On The Road Again

This is it. If you’re reading this then I’m in the air (or on the ground at the other end) for my very first European Vacation. I’ll be gone until the end of the month and I won’t be checked in much while I’m gone. I’m leaving electronics (mostly) at home and taking only a backpack full of clothes and a journal with me.

The itinerary includes a once in a lifetime concert, hiking, castles, yachts, ancient ruins, busting cities, and ample time to simply sit down and relax, chat with locals, and get a real feel for the places we’re staying.

I didn’t mean to at first but I’ve been updating on Thursdays and I didn’t want to stop that schedule so I’ve set it up to auto post some things I found interesting but aren’t time sensitive while I’m gone. One old post I found looking through stuff, one article I found while checking Google search terms (that one is very long, 15 pages, but well worth reading.), one mental picture, and one book review.

I hope to see you when I get back. Rose will be monitoring my inbox for me so if you want or need to plan ahead feel free to enlist her aid. I would be just tickled pink if my calendar was full of new meetings with old friends after this adventure. Fair warning: my usual talkativeness will probably be ratcheted up quite a bit what with all the new adventures I’ll have.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your Labor Day and new school year and I look forward to hanging out when I get back!

XOXO

P.s.
If you’d like recommendations for alternates while I’m gone, you can either check out my ‘me and my friends’ page or send me a quick email. My auto responder has a list of ladies I like that should be around and able to get together.

Writers’ insecurity

I’ve been thinking about writing, among other things. My motivation for it has changed over time from desire to need. I feel like I repeat myself a lot so I went back to retread old blog posts. I wanted to remember what I had written so I didn’t rehash old ideas more than necessary. Wow. No wonder people tell me I’m a good writer. Those first few musings are old enough to be new to me, creative writing at its best. My writing now is motivated in a large part by my self imposed deadlines and an urge to write a book that will 1: provide me passive income and 2: help direct public opinion away from end demand, the client is the enemy mentality. I feel like it’s changed the way I write. I no longer let my thoughts flow through the keyboard, I push and shove them, trying to make them fit the thought of the day. Instead of thinking “that would make a great blog post” I think “would that make a good blog post? I’ll write it down just in case.” Writing is structured and bounded and as I write that, it takes me back to one of my early posts in which I mention freedom in boundaries. Perhaps the boundaries and pressure of writing a thought already formed isn’t a bad way to write. Perhaps I can use that to form meaningful ideas and share them with the world, albeit the small part of it that reads my blog.

I don’t pay attention to statistics so I don’t actually know how many people read my blog. I also don’t open comments because I get so damn much spam and it seems unhelpful to wade through dozens of spam attacks for one or two meaningful comments. I get a lot of feedback in session from gentlemen who find the blog enticing, reassuring, something that tells them I’m a safer bet than others. Or maybe it’s something that makes them feel like they know me better. Certainly knowing someone is better than not knowing them when you expect to be backed together within a half hour of meeting them. I also get the occasional email letting me know they appreciate my work (I haven’t replied but I saw it and thank you for your kind words.)

Perhaps my feelings of, not writers block but writers insecurity, may lead me toward more free and open penmanship.

Speaking of, I won’t be taking my computer with me on my trip. I figure while someone might steal that, no one’s going to steal a journal so all my writing will be done by hand, on paper, in an actual book. My partner did a lot of traveling years ago and still flips through old journals sometimes. I’d like that experience. For the same reason, I’m going to buy a bunch of those shitty disposable cameras and look forward to the mixed blessing of film. It’s so clear, so candid, but you can’t really tell if a photo will turn out. I expect some silly photos, maybe half-selfies, some odd or outlandish landscapes, and some really terrible shots. But that’s part of the fun: interpreting the modern hieroglyphs of carefully oxidized chemicals to find the meaning, the moment behind them.

I’m looking forward to watching my elegant blue pen draw boxy letters again and again across the page. I already bought a fresh journal. Not that fresh means anything since I don’t really journal anyway, but it’s new, ready for my first overseas adventure. I don’t even remember what’s on the cover, a quote or something, what matters is that it has lines and lies flat on the spine so I can write from margin to margin.

I packed today. 11 days, 20 hours until departure. My clothes will stay in that bag until we check in in Reykjavik. I am excited. I am terrified. But mostly excited. I’ve never been to a country that doesn’t have English as a major language. That won’t change until the end of the trip, but it will change and it’s exciting but also makes me nervous. What if I make someone angry and I can’t fix it? Words are my offense, my defense, my pride, my security, what happens when they’re useless? I’m sure I’ll be fine, it’s not like I’m entering a war zone (though we’ll see how Brexit falls out) so I don’t really have anything to worry about, but it’s a big deal, visiting another continent for the first time.

My partner chimes in from the couch “what are you writing?” He’s heard the tip tapping of my keyboard off and on all day. I’ve written four posts today to keep up my Thursday updates while I’m overseas. Some are easy: copy/paste, edit, post, but some take thought and the pressure of productivity stunts those thoughts. I use the word ‘I’ too much. I talk about myself and self analyze too much. My book review is too subjective. I can only see the opinions of the author through my own lens and it feels so damn shallow!

I’ve been reading the presidents’ biographies (plus a few First Ladies) and they are both inspiring and demoralizing. They did so much, were so flawed, and I am by turns faced with my own inadequacies and motivated to recreate their accomplishments within my own tiny sphere. I am not a small personality; I crave recognition and admiration but cringe at the idea of underserved respect. There is no room left for me, with a small group of wealthy, educated friends, to create an anti rely new country. That is absolutely some of what motivates my desire for decriminalization. I want sex workers and sex work historians to write about me, to appreciate my life’s work, to give me the longevity only accomplishment can earn. I also want to open a cathouse but that’s another issue.

Look at me: lamenting my self centered worldview by analyzing myself and posting it on the Internet for all to see. I could buckle down, work harder, make money, and retire but that feels hollow (now at least. We’ll see how I feel at age 65) in the light of what I could accomplish. I’m usually pretty good at bringing my posts back to a theme: I love my work, I love my clients, and I want decriminalization. I’m pretty sure that this tirade, this odd and sudden baring of the soul, is tied into how I feel about my work and my life but it doesn’t take center stage this time. It’s almost as if sex workers exist outside the role of sex worker, haha! There it is, my one-two punch for sex workers rights.

