Good Clients

There’s a movement out there to apply a lopsided model of criminalization to in person sex work. Often called the Nordic or Swedish model, this legal structure makes it a crime to patronize or support sex workers in any way. You can’t hire them, rent an apartment to them, work for them, live with them, or even let your sex worker friend buy you lunch without putting yourself at risk for felony charges. The provider themselves won’t be arrested for sex work under the assumption that they’re operating under economic duress and can’t be held responsible for their actions. Unless of course *they* are hiring another provider, renting an apartment to them, working for them, arranging duos, or even letting them buy you lunch.

This model of criminalization has rebranded itself as the equality model, claiming to support the equality and freedom of women everywhere while, ironically, unequally applying legal responsibility onto male clients.

Sex workers work because we need money. Sure, some of us would be having sex with men for free, but certainly not many of us and we wouldn’t be having nearly as much of it. Money buys safety, security, food, clothes, housing. It pays for our current financial freedom and out future financial security. And it all comes from clients.

By vilifying and criminalizing our clients, those who push the nordic/Swedish/Equality model vilify and criminalize our income, our security, and our future. If one wanted to end the demand for sex work, they must first end the demand for money. Every sex work abolitionist, every end-demand advocate, should focus on pushing universal basic income and single payer health care for immigrants and citizens alike. But they don’t. They fight to throw our clients in jail and they do it under the guise of helping us. It’s slimy and disgusting and it’s one of the few things that makes me angry and not just excited.

But that’s not what hurts me the most. It sucks when there is less income to go around, when a good client is hit in a sting and their stimulus removed from the sex worker economy. It sucks worse when good clients have their reputations trashed, their work visas revoked, get thrown in actual jail, fined, and are overall traumatized.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again a hundred times before I retire. I love my clients. Most of them are men and men have some issues to work through, but my heart grows full when I close the door behind a beloved client and remember that I am valued. Valued so highly that this gentleman, this lover, has trusted me with a little bit of their heart.

But I don’t have to love my clients to recognize their value. For those who purport to wish freedom and safety for women, clients of sex workers should not be their enemy. A good client is a provider’s second line of defense. A good client can give a provider breathing room. A financial cushion against the agonizing decision between financial security and one’s better judgement. A link to other providers who can support them.* A good client should be an anti-trafficking agency’s best friend, able to refer exploited workers to those who can help them.

While those agencies figure that out, be the kind of client who offers those things. Encourage new providers to reach out to their peers. Show up clean. Pay their rate. Appreciate them. Don’t participate in ‘hobby culture’. And have fun!

*The few women I know who had been working under a pimp went independent with the help of other providers they met through shared clients. Good clients can help isolated providers find their community. Community is our first line of defense.

“THE STRING”

You want to be nice. I get it. It feels like a gift, sharing something you enjoy.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

Being around my beloved clients is beautiful. It helps me keep my best self in practice as I take care with my appearance, behavior, and speech. There isn’t a moment I’m with you that a corner of my mind isn’t gauging the vibe and adjusting my words, behavior, expression, closeness… to bring out just the facet of me *you* find most engaging. It might surprise my lovers to know that I take the same time and care choosing my “wear whatever you’re comfortable” outfits as my “can you wear heels” outfits. It is a joy to be able to do that for my beloveds and a pleasure to know I’m doing it well enough that they’re happy with our arrangement.

It’s also why it’s so disappointing to be offered things like accompanied trips or services without also being offered appropriate compensation. This happens to all providers and these offers are rarely made in bad faith. Sometimes they even work out and in those cases, I am glad. I recognize that the intention behind offering a stay in one’s vacation home, an all expenses paid trip to Chicago, a week in a cozy Alaskan cabin, or a guided rafting trip is generosity, an outpouring of enthusiasm and the desire to share something joyous with a cherished friend.

Unfortunately, these things are not gifts. They are not gifts, because they come with *THE STRING* attached. *THE STRING* is my beloved, caring, doting, loving client’s presence.

Because no matter how much the client assures us (and we believe) they’ll be appropriate, no matter how well intentioned that is, no matter how sure they are that they can behave themselves, a relationship dynamic cannot be unmade. No matter how carefully we avoid certain topics and the exchanging of looks, we will never un-fuck each other. They will never be just my host. Despite their best intentions, I will never be able to fart freely in the presence of a client.

