The Blog

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Be Patient

There is a common trope in popular culture that persistence wins the hands of the princess. We see it in romantic comedies but also in the meme of the ‘nice guy’ who believes that his persistence and kindness earns him the right to be adored. I see it often when clients repeatedly ask for forbidden fruits or when bargoers ignore or dismiss my rejection. There is this idea that asking often enough or creatively enough will wear down, trick, or otherwise convince the target into changing their mind.

Persistence and patience seem on the surface like synonym, but when it comes to relationships they could not be more opposite. Persistence implies constant effort with the intention of eventually convincing someone to do things your way. As the regular recipient of persistence, I find it especially irritating to handle. I very much like to say yes. No does not easily come to me and I get uncomfortable when forced to say it. The more often I have to say it, the more uncomfortable and guarded I get. A persistent admirer causes me to say no repeatedly, often to questions they already know the answer to. This persistence tells me that the only thing keeping you from doing what you want is potential punishment, not respect for my choices. With clients, this simply means that our session will not be relaxing for me, nor will the time we spend intimately together be pleasant. I will be constantly monitoring your movements, moving myself away as necessary, and avoiding positions that require me to trust your restraint. With laypeople it means that you are awful relationship material. Instead of respecting my wishes you see conversations as a chance to win. Initially it’s simply winning a date, but later it might be winning where we live or how we raise our family or even what we eat. I’m not interested in living a life with someone who isn’t interested in compromise, much less someone who may potentially run out of patience and use force to get their way.

While a persistent admirer puts me in a negative mindset, a patient admirer is a source of joy and flattery. A patient admirer rarely asks a question to which the answer will be no. If he does ask and the answer is no, he never repeats it. He has offered his willingness to reach past my boundaries without demanding it or asking that I justify or repeat myself. He has shown me that he will respect my boundaries, wherever they fall, so if I ever choose to flex or move them I can trust that he will equally respect the new ones. He has also flattered me by showing that I am desirable; more is welcome but what we already have is enough. His willingness to accept my ‘no’ just as readily as he accepts ‘yes’ along with his patience allows us to share a respectful relationship, full of joy and potential instead of a guarded relationship filled with negativity. My patient admirers enjoy a much more intimate connection, founded on trust and care not for consequences but for the basic dignity of our own choices.

Patience alone is not sufficient to further a solid relationship, however. Openness, what I describe as ‘being as comfortable with no as with yes’, is critical in developing the relationship. A persistent person is not ok with ‘no’ and will continue their pursuit until ‘no’ becomes ‘yes’. This is not a respectful way to build a relationship. A patient person presents options and is equally willing to move forward with a ‘yes’ or stay in the current configuration with a ‘no’. Whether or not the yes becomes no or the no becomes yes is irrelevant because the point is not to drag someone along but to invite them to join you.

I am always as comfortable with yes as with no. If ever I ask or suggest or assume something you’re not happy with please know that your no will always be met with respect and care. If ever I assume your answer is no when it might have been yes, let me know. If you change your mind for any reason, let me know. If you have anything to ask, know that being asked does not upset me and as long as you are equally comfortable with no as with yes I will never be upset or offended. Exploration is a key part of the experience I try to provide and I welcome you to explore yourself and your sensations. Simply be patient 😉

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My Apologies

I recently posted a short rant to our local review board. It was in the form of a question, I acknowledged that it was a little rant-y, and it absolutely will not apply to you. I know that because you’re reading this and the whole post was about how annoyed I get when people don’t read my website, particularly the FAQs and Contact pages. I only get annoyed because I’ve spent a ridiculous (to me) amount of time and energy publishing answers to any question I could think of, then trying to make it appealing and when it is so obviously disregarded I get frustrated. Sorry. I can hear myself doing it again and this time I’m preaching to the choir. The reason I bring it up at all is to issue an apology.

One of my beloved clients apologized for not consulting my calendar before asking for a get-together. Not consulting my calendar happens to be a more common pet peev to be triggered and this particular situation was one of several that triggered my rant. The apology was also a defense: my calendar is blocked at his workplace and he would get in trouble for checking his cell phone. It reminded me that 1: I need to understand that there are often extenuating circumstances and 2: no one can read my mind. We saw each other a week or two after the whole rant and I got to experience once again the feeling of absolute forgiveness.

