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Two for One

It finally happened!! I saw my first couple!

It’s all too common to hear from a lovely gent that he would like to hire me for a three way with his wife or girlfriend. This was the first time that she agreed to meet me beforehand so I could make sure she was as excited about it as he was. From the moment she agreed, it just kept getting better. Well dressed, brilliant, incredibly sex work positive, and as professional and informative about her sexy experiences as I was, she ticked all my boxes. After a coffee date to assess and plan, we agreed to meet that Friday so we could tease her sweet boyfriend until he exploded.

Ladies intimidate me a little so, though I had met her and had a reasonable idea what I was getting into, I was trembling with nerves. Many of you know I’m a big nerd so finding out they had a game room nearly made me swoon. A few deep breaths later and we three were in the living room, trying to decide how to get started.

First times are always a bit awkward. I had a bit of an idea of the dynamic we were looking for, what with our coffee date and a few hints from the orchestrator but I never pull it off perfectly the first time. We began in my comfort zone: on a massage table. Training and repetition mean I can do lovely things with my hands while reserving my mental space for observation and planning. If you’ve gotten a massage from me before you know I sometimes climb up onto the table so I can use my knees on you. She seemed to enjoy the deep pressure and I can’t imagine he disliked the visual, haha!

When it was his turn I gave her some ideas for gentler touch but it didn’t take long for our poor boy to get far too handsy and need a good tie-down. Fortunately I brought a little sturdy tie-down gear with me, ha! Between the two of us ladies we managed to arrest his naughty hands and render him incapable of taking what he wanted. He would have to wait for us to deem him ready.

Oh and she was wicked fun. Between gifting him a taste of me and making him watch me pleasure her, she pushed his every button while I followed along, getting meaner and meaner as we went. ‘If you can keep from coming from this amazing blowjob, then maybe you might earn a taste of me. Wouldn’t you like that?’

The details blur together but we wound up on the bed, taking our pleasure from such a nice, selfless, obedient young man until we decided we were done. I’ll never forget the sensory overload: her loud climax and his tension, sight and sound and scent and sense, heat and pressure and so! Much pleasure.

I wanted to come for them so much. I tried everything I knew to do but I just couldn’t manage it. Even the sight and sound of her coming right next to me… it’s DEFINITELY helped since then, but in the moment there was too much too fast.

Sigh. Oh well. Better luck next time.

They gave me the most fun and funny visual memory as I was getting ready to leave: her in a sheer robe, eating the chocolate I brought as a gift, him in pajama pants eating a bowl of breakfast cereal. In that moment I felt that I had reached my apex. I’ll never stop growing and learning, but as an escort, I feel that moment will forever shine as a highest point. A couple of fuckin hot as shit nerds invited me over to entertain and pleasure them. I can’t even.

Sigh.

Addendum: I said I had reached my escorting apex but to my great surprise, I found myself enjoying yet another fantastic moment just the other day. I was able to bring my experience and curiosity to its best use; offering advice and techniques to strengthen a lover for their beloved. What a privilege to constantly find a new way to make someone’s life a little better.

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Inspired by a True Story

Such a young man. Young and handsome and at our mercy. Of course, he asked for it. Asked for Sol and I to offer the proper balance of enticement and reward. You see, a B- in Chemistry was an improvement and deserved to be recognized but it was far from the A he needed.

In my dimly lit apartment we waited for Sol as I explained: she was his reward, I was to be his incentive. When she arrived, she and I would lavish him with attention, pleasuring him with our hands and our mouths, reminding him how good success feels. Once sufficiently enticed, I would lie on my massage table while the two of them would admire me with hands and eyes, but no satisfaction would be allowed. Not for him and not for me. Not yet.

When I felt he was sufficiently educated on the rewards of excellent academic performance, they would fuck until she was finished. She would present her generous ass for him while I watched carefully and found her clit for him. Young men, silly boys, always in need of a little more education. First they fucked for me, so I could watch and enjoy them. Then they fucked for her, so she could soak him in come and collapse. She’s a loud girl so he should be prepared.

My eyes and her pussy, satisfied, would finally give permission. He could come now. He had his lesson, his reward for work well done and his temptation towards greater performance.

Silly boy, lay down and let me fuck you. Let me ride you until your cock throbs, comes, falls away. You deserve it. You earned it.

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How To Ho

Getting started in independent full service sex work is super easy. The trick is being safe and doing it well.

To see a client tonight, all a girl needs to do is:

  • Get a burner app on your phone
  • Take some photos with your phone, a nice camera if you have one
  • Google ‘escorts in [your city]’ and post an ad on whichever ad platform from the first page of results you can get on most easily
  • Answer your phone

With an hour of work you can, theoretically, see your first client that day and make instant money. It won’t be much and you’re going to be less safe without screening, but if you need cash fast, the only faster way to get into sex work is to put on a short skirt and high heels and walk your local strip late at night. I strongly advise against trying either of the above suggestions. Rushing into sex work is a bad idea; a lot of things can go wrong and desperation breeds carelessness. There is a class of clients that thrive on desperate sex workers and it is not a pleasant class. The above suggestions are the best ways to find them.

With a week’s lead time, you can add what I would consider the rest of the absolute must haves to be a basic escort. In order to see your first client within a week, you would need to:

  • Get a proton mail email address, cheap phone in cash from the drug store, and a free wix, weebly, wordpress, or other website using a fake name. You’ll want a day or two to write web copy, I suggest reading other escort’s websites for ideas.
  • While you’re thinking about that, you’ll want to go down the list of google search results from earlier and sign up for every single one you can. This will take time and often involves verifying your identity and/or age. This is something you can choose not to do, you’ll just want to weigh the risks against the rewards of each individual ad platform. I have a spreadsheet with all the ad platforms I’m on to help me keep them straight.
  • Once you’ve gotten your ad or ads up, you’ll start getting inquiries. They often come slow at first. Even now I still only see about one new person per week. Building a client base can take over a year so don’t get frustrated.

This is where rubber meets the road. How do you know which inquiries are real? How do you screen new clients so you can be a little more sure you’ll be safe? How do you say no to unreasonable requests when the offer of several hundred dollars is so tempting? How do you deal with time wasters and no-shows? How do you encourage clients to book more time or come back again soon?

