Category: Mental Pictures

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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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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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Work It!

She’s in such good shape! You’re embarrassed, shy, you know that beer gut shouldn’t be there and she’s going to see you all red and sweaty and it’s going to take everything you have not to stare at her all stuffed into spandex.

But your kids have gifted you ten personal training sessions and you’ve known for a while that you weren’t in the shape you’d like so you grit your teeth, mentally prepare yourself, and for the next fifty minutes you huff and puff and try to keep up with her.

“You did great! You’re gonna be so strong once I’m done with you.” And she beams at you the widest, most sparkling smile you’ve ever seen. Suddenly the agony of that last hour melts away, just for a second, just long enough to stick in your memory.

Ten sessions later and you’ve already noticed a difference. Stairs aren’t so annoying anymore and your pants don’t quite pull so hard at their button. And your instructor… the same brilliant smile every week, the same spandex, the smell of her as she stands next to you, encouraging you and talking you through your form.

Ten more.

Ten more.

Ten more.

You must be imagining it. She’s getting closer. She stopped wearing a loose shirt over her sports bra. She even started running on the treadmill beside you and caught you stealing glances. She smiles. Not just the brilliant, glowing smiles at the end, encouraging you to come back but smaller ones, looking at your ‘form’ as you lunge and squat and lift and fly.

“You know, I think you’re ready to graduate to more intense training” she tells you one day.

Is this…. It can’t be. But that look…. You used to get that look, when you spent a summer teaching bored, wealthy women to play tennis. The look that says “And by intensive training I mean enthusiastic sex.” But you haven’t gotten that look in years! No one looks at you like that anymore. Except you’ve seen yourself in the mirrors in the gym. You’ve seen inches disappear and muscles emerge that you also haven’t been seen in years. Maybe you are getting that look again…

“Well, you’re the professional” you answer, and give a nervous chuckle. You don’t want to make the wrong assumption and end up making a scene. “If you think I’m ready then I must be! What, uh, what does ‘more intense training’ look like?”

That is *definitely* the look.

“How does your schedule look Tuesday evening? Is seven too late?”

Your automatic reply: “But the gym closes at six.”

“I have a key.”

The look again

“Oh. Ooooh. Yes, seven on Tuesday.”

What the hell are you doing? It’s Tuesday morning and you still haven’t called it off. What if you get caught? What if you misread the situation? What if…. What if all the images and scenarios playing through your mind, over and over, for two days, what if they become real? You’ve been hard very nearly every moment since. At this point if you don’t go, you’re worried your cock will beat you to death in your sleep.

So you go.

The parking lot is empty but for a few cars and there’s a light on inside. As you approach the building, all the worry and concerns fade away. You’re committed now, no use stressing over it. If you’re wrong, you’ll deal with it. The note on the door says “Lock the door behind you and go to the green room” so you flip the lock and head down the hall.

***

Whipping them into shape is my favorite. There’s something both humbling and powerful about watching some schlubby dude accidentally get in shape while staring at my ass three times a week. I know they don’t stick around for my workouts. I’m good at managing, pushing enough, not too much. And sometimes, when the flab and the years of insecurity layered on by wives and girlfriends and the rest of the world gets beaten back, that hot young piece of ass he used to be comes back. That’s my favorite. That’s when I really get to have fun with them.

This guy is one of those. He came in beaten and dejected, hopelessly resigned, his flat abs a memory, firm ass long gone. And yet… Every week I watched and noticed him moving more easily, lifting heavier, keeping up better and better. And every week I could feel myself responding to him more and more.

Exercise is my most powerful aphrodisiac. Very few of my clients know how much they turn me on, that I’m using them, the smell of them, the sweat and grunting, to build fantasies every night. Lying in bed at home alone I replay my favorite gym sessions over and over in my mind’s eye. I watch them notice me noticing. I can see them regain their pride as I whip them into shape. I love telling men what to do; giving them the backbone they couldn’t find themselves and making them do what’s best for them. I use a carefully curated mix of encouragement, sexual enticements, and the invaluable reward of my approval to get them just where I like them.

This guy is finally just where I want him and soon he’ll be in this room with me, under my complete control, ready to sweat and grunt and pleasure me exactly the way I like it.

***

I set the scene perfectly, I already know what we’ll do and how he’ll respond. I get a kick out of shocking them so I don’t leave any transition time for them to get comfortable in between. The biggest shock comes first: from the moment they walk in the door until the moment they leave, I’m naked. Nakedness is the simplest way to throw a man off balance. I know they’ve been imagining it and I know they’re expecting it eventually but totally unselfconscious nakedness right from the get-go makes them so nervous. I love it.

