Author: C S

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An Exquisite lover is better than a mediocre listener

I sometimes find myself in a mood. Last time this happened I wrote about the golden girl, repainted into a muted version of herself. This time I wrote about the patrons at the same establishment. It’s not meant to be anything other than amusing. There are some private jokes and some floppy phrases but it’s two hours to publish and I haven’t written anything else yet so you get my odd, whimsical stream of consciousness. A kind of prose poetry for one who hates poems.

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She’s a round faced Julia Roberts and he’s the blandest gent who ever gented. Some thick rimmed hipster tickles some ill tuned ivory as the radio fades. A commercial pops up: support public radio.

I rarely hear conversation truly murmur. Usually it roars, ebbs, or rings. Happy minute pops up. Chocolate and booze oozes carefully. It’s a short menu. The golden girl gleams on the corner. The slow pop of jazz blends the rustle of cash and squeak of leather under the sensuous cackle of comfortable laughter. Glug. Sweet, sour, lonely, surrounded.

The fish slowly explore their minuscule prison as a white coated professional looks on. I feel out of place without my heels; even Seattle casual insinuates elegance here. Strangers are friends and lovers avoid eye contact. Tennis shoes, haha.

My head feels pleasantly funny. I get moody when my partner is out of town. There’s something about knowing an oft warm home is dim and cool. My morning is too soon. Tomorrow will be languid yet tonight.. the night. This music inspires shadow and long glances. I’m tempted to seduce two young men but the pleasure of seduction ends at its inception. I’d rather be skillfully seduced but I doubt the existence of a satisfactory sensualist. I’d rather pay a pro.

A hundred jokes here. A dozen glasses; wine sloshes over the rims. The old school commode rings its wet call from the back. Feed me! demand the ATMs. Nothing over 10$ but no liquor either. Infinite secrets between the lines, stuffed into the stiff wooden pages.

POP!!!

Ah Ella. That croon. It tempts. Feel. Drink. Lust. Despair. The music is the only thing here that changes and even that simply cycles. Our bartender can never leave. We need him and he needs us. Capitalism and socialism both here, living yet fighting.

Julia and her perfect bland look blankly in each others’ direction. They’re thinking or listening or something. Their conversation is the sole absence.

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Sex work is work

I love the slogan ‘Sex work is work’ because it helps reform the conversation from the morality of sexual activity to the labor issues of exploitation and abuse. I think it’s beautiful that it acknowledges the effort that goes into erotic and emotional labor. In this post, however, I’m going to point out the slogan’s biggest weakness.

I don’t really agree that sex work is just like any other service industry. There are enough parallels that, practically speaking, labor rules governing other intimate service industries (massage, mental health, etc) work well here and so on a policy level I think we should frame our arguments from there. Emotionally speaking, it is different.

Pretty much anyone can, with minimal training and little emotional fallout, stock shelves, operate a Zamboni, clean a house, or serve food. Most people in general find service Industries tolerable or at least not morally repugnant. Even if they can’t see themselves behind a check stand, they have no strong moral opposition to someone else doing it. Unfortunately, sex has such strong moral stigma that sex work carries double that.

But not with everyone. Sex workers have a wide range of feelings toward their ‘work sex’ from seeing themselves as a conduit for God’s love to seeing their clients as worth nothing more than the cash they leave behind.
One colleague, talking about seeing a male provider for personal pleasure, put it like this: “With work sex, it’s 90% me, 10% them sweating and grunting. With civvie sex, it’s still 70% me, 30% them expecting me to be grateful for their attention. With a male provider, I get to do exactly what I want and put out exactly as much effort as I want. I don’t have to worry about them ripping off the condom or whether they come or not, it’s all me.”

Another colleague will cancel appointments if she’s not in the mood so she rarely sees full service clients unless she’s genuinely interested in sex. Yet even her ease to orgasm and sexual interest doesn’t satisfy her the way sex with non-clients does. There’s a selfless and perform active aspect to it that makes it distinctly different.

Yet another provider I know is a lesbian and only has sex with men for cash, never for fun. We fall everywhere in between on our feelings toward ‘work sex’ but we all know there’s a difference and we all share one critical attitude: we all consent to sex we wouldn’t normally have in exchange for a financial incentive.