Some of this just comes with time. Our bullshit meters get more finely tuned all the time but right at first, it’s easy to get stars in your eyes and put up with extremely uncomfortable things because you’re getting paid. You’re going to wade through a ton of crap. There is a class of client that smells fresh meat and will do all they can to get as much as possible out of you for as little as possible. It’s best if you can avoid these guys but sometimes you can’t or don’t and that’s ok. They won’t usually hurt you, they’ll just be demoralizing. Experience will teach you a lot. Some of us learn to manage or avoid bad clients faster than others. It helps to remember that this is on-the-job training and you’re getting paid quite well for it.

Some of this whole client management thing is common sense. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. If a request is incredibly elaborate and you haven’t actually met the client yet, it’s probably not going to happen. If someone no-shows once, they’ll definitely do it again. I take people at face value but create hurdles that only a serious inquirer will jump. I’ve also put policies in place that allow me to not be angry, simply follow through on my policies. If the client doesn’t like it, they don’t have to comply but if they don’t, I don’t have to see them again.

Though I can’t tell you how to filter out every bit of junk you’ll encounter, I can help you stay SAFE. The simplest way to stay safe is to only see clients who come with references. References require no technical skill to get and are the equivalent of you receiving a review from a client: not a promise of future good behavior, but at least a record of being safe, clean, arriving on time, and paying in full. It’s a way for providers to help watch out for each other and it’s a well known system in the US.

To get a reference, you ask the potential client for two or three other providers that can vouch for them, their email addresses, and their websites. You’ll want to check them out, see if they’ve been around a while or if it’s all new girls (possible fake providers the client created), see if they seem to know what they’re doing, and in the meantime learn who your colleagues are. Once you’ve verified that the references are really providers, you send them an email politely introducing yourself and giving the client’s name, phone if you have it, and email address. Ask if they’ve seen the client and if so, were they a client the provider would be willing to see again. Thank them profusely when they reply, no matter what the answer is.

If their answer is no or negative or makes you not see the client for any reason, DO NOT tell the client they got a bad reference. You can say their references didn’t get back to you, you can say you found them on a blacklist somewhere, you can say you decided against it based on their email address, anything you can think of, but never out a provider as having given a negative reference. At best it can let the client know how to get around someone else’s screening, at worst you can put the other lady’s safety at risk.

You will eventually get a sense for what a real, good client sounds like and what crappy ones do and should be able to hone your alternative screening methods, but until then figure out who your peer group is and thank them. Thank them and follow up if the client behaved badly. Sometimes clients will use the same reference to see many new ladies and will treat the new girls badly. Unless their reference knows, it might not end for a long time. Be professional, be polite, be reasonable, and learn as much as you can.

If you choose to offer real world information screening, please be careful with the client’s information. Encrypt your forms and your email, delete what you don’t need, and never, ever use the info irresponsibly. In cases of rape, robbery, and assault, yes, seek legal action and pull no punches, but think twice before going after someone just for being a jerk.

I’m not going to give any advice on real world screening because I don’t recommend it for newbies. Until you have a plan in place to use that info, it’s useless anyway and that’s something you’ll learn later.

Ok. You have a website, an email address, and a phone number, none of which have your legal name on them. You have some ads up in some places, paid or otherwise, verified or not, depending. You can accept and give references, and you’re getting client inquiries that are turning into real appointments. Now what.

Outcall only is going to be the cheapest and easiest way to meet clients. With outcall, theres a higher risk of getting caught in a sting or meeting an unsafe client. They are more at home in their homes so you MUST have a safe call person who actually worries. They will have the client’s address, name when possible, and know when you are supposed to arrive and when you are supposed to leave. They will call you five minutes after your appointment ends and if after three attempts you don’t pick up, they will send the cops.

This is a case of do as I say, not as I do, because I used to go overtime on my calls all the time. My safe call person knew my tendency and it worried them to no end but we never actually called the cops. This was a bad idea for several reasons which you are welcome to explore for yourself if you wish.

Cops like doing stings in hotel rooms. If you are arranging an outcall with a client you have not met before, even if they come with good references, do not answer any questions involving money or sexual acts. It’s frustrating as hell that you can’t talk about, say, doing anal, before your appointment, or even after you arrive, because it’s a pretty common upsell but it’s a very good way for you to get convicted. You’ll never avoid being arrested if you end up seeing an officer, but it’s not illegal to have sex with strangers, and it’s not illegal to get paid to come hang out with someone. Your best strategy to avoid actually getting charged with prostitution and/or getting that charge taken all the way to court is to shut your mouth. If your client asks how much extra it is for anal, or how much it is for an hour, oh and does that include oral, or what do you do, or what are your do’s and don’ts… all of those are questions designed to get you to agree to a specific act for a specific dollar amount. The best answer to any of those questions is a kiss and a smile.

Also, check your local laws to see if officers are allowed to finish a session in the course of their investigation. In some places it’s illegal but in many places you can get arrested by someone who you’ve seen several times. Just be aware.

That’s outcall. Incall is better in some ways and worse in others. You won’t entirely avoid all risk of stings in an incall, but you do cut down on the chances, and it gives you so much more control over ingress and egress, the vibe of the space, comfort, consistency, and it’s the number one thing that will get you your regular repeat clients. You can be the absolute best provider of all time but if your clients can’t come to you, many will see you a lot less often. The biggest downside is the financial commitment. Even if you’re only renting a hotel room for the night, it’s still a decent chunk of change that you won’t get back if your client flakes on you.

I prefer an apartment to hotels because I can spread my client load out to where it’s comfortable. Sure, it’s a high monthly commitment, but even if you only get one client per day, five days a week, there’s a good apartment paid for. Also lugging all my stuff around sounds like a nightmare.

It’s incredibly common to share a space. Two providers in one apartment can support the rent on a decent, convenient place and still stay low enough volume to avoid attracting attention and keep themselves healthy and happy. Three appointments in a day, total, is a good cap for an apartment incall. In a hotel you could get away with more than that, particularly in the evenings when foot traffic is high.

Now you’ve got a way for clients to find you, a way for them to contact you, and a place for them to see you… how to give them a good time and keep them coming back?

That’s on you. The basics: be on time, be clean, render services as advertised… those are easy. If you’re a 7/10 and you can do those things, you’re already in the 50th percentile. You will have clients, maybe not oodles of them, but they’ll be there and they’ll get consistent after a while and you’ll learn with time how to avoid and/or kick out the crappy ones.

