Author: C S

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New space, coming soon

I’ve been frightfully out of contact for some time and I apologize. I’ve been waiting until my new location is settled. As of last week I signed a lease on a little studio on First Hill. It is painfully rudimentary, but operational and I hope to entertain as early as this Tuesday. I won’t have much by way of furniture but the necessities are there.

I’ve been having both a painful and joyful time of it. The building is a bit on the older side and there are quirks but the location is great, the size is fine, and the price is right. I’ve been going over design ideas and I’m excited for artwork, artistic mirrored tiles on the walls, fresh romantic paint, and a delicious vintage style couch. For the first half hour I sat on the floor and looked at the walls, imagined the warmth and intimacy they would bring to my guests and myself, and I felt a posession, an ownership. I think for a while it will be a work in progress. Much as many of you have been able to watch my progress in the hobby, you will be able to watch as this little slice of heaven evolves into a romantic love nest, warm, comforting, sensual, and intimate.

In the meantime, please forgive my reticence. I’m not ignoring anyone, I’m simply busy between working my ‘day’ job and putting all this together. I have a list of emails to send to those I have already seen or screened. Once I feel I have given my returning callers a chance to reserve time with me I’ll solicit appointments from new friends and once I’ve responded to my patient callers I’ll make a general announcement that I’m ready to open my space to new solicitors. Thank you for your patience and eagerness. The pressure to be operational is a good motivator. I hate to keep you boys waiting.

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Stoner by John Williams

No, this has nothing to do with weed. The novel Stoner is a human drama, the story of William Stoner: son, husband, father, lover, scholar, stoic. Born to poor farmers in Mississippi, Stoner allows his father to direct his fate by attending Columbia university’s school of agriculture in the hopes he can bring back expertise to make the farm more successful. During a sophmore english survey class he falls in love with literature and switches to a literature major. He fails to tell his parents until after graduation that he will not return to help them on the farm at which point his future is once again directed by outside events. World War One is in full swing and the dearth of able bodied men means recent graduate William Stoner finds an open teaching position at his alma mater. After a year or two teaching, our shy, unassuming protagonist meets a beautiful young woman and pursues a goal for the first time in his life. Despite that his fate is yet again decid by another. The mother of his prospective bride decides the details of their nuptuals and we, the readers, have hint after hint that it is not the young woman’s destination as a married woman that motivates her but her past as a coddled but unloved and possibly even abused little girl. His marriage is rocky due in part to his wife’s neuroses and in part to his stoicism which presents as a total lack of reaction.

This story is an intensley human story. I was browsing reddit the other day and came across an admission from a young man who had questioned and rejected his Christian beliefs over time. After telling a shortened version of his conversion, he asks if he should write a book of his story. The concensus was “no, your story isn’t interesting enough” but I disagree. After reading Stoner I think a life doesn’t have to be spectacular to be meaningful and to make a story worth writing about.

First in making the story worth reading was the poetic language. It is, of course, prose, but the word choices evoke such beauty, even amid sorrow, that the story is lifted from the mundane to the extraordinary. Stoner lives through both world wars, participates in neither, and yet is profoundly changed by the war culture which surrounds him. He observes the depression, his wife’s family is directly affected by the stock market crash, yet his position as a tenured professor is under no threat. He observes the world as almost an outsider. The words Williams uses to craft the story of a life are emotionally evocative regardless of whether he describes the intellectual devotion between scholars in love, the joy of rearing a beautiful daughter, Stoner’s pain at his wife’s machinations, or the threadbare connection between Stoner and his family.

Aside from the beautiful and evocative language, the pure humanity of Stoner’s life resonates with anyone who has ever dealt with difficult relationships or moral ambiguity. He is the archetypal stoic, doing what he is supposed to without complaint. He writes his book, teaches his students, rears his child, and cares for his ailing wife all with the same plodding fortitude that we both pity and admire. We, the readers, know that his marriage is toxic and wish escape for him, but it doesn’t even occur to him to seek an out. We can see that he should stand up for himself at home and at work but he doesn’t imagine himself some sort of hero, he simply does what he feels is expected of him with no reservations.