For me, when I was escorting, it didn’t feel different than my ‘regular’ sex because I was banging people who sucked at it. This was before I learned about my body and what it was capable of. If I were to take up FS work again, I’m not sure I’d be able to just show up for whomever and settle for ‘work sex’. Three years ago, I was happily done when he was done. Now, he’s not done until I’m done, and that’s not how sex work works.

So even within my own self, I have complicated feelings around sex. My colleagues all have their own feelings around sex. Our friends, families, and strangers on the internet have their own feelings about sex and until we can acknowledge that feelings are the root of most policy disagreements, we can at least be more thoughtful in our discussions of it.

This is why I have to question the simplicity of the slogan “sex work is work”. I don’t question the truth of it; anyone who has been an erotic services provider whether it’s a porn performer, escort, cam girl, whatever knows that work sex is work, even when it’s awesome. The exclusion of emotional issues around sex gives the slogan a weak point. No one wants to think of the sex they’re having with their partners as work; they don’t want to complicate an already complicated issue and that’s smart.

So how can we strengthen the slogan? Focus on the strength of it: that labor issues are universal; exploitation and abuse is not limited to sex work and this industry can be regulated like many other intimate service industries. So maybe “Sexual service is a service” or “Erotic laborers need labor rights”? Something that acknowledges the difference between the sex you have at home and erotic labor however it’s rendered and focuses on the need for non-criminal regulations to prevent or mitigate abuses instead of painting the entire industry as some combination of morally wrong and inherently exploitative.

Because until you’ve been a provider and had work sex, you can’t know the difference and that’s ok. You just need to listen to those of us who have when we ask for what we need.

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Setting rates is HARD

When I first started full service escorting, I charged 300USD for one hour and 200USD for each additional hour. I chose these numbers after looking at dozens of other websites to see what the going rate was and after reading a bunch of Maggie’s advice columns. I required a half hour of social time, for free, in public in order to reassure myself and sometimes these half hours turned into several. It was a hobby, I felt like I was making huge wads of cash (when normally I only made 10.25 an hour), and my clients seemed satisfied.

When I switched to massage and had no training, I felt self-conscious about my perceived lack of experience and charged 160USD for my first few hour long appointments. This was when Adelle was allowing me use of her incall and helped me gain experience. She was the one who strongly encouraged me to raise my rates and eventually find my own place.

When I moved into my first solo incall it was inexpensive, small, a little dank, and at 180USD I slowly grew my client base and savings account. After a pair of singularly unpleasant client interactions I reinstated my social time requirement. Instead of offering this time pro bono as I had before, I charged a nominal (for this industry) 50USD for it.

That was the first time I felt actually uncomfortable about my rates. I felt guilty that I charged for something I required. To me, 50 bucks was a lot and I didn’t like to feel as though I were taking advantage of my clients’ desire to meet me. I didn’t want them to feel as though I was bilking them prior to a get together and I certainly didn’t want them to feel like they couldn’t come see me because of this one-time deal. But my friends encouraged me so I did it.

After making a few exceptions to my rule and regretting it, my guilt disappeared. I realized that, for me, the social, emotional, and mental connection we establish in those few minutes is not only important for me but creates a much more intimate and fulfilling experience for my client. I have had a few prospective clients refuse to pay for my social time which tells me that my requirement is screening out folks incompatible with my needs.

For my birthday the year after I graduated from Massage school, I bumped my rates pretty significantly. I decided to do it because it was my birthday, I had completed an educational and professional milestone, and looking around at my colleagues, I felt comfortable settling into a higher tier. Having done duos and received bodywork from several other providers, I felt as their equal and chose to change my rates accordingly.

I settled for a year or two there, with my one bedroom apartment well placed and well priced, my squishy comfort zone wrapped around me, happily complacent with a steady clientele and major goals just over the horizon.

Last October a lot changed. I returned from Europe, moved into a smaller yet more expensive space, stayed crazy busy and since then I’ve lost weight, revamped my wardrobe, and my emotional relationship with my offerings has changed. More recently, I had a new photo shoot done, I’m building a new, safer, more sleek website, I’m expanding the ways and places in which we can meet, and beginning to see the outlines of my next goals solidify in the hazy future.