Other thoughts for new girls:

We’ve established that anyone can make it in this business. With enough time and hard work, anyone can establish a heavy client load and high rates. How much time and hard work it takes depends on many things, some you can control, many you can’t.

Age. Younger women attract more clients. In my opinion the ideal age is 24-32 for appealing to the widest range of clients but the realistic age range for a successful full service sex worker is 21 to around 55. Too young and you only attract the worst clients, too old and the pool of potential clients starts to shrink. I know successful ladies both younger and older than that but they have to work a LOT harder and they see a lot more bullshit.

Size. Small girls, both short and slim, tend to attract a larger client pool. Everyone knows this, it shouldn’t be a surprise. That said, slim in this industry looks a lot different than it does in pop culture. At 5’1” and 135 pounds, I’m considered athletic, slim, and I’m just barely too big to be a ‘spinner.’ There is a niche for every body type, but the niche for athletic/slim is bigger than most of the rest. The vast majority of the successful ladies I know would not fit in on the cover of a magazine.

Attractiveness. Again, it’s all about the client pool. Most clients care more about who you are than what your face looks like but it helps to have the face. Most of us hide our faces in our advertising anyway and it’s rare for a client to leave after they arrive unless you’re clearly not the person in the pictures or you’re an absolute troll. And even then, makeup and marketing can make a huge difference.

Race. In the US and in many other places, unfortunately, white girls have the upper hand. The client pool for a black or brown provider is going to be both smaller and more likely to fetishize race. It’s not going to keep you from success, it’s just going to take more time and hard work. Which is fucked up, but it’s important to know.

Rates. The more expensive you are, the smaller your client pool. There’s a sweet spot for everyone where you attract enough of the right kind of client to keep you happy. There’s a rate at which you’ll attract cheap bargain hunters and repel people who are looking for ‘class’, whatever that means to them. There’s a rate at which the vast majority of clients will simply not be able to afford to see you. Somewhere in the middle is a rate that keeps out the riff riff but welcomes regular visitors.

Smarts. You don’t have to have book learning to be a successful escort but it helps to have world experience. Travel, read, get involved in your community, give your kids their best life, go to concerts, eat good food, take classes… longer appointments involve a lot of talking and if you’ve got nothing to say, those longer appointments come few and far between.

If you are a 50 year old, big beautiful black woman who is dumb as a box of rocks and asking 1000/hour, there will be clients out there for you, but you’re going to have to work your ass off to find them. If you are a 23 year old petite white girl with two years of world travel and a degree asking 100/hour, you’re going to be drowning in mediocre dick. And I would tell both of you you were idiots. Find your sweet spot and when you feel comfortable, don’t budge. When you’re uncomfortable, make changes.

I wish I had known:

When I got started, I should have started my mailing list and newsletter right away. Three years of email addresses and amazing clients I have no way of reaching now because I didn’t manage their information. Having a blog has done more to add legitimacy to my practice than any reviews, which is good since they’re mostly gone now. My twitter feed and reddit account get me a client now and again but I feel they’re more useful as secondary legitimizing agents than primary advertising platforms. Although with things going the way they are, who knows.

I take out the bathroom trash in between (most) appointments and extinguish the candles so each client doesn’t feel the presence of the last, whether they are two days or two hours removed. Everyone gets a glass of water, a how do you do, thank you, and a lingering goodbye. Everyone is sincerely enjoyed, in one way or another. Everyone is special, is fun, is a different kind of pleasurable. Everyone is served in a different way. You’re going to meet a huge range of people, weird and spectacular, and if you don’t have an open mind and the ability to respond dynamically to new circumstances, you may end up with a very short career.

If you can’t take this blog and book your first appointment within a month, then this probably isn’t a good industry for you, or at least it’s not the right time. There is a boldness required to enter an illegal and highly personal industry. Very few of us had a blog post or a manual when we got started, we just googled a lot and read some vague books, looked at websites or started with an agency. We fucked up a bunch and learned by trial and error. No one told us to make sure we get a .ch url and a proton mail account, that the ‘touch check’ for law enforcement is a myth, that we should screen a certain way. No one stood there telling us we’re good enough, we’re worth it, that we can still do better. No one else is going to do that for you. This work can be isolating. It’s highly stigmatized no matter where you live and it’s going to make the pool of people willing to date you much, much smaller. You’ll probably trust the wrong people once or twice and you’ll probably get scared a few times, but if this is something you’re made for, you’ll know.

Some of my thoughts and advice won’t work for anyone and most of it won’t work for everyone. Some of these things are hard to hear but I don’t think it’s fair to only talk about how easy and great it is. It isn’t easy to do it well and it’s not always great. But if you can read this and take the leap, it could be the start of an amazing adventure.

Clients: feel free to share this when it seems appropriate. I’ll be linking to it whenever it seems right and hoping it helps.

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Amie and Adelle All Night Long

Your best friend is a great guy, but it’s clear that he is unable to satisfy his wife the way she needs it, it’s only a matter of time before she realizes it and comes to you. But waiting is hard, when every time she sees you, at every barbecue and game night and casual dinner out with friends, she teases you. She has made it clear; she’s a tease and doesn’t expect to get called on it.

“Hey, your furnace went out last year didn’t it? What did you do to fix it?” “Well I started by troubleshooting the -“ “you know what, why don’t you just drop by this afternoon? Marie and I will be getting ready and you can take a look at it. There are cookies in it for you.” And she winked. You could hear it over the phone.

When you took her that afternoon, she put up resistance at first. No, we can’t do this, Marie will see. No, we can’t… you can’t. But her flimsy protestations, her token resistance, melted under the heat of months of suppressed passion. Hours of teasing comments and flirtatious gestures…

“Can he satisfy you like this!? Admit it, he can’t fuck you like this, can he!” “No!” She sobs, “he can’t!” “You’ve been a little tease for a little too long. Did you really think I didn’t see it?” “I never thought you’d do anything about it. I just thought… oh god.”

Just as her cries turned into throaty growls, you see Marie in the doorway, astonished and silent. “You like what you see, don’t you?” She nodded. “Get naked. You’re next.” Obedient, she peeled off her satin thong just as you feel an orgasming pussy wrap around your cock, pulsing and wet.

“Good girl. You won’t tease me anymore, will you? Or tell anyone? Or stop watching while I fuck your best friend? I didn’t think so.”

