Happiness

I saw most of a documentary tonight on KCTS, Seattle’s local public television. It was simply titled “Happy” and covered several cultures in search of what makes us happy. Their conclusion was familiar to me.

I have always thought we were social creatures, our lives depending on each other for survival. There is a whole segment of evolutionary theory concerned with group fitness and altruism that takes for granted that we would never have survived into maturity without each other. The documentary concluded that not only is social interaction necessary for survival, it is also responsible for our happiness and longevity.

Okinawa, Japan has the highest centenarians per capita in the world. The more industrialized parts of japan are suffering from a wave of deaths at the workplace due to sleep deprivation and stress. The difference is the focus on community and social connectivity versus the focus on economic success. The residents of Okinawa farm for part of the day, then go to town where they share tea, participate in cultural activities, and care for each other. The residents of Tokyo work long hours and are constantly bombared with the need for economic success at the cost of families and even lives.

In Okinawa there was a gaggle of old ladies sitting together being interviewed. One mentioned that her husband was lost in the war and she has no other family, but she never feels alone because her neighbors are always there to care for her and interact with her. Not one of the old people shown were walking with canes or feeble in any way. It was inspiring to watch and vindicating for me, who has always been so hell bent on social interaction, that even statistical analysis upheld the hypothesis that we get our happiness not from how much money we earn but from how much love we receive.

It seems intuitive, does it not? And yet here we find ourselves in an industry that trades economic success for social interaction. The providers of Seattle, and specifically of TRB, pride themselves not on how perfectly their hair is curled or how red their lips are, but on how well we make our callers feel when they are with us. We are both naturally skilled and self taught to give much needed care and attention. Many reviews we see on TRB focus primarily on how genuine and caring the providers are and keep the physical interaction on the down-low. More indicative than reviews are the little quips and back-and-forths between providers and the men who see them. There is more than a quick lay going on and it’s no suprise it’s a huge industry despite its legal status.

I, for one, consider myself priveleged to have made my way, finally, to Seattle and to this line of work. I’ve talked about how I love it, how the giving of pleasure makes me deeply happy both in the moment and when I look back on it. This documentary resonated with me. It validated my chosen work. It made me excited about my upcoming week, full of the joy of helping my friends realize the power of a moment of relaxation and of adoration. I reccomend watching it as a reminder to take time for yourself. If you don’t have time to watch it, see my previous reccomendation.

Better With Time

The question of age come up on occasion. How young is too young? How old is too old? It surprises me that it is a question because I simply assumed that in this industry, age and ability matter very little. Attitude and chemistry are critical and for a truly skilled companion chemistry is no mystery. We learned long ago to exaggerate the right things, hold ourselves in flattering poses, cultivate an interest in each and every person we see so our chemistry is both genuine and assured.

I once said to someone asking that were I to restrict my clients to those under a certain age, I would lose the cream of the crop. As we age, we gather experiences like shadows that follow us, like clothes that distinguish us, and in the lines on our hands and faces. Our character is etched into our appearance and as the vigor of youth fades the steady strength of maturity emerges. The confidence I’ve seen in many of the older gents of Seattle is attractive and their attention is flattering. It draws out a brash sensuality, much like a receptive audience brings out the spirit of a troup of actors.  The doe-eyed nervousness of youth is equally flattering, but evokes in me a more protective, sisterly feeling that results in a more subdued, careful encounter.

As we age we learn what we like and what works for us, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. We tolerate less foolishness and immaturity and seek out knowledge, meaningful connections, and people who we believe will not only make us feel good, but draw us out and make us batter people. Relationships are fewer but deeper and it takes a remarkable person to draw us into the time and energy required to establish new ties. All of these things make time with the mature gents of Seattle rewarding and flattering. We both appreciate what we do for one another and we both appreciate the reality of the relationship. It is why many of you find yourselves drawn towards Tanuki, Sarah Nicole, Jillian Roberts, Joyfull, and the many other mature providers in Seattle: we all become better with time 🙂

So if you’ve been rejected before because of your age, your race, disabilities, dearth or excess of facial hair, attatchment to your rubber ducky, or any other superficial foolishness, rest assured that should you meet me as an equal, with respect, you will not leave disappointed.