I’ll be out for a walk soon and then to bed. I’ve got a relatively busy day tomorrow, good since I’m missing out entirely on next month’s income, and I should get to bed at a reasonable hour.

…time passes…

I wrote that at the end of a long cerebral day of writing.* I’m still new to this whole writing thing so I’m not used to the feeling of mental exhaustion and physical restlessness that comes with that. A few days’ perspective helps my mental recovery, coupled with a cup of coffee with a new friend and general good will toward humanity. I feel better but I want to hold on to that self analysis and give myself the freedom to write freely and glowingly again. This post feels like a step in the right direction.

I won’t write a new blog post until after I return and write up excerpts from my journal, thoughts, and recollections of adventures. Everything that will post throughout September has already been written, edited, and scheduled to publish. I’m looking forward to the freedom of freehand and the absence of deadlines, self imposed or otherwise.

Why Do YOU Do It?

I wrote last week about Miss Keller and her attempt to force her young female students into more masculine activities. I talked about categories of people, be it gender related, personality related, or racially biased. I’ve been thinking about categories for a while now as it relates t my clients. I may have written about this before but I want to really dig into this idea of the three reasons people seek out sex workers.

This will be one of the themes to the book I’m working on. The other is me since I’m the only connecting thread between all my clients, but that’s a much larger idea and a longer story to tell. Later. The theme for the book is that the categories are helpful, elastic, and none greater or more acceptable than the others.

First reason is for fun. Sex is fun, it feels good before, during, and after. We anticipate and feel the effects of our anticipation throughout our body and during the day leading up to it. I know one beloved who spend several days b enforce hand getting a pedicure and a manicure, doing a full body scrub, trimming and shaving everything smooth and soft, and stopping off for a bottle of wine and some nibbles. It’s part of the ritual and part of what makes the fun last longer. Another spends our entire hour together edging, drawing out the pleasure until the last possible moment, both of us working towards the constant upward climb with the focus on the pleasure of now and the joy of a powerful orgasm. Yet another beloved looks toward the evening, using several appointments during the day as part of his foreplay with his kinky girlfriend. His focus is on the build for later. He holds off on his orgasm all day, stimulated but waiting, holding onto the feeling of delayed pleasure until it’s almost painful and he can share the intensity with the woman he loves. In all cases, they’re focused on how fun and pleasurable it is to feel sexual, to let the pleasure of erotic touch from a respected provider be what it is and to feel, not guilt or shame, but exultation and powerful, sexual, fun.

(Special mention goes to my 92 year old beloved who is determined to see as wide a variety of high quality sexual service providers before he goes. World War Two vet, avid sportsman, clever, charming, and adventuresome, if I can behalf as vital at half his age I’ll count myself a success. For him, I think, this is pure good fun!)

The second reason and most common for regulars is sustenance. The stereotype is the sexless marriage; children, time, life, health all change and sometimes the change removes sex from the relationship. For whatever reason, neither partner can leave and so they seek outside companionship. Affairs can be messy and compromise the integrity of what relationship there is so many men (and some women) in these situations seek professionals to meet their desire for calm, nonjudgemental, safe, sexual human contact. There may be fun, as well, if there wasn’t I imagine they’d find another provider, but the primary purpose for seeking sexual services isn’t the sex, it’s the intimacy and emotional support that helps sustain them during their daily lives. I’ve seen single men who are frustrated with the dating scene, businessmen who don’t have time for traditional relationships, married men with ailing or non sexual wives, some who’ve told their partners, most who haven’t. When their life circumstances change, they may move on to more traditional relationships or simply to a provider who offers something different, or they may stay inside the comfort of a long standing, uncomplicated provider-client relationship even through life adjustments. Whatever happens, they are the most pleasant, consistent darlings and they are the ones who most often break my heart and heal it again.

And then there are the healing and the learning. The healers are those who recently experienced a major life change, most often divorce or loss of a spouse but any personal loss can effect someone’s desire for sexual contact. I see an arc in the healers, beginning with their ability to share their trauma and experience loving sexual touch, sometimes for the first time in years. As they get more accustomed to it and our relationship builds, I watch them grow in confidence and they begin to expand in their personal lives, be it reentering the dating world, beginning creative projects, finding joy in daily life, and generally reenergizing. The learners are often shy, seeking knowledge about themselves and their sexual partners. Young shy people, suddenly expected to perform in an extroverts world, baby kinksters who want to explore new things and need a safe place to play, some have an idea that there’s more to making love than what the’ve seen so far and want to explore, most have no idea at all.

Clients slide between these three general reasons for seeking sexual services, often coming for more than one reason though sometimes it takes a while for us to figure out which ones. Healers become fun seekers, sustainers become healers, fun seekers become sustainers, and all the reasons jumble together in a beautifully dynamic journey. Some people draw lines between acceptable reasons to seek sexual services and unacceptable reasons, claiming that the healers need services but the sustainers are wasting their money and the fun seekers are exploitative. Within the political movement to decriminalize the exchange of sexual services for a fee, we see the danger in those lines. While the stories of the healers might be legitimate, popular, emotionally compelling arguments for decriminalization, we cannot let their needs delegitimization the motivations of other clients.

Providers also have these primary reasons for providing sexual services. Some do it for fun: because they enjoy the sexual activities they share with their clients, because they enjoy expanding their sexual repertoires, because they enjoy a lifestyle above what they might have otherwise, or simply because they enjoy meeting interesting people. Most do it for sustenance: to provide for themselves and their families, sometimes to sustain poor habits, and some because the emotionally rewarding experiences help them maintain high self worth. And some do it for healing: to solve a financial problem, to learn about themselves, to take control of their lives and find a new adventure. Again, providers slide from motivation to motivation: I started for fun, because it sounded pleasurable and adventurous and I was attracted to the idea of fast easy money. I stayed for sustenance, to keep a pleasant roof over my head, good food on my table, and to find time for self improvement. I now enjoy the benefits and privileges of all three reasons: I learn and grow from my interactions with the healers, I exchange pleasure with the fun seekers, I sustain my long time regulars, and all our relationships enrich my life. While I am fortunate enough to enjoy all these, not all providers can or do but again, telling some sex work stories as if they are better or more right than others is to lose out on the variety and depth of human experience and choice.