And why would I want to!?! I don’t *want* to avoid naughty glances! I don’t *want* to be frumpy in front of you! I don’t *want* to un-fuck you! It’s why I keep doing this year after year! I love my client time. I genuinely believe it makes me a better person. Which is why it’s so painful to have to reject it when it is *THE STRING* instead of an appreciated part of my work. I’m not ungrateful for the impulse, truly. And I’m not mad (though the more often it happens the more likely I am to become so). I’m just more and more sure I can’t accept.

Because, you see, I had to learn the hard way. I let myself be talked into a weekend trip for far less than my quoted rate and came home feeling taken advantage of; resentful and a little angry at myself. I’m still a little steamed at that client, in no small part due to him booking a same-day 90 minute foursome that cost him almost twice what he gave me for the entire weekend. Which he used money set aside for my fee to pay for. Scheduled for less than 30 minutes after I made it from the airport to the hotel. Which I had to make pretty for girls because it was all overhead lighting and sports on the TV.

I love my clients and prefer not to be annoyed with them. Which is why, when offered “free” trips and services that come with *THE STRING*, I decline. Not because I don’t like my clients, but because I love them, and I want to keep it that way.

I tried something.

It didn’t work.

Early last year I was suffering from some pretty heavy duty burnout. Between work, travel, friends, volunteering, writing, and event planning, I wasn’t happy. Somehow, I cosmically projected this and the world manifested an enforced vacation. As of December, I have very few stressors and I’m loving it.

There is, however, one left.

The cost difference between the table focused bodywork I offer and the bed-based bodywork I offer is… almost absurd. One is exactly half of the other, despite being no less legally risky or time intensive. It does not require half the energy, time, or effort as other activities. Finding this balance unsatisfactory, when I returned FBSM to my offerings, I resolved to expend half the energy and raise rates only marginally. I would keep to a rigid timetable, keep chit chat to a minimum, offer nothing but the best erotic massage I could, and hopefully help keep from burning out again.

I failed in two perfectly opposite ways.

For the first time ever, someone declined to return because getting intimate with someone they hadn’t yet gotten to know just wasn’t for them. You see I had, in previous blog posts, advised new clients to try massage first. This was in the days where we would sit and chat for a while first, playful and smiling, establishing a mutual like for each other that made table time a step in a budding relationship as opposed to a somewhat clinical standalone session. This poor young man was thrust into an intimate situation without proper introductions. My attempt to guard my energy had worked. I didn’t like it.

And so, over the past few months, as I inevitably slipped back into patterns comfortable to me, I chit chatted and relaxed and everyone enjoyed themselves much more, the hours stretched to 75 minutes, 80 minutes, 90… and in the back of my head a little voice repeated: stop giving away your time!

I used to love my two hour FBSM appointments until I noticed that, aside from the average quantity of laundry, they were just as difficult, and as fun, as any other two hours spent with my lovers. I began to compare the two and would up eliminating the two hour FBSM from my offerings. Would you accept half your salary at your job just because you completed a different task?

These were all mistakes. My attempts to hoard time and energy, to cheat my burnout problem, while still staying affordable* to a wider variety of lovers only short changed us both.

So I’m trying something different, inspire once again by my friend and colleague. For FBSM booked before March 31, rates and conditions stand unless you opt into changes. For FBSM booked after March 31:

1 hour: 350$, for returning clients only

90 minutes: 500$ (550$ new clients)

2 hours: 600$ (650$ new clients)

Finition Francais: Opt-out

It does remain a one-way experience. Time for you to relax and do nothing but enjoy yourself. Grabby hands will not be rewarded and I’ll do my best to leave conversation on the couch. I learned during massage school that I am incapable of both talking and giving my best massage at the same time.

But man it’ll be good to get back to the old days when my wide-eyed wonder turned every body into a magical jungle gym and I truly had enough time to know you. To the days when I felt awe every time someone walked through my door. I’m not jaded, I have too many excellent loves to be jaded, but I’m a lot less naive than I was.

*Who am I kidding? This is about as affordable as “affordable housing” downtown. Please know I don’t take this lightly. In my utopia, everyone has access to affordable, quality providers in every industry but we don’t live there. I continue to offer discounts to Womxn and transgender folk, a nod to historic discrimination.