Once Upon a Time….

…there was a great King. He held himself in a regal manner and commanded great respect and love throughout his kingdom. He preferred to think of himself as a man of the people, more of a senator than a King but none could look upon his bristling white beard and full belly without knowing that this was a man of great works.

But the King often got lonely in his power. Too many tried to curry favor in one way or another and to retreat from this barrage of favor seekers and sycophants he turned to his concubines. The concubines to the King were not simply pretty things to serve his eyes, they were intelligent, wise in the ways of pleasure, and more beautiful for their knowledge than the most beautiful of foolish young maidens. The familiar scent of roses and sweet candles filled the nostrils of the King as he entered the domain of his women. They greeted him with their wide, sensual smiles and warm, sweet words.

The two women were similar in loveliness and enthusiasm. The taller of the two carried on her crown light red wisps of fair hair and on her shoulders a diaphanous green gown, its presence more to enhance the figure beneath than to conceal it. The smaller of the two displayed a smattering of freckles and a pair of full young breasts barely hiding behind the open front of an overlarge, thickly plushed robe.

“It’s been too long, far too long since we last saw you” whispered the redhead, between kisses. “You must not stay away or the stress of day to day life will overcome you and even our skills will be hard pressed to bring you back.” The berobed young concubine pressed herself against his back and assisted with the removal of his robes while her partner in pleasure assisted from before. Clothes dropped to the floor on all sides until nothing separated the young women from the object of their desire.

“Come, sit, enjoy what we have prepared for you” they said as they led him to the red throne, cushioned for comfort and just large enough for three but small enough that the three were close indeed. They fed the King grapes and chocolate from faraway lands and kissed him by turns. Their hands danced across his chest and arms as they exchanged small words of little meaning and sometimes bigger words with even less meaning. The waltz of hands and mouths went on for some time before the beautiful ladies presented the kind with the dias of pleasure which he mounted with eagerness and anticipation.

As the King’s precious women went about their work, the room grew quiet. The sound of the flames licking in the fireplace became loudest int he room. It blended with the small sounds of pleasure from the three participants and the bare whisper of oil slicked skin sliding along the King’s body. With four hands and two mouths on him he was filled with a pleasant humming of taut muscle and stress of the most pleasurable kind. Minute after agonizing minute the priestesses of pleasure worked the king over. Breath came harder and, once all were ready, so did the King. With a handful of lush femininity and a mouthful of kisses and sweet words, his whole body settled into a deep relaxation. The King’s lovers smiled their satisfaction to each other and set about caring for their beloved. They brought him hot towels for his feet, cool grapes for his mouth, and sweet tea for his belly. They spoke of their fondness for each other and made light of the King’s stress. For this one great hour the King was more than a King, he was a man in the eyes of woman.

Though they were sad to see him go, the women of the King knew great decisions depended on him and they loved him enough to see him off and to wait, though impatiently, for his return. A last few kisses and a warm goodbye left the young women alone again, already looking forward to the next time they would be able to serve the king.

Massage Plus or FBST

You open the door to find a Long hallway complete with red carpet and at the quiet thud of the door behind you a face appears from the kitchen. “Welcome” she says as she comes around the corner. A thin black robe conceals the majority of the young woman but you can see her soft legs invitingly peeking from the hem and her open, welcoming face. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning. Would you like tea, coffee, water, or perhaps something a bit warmer?” she says with a wink. You know from last time there is always something around to warm your belly.

The shower is hot and you begin to relax already, memory and anticipation melding together like spices into mulled wine. When you emerge from the bathroom clad in a big fluffy towel she greets you again with a chaste kiss and a mug of warm comfort. Soft French jazz coming from behind a closed door holds promise as the two of you sit on the couch to sip your drinks and catch up, establish sore spots, and enjoy a little face time.

