Countdown City

Countdown City is the second of three novels by Ben Winters. The Last Policeman is the first and you can find it reviewed here.

The world is falling into chaos. Former detective Hank Palace accepts a request from an old friend to find her husband. In a world full of suicides, murders, drugs, stockpiling, scammers, conspiracy theorists, and ‘bucket listers’ this is no easy task. Armed with only his dog, his police issued pistol, and a hunch he does the best he can to connect the dots and find the missing man. What use is it if the world is ending in three months? No use, but Officer Palace has always been a detective and this is how he chooses to live his last few months: with integrity and the best way he can.

While the novel is on its face a mystery, the setting is what makes it remarkable. Through the eyes of the kind of person who doesn’t leave his post, Winters explores just how quickly and in what ways our world would destroy itself given the chance. Not physically with the impending meteor but psychologically as people face their end. Death is a certainty in our lives, of course, but we can almost always imagine we have more time than we really do. The entire world is diagnosed terminal and instead of a few cancer patients running off to enjoy their last months it’s the entire world. People delude themselves into thinking there is a chance in the world after the asteroid hits, when a thick layer of ash fills the atmosphere and induces an ice age. It’s the same hope we all have: that there might be more time than we thought, our lives might go on, and happily so, eventually. The result of this hope is fierce competition for resources. The tiny town in the middle of nowhere devolves first into a tense community that is slowly hemorrhaging members and resources then into a faceless mob, tearing through and murdering everyone they can find.

Winters watches this devolution through the eyes of Officer Palace and projects an outcome for humankind that is highly unsavory. That is what fascinates me about this series. The characters are all well written and the plot moves enough to keep it interesting, but the real truth is the fall of man.

The third book hasn’t been completed yet and I’m curious to watch the final two months before the meteor hits. It feels like there isn’t any further down for humanity to go so I’m interested in the author’s projections. So far I recommend them both. Light reading, entertaining, and thought provoking but only if you let it, it won’t pressure you into intellectuality.

Like Ripples in a Pond

Our actions influence more than we think. Like ripples in a pond what we do and say around people we may not care for can have a devastating effect on people we love. I’ve always been both oblivious and indifferent to most people’s opinions which means it’s hard for me to understand that while I may not care, others do. This came home in a big way a few weeks ago

I’ve been exchanging letters with an old college friend of mine. He’s the epitome of nerd academically, socially, and culturally. He’s one of the most loyal people I’ve ever known and counting him as a friend is a privelege. Our friendship was always platonic. I asked him once, just to be sure, “You aren’t interested in me, right?” because I’m all too used to having my male friends either become sexual partners or drift away because I’m not sexually interested in them. Over the course of our letters, I asked him how much, exactly, he wanted to know about certain parts of my life. I know he’s very conservative and also he has me compartmentalized into a friend box; he’s not the kind of person who can easily cope with the madonna/whore duality and so he chose not to indulge his curiosity. As part of his rationale he told me a story from school, when he was hanging out with some of the guys. One of those guys was kind of cute and I had a one-time fling with him. No farther than a little french lesson, but I was proud of myself, as usual, because I rock at it and he was blown away. Of course, it didn’t even occur to me that he might tell other people and have a negative opinion about me because of it. I’m used to sex positive people who enjoy getting together and pleasuring each other without attaching labels. Anyway, I came up in conversation and was immediately labeled a slut. Not that I’d deny it, of course, but that’s pretty ungrateful talk for the other half of the slut-party. Stuff like that might surprise me but I’m nearly immune to things like that. To me, it’s water off a duck’s back. This young man’s opinion wasn’t important to me so I don’t really care how he feels about our encounter. However, my good friend, loyal, kind, rich in acuity and affection, was horrified. Apparently he vehemently denied the label on my behalf and was a little torn up over it. I read that and was furious on his behalf. Fuck the attitudes that tell my friends that their affection and trust is misplaced. Screw the guys who are perfectly willing to kiss and tell, and not in a good way. The least you could do is be fucking decent about it. Throw it in my face all you want but leave my friends out of it.