No, I will not vouch for you

Sex work is weird. It’s a place of vulnerability and compassion and interconnectedness within which we all take risks in order to enjoy the company and touch of another. There have always been those who wish to use the vulnerable nature of the work to take advantage of others. The people, mostly women, who offer their intimate services have devised many ways to lower the risk inherent in occupying space, naked, with a physically stronger stranger. I make use of the threat of the law on one hand and a client’s reputation on the other.

The threat is easy: once I’ve verified who you are, I can check to see if you’ve hurt others before, and later find you if you hurt me. The reputation is somewhat harder. It takes time, and not all reputation is equally convincing. Some of it is downright useless.

For example: some clients lean into their OKs on p411 for reputation. For those who don’t know, an OK is simply a yes answer to “did you see this client and he did not rob or harm you?” There is no room for nuance or explanation, and no difference between ‘was the worst client I’ve ever had that wasn’t bad enough to blacklist’ and ‘gave me the best time of my life.’ On TNA board it’s called a vouch. TNA also has a ‘friends’ list that could mean anything from ‘favorite regular client’ to ‘Posted a comment I agreed with once.’ The vagueness of these definitions renders them worse than useless; they offer a false sense of security. It makes it easy for a boundary pushing creep to keep moving on to new providers, without risk of them encouraging each other to hold him accountable.

It’s easy to see why I don’t accept those one-time check marks as security for not just my safety in-session, but the likelihood you and I will actually like each other. It’s maybe less easy to see why I don’t give them.

I want providers to ask me. I want to get an email from pretty Jane at proton mail dot com, with her url in the footer, asking me if I have seen this nice boy and if so, was he actually nice? Partly because I get excited to network and share within my community. Partly because I’m a lil nosy and like to know what people are up to. But mostly so I can tell Jane that he’s got a huge D and if she has internal condoms, to have them on hand. Or to tell her that he takes 20 minute showers and to allow for that. Or that he’s allergic to cats or is really shy and will need her to make a move or that he will ask for a million off-menu things but never gets mad when you say no.

I bend over backwards to offer comprehensive but not gratuitous references to whomever asks, and I commit to incorporating feedback into my references. I have had providers reply to me about clients and it was extremely helpful moving forward both for me, and for future reference requesters. I don’t reply to reviews (except in unusual circumstances), vouch for clients, and rarely give OKs.

I’m writing about this because I’ve been asked more frequently for these things lately and I’ve never learned to like saying no. I want things to be as easy as possible but sometimes, in order to make things better, they need to be harder.

Fellow providers: if I have seen a client, I will ALWAYS give you an honest reference. It will ALWAYS be timely. I will ALWAYS accept feedback if my client was not as expected and I will NEVER out you if you give a bad reference or negative feedback. I adore my clients but I am not unaware of the presence of bad actors; I will never sacrifice the safety of my colleagues to spare someone’s feelings or protect my own ego. I am not jealous, and I am lucky enough to be able to refuse clients who mistreat others. If you’re on the fence about reaching out, please see this as my invitation.

My dear clients: Know that I am as generous with references as I am with everything else, that I will give you a fair shake and that I won’t share more than is necessary to prepare your future date. I am honored to share your delights, your quirks, your needs, and your kindness with my respected colleagues. Know that if I say no, I have spent as much time sweating over it as I have over every instance that led to me writing this. And if you reach out to someone who isn’t willing to do due diligence, consider yourself blessed when things don’t work out.

To Taste

“Teach me” you said. “I want to pleasure you. Show me how.”

I blush. Years of practice have made it easier but I still struggle to tell lovers what I want. How to touch me in the ways that make me sigh and shudder.

“Like this.” A kiss. Slow, lingering, gentle, lips pressed fully together, tongue gently exploring. “I like gentle touch.” My blush deepens, a smile slips onto my lips. When I get nervous or feel awkward, I get giggly. “The tease, the slow touch. I like that. Also wet.”

A fit of giggles. My awkwardness finally got the better of me.

You smile. Deep breath. I settle back onto the pillows and let you explore. Your lips and hands drift down my body, slowly. I close my eyes and let myself sink into the music. Into your touch.

My mind drifts in and out of the moment. A caress under the curve of my breast. A tongue gently flicking my nipple. Fingertips stroking their way past my belly, slipping under my thigh. 

First contact. Exquisite. Tantalizing. Satisfying. Drawing a throb from deep within.