The sheets on the table are smooth and cool. The candles on the shelves warm and make the room glow as if you’re in a dream. The oil on your back is slick and the hands are soft but firm. The conversation drifts in and out as your muscles begin to release the tension of holiday shopping and the stresses of work. You catch a glimpse in the mirrors of a face, a leg, the smooth curve of her bosom or hip as she moves around you, helping you stretch and relax, the oil drizzling across your back and spilling onto the sheets.

With a few words and a naughty little smile she lets you know you’re ready. Before the relaxation wears off, you’re lying on your back, enjoying as your arousal rises under her skilled and playful hands. There’s a look in her eye that tells you she likes it. She loves watching as you respond to her touch as much as she did when it was designed to soothe and relax. There is a rhythm to it, a cresting wave you can watch in the muscles and the eyes, the sound of someone enjoying themselves, totally selfish, absorbed, pampered, pleasured. The wave crests in a moment of slick, dirty, gorgeous release and after taking a moment to regain your senses, you open your eyes to a satisfied grin, a warm cloth, and a moment of closeness in the afterglow. The rest of your body is well attended; arms and hands, shoulders and feet all receiving her talented and well-schooled ministrations.

The shower after is relaxed, a moment to remember and savor the best parts. You emerge to a drink refreshed to keep you warm and hydrated and a kiss, less chaste than before. You are warm and safe and sexy. Those knots you’ve been trying to work out for ages have been calmed for a while and the endorphins from the final rush add to the glow. You savor those last few moments, looking forward to floating through the rest of the day and to the next time you can treat yourself to ninety minutes of warm, firm, sensual heaven. You chat of trifles and promise to come back soon, back to the hands waiting to warm you and that naughty little smile, waiting to devour you 😉

Or maybe next time you choose a higher energy option. Instead of a slow, soft greeting you find your lips and lap occupied within moments of opening the door. You’re reminded of that high school girlfriend; a good little Christian girl with a sinful appetite. You never quite went too far but even through her jeans she used you shamelessly. You lose your clothes with no delay and chase her to the table. Firm hands and full body strokes are less relaxing, more teasing teasing as you feel breasts, lips, and fingertips sliding across slippery skin and roaming into all sorts of naughty places. You can feel her weight as you become her personal jungle gym, knees and hips joining hands and arms to knead and tease, prolonging your arousal. Sweet nothings drift to your ears and your hot breath makes you both shiver. It’s been both forever and no time at all when her weight gently slips off of you and it’s time to roll to your back. You turn over and the sight is a welter of curves, smoldering eye contact, and the candles shining on thick streams of coconut oil. Breath, breasts, arms, hands, belly, and thighs all create their own sensations as she rides you and shares deep, long kisses. Your breath rises high and fast together. This isn’t your ordinary sensual massage, this is the closest thing to sex you can find without actually having it. You move together and the resultant mess is a sign of your satisfaction. You have time, still, to relax and receive some deep therapeutic bodywork on your hands and feet before washing off the aftermath and dressing again. If you’ve chosen to stay long enough there may even be time for round two, but that’s up to the mood and the moment. Next time you’ll have to opt for the relaxation style again; you’ve got to save your strength for this high energy seduction.

For the long haul

I was contacted recently by a gentleman who wished to get together and explore an intimate encounter. I’m always encouraged by that. I don’t receive frequent contact. Enough to keep me happy and help finance my hobbies, plus a little more to sock away for the future. Because of this infrequency, I have found myself entertaining options that are not perfectly right for me. I’ve discovered that I wish to establish longer term connections. I’d rather see one gentleman and find a groove, as it were, without spending so much time chasing down the one or two, once-off encounters. I feel as though, in my experience and without your knowledge, I’ve disrespected those of you who take the time to get to know me, respect my time and limits, and think of me as a young woman instead of a hot piece, in good need of ‘pounding.’