***

Never, ever fuck anyone when they’re saying no, unless, of course, you’ve hired two highly sexual, creative, playful ladies to help your fantasy of fucking your best friends’ wives into submission become real.

Adelle and I had the incredible privilege of bringing a fantasy to life the other night and in the process, of allowing nuance into someone’s sexuality. To allow someone who would never actually enjoy fucking someone against their will, because they’re a human being with empathy and a sense of decency, to experience a close approximation. To experience power and control in a safe, sane, and consensual way, without damaging relationships or people.

Watching Adelle encourage our gentleman friend to elaborate on what can be an embarrassing or scary fantasy and then helping her make it real for him was an intoxicating mix of discovery, curiosity, and a hell of a lot of sexy.

Our evening began with cocktails that we brought up to the generous hotel room he acquired for us. Slightly buzzed, we entertained our fantasies, then went back down to fill our tummies with delicious food and drink. When we made it back up to the room, we investigated the volume of the bathtub (adequate) and soaked until midnight in soapy suds, champagne, and conversation.

5:30 am and I feel an urgency, a hard cock, waking me up. Now, if it were just he and I, I’d have asked for a few more hours first but I can fall asleep again easily and since I had someone to tag team with later in the morning, I got to say ‘why not?’ Instead of ‘why now?’ In the middle of our early morning adventure, I could see her watching us, sleepy eyed and smiling, enjoying the sounds of sex and also that it was someone else making them at that hour.

Sure enough, a few hours later, me still half asleep, they took each other next to me, moaning and gasping while I enjoyed the tableau. I couldn’t help myself; I couldn’t stay asleep with a beautiful, hard cock right there! As many of my readers know quite well, I love to orally pleasure any and all cocks that make themselves available (and belong to great folks) so I begged and bullied my way into their half of the bed.

The details escape me but we all wound up both happy and hungry. Room service fixed the hunger and a trio of mimosas took us to the hotel’s hot tub to while away our last half hour.

Packing up gave us a short, sexy stroll down memory lane: condom wrappers and Christmas lights, candles and chocolate sauce, a few half bottles and a hefty tip for housekeeping.

If my face looked anything like theirs, I had a giant grin plastered all over it and a rosy flush underneath. Pleasure, passion, joy, naughty stories, and a few orgasms made their way through all of us through the night and I have it in good authority that everyone had an amazing time.

You, too, could enjoy this experience, with a bit of planning and a flat fee based on the when and how long.

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Je Ne Sais Quoi

I can’t think of a way to write this without coming across as arrogant so I’m just going to start at the end. I am really good at what I do and while there are many replicable aspects I can advise on and share, there is one thing that makes me stand out and it’s not something you can teach. Charisma can’t be learned.

I’m using the word charisma because it’s vague enough to suit my purposes but it’s not just that. It’s not just a magnetism, it’s also enthusiasm, curiosity, confidence, and oddly enough some humility. It’s a work ethic plus emotional literacy, plasticity and an impulse for constant improvement.

Have you ever walked away from a session with a total stunner but felt oddly unsatisfied? Couldn’t figure out why? There’s a secret something that makes you feel amazing without even quite knowing why and she didn’t have it. Charisma, the Je Ne Sais Quoi that makes a 7 into a 10 with bells on.

You kind of have to know what you’re looking for before you can name it. It has taken me nearly 30 years of socializing before I finally sorted it, and even now I’m surprised sometimes. Sol is the perfect example of someone surprising me with their charm. She is unashamed and up in whatever faces she needs to be. She takes no shit, only names, and while I have not yet observed her behave in a way I would describe as classically charming, she has me charmed. The respect and admiration I have for her brain, her mouth, her work, and her constant growth know no limits. She is a powerhouse and no one I know of has left her presence unimpressed. Whatever ‘it’ is that makes someone compelling, she’s got it.

Adelle, too, but in a different way. Her charisma has led her not to outward strength or business gain but to inner growth and a core of authenticity rarely seen in this world. She surrounds herself with beautiful, interesting people and isn’t afraid to order oysters when everyone else is having fries. It doesn’t even occur to her to be self conscious in the first place.

My partner has it, the restless drive to create and produce, the interest in and ability to reflect on oneself and grow in that reflection. My mother has it, in a methodical, quiet way, and my father, in the classic ‘charm the pants off everyone you meet’ kind of way.

So you see why I was so surprised to find out that it’s not nearly as common as I thought? To learn that constant curiosity AND the social self awareness to not be weird about it is actually AB-normal? I grew up around it and spend most of my life with people who have it in spades.

It’s taken me a long time to write this post because every time I come to it I can’t help but feel that I’m being terribly arrogant. When I was a young girl, maybe around twelve or so, I saw myself in the mirror. Not just a collection of features, eyes, nose, mouth, etc, but as a whole. I saw my own face as if it were a stranger’s, almost like an optical illusion that suddenly pops out, and I realized I was pretty. Attractive, in a not-very-interesting way, just pale and freckled and pretty. I didn’t feel pride in that fact, it just was, like being brown haired and five foot one. I mean, I was happy about it, but it wasn’t my fault. This? This is like that. Yes, I went to college and my parents gave me a sense of responsibility as far as following through on my commitments but my writing and my work and my innate magnetism are no more the result of my own effort than the freckles on my knees or the thickness of my hair. It just is and it’s weird and cool and now that I know what it is I’ve been looking all over for it and finding it in little ways (and some big) all over the city.

Because while it’s unusual to have quite as much of it all at once as Sol and Adelle and I have, it’s in very nearly everyone, to some degree. It’s in the dramatic boiling clouds over the sound as the sun sinks through them and the stupid, broken bicycles strew about the streets, it’s in a candle flame and a good book and a sexy hour with a fun chick.

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To Receive

I recently completed my first successful fly-me-to-you get together. We shared a full day and everything went off without a hitch. But more on that later. Now I want to share an experience I had while waiting for my date.

I came in the night before to meet someone new, had a nice dinner, and met with an old college friend for breakfast. But of course breakfast doesn’t last all day so I found myself with several hours to kill. When planning my stay, I kept these empty hours in mind but didn’t schedule much outside of a little sight seeing. Until, of course, I saw something interesting on my twitter feed. There a gentleman who offers erotic bodywork, much like mine, that piqued my interest so I reached out to see if we could make something work.