Your tongue is my world. Exploring, tasting, teasing. Where will it go next? How long will you keep it from me as you scatter kisses across my quivering thighs? What must I have done in my previous lives to earn my place here, under you?

The cares of the year are a distant mirage. You are an oasis. Lush, between my thighs. No matter how deeply I drink, I want more.

Merry Christmas to me.

Duo Rev: Tiny Phryne

LOCATION: My Place in Wallingford

DATE: November 2020

NAME: Tiny Phryne (Fry-nee)

INCALL/OUTCALL: My incall

AGENCY OR INDY: Indy, low volume

ACCURATE PICTURE: Totally. Pics are babed up while she’s more chill in person but definitely her.

AGE: Old enough to have a masters degree, young enough to still love meeting new people.

PERSONALITY: Bubbly AF, and genuine.

BODY TYPE: Teeny Tiny. Fit, but soft.

WEIGHT: I couldn’t even begin to guess. Normal for some one who is 4’8”

HEIGHT: Four. Foot. Eight. SOCUTE!!

BUST: Titularly tiny, pierced and perky.

WAIST: Cute

HIPS: Present

HAIR: Dark, veeeeeery long. Looks even longer because, y’know… she’s short.

EYES: Dark and sparkling. She’s an open book and I love it.

FEET: Present

SKIN TONE: Soft and similar to my own

TRIMMING: “She’s so fluffy! She basically enters the room before I do!”

TATTOOS: None that I noticed

SCARS: None that I noticed

PIERCINGS: Ears, multiple times. Nips.

MOLES: I didn’t notice any

BIRTHMARKS: Nothing

CLOTHES: Casual over lingerie. I lent her a sexy robe for fun.

GLASSES: Yes. Perfect nerd chic.

MOANER OR A SCREAMER: Moans and trembles. LOTS of moans and trembles.

ENERGY LEVEL DURING THE SESSION: So high! Just having a blast and loving every minute of it!

MULTI SHOTS DURING THE HOUR: If you could manage it, she’d be down. We were hard pressed to fit one per person in our two hours.

ACCEPTS FRENCH: Yes. Oh yes.

SMOKES: Not that I’m aware of.

DRINKS: Probably would but we had some sparkling water instead.

KISSES: Gentle, passionate, fun.

FRENCH: Rumor of her skill are NOT exaggerated. Mmmmmm.

GREEK: Good question. I doubt it but we didn’t try.

RUSSIAN: Hahahhaahahahahah! I mean, you could try. Downside of ridiculously perky boobs is they don’t smush together very well.

DO’s or DON’T’s: Plan ahead and be polite. Relax, enjoy yourself.

WEB-SITE: tinyphryne.com

SCREENING PROCESS: References or real world screening. She’s on extremely low volume at the moment because 2020 took all our fun away.

PHONE: She will provide at her discretion.

RECOMMEND: She’s SO cute!! And SO fun!! Definitely would recommend and adore a rematch.

COMMENTS: Phryne and I met some time ago at various mixers and I always thought she would be fun. I had also heard from some polite but excited gentleman callers that she has not disappointed so I was looking forward to meeting at a more intimate level. 

She arrived early so we could talk logistics. Instead we showed each other cute animal pictures for 25 minutes. We could have gone on longer but time is time and it passes. Before we knew it, there were three of us robed up, group hugging and getting excited. A three way kiss with such a short person is better accomplished using height equalizing tools so we spent some time seated on my couch, talking and teasing, before I escorted my guests to the bed.

The thing about a threesome with experienced sex havers who dig each other is it feels seamless. Shifting positions, trading places, three way blowjobs, cowgirl plus face sitting, oral round robin, my turn, her turn, his turn (eventually)… it just works. They say in a threesome there’s the giver, the taker, and the sandwich maker. Our sandwich makers were so busy watching the extreme hotness happening in my bed that they forgot to make sandwiches!

Two hours flew by. It was a pleasure to see all three of us slip in and out of gasps and giggles by turn. Phryne is not only well educated, she’s clever and cute and enthusiastic. As a friend of mine put it so well: “She’s got her vagina in the right place.”

Phryne is on my list of ‘please give me an excuse to revisit’ and should be on yours, too. Thank you to the darling gent who was willing to submit to our health needs in order to get us together. She’s keeping a low profile for now but I imagine that, come widespread rollout of vaccines and her accompanying broader availability, y’all may want to get in line to spend some time with this mini-babe.