Another aspect of the novel that sets it apart is its subtlety. I’ve read a few books recently (reviews pending) that irritated me in their childishness. I resent feeling my emotions manipulated by superfluous scenes and being spoon fed my philosophy. I mentioned when reviewing some of Robert Heinlein’s novels that while I appreciate the sexual forwardness of his dystopian futures, those same mores are so obvious they are almost insulting. Williams writes about Stoner’s actions, the scenes he finds himself in, but not much about emotions or motivations. There is a scene in the book where Stoner’s wife goes home after her father dies. She painstakingly separates out every item her father has ever given her or been responsible for and destroy it. Williams doesn’t tell us why, nor does he employ the omnipotent narrator to tell us how she feels about it, we simply see the scene and are free to draw our own conclusions. Another scene where Stoner and his lover are writing together, composing surveys of literature independent from each other but in the same room. Their work is interrupted often by lovemaking but again, there is very little to tell us how the characters feel other than what we see. Williams paints brilliant, poignant scenes for us and allows us to see what we wish in them.

We watch William Stoner as he stands up for academic integrity and gets bitten for it. He stands up for his relationship with his daughter and is manipulated out of his home because of it. He falls in love and disregards social mores and in turn watches his lover get run out of town. He works towards a relationship with his daughter only to watch her mother push her into a shotgun wedding and alcoholism. Through it all he remains quiet and thoughtful, a listener rather than a contributor, often helpless in the face of his circumstances. Here is a quiet life, remarkable in its plainness but beautifully wrought. John Williams is a brilliant author. I can only hope that someday someone will write about me the way he writes about William Stoner.

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Good morning indeed

You fade into consciousness and slowly become aware of the sound of the wind in the darkness. You can tell it’s early because the light slanting through the blinds is faint, almost nonexistent. It takes a moment to remember where you are as your mind slowly comes up from sluggish sleep.

That’s where you are; you’re lying next to her. She smells sweetly of fruity shampoo and of the human scent of sleep: skin and breath and warmth. As you scoot into her back and wrap your arm around her she presses herself into you, her perky round bottom fitting like a spoon in a drawer against what is becoming a delightful early morning wood. You’ve wondered your whole life what it would be like to wake up to a woman who delighted in those uncontrollable moments and you smile as you think back on the first time you woke her with a little nudge from behind.

Her tiny early morning moans of appreciation just made it worse. Well, better as it turned out, but how were you to know? She surprised you by pulling your hand up to cup her breast before reaching down to appreciate that delightful chap with a mind all his own. “Good morning” she says, her voice still muffled with sleep. The inflection makes it very clear how she thinks you both can make it an even better morning. It had been such a long week for you both, last night sleep came early and hard and as they say: the mind is willing but the flesh is weak. Is it any wonder this morning came a little bringhter than the last?

Half asleep, you both move with each other, your arousal becoming more obvious all the time. Her arousal you can hear in her heavy breath andt he way she strokes you. With little else on either of your minds, love making in the morning has a delightful simplicity to it. No rushing, no stress, and the warm wash of dreams has left your minds blank except for each other. It’s not long before you both are naked, pressing against each other. She turns her head so she can kiss you, feel the press of your lips together and share hot breath.

The way you fit together perfectly makes this early morning lazy love easy and comfortable. You can wrap your arms around her, tangle your legs together, and she holds you with her arms behind her as you move together, inside her, pleasing and playing with her while she does the same to you. Of course before long you both are wide awake, breathing hard together, diving headling into pleasuring each other and yourselves. Both of your are selflessly selfish. There is no finish line or ulterior motive, it is simply making love. Each of you is inwardly focused and because of your giving nature, both of you are happy and satisfied with the selfishness of the other. You discovered the freedom to explore each other and yourselves long ago. This morning you meet with blank minds and open hearts as uou give and take, sliding at your own pace towards the satisfaction of your desires.