And so we come to my current wrestling match: my thoughts and feelings about my finances. Generally good, don’t get me wrong, but complicated.

You see, I care a great deal about my clients. I recognize that this is, for many, both a luxury and a need. I know some ladies who have charged the same for years and others who charge as much as they think they can get away with and both have an emotionally stable relationship with those rates. I have clients from all over the socio-economic range. For those of you who couldn’t care less what you spend on me, awesome, thank you for tipping. For those of you who save, agonize, budget, or simply consider rates before meeting me, please know that it is not easy for me to set my rates, particularly as they creep higher. It is the reason I added snuggle sessions to my repertoire: to give you a break without taking a hit to my emotional stability and energy levels.

Because emotional stability and energy levels are the base on which my rates sit. In order to be fully present with you and in order to focus on you for hour(s) at a time I have to have enough off time and down time, not just for boring stuff like cleaning and writing, but for emotionally restorative things like receiving bodywork of my own and sharing time and society with supportive friends. As my sense of self grows, so does my sense of what I could ask for.

Providers set rates all over the map for all sort of reasons and I’ve had tons of conversations with my colleagues about why their rates are where they are and how they feel about them. We have to handle a ton of weird stuff and, more than physically, we need to maintain our emotional presence. This post, as written, was about three times as long as the edited version ended up because my colleagues are all over the map in every way and I kept trying to categorize us. Smart, simple; young, old; hot, not; big, small; magnetic, cold; expensive, bargain; every color, every economic background, every idea, every personality, every religion, every sexuality, everything. All magnificent, all desirable, not a single one of them agree on what to charge and why. If I tried to parse out all the reasons they set their rates where they did I’d be writing all day! In the end, it’s all about how we feel.

I’ve tried in this post to give you an insight into how deeply I’m invested in my rates as one aspect of my personal, successful sole proprietorship. In attempting to write it I’ve realized I can’t. The question comes up on provider/client boards all the freaking time and I always want to say something but the things I have to say about it take way too much space. I thought I could address it here but I’ve discovered that I can’t.

So I’ll leave you with this: We are complicated humans with big complex feelings. If you’re not ready or willing to pay what I ask, that’s ok. I’m not mad, I understand many, if not your, reasons why. I get it. I’m definitely on the higher end for bodywork and I’m not done climbing. I feel like I’m worth it for dozens of reasons but this is SUCH a personal industry that while I may be worth it for many, I may not be worth it for you. For you who do come see me, please know that I don’t take it lightly and I very much appreciate my beloveds who have shown me not only respect in honoring all my requests but appreciation for my work.

After all these words only two matter: Thank you.

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Rev: Alice Carrol

One of my beloved clients gifted me a two hour (!) massage with Alice Carrol. She and I have met and played before but this was my first time receiving unidirectional bodywork from her.

Her incall is reasonably convenient though I didn’t drive so I can’t tell you about parking. Straight up the Hill from me, I got my blood moving by walking the whole way. She let me in to her vintage building and a few flights of stairs later we entered a small, dim studio. She offered water and tiny donuts and we sat and chatted for a few minutes about what I wanted. Her studio is in an old building so it’s a little rough around the edges but she keeps it spotless and manages to work around the limitations of size and age.

Alice is extraordinarily accommodating. I said I was looking for a bit of deeper work in my shoulders and also that I wanted to experience her ‘standard sensual massage.’ She told me that, like myself, she constantly adjusts her bodywork to fit the vibe and needs of the client. We agreed I would take a warm shower to relax and we would regroup after.

I emerged warm and cozy from her small bathroom to find soft music and a sarong-wrapped Alice awaiting me. I lay face down on the table and settled in to relax.

Alice is deaf, meaning if she can’t see your lips, she can’t read them. As many of you know, I have a hard time not talking but in this case I had no option. The soft, familiar music, extremely dim lighting, and loooong sensuous strokes took me somewhere I don’t think I’ve ever been before. Her style for bodywork is deep, strong, and flowing. She constantly reapplies warm oil as it soaks in and she intersperses body-wide strokes with deep kneading by strong hands. Like, really strong.

After an eternity of indeterminate length, the depth of her strokes changed. Slowly, subtly, her hands slipped from heel to calf to buttock to shoulder, around, and back again. Again and again, almost hypnotic, her touch and silence directed my attention inward. It had been a long busy few weeks and I wasn’t sure my body would respond with arousal to her sensuous attention but I felt myself growing warmer with every pass of her hands.