Quote from our gentleman friend:

“Yesterday is a lot to process. A moment struck me—when you called attention and let us all know what a good job we did. It was either right before or right after we were done. I appreciate that you called that out, because we did. It was horizontal ballet.
Amie, that was the greatest sex I have ever had.”

Comfortable Discomfort

It’s been difficult to find inspiration lately. I started writing in 2013 because I was inspired. Life was so full and beautiful and because of what it was full of, I didn’t have may places to share. Many novelists write best when they’re depressed, drawing inspiration from pain. I don’t do that well. I draw inspiration from beauty and luscious life.

Life hasn’t been terribly luscious lately.

Through the window seeps a sepia light, the modern world driven by smoke back into the forties. My throat stings. I’m hungry but dislike the thought of venturing out to solve the problem. (I ordered a pizza. Gift cards to Tutabella are going over well right now.) Thank modern technology for climate control.

People are my coping mechanism. The pressure to show up somewhere and focus 100% of my attention on the interaction. It’s a hurdle to vault but rarely a difficult one and it has always helped me keep moving forward. Appointments, friend trips, family gatherings… these things both large and small break my inertia. Without them, I can become so settled into place that the effort to move is close to overwhelming.

Fortunately, because I’m an energetic extrovert, that’s never been a problem before. Unfortunately, because it’s never been a problem before, when it did become a problem, when my most effective coping mechanism to battle my procrastination tendencies evaporated into thick and literally choking air, I didn’t really know what to do.

At first I enjoyed the slow down. I had been burned out for a while and an outside reason to slack was welcome.

Then I reacted with my characteristic need to do something to prove that my self identity as a productive person was still true. I made a beautiful artistic offering to offset my guilt at accepting aid.

Then I reacted with anger that life wasn’t moving forward and that there was very little I could do about it.

Once, a few years ago, I was at the Frye with some friends and one room was set aside for the works of Tschabalala Self (https://tschabalalaself.com/current). They were exaggerated black figures, some grotesque in proportion, others in their media. Designed to force the viewer to confront feelings around and stereotypes in black sexuality, they made me uncomfortable. Fortunately, there was a docent available to talk about the artist and her works. We spent a half hour or so discussing and sitting with the art, letting the discomfort do its job. By the time we left, I hadn’t necessarily become comfortable with the images, but I had become comfortable with my discomfort.

That’s how I feel about the current state of the world. The air is poison, our government has lost all credibility in the world, my clients are afraid to see me… I’m not ok with those things. They suck and there’s very little I can do about that.

This morning, a pinched fingertip turned into a primal scream therapy session and it felt so, so, incredibly normal. Like… yes. This is the correct way to handle the shit that surrounds us and the ensuing frustration at one’s complete and utter inability to get things done.

I’m comfortable with my discomfort. I do not feel shame for my fear. I do not worry about whether I’m ‘a productive person’. My anger is perfectly reasonable. This shit sucks, guys.

Not to turn every blog post I write ever into an advertisement, but the only times anything has felt normal this summer are times when we’re here, in my air conditioned apartment, with the curtains drawn to block out the world, music playing, hearts beating, orgasms and laughter echoing off the chandelier. For a moment, the world feels normal. For a bit, things feel clean and safe and mutually supportive. 2020 has robbed me of my illusions of control. When you’re here, for a moment, I have it back.

Thanks to those who have shared these moments with me, and for those who are coming soon. I fucking miss you.

COVID rants

I’ve spent a TON of time lately thinking and talking about precautions around viral transmission. Yes, I’m the one who wrote the big scary STD post ages ago and I STILL think about cross contamination, viral load, exposure risks, etc.

Every breath you exhale carries thousands of micro droplets. Sneezes and coughs carry many more, and larger, droplets as well. Speaking falls somewhere in the middle. Normally we cover coughs and sneezes because those droplets can get, like, visibly and ickily large, and it’s not hard to tuck your face into a sleeve or hankie for a few seconds. We don’t cover our breathing because it’s too uncomfortable to be worth it and we don’t cover our speaking because it’s even more uncomfortable, and makes it much harder for said speaking to be understood.