By the time morning twilight has begin to burn off the two of you lay in a panting heap, hot and wet with sweat. Satisfied. Awakened in the greatest possible way. It’s six thirty, half an hour before you meant to get up, and already you’ve accomplished something. The rest of the day will be as full or empty, as stressful or calm as it will be, but no matter. This morning made today a good day.

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A personal history of sexuality

My most recent review of the Robert Heinlein novel ‘Friday’ has, as good fiction should, raised interesting thoughts that I feel are pertinent to my life, my professional activities, and my audience. I find it becoming appropriate to describe as best I can my sexuality and why I like what I like.

I am, above all, a pleaser. I love to watch and specially hear people affirm me and my abilities. You want to make me happy? Don’t try to do anything to me, simply relax and respond. I want to hear you grunt when I hit a sore spot and tell me that it feels good. I want to hear you breath hard and watch your muscles tense as you edge closer to climax. I want to see you smile at me when I come into view around the corner with a welcoming embrace. I want you to relax and find yourself drawn to come back time and time again because you enjoy what I do to you.

That’s a very important point. What makes me happiest is to DO TO YOU, not be done to.

It took me a good three or four years to overcome the social conditioning that has me quiet as a mouse when it comes to talking about sex with someone I’m having it with. I can talk the proverbial ear off people who aren’t my partner, but I learned early on that the male ego is extremely fragile and even the hint of dissatisfaction is grounds for hours of pouting and guilt tripping. Of course I now know that adults don’t pull that kind of crap but two years, my two first years, no less, of conditioning is not easy to get over. I have since stumbled my way into a relationship where being selfish was not only acceptable but actively encouraged. I found my partner urging me to please myself and what finally allowed me to give over was him letting me know in no uncertain terms that it was hot as hell and he hoped I’d do it as often as I wanted. The fact that getting off got him off allowed me to justify my selfishness and finally I started consistently climaxing, though still not every time. That dynamic is something I reserve for him. It is why I choose not to offer mutual touch or full service. He has earned that by his patient selflessness which he exercised long before we went to bed together. I cannot exercise that selfishness with just anyone.

It helps that we’ve had the time to crack the code, as it were. I would describe my equipment as a massive combination lock with a dozen, constantly changing stops on the dial. It also has a self destruct feature where trying too many times basically breaks it and I have to wait until next time to try again. Of course I still love sex for its own sake and always have, but having other people try to fumble through it when even I don’t know how it works is not ideal. My perfect sexscapade is orally pleasuring each other for exorbitant amounts of time, then getting in some vogorous but breif action, then cuddling.

I realize that many of you are also givers and that you get off on getting your partners off. I appreciate and identify with that SO much. I’ve been on the receiving end of several of your massages, gifts, and attention which makes me feel good. You know why it makes me feel good? Because it makes you happy. It doesn’t matter what your gifts or praise are, as long as they are genuine (which is why ‘perfect’ is a word I don’t much like), I will like them. It’s like a big circle of happiness that runs round and round, making both of us brighter with each circuit. It doesn’t matter whether your massage is light or firm, I feel physically good, so you feel good, so I feel good, and the loop returns. I’m not sure I’m explaining it very well but those of you who are like me will understand. Just making someone else happy fills up your love cup, you don’t need anyone to do it back to get the effect.

I’m pointing this out because I have had people ask me what I want to be done to me to make me happy. My answer is and always will be: nothing. Leave me in control of the situation so I am mentally pleased and satisfied. Let me know that you are pleased with what I do for you. Relax. Breathe. Feel. That is my reward and why I love what I do.

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Moar SciFi!! -Friday, by Robert Heinlein

I recently posted on TRB a short blurb about the sexuality in the novels of Robert A. Heinlein. I’ve read several of his books of late and I find a great deal of sexual permissiveness in his fictional societies. I’ve said before that science fiction is less about one or two people and more about humanity. However, this particular novel is very much a story about just one person.