Early last year I began a relationship. We work together and kept it quiet for a while but not long after it became public, several friends from the management team privately warned him that I’m loose and of low morals and the I have a reputation. I had fooled around with one other coworker once and it was mostly common knowledge that I was an exotic dancer at a club on occasion. That was apparently cause enough to warn this nice, upstanding boy to stay away from this skank. Fuck that. You think that you’re protecting your friend from what? A woman who isn’t ashamed of herself? Someone who finds sexuality rewarding to herself and her friends? A girl that chooses sexual partners that other people don’t like? Say it to my face if you’re going to express that opinion and leave my friends out of it.

When I moved in with my partner and his two housemates, one of them objected on the grounds that I “might bring the wrong kind of people around” as if my sexuality breeds junkies and crime lords. We had even met several times and those of you who have met me know I don’t fit the stereotypes that involve drugs and sleazy managers and whatnot. It didn’t take long for him to realize that wasn’t going to happen and now we’re friends. Same thing with my friends at work: the longevity and seriousness of my relationship has given me legitimacy and silenced whatever talk was going around.

I’ve have always been very sexual and proud of my sexual prowess. I remember my first kiss, the first time I went down on a guy, my first (and only) simultaneous climax, my first experiment with bondage, my first client, and my greatest lover. I love it all. I talk about it, I think about it, I share it. I once slept with an incredibly sweet young man simply because he’d never had sex before and I wanted him to know how great it could be and to learn how great he could be also. I am that girl. I am unashamedly a slut and I don’t care who knows.

I didn’t care. I do now. Negative opinions of me reflect on the others in my life. I’ve always been so sure of myself that it didn’t occur to me that others’ might not be. My friends could be vulnerable to anger, sadness, or shame because of my behavior and I won’t even know unless they tell me. I can do something that to me is fun and exciting with no shame and bring shame to people who have no involvement. I hate that. I fucking hate that. The social climate that tells these beautiful people that there is something wrong with them for putting their trust and love in me. The conviction that a woman who has slept with more than some arbitrary number of men, or who isn’t ashamed to admit it, is untrustworthy is despicable and angering.

I have since attempted to limit who knows what. Not really for legal reasons and not for myself but for my friends and family who would be subject to public shame for my actions. Like ripples in a pond I spread across the circle of friends, loving them and doing my best not to make them dirty, as society often sees me.

A Patron of the Arts

I mentioned this once, on TRB, after Adelle used the word ‘patron’ to describe the gentlemen who call on us. I find it a particularly apt word to describe our situation: I, the artist, create a space for you, my patron, to find calm relaxation, acceptance, the joy of release, and intellectual stimulation while enjoying sights, smells, and sounds of beauty and sensuality. You become not only benefactor but beneficent. Your patronage allows me to create that atmosphere for you much as the artist’s patron allows the musician to invest time and energy in creating works of aural art, the sculptor to bring life to clay and stone, the painter to capture and preserve deep emotion.

I mentioned before that the economic exchange between courtesan and client often makes one or both parties uneasy. When I first began, I found myself struggling to ask for even the lowest rates. To a young woman accustomed to wage slavery and plagued by undervaluation it took the insistence of others and a great deal of market research to discover what I might ask for and it still took several occasions of positive reinforcement for me to feel comfortable. After a time, I adjusted what I asked for as I felt more confident in my skills. I have changed what I offer as part of my art and have settled in a place that I feel comfortable.

I realize that in a traditional patronage it is often only one patron for one artist but I doubt any one person could or would be able to truly release me from more mainstream wages. In order to distribute the burden I and many others have several patrons. Also in traditional patronage it is not hourly but a stipend assured for as long as the artist is in the good graces of her patron and even then it is often variable. I find that arrangement unfavorable because it establishes a power dynamic that leaves me indebted to my patron while I prefer it to be an equal exchange on each occasion.

Despite the superficial differences, the meaning is the same. Your patronage frees me to create a space for you both physically in my studio and mentally. You free me to experience and share, to develop interesting ideas, to read books and mull them over, to help you reach comfort and bliss. You, my patron,  free me to practice my art.

Drift

The wine is getting to you. You knew drinking on an empty stomach would do that but for some reason you don’t mind.