There would be no healing without fun, no sustenance without constant healing, no fun without a sustainable relationship. To attempt to parse out and draw lines between what is a good reason to consent to sexual activity and what is a bad reason to consent to sexual activity is to destroy the autonomy that all consent relies on.

Boys Aren’t Allowed to Play With Legos or Are You Fucking Shitting Me Seattle!?!

I’ve reproduce the full text and linked to the article in question at the end of my post

You’d think that in as progressive an area as Seattle and its suburbs, people would at least treat children fairly. Miss Keller, a teacher on Bainbridge island, our local bedroom island and haven for wealthy families, doesn’t let boys play with Legos. When allowing girls and boys free choices in play items, she was upset when girls generally played with dolls and boys generally played with Legos. Instead of allowing the kids (KIDS!!) to make their own choices, she imposed her idea of what girls ‘should’ play with on her students. I hope I’m not the only one who sees the irony here. She argues that it’s totally fair to lie to her male students (“I always tell the boys, ‘You’re going to have a turn’ — and I’m like, ‘Yeah, when hell freezes over’ in my head,”) about what they are and aren’t allowed to play with because the poor girls are told by society that they should play with bakeware sets and pretend to be nurses. Instead of encouraging boys and girls to, I dunno, play with whatever feels good to them and create an atmosphere where feminine and masculine traits are seen as normal human behaviors that range along a spectrum and are found in both boys and girls, she restricts the opportunities of her male students in the interest of ‘making it fair’. While I empathize with her desire to see greater gender role flexibility in men and women, I don’t think requiring girls to play with ‘boys toys’ is any better than requiring girls to play with ‘girls toys’.

Academic and gay porn performer Conner Habib said during the SASS panel last March that the Gay and Lesbian movement didn’t win gay rights, it won straight rights for conventionally gay people. By creating a category for gays and lesbians that was essentially straight white nuclear families except sometimes with two mommies or two daddies, the movement eliminated the broad range of sexual expression from the movement. By forcing girls to play like boys, Miss Keller is destroying the rich continuum of gender expression and creating a classroom culture that calls certain behaviors bad or good depending on which gender is expressing them, exactly what she purports to fight with her ‘only girls play with legos’ campaign.

Growing up, my brother got Kinects, Legos, Star Wars memorabilia, model airplanes, and toy trucks, as does my nephew now. My parents made him share them with me, though usually they didn’t need to force him. To us it was normal for me to play with both dolls and Legos and my brother and his friends sometimes played with me and my barbies. I was less interested in Legos so I played with them less often and we usually included some violence into our doll’s lives but the crossover was totally normal to us. Now, I have well rounded interests in physics and horses, human relationships and the chemistry animating my own body, I’m a scifi fan who reads high fantasy, I like dicks burgers and fancy sushi, and I look forward to sharing all my interests with my nieces and nephews alike. Maybe instead of forcing people, male or female, gay or straight, introverted or extroverted, theoretical or practical, meditative or exploratory into some narrow expression of their dominant traits, we can appreciate the nuances and richness of behavior and emotion present in each one of us.

To Miss Keller: I think you have the right idea when you bought pink and purple Legos: break down gender stereotypes around color. Maybe instead of forcing girls to play with them, you could have also purchased super hero action figures for the girls to play with and let each child make his or her own choice.

http://www.bainbridgereview.com/news/343127562.html

In Karen Keller’s kindergarten classroom, boys can’t play with Legos.
They can have their pick of Tinkertoys and marble tracks, but the colorful bricks are “girls only.”
“I always tell the boys, ‘You’re going to have a turn’ — and I’m like, ‘Yeah, when hell freezes over’ in my head,” she said. “I tell them, ‘You’ll have a turn’ because I don’t want them to feel bad.”
Although her approach might anger some parents, Keller is sticking to her guns: It’s all part of a plan to get girls building during “free choice,” the 40 minutes of unstructured play time embedded at the end of every school day.

Injustice or ingeniousness?

For years, Keller, who has taught at Captain Johnston Blakely Elementary since 2008, watched with discouragement as self-segregation defined her classroom — her boy students flocked to the building blocks while her girl students played with dolls and crayons and staples, toys that offered them little challenge or opportunity to fail and develop perseverance.
She did her research and concluded that something had to give; her girl students were indeed missing out.

Play linked to spatial skills

Lego play, Keller found, has been widely attributed to accelerating development and helping children fine-tune spatial and math skills, two of the largest areas of cognitive disparity between men and women.
Further, female STEM role models are few and far between, and part of the reason for their underrepresentation, Keller believes, are the gender stereotypes women are socialized into from an early age.
She faults toymakers for reinforcing those roles — “the stuff LEGO is marketing for girls is just so limiting;” ‘girl’ sets replete with themes such as baking, cooking, care-giving, homemaking, decorating and hair styling — but she also faults teachers for not taking action.
“I just feel like we are still so far behind in promoting gender equity,” Keller explained.
Which is what led Keller to her classroom experiment.
If girls were given the opportunity, would they develop different play preferences? She thought so, and she could cite a study or two to back the claim up.

Guiding “free choice”

At first, Keller tried enticing her girl students with pink and purple Legos.
“But it wasn’t enough,” she said. The girls weren’t interested and the boys just expanded their palettes.
So this past fall, when Bainbridge Schools Foundation announced its Classroom Enrichment Grants, Keller saw her chance to affect change.
She asked for funding to purchase LEGO Education Community Starter Kits for three Blakely classrooms, writing that “while it’s not necessary to board up the playhouse and adopt the babies out, concrete steps can be taken to ameliorate the gender gap in the kindergarten and present engaging ways to develop girls’ spatial skills.”
What she didn’t tell BSF, however, was that the boys wouldn’t get to play with the new 1,907-piece sets.
“I had to do the ‘girls only Lego club’ to boost it more,” she explained. “Boys get ongoing practice and girls are shut out of those activities, which just kills me. Until girls get it into their system that building is cool, building is ‘what I want to do’ — I want to protect that.”

It’s a fair practice

In Keller’s mind, it’s a fair practice “because fair is getting what you need to succeed or to get better.” Fair doesn’t have to be the same, and she says her kindergarteners get that.
At least for now.
While Keller sees more girls in the building area than before, it’s still not the norm, she said.
So the boys will just have to wait their turn.

Sugar What Now?