The novel ‘Friday’ is written as an autobiography of an artificial person living on a planet earth far in the future. An artificial person is one who has been designed from the ground up, then grown in a lab and raised in a group home. She is genetically human and has no (well, not many) post-production add-ons. However, due to the careful selection of her genetic material she is the strongest, fastest, most clever a human can possibly be. She was selected at a young age by ‘Boss’ a paternal figure who runs an organization of spies, assasins, couriers, doctors, information analysts, and more. He is a great player in the world and he has her trained to be a combat courier, someone who can get whatever, wherever, with a minimum damage to herself and none to her cargo. Her highly specialized training and temperment are evident in the calm way she deals with any number of events. Someone is following her? She kills him, hides the body thoroughly and quickly, and gets out of there. She talks about how she makes crazy round trips to shake anyone who might be following her. She outlines the lines of thought she goes through during torture and interrogation. It’s very matter-of-fact in almost every way.

The memoir follows Friday as she searches for a sense of belonging. Artificial persons are officially segregated and considered soulless and unnatural. It’s a fairly heavy handed analogy for racism, the difference lying in that artificial persons are indistinguishable from anyone else except by their super human abilities. As long as they keep those abilities under wraps they remain incognito. It’s difficult to give a synopsis of the book because there are several sequential story arcs that kind of jump around. Halfway through the book her organization is disbanded so even the intrigues she’s been tasked to discover fizzle out in the immediate story. It kind of feels like how I would write the story of my life: my personal story with world like 9-11 and the Ukranina protests as a backdrop. There isn’t some grand overarcing theme, every few years there is a new theme and in the case of this book about every three or four days there’s a new adventure. As simply an adventure story it is delightful but I will probably wait until my children are in their late teens before recommending it. I’ll get to why a little later.

Several obvious themes jump from the pages in a similar way to the last two Heinlein novels I read. He seems to be lacking a little finesse as far as morality lessons are concerned. Racism and rejection are constant and glaring themes. Friday lives with the constant knowledge that people who initially treat her well would refuse to consider her a real person if they knew that “[her] father was a knife, [her] mother was a test tube.” At one point she tries to buy her way into love and belonging by joining an S group, a group marriage that is also a corporation in which each family member buys shares. When she finally reveals her origins she is greeted with disbelief, then loathing, then rejection. We, the readers, know Friday is a great person and we wouldn’t consider her anything other than the protagonist, the character we identify with, one who has a beautiful soul and deserves respect if not regardless of then despite her origins. The short chapter in her life is a not very clever way to push the unsavory nature of racism.

Of course the racism leads us to our other theme of rejection. Friday, as an unacceptable member of society, must now drown her sorrows in sex and booze, using it as a way to seek love and acceptance. She winds up in bed with a few delightful people who turn out to be supportive and helpful, loving, accepting, and recurring characters in her search for a home. It’s so patently unrealistic that the lesson doesn’t really work. Friday’s emotions are written so casually that they come across as inhumanly shallow. We can identify with rejection, lust, hatred, fear, anger, and passion but Friday expresses these emotions almost robotically. It would be unnerving if I didn’t know exactly how that is. More on that later. Of course in the last two pages she is rescued, loved, and accepted. She bravely (except not really bravely because she wasn’t ever afraid of anything) overcomes the prejudices of a planet by leaving the planet behind and starting over mostly new. Forgive me if I sound a little jaded, but it did feel like he was feeding his audience a little too obviously, and perhaps could have had a little more character development in his main character.

That being said I loved the book. I could barely bring myself to put it down. I loved the humorous way Friday describes the cultures she finds herself in, enjoyed the easy cameraderie of the supporting characters, and found the world overall creative, fun, interesting, and a bit satirical when the political climate was relevant. Heinlein broke the world into smaller nations (the US is now California, Texas, the Midwest, the Southeast, and part of Washington is now part of the part of Canada that became British Canada) and gave each nation a political identity that takes their current ideologies to their illogical extremes. California is described as painfully democratic and their high cheif is a Native American in full tribal gear. The midwest is ruled in part if not completely by corporations. New Zealand is exactly as far from everything socially and geographically as it is now. We don’t even really hear about Europe, now that I think of it. We have colonized the habitable planets several billion light years out and even they have social aspects that seem like they may be poking fun at certain populations.

