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.