I read an article today that made me want to meet the author. (Link: http://www.vice.com/read/my-life-as-an-ivy-league-sugarcunt-235)

In case you don’t have time to read the article, the long and short of it is her sharing her experience in paid dating. She graduated from Princeton and decided to enter sex work instead of searching for a corporate job. She looked to it as a way to escape the uncertainty and monotony of finding and keeping a regular 9-5 job as well as her way of expressing her sexual liberation. I want to meet her, not because she’s inspiring or a great writer, but because I want to fix her.

I’m a problem solver and the way she writes about herself, her clients, and her experience shows me a problem, easily solved in theory but not maybe in practice. The core of the problem is her internal whorearchy; the idea that some sex workers are better than others. Based on this article, I think the author would make a perfectly reasonable provider. She’s attractive, willing to meet the job requirements, a little lazy but with great potential should she decide to formalize her sex work and take control of her interactions.

I mean, she isn’t even able to operate under the standard terms for paid dating (sugar daddy and sugar baby) because the terms don’t feel empowering enough. Instead of looking into other options with perhaps a better fitting dynamic, she simply changes the terms in her own mind to sugar dick and sugar cunt. I admit, I really don’t like the terms baby and daddy either, they make me uncomfortable both with the implied power dynamic and the age play connotations. But cunt and dick are even worse because they establish a combative relationship before client and provider even meet and they certainly don’t change the fact that with only one benefactor at a time, they have the power.

That’s only the beginning of her issues with paid dating. She and I share a common experience: paying dates unwilling to pay. She felt comfortable initiating the compensation conversation up front, I didn’t. She got paid, I didn’t. Unfortunately, her paying dates didn’t stay paying dates for long and she had to terminate the relationships (good boundaries, bad business model). Often, men who offer cash for relationships instead of seeing escorts have higher demands and offer lower compensation than their dates are willing to exchange. Mismatched emotions cause friction and, most of all, the shame benefactors feel at ‘having to pay for it’ generates intense cognitive dissonance. When her clients began to feel that dissonance, she simply left them. Unfortunately that is a common occurrence in paid dating, or so I’ve gathered. The problem for the date is that this creates financial uncertainty and demands more emotional labor than they’re getting compensated for.

She also feels contempt for her clients. Unfortunately I see that in some of my colleagues as well (not many in my circles, but some) but it doesn’t interfere with their ability to provide consistently high quality service. Her contempt is less damning than her laziness, however, the two creating a combination that does not lend itself well to a thriving practice. She makes noises about the therapeutic aspects of the work and alludes to pleasant clients but they ring hollow in between disparaging comments and the silver lining to her paid dating career doesn’t come until the last paragraph or two of the article.

Being an erotic services provider isn’t for everyone but I think it could be for her IF she steps up her game and formalizes her practice. She’s shown a willingness to follow through on the primary responsibilities and her nod to the quality clients she seems to have collected recently tells me that she could be sustainable. She needs to acknowledge that what she is doing isn’t ‘seizing power and control’ it’s giving it away to men with money because she doesn’t control the circumstances. She relies on a single third party website to generate all of her clientele, she doesn’t have any safety policies whatsoever, and she uses her Princeton degree as an excuse to avoid investing in her brand.

So while I don’t exactly have a ringing endorsement for this young woman’s professional activities, I see potential in her and I hope she recognizes it, too. I think she would be a hell of a lot happier with a broader client list, clearer boundaries, and some sort of long term plan but who am I to tell someone about their own experience?

May The force Get Better

I know this comes months after its initial release but it’s come up a few times so I thought I would finally get it out: Star Wars: The Force Awakens was a shit movie. I love Star Wars. I think Luke is cute, I love Leah’s metal bikini and bad assery, I love Chewie and Han and the whole hero’s journey. The prequels were kinda lame what with Jar Jar’s ridiculousness but it was at least a new story about a character we were already invested in. Anakin’s dialogue may have been lame but there was internal as well as external conflict and we saw how one evil but creative politician can sway an entire governing body.

The Force Awakens may have better been titled “A New Hope II: Bigger, Better Death Star” since it was nearly scene for scene a remake, and a shitty one at that.
First: Han Solo. When I first saw Star Wars, Harrison Ford and my own father were about the same age. Han had that quick wit and snappy lines and that devil-may-care attitude. As I watched my father go to war, raise his children, and grow into a still snappy but far more invested, adult person, I also would expect Han Solo, now a father and a lifelong rebel fighter, to have grown up. The writers attempted to keep the best of both worlds and so failed doubly, writing cheap one liners and paying fan lip service one moment and overly dramatic, totally unrealistic family drama the next. Han Solo should have grown over the last 60 years to become either someone who totally eschewed all responsibility or a dedicated rebel fighter, steeped in Jedi lore and powerfully charismatic, a strong father figure to all his young rebel pilots. He would have been a legend, second only to his wife, General Organa Solo And the myth of Luke Skywalker.
Leah Organa Solo, trained in diplomacy from childhood, already a strong spirit, resourceful strategist, and powerful leader at twenty, would NEVER have taken some young storm trooper deserter’s word for it and committed the entirety of rebel forces to a suicide mission. It’s been suggested that she is force sensitive (I agree) and so she would have sensed his authenticity and intuited the truth of his plan. Which is great except that HE WAS LYING! No way would a force sensitive, incredibly skilled diplomat and strategist be fooled by some young kid’s need to be a stupid hero and get the lady hero’s attention.

Here is the better plot for “Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens”

Open on Rey doing her thing. Scavenging, driving her speeder bike, etc but we notice she’s unusually good at things, or more accurately, someone observing her notices and the audience overhears their dialogue. She is in the middle of fixing something and a tool is out of her reach. She reaches for it, strains to grab it, and it leaps into her hand, startling her. She greets someone before she actually sees them and there’s an awkward moment. She wakes from a deep sleep and items are floating in the air around her only to drop suddenly when she realizes what’s happening. She’s confused and a bit scared and her peers and community starts shying away from her.