The social aspect I like the most and the personal attribute of our protagonist I identify with are the two reasons I would be careful about sharing or recommending to young adults. I love the sexual attitudes of almost the entire world and definitely of the characters portrayed as kind, accepting, loyal, and just generally good. Their emotionally welcoming personalities lend themselves well to open sexual relationships, not bound by guilt or fear or poor health. The only character portrayed as cold or unsexual is the mother-wife who ultimately rejects Friday from her ransomed sense of home. Lack of sexual openness is found in characters with low morals, little intelligence, and poor attitudes. At every turn Heinlein secures a place for open sexuality along side the satisfaction of the primary conflict: belonging. I think this is inapropriate for young people with a developing sense of self because, while I agree that sex and being sexually open can help form and strengthen bonds, I think it is not a good thing to base relationships, much less a sense of self-worth on. In today’s slut-shaming culture, it is too easy to see a strong woman, kicking ass and making love, and emulate her as a reaction without realizing the dangers of building self-worth around sexuality and sexual desirability. I did this for a while. It took several years and a few solid mistakes for me to realize that we and our sexuality exists in a much larger context than we think. I’m getting more ideas for posts all the time! Anyway, I think that sex and relationships are far more nuanced than Heinlein presents in any of the three novels I’ve read and this book should either wait or be dealt with carefully. I do, however, think it’s a very good way to introduce the ideas of a plural sexuality to friends and partners who might otherwise be averse. It presents happy, healthy, low-stress sexual encounters as healing and wholesome, almost heavy-handedly, and could open up lines of communication.

Friday was raised without a very thorough emotional atmosphere and it shows. This is the other reson I feel this book is inappropriate for young people. We are social creatures and base far too many of our decisions on how we feel. There’s nothing wrong with following your heart, as long as your head is prepared. I feel as though I am capable of that: making impulsive decisions while realizing and accepting the consequences. I went through a time in high school where I felt apathetic. Not agressively anti-family/school/whatever but actually inemotional (I don’t even know if that was a word but it is now). It wasn’t the typical teenage “ugh, I’m so apathetic, look at me being cool and not caring” it was simply a contentedness without satisfaction or disstisfaction. I wasn’t happily content, nor was I unhappily content, I was simply…. content. My emotions were shallow and breif and because of that I identify with Friday. However, I feel my experience is atypical and I think teaching young people that a consistently low emotional state is ‘cool’ isn’t probably the best lesson.

Overall Friday is recommended as are the other Heinlein novels I’ve read. I found it engaging, fast paced, sweet at times and at others brutal, imaginative, a pure delight to read. While less nuanced than it could have been there are strong themes which I feel my audience in particular will identify with. It’s also quick and easy. Enjoy!

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Happiness

I saw most of a documentary tonight on KCTS, Seattle’s local public television. It was simply titled “Happy” and covered several cultures in search of what makes us happy. Their conclusion was familiar to me.

I have always thought we were social creatures, our lives depending on each other for survival. There is a whole segment of evolutionary theory concerned with group fitness and altruism that takes for granted that we would never have survived into maturity without each other. The documentary concluded that not only is social interaction necessary for survival, it is also responsible for our happiness and longevity.

Okinawa, Japan has the highest centenarians per capita in the world. The more industrialized parts of japan are suffering from a wave of deaths at the workplace due to sleep deprivation and stress. The difference is the focus on community and social connectivity versus the focus on economic success. The residents of Okinawa farm for part of the day, then go to town where they share tea, participate in cultural activities, and care for each other. The residents of Tokyo work long hours and are constantly bombared with the need for economic success at the cost of families and even lives.

In Okinawa there was a gaggle of old ladies sitting together being interviewed. One mentioned that her husband was lost in the war and she has no other family, but she never feels alone because her neighbors are always there to care for her and interact with her. Not one of the old people shown were walking with canes or feeble in any way. It was inspiring to watch and vindicating for me, who has always been so hell bent on social interaction, that even statistical analysis upheld the hypothesis that we get our happiness not from how much money we earn but from how much love we receive.