She invited me to turn over onto my back so she could minister to my sore pecs and breasts, arms and forearms, and my rumbling tummy. She teased me about the mischievous brownie in her wanting to play with my nipples and with a look I invited her in.

Working on women sensually isn’t as simple as working on men. Our arousal is neither simple nor obvious and the rarity of female clients means, at least with me, I’m more timid and nervous. She slowly, slowly circled her hands towards my center after deeply kneading sore spots in shoulder and chest.

We paused for a moment to assess my body’s response. She definitely had me thinking about receiving her hands intimately and it was part sexual arousal, part curiosity that led us to deeper pleasures. Suffice it to say her touch is intuitive and she watches carefully for your reactions. It was tricky to give feedback in the dim light but she always made me feel welcome to speak up and ask for what I wanted. While I didn’t reach a climax, I reached instead a state of complete mindlessness.

After a shower and getting dressed again I expected to sit and talk shop for a bit but I found myself staring absently, vaguely searching for conversation and finding very little cranial movement. That’s unusual enough for me that once I noticed it, I just enjoyed it. There is a women’s only, clothing optional spa a few blocks down the hill from her apartment and in place of forcing myself back to reality, I walked emptily down to strip and sauna.

My full cognitive abilities didn’t return for an hour. A long, dim, quiet hour surrounded by naked goddesses sighing and gasping and whispering.

Alice gave me an opportunity to relax, receive, share, and enjoy without any pressure to perform or return. Her hands worked me over and her silence centered me. I have no doubts that, given the opportunity, she will do the same for you.

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Everyday Activism

At the panel a few weeks ago the same question came up in several different forms. One person asked

“What would you say to my intelligent, feminist, female friend when she says all prostitution should be outlawed due to the harms of trafficking and underage workers?”

Another asked

“How do I respond when someone posts and anti-sex work text or link on Facebook without dragging myself into a huge discussion?”

And at the private provider’s social one person asked

“What can I do if I can’t come out as a sex worker to destroy the stereotypes?”

The base of the questions is “What can I do every single day (sometimes as a well-intentioned, middle class person) that doesn’t jeopardize my social, financial, and physical safety?”

Here is what I do.

I am out to my closest friends and some semi-close friends who I knew wouldn’t react too poorly. I am not out at all to my family. To everyone in between, I am out as a sex workers rights activist. I support the Sex Worker’s rights movement, I work as a sex positive massage therapist to sex workers, and I do my small daily part to educate people when it comes up. I do that by admitting that I’m an ally and through my ally-ship I have met actual, real, honest-to-God sex workers and found them to be at the least normal, more often interesting and powerful women. I can talk about SASS and what I learned, the literature out there, the effects of decriminalization in other places, and I’m doing it not from a place of ‘you’re wrong, stranger’ but from a place of ‘dude check this out! I had no idea but sex workers actually care about themselves!’ I find that, as long as it’s not someone with strong moral beliefs, a different perspective from a trusted source (you, their friend) can begin to change the conversation.

So what can you do when someone posts a link on Facebook? First: recognize that they are not your audience. They’ve already made up their mind and while it’s possible you can change it, it’s unlikely. Your audience is not the poster, it is their friends and yours. Engage with the poster, knowing they are providing you a platform on which you can show others alternatives to the narrative. If you’re really serious about it, keep a note on your phone with links to interesting news articles like Liz Nolan Brown’s long form TRB essay or Maggie’s number crunching post. That way you can just copy/paste with a comment.

What can you do in real life? Next time someone makes a ‘hooker joke’ don’t laugh. Next time someone says something you know to be untrue, ask them why they said that (don’t correct them, facts don’t change hearts). If you’re brave, bring up the article you just saw about how young women are turning to camming and ‘sugaring’ to pay for college and how you had no idea it was so normal/widespread. Talk about the panel you just went to and how you met some interesting sex workers fighting for their rights. Send them one of my blog posts with the naughty stories and maybe they’ll stumble on something else interesting (you can play dumb and say you found it linked somewhere and didn’t read the rest of the blog).