My apology is this: I am sorry for any unfairness or delays in communication that come as the result of a pet peeve hitting my nerves. I won’t apologize for snarky (not rude) responses because I personally feel they’re justified and I won’t apologize for the prejudice I’ve established as the result of my irritation because it doesn’t exist. As irritated as I may get (which isn’t much), as bitchy as I may sound (also not much, I hope), as vehemently as I complain to my girlfriends or the internet (which is a lot, haha), I hold no preconceptions about you. As soon as you walk through my door, you are a tabla rasa, a blank slate upon which your behavior in person, not our communication dictates my behavior towards you. The truth is this: my temper is quick to rise and quick to fall and I have a terrible memory. When I see your smiling face I can’t even remember the 18 emails it took to get you here, much less stay irritated at them. All I remember is your smile, your caring words, your respectful touch, your ecstasy and appreciation for my help in you reaching it. And so I say I’m sorry if I made it seem like you were unwelcome or unappreciated because of my public discussion of a pet peeve or by the snark in my response.

Thank you and I apologize. Know that when you walk in the door, I am the happiest I’ve been all day.

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Power

It always reassures me when gents who are obviously physically superior enter my incall shaking with nervousness. The nerves don’t often last long but knowing that they care so deeply that I am safe and comfortable that it manifests visibly reminds me of some advice I got as a teen: “you have a power over men. Be careful with it and be kind.” I wish more women knew that.

Men have power in strength. Larger and stronger on average than women, men have the potential to exercise that power at any time for any reason. Fortunately it doesn’t happen as often against women as against other men but when it does (still too often) it is obvious and society chooses to punish it. When women exercise our power to confuse, distract, manipulate, and grant favor it is far less obvious and, because of the visible power of men over women, is often dismissed or ignored. Because of the quiet nature of women’s power, many women don’t even know they have it. I firmly believe that if women recognized their power and realized there is no shame in using it responsibly we might have far fewer hot buttons in society.

The first time I met Maggie McNiel she mentioned giving a ‘pity fuck.’ She wrote about it in a column I had read a while ago and it’s been rattling around in my brain for a while. The idea behind it is having sex with someone you woudn’t normally choose to in order to help them physically, psychologically, or socially. A totally selfless act that often goes uncompensated and in some cases creates dangerous attachment. The terminology turns me off a bit but the intent I think is wholesome. What if we called it sex from compassion? What if when we see a need we have the power to meet we choose to rise above our pride and distaste to educate and care for. Perhaps it’s a dream but imagine if it wasn’t shameful to seek out care and love in the arms of a priestess. Imagine if the angry, the confused, and the lonely didn’t have to spend every night in solitude. Imagine if there was a substantial number of gracious women who hold as their respectable duty to society to make sure that no one is unloved always. What if each young man and woman were taught to make love with care by someone who knows how? What if sexual surrogacy wasn’t just for the physically disabled but also for the isolated and the sad? It may be crude to quote from Spiderman in a blog about sexual power but as Uncle Ben said: “With great power comes great responsibility.” What could we do for the world if we recognized and valued this power? It’s a thought.

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The Weight of Words

Our word choices are critical when we discuss policy and current practice concerning sex work. I cringe at the phrase ‘selling sex’ or ‘selling their bodies.’ The implication of selling oneself or selling a service is that for a certain time, I surrender control of my own body. That is absolutely not the case. At any time, in every session, either participant can say ‘no’ to any activity. Does that sound like slavery? I don’t think so. Instead of ‘selling sex’ I ‘have a session’ with a client. It is important to realize, even when we’re fighting for the right to ‘sell our bodies’, the terminology puts negative connotations into the mind of our audience who then resist out of the goodness of their hearts. Who would choose to allow anyone selling themselves for anything, even if it’s by choice?

Another set of terms I discussed last week involve the idea that we as providers have less power than our clients. Many sexual positions involve the apparent submission of the receiving partner but any participant in an explicitly submissive/dominant relationship knows that is an illusion. While the receiving partner may appear submissive, at any moment the safe word will stop all activity at once. The truth of each session is that I do not submit to your demands, I accommodate your desires as far as I am comfortable. I am not subservient to your will, I am obliging to your requests so long as they are within the boundaries of our interaction. This means that, while it may appear by my propensity for yes and my smaller size that I am being made use of, I have complete agency.

In my community, there have been a few discussions of what to call ourselves. It’s pretty common to describe the ladies as providers and I find it fits me well. I have clients I see for a set amount of time during which we engage in a variety of entertainments depending on how much time we have and how my client is feeling that day. Our arrangements do not venture into our personal lives, though they are deeply personal. I have heard some suggest ‘patron’ as a term for our dear ones. I would have to disagree though I appreciate the intent. To me, a patron is one who has an ongoing, consistent relationship with his artist. Similar to a courtesan, the erotic artist relies on the regular contributions and they see each other as his schedule allows. Thus she is assured of her income and he is assured of her companionship. A John is often seen as a derogatory term but I propose a neutral definition: a John is a client who is not interested in long engagements or intellectual connection. Shorter, less mentally intimate sessions work for prostitutes with busy schedules or who simply don’t like socializing with their Johns. It sounds terrible because of the social connotations of the term but I intend it only as a way to differentiate styles of entertaining. I do not consider myself an artist because I have no patrons. I do not consider myself a prostitute because I do not offer short, non-intimate sessions. I consider myself a provider because I have clients. This terminology is all my own and is in no way intended to denigrate styles of sex work. Different strokes, as they say.