Scheduling was easy; we spoke on the phone a bit and I heard all the industry buzzwords I was looking for. Holding space, performative sexuality, receiving versus giving, experiential… though the work I do is often far more play oriented than healing oriented, the crossover is strong and we spoke the same language regarding a sensual touch experience. With some trepidation, I opted to schedule a two hour bondassage session, balancing my nervousness at a new experience with my trust in his professionalism.

I knew going in that there would be a blindfold, headphones, ankle and wrist bonds, some light impact play (nothing too hard, of course) but I didn’t know much else. I knew that the philosophy of bondassage is one of experience and sensation, not of pain or extremes, so I wasn’t *afraid* per se, just a little shy.

Upon arriving at his studio collective, he ushered me in, offered me water and a short conversation, and showed me to the shower where I had a robe waiting for me. During our chat, we recovered some old ground and added a bit about just how sexual I wanted to get (not very), a notification that there would be some anal play (oh. uh. right! ok!), and a reassurance that if anything emotional came up, I was free to feel it in the moment and stop all sensations.

Now you know what I knew going in and I can set the scene: It’s a small room, fairly standard massage room size, it’s warm, it smells neutral, clean, I’m naked under a white Terry cloth robe, nervous as hell, and he gently but firmly tells me to take it off. I don’t take commands very well, as anyone who has met me knows, but I chose to set aside my natural resistance and trust in the experience. I did, after all, choose this, and it would be silly of me to pretend I know better what’s needed than he does. He commanded me to put my hands behind my head and to step wide so my feet were far apart. I am NOT accustomed to assuming such an open and vulnerable pose in front of someone I’ve just met so I already began to feel foolish, scared, and defensive on top of the nerves. But again, I’ve chosen this, I have every reason to believe I am dealing with a professional, so I comply. In addition to the expected wrist and ankle cuffs, he puts on a collar which I also don’t particularly like but, again, this is an experiment, an experience, I chose this, and I can stop anything, any time.

By the time he’s ready to start, I have the most comfortable blackout blindfold I’ve ever felt over my eyes, a bolster under my hips, noise cancelling head phones over my ears, I’m lying spread eagle face down on the table and my hands and feet are tied down. Now begins a game of ‘what is that?’ as I feel a silk scarf, dry brushes, furry mitts, a flogger, leather paddles, massaging hands, electric toothbrushes, and probably some things I’m forgetting roam all over me. Shoulders and back, ok, standard. Butt and thighs, yeah, those are normal places to get touched in a massage. A toothbrush to the underarm! That tickles!! I squirm and laugh. Now just at the very top of my pussy lips, from underneath. That is WEIRD! I’m not a big user of vibrating toys so I don’t associate it with pleasure but it’s intriguing, the prickly sensation and the vibrating ones both together. The flogger is slow, almost more like drumming than a punishment. I kept expecting it to get harder but he keeps it light.

Now the butt stuff. Butt stuff is not foreplay for me. Butt stuff is great when I’m already revved up and just need an extra bump to get over the edge. Butt stuff can be distracting when I’m not already in that headspace. So it was with this. A little warm up, a stainless steel (I’m guessing) hook tied to the collar (so that’s what that was for), and several minutes of distracting, somewhat comical, not great but not uncomfortable stimulation. At one point he rested one of the vibrating toothbrushes on the steel and on several occasions he twanged the string between the hook and the collar. I did find it interesting that with each deep inhale, I could feel the slightest movement, a tightening and release. If you’re into butt stuff, I’ll bet this would be AWESOME. If you’re like me, it’s something I could happily have skipped.

But I’m here to experience and so I did, sometimes gasping, sometimes laughing to myself, sometimes forgetting to breath (before the headphones went on, he set up a nonverbal signal to encourage deep breathing), and the whole time learning.

Once he reached the end of his routine on my back, he untied everything and had me turn over.

I’ll take this moment to mention that at all times, he made small gestures to reassure me that I was in control. He put the cords tying my cuffs to the table in my hands as a way to remind me that I am only tied up because I choose to be. He would occasionally lift the headphones to verbalize a check in. It was clear that he was paying extremely, unwavering, close attention to my nonverbal signals. However I felt about the sensations themselves, his touch was always absolutely perfectly appropriate to it.

Once on my back, I was rebound, this time with my hands above my head, and the sensory play started again. Silk, fur, leather, vibrations and slow massage. And nipple clamps. Fuck the fucking nipple clamps. Fucking fuck.

Up until then, the sensations had been interesting, new, not too intense, sometimes funny, sometimes pretty fucking hot, but nothing like this. Many of my readers know first hand how sensitive my nipples are and how much I guard them, warn against overuse. I am so averse to extreme nipple play that it didn’t even occur to me that I would encounter them. derp. My thoughts went something like this:

What!?! Fuck. No. Nipple clamps? I wasn’t expecting nipple clamps! Why wasn’t I expecting nipple clamps, haha! There was a fucking anal hook but the *nipple clamps* I didn’t expect? lol. Dummy. Those have to go. I should say something. Hang on, let me check in. Send your attention to your nipples…. Does it *hurt*? I mean, it’s fucking intense but does it *hurt*? …..nnnnooooooo? Not yet. Fucking asshole, these gotta go. Do they? I’m here to experience and as long as it doesn’t *hurt*. Does it hurt? Check back in…. The right one is pretty bad. Why am I angry? They aren’t that bad. Why am I so angry? Am I crying!?! Why am I sad! They’re nipple clamps, not sad kittens, why am I sad and crying? Why doesn’t he notice!?! Dummy, he’s a professional, he can see your chin quivering, he knows, he’s just letting me decide. Fuck him. No, he’s doing exactly what he should be which is giving me control. There’s no reason to be angry or sad but you are. Why? Fuck these, they gotta go. WHY AM I SO SAD!?! HOLY MOTHER SHITTING OF GOD HE RIPPED THEM OFF THAT FUCKING HURTS WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE WHY AM I SAD WHY AM I SO FUCKING ANGRY!!!!!!!!!

I didn’t say anything while they were on for many reasons. I was confused, curious, embarrassed, angry, confused about the other feelings, determined to stay present with this experiment, and my nipples were sending me a shit ton of signals, none of them *pain* but all of them pissed off. I could feel tears soaking into the blindfold and my chin quivering as I tried my damndest to stifle this welter of sudden feelings. All this time he had been ministering pleasant Swedish massage to my lower legs and, if my instincts are correct, watching me for my breaking point, reading me to make sure I got to an edge but didn’t go over.