It seems intuitive, does it not? And yet here we find ourselves in an industry that trades economic success for social interaction. The providers of Seattle, and specifically of TRB, pride themselves not on how perfectly their hair is curled or how red their lips are, but on how well we make our callers feel when they are with us. We are both naturally skilled and self taught to give much needed care and attention. Many reviews we see on TRB focus primarily on how genuine and caring the providers are and keep the physical interaction on the down-low. More indicative than reviews are the little quips and back-and-forths between providers and the men who see them. There is more than a quick lay going on and it’s no suprise it’s a huge industry despite its legal status.

I, for one, consider myself priveleged to have made my way, finally, to Seattle and to this line of work. I’ve talked about how I love it, how the giving of pleasure makes me deeply happy both in the moment and when I look back on it. This documentary resonated with me. It validated my chosen work. It made me excited about my upcoming week, full of the joy of helping my friends realize the power of a moment of relaxation and of adoration. I reccomend watching it as a reminder to take time for yourself. If you don’t have time to watch it, see my previous reccomendation.

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Better With Time

The question of age come up on occasion. How young is too young? How old is too old? It surprises me that it is a question because I simply assumed that in this industry, age and ability matter very little. Attitude and chemistry are critical and for a truly skilled companion chemistry is no mystery. We learned long ago to exaggerate the right things, hold ourselves in flattering poses, cultivate an interest in each and every person we see so our chemistry is both genuine and assured.

I once said to someone asking that were I to restrict my clients to those under a certain age, I would lose the cream of the crop. As we age, we gather experiences like shadows that follow us, like clothes that distinguish us, and in the lines on our hands and faces. Our character is etched into our appearance and as the vigor of youth fades the steady strength of maturity emerges. The confidence I’ve seen in many of the older gents of Seattle is attractive and their attention is flattering. It draws out a brash sensuality, much like a receptive audience brings out the spirit of a troup of actors.  The doe-eyed nervousness of youth is equally flattering, but evokes in me a more protective, sisterly feeling that results in a more subdued, careful encounter.

As we age we learn what we like and what works for us, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. We tolerate less foolishness and immaturity and seek out knowledge, meaningful connections, and people who we believe will not only make us feel good, but draw us out and make us batter people. Relationships are fewer but deeper and it takes a remarkable person to draw us into the time and energy required to establish new ties. All of these things make time with the mature gents of Seattle rewarding and flattering. We both appreciate what we do for one another and we both appreciate the reality of the relationship. It is why many of you find yourselves drawn towards Tanuki, Sarah Nicole, Jillian Roberts, Joyfull, and the many other mature providers in Seattle: we all become better with time 🙂

So if you’ve been rejected before because of your age, your race, disabilities, dearth or excess of facial hair, attatchment to your rubber ducky, or any other superficial foolishness, rest assured that should you meet me as an equal, with respect, you will not leave disappointed.

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Once Upon a Time….

…there was a great King. He held himself in a regal manner and commanded great respect and love throughout his kingdom. He preferred to think of himself as a man of the people, more of a senator than a King but none could look upon his bristling white beard and full belly without knowing that this was a man of great works.

But the King often got lonely in his power. Too many tried to curry favor in one way or another and to retreat from this barrage of favor seekers and sycophants he turned to his concubines. The concubines to the King were not simply pretty things to serve his eyes, they were intelligent, wise in the ways of pleasure, and more beautiful for their knowledge than the most beautiful of foolish young maidens. The familiar scent of roses and sweet candles filled the nostrils of the King as he entered the domain of his women. They greeted him with their wide, sensual smiles and warm, sweet words.

The two women were similar in loveliness and enthusiasm. The taller of the two carried on her crown light red wisps of fair hair and on her shoulders a diaphanous green gown, its presence more to enhance the figure beneath than to conceal it. The smaller of the two displayed a smattering of freckles and a pair of full young breasts barely hiding behind the open front of an overlarge, thickly plushed robe.