Another term that comes up is ‘the hobby.’ Apparently some people find the term offensive to various degrees. The problem is, what else do you call it? Punting? Hooking? Patronizing? Trading? I’ve thought about this off and on and I still can’t find a better term. On the one hand, it’s kind of nice. Hobbies are fun, we do them because we like them, and they often add interest to our lives. On the other hand, they are non-critical, easy to set aside, and often considered frivolous. I’m not particularly invested in this one but it is an interesting term with an interesting, if low-importance, debate around it.

That’s what I can remember at the moment. I will of course follow up if anything important comes up and I am open to suggestions for further thought.

I hope you, my reader, will consider setting aside any judgements for a moment to consider your emotional reaction to all of the terminology I’ve presented. Interesting how some of them make you feel good and some of them are upsetting. Recognizing that the way you say something changes how it is perceived is a huge step towards effective communication.

Update as of 12/17/15:
I realized as I continue writing that I have come up with an alternative term for ‘the hobby’. I often use the term ‘the industry’ and refer to ‘clients’ who partake. I didn’t realize that I had been using it for a while and that it makes a fine alternative for those who don’t like the frivolity that hobbying implies. It does bestow an element of professionalism on our work and opens the door to terminology you might hear at an OSHA meeting. Words are important. Use them 🙂

Update as of 01/04/16:

I found this article today. I don’t agree about the offensiveness of terms, but it helps to disambiguate (made up word?) some terms.

http://www.biwoc.org/post/136274403976/sex-workers-language-and-slurs

The text is quoted below.

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Prostitute is a Slur

Prostitute is a word that is used entirely to criminalize sex workers.

The word refers specifically to exchanging sex acts for money, which is a crime in most places, and is part of the reason other terms like ‘escort’ came along; escorting is selling one’s time which may or may not include sex, and is paid by an hourly rate, whereas prostitution is paid by the sex act. In many places, ‘escorting’ allows a loophole for full service sex work though it also has some classist implications. It remains though that prostitute is a word that strips full service sex workers of our humanity and reduces us to criminals; this is the history and intention of it. It is a slur, so don’t use it except to self refer if you’re a full service sex worker yourself.

Hooker is a Slur

Hooker is a disparaging term for a full service sex worker, often linked to street-based work, which again has class issues. It is used to demean and degrade full service sex workers. Don’t use it.

Whore is a Slur

This is an area where a lot of people fuck up, believing bullshit like “but whore is used to target all women!” No shit, guess why? Because it refers to full services sex workers. That’s the entire reason why it’s offensive. When you call someone a whore, you are literally calling them a full service sex worker. Don’t do it, and don’t use it for yourself if you’re not a sex worker (the word can be applied to sex workers who don’t do full service in some situations, but only to self refer). 

When you use any of the above words, you are contributing to whorephobia; the specific marginalization that sex workers, usually women, experience in every aspect of society from interpersonal relationships to the state. This stigma often results in discrimination, violence, rape, death and even murder. Language matters. Words are important. 

Whorephobia

Whorephobia is the term that sex workers coined in the 1970s to describe this oppression. This is the only instance where non sex workers can use the word whore. While there are problems raised with this word, it’s what we have, it’s been around for 40 years now so unless sex workers decide to change it (if that’s even possible) this is what we have whether we like it or not. The fact that this word contains a slur is no fucking excuse to attack people for using it, and the only people who complain about it are whorephobic fauxminists themselves who are trying to silence us by taking away our language to call them out on their bigotry while changing the subject, trying to paint US as misogynists. This is not a “new libfem term” and libfeminism has fucking nothing to do with sex worker rights anyway; sex workers have historically occupied the fringes of society, something which every brand of feminism likes to avoid. 

If you don’t feel comfortable using this word, feel free to write it as wh*rephobia instead.

Street-Walker is a Slur

This word specifically attacks street-based workers, who experience the worst marginalization of all sex workers with all other things being equal. Even in sex worker spaces, street-based workers are often looked down on by indoor sex workers such as escorts or brothel workers. This is called lateral whorephobia and it’s fucked up. No one gets to use this phrase except street-based workers. 