It was probably only a minute or so between the application of what I would later learn were actually little suction cups and the moment he lifted the headphones but an hour’s worth of feelings ran through me. He asked what I would like us to do in the last fifteen minutes of our session, a gesture I recognized as a professional signal that time was nearly up while simultaneously appreciating how it feels as the client to hear that. I wanted to cry. I wasn’t in pain and he had done nothing traumatic, but some dam had been broken by a pair of stupid little rubber cups. We had started the session talking specifically about feeling free to let out whatever emotions may come. I thought of how I would feel were the roles reversed; how do I feel when a client needs to cry over a lost love, an old memory, the beauty of touch not felt in years? I would want them to feel free and unashamed to cry. So that’s what I said. I said “I think I would like to cry” and his response in that moment was the ultimate sign of a sacred intimate. He said ‘OK’ and simply sat with me. He didn’t make my crying his problem, his solution, or his pride, nor did he run from it. The only other person I know who can do this is Betty Martin. She doesn’t use nipple clamps, she just looks at me and listens.

So I lay on this table, with a stranger touching my forehead and my chest, there with head and heart, hysterically laugh-crying. I always feel silly when I cry for no reason. I am generally a practical person; tears with no sorrow or grief feel foolish, useless, inconvenient, an imposition to whomever happens to be near. Hell, an imposition on myself! When I really cry, I laugh-cry. I once got hit on the head with a basketball in high school gym class and sat on the floor laughing hysterically with tears streaming down for nearly a half hour. It’s always been part of me and a part that I I rarely feel truly free to feel.

It was probably five minutes before the sobbing laughter subsided and I was able to take a few deep, shaky breaths. I felt fucking stoned. Hot and relaxed and stoned off my gourd. Like some kind of huge wave had broken and in it’s wake I lay, shuddering. I wonder if some of my clients feel that way after they orgasm. Like your brain simply doesn’t care for a while.

I wish I had had more time after but SF traffic was crummy and it took me long enough to stumble across the hall and back into the shower. I had enough time to come back to reality and get my breathing back to normal, to thank him for his time and experience, and to catch a taxi to go meet my client. I was so blissed out the evening went by like a breeze, both of us carefree and reveling in each other’s pleasure. The next morning we took a long walk, had a delightful breakfast, and ended our time together with a delicious dish: a little threesome with miss Devorah Reine. But you already knew about that.

I had no expectations of intense emotional release when going in for a kinky massage. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into at all but it opened up an interesting box and raised a few real questions. Why on earth would intense sensation on my nipples bring me immediately and fiercely to an emotional climax like that? What is it about that experience that made me more vulnerable than the spread-eagle bondage position? And why can I cry in front of some people but not others?

A bondassage isn’t something I’d do often, but it is something I’d do again. Even now, six weeks later, the memory of how I felt is strong, though the details fade into the mists of memory. If I were able to go back to the same practitioner, I would show them this, talk about what I found awesome and intense, perhaps even push the envelope of *some* things and maybe back off of others. I am so incredibly delicate before arousal that I’m constantly guiding people to slow down and back off but once the moment arrives, once my entire being is consumed… Well, I suppose I’ll find out eventually what else I like.

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The Literal Best

I am absolutely sure I’ve done this before but, given last week’s angry rant, I feel it’s warranted again. I’d like to write a love letter to my clients.

82% of all the appointments I had in the last 16 months have been with returning clients. Out of everyone who chosen to spend an absurd amount* of their hard earned money hiring my company and services, 82% had met me before, knew who I was, knew what I had to offer, and chose to come see me anyway. Not ‘taking a chance’ on me but spending good money on a sure thing.

Most ladies thrive on regular clients, those of you who come see us weekly, daily, or just once or twice a year. That such a high percentage of my working time is spent with folks I have developed rapport with isn’t exactly unusual, but I can also say that 66% of the new friends I made over the last 16 months came back at least once. So far.

I’ve been struggling and worried lately over the effects of SESTA and the shut down of a myriad of local and national ad platforms. Eros is harder than ever to get onto and all of us are all mixed up together. It used to be that those offering and looking for a quick, dirty fuck could go to one or two places online, make that clear, and go on their merry way. They avoided platforms that catered to the longer, chattier types and vice versa. It’s just not the case anymore.

I went nearly three years without getting more than a few useless inquiries in my inbox. My website and ads made it pretty clear who I was, what I wanted, and what I offered. The two or three wasteful emails a month didn’t bother me since they were easy to spot and stayed in the minority. I used to read in awe about other people getting such scintillating messages as ‘u avail’ and ‘how much for hhr’. And yes, the lack of punctuation is part of it. Now…. Well let’s just say I’ve put a few extremely useful email filters even between potential clients and Rose. Rose was my filter, sifting through junk before it stressed me out and sometimes even turning the junk into gold. Or something like it. Now even she needs one, too.

I’m not alone here, either. All of my colleagues, from the ones who already dealt with a high proportion of junk to the ones who do everything they can to turn most people off, are experiencing a higher than usual percentage of absolute junk.

In their turn, clients are seeing a higher percentage of junk ads. There are, now more than ever, untrustworthy and suboptimal providers taking advantage of the confusion and, in their own confusion, scrambling to find their clients. Their niche. We had a comfortable strata and now it’s all jumbled. And what we’re losing is the professional, kind, respectful client provider interaction I got used to. It’s still there, it’s just much harder to find.

I am in an exceptional position. I have people from years ago that know who I am and that they can trust me to do what I say I will and be where I say I’ll be when I say I’ll be there. I have a robust client base that allows me to eject infuriating clients without suffering financially. Part of that is due to the aforementioned living up to the expectations I set but there would be no living up to anything without the clients who continue to visit me. Without the funny, silly, serious, sexy, passionate, intelligent, blue collar, admiring, respectful, giving clients who fill a hundred days at a time with amusement and adventure.

When I was very young I drew a picture. It was a bedroom, a large one with a four poster princess bed right in the middle, sashes hanging elegantly from the corners, and a stick figure woman (in my imagination she is beautiful) lounging back. At the door, patiently waiting to be called in stood a man. Young, old, no one knows, and it wasn’t important. What was important was that he waited, patiently, for his name to be called. Behind him stood another man, and behind another, dozens of men, receding down the hall, all patiently waiting their turn to enter the room and see the lady.