Cut to Han Sol. He’s smuggling but secretly on a spy mission for the rebel alliance. He is in or near the heart of the Sith Lord’s castle or whatever or the Sith apprentice’s stronghold. The Apprentice and lord are talking and the lord tells the apprentice that there is a force awakening on Tatooine and it needs to be contained…. Or eliminated, mwahahahahaha! Han Solo: *whispered to himself* “Rey”

Cut to Han and Chewie escaping with or without their cargo depending on action sequence and heading for the nearest rebel outpost. He calls Leah. “Leah, they’ve found Rey. We need to reach her before they do. We need Luke” “He won’t help her.” “Yes he will.” “How do you know?” “A father never gives up.” We see over his shoulder a family photo on the dash of the Falcon with Han, Leah, etc. One of the children is obviously the Sith apprentice.

Cut to Rey getting in trouble with friends. Something major happens and she uses the force in a big way to save someone/thing. Her power is out of control and so something bad happens. Cliffhanger.

Cut to Han and Chewie landing on a remote planet. Maybe it’s even Dagoba. They go meet Luke and explain: “Luke, They’ve found her and they’re going to get her.” “I can’t help you.” “You have to.” “I can’t. A father’s love is just as dangerous as any other. Love leads to fear, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate. My love for her mother already created a rift in the force, I can’t risk another, greater disaster.” Han and Chewie leave in disgust. Yoda appears to Luke “A father’s love, Powerful it is. A jedi’s strength, powerful also.” Ben Kenobi appears. “You cannot risk yourself. This girl is a path to the dark side.” Anakin appears. “A father’s love for his child can defeat the dark side. Trust the force, my son.” Luke chases down Han and Chewie and flies off with them.

Cut to the Empire forces assembling. One storm trooper, the garbage man, overhears a conversation about the current mission, particularly that it’s a young girl who doesn’t know anything about the force. We follow him to his quarters and as he takes off his helmet we see an expression of internal conflict.

Cut to rebel forces meeting up with Han, Chewie, and Luke in orbit around Tatooine. Heartwarming reunion, meet the new young talented pilot, make a plan, etc.

Rebel forces descend to the planet in time to rescue Rey from whatever predicament the locals put her in (burn her as a witch, sell her to the local gross dude, whatever) but at the same time, Empire forces also descend. Action! Adventure! Storm trooper defects to Rebels and saves the girl from something dangerous!! Han fights his own son long enough to get everyone else away. Dies because he won’t take the advantage and kill his own son (but not in a lame, predictable, pathetic, eye contact competition). Handsome young pilot has to fly the Falcon. Rebels get away. Drama!! Excitement!

Cut to the Falcon. Everyone is sad as fuck b/c Han is dead. Rey is confused but Leah, grieving but strong, explains. Luke decides to take Rey as his Padawan and presents her with his old light saber. Storm trooper defector pledges to the rebel alliance, young handsome pilot takes over the Falcon as Chewie retires, inconsolable, to his home planet. Storm trooper takes over as copilot.

Roll credits.

Euro Spa Sting

On Thursday, July 14, The Seattle Times reported on a sting operation conducted by Seattle Police from July 5 to July July 14. SPD netted 22,000$ from the money the clients brought to pay their provider and expect over a half million in fines to follow.

Several things disturb me about this event. Aside from my obvious disagreement with the current laws regarding my work and my clients, these sorts of nonviolent crimes should not be a priority for SPD when we have violent actions right here in Seattle, particularly in the primarily black Central District. The comments left by readers reflected that opinion, citing specific instances where even upper class white neighborhoods see long response times, if any at all, while time and resources pour into this lucrative yet socially damaging operation.

Some say that it’s justified since these men were looking to see “sex slave[s]” and that they were planning to exploit vulnerable women. From the comments made by the Undercover Officer who played the provider and by Police Chief Umporowitz, the woman these men thought they were seeing for sexual services was neither a slave nor vulnerable. She bragged about her ability to convince reluctant clients to agree to exchange money for services (a crime now called Misdemeanor Sexual Exploitation instead of the clearer but less emotionally charged Misdemeanor Patronizing a Prostitute) and all officers quoted in the article expressed disdain for the men they arrested. The article specifically mentions men crying and begging not to be charged as charges like this, particularly with such a vague and damning title, can cause the loss of family, employment, and establishes far reaching stigma. In each case, the writer showed no compassion or sympathy. For those who believe that a sting like this helps end demand for sexual slavery or sexual human trafficking, that is a misperception. There will always be a market for sexual labor and if that market is saturated with consenting adults operating legally, the vast majority of clients will choose the legally operating providers over those who expose them to legal risks such as underage providers or drug users.

So we see that first, stings don’t decrease the demand for sexual labor, they simply drive the market for it further underground and scare off respectable clients. Second, this particular sting did nothing to combat actual abuse considering the clients had no reason to think abuse was occurring, nor were they attempting to abuse the provider. Third, the social and financial consequences these men now face are more harmful to the public than helpful considering the emotional and economic fallout of strong punishments.

My heart goes out to these men. This article was posted to the Seattle subreddit and one of the young men arrested posted a comment.


I was one of the men arrested through this sting. I haven’t told any of my friends or family because I am embarrassed and I just wanted to let my feelings out. As someone who often times feels alone this was a way out and a way I could have physical contact with someone. I knew what I was doing was illegal. But a way to escape the loneliness even just for a bit seemed with it. I am very young in my early 20’s (not the one mentioned in the article). This happening so early in my life makes me feel that any hope for a positive future very unlikely. I am going to school right now but not sure if I’ll keep going. Since it does go on my record everywhere I apply to will see it and make it hard to get a professional job so I don’t see the point in trying. Not to mention the $2700 fine will make my life for the next year a much more challenging. I am working on accepting what happened and moving on but it’s hard. This is just a different perspective on this issue.

Thank you for reading.

Regardless of whether or not you believe that the act of prostitution itself is morally right or wrong, ruining lives over a nonviolent act is not healthy for society. This poor young man, just starting his life, now faces enormous hurdles for simply trying to find someone to touch him in a nonjudgemental, human way. I have many clients looking for the same thing: human contact. They are all kind, thoughtful, appreciative, and undeserving of this ridicule and harsh punishment. This sting was not about aiding vulnerable women, it was not about safety or equality, it was about money, pure and simple. SPD made over half a million dollars from fines alone and the publicity this generates will go toward winning another grant from anti-prostitution NPOs. While the time and energy of a dozen officers over the course of ten days went into arresting and punishing guys who just want to be touched, Seattle citizens suffered from decreased enforcement for real time, potentially violent crimes.