This virus has changed those priorities because the risks have shifted. It lives longer outside the body and, when contracted, kills more than other airborne viruses we’ve encountered in a very long time. Now we cover our mouths when speaking or breathing in the general vicinity of other people, and limit the chance of any stray droplets reaching our loved ones by staying far enough away that said droplets are unlikely to reach their eyes, noses, or mouths in high enough concentration to establish infection.

Cool. So wearing a cloth face covering, surgical mask, or N95 respirator inside buildings or small spaces makes a huge amount of sense. Droplets are more likely to hang in the air inside a building than outside where air moves much more freely so minimizing them coming out of us is great. Standing six or more feet away from your friends while outside speaking to each other is super helpful in managing the risks of droplet contamination. Also, this virus is highly vulnerable to simple soap and water. Any time you re-enter your home, it’s a good idea to wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water. If you’re very worried, ditto with your groceries and deliveries whenever possible.

These are great ways to limit risk of exposure to this exciting new virus and help protect yourself and those around you.

All of my precautions I take are to protect the people around me. Perhaps I simply haven’t confronted my own mortality yet, but my age and clear health history leads me to believe I am at low risk for hospitalization. Not seeing clients who are in constant contact with the public, seeing clients much less often than usual, social distancing from my friends and family, shopping less frequently and more efficiently, wearing a cloth face covering when doing so… I do these things not to prevent getting COVID-19 but to minimize the chance, if I contract it, of spreading it to my community.

I also suspended my cancellation policy for the first few weeks when there was less information and preparedness than there is now. I heavily encourage anyone who is stressed or paranoid about catching this to just stay home. Families with immune compromised folks? Stay home. Underlying conditions that put you at high risk for hospitalization? Stay home. I’ll feel much better once we see a high number of people successfully vaccinated and being successfully treated in hospitals but until then… if you’re not going to the grocery store, don’t come see me, either.

I was once told that you cannot mitigate all risk and that has stayed with me ever since. If I never took any risks, I wouldn’t have the incredible life I have now. I work in an illegal industry, making intimate contact with new people al the time. I take risks every day, and so do you. We cannot prevent tragedy or disaster by cutting ourselves off from the world, though we can make sensible decisions to limit both the chances of bad things happening and the results should they happen anyway.

So, my beloved darling, when you ask if we can wear canister filter respirators during our appointment, I say no. Because that tells me that you either understand how they work and are only interested in protecting yourself, or you don’t know how they work which is even worse. I adore you, and I would love to see you, and I will wait until I can kiss you without instilling fear in your heart. Because what we do here is loving, gentle, connected, and I would be failing you if I agreed to contaminate that with fear.

If you’re comfortable going to the grocery store and shopping during busy hours, you can feel comfortable that, though the degree of contact you and I make is much deeper, it is also contact I am making with many fewer folks. I leave it up to your to weigh your need for human touch and a drop of normalcy against your health concerns, and to make adjustments you see fit. I already trust you to make smart health decisions. That has not changed.

Now. For the ranting.

We’ve gone over why we wear face coverings, right? It’s (mostly) to protect those around you. So why are people wearing them alone in their cars with the windows up!?!?!! Who are you protecting!!!??! I just… I suppose if your hands are contaminated and you don’t want to touch it but you will when you get home…. ok, that kinda makes sense. And delivery drivers, totally. But you’re alone inside your own vehicle!! Why are you wearing a mask!?!

And on the other hand: Why, you absolute moron, did you pull your face covering OFF YOUR FACE to LEAN IN and SPEAK to the poor guy behind the cheese counter!?!??!! Speaking is WAY worse than simply breathing, and you were wearing your hankie while you shopped. WHY DID YOU TAKE IT OFF!!%&$??@!# If that’s how you’re going to wear it, just don’t wear it at all and make it clear to the rest of us to steer clear.

And then there’s: walking into the center of a street in order to keep social distance between us *while wearing masks and jogging OUTSIDE with the breeze blowing*!?!!? You’d rather risk getting hit by car in order to keep 12 feet between us than simply hold your breath for the single second it will take to pass me 4 feet away and reach the fresh air on the other side of me? Do you even understand fluid dynamics and air flow? WTF people!?