You sit across from each other, chatting easily. She giggles at something you said, the wine gently sloshing in her glass and a smile dancing across her face. One hand is holding her glass, the other is squeezing your feet in her lap, absently wiggling your toes and kneading the arches. Between the visual, aural, and physical stimulus you find it hard to focus on the words but the conversations flows easily from topic to topic, a little hummingbird dancing on lips of flowers.

With the wine finished (most of it, anyway) she suggests the two of you take a look behind door number one. It is innocuous, white, with a plain cheap mirror stuck to the front but what it reveals is anything but plain. Soft light from above illuminates a pile of pillows, cushions piled up against the wall making a mound of cream colored squishiness. Her eyes invite you even more than her words and you both sink down toward the floor. The cushions are piled so as to push you together, holding you in the embrace of not only each other but cool pillows and a warm fuzzy blanket.

Time doesn’t exist here. There is nothing to distract from skin against skin and the warmth you generate together. The tingle from the alcohol blends in with the tingle where your bodies meet. It smells of cinnamon buns and coconut and lavender. You could almost fall asleep, murmuring sweet nothings to each other, listening to each other breathe. Her sleepy eyes flutter as she struggles to stay awake and loses. There is no time here.

It’s been a While…

It’s been too long and I apologize. I’ve been distracted by many little things and a few big ones. The pressure to post was too great. I drafted a post some time ago but it because such a monstrosity that I couldn’t bring myself to return. A few people have asked to see if I’m ok which prompts me to return to my blog and share a little about what’s been going on lately.

In the last month I have established a cuddle closet. I’m not 100% on what I’m going to do with it yet, but I like it. I’m hoping to get some photos up soon but I have yet to establish a good time with my photographer so that’s up in the air.

I have also watched five seasons of the crime drama ‘Bones’ which is adorable but doesn’t inspire the kinds of thoughts that make good blog posts. I do recommend the show, but don’t try watching and eating at the same time. Melting ice cream and melting flesh have similar visual textures and for some reason my desire for ice cream has dampened of late. I have also invested far too much time into a cute game called Plants Versus Zombies which I do not recommend because you will never escape the urge to play. Because of those two diversions I have only finished two books over the last month, one of which is a sequel to The Last Policeman. I will review it but it will be short and mostly an addendum to the first.

I leased a car so I have faster transportation. It was almost necessary because my incall has a laundry room in the basement but not in-unit. I prefer to take my laundry home rather than pack quarters around and hang out in the basement of the old building I practice in. Having a car makes that far easier.

We went out of town for a week to visit family and get away from cell phones and such. Of course my partner spent most of the week elbows deep in plumbing, replacing a great deal of old copper piping, and the whole time we didn’t have hot water, but it was good to get away. The last night we spent in a hotel in Spokane (hot showers, Oh My God) and went out celebrating the end of vacation (I may have celebrated a bit too much). I met the most interesting young woman at a tiny bar in downtown Spokane. She makes her money by traveling between growing cannabis in Hawaii and selling it in Spokane. She and I got along quite well and both of us lamented that in almost every instance, the women we wish to invite into bed with us and our partners already have partners of their own! I’m pleased for them, but it leaves me wishing that perhaps there were more single women in the world that aren’t me ;-P In any case, it was an eventful week.

I’m currently training a new night auditor to take my place. The end is near but not yet in sight. Once she steps in, I’ll have Sundays and Mondays available at my incall. Currently I spend those days sleeping so I’m not a zombie at work which would make me a less than ideal companion for my gentlemen callers. Once I no longer require day-sleep I can offer my time alert and engaged at times that are hopefully more convenient.

The marvelous Adelle and I have been getting together to share experience. She is a great teacher and quite the professional. I do hope to do another duo or two with her over the next little while. Haha, honestly part of me just wants to sit back and watch; she is a magnificent sight with her toes pointed and her back arched as she dances across her patron’s body. She is far more acrobatic than I and her wit and opinions are quite delightfully pointed. I’m hoping to organize a nice little spa day with her and I and a good friend of mine as well. Sometimes we need to take our turn getting pampered after spending all our time pampering you gents 😉

So that’s the big update. Again, I apologize for the lapse in updates and posts. Now that I’m back in the swing of things I hope to get back to regular posting.