I read a lot of reviews. I like to keep up on what everyone else is doing. Call me nosy, call me paranoid, whatever. I want to know what I should be prepared for. A huge amount of those reviews are near pornographic. Now I don’t mind a little explicit content, I kind of like it when what I’m reading gets me wet, but what I see in most reviews is an almost childish need to show off. I hear in the tone a need to feel like the caller gave the young lady the greatest, most intense sexual encounter of the day, week, or possibly her life. Most of the time it’s phrased in a praiseworthy way, but even under the praise is an ego in need of a boost. It’s… off putting. A man I want to spend my time with doesn’t need to use acronyms or crude euphemisms to convey arousal, eroticism, lust, and satisfaction. The men I want to spend my time with acknowledge the risk and skill implicit in each encounter and has enough self confidence to allow the woman who is pleasuring him the spotlight. It’s a reciprocal relationship when with his words, a man expresses joy and admiration for a woman and with her words, smiles, caresses, and all the other little ways she expresses appreciation and the value of the words.

I’m picky. I choose to be choosy because, no matter how aroused I am or how long it’s been, I demand the company of true gentlemen. Men who respect me for my skills as a lover and also for my conversation, my intellect, and my curiosity. Anything less leads to dissatisfaction and a liaison that is less than the best. Trust that should you be one of those who are granted access to the private areas of this website are also granted my admiration and respect, as well as my gratitude. We have established a rapport. I thank you gentlemen for your commitment to a more lasting and perfectly reciprocal relationship.

“How can you do it?”

Originally published

7/28/13

I am a chameleon. I am adaptable and eager to do so given the opportunity.

I am a non-Newtonian fluid. When pushed I resist, but when given the atmosphere and opportunity to explore, expand, envelope, encourage I do so with abandon.

When we are together, you are my world. You are the center of my affections, the commander of my attention, the focus for us.

I’ve been chatting with close and professional friends about my side of the experience. On occasion it’s a simple exchange with not nearly as much intimacy and care as I had expected based on our email exchanges. The witty banter and mild innuendos, followed by lively repartee during our meet and greet leave me surprised by a businesslike or prideful encounter. The vast majority of the time, however, it is a truly transformative experience.

We are intensely social creatures, we humans. We crave acceptance and love and if we can’t get it we demand respect or fear. If none of those come naturally, we generate power and use it to create the illusions of love, fear, or respect. One thing I never could stand when I worked as a dancer were people who used cold hard cash as a replacement for personality or kindness. They got what they wanted: a facsimile of the specific interaction they failed to command in their own right.

When I meet with someone who has both need and appreciation for genuine, honest, thoughtful connection, it’s almost as if we fall in love for a few hours. It begins with a spark. Perhaps it’s awkward chat about our lives, or a nod to pop culture references. Perhaps we hit it off from the very start and the banter just flies. It doesn’t matter, because one of my gifts is that ability to just chat. To open myself up in order that you feel more free to do so yourself. I will bare some personal details about where I grew up and what I love; my family and friends; my dreams. In turn I will encourage you to tell me more about your life, likely vastly more varied than mine. I want to know what you’ve always wanted and what you like. I want to hear your funny stories and your opinions on today’s world. When I’m with someone who appreciates themselves and me the possibilities are endless. I often find it difficult to tear myself away from an interesting conversation or an intense intimate experience or a leisurely cuddle.

About the experience: there is a wide range of emotions that are all good, all different, coveted, enjoyed, treasured, and craved. I’ve shared many of them with established friends and the relationship continues to deepen. Recently I had an experience that we both described as almost spiritual. I felt like the female was being worshiped with my body as the vessel. I was the glass through which this young man was able to look, unashamed and accepted, into the beauty of female. I don’t know how he felt, but I can imagine based on an experience I had earlier this year, and based on what I learned as an exotic dancer.