You see, the lady was beautiful and sexual and highly desirable. The men were waiting patiently for her to sexually serve them with her unimaginable skills. Her pleasure was irrelevant, her desire, sexually, was of no consequence. She was SO good at sex (whatever that was, ha! I was twelve at the time) that it was her duty and her pleasure to service each man, in turn.

I wanted to be her. So desirable! So elegant! In her beautiful bed, with the power to demand that each man wait his turn and the skill to entice them to actually do it… That was my dream.

And the cherry on top? There was a speech bubble and a thought bubble, each with a different name in it. You see, she *wanted* Joe to be next because she desired sex with him but Steve was next in line and duty stood above desire.

Like, holy fuck. I drew a picture of a high volume prostitute when I was twelve years old and wanted to be her! I am quite literally living my own personal dream. I can’t see my beloveds one right after the other, and I am more selective than twelve year old me/prostitute was, but holding myself to the promises I make, the setting aside of my own selfish self (sometimes) to give pleasure, bestowing my sexual skills graciously on those who come to my door…

So my beloveds, my darlings, you doofy, silly, sexy as fuck, adoring, deserving dears, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, truly, it is because of you that I live my dream and I will spend my life thanking you. I will live in my house that you bought for me, with my friends and my loves, my cats and my dogs, tilling my garden and trying to teach a younger generation. And I will thank you every day for what you helped me build.

When you first arrive, you intrigue me. When you go, I miss you. In between, I enjoy and adore you. I cannot imagine my life without you.

*Given the nature of the market and where average rates sit, every penny of what I ask is legitimate, but it is a pretty absurd amount of money given today’s wages. I wish it were different but sadly it is not. Know that I acknowledge and appreciate what sacrifices need to be made for me.

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I Can’t Even

I know it’s been a while since I updated regularly. I feel an upswing of inspiration and motivation on its way. I do apologize that my first post after a long silence is an angry rant but I do hope it’s taken in the way it’s intended: not as something that makes me hate anything or anyone but as an astonished, incredulous venting of what, after a week or so of telling the story to friends, has given me some great material. the “Too Long; Didn’t Read” summary is that someone tried to mansplain my clitoris to me and did it in the absolute dumbest way possible so I fired him. Sigh. I love dudes but…

 

Not all men suck, but when they do, they all suck the same way.

When I decided to start offering full service again, I knew a few folks who had a middle ground between sensual massage and piv sex. I thought about it, and decided against it. Receiving pleasure is much more emotionally taxing for me than giving pleasure. My entire body is extremely sensitive and can only handle so much in any given period of time and my mind and heart are far more interested in doing than being done to. So, instead of offering a middle ground session at a lower rate, I decided that that reciprocal touch that includes everything except would simply have to fall under the umbrella of reciprocal touch that includes everything. I know there are people who would see this as paying more for less, but that is a pretty clear sign that our attitudes about sex don’t match up well. Oral sex, digital sex, its all still sex and it all takes it out of me, physically, emotionally, etc.

Given everything I’ve written and said and decided regarding oral sex in fbsm, enter Patrick.

It started in his first form submission. His comment made it clear that he was looking for mutual masturbation in a massage setting. I replied with a little blurb acknowledging the request but denying it, including an excerpt from the blog post I wrote about it. Over the next dozen emails, he went back and forth between agreeing to FBSM and that my limits were fine, to being ‘confused’ about my definitions of FBSM, to finally insisting that he could give me so much pleasure if only I let him and it would make his fantasy so much better. Throughout all of this I am getting less and less opaque, making it very clear what he should do moving forward: either book a more expansive session or chill the freak out and let me do what I do best.

A this point, I should have known better. No one needs this much explaining. No one reasonable, anyway. People with head injuries and English as their second language have an easier time navigating my boundaries and needs than this guy! But I like to give people the benefit of the doubt and I felt that it *could* go really well for him and worst case scenario for me he gets handier than I like and I ave to redirect.

So Patrick and I are in my apartment, slowly undressing, kissing, exchanging pleasantries, getting ready for some table time, and he brings it up again. Not in a ‘you should change your mind’ kind of way but in a ‘if you only listened to me you would understand that you’re wrong about your own clitoris’ kind of way.

It’s an intimate scene. I’m undressed and he’s down to shorts, we’re embracing, kissing, ready to start a lovely, luscious sensual massage in a few moments, if only he will stop talking. I am irritated in several ways by the arrogance of this person who kisses like a wet limpet and never stops talking to listen, who insists on stifling my voice with unskilled and indelicate face mushing, and who now has brought up a topic that had been set aside. Cue a spike in my blood pressure.

Guys? Guys. This guy tried to mansplain my own. clitoris. to me. Like, wft? You can fuck right off, at that point bro.

His thought was that *very gentle* clitoral stimulus can’t possibly be in the same category as penis in vagina sex. And he’s not *entirely* wrong; a lovely little tease can be a nice interlude and is welcome under the right circumstances. But he is assuming 1: that he has a magic face that is capable of gentle pleasure, 2: that what I mean by ‘wear and tear’ on my body is confined to literal physical damage, 3: that I don’t understand that he can’t keep an erection in a condom long enough to have PIV sex and so 4: he shouldn’t have to book a FS session, 5: that oral sex isn’t sex, and 6: that he isn’t asking for free extras and it doesn’t make him look real cheap.

And I would have happily explained this to him if I got more than a few words out at a time. It’s as if this guy doesn’t know that I spend most of my life thinking about, learning about, and catering to cocks of various sizes, styles, tensile strengths, and functionalities. As if I didn’t understand that age and ailment can make it harder to hold onto an erection. As if I haven’t put any thought into the decisions I make. As if I don’t already know exactly how I feel about receiving oral. None of what I do is arbitrary and here comes this brick wall with a mouth spouting nonsense and completely ignoring all attempts at communication from me.

So I kicked him out. For the first time ever in my six years as an entertainer, satisfier, erotic specialist, and tolerant person in general, I kicked someone out mid session.

I don’t get that pissed off that often. Especially when I empathize with the guy. It sucks to reach a point where an orgasm takes so much time and energy to achieve that they can only come few and far between. This is an expensive hobby and of course you want to get a satisfying experience for your money. That’s fine and I don’t mind at all when people feel that way, or even when they ask once or twice, or hint at it, or try to bribe me, or whatever. What pissed me off this time was the combination of me *knowing* that his jackassery was coming but hoping I’d be wrong, and having such an incredibly personal experience dismissed as if I simply didn’t understand my own. Fucking. Clitoris.