Pimp is another term that often comes up in these conversations. It has a complicated history and has strong anti-Black connotations. Pimping is a reality, it definitely does happen and there are situations where this word is appropriate. It’s also a concept used to attack sex workers by criminalizing anyone who assists us; legally, anyone who helps a sex worker organize their appointments or drives them to and from a client can be charged as a pimp. It’s a disparaging term that often targets friends and partners of sex workers. It’s also widely used by anti sex worker fauxminists to discredit peer-based organizations; SWERFs will baselessly claim that sex worker organizations are actually run by pimps. This virtually never happens as most organizations have strict policies regarding who can become a member; only sex workers can join peer-based organizations. 
John is a term used to refer to the clients of sex workers. We virtually never use it, we call them clients cos that’s what they are though some sex workers call their clients tricks. That’s really up to them, but non sex workers would be better off using clients, especially since not all clients are men anyway. 

Appropriate Language 

The catch-all term for anyone who sells their sexual energy is ‘sex worker’. This includes strippers, peep show performers, brothel workers, cam performers and many more. The key point is that they sell their sexual energy; there are people in the sex industry who don’t and therefore are not sex workers, such as security staff, DJs, drivers, managers etc. 

Since this is an umbrella term, you may need to refer to specific sex industry positions.

Full service sex worker is anyone who has sex with their clients. Sex can be a variety of things but usually involves genitals touching (some sex workers only do massage with hand relief, and they are not full service sex workers), though not necessarily every time. The term implies that some form of penetrative sex is an available activity. Porn performers aren’t usually referred to as full service sex workers even though they have sex because the people they’re having sex with are not their clients, though some porn performers do full service sex work in addition to performing in porn.

Indoor sex worker generally refers to any full service sex worker who works indoors. They may work for themselves privately in their own homes or from hotel/motel/rented rooms, for an escort agency, or in a brothel/parlor. Indoor sex workers generally experience lower risks of violence; from clients, strangers and police. 

Street-based sex worker generally refers to sex workers who work outdoors or in public/semi public places. Some people consider sex workers who meet clients via the internet/newspaper advertisements and see them in semi-public spaces (e.g. cars, public toilets) to be street-based but more commonly, street-based sex worker means the sex worker meets their clients in a public place; sometimes a bar or club but more often, a stroll (a stroll is a street where sex workers tend to work; clients know to go to that street in particular to find sex workers and vice versa). Sometimes strolls are decriminalized; in Sydney for example, it’s not a criminal act for sex workers to meet clients at Kings Cross, though it isn’t legal to meet them in public anywhere else. Public sex is always illegal. Sometimes ‘outdoor sex worker’ is used, but less commonly.

Brothel worker is pretty self explanatory, I’ve not heard of another term to refer to sex workers who are based in brothels. Some brothel workers also do escorting, either privately or via the brothel.

Escort is an acceptable word to use to refer to independent full service sex workers who work indoors, though some (like myself) dislike it because it has certain class connotations as above.

SWERF is an acronym that means ‘sex worker exclusionist radical feminist’ and illustrates the fact that despite their protests, anti sex worker fauxminists actually hate us, including those of us who are forced, coerced and/or trafficked. They hide this behind false statistics and pretending that anyone with a tumblr account is too privileged to have an opinion, but in truth, they just want to silence us and force us out of our jobs. 

I hope this covers all the language questions, if I’ve missed anything please let me know
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Maturity, Wisdom, Experience

I’ve always known that the mainstream narrative around sex work isn’t the most common narrative. The stereotypical escort is one of two types: victimized, forced, abused, drugged, etc or money-grubbing, twenty-something with fake breasts and disdain for her clients. While both types exist, it is far more common, particularly here in Seattle, to see a variety of backgrounds, demographics, and motivations.

Personally, I’m a sexually explorative, monogamous in my personal life, twenty something who wears little makeup, lives a relatively middle class life, and spends her free time cooking, knitting, and socializing with my civilian friends. I’ve met ladies from all over the spectrum, everywhere from the unreliable and functional addicts to the meticulous elite. The latter is far, far more common. A question was asked recently, one that I’m proud to know comes from my community. The question was ‘Who are the ladies over 40 here in Seattle?’ and the answers were overwhelming. There is a link to the thread at the end of this post so you can see for yourself who made the list.