It takes ultimate safety and comfort to allow yourself to be the gateway through which male or female is observed. I can picture in my mind’s eye that slow, warm early summer afternoon lying in bed, freshly showered and warm, just looking and touching in a way I hadn’t been able to before. I was curious to explore the bits of him that were different from my own. It was innocent and playful, like children who don’t understand why they’re in trouble for ‘playing doctor.’ It simply doesn’t occur to either of you to be ashamed. Looking and touching the long strong muscles of his thigh, comparing my girlish, rounded knees to his blocky, masculine ones. Watching the muscles of his shoulders move as he leans over. A woman rarely has opportunity to explore a penis in a nonsexual atmosphere and that hour, lying together and touching each other, careful and curious, will always make me feel good. Safe. Thoughtful. As I would imagine Eden was like before ‘sin’ and what I’m sure our ancestors experienced before shame and ritual governed our sexuality.

During my short stint as a dancer my opinion of female sexuality made a dramatic shift. Watching young women who absolutely did not fit today’s model of beauty turn the heat up on stage and become elegant, sexy, sensual, charismatic goddesses in their own right was a slow but lasting experience. At first I was hypercritical, always comparing my own form and talent to theirs. Then I began to realize that each woman here had a different sex appeal. Thick thighs and buttocks that at first turned me off began to look sensual and sexy. Tiny, lithe, straight hipped bodies took on a catlike quality with surprising twists and smouldering eyes. Loud, abrupt personalities took on languorous grace as they twisted and turned and moved in interesting ways. Mothers with soft bellies turned into acrobats with incredible strength and precision. After a few months of watching it for hours at a time my tastes have permanently changed. Women of all types and shapes and sized interest me. And it doesn’t stop there. I’m now easily able to look past superficial nonsense to discover at least one thing sensual about each person I meet. It might be the way you smell or the feel of your skin or the way we kiss or your obscure interest in origami but there will be something that gives us that connection that allows for one of those coveted, needed feelings that we allow ourselves to indulge in for a while before we’re forced to return to the real world with its demands and taboos.

I hope and believe that this eager, nervous young man with whom I was able to explore my own Goddess was able to experience the same feeling of non-judgmental exploration. I hope I was able to facilitate his discovery and satisfy his curiosity, or at least slake it until the next time we meet. I hope to provide that atmosphere of safety and acceptance for each person I meet in whichever circumstances we meet in.

The Future: Mine and Yours

Originally Published 7/23/13

My future has been on my mind recently. Of course isn’t everyone’s? If it isn’t your own future then it’s that of your children or your friends. I have no children, and most of my friends have secure futures so it is my own which provides the greatest potential. I have achieved a four year degree with little debt, shrinking all the time with the help of my gentleman friends, and so I have a base from which to spread out into the world. A hundred things appeal to me, including a pilot’s license, bar tending, massage therapy, property ownership, stewardess, counselor, lab tech, phlebotomist, X-Ray tech, or simply homeowner, somewhere easy to live. I recently returned to Montana to my hometown where I revisited my past. I chased garter snakes in the creek and watched tadpoles skitter through sunny, fresh water. I heard the boom of rifles and the chatter of old friends, I sat up late in the smoke from the fire, full of fresh raspberries from family gardens and marshmallows and lukewarm water.

I have a tremendous amount of respect for my family. Having watched healthy, if unusual relationships on all sides my entire life, I always value the input they have on my life. My mother knows everything which, as I mentioned before, does not make her happy. Despite that disappointment and worry, she has been able to show me love and acceptance. It was a real trip down memory lane. I even drove past my old house, noted the missing fences and trees and the new railings and flower beds. I wistfully wished to see the inside. I haven’t seen it in a few years and I wonder how my childhood memories have been broken up and redistributed. Of course I talk with all this nostalgia as a person in their early twenties. I have had barely time to generate nostalgia. We even had a conversation about that this weekend, sitting in the smoke, illuminated by the glow from the coals and drinking hot cocoa doctored with some home made khalua. I don’t have nostalgic feelings for things. I feel it for places and smells, but not for items. We postulated that since I had all the important people in my life still present, mom and Dad, grandparents on both sides, cousins and uncles and aunts all in tact and just a phone call or email away, since I had everyone in my present and free to make new memories I had no desire or need to cling to old memories.