The opportunities don’t come up often for me but when they do for you, don’t be ashamed to be an ally. Don’t be afraid to tell people you know real sex workers in real life and they’re actually surprisingly cool. And don’t fight so hard you lose the love and trust of your true friends. First it won’t work and second you’ll lose something important. I want decriminalization (Toni mac’s TED talk is a great link to explain that) but not as much as I want everyone to move forward, together.

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Stimulating

I’m a Redditor. Some of you have stumbled across me and recognized my writing style, my rhetoric, or my cause in my comments but unless you’re a Redditor you won’t know what I’m talking about.

First, Reddit.com is a user generated content aggregator. The hell doe that mean? It means that users can post content such as images, videos, links to other sources, original text, and even links to different areas of the site itself. Topics range from the benign to the terrifying and, as all communities do, has its share of drama. The community is global and share a certain number of inside jokes like Kyle, the CumBox, /r/theDonald, and your mom. If you don’t understand any of those, that’s ok. It probably because you’re doing something productive with your life.

What I like about Reddit as a social media platform is that, more than any other platform, I can carefully curate my experience. With Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and the like, you can follow certain people or organizations or trending topics, but with Reddit you subscribe to different sub-domains that each have their own vibe. I subscribe to SeattleWA, UpliftingNews, TwoXChromosomes, AdviceAnimals (silly memes), Science, AMA (ask me anything, basically live interviews with interesting people where the interviewer is the community), AskReddit (the inverse of the previous), BestOf, and several other interesting and sometimes highly specific topics such as for my favorite authors or this seriously long form story some guy is writing. It’s a place where I can directly interact with users from all over the world and share information, ideas, and support.

I also like that there is a voting system. As potentially compromised as it is, the voting system generally means that if I sort the comments by ‘top’ the first few pages of replies are generally interesting or quality content. It’s no free-for-all like a news outlet or blog’s commentary. I mean, it is, but poorly written, unhelpful, and outright wrong responses are often buried so you don’t have to waste time on them.

Another thing I enjoy about Reddit is the folks who create novelty accounts. One guy has a duck fetish, another writes only in haiku, /u/poem_for_your_sprog is one of the most talented and prolific poets I have EVER read and shows up all over the place. Another that I get goosebumps from is /u/commentnoir. He writes all his comment responses as if they were ripped from an old times noir novel and they’re actually really, really good. I saved this comment sometime late last year:

“Fresh haircut making me feel like a new man. Long, carefully manicured nails on the back of my scalp. A witchy woman seducing what’s left of my soul. Hide the hard-on; feel it pushing against my jeans. Red rocket ready to paint a Masterpeice the would make Jackson Pollock blush. She’s got full control, and she knows it. Sensation that makes a strong man weak and a rich man buy diamonds.”

I read that and it gave me shivers. It made me want to be the sensation that makes weak men strong and rich men buy diamonds. The musky glamour of Chinatown wafted from the screen and all he was talking about was the scalp massage during a haircut.

Yes, I wrote this entire post, all that background on some website that, if you don’t spend time on it yet, you probably shouldn’t, just so I could share that last phrase with you.

It resonates even more with me now than it did when I first read it. Then, I was still in elastic and flats. Now I ride the world in heels and elegance. Then, the woman I am becoming was a dream. Now, she is my future.

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Velvet: Round Two

For our friend’s birthday a year or two ago, Danielle and I so saturated our darling friend with sensation that he lost his ability to speak for a moment. I wrote about it because of how powerful the experience was. At the time, I simply assumed her energy broke through so vigorously all the time but I have since realized that, as with many, many other occasions, the long standing friendship and respect opened the floodgates. This is what happens when, over the course of four, five, or more years our clients earn our trust, respect, and friendship.

It started at a small Halloween Soiree where, among others, Tanuki (Caroline), Danielle, myself, and our mutual friend Velvet mingled. Someone made a joke about having all three of us for his birthday and you know me; my mind flew forward. A few words in the right ears and in a remarkably short amount of time (meaning a week or two instead of a month or two) we had all four sorted our schedules and settled the details. He brought donuts, I brought du fromage et du Prosecco (some cheese and some bubbles), Danielle brought little seafood nibbles, and Caroline brought a bottle of tawny port and some sweet Muscat grapes which just happened to be in season..