Of course I gave him his money back. I’m sure many folks would say I didn’t have to and I did regret it the one and only other time I left my fee behind, but it was clear that it was necessary this time. I hold myself to an unreasonably high standard in these matters and I wasn’t about to let this person have any hold over me.

I am proud of my behavior. Furious as I was, I simply put on a robe and said nothing. Well, nearly nothing, I caved a few times and tried to engage in further discussion but I have been in these arguments before; every word I say is a weapon in his arsenal. Plus I only got a few words out before he reminded me why I was kicking him out. He asked me out to lunch, to talk over a cup of coffee, as if I wanted to let him continue to explain to me that I just didn’t understand and interrupt me every time I started a new word. I would rather eat dirt.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to eat dirt, I got to sit on my couch and listen to my lovely music, relax, wait for Adelle to come over so I could vent and we could snuggle, text my partner and my assistant to vent, and write this long angry essay about someone who would be right at home on the US Senate.

I just… It’s hard to believe, in some ways. I could *feel* my face getting red and hot, my pulse starting to race, my voice starting to shake, in the beginning of the conversation. Every time he interrupted me it was just fuel on the fire. A perceptive human who is interested in what other people have to say can see those logarithmic increases. I can see them. He couldn’t.

He apologized, of course, and I’m sure he regretted whatever it was that made me kick him out, and of course I forgive him for his mistake, but forgiveness doesn’t magically erase the adrenaline. With 45 minutes left to get him on the table, off the table, showered, and out, I wasn’t about to give the worst, most angry, half assed massage ever. I love my work and I’d like to keep loving it. Continuing a session after something like that is a good way to make me hate my work.

Post Script. It’s been a week and I’ve had time to both cool down and get angry all over again a few times. I’ve been through the stages of bad behavior: disbelief, anger, incredulity, anger again, resignation, and as of the publication of this post, release. I have received a few follow up emails, all equally as tone deaf as the first. This guy thinks it was his words that pissed me off, haha! But I’m finally at my computer long enough to block his email address and, with luck, I will never be reminded of him again. And I still don’t regret giving him his money back. I wouldn’t have regretted keeping it, and I was well within my rights to do so, but this is someone who made a fuss about 330 being an odd number and he had to go get change at the coffee shop. Tone. Deaf. Ha!

In the week between, I have met and re-met incredible people. The vast majority of people I meet are fantastic, or at least only odd, and I rarely have to deal with someone so boorish. Most of the time my darling clients are kind and gentle, generous, thoughtful, intelligent, bearing gifts and charm, grace and appreciation. As time goes by and this incident recedes into the realm of ‘funny stories I get to tell at the right kinds of parties’ bad behavior will take up less and less of my mental space to make room for my beloveds, the sweet gentlemen who, as always, make my life more pleasurable and more interesting.

Here’s to listening to my gut more often, haha!

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Grow Up

Have you ever seen a mom in the supermarket, looking at whole grain oatmeal, with a six or seven year old child tugging at her sleeve? Mom! Mom!

She’s used to it so she usually ignores it but this time she says ‘what do you want sweetie?’ The toddler is begging for a family sized box of name brand sugary cereal.

“Mom can I have it?”

“No, kiddo, sorry.”

“Pleeeeeeease, mom?”

“No.”

“But moooom, I want it!”

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s too big, it’s too expensive, and there’s too much sugar in it.”

“What if I get a smaller box?”

“It’s still too expensive and there’s still too much sugar in it.”

“But I’d really like it. I promise I’ll be good if you get it for me.”

“I expect you to be good whether I get it for you or not.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Ok, if you can find a smaller box that isn’t a name brand so it’s not as expensive and make sure sugar is third or lower on the list of ingredients you can get a box of cereal.”

“But I wanted THIS ONE.”

“That’s enough! We are not buying any cereal at all and I’m putting back your pop tarts.”

“But mooooom! Why are you being so mean to me?”

Sooo, yeah. That was me today. Apparently some boys just never get past seven years of age.

It’s funny because I don’t mind a certain amount of persistence, maybe one or two follow ups making sure I’ve got things straight and there’s no confusion, but there is nothing quite as baffling as “are you sure” as a follow up to “I’m not available.” Like… what? Why wouldn’t I be sure? It’s *my* schedule and *my* life I’m working with. Particularly if it’s a day-of request. I don’t know what people are expecting when they ask me if I’m sure. As if I’ll suddenly be like “omg I’m totally *not* sure that I’m currently on vacation and have no access to an incall right now and am two hours away from you. I’m not sure at all! Let me check.” Or that I will check and realize that everything in my life is a lie and I *am* in fact currently sitting on my thumbs with my table set up, makeup done, coconut oil all melted, and hot towels at the ready instead of with my partner at home depot in a sweat stained tank top. I’m so glad you checked so I could realize that I was totally clueless as to my own daily experience!

These are the things I don’t understand. That incredibly well prepared, kind, and respectful clients stress over being good enough while the octopi bro-dudes who hear every variation of ‘no’ I can think of in an hour get *SO* surprised when I refuse to see them again. WTF is up with the world that conscientious folks have to ask if they’re allowed to come back while the worst of the worst are baffled at their 86?

I cannot believe that an adult human could be so ignorantly persistent, dodging requests for screening info, inviting me to ‘meet half way’ to Spokane (Like, at a rest stop? wtf?), using the dreaded phrase ‘are you sure?’ and then be confused and upset when I ask them to cease all contact. Sigh. Of course this is simply to vent. I’m sure he’s either a very nice young man or some 12 year old wasting my time. Either way, my frustrations are simply that: mine.

 

 

 

 

Post Script: I wrote this some time ago and have since let it sit and bubble to make sure when I published it, it was in good fun and not in anger. I wrote it because I was annoyed and didn’t want to give the subject of my irritation the satisfaction of knowing how annoyed I was without getting some mileage out of it and hopefully giving you, my dear sweet reader, a chance to laugh with me. I have to shake my head and laugh a bit ruefully and remind myself to leave it to Rose. Rose who takes no shit and gives none, either. Rose who spends her warmth on kind regular visitors and holds an iron core for the rest. Thank you Rose, thank you readers, thank you regulars, and thank you little Timmy, for providing such entertainment and inspiration, ha!