A few things struck me about this question, the first and most reassuring to me is the sheer volume. Out of the say 200 independent providers that regularly participate in this community there are over 20 specific names in that thread. That’s a huge percentage. Huge! And they’re all over 40! Perhaps it’s this community that attracts a higher number of mature women but I firmly believe that it’s not an accident. Several of our local legends didn’t even get started until their thirties and over the last decade(s) have established themselves as highly sexual, intelligent women capable of a wide range of desirable characteristics such as intelligence, experience, empathy, reliability, assertiveness, and of course great ball handling skills 😉 I am hopeful that I can one day join the ranks of the mature lady legends of Seattle’s sexy underground.

The second striking realization was that I regularly ask many of these ladies for references. A few leaps of logic tell me that I am attracting gentlemen who usually stick with the more mature (and by virtue of age, more experienced and intelligent) providers. That I can command a certain amount of interest usually reserved for those far more interesting gives me a deep sense of pride. My youth will fade, my breasts will droop, my skin will wrinkle, my hair will turn gray but my mind will, hopefully, remain sharp for many more years. Also, the youth and beauty I have are no fault of my own. The mind I cultivate and the words that come from it are my fault, my problem, and my pride. Every day that I am able to bring the combination of youthful energy and mature wisdom to my loves is a day that fills me with joy and pride. I can’t imagine doing anything else more fulfilling.

Disclaimer: while I have often been told I am unusually mature for my age precocity is no substitute for true wisdom. I will not be truly comparable to the legends in the post linked below until I have their experiences. I personally highly recommend Sarah Nicole for nurturing, Sola Love for healing, Maggie for vigorous discourse, Houston Price for raw sex appeal, Jillian Roberts for high high class, and Ananda and Joyfull for playfulness. All in addition, of course, to sensuality and love for all.

http://thereviewboard.net/forum/posts/439299.html

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I can see clearly now

Yesterday I put my spectacles on for the last morning. I washed my lenses for the last time. I smushed my eyelid into the back side of the scratch resistant plastic for the final time. I woke up to a blurry world for the last. time. ever. This morning, after 13 hours of blissfully drugged sleep, I could look myself in the eye from a comfortable distance for the first time in my life.

After 16 years of various corrective lenses, I have dealt with contact lenses drying out my eyes and stunting blood vessels, seeing rooms full of smoke because of how filmed over my glasses were, squinting for hours at a time instead of carrying around expensive prescription sunglasses, resigning myself to audio only TV watching because bespectacled snuggling is uncomfortable, and many more annoyances. I have around 20 years to enjoy before my eyes lose their elasticity and I begin filling my house with those cute little reading glasses. In that time I plan to enjoy every minute of clear sight. I feel I’ve earned it.

The procedure doesn’t take long. A valium and some deep breathing exercises help at first but the six minutes of actual procedure are absolutely, by far, the most stressful six minutes of the last ten years. First, the numbing drops. Fine, no big deal, I’ve had those before many a time, plus all the other little things that go along with having extreme myopia. Next, you lie down and the surgeon steadies your head while the trauma begins. A wire holds your eyelid open, more drops fall into your eye, you see cotton swabs around the edges, then a bright ring comes closer, closer, no time to think before it’s settled on your eye and the pressure rises. I felt in my eye socket exactly what I felt in my novocaine-numbed mouth when the dentist broke my molar and had to twist out the root: no pain, but feeling like it would explode. Tense, every muscle on edge, hyperventilating through a bone dry mouth and choking off my voice for fear I would destabilize the surgeon. Twenty seconds and it’s over… for the left eye. Another twenty seconds and now it’s time for the actual correction. The intense pressure and anxiety was only the first half, the part where the corneal flap is cut and flopped to one side. Now I stare into a clattering red and green light and start to smell wet dog, inhaling the vapor of vapoiring lens tissue. Hands on either side of my head keep me still, the wires continue to prop open my eyelids, the deep breathing is so deep I’m beginning to get light headed. The surgeon counts down from five, reassuring at every step. Another sterile swab to replace my cornea and after fifteen more seconds of wet dog smell and one last swab I’m done. Though shaky and hot, my numb eyes look across the operating theater and see. It doesn’t matter what, all that matters is that it’s over and I can see. There is blurring and I will feel like I’m chopping onions for the next six hours but when I wake…it is done.

While I would never wish to repeat my experience and at the time it was fucking awful, it’s so quick and the results so delightful and immediate that I would if I had to go back in time. Especially at such a young age. Healing is faster, results are more consistent, side-effects are nearly null, and I’ve got a lot of years of flawless sight (I’m at 20/15, nearly 20/10) before the drug store reading glasses become ubiquitous.