 

XO

Christina

Heart of Darkness

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad is one of the great novels everyone is supposed to read. I read it. I also read lots of other novels you’re supposed to read. It did not stand out in whole, but in part.

The story is fairly well known and if you don’t know it and don’t like reading, you can watch Apocalypse Now and read the Cliff notes. They will not convey the same impression. I know because I did that. Sort of. The movie isn’t on netflix so I didn’t get to actually watch the film, but I did read the Cliff notes and a series of study guides. You see this was my very first book club book and I wanted to be prepared, especially since it was so… old. And slow. I will first give a short synopsis, then critique the writing itself, then move on to the story.

Marlow is an old man keeping late watch with his crewmembers. There is no wind and so they are stuck anchored at a rivermouth, somewhere safe and close to home. He begins to tell the story of his first command, on the Congo River during the period of Dutch colonialism. As a young man he yearned to explore the blank spaces on the maps and had alwasy been drawn particularly to the Congo River. He pulls a few strings and a friendly (but mostly well-connected) aunt lands him a captaincy on a steam ship destined for a station deep into the Congo. On the way to the mouth of the Congo Marlow begins to see signs of abuse; the ‘pilgrims’ who are supposed to be civilizing the natives are in fact killing and enslaving them, though under the names of ‘enemy’, ‘prisoner’, ‘rebel’, and ‘savage’. Once at the outpost where he is to assume command of the ship, he discovers it has since been sunk and must be repaired before he embarks. The time it takes to rehabilitate the ship gives Marlow a chance to get to know, then develop a thorough distaste for all the people working at this outpost. He finds that his mission is to go upriver and retreive an agent named Kurtz. Based on what the other agents have to say, Marlow decides he respects this rogue agent more than the self-serving men he’s so far met and develops an intense desire to hear him. Marlow and several of the other agents finally make it up the river only to discover that Kurtz, so far thought to be a man of noble intentions, has gone mad and set himself up as a god among the natives. They survive an attack and Marlow rescuse/kidnaps Kurtz in the middle of the night. Kurtz was extremely ill when they captured him and only lasts a few days more on the ship with Marlow and the other agents. His last words, made famous by the film Apocalypse Now, are ‘the horror! The horror!” Marlow finds himself thoroughly disgusted with the whole affair and decides to return home and take time for himself. He disburses Kurtz’s remaining personal effects to pseudo-intellectuals and Dutch Company agents (Kurtz had written what came to be a very famous treatise on the ‘savages’) and finally to his fiance he left behind. He visits her to provide closure, though for whom we can only guess. He tells her that Kurtz’s last words were her name as he can’t imagine telling a woman the truth, she’s too fragile. We are left at the end of a great story. There is action, adventure, unrequited love, insanity, moral ambiguity, and a story arc that cuts through an incredible backdrop of jungle scenery. Unfortunately, much of the potential in the story is stripped away by the too-obvious moralizing and explanations.

The book is remarkable for many reasons. It brings to light atrocities that up until then had been swept under the rug. At the time of publication, slavery had been abolished in Europe for some time but in the Belgian Congo and many other colonial territories, slavery still existed in a very real way, clothed in different names but the same beast within. It is also remarkable in that Joseph Conrad was not a native English speaker. His Polish heritage he eschewed for British citizenship and he adopted the language and culture. Rarely do we find a classic that was not written in the author’s native tongue. The novella is remarkable in that it was shocking, gritty, in much the way the movie fashioned in its image is shocking, gritty, and dark. However, the novel has not matured well.

The title Heart of Darkness is repeated verbatim some ten time in a hundred and twenty pages. That is only the most obvious of the problems and a symptom of the major flaw in this novel. The themes of light and dark might be interesting were they not so overemphasized. Even the light skin of the agents and the dark skin of the natives is used as a metaphor for culture and savagery. It is dark when Marlow ‘rescues’ Kurtz. The jungle is dark and dim any time Conrad wants to make the reader feel apprehension and is light when he wants us to be relaxed and delve into the supporting characters. The use of scenery to induce feelings is not bad, but the way Conrad essentially tells the reader how to feel based on the lighting conditions feels forced, as if we are reading with blinders, not allowed to see anything that might distract us. The most painful use of the light/dark theme is the final scene, when Kurtz’s fiance is dressed all in black, the room is dark, the only light is from the woman’s forehead. Conrad goes to great lengths to make a big deal out of this noble creature, tainted by Kurtz’s darkness but having that one vestige of light left. It just seems so forced.