Standing around in the kitchen watching the four different energy levels rise and fall to meet each other, I felt a little shy, haha. For those who know me, you understand why I chuckle at that. We only have four hours and four bodies to work with and I have a lot of plans and I’m having a hard time getting naked! I mean, not too hard, but harder than usual.

Some friendly frottage and casual kissing leads all four up a flight of stairs to the massage table. Looking behind us I can see a trail of jeans, sweaters, and socks from the kitchen and I smile to myself. I’m not a fan of blow-by-blow recounts of personal, very special events; suffice it to say we made very good use of a solid, sensational, casual yet very sexy 45 minutes or so after which we all needed a moment to recover. Given the energetic combination it was a long, slow burn with some serious fireworks scattered throughout and I had as much fun playing with my colleagues as with our cashmere companion. With all three of us giving but not accepting touch, the poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

During the afterglow I made known my personal goal for the night: at our location was a large soaking tub with jets and a hand-held shower head. I led the charge up yet another flight of stairs into what quickly became a swampy, sweetly scented, bubbly, private steam room where we fed each other odds and ends brought from the kitchen and chatted. We all four adore each other and I have a tremendous amount of professional respect for my colleagues. With three and a half of us overflowing the tub and one sitting off to the side, we soaked until our toes turned into little pink raisins. I’d have stayed longer but the water got cold. Sigh.

On request and as a special favor, someone produced a jug of nuru gel and a waterproof mattress cover. Oh. My. God. That shit is fun. And messy. But fun! Round two of the evening was a playful, joyous, giggling mess. Less sizzle and pop and more goofy, sexy because we’re friends, chilly, frictionless, pressurized pleasure party. At one point, Danielle gave me a nudge and I swooshed from headboard to foot right between our friend’s knees! He planted a hand on either side of Caroline and myself and we spun like naked little tops over and over. We all almost fell off at one point or another but it didn’t matter, it was all in good fun.

We exhausted ourselves, stopped moving, and started to dimple with the chill so we all took turns in the shower and followed our trail back down, down the stairs into the kitchen where we donned the last few articles, gave our friend huge happy birthday hugs, and grinned.

I am incredibly fortunate to have in my life people willing to make time for pleasure and play like this. People I get to know over several years, people who listen and care and for whom I will bend over backwards to be with. At the end of the night, our grins weren’t just for the payoff, they were for the mere fact of our existence. That four hours fooling around was the most productive thing most of us did that day. That our lives are such that this sort of thing is not only possible, but happens easily, without effort or concern. We grinned in disbelief and in contentedness.

Special events like this can’t happen right away. Much of our willingness to orchestrate this get together relied on mutual respect and long standing relationships. Sometimes chemistry never does ignite and they can’t happen at all. But when it does, when we’ve racked up enough hours and become easy with one another while holding space for respect, then a whole world of possibilities opens up.

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Bridge City Indeed!

I drove to Portland last weekend. I was supposed to take the train but, due in part to my lack of clock-watching abilities and in part to a mud slide, I ended up driving Sunday morning instead of taking the train Friday afternoon. I had one marvelous appointment, took a girlfriend out for phenomenal Russian tapas at Kachka, and had a long and pleasant shoot with the infamous Jughead (newsletter subscribers see them first!).

Complications to the trip have sparked a rash of inspiration and it’s about damn time.

Friday, I was scheduled to leave on the 2:10 train from Seattle to Portland. I didn’t take any appointments, though I perhaps should have, and I hadn’t prepared the day before for the trip, though I definitely should have. I spent the morning taking a long bath, trying on various photo shoot outfits, and listening to an audiobook. Public transit has mostly cured me of my habitual tardiness; if you’re one minute late, you’re twenty minutes late so now I’m (usually) present and ready early. This time, however, I underestimated not only how long it would take me to walk to the station, but had it in my head that the train left at 2:20 instead of 2:10. I simply wasn’t thinking, I was existing in a state of dissatisfied laziness.

When I arrived, sweaty, at the train station to find boarding over, I was furious. At myself for an unforgivable lack of initiative and at my perception of my own lack of accomplishments lately. I hadn’t finished my blog post on time, I haven’t worked on my book in months, I attended but wasn’t useful at meetings and while in reality I have done quite a bit lately, I didn’t feel as though I had. This was the last straw. I changed my ticket to 6p and stalked away, muttering self recrimination under my breath and searching for someone with whom to pick a fight.