There’s two of everything so I can make them keep up with me and watch while they do it. I’m not so foolish as to embarrass them but I never let them quite keep up. I am always in control, always the desirable end game, always just barely out of their reach so that when I do take them, it’s the richest, sweetest reward.

I can hear him in the hallway. Or someone with a nervous gait, at least. There’s always the chance the wrong person will walk through the door. I kind of like that. I revel in the shock on his face the moment he walks through the door.

“Take off your clothes, put on your shoes, and join me. Make sure you can see to follow.” As if he needed encouragement or permission to watch me move through an easy warmup routine. Movement, stretching, walking the line between overtly sexual and perfectly professional. He’s done all this before but he’s off-balance, unfocused. I don’t let him see my wicked grin every time his balance slips or he takes too long to start a new movement. We finish with partner stretches. First contact.

I’ve set the ellipticals to watch each other. I want to see the first beads of sweat on his forehead and his struggle to coordinate arm to leg as he tries to watch every part of me at the same time. I want to watch his muscles slip past each other and begin to swell and pump. I want to follow the drops of sweat with my eyes as they trail down his chest, those gorgeous abs, leaving wet trails through his dark hair, and slip past the base of his cock where, soon, my own sweat and the sweet wet of my pussy will be.

I allow myself an evil chuckle, watching his half hard cock wobble with every step. I do love a grower.

Now for the fun part. Weights. Nothing too heavy. I’m not pushing his body today, I’m pushing his mind.

Standing bicep curl. I’m behind him, pressed against him with my hands sliding around his hips to cup his cock. My face pressed into his back is salty and wet, my nipples sting with it and send an electric shock to my clit. I’ve been wet since the elliptical, slow drips running down my thigh, filling the room with a hot, sweet scent.

Chest press. I’m sitting on him, rocking my clit back and forth on his cock to keep it wet. He’s rock hard, distracted as shit, but I gave him light weights and with this angle I can give him instructions while I work myself up to my first orgasm of the evening.

Curl ups. I’m standing straddling him so every time he curls I tell him to taste me.

If I can’t reach his cock with my pussy I get my face in it, soaking up the musky scent. If I can’t get my face near it, I use my hands. No matter what he’s doing or where he goes, his cock is my toy. We go through my list, designed to touch every muscle at least once so I can see it work, watch it move, perfect its form.

“One last round of cardio. You’ve got this!” And I bend at my hips to hold tight to the frame, inviting him to sink his cock, the cock that’s been begging all evening, deep into me. I’ve been ready for so long, it almost hurts. I can feel myself swollen and throbbing and dripping, as his hard cock presses my pussy apart. I can feel every vein, every ridge, every sleek and smooth inch as he fills me. I can feel his flat hips bump up against my firm cheeks, then again, again, feeling the exquisite sensation of his cock sliding back and forth past my hot, slick lips.

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Fantastic Bodywork

A fantastical imagining. To be taken as an inspiration, not a promise.

 

The apartment is dim; I’ve pulled a heavy curtain across my large window. There are a fed tea lights burning here and there, adding a flickering glow. The layout is a bit awkward, walking through the kitchen before reaching the icing room but once there, the lounge jazz and low light facilitate the kind of conversation that only fills space while I unbutton your cuffs.

Your voice is low, relaxed. You’ve been here before, you know what to expect and you’re looking forward to taking a load off. Our clothes slip to the floor, piece by piece, interspersed with gentle kisses and soft caresses.

“Would you like me to torture you with anticipation or do you prefer I do something about this and let you relax in post-orgasmic bliss?”

“I’m having trouble focusing right now.” You chuckle.

“Then I think I’d like to keep that up. Come lie down.”

I draw the massage table away from the wall where it’s been waiting, dark and inviting. “face down to start.”

From the moment you lie down your heart slows. Breath slows, movement slows, each moment drawing itself longer and longer as you sink into that state of not-awake but not-asleep. Your mind drifts. You feel warm oil and my strong, tiny hand smoothing it over your shoulders, your back, your ass, your legs, teasing with my fingertips a little as I pass your hips.

I start on one side, just above your hip, lifting and kneading your muscles as I sweep my gesture up and down your back, covering every inch of you with kitty-paw massage. If you looked to one side you’d see me in my mirror, clear smooth skin from head to toe, breast swinging, perky bottom braced to give you deep, firm pressure. On occasion you feel a nipple lightly graze your back or a small quite kiss on the back of your neck.

My kneading hands move down your body, giving careful attention to each muscle group. trapezius, latissimus, gluteals, hamstrings, calves… slow. Perfect. Mesmerizing. Each song blends into the next and your mind drifts.