The most obvious theme and the one most mentioned when discussing the book is the nature of civilization. Kurtz is painted as a man who was once great. He had hopes to convert and civilize the savages. He was one of the few who had a true vision and the oratory power to see it realized. His intensity of being leads directly to his corruption. All we see of his fall are the last few days and a few clues in a treatise he leaves behind. The essay is on how to civilize the savage and it suggests early on that white people should pose as gods in order to win them over and control them so we can teach them and bring them to the light (there it is again *sigh*). The work is brilliantly written right up to the end where a note in the margin reads “Kill the savages” denoting a severe mental break between the civilized agent of the Dutch Colonies and the crazed maniac who engages in unspeakable rites and sets himself up as some sort of divine agent. We are supposed to ask ourselves whether it is the chains of civilization that hold us together or the pull of savagery that draws us into madness. While the question may be posed, it seems obvious by Marlow’s actions that any relatively normal human will be repulsed by the savagery and comforted by civilization which pretty much ends that discussion before it can begin.

I dislike it when my emotions are manipulated so obviously. If I want to feel sad I’ll go listen to some soldier-themed country music. If I want to be angry I’ll browse /r/theredpill. If I want to feel smart I’ll read The New Yorker. I read this book because it is considered a classic. It’s supposed to provoke great discussions but I feel like the morals and lessons are so obvious it would take some creativity to draw good discussion from it. It’s supposed to shed light on incredible atrocities but I am with Chinua Achebe when he says that Conrad’s novels contribute more to racial stereotypes than to an understanding or remedying of the atrocities he mentions. It’s supposed to beg some questions about the nature of humanity and civilization but I feel force fed some moral truth, that civilization is important and fanaticism, given a moment of freedom, will return to madness and bestiality. I still want to see Apocalypse Now. The light and dark imagery so obvious in the book might take some actual noticing since it’s only background to a scene in a film. The relevance of the subject matter is pulled into the twentieth century by setting it in Vietnam instead of the Belgian Congo. This is one rare case in which the movie translation, because it is forced by its very nature to trim excess weight, might be better than the book. I’ll let you know.

 

House of Cards (TV Show)

Politics is an interesting topic, oft shunned but still fascinating. We tear apart the lives of those who put themselves up to bat and in turn they cater to the wealthy elite who can afford to purchase their loyalties. We are skeptical of their honesty, motivations, personal lives, commitment… everything. House of Cards is a show that does no favors to the political atmosphere. It follows the machinations of Congressman Francis Underwood as he gets revenge and jockeys for influence with other politicians and businessmen. His quest for power leaves dozens in his wake, anyone who chooses to oppose him ends up manipulated into a corner where they are either forced into the fold or picked off and destroyed.

The show is all about relationships. It has been said that only by giving power can you get it and that is perfectly clear in this drama. The primary relationship in the story is between Congressman Underwood and his wife. The two make the ultimate power couple: ruthless, goal oriented, and fully in sync with each other. They call in favors on each others’ behalf and are complicit in each others’  schemes. Their relationship is both loving and working. We see moments of love and devotion to each other and we also see flares of anger and moments or infidelity. Everything is for the good of the couple as a pair, not for one above the other. Friction arises not when they have affairs or when they expect favors from eacho ther but when one acts for the good of one over the other. I find that fascinating. They are the perfect couple, outwardly. Faithful, loving, supportive, and sweet southern hosts, she plays the trophy wife to a T while being just as manipulative in running her charity as he is in Washington fighting for more and more power. He calls in favors on behalf of her charity and plays the doting husband and southern gentleman as he is expected. Both keep up pretenses so thoroughly that they rarely break down, even at home. Mutual understanding of the working nature of their relationship allows for moments of genuine love and appreciation. It’s difficult for me to fathom, much less analyze their relationship as I’m incapable of that kind of duplicitousness, manipulation, and drive. Something motivates these two, some sort of thirst for power and influence, that is beyond the thoughts of someone such as I who is content to build a little nest and spend time sharing it with no strings or second thoughts.