I’m taking a few days off and I won’t be wearing any makeup at all for the next week at least, possibly more, but the stars have aligned and I’m having a particularly good skin week so I should have no problems. I can’t wait to really see you lovelies next time we get together. I took the lenses out of my old frames and will have them around for cosmetic reasons but it does look… different. Rest assured, regardless of my ocular accoutrements, the nerd brain you have grown to know and love is still here 😉

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Beginnings begin with the end

One of my beloved regulars broke up with me yesterday and I couldn’t be happier. We’ve been getting together regularly for laughter conversation, wine, and some saucy fun for a year or more and yesterday over coffee, just a quick social hello, he broke up with me. He told me he simply didn’t have the energy to see me and maintain the new relationship he’s found himself in. My grin nearly cracked my face. I may never see this clever, endearing gent ever again. I couldn’t be more pleased.

Much like a counselor watching her client develop self awareness and healthy coping mechanisms or a nurse daily observing here patient’s return to health, watching my loves find someone else to fill their time, bring them joy, and make love to brings me peace.

That’s not to say that our interactions are the interactions of an unhealthy individual, far from it. I only mean to say that for some, this is a pit stop, a surrogacy, a chance to learn without shame how to move easily and comfortably in your own skin and to explore how far it will take you. For some, it’s an amusing and convenient diversion, for others a way to patch the leak in the marriage boat and keep it afloat for years to come, for still others it’s a way of life. For those who stop at my door on the way to something else, goodbyes are sweet. I will always hold space for them in my heart and my memory and someday I will wonder how they’re doing but I’ll never know. I’ll imagine some fuzzy sunlit future and hope it’s the truth and remember our cozy past and be well.

Best of luck, and always, love.

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Fall into Autumn

It seems I am doomed to keep odd hours. Long nights awake at a desk, a late evening escaping solitude over a glass, a quiet walk in the November chill, a Sunday sunrise bicycle ride, noontime musings lounging in bed, and long weeks of silence, distracted from my writing. Days pass, the weather turns. The quiet is slowly broken by the whisper cum roar of a passing car. The roads are lit only by street lamps. Quiet residential alleys recede into the gloom, joyful in the sunshine but in the waning hours of daylight coming to stillness both poignant and eerie. The heels of my boots click softly against the concrete, the only sound aside from the last straggling vehicles finding their way home alongside me. I am alone tonight. Cold sheets and an empty bed lack the welcome I’m accustomed to. Earlier this evening I shared a bottle with a traveler, facing for months at a time what I find difficult to endure even once: sleeping alone. Both of us shared delicious hours fending off the inevitable.

My partner is away to the east side of the state for two nights. It will be my first lonely sleep in a very long time and more importantly, my first lonely evening, morning, and day. The house is always filled with the sounds of NPR or PBS, enticing scents of sizzling onions or fresh baking bread, visions of a smiling face, heartwarming hugs, everpresent knowledge of a home shared. I am fortunate, so incredibly fortunate to have this. I only hope that with every meeting I am able to share a moment of that safety and security, the joy that comes from shared pleasure, the reinforcement of a kiss and a smile.

For the moment, however, I am alone and lonely. It will pass. It would even if my personal life were different; no one is alone forever. In the meantime it reminds me why I do what I do: because sometimes you just need someone to be with.

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Labor, A Day Late

This was supposed to go out yesterday. I thought “A Labor of Love” sounds like such a lovely title for a Labor Day post, I should write something. I sat down to write, got distracted, and realized that I so often extoll the virtues of my profession and blather on about how much I enjoy it that yet another post about how awesome you guys are would just be overkill. So I slept most of the day and spent my waking hours incredibly stoned, reading a book.

This morning I woke up early enough to catch the last commuter bus downtown which gave me a good hour or so to grab coffee and futz around on the internet. The morning was gray and the forecast was for gloom all day. As I walked to and from the bus, my mood sank comfortably into gloom as well. Two of my best girl friends and confidants just moved away from Seattle and the third in my loving lady trifecta has been out of town and/or so busy I haven’t seen her in two months.

I generally try to compact my work days so my free time comes at the end of my day but today I’m spread evenly throughout the day. It means I have chunks of time long enough to think but not long enough to go do something. It means I often get bored, sleep, or waste time online. The prospect of such a day plus the bedraggled stray feeling of social neglect tagging behind me made for a dull morning. Even my favorite coffee beverage from my favorite barista wasn’t enough to lift my spirits.

Then you showed up. You know who you are and you are not alone in your ability to first distract me from my melodrama, then genuinely change my mood. Your big smile, your respect for my limits, your appreciation for our time together, your conversation, your insights, your trust, and that dreamy look you wear out the door flipped my mood around so thoroughly that I don’t mind so much the prospect of creating new friendships from scratch and keeping myself sane in the meantime.