Please readers, stay safe. This work is good and meaningful and fun and pleasurable and I would hate for anyone else to get caught in the political crossfire. SWOP is talking with legislators, city attorney’s, and others in response to activities like this and continues to fight for the decriminalization of this harmless work so that you, our client, can better know who is and isn’t safe and so that resources are focused on actual abuse and violence.

To those who went to Euro Spa and felt the harsh hand of the law, I am so sorry. I am also interested in talking with you about your experience. I would love to paint a verbal picture of what it looks and feels like to go through that process. People should know how it feels to go through something like that and a sympathetic portrait of a victim of a sting could be a huge step towards humanizing my beloved clients.

Cabin Time

It is done. I write this on the penultimate day with only myself and my partner left to slowly but surely clean up after over twenty loved ones have come and gone. The beds have been stripped and laundry is running, dishes are clean and put away, food has been eaten, packed or thrown away, and only the last tasks of retrieving items left at the dock, cleaning the floors, and locking up are left. It is quiet, save for the whine of the drier and the sounds of my partner puttering through a myriad of little tidying tasks that aren’t exactly necessary but add that homey touch. The sun is out, slanting through fluffy white clouds rolling over the treetops. I’ll have to change into cooler clothes soon as the day heats up and my casual sweats and calf length boots get too warm.

My time here has been long and interesting. On day one we drove out from Seattle, I settled sleepily in the passenger seat, he speeding along to the tune of NPR and The Splendid Table. We settled in, unpacked, and set to work. I was not happy.

My first mental shift happened on day three. Driving out, I got into vacation mode. I was ready to sit back, drink some wine, read my book, and relax. Unfortunately, there were too many tasks needed to make the place pleasant for me to simply settle in quietly. There were flower beds to be weeded, holes to be patched, gutters to be cleaned, floors to be swept, and a dock to repair. I felt cheated, like I had worked hard, made money, and earned my vacation but here was more work I had to do! I moped and pouted as he ran around getting things done and in my feelings of being slighted, sniped at him spitefully. We went into town for some last minute errand running and the whole time I felt like I deserved something easier. Instead of the cool and clean communication we usually enjoy, I was passive aggressive and opaque. This started when we arrived, continued through day two and didn’t disappeared until the morning of day three. I woke up and decided to do some yoga. I have little book and went through the beginner poses for about an hour and by the time I was done, it was only 11 in the morning and I already felt accomplished. It felt natural to weed the flower beds while he sprayed sealant on the gutters and mixed cement for the patio. We chatted and listened to the radio and, though I was physically working, it felt easy. I scattered flower seeds under dark soil and watered the newly turned beds. I swept and raked and weeded the downstairs patio, removing the accumulated pine needles and leaves of the last year and yanking tufts of grass from the cracks. I finished it off with a few deck chairs and felt good and proud, like I often do after a session in which my skills clearly show. I had shifted from grumpy mode into cabin time.

Cabin time is an interesting phenomenon. You sleep when you’re sleepy, eat when the food is ready, fish for however long you want, drink slowly, chat lazily, move or sit still for as long as it feels right, and listen to the natural rhythms of your own internal switches. There are few clocks around here and even then we don’t pay close attention. The funny thing is, your body sets a much better time than you set by a clock. Alarms, deadlines, timetables, check in-check out, hurry hurry hurry all stresses your body so when you wake up, you’re tired and when you go to bed you can’t fall asleep. Out here, you just stay up talking until you feel sleepy and you wake up when you have to pee. I was up by nine or ten most days, except this morning because I stayed up until 1:30 talking about sex work and libertarianism (with friends who don’t know about my true profession, so even cooler than usual). Cabin time means giving your body the time it needs to reset and do what it needs to do.

So I was on cabin time, relaxing into tasks, constantly moving until my body is ready to stop. Now our friends began arriving. A few from our local watering hole, a few from my college days, and the next day my brother and his budding family. Tents started popping up and beds filled, couches got rearranged, people started mingling.

I got to spend some quality time with my brother’s new girlfriend. She and I are closer in ideology than she and my brother but his extreme sanguinity means that as long as they agree on the important parts, which they seem to, they should be alright. I played with my nephew for hours. We tossed a ball and chased each other around and I had the satisfaction of giving my brother some much needed time off. I also had a bit of a very powerful brownie provided by one of my beloved clients that made me laugh at the things a four year old laughs at which helped. I had brunch with my old college friends who joked about boners and bought pies to share with the group. We walked and chatted and renewed bonds several years removed. My mother spent a night, sharing a bit of time with her son, possible future daughter in law, and grandson and a lot of time with me and my friends. Who knew I could bond with my mother over a dump run, haha! I am more and more reaching a mutual respect with both my parents. I think the day is coming In a year or so from now that I can talk with both of them plainly about my profession and my passions. His brother came by with a five year old so once again I took over babysitting duties. We frolicked in the lake, getting on and off all the floating creations we use to entertain and support ourselves and exchanging a constant stream of dialogue. My mother chimed in “I would have more sympathy for you but you did it to yourself.” I think she also saw an echo of my own constant chatter in this curious child and it amused her to see me treading her own path 22 years ago, even for only an afternoon.

People began to trickle away. Flights departed, cars disappeared into the woods, and slowly the cabin emptied until today, when it is just Us again. I’m looking forward to when the work is done and we can look at this place with pride as we ourselves vanish back to the city. I will miss it. I will always miss it as a busy, relaxing, healing respite from the routine of busses and bodywork, missed connections and gridlock. It’s been three years since the first time I came out to The Cabin and I finally feel what he feels for it. This is home. This is a place where family fights, friends love, you work and relax with equal vigor, and the more sweat that goes in the more love comes out.

Rose has been watching my inbox for me; I’ve checked in now and again just to stay abreast of what is happening but for days at a time I’ve not looked at or for my phone. I think this is the final step in my disconnection. While I use my digital connection to the world for many things, it will no longer be a tether. I have shed the need to constantly check in, knowing that my world, generally, will take care of itself.

My moods and opinions, influenced by my time here with loved ones and finally negating the bitter input from TNA and some Twitter feeds, have swung once more towards faith in humanity’s general goodness and, while I am aware of the constant violence that rocks our modern world, I am not afraid. People die, the world changes, and sometimes it is rough but come what may, humanity will always live and most people, many people, are good and decent. I will continue to hold myself, my friends, and my clients to a higher standard of thought and behavior and I will continue to campaign for our right to mingle and entertain each other.