There are few other consistent relationships in the narrative, a testament to the shifting alliances between politicians. Each relationship is worth only what it can contribute to the Congressman’s power base and as each person’s offering change, the relationships become worth more or less all the time. It’s difficult to figure out exactly what the plans are and what the Congressman’s intentions are because one moment he’s pressuring someone to lose a battle and the next moment he’s fighting for the same person to win a different fight. He builds and destroys people based on whether they are helping him or getting in his way. It’s like watching a boxing match or a controlled burn. Everything is orchestrated for maximum destruction, but only where necessary. Other things are protected as long as they are useful. It’s horrifying and fascinating at the same time.

Congressman Underwood is scripted to break the fourth wall judiciously and to great effect. His asides let us in on some of his motivations, strategies, and Machiavellian words of wisdom. It’s a fun way for the audience to join him in his plans and uncertainties, as well as his many moments of gloating. I have to admire him for his ambition, but his methods are far beyond questionable. I will watch this show to the end, just to find out what happens and how they get there. Intrigue? Excitement? Murder? A web of lies and machinations? count me in!

Warning as to nudity and swearing and some crude attitudes, especially towards sex workers, but it is plot critical. I like it. If you have time it’s worth checking out.

Spring is here!!!

And has been for almost a week now. I’m feeling it. I can see new shoots on our house plants and every time I go to the hardware store I remind myself to pick up those little starter planters so we can start seedlings. We have enormous south facing windows and a sliding door leading to the balcony. I’ve started taking after cats and curling up in pools of warm sunshine, relaxing and blissing out. My biggest regret is that I work at night and sleep during the day. I miss out on that impulse to go outside and explore.

Here is my average Monday: First of all, it’s actually a Saturday. My work week begins at ten on Saturday night, one of the worst times to be in the service industry. I worked the night of the Superbowl and had to ride the bus -TO WORK- with a bunch of fans. I’m happy for them, I even went out to watch the game with friends, but going to work that night was not what I want to do on a normal Saturday night, much less a loud, obnoxious, drunk one. That was the worst but Saturday nights are often like that: drunk people, too late for an express bus, and a whole long night full of nothing, if I’m lucky. I didn’t mind it for the longest time. I have time to write, to read, and I got a lot of homework done while I was in school. Plus it was exciting to sleuth through the day’s transactions to find mistakes and solutions. After a while, though, it gets tiring. I could be sleeping right now and in the morning I could have a leisurely breakfast, then go to my space and see one of my lovely friends, then maybe go out for lunch and listen to the birds sing. Instead, I drop into bed as soon as I get home and sleep until my partner gets home. We have dinner and a few moments, then I leave again. Three days of that, thank goodness it’s only three days, then I get Tuesday.

Tuesday is always interesting because I never know if I’m going to be exhausted or excited. I try to stay up most of the day so I’ll be able to sleep that night. Depending on the feel of the day I might get some errands done or I might just go home and sleep a little, then get up and putter until he gets home, then have a few drinks and try to sleep. Tuesdays are often either crazy or blissful, mostly since it’s the first day that I get to fall asleep at night in my own bed and wake up with normal people. If I slept the day before much I often end up waking up before the sunrise which is always beautiful. There’s something about early mornings like that that, even though I’m not a morning person, can soothe a soul.

Now that spring is here and change is coming, I’ll be switching back to being a creature of the day. A woman who sleeps at night and lives during the day. It also means that my Sundays and Mondays will come available for me to visit with my gentlemen. As always, reflected on my calendar is an up-to-the minute look at dates and times I anticipate being available. I’m so excited for spring!

Your Courtesan

She wears black every time. It’s almost like she’s found a uniform, though the fabric and style changes. You’ve been back so many times you’ve started to see the same ones, hear the same songs, but it doesn’t matter. That’s not what you’re here for. You’ve watched the furniture come in, seen the walls sprout new colors, helped hang a painting or two, but that’s just being helpful. That’s not what you’re here for. She’s been chatting about the last week. There’s something new but you don’t remember what it was. That’s not what you’re here for. The room is warm and smells sweet, of vanilla, cinnamon, coconut, and lavender. It’s nice, but unimportant. That’s not what you’re here for. She finally lays her hands on you, covered with warm oil, firm yet soft and femenine. There. That’s what you’re here for. The rattle of the radiator fades, the sirens and horns and people talking outside drift into your subconscious. THAT is what you’re here for.