I would not love what I do if each day I faced a series of impersonal, disconnected, pushy, self involved, shallow interactions. I love what I do because each day I meet genuine, caring, respectful, humorous, interesting people. You are not who I would meet under any other circumstances. In what world would I meet such a variety of individuals and connect with them on a prearranged yet personal level? In which universe would I be allowed to lie naked and warm in the crook of your arm in the afterglow of sexual passion asking you about your life? Where else would I find both the impetus and the freedom to pursue educational avenues alongside personal reflections? Nowhere else but here, in my little corner of Seattle, where you and I are the only two in existence, for a while.

You are my inspiration.

Thank you

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REV: FBSM Danielle and our cocoa friend ‘Velvet’

I had a brilliant experience last month, as I am often wont to do, but this one I thought I’d share.

FBSM Danielle and I have shared classes over the last almost year and the day after we ended our student status and began our professional careers, we shared a luxurious afternoon with a TRB gentleman I will from now on refer to as Velvet. I was so struck that I asked permission to review the event and both acquiesced. So here it goes:

LOCATION: My place; First Hill
DATE: 07/10/15
NAME: FBSM Danielle and Velvet
INCALL/OUTCALL: Out for both; they came to me ;-P
AGENCY OR INDY: Both very independent
ACCURATE PICTURE: Her, yes. Him, You’ll just have to see him in person
AGE: mid 30’s/ late 30’s?
PERSONALITY: Her, Energize Bunny. Him, eager to please/be pleasured
RACE: Her: caucasian. Him: dark chocolate
BODY TYPE: Her: Marks of motherhood might trick the ignorant into thinking she’s something other than fit but for those of us who have touched her we know she’s all muscle Him: robust, exactly perfect for leaning into and onto.
WEIGHT: Not even gonna try
HEIGHT: Taller than me. Both of them. Everyone taller than me is of equal height: tall.
BUST: her: I’d guess C-D and she does this thing with them… him: There were other, more interesting things but the corkscrew chest hair and extremely responsive nipples had all three of us entertained
WAIST: Her: thin, muscled, with evidence of motherhood adding character. Him: robust, muscular, and mature
HIPS: Her: a waist-to-hip ratio for the ages! Him: I was paying more attention to the center than the width, I must admit
HAIR: Her: medium-long, strawberry brown. Silky and soft, up in a clippy when she wasn’t upside down on the floor. Him: trimmed close, pepper with a sexy smidgen of salt.
EYES: Her: big, dark, don’t remember the color. Him: laughing and rich brown.
FEET: Her: pink pedicure with nail art. Him: …good question. I got distracted on my way down and didn’t notice the feet.
SKIN TONE: Her: NW tan but her Mexican vacation may change that. Him: deep, rich mahogany. Lovely contrast for our hands and lips and other fun bits.
TRIMMING: Her: her waxing appointment was an hour after we got done so full womanly bush but I imagine it’s different today. Him: again that lovely fun corkscrew coil. She described it as a cashmere sweater and I’m not sure I disagree
TATTOOS: None on any of the three of us
SCARS: Also none that were obvious. I believe she has a c-section scar but nothing else I can think of.
PIERCINGS: Her: belly button and ears. Him: No? Not that I noticed
MOLES: Her: one well-placed on her cheek but not very noticeable. Him: I wouldn’t have seen if I looked.
BIRTHMARKS: One on her hand.
CLOTHES: Her: little black dress. Him: Something we could unbutton. Man-clothes. They got in our way so we took them off.
GLASSES: Her: contacts but glasses on request. Him: yes? I think so
MOANER OR A SCREAMER: Her: too much slurping for moans to be heard. Him: I think he lost his ability to speak for a full five minutes. I assumed that because there was a lot of frantic pointing and grunting which I dutifully followed by tonguing the indicated nipples.
ENERGY LEVEL DURING THE SESSION: Her: Energizer. Fucking. Bunny. I don’t think she sits still in her sleep! Him: matched ours which is fun because our levels are so different.
MULTI SHOTS DURING THE HOUR: We made sure of that.
ACCEPTS FRENCH: Her: possibly, at some point, but not that night. Him: Oh yes. She gave him little choice!
SMOKES: Neither?
DRINKS: Champagne for all in celebration of graduation and birthday (back in March but hey, who cares?)
KISSES: Her: I’m convinced she has an oral fixation. She licked everything!! Him: sweet and caring and very full. I enjoyed it very much.
FRENCH: Her: vigorous, immediate, and nonstop. I quote “You have to beg me to stop.” I believe it. Him: I’m sure he would have but we never gave him time to try.
GREEK: Not on anyone’s radar
RUSSIAN: Her: I think of her breasts as interactive. She was too busy with her mouth to give them a try. Him: the thought makes me chuckle but no, not really the right equipment, haha.
DO’s or DON’T’s: Do have a good time. Don’t expect FS. Leave your inhibitions at the door!
WEB-SITE: www.seattledanielle.com
SCREENING PROCESS: We all already know each other quite well but she and I both do references and I do full name and ID
EMAIL: seattle.danielle@yahoo.com
PHONE: Given out when needed
RATES: 360/hr. 500/1.5hr. 600/2hr
RECOMMEND: Hella yes!
COMMENTS:
Danielle and I had talked about doing a duo special (watch out in the future!) after classes were out. We kept putting it off because of how busy we were but Velvet is a beloved client of ours so when he emailed us inquiring, we both went wild. I set the date, time, and duration and offered my space so they could sit back and enjoy. The appointed time arrived and I broke out the bottle of bubbly I had set aside for the occasion. Danielle arrived about 15 minutes early and flopped energetically (I didn’t know you could flop energetically but Danielle proved it can be done) on my couch to enjoy the first sips of her champagne while we chatted about school and the private stripper pole party we had put on the night before. Velvet arrived and I was greeted with the broadest smile of anticipation plus a big, full kiss. I don’t know how many minutes passed but it wasn’t many before Danielle and I had unbuttoned all available buttons, my robe slipped off, and her dress peeled over her head onto the chair. Not a second later, he fell to his knees, I knelt behind him kissing and touching what I could reach, and she laid below him, thoroughly soaking everything that fell into her mouth. That set the tone for what was to be a hurricane of an adventure.