I can see my father slowly taking on aspects of his own. For the first time I thought of him as “Poppa Bear”  because the big felt coat he was wearing, plus his new beard (in the military for years and only allowed a mustache, he has now taken to varying and increasingly elaborate beards), gave him a uniform, and imposing presence. Part of that, however, is the bulk that inevitably comes with a sedentary profession and a rich lifestyle. In photos of my father’s father from 25 years ago show that same tendency and now I can see the stiffness and discomfort leeching in. Someday he will be barely able to get out of his easy chair, like his father now. I am kept abreast of every ailment in my entire family by a grandmother who makes it her responsibility to accumulate and disperse family gossip. It finally occurred to me that in another 25 years the surgeries and scans and tests that my parents’ parents are undergoing will be their burden to bear, and by extension mine. For the first time I am confronted with the mortality of those closest to me and I haven’t had a chance to process it. We agreed over the weekend that I suffer from an invincibility complex and the fact of my mortality and fragility has not yet gelled, as it were. That extends to my loved ones and for the first time, it is being shaken.

I refuse to allow that. I refuse to allow myself to behave too carefully. While I have no intention of exposing myself or my loved ones to unnecessary risks, I will continue to ride my bicycle in traffic, fast. I will continue to climb rocks and ride horses and go shooting and walk around in this beautiful city after dark because you cannot mitigate all risk and there are some things worth risking for.

This weekend was a weekend of dreams from the past and of the future. Old voices calling my name as if not a day had gone by and ghosts of what may be rising before my eyes, waiting only for the time to be ripe. The drive from my hometown is fairly long and I took a detour along the way to an old property that has potential. I drank wine and wandered to the lake shore and dreamed dreams, drawing imaginary rows of lettuce and tomatoes and raspberries and lying the ground for the orchard and the greenhouse. I dreamed of a day when I am free from the pressure to raise capital, when my only decisions are whether to weed the garden or pick berries first, or just how long I wish to lay on the dock before starting supper.

When the time is ripe and my generous friends have helped me achieve my dreams, I will open this space to children of all ages who need a space to be away from it all. No drugs, no alcohol, no beatings, no hatred or anger. It will be a place for healing and love and some hard work and the rewards that come from it. Tangible rewards that you can smell and taste, not stock options and a health plan and maybe the promise that if you work hard enough someday you might maybe be able to afford a home of your own. This is part of my dream. There are many parts to my dreams. They include travel all over the world and owning several spaces from which I draw passive income to fund my dream in the long term. My dreams cover learning new things like French and classical guitar and flight and cultivation and history and more science. My dreams include a family and a retreat from the hustle of today’s city life, without being cut off from it. I am young and have time but I am impatient and wish for everything right now. If I ever seem impatient, it is because I have let myself slip and am thinking about those dreams and how long it’s going to take me. At times like those, I simply must remind myself that it is in the achieving of those goals that I will become mature enough to truly appreciate the fruits of my efforts.

Haha, I go on again, trying to paint pictures with words but jumbling the pages with metaphors and imagery that doesn’t always fit. The sun rises on another day and people begin to stir. I can smell morning, though it is tinged with the ammonia smell of a downtown too long between showers. I look forward to going home to a warm shower and a soft bed. It will take some time. I will be home and in bed roughly two hours from now, likely not asleep just yet, I will be solving a crossword puzzle which provides just enough mental stimulation, but not so much that I stay awake. I will dream all day, strange dreams of celebrities or being chased or of family, and in the early evening, just as it begins to cool, I will wake up again, hungry for food and for the cool of the evening, and for the comfort of solitude and a good book.