And the crown jewel: A provider who feels that wearing a mask during an appointment with a client affords her meaningful protection. As if spending 30+ minutes breathing heavily in the same small, badly ventilated space is going to be magically mitigate by a wisp of fabric. Fabric face coverings work by limiting the potential of one person receiving a high enough viral load from the other to cause infection. But unless you’re both wearing a type of mask that forms a seal against the face and filters out particulate, the amount of time and type of interaction you’re having makes that a futile gesture. You know how everyone is complaining about fogging up their glasses while wearing masks? Yeah. That’s all contaminated air that, without good ventilation or filtering, just hangs out in the air. Even if she wears her N95 mask, unless the client is, too, as soon as she takes it off and takes a deep breath there goes her protection. You also have switch out masks regularly in order to maintain their effectiveness which is why washable fabric is so highly recommended right now. That and the heavier duty single use stuff is going to people who need it more.

I’m not upset at people taking precautions, I’m upset at people taking precautions THAT AREN’T EFFECTIVE. It tells me that they aren’t taking the time to understand why hey wear a mask or keep their distance, they’re just blindly following orders. For the same reason I HATE pedestrians who don’t look both ways before stepping into a crosswalk, I get angry at people improperly using their PPE. I love that someone walked to a marked intersection and waited for the light to change. But a crosswalk, much like a mask, isn’t a force field. It as flaws and often fails. Someone wearing a mask, alone, in their car, is someone who went to the trouble to walk to a crosswalk and then didn’t bother to look before crossing. Sure, they’re probably fine and it’s better than crossing without looking *not* at a crosswalk, but I’ll just be over here, crossing mostly at crosswalks but occasionally in the middle of the street, and obsessively looking both ways the whole time. I’ll be wearing my cloth face covering when it’s most effective, and making other decisions designed to protect my community while still maintaining a degree of normalcy when possible.

Wish List

I have many things. When I desire new things, I generally purchase them for myself without worrying. However, there are occasions where what I want and what I feel comfortable purchasing are not the same thing. Hopefully you can help me there.

Here I will list, when I find them, things that intrigue me, things I would love to own, consumer, or otherwise experience, that are beyond my means.

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/the-ethical-slut-inside-americas-growing-acceptance-of-polyamory-112319/
https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Drawn-to-Sex/Erika-Moen/9781620105443

CumSter

She knelt between my thighs as I lay down, listening intently to my instructions. “Slow in and out. The moment of penetration is the most stimulating, the stretch as it gets wider again and again.”

She watched carefully, slipping the long black silicone cock into me and out again, listening for words and sounds of encouragement. She went too deep once or twice, too fast for a moment, but sooner than I thought possible she found the perfect rhythm.

As she used her cock to fuck me slowly, I closed my eyes and went to work on my clit. My fetish is cum; cocks coming in, on, or near me revs my engine so that’s what I thought of first. Then I got curious and brought to mind the image of her riding me, dripping on me, coming on me slippery and sticky and smelling like pussy.

Turns out I am a gender inclusive cum slut, hahaha!

Between the rhythmic stretch as the head of her cock slipped out and in again, my own practiced fingertips, and this startlingly effective visualization, I went from not particularly aroused to orgasm faster than I have ever done before. Of course there was all that foreplay so my *mind* was primed, but I can’t even make myself come that fast.

Props to you, my dear. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to return the favor this time but I have a hunch that next time we meet, at least someone is going to give you that orgasm we missed today.

About the title:

I find it amusing to make fun of the way society likes to view people like me; people who do what I do or things similar. In this particular case, I’m making fun of the way I used to feel about people in porn. The first pornographic video I watched was a tear streaming throat fucking video. I was repulsed and pitied the girl for something that she so clearly disliked.

Then I started having sex and met other people who do, too. I realized that some things I didn’t think I’d like are actually pretty great and others I thought I’d love are not my jam. Also that there’s no sexual thing out there that *someone* doesn’t like. The phrase ‘cum dumpster’ is derogatory but it accurately describes one of my most arousing fantasies. To be tied (in a comfortable and stable position, with an attendant for my comfort and safety, preferably on a bit of adjustable height furniture for the comfort of my lovers) down and held helpless as cock after cock cums in or on my pussy. Not that they run a train and fuck me until they come, no. This is bukkake plain and simple. Except not on my face. To see and feel a constant stream of hot, sticky orgasms is… well, let’s just say I’m feeling myself respond even as I write this.

I found my realization, that the image of women coming *also* aroused me like that, was fun. A pleasurable expansion of my sexual repertoire. The phrase and it’s very filthiness amused me so I used it. Plus cum dumpster has a more pleasing semirhyme to it than cum slut.