As I finish one final pass, one long, slow stroke from your soles to your shoulders and back, I break contact.

You hear oil pouring but don’t feel it.

You hear me step around to one side. Feel my fingertips brush one thigh. Notice the table shift a bit as I draw myself up, one slow controlled movement, and slide my firm breasts, my soft belly, the curls at my groin, me knees, across your body. Sometimes you feel my fully weight pressing you, a long deep exhale with the comforting weight of a tiny beautiful woman settling onto your back. Sometimes you can only feel the light softness of my feminine curves meeting your skin here and there. Hot breath on your ear, tiny giggles, deep strokes of my knees across those long muscles by your spine. Slow. Controlled. A fine dance, a slow motion jungle gym, pressing, moving, stroking, teasing.

I can feel you when I slip my fingers between your legs. That sweet spot hidden there under, between the family jewels and your shooting star. I can feel your erection as it disappears into you. I can feel you hard, ready, waiting.

“How do you feel about turning over onto your back?” I whisper into your ear. All I get is a smile in response.

It takes a moment as I stand at the foot of the table, watching your muscles move as you turn. A few inelegant flops and you’re resting on your back, your proud, hard cock staring us both in the face. I turn my attention from you to your cock. For a moment, I get to objectify you, turn you into a vehicle for my desire. We lock eyes and I climb up onto the table, onto you, my breasts brushing and pressing up against you, until we lie, me over you, lips locked, my body shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, pressed up against you.

With one talented hand I draw you close but not over the edge. I hear your silence turned to heavy breath, quiet moans, I feel my own body responding, images leaping to mind, the sensations in my hand translating into my pussy, an echo of penetration. So close, but so far.

We come close to the edge together, my warm hips grinding on your thigh as my hand, slick and hot with oil, an echo of my wet lips, brings you closer, closer, slowly, until I feel that moment, the moment when you’re so full you throb, the moment I hear your moans turn to words “Oh my god.” Yes, your goddess, your sensual treasure, we ratchet each other’s arousal higher and higher with each breath until I feel you shudder, throb, splash us both with hot, slippery come.

We ride your waves together. I know better than to touch the sensitive rim but everything else is fair game. Pressure, subtle movement to keep the waves coming, keep your orgasm going as long as I can. I want you to feel the way I feel when I come.

A deep breath out, a smile, a giggle. Hot damp towels and deep working your hands or feet or shoulders. I can see the tension seep out of you. You eyes are closed; you’re just enjoying the afterglow, the moment of rest before you have to rejoin the world.

A shower, a glass of water, a piece of chocolate, and you’re on your way again. Relaxed. Revived.

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Come Along

How to make Amie O: a simple guide.

Step one: Don’t. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do and trying to force an orgasm out of me is just going to annoy me. Let’s try another tack.

How to help Amie O: a less simple guide

Step one: don’t worry about it. Let me revel in your touch and let orgasms come naturally. Or not. I am much more likely to enjoy my time with you if I am invited to revel in pleasure rather than demanded to perform.

Step two: slow down. No seriously, let me relax and tune into you. Spend time on my neck and arms and the small of my back, tease around the edges and don’t skip the nips and go straight to hammering my clit.

Step three: don’t hammer my clit. Ever. Don’t suck on my labia like you saw someone do once in porn, don’t lift the hood and drive your tongue or fingers straight onto that pretty little button or it will very quickly melt down and end all our fun. Some ladies have the cast iron clit that demands a hitachi on high but mine is a sleeping kitten, an unfolding flower, delicate layers of thin, fine pastry that beg for gentle tonguing and light, slick, buttery touch.

Step four: use your lips. Tongue is great for teases and for when business really gets rolling but never underestimate the pleasure power of soft, dry, whispery lips across my everywhere. Use them instead of teeth to nibble my earlobe, let them drift baby smooth under the curve of my breast, tickly whiskers and all. And don’t underestimate the tip of the nose as a tongue substitute on dry skin.

Step five: use your ears. If I say more, less, harder, lighter, faster, slower, freaking do it! I don’t fake my orgasms, I am reasonably well in touch with my body and if I am still possessed of the power of speech, there’s more to be done. I’ll try to make it easy for you but if you ignore my requests because you think you know better, you will lose pussy privileges.

Step six: use your eyes. The visible rhythm of my heart in my chest, the breath caught in my belly, where my hands go, the gyrations or lack thereof in my hips, all give valuable information. By the time you have to read my body language, I’m on my way to an orgasm and you’ve probably paid attention, listened, and taken me gently and carefully to the point where you don’t have to be quite so gentle and careful anymore. If I get really quiet, don’t stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing.