Sexual Evolution

Originally published 7/16/13

It is 4:30am and the chef walks through my doors. They are large and swing freely, never locked in over eighty five years. There was a time when the less savory ladies of a shared profession used to wait about here, drinking cocktails and waiting for phone calls for a few minutes of ‘service.’ I imagine them in flapper style dresses, but old ones, Gatsby’s hand-me-downs. Perhaps the liquor holds them together, perhaps ambition, hard to come by in such a man’s world. A million moments have passed since then, all with a unique place in time, full of people’s experiences of which I will never know. It sounds profound, but really it’s simply a series of words with only the meaning given them which varies from person to person.

The night has passed uneventfully. I’ve read my favorite web comics and caught up on funny pictures and photos of cats for the night. Now I’m free to write in my sleep deprived state of things that make me feel smart, regardless of the truth therein. I am mocked by the book I intended to read, having been writing about myself all night, my imagined readers a poor substitute for real human interaction. I’m not alone here. I have others through the night, the same weary few who stand watch through the night against vagrants and fire and the insidious fingers of tiredness.

I have a good friend, my best friend, with whom I have long and involved conversations about sex. I have conversations about sex with all my friends. I am, in fact, the one who has to be reminded that loudly extolling the virtues of the cock in a family friendly restaurant is inappropriate and I should stop. I usually do. For a while. I can’t seem to help myself. Human sexuality is incredibly fascinating. The mating dance we have created over the years that becomes more and more complex though we don’t know why. The loud complaining from both sides of the gender spectrum about ‘oppression’ and ‘friend zoning’ and all those misinterpreted behaviors. I recently did a Q&A session on a popular website and had several different types of reactions, mostly what you would expect. A few people telling me what an awful person I was, that I would do what I do, regardless of the fact that I love it. Others trying to make jokes or dismissing me as a second class person for whatever reason. A few souls asking genuine questions for the answers, not the rhetorical effect. Overall I was pleased that it was done, but I wished there were more opportunities for it. I feel as though there’s something great we do here as providers and I wish more people were open minded enough to consider the possibility that it isn’t as wrong as they think it is and that some of those were malleable enough to accept and flow into the new mindset.

I have learned so much. During my time as a dancer, I learned to appreciate beauty in all shapes and sizes. That’s not some cliche to allow for people who fall outside today’s parameters of physical attributes to be attractive, it’s truly something i discovered when I watched a clumsy single mother who looks unhealthily out of shape slither onto the stage and turn men’s bones to water (except that one, of course) with the way she moved and the was she held herself. I watched a girl with comically short, neon hair and a little round belly shimmy to the top of a pole in a surprisingly athletic maneuver and twist herself into a knot of lush sex appeal. These women knew something about themselves that empowered them. There are such complaints from women about how unfair the world is to us. We get paid less, we’re expected to live at home, our options are narrower than men’s and we’re in constant danger from sexually charged and frustrated men. You wouldn’t imagine that these young, and not so young, women who could demand the attention and respect of the room could be trapped. They knew who they were and why they chose this life. Until they walked out of the club. All that surety and command over their sex went out the window when they reentered the ‘real’ world and gave away all that power and sex because they’re told to. It opened my eyes to a way of looking at oneself and others that saw unconventional attributes as sexy and sexual. It was a critical step in my ability to see the roguish young chap in every man who seeks me out. He has spirit and fire. The twinkle in his eye and his almost childish desire to please makes him sexy and sexual. He has a desire for me and that makes me feel sexy and the sexier I feel the more eager I am to make him feel the same way. It’s a positive feedback loop that ends in a tangle of limbs and sweat and sheets and panting breaths.

