 20 plus years younger than me. I asked him what we had talked about last time and after some small talk, Eureka! I remembered his job and said he had recently gotten an award at work which was correct. I asked if he had ever tried prostate massage because I always offer this delectable experience. He said, I had suggested we should try it next time. Of course being a young'un he was good for "at least 2" orgasms so I waited to showcase the PM till the second. Sometimes it blows the guy up immediately. I was in there and sucking his dick in combination and he said, "It feels like I'm going to come. Should I tell you?" (how polite) I said, "I'll know. I can feel it." The prostate expands to twice its size during orgasm. He squirted and his comment was, "It was interesting." (understatement of the year) I said, "It's a gateway drug." and I meant, "You'll be wanting more variety of possibilities up in there soon." I was the only one quite amused by my comment. I also then asked if he had lost weight and come to find out he had lost 30 lbs. That also contributed to my difficulty in remembering him.

This was a draft I found so I am publishing it late
I sat on the porch the other night feeling this and wrote it fast on my phone.

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

memory lane

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

authenticity vs fakeness

I sometimes irrationally let my self esteem rise and fall with the amount of money I am earning. The simplistic logic I use is that if nobody wants me, I am worthless and if people call me, I am worthful. I know this is wrong, but I fall for it every time. I am in a lull such as this when I had no jobs for 2 days and then just 1 job a day for the last 3 days. Today a client whose phone number I recognized called me just as my therapy client arrived a few minutes early. I had to turn off my phone, but since my client had to use the bathroom, I had time for a quick text advising him I was busy for the hour and could see him later. I never heard back from him but I expected him to call on a last minute need and went to get ready for that. After I got ready I was going through my drawers looking for a piece of ribbon I could use to sew onto a cape costume. I was sure it would be floating around in one of my drawers. Instead I found $200. Sitting there for God knows how long in a card, in an envelope, I had probably forgotten in my haste to clean and prepare for an incoming guest. That was exhilaratingly exciting. I looked through the rest of the hundred empty envelopes hoping for a double whammy. When I never heard back from the client, I had an errand to run and during that drive, I got a call from an out of town visitor who had seen me this summer and wanted me to visit him this evening. I quoted him a reasonable next available time based on traffic, dog feeding and me eating needs and he agreed. Part of his deal was I meet him at a restaurant for a glass of wine. I explained that social time was an additional cost of half the usual. (I find that many people ignore this time spent if it is not articulated) He agreed. I was now in rush mode to finish the errand and drive through traffic ecetera. My smart phone which I love with all my heart is not that smart with directions. I type in the address and it changes it to something I can't logically fathom. I delete it and write the address again and it persists in its own idea of where I want to go. Alas I had to use mapqwest. Then the guy changes his mind while I am driving to a new destination which I pull off the road and punch into my map function. It tells me to go southeast. What the fuck direction is southeast? Of course the phone also has a compass on it and I try to figure it out using both these applications simultaneously. Miraculously I arrive at my destination. In the bar having a glass of wine, I am the one who makes conversation happen. Although it is difficult because I am just trying to amuse myself with knowledge and information but he seems to think I have an agenda and tries to thwart me. I wonder how it seemed to him. I imagine I was somewhat entertaining and authentic. That is the thing I am trying always to reconcile. I want to be real, because that feels good to me and I imagine to another person and then the situation calls for fakeness in some way that I try to bridge.
We go up to the room. There is no ipod dock. Shit! I brought my ipod. So silence instead of smooth jazz. The commercials of radio are distracting to me. He points to the bed which is a pristine expanse of whiteness. "See that," he asks me, "That's going to stay that way until I get into it for sleep so all our action is going to take place on this couch" I was shocked that he would sacrifice our comfort and spontaneity for his bedtime ritual, so I said with a mixture of authenticity and fakeness, "That is very original. I never heard anyone say that before." If I was being truly authentic I might have said, "You've got to be kidding me. How anal can you be?"
I took out my toys and paraphenalia and put it on the glass topped coffee table. He reminded me that he enjoyed nipple clamps and strap on. In the bar he told me he wanted me to teach him how to eat my pussy, but now his agenda seemed to have changed. "This session is all about me." he informed me. "The next one can be about you." Again here is the fine balance where authenticity and fakeness combine. I don't give a shit if he ever does anything for my pleasure. I am working. My pleasure is the least of my concerns, although his cock did look promising. I have to show desire but not dissappointment. I believe I succeeded because I bring a toy called the wii vibe that I insert inside me and it also rests on my clit so that under my strap on I am aroused and have pleasurable sensations. He kept telling me what to do like, "suck my nipples, stroke my cock" and then he's adds a "yes Ma'am" or "yes Mistress," I guess to make himself believe I was the one who commanded that. I do appreciate men letting me know what they want.
After he came he said, "I'm going to sleep well tonight." I had to comment on his comment. First of all it is the most common comment of men and I told him I also read in a book that is old (1988) and I think I found the book but I can't spend time going through it to find the quote but Dolores French in Working also wrote that this was the most common comment of men after an orgasm. I told him some version of this. (mix of authentic and fake again because I actually think its funny that they come and talk about their impending sleep) another common comment they make after an orgasm is, "Just what the doctor ordered." Which also cracks me up because it would be a pretty cool doctor who would ever say to the patient, "I think you need to have more orgasms." What I interpret from these comments is an acknowledgement from the client that I have helped them feel better so that sleep will be a better time or their well-being is enhanced because of our interaction.