We moved from the couch to the floor to the massage table to the couch again, and every move seemed to separate her mouth from his body only for a moment. It was like her mouth was the north and his was the south pole of a magnet and they were drawn together by the laws of physics, beyond natural human desire. Danielle is literally a force of nature.

We began on the table with her lying face down. Even with the skilled and talented ministrations of Velvet and myself, she writhed and moaned even when the focus was just on feet and shoulders, respectively. Her oral fixation craved satisfaction. Ten whole minutes passed this way before wandering hands found more sexually charged places and my lips found Velvet’s, towering over Danielle’s arched back. The two of them trade places and Danielle and I spent another span of time, I don’t know how long this time, tickling and teasing, Velvet rewarding us with moans and grins and words of encouragement. My smile never left my face as I watched and giggled and made a nuisance of myself, getting in the way of her twisting teases and pleasurable pressure. Even on his belly on the table, he couldn’t get away from her trailing tongue, trickling down his back and between his thighs, rendering him speechless, as if her tongue tied his with its ferocity.

On the flip, the relentlessness never stopped. On the rare occasion her energy flagged or was distracted, I slipped in with hands when needed and tongue when appropriate. In one memorable moment, he lost his ability to speak and it was gestures and grunts that led me to his sensitive and needy nipples that I proceeded to tongue, tease, and teeth while her lips and hands were occupied south of the border. She and I finally drew a shuddering breath from him along with his first release after which we immediately resumed our manual and oral ministrations.

This was the gentle in-between when we joked, he had his wits back (and witty they are!!), and our stimulation ebbed to allow him his recovery. It was this time with the slipping and sliding of body on body and the constant but more gentle movement that inspired my favorite quote of the evening. We joked about personalities and mentioned a few other nerdy providers when Danielle teased Velvet about being ‘slathered in nerdy white girls’. And slathered he was! Me on one side, she on the other, we made a reverse Oreo of sensual and action packed excitement. Velvet, through it all, was the greatest sport. Knowing us both well, he joked, teased, chided, encouraged, gasped at, and adored us in equal measured measure. His smooth rolling tones gave an intoxicating complement to our girlish giggles.

However, true to form, Danielle indulged that oral fixation we have decided she’s got and we cued the devolution of words to sighs and giggles to moans. With she and I licking, touching, teasing, tasting, tickling, slurping, soothing, sending Velvet into another world his second climax came much to our joy and delight.

After a judicious period of recovery, sipping some water and breathing deeply, we moved our sweaty selves back to the couch where we worked our way through more of the wine. Time goes on, as it is wont to do, and we eventually got showered and dressed by turns before I was finally, once again alone in my studio. As I reflected on my experience I realized that, while I was not center stage because this duo was for him and I was experiencing this part of her for the first time, I felt deeply fulfilled, cared for, rewarded, and looked forward to more similar but different experiences. I highly recommend both of these absolutely beautiful people for social and erotic adventures.