 

I’ve been asked “how can you do it? They’re strangers.” My answer is complex. Before all else, we become not strangers. We meet, we talk together and learn a little about each other. What do you like? What is your story? Let us begin to learn about each other and find that spark that lights the bunsen burner. We haven’t quite found the chemical reaction yet, but it’s beginning to heat up. By the time we’re in bed together, we’ve formed the rudiments of a relationship. Because there is no pressure, the relationship is candid. It’s interesting: some details are forbidden. Where I live, who your family is, even my name is obscured. Other details are on display, we make ourselves vulnerable. You can see the flaws on my skin. There’s a spot I missed when shaving my legs this morning. Your moles you used to be self conscious about but you’ve lived with them long enough and seen enough other naked people that you no longer give a shit. The faces we make in the throes of passion and the sounds we make in a moment of ecstasy. In the minutes after, when we’re cooling off and catching our breath, my head snuggles into your shoulder and we take comfort in the contact between humans, physical and emotional. So that’s my answer: I don’t sleep with strangers. I make friends and I take care of them.

 

It’s been said, primarily by those who wish to restrict sexuality to parameters defined in the 40th century B.C., that when two people make love there is an emotional bond forged that is sacred. They cite studies that show increases in hormones that cause good feelings and those feeling end up solidifying relationships regardless of intent. I agree that a powerful sexual experience will bring me back for more, and there have been several times when what began as an innocent lay became a much more complicated and demanding relationship. However, provided the sturdy framework of an economic relationship and a degree of professionalism, a powerful sexual experience can retain that pristine, raw power without being diluted by politeness and restraint. A relationship that can handle those powerful experiences and remain honest with itself is rare and valuable. Until recently I was unaware that was even possible. In any case, there is an emotional reaction, but it is tempered significantly by the needs of the two parties. This is also how I manage to sleep with relative strangers: the emotional bonds are so precisely defined that there is no need to worry about who is hurting whom’s feelings or what you’ll do for dinner. You can feel that emotion with no need for guilt or halfway measures, because it is contained and confined and safe.

 

I’ve had few to no negative reactions from my friends. They are as sexually open as I am and heartily approve of taking advantage of my youth and relative beauty. None of them would choose this life, for one reason or another, but they are neither surprised nor upset by my choices. My mother, on the other hand… She is an intelligent woman, world wise, perceptive, and able to read her daughter like an open book. After a few conversations with dangerous and unwitting allusions to my life choices, we were faced with a five hour drive together. We both knew, and I knew she knew, but I hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to say anything. No matter how old and self sufficient you get, Mom will always be scary as shit. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll still love you, always.” she says as in my head I’m repeating the words I plan to say. I never got the chance to say them. For the next hour I listen to what could be the plot of a CSI:SVU episode, starring my mother, the moon of my life who does her best to keep my tides stable but was once an angry runaway who believed sex was all she had to offer. One summer had shaped her entire life. Without it my father would never have met her, they definitely wouldn’t have married, and they wouldn’t have driven each other to infidelity. Repeatedly. Despite their quite reasonable dislike for each other, they stayed together and thirty years later are no longer enemies. You could call this a success story. It could have as easily been a tragedy and in some ways it was. So now I know why she thinks the worst of those I choose to spend time with. I know why I disappoint her. Don’t we all wish our children wouldn’t make our mistakes? I don’t think it’s a mistake. Of course that could simply be the arrogance of youth. The young, naive child who sees the world through rose tinted glasses is headed for disaster and all you, the parent, can do is watch and hope to be close enough to pick up the pieces. One of my resolutions some years back has been to only regret the things you regret while you’re doing them. If I’m in the middle of something and I enjoy myself, in ten years when I wish I hadn’t done it, I refuse to regret it. I choose to learn and move on without tying myself to the millstones of the past. Now if I’m doing something and thinking “this is the wort thing you could be doing in this situation” then yes, I’m going to look back on it with chagrin and perhaps regret. I can count those instances on one hand. Not one of them are the result of my interactions with the kind, solicitous gentlemen I meet professionally. I have been consistently impressed by what we learn together and what I have learned about myself.