Step seven: Enjoy yourself. I love orgasms, no matter who is having them, but they’re a secondary goal. My primary goal for each encounter is that we both enjoy ourselves. Whether that means a few rounds of strip poker or 45 minutes of vigorous fucking until we both collapse sweaty and cum covered in a fit of giggles or you receive a beautiful and joyous massage, it’s all good. I enjoy myself in many ways depending on my mood and you can trust me to let you know if I’m not.

Step eight: trust me. I know my body and myself and you can trust me to let you know what I want. I don’t fake my pleasure for anyone anymore. I won’t lie about orgasms or enjoyment or anything. If I tell you I’m not excited about coming or I’d prefer you to use me for your pleasure today, I hope you’ll trust that I mean it. I know how to be a selfish lover when it’s necessary and I know how to be generous and enthusiastic. I know how to respect the desires of my partner and I hope I can trust you to do the same.

Post Script: I am interested in coming inasmuch as you are interested in me coming. The above is for folks who get off on me getting off and is in no way intended to dissuade a good old fashioned selfish fuck. I really and truly don’t mind a nice client who shows up, soaks in my attention and energy, and leaves refreshed. It gives me a deep sense of satisfaction to recharge someone’s batteries like that, to give them a place where they can, for once, honest to god just enjoy themselves without worrying about whether they’re doing it right. As long as you can respect my ‘no’ when it comes up, you’re as good as gold in my book. And sometimes you’re just the cool drink of water I need.

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Oh Baby!

Some of you already know that I sometimes attend orgies. Sex parties, group humps, whatever. I’ve been to somewhere around six, I think, spread out over a few years and they’ve all been interesting. Until this most recent one, I’ve been the massage girl, showing up with oils and table, providing pleasurable respite from frantic fucking and generally encouraging boners and the like. It’s fun, if sometimes odd to be tethered to a piece of furniture, and each party has its own flavor.

This last time around, I fell in love at least five times.

With the station at the massage table occupied by a well loved colleague, I took the entire night to float free. I watched, I admired, I played with a lot of boobs, and I showed off my sleek curves to an appreciative audience.

In one room, a bearded boy lay back as his face and cock are lavished with attention while on the other bed, a similarly supine attendee enjoyed pussy on his face and cock simultaneously. I caught her eye as she rose and fell, working his shaft with her trim tight twat and we winked slyly at each other. I recognized ‘the look’ as someone’s tongue went into someone else’s ear and the receiver held their own tongue to keep the sexy rolling. I love these people.

Across the hall five lithe forms writhe in sexual straining, pussy on leg on mouth on ass as the feminine figures rocked each other to one giant multispasm-gasm. The nice boy watching with a look of utter longing earned his brownie points by keeping his cock occupied outside this momentary madame mosh.

Girl, boy, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl, all nude, thigh to thigh, discussing the finer points of constitutional law and the first amendment. I walk up leading him by his cock. I’m already looking forward to fucking it. Later. In private.

Her moans fill the small space as six hands butter her buns, knead her knees, and leave long, luxurious trails of coconut oil up her arms. “You’re miserable aren’t you?” we laugh. He looks like he’s in heaven, having watched his girl get satisfied all night and now taking his turn to deliver pleasure through pampering. A touching moment between a talented and enthusiastic provider and one of her ravishing regular clients.

Every time I walk past her she looks as though she’s about to eat me up. Dimples and dark hair, Jesus Christ on a cracker I want to let her but not here. I’d be too vulnerable. I want to worship her through my hands and then let her have her way with me.

His smile warms me. Why is it always the guys with the biggest piercings and the fiercest tattoos who are the teddy bears? Glints of silver enticing the eye down, no, further down, yes there.

She covers her mouth with one hand and the back of his head with the other. I can see her, even from here, showing him when to go harder, faster, slower, deeper. “Let it out!” I yell and the guttural noises, none of this plastic porn trumpeting but the kind of sounds that don’t do words, just sensations. What a champ. His beard is going to smell like her pussy for a week. I think that’s his intention.

Smoke in her eyes, fire in her hair, I finally lose the ‘who is the palest in the room’ contest. I don’t begrudge her the win. Lingerie to match the hair and the look of the predator about her. Whoever pulls her drawers out of the hat is a lucky man, indeed. Time for a trip to the freezing north. Not frigid. Far from it.