Warm hands, warm oil, and warm words caress you, stroking away stress and the daily monotony. Your shoulders begin to relax. That spot on your back doesn’t hurt so much now. You always forget how awesome a butt massage feels until it happens again, every time. The moments slip away as your legs and feet receive her minstrations. Your arms and hands are coaxed into some semblance of calm. Every once in a while you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of warm rounded hips or a soft curve in her waist. Her breasts brush softly against you as she leans down to trail little tiny kisses down your spine. She smells clean and faintly of woman.

She’s covered you from head to toe in long strokes, kneading motions, caresses, kisses, and a generous amount of oil. She’s been teasing you off and on about what she’d love to do to you and you happily allow it. The contrast between the relaxation and the arousal is electrifying. You’ve wanted this since you walked in the door and now it’s here, an explosion of endorphins followed by long, slow, panting aftercare. As long as you’re here she will use her hands to the best of her knowledge to show you how great you are. Sexy. Desired. Relaxed. Smart. Funny. Helpful. Loved. This is what you’re here for. This is what you’ll come back for.

Authentic Courtesan Experience

There has been a lot of talk over the last year about GFE. What does it mean? Why do we use it? Where did the term come from? I’ve always been a little confused about the term. Most of the people I see already have or had girlfriends or wives. If you want an experience with a girlfriend, why go outside the relationship? I guess that means that it isn’t really a girlfriend experience they seek, it’s something else.

Maybe it’s a polite way of finding a menu. In past discussions some have mentioned that GFE means kissing and hugging, talking, and making it all the way to home base. it’s a way to ensure the client knows mostly what to expect so he can choose a provider whose preferences match his. In the more polite corners of our little world, it’s not really ok to ask what you are and aren’t allowed to do, you have to go by reviews and then just kind of let the situation develop and hope you find someone who clicks. A provider calling herself GFE helps outline the basics of her services, making it easier to choose. Valuable, but not really girlfriend-like.

Perhaps it’s more to indicate the feel of the session. She says GFE so that means she’ll treat you with love and enthusiasm. You can be sure, within reason, that your time together will feel genuine, but not so genuine that she complains about work or has a headache today. It helps build the illusion and smooth over the awkward moments when the economic part of the relationship becomes obvious.

I am of the camp that the GFE acronym is overused. The meaning is too broadly applied. Undefined. I think what people are looking for is the Genuine Escort Experience. We see much of it here in Seattle and we are lucky. We see versions of it in Adelle, Tanuki, Chloe May, Myself, Sarah Nicole, Larissa, and dozens more I can’t think of off the top of my head. All the previous I have met in person. They are women who love sex, love people, and provide a genuine experience. We aren’t your girlfriend. We will never be angry with you because you’ve been away too long, we relish that you have returned. We do not poison your day with venom and spite on our coworkers, we provide a calm space to relax and vent. We do not bore you with routine, we dedicate space and time to your comfort, your relaxation, your desire and lust. This is not a girlfriend experience, this is an enthusiatstic provider experience.

As an enthusiastic provider, I love what I do. There is no farce or facade, there is only a joy and pride in what I do. When I anticipate your call, I am thinking about what will make you feel good. What will make you comfortable. What will make you feel sexy and relaxed. Not to say I don’t make that effort for my partner, but the day to day living makes special occasions harder to find/make. For client and provider, that hour, that moment, is everything. It is the entire relationship. In lieu of GFE I would advocate Courtesan. She knows who she is, why she does this work, and how to do it well. That is what I think we are looking for when we ask for GFE: a genuine experience with a sexual woman who isn’t a girlfriend but who is a professional companion. There is no awkwardness in the economic aspect of the courtesan relationship because it is beautiful and respected. There is no need to cloak it in relationship terminology.

I am all in favor of abolishing acronyms. Perhaps ‘Courtesan’ is a good replacement.