So here’s a glass of your beverage of choice, raised to good friends, the good of humanity, and cabin time

The Chronicles of Alvin Maker by Orson Scott Card

First, let me say that OSC is one of my favorite authors because of the Ender series. The premise is incredible, the science fiction genre is a favorite of mine, the writing is well paced and engaging, and the conclusion is satisfying. I have yet to decide whether the difference in my own opinion between the Ender series and the Alvin Maker series is in the writing itself or in the fact that I read one and listened to the other on audio book.

The Chronicles of Alvin Maker begins with the birth of our hero. We’re introduced to the five year old Peggy Guester, a torch who can see people’s heart fires, their life force or soul, and potential futures as they change with decisions. She sees a large family crossing a river that is very suddenly in flood and she sends her father and several other townspeople to rescue the family. Unfortunately the oldest son dies in the process of saving his heavily pregnant mother from a huge tree trunk in the current but the rest of the family is saved and taken to Peggy’s home, the local inn. Alvin is born and Peggy is present for the birth, their fates forever entwined. As Alvin’s family continues in their westward travels, toward Ohio country, Peggy can see Alvin’s ‘heartfire’ and rescues him multiple times, using the power of some of the placenta she saved from his birth. The reason he has so much power is that his oldest brother, who died in the flood, didn’t actually die until Alvin was actually born, so he is a seventh son of a seventh son. You see, this whole story is set in a pioneer America in which magic is real. Different races harness magic in different ways, but it is real and being the seventh son of a seventh son confers onto little Alvin some serious powers.

Alvin grows up, his evil nemesis “The Unmaker” following him all the time, trying to kill him using water, the most corrosive of the four elements. He uses his power in childish ways as a child but a ‘Red Man’, a Native American, appears to Alvin in a vision as part of the man’s spirit quest and admonishes the child to only use his powers for good. A preacher with envy in his heart is visited by the Unmaker and tried to kill little Alvin at one point but is foiled by Peggy’s use of Alvin’s powers. She is, as always, watching out for him.

In the second book, Alvin goes away from home and meets up with a prominent Red Man, traveling the land recruiting other Reds for either a rebellion or a mass exodus. The man’s brother is the same man who appeared to Alvin as a vision and is considered a prophet. Between the two, alongside the machinations of a powerful white governor from the south, they orchestrate a massacre by whites of reds that begins the Reds’ exodus to the lands west of the ‘Mizzippy’. Alvin learns how to heal physical trauma in a person even near death, walk in the way of the Red Man (silently, quickly, listening to the music of the earth moving together as one), and forges ties between red and white people. All before he is 11 years old. Seriously. He also walks on water and has a vision of a city made of crystal that he’s supposed to make. Because he’s a maker. Whatever.

In the third book, he becomes an apprentice blacksmith and gets involved with the abolitionist movement He returns to where his big brother died and where a corrupt blacksmith is willing to take him on as an apprentice. It’s also where Peggy lives but she runs away the day before he arrives because she can see the future and only her leaving creates futures in which Alvin actually falls in love with her instead of marrying her out of duty. Or something. (It starts getting a bit absurd at this point but I’m invested in the story so I continue). The same day Alvin arrives and Peggy leaves, an escaped slave, raped by her white master under the influence of the Unmaker, brings herself and her baby to the Peggy’s town using black magic. The effort she used to escape kills her and Peggy’s mother adopts the half black baby and names him after a contemporary king. As a joke. Alvin works hard, learns well, does even better work than the master blacksmith, and also befriends the little boy. Meanwhile, Peggy runs away and lives with a woman her father cheated with years ago (she knows who, where, why, and how because heart fires and stuff. Whatever.) to learn how to be a real lady. Once she’s learned that she goes to college to learn how to be a school teacher and returns in disguise to her hometown. She teaches the little boy and Alvin, privately, because that’s the real reason she came back to her hometown. There is controversy over her teaching the half black boy because racism. Some slave trackers come to town to find the little boy and Alvin helps rescue him. He transforms the little boy’s genes in order to render the tracking magic the slave trackers use useless and baptizes him (symbolic much?) to wash away any leftover skin cells, etc. The slave trackers return to where they last saw the boy, one gets shot by Peggy’s mom, the other shoots Peggy’s mom, Peggy freaks out, reveals herself to Alvin, they’re in love, blah blah blah, Alvin kills the other slaver, they all run away and live happily ever after. Oh, also, Alvin makes a magic gold plow that is alive and in order to do so he climbs in the forge fire and basically burns to death but then heals himself and also changes the atomic nature of iron to turn it into gold in the fist place. My skepticism is full bore at this point but I NEED to know what happens next!

In the fourth book, Alvin and the little half black boy go back home to live with his family as journeyman blacksmith and friend. He starts trying to teach people how to understand atoms and cells but most people pretty much can’t. His little brother, also a seventh son of a seventh son because the oldest died before he was born, is a little shit and behaves shittily. He has similar powers to Alvin but has no scruples and is basically just a conceited, insecure, braggy little shit. Some stupid little girl has a crush on Alvin, spreads rumors, and drives him out of town so he goes wandering with the half black boy. They go back to where he was an apprentice and the corrupt blacksmith has claimed the golden plow is actually made out of gold the blacksmith had from family or something. There’s jail and a trial but Alvin can bend metal like wet clay so it’s not really in danger, it’s just another way to show how particularly wholesome Alvin is. He is acquitted and keeps wandering, hoping to find some inspiration. His little brother wanders around also, being a little shit and getting into trouble, lying and drinking and using his powers for petty shit. Peggy and Alvin are in love and get married. They want to stop slavery but it’s not that easy. Stuff happens. It’s not that important or interesting.

In book five, Peggy stirs up unrest in the slave south while Alvin travels New England where magic is illegal. He gets accused of witchcraft, his little shit of a brother gets in trouble in the same city his wife is in, he leaves the witch trial by literally peeling his shackles off and goes to rescue his wife, the trial gets fucked up in a good way (read, no more witch trials) by the judge, he saves the day and literally creates a bridge over a lake using his blood, leads his people to the promised land, figures out how to create the crystal city, and his little brother, literally restored to health from being a fucking zombie, continues to be a little shit. Also, they go to Mexico to win a war but the other reds light up a volcano. What the hell is even happening at this point?!?!!