Gleefully degraded, he parades around on one end of a leash, the business end in the claws of a teensy brunette in mile high heels. She walks him around the room and commands him: “Ask her if you may spank her ass!” “Please miss, may I spank you?” “That’s not what I said. I said ask her if you may spank her ass!” a tiny crack, more sound than sensation as the crop strikes a pink cheek. “Please miss, may I spank your ass?” Later he lies back in a chair, sucking a giant fake cock as his own is dutifully administered to. He is in heaven.

I know him and I know he’s good. I’m analyzing the situation as I see it: He is fucking her firmly from behind and looking around for a cock for her to suck. Oh girl, I get it. The tip slipping past my lips, luscious silky smoothness across my tongue; there’s something so deeply focusing about sucking a cock that it’s the ultimate turn on. Well, I don’t have one of those, but I lay down under her, face to face, and tell her to kiss me. lips and tits and pretty, firm nipples will have to suffice. “Thank you” she breathes when she’s done.

Stemware in hand we admire the collection of silicone, glass, leather, and steel. Something is vibrating but we can’t tell what. I can’t believe this is my life.

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I’m So Wet

Prelude: I’ve had a few conversations about this post and I’d like to make it clear that it isn’t the woods, it’s the intent behind them. A statement of awe and amazement holds thanks and admiration inherent, no matter the syntax. A statement of possessiveness over my body’s reactions is arrogant, even if it’s got all the right words. I see this again and again with male friends and with clients: the ones who worry the most whether they’re doing things well are the ones who inevitably already are. You guys are the best.

We providers hear a lot of good things about ourselves. We facilitate incredible sensations and provide an easy place to feel them. Our clients get to unburden their shame and sadness, rejoice in their proud erections, experience whole body pleasure, and we manage all this with a smile. Why wouldn’t our clients say nice things about us?

Well, sometimes those nice things don’t quite hit the mark. I had a conversation recently with one of my sweet regular clients about dirty talk. I told him about the difference in my mind between “you’re so wet” and “I love how wet you are.” I told him that it bothered me when someone who I might not even know very well tries to tell me something about my own body, as if I were unaware of it myself, and is sometimes even wrong! He laughed, a big belly laugh, and said “I guarantee I’ve said that to you!” and I, somewhat chagrined, tried to explain what I meant.

Most people wouldn’t make the distinction. Among those who do, the observation is just as sexy as the appreciation. For me, there is a stark distinction between an observation about my body and the implicit claim over it, and a statement of sexual appreciation implying thanks. It sounds arrogant to my ear but I feel it nonetheless: I give out my body’s authentic reactions, not you. I will say when my body’s reactions are your gift to me. I know that the effort and mental energy I put into getting turned on is real and I will let you know when you’ve done it for me. And I will thank you.

Outside of the bedroom, what little time we linger there, I have similar feelings about complements. We only truly believe complements that we already truly believe. If someone tells me they like the way my hair looks but I’m dissatisfied with it, it doesn’t read as an authentic complement. I may smile and say thank you, but it doesn’t stay.*

Vague complements also don’t stick. “You’re so sexy” may be true, but it lies right up there with “you’re so wet” on the internal eye-roll scale. You know what feels really good to hear? “The way you look, lounging there, makes me feel sexy. I want to kiss you.” First: you’re giving me information I don’t already have. Second: you’re letting me know that I moved you to a feeling I enjoy within myself and that gives me pride.

And there it is: a complement that moves me, tells me I’m doing a good job at facilitating your experience, makes me smile, makes me want to kiss you back.

Instead of “you’re awesome” I want to hear “you are really good at this.” Instead of “You’re so smart” I want to hear “I love reading your blog.” Instead of “you’re so wet” I want to hear “I love the way you taste.”

Because you’ll never quite know if I really am awesome, or smart, or wet so telling me that… it just doesn’t sit. But you do know, and I want you to tell me, that you feel safe, you feel smart, and you love the way I taste.

*This is the root of street harassment. When a complement doesn’t ring true or when we’re not in the mood to accept it, we don’t want it. When we don’t accept it and the giver gets upset, that is the turn from genuine complement to harassment.

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A Moment

Frizzy grey ponytail, face both aged an vibrant, we chatted for almost an hour before the story came out. I knew how it ended before it even began by the cracks in his calm comportment. I can see grief, its unmistakable in the quivering corners of his mouth, the shaking gestures, the palpable heat going between us.

Humans invariably view others’ experiences through their own sense and I struggled to focus on his grief as images of an empty apartment and cold bed popped into my head. my own projected future grief for the inevitable day I, too, am left alone swelled in response to this man, too young to be this old, living it every moment. I couldn’t look him in the eye and not cry so I threw myself on him and we wrapped each other in comfort.