“It’s been too long, far too long since we last saw you” whispered the redhead, between kisses. “You must not stay away or the stress of day to day life will overcome you and even our skills will be hard pressed to bring you back.” The berobed young concubine pressed herself against his back and assisted with the removal of his robes while her partner in pleasure assisted from before. Clothes dropped to the floor on all sides until nothing separated the young women from the object of their desire.

“Come, sit, enjoy what we have prepared for you” they said as they led him to the red throne, cushioned for comfort and just large enough for three but small enough that the three were close indeed. They fed the King grapes and chocolate from faraway lands and kissed him by turns. Their hands danced across his chest and arms as they exchanged small words of little meaning and sometimes bigger words with even less meaning. The waltz of hands and mouths went on for some time before the beautiful ladies presented the kind with the dias of pleasure which he mounted with eagerness and anticipation.

As the King’s precious women went about their work, the room grew quiet. The sound of the flames licking in the fireplace became loudest int he room. It blended with the small sounds of pleasure from the three participants and the bare whisper of oil slicked skin sliding along the King’s body. With four hands and two mouths on him he was filled with a pleasant humming of taut muscle and stress of the most pleasurable kind. Minute after agonizing minute the priestesses of pleasure worked the king over. Breath came harder and, once all were ready, so did the King. With a handful of lush femininity and a mouthful of kisses and sweet words, his whole body settled into a deep relaxation. The King’s lovers smiled their satisfaction to each other and set about caring for their beloved. They brought him hot towels for his feet, cool grapes for his mouth, and sweet tea for his belly. They spoke of their fondness for each other and made light of the King’s stress. For this one great hour the King was more than a King, he was a man in the eyes of woman.

Though they were sad to see him go, the women of the King knew great decisions depended on him and they loved him enough to see him off and to wait, though impatiently, for his return. A last few kisses and a warm goodbye left the young women alone again, already looking forward to the next time they would be able to serve the king.

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Squeaky Clean

She’s been in the shower an inordinate amount of time.

You busy yourself tidying the apartment, the tv on for background noise, and think back on the last few hours. After work and working out, she met you right out of the shower with dinner and a kiss. She wrapped her around you and you felt clean and warm. You smile at the memory of her breasts pressed against your chest, how her lips tightened when she smiled while she kissed you, the smell of her hair, and how she tilts her face up to you like a flower turning to the sun. The whole package is worth waiting through a half hour shower, because you know what happens when you are both squeaky clean. All the accumulated grime of the day is washed away and you both smell fresh, warm, she of coconut and you of your aftershave.

Your warm smile turns into a devilish grin as you put some scattered books on the shelf again and imagine what’s going to happen when she finally emerges, dripping hair and hot skin, from her cleanse. You turn around to find something else to tidy and there she is, watching you, loving you, appreciating that you put out the effort to keep your shared home neat and clean. You’re still nesting. It’s your first apartment together and you’ll remember it forever. You always remember your first.

She grins with pride as you look her up and down, appreciating the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts as she stand nude before you, all yours, with a fiery sparkle in her eye. A moment’s silent looking and you come together, hugging and kissing and touching each other with love and fondness and affection and lust all spiraling like a big delicious milkshake just waiting to be tasted. Speaking of….

In the bedroom under the covers a familiar scene plays out, comfortable as old shoes, sweet and new as fresh strawberries. Your hands play over her skin, teasing her nipples hard, raising goosebumps on her arms, brushing gently past her hips, finding all the places you know she loves caressed. She rewards you with little sighs and moans and hushed cries of pleasure. Her hands instinctively reach for the rapidly growing evidence of your desire. Just the feel of it in her hand always arouses her and gives her focus behind her half closed eyes.

You slide yourself down the length of her as you move your face to where you can kiss her sweet lips. You use your tongue to draw even greater gasps from her. Her hips begin thrusting, her breath comes faster, she gets louder and softer by turns. The gasps jumble with words as she is whisked away into some kind of alternate reality where her body is a million coiled springs, it’s pricked by a thousand needles, muscles move independent of thought.