My partner is useless for fighting as every jabbing, pissed off text message met with kind understanding and empathy. I couldn’t hit something walking down the street; my vanity won’t let me appear anything but put together in public. I tried to vent to a friend but she wasn’t available for comment. So I mentally wrote the most scathing, ridiculous email in my history and continued my subaudible, vile litany.

Now I’m stalking up the sidewalk in tasteful heels and a backpack, seething, muttering, and deciding to run some errands. After a short stop at my studio I reemerge into the sparkling, gorgeous day and run one errand, try to run the second but the mangey, God-forsaken government office is closed!, and, anger renewed by inconvenient business hours, I settle into a coffee shop close to the train station for tea, pie, and a clacking vent session.

Then my prepayment software fails me. Square cash rejects one client’s payment and I have to scan my drivers license in order to accept another’s. I can’t find it. The rejected client cancels his appointment. I’m frantically texting and calling the woman I’m renting a work space from and then I get a call from Amtrak. The trains are all canceled until Sunday.

Fuck. Me.

This is when I start crying. Frustrated, angry, on the verge of cancelling the entire trip, everyone else trying desperately to cheer me up and offer options, and disappointed by the pie. It was really good pie but I’ve been spoiled by perfect pie so to me, I’m a girl at a table in the corner, crying over delicious tea and mediocre pie.

I almost canceled everything. I’m so close to fighting with my friends and blowing off clients that I feel I’m an emotional danger and I almost start making phone calls. But I said I would be there and so, after a few hours of writing to blow off steam (I will not be publishing that, haha) and a long, familiar bus ride home, I spent a decent chunk of time working on my new website and feeling like I’m accomplishing things.

The next morning bright and early I get ready to drive to Portland. I need to be there no later than noon so 7:30 and I’m up. Everything is ready to go in the car, I fill up the tank…. And my tire’s almost flat. And the gas station’s air pump is broken. Sigh. Whatever. I fix it and I’m on the freeway by 8:15. It rained the entire drive.

I don’t feel like a real person until 1. I’m sitting on a lovely chaise longue in a dim, quiet room, sipping coffee and eating lunch from the salad bar next door. I’ve got a client in an hour, a shower is waiting for me, and life feels normal again. After that the whole trip was a smashing success.

That said, I am hesitant to return. My friends come to Seattle, though not often, I won’t need or want another shoot for nearly a year, and trying to schedule clients in Portland is like pulling teeth. No one wants to screen, no one trusts my reputation, and no one wants to pay full rates. I feel, with the one notable exception, disrespected and under appreciated and why would I put up with that when you guys are so overwhelmingly delicious!?! I think if I can get a crew to go work a club for the night that could be fun but I’m really not excited about another trip.

Maybe next time I’ll go to Vancouver.

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SASS was brilliant!!!

Thursday from noon to four they held a health fair. I missed most of it but did arrive in time to hear about ‘yoni steam’ and say hi to everyone. Held at Gay City in their auditorium, there was education, camaraderie, and some fun reconnections. (Like my incredible massage therapist!)

Friday afternoon I attended an Allies meeting where Emi Koyama, SWOP’s new employee, is coordinating organizations into a coalition to support the safety of people involved in the sex industry. I met some really powerful women representing some excellent local organizations and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in the room with the wheels turning.

Friday night we heard from activist and transgender sex worker Cayenne, Defense attorney Zach, Coalition coordinator Emi, Gender Justice League activist and porn performer Tobi, and The director of the Butterfly Project at ‘The Harms of Prostitution: Voices From Within the Sex Trade’. Savanna Sly lifted the title from a recent anti-sex work town hall in order to broaden the appeal to abolitionist attendees. I had a Lot of feelings and opinions about the messages but overall I felt great walking away from it. One audience member asked what I called ‘the triggering question’ which is “I have a smart female friend who thinks all prostitution should be banned in order to limit or decrease the amount of exploitation. What would you tell her?” The poor guy got swamped after the panel by Sarah Nicole, Mistress Katherine, and a few others, myself included. Fortunately, like me, he enjoys spirited discussions and felt comfortable amid this cluster of powerful women (as I say this it’s possible that he didn’t recognize their power). I described him as part of the ‘well intentioned middle class’ and he agreed wholeheartedly. I would have loved to sit and chat for hours but by this time it was late and time to rest up for…

