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.

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

After the fact

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.