“I need you… I need you with me” come the first distinct words in some time. With her wet sweetness around your mouth you move up to kiss her, sharing the salty sweet taste as the two of you meet. First contact. Shivers. Tight and slick you find yourself moving against her as she arched into you. Now she’s on her belly and you press your hips into the round firmness of her butt. You reach around to cup her breast as she reaches down to touch herself, adding to the intoxication of making love. It’s so wet there’s nearly no friction, only the pressure of you against her, parting and meeting again smoothly, building intensity. She is thrusting back into you. You can feel her fingers almost frantic on herself as she gets closer and closer to her climax. You hold back, partly to prolong your own orgasm and partly to help her find one, too. The second stretch into minutes of heavy breath, hands gripping the bedsheets, shower wet hair tangling in passion and heat.

It’s too much. The sight and sound and feel of such raw, familiar, lust filled activity is too much and to the sounds of her ecstasy you reach a climax. You are lost in her. You are safe with her. A last few sensational thrusts together and motion slows, then nearly stops. She is slowing down with her hands, releasing the tension. She asks you to stay lying there, a comforting warm weight on top of her as you both begin to cool off. Though you’re tired from the last twenty minutes you stay. Because you care. Because it feels good. Because she asked you to.

As your breath returns to normal and the less glamorous aftermath of the evening is taken care of, the comfort of her presence is warming. You know she can’t stay. You know things will take her from you from time to time, but for now, in the afterglow, you cuddle together silently, lovingly, and think of nothing.

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A most wonderful experiment!

As should be obvious, I have recently amended my Modus Operandi to include a mostly unidirectional sensual offering. It has been a few weeks of testing the waters both of the new incall and of the new techniques and, aside from a tiny glitch with the buzzer, it’s been delightful! I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been busy, between buying new sheets and more candles, shopping for new lengerie, and spending time in the company of some truly delightful gents.

My first was at least with someone I knew already. I spent more time giggling with nerves than being sexy, but he was thoughtful and gracious and experienced and it went much like a first encounter with an older lover, one who gives suggestions and advice to make me into a better lover myself. After a few more experiences, I found more confidence. I began to experiment with my craft, with the timing, the order of events, speaking or remaining silent. Of course I have the gentle encouragement of my gentleman friends to thank for that confidence, and for the chance to start to find a groove. I can’t say that I’ve become an expert, yet, but the learning curve is incredible. The transition from one movement to the next is like a symphony of touch that I’m working out, playing, conducting, and composing all at once.

I was not prepared for how silly and awkward I would feel that first time. The first time I made love to one of my friends it was fairly natural and straightforward. I’d made love before, it came naturally. This was slightly different. Not that I’ve never given a friendly massage before, but they had always stayed just friendly. The transition between friendly and friendlier was, well let’s just say I’m glad I have a cute giggle, because I was doing a lot of it. Nervous giggling with a big silly grin on my face. Of course part of that is because I was very much looking forward to the rest of our little get together.

I was also surprised with how thoroughly and consistently my work arouses me. There’s something about being in control of a situation that allows me to fully immerse myself in the playful sensuality of it. I discovered this with my first forays into the hobby: because I have control over the situation, and because I am mentally prepared there are no distractions from the pleasure of your company and your touch. During a massage, the situation is even more under my control and so it is far easier to relax into full dedication to the task at hand. I can feel my breath quicken, my eyes focus, then blood starts to flow to certain sensetive areas where the throbbing tempts me to throw caution to the winds and tumble together in mad passion. I find myself often lounging for a while after, glowing with sweat and oil, toying with myself in the memory of my encounter. In this interaction I get everything I want. I get to give pleasure and get lust in return. I am free to explore budding relationships and am in turn allowed glimpses into other worlds. I provide companionship and receive joy. I am a safe place and that fills me with pride.

In short, I am more than pleased to have begun this journey and I encourage old friends and new to walk with me. I’ve still got a lot of learning to do. Might you fancy yourself my teacher? 😉