The Harlot’s Ball!!! Saturday night at a private club we had erotic dancers, kink stations, a kissing booth, and my friend Numina selling raffle tickets (20$ to wrap a string of tickets around her bust line. It was a VERY good deal). We saw Lady Vi in feathers and flats, Clara Turing in gold lamee and fishnet, myself in jeans and black velvet, Tanuki in rich velvet laced up the side, Savanna in her evil wombat costume, Sierre Cirque in a black and white checked body suit with tempting zipper placement, and dozens more sexy, sensual, and high styling folks heating up the dance floor. I saw a few get flogged, some energetic entertainers on stage, and the most sensuous, sexy kiss on the cheek I’ve ever served before. Maggie has some mad skills, I’ll tell you. And also I may have gotten mostly naked on stage for a minute. You know me: any chance to be the center of attention andI’m all over it.

Sunday I spent nearly the whole day surrounded by loving fellow practitioners. We had a legal workshop presented by Michelle Scudder, talented and sensitive defense attorney, and then just hung out talking for a while. I finally met the aptly named Sexy Bexy and WOW is her visage one to launch ships! I also met this charming pixie of a provider who I very much would like to work with. Of course, I don’t remember her name and she has my card but I don’t have hers. We shall see if she chooses to reach out.

Sunday evening was the Art of Activism show where Vee Chatty and Savanna Sly got to strut their stuff. I didn’t attend the event but I’ve seen their work before and I love their creativity, playfulness, and inclusivity. They weren’t the only artists, I know, but anyone who went to the show please feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments below.

I and many others are happy to see Savanna return. Her charisma and exuberance complements talents already present here in Seattle and the political climate here is vibrant and volatile. I’m really happy to have seen this year’s Sex Work Symposium and I encourage you all to attend or donate to next year’s. It will fall on national sex worker’s rights day again, so early March, and is well worth the cost of entry.

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Musing is my Meditation

Life is weird. Sometimes it’s crazy, sometimes boring, but my life at least seems awfully weird when I talk to my friends who don’t have one like it. I was teasing Claire that we should switch jobs for a day. I can wake up at six, dress in sharp feminine business attire, manage an office for eight hours, then come meet a client for some erotic Bodywork. She can wake up at 8:30, browse Reddit for an hour, don leggings and a boxy sweater, board a bus at ten, spend an hour or so lounging nude with a charming young gent, take a long bath, play with another girl for another few hours, take a nap, practice her French, eventually put clothes on, board another bus and head home. You always want what you don’t have, huh?

Outside, the wind tatters the sidewalk and rain cracks the windows. People with ‘normal’ jobs pass by in their air freshened, engine warmed envelopes as they, most oblivious but some with a shared secret, return from their day. My days blend together sometimes. I remember your face and your cock but not always your name. My assistant, perfectly efficient and pleasantly firm, keeps me busy in person. My precious hour between my beaux; a chance to wind myself up again, stress over who is right on the internet, forget all the things I’m supposed to do. Your missive “I just parked” breaking the shackles of my manufactured online world.

Alice, Verona, Matisse, Caroline… I crave time with you and forget to tell you. Much needed feminine feedback after my daily dose of testosterone. So close and yet schedules so far off.

Twangy tunes fiddle overhead; someone with mediocre but particular taste pumped the juke box. My drink cools as my salad warms and my thoughts drop with the rain. Autocorrect makes my words curiouser. (Typing on my phone because I no longer carry a satchel with my iPad in it. Hurt my shoulders.) The Cue cracks and rattles across the felt as the heating unit hums off and on.

I feel good. Not complacent but content. Content with my present but even more: content with my future. Looking forward towards goals and events with calm excitement. Enjoying that I can take a moment in between then and there to breathe, eat, drink, and enjoy.

SASS is this weekend. If you can, consider attending or donating. This event has already begun building bridges. Seattle has great things ahead of her.

Www.seattle-sass.org click on ‘tickets’ to attend or donate.