Obviously, summing up some half dozen books (I think I accidentally smushed two together) isn’t easy. A lot happens, background fills in and moral agendas unfold, and trying to analyze an entire multi book series in a single review is not the easiest. That being said, all of the books are in the same universe and follow the same people so they do all kind of mesh.

The universe concept is awesome. It presents colonial and post-colonial America in an alternate universe where there are crown colonies in the south, independent America is in the northwest, Native Americans create their own reservation out of ALL land west of the Mississippi, and Puritan New England is its own state. The Red magic is the magic of the land, specializing in communication with earth and woods and creatures, focusing on cyclical relationships and wholistic existence, voluntary sacrifice, and long term survival over short term gain. The Negro magic comes from objects and bits of yourself, feathers and urine and lost hairs and wax to bind it all together, powerful but requiring sacrifices. The white magic comes as ‘knacks’. Particular skills such as forming iron, cooking, comforting, or storytelling all come as particular, slightly supernatural ‘knacks’ in each person. Alvin’s knack is ‘making’, the ability to see deeply into the atoms and cells and souls that make up a person or a thing. He can knit bones and arteries, change iron to gold, convince wildlife to trust him, and even use his blood to form water into blocks of crystal that should last forever. It’s a really neat idea and formed the backbone to a great epic of good against evil and the slow evolution of a young person into someone meaningful and lasting.

It’s also kinda fun that it’s peppered with historical figures. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Abraham Lincoln, John Adams, George Washington, David Bowie, and dozens more pop into and out of Alvin’s life and the world he lives in. Their lives are often vastly different from what history tells us, but it’s fun to kind of have an idea of their historical significance and watch how the author plays with them. They’re all useful to alvin’s cause or used by his enemies but their addition enlivens the world Alvin’s story lives in.

The story itself is incredible. It’s the story of an extraordinary child set against impossible odds, changing the world and learning how one mistake at a time. Alvin makes difficult choices and moves the world in meaningful ways, all the while just a humble young man who wants to settle down and raise a family. It’s the classic story of a normal person with greatness thrust upon them that lights imaginations so often and to such great effect.

The writing is…. Acceptable. I have a feeling that, had I read it instead of listening to it and would thus be able to skim over some of the more repetitive moralizing and recapping, I would have enjoyed it much more. Because I listened to it, I heard in every. Single. Volume. The story of how little Peggy Guester saved the ‘birth caul’ from newborn Alvin’s face and used the power from it to save him many times. I heard multiple times the tedious conversations that served no purpose in moving the action forward, only allowed the author to express his personal opinions. I swear, if I hear one more woman read to me, passionately, the story of Alvin’s birth I’d freaking… Well, do nothing, really, just get really annoyed. I get that in a series you have to make sure that each book technically stands alone, but seriously… It got so sappy and so moralistic and so focused on what the characters thought instead of what they did… I wonder if audio book needs a different kind of writing than books intended to be read only.

Overall, the series is reasonable. It’s a good story, an interesting world, it has two, if not three dimensional characters, and I think I would have very much enjoyed sitting on a patio reading them quietly more than I enjoyed listening to overly dramatic orators stress every damn syllable. Next on my list is the biography of Thomas Jefferson and in the middle was ‘the Witches of America’, a story of the making of a documentary on modern day Wicca, both of which I can assure you are more interesting and a better use of your Audio book time. Also, If you haven’t read all of Mary roach’s books yet, they’re a much more entertaining and valuable use of your time. I recommend them at least three times more than I reccomend the Chronicles of Alvin Maker.

As a side note, I read these books because I now have access to a service called overdrive. Using your Seattle public library card, you can check out books and audio books for free. It’s a great service and even if you aren’t interested in these books in particular, there are hundreds of other volumes to check out. It’s a particularly good idea for kids who will read and discard their literature.

He Brought Me Wine

He had gray hair, tall and lean for his age, and he was carrying a small wooden box, oval, held together with tiny brass pegs.
“I brought this for you.”
This was our first meeting, always a moment of nerves, expectancy, wonder, and usually my own emotional pleasure. I enjoy impressing people with my wit and pretty face and you only get that first chance to make an impression. It’s also my chance to suss out a new client. Is he pushy? Will I need to keep my panties on the reinforce boundaries or will I be able to hover inches from his face, secure in the knowledge that he’ll hold himself back? Can I reach my taser?
“Thank you! It beautiful, where did you get it?””
“I had this old maple in my back yard that needed to be cut down. Turns out it’s [some special kind that’s got a gorgeous wavy grain but I don’t remember] so I saved the lumber.”
“You made this!?” I was astonished. I looked closer at the tight fastenings, the little brass circles flush with the wood grain, lustrous, bright, shimmering, and full of chocolates. “Did you make these, too?”
“They’re orange truffles. I hope you like chocolate.”
In two minutes this man, some seventy-something retiree, had made me feel simultaneously like an adored mistress and the laziest sod to walk the earth. The details of our meeting fade away but that stands out, as does our second and only other meeting.

“Would you give this to Adelle? It’s her label.”
He had just presented me with four tall, dark bottles, capped with a ruby wax seal. Labeled ‘Christina Rouge’, ‘Christina Cabernet Franc’, ‘Christina Cabernet Sauvignon’, and ‘Adelle Rouge’ and simple, clear labels. The three ‘Christina’ bottles had a simple silhouette, hand sketched with only four lines, of a woman’s curved ass and the outline of one hip. The one labeled ‘Adelle’ had a dark label that, if one looked closely, hid a demure photo drawn from Adelle’s website, contrast turned down low so it would be subtle.
“Now when you open this, don’t drink it right away. Give it at least a day or two. I don’t have enough barrels to do the full aging so it’ll need to breathe.”
Once again my aged client had shown me up, but in an even bigger way than before. He was dedicated to staying active and though I’ve never seen or heard from him since, I’m sure he’s still around. Or I hope, at least.

I opened one today. I had the first sips as I began to write this. It seemed fitting that it should spark such clear memories and that I should write them down while they still fluttered in my mind’s eye, one of many pleasurable memories my beloved clients create with me. The wax was difficult to remove and I prayed that the intervening years hadn’t spoiled it. It is delicious.