Category: Professional Relations

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Smart Hard Work

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I hadn’t realize the emotional impact of sex work for myself until recently. It took more than most, I like to think, but it finally caught up with me and now, finally, I understand on a gut level how exhausting this work must be for anyone with a shorter rope, fewer options, or lacking a solid support network in this industry.

I’ve read a fairly wide range of feminist, equality-oriented, sex work positive literature as well as the commentary and arguments against it. These issues pop up on social media regularly (my current favorite commentator is Ava St Claire from Florida) and in personal private conversations and with every comment, comic, and essay I learn a little more about other people’s experiences.

A few weeks ago, I spent the entire day, 9a-6p, working on my new website (look for a July 9 launch!) and took myself to dinner after. I thought I’d read a book and have a glass of wine to relax but I sat down and couldn’t do anything but grin hysterically and look around. It took me half a glass and almost an hour before the tension in my muscles eased and I could relax into reading.

I learned two things from this: first, that you guys are heroes. You who grind in front of a screen or manage other people or build a thriving business from scratch. You guys are doing what I did for one day, but you do it All. The. Time. Wow. No wonder an hour or two away from it all with a beautiful woman is so meaningful for you. I’m honored to be able to provide that safe, quiet, fun space for you to let your brain turn off for a bit and simply enjoy the physical sensation of being adored.

Second: I learned, finally, way behind the curve, that this work, though it sometimes feels frivolous, is meaningful without it needing to be deliberately therapeutic. Meaning the pressure I put on myself to listen with intent and touch with meaning is unnecessary; the nature of sensual and erotic bodywork is already therapeutic in and of itself. WOW! And I thought I was a fast learner, haha.

You all have been so patient and so wonderful with me through this learning curve. Over the last few weeks I have had absolutely the best experience. My clients have all been caring and passionate and appreciative as well as fun and sexy and thoughtful. I’ve been busy enough but not too busy. I’ve been playing hard and working hard and reinforcing relationships left and right! I feel well supported and absolutely pleased to pleasure you.

Hot damn life is good.

So what does this mean for you? You’ll see when the new website launches but it means primarily that you can count on me to be there for you during our time together, fully and completely and enthusiastically. Thank you.

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PSA: Personal Information

It shouldn’t have to be said, but please, do not share personal information your provider has shared with you wth other clients or providers, even if it’s with one of her friends.

I’ve had at least two providers who were friends of mine outed to me and aspects of others’ personal lives revealed that I did not know. I have no idea how many times I’ve been outed to discreet, polite, professional providers who have the sense to end it there. I love all these fantastic providers but please be respectful and let us tell each other those things; don’t violate the privilege of intimacy or it will be revoked.

If your provider reveals her name to you, awesome. I’m very happy she’s reached that level of trust and mutual respect with you. Please DO NOT assume she has revealed it to anyone else, even other provider friends. The vast majority of my friends in the community have not told me their given names and I will not ask, that’s for them to decide.

Know her relationship status? Her home town? Her alma mater? Don’t assume I know those things. She may choose to tell me, but those are her personal details to reveal, not yours. Know mine? Again, please don’t let it slip, even to my friends. Not everyone knows everything and that’s important both for my own safety and for my friends’ plausible deniability.

I totally get it and I’ve been guilty of this in the past. I adore my friends and love to gush about them. I have opinions and I like to share them. But please, respect our privacy and NEVER EVER EVER assume that because we’re duo partners or share an incall, we know each other’s given names, relationship status, family situation, emotional state, hometown, neighborhood, other incall locations, business practices, safety strategies, day jobs, financial status, legal status, eating habits, health care needs, leisure activities, or anything else. If it’s not published on her website or social media, assume it’s private between the two of you and keep it that way.

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Work Harder, Not Smarter

I recently spent some time away recovering from my wintertime bout of burnout. Amid the long drives to and from and a decent amount of reading, relaxing, and yahtzee playing, I discovered the rejuvenating, relaxing power of plain manual labor.

I didn’t realize how emotionally taxing this industry is. Yes, my friends and colleagues had been stressing the difficulty of emotional labor and I was on board in principle, but I thought myself uniquely suited to it, a bottomless reservoir of emotional energy and presence supporting myself and my clients. When it finally ran out I was absolutely baffled. The slogan I poked at a few weeks ago suddenly made the kind of sense that settles into your gut and finally feels true.

But more on that next week.

I want to first of all brag a little and second share something I’m probably behind the curve on realizing.

I know a few women who show a certain learned helplessness around so-called manly things. Tools and cars and plumbing intimidate them to the point of aversion; they wont even try to troubleshoot an issue before laying at their man’s feet. Between critical reasoning, youtube, and user manuals, I can’t imagine not tackling any problem from properly filling in my eyelashes to replacing broken plumbing.

So I did!! Over the course of several days I helped refurbish, replace, and upgrade four or five half-day projects at the family property out in Eastern Washington. Nothing major, but I learned to install pex tubing, weeded rich, dark flowerbeds, roamed purposefully through the aisles of the local Home Depot, cleaned out a decade’s accumulated debris, and sat back after hours of hard, relatively mindless work feeling like I had just kicked some serious ass.

Why am I even talking about this? First because it’s cool and reinforces my own view of myself as a multifaceted, capable individual. Because for once the physical work wasn’t for anyone but myself, done for no other reason than to get it one. Because this is the first time I’ve felt such a strong contrast between emotional labor and manual labor. Because when working on a project like replacing an appliance, there is a clear end and benefit and you can show it off to others. Because there’s a sense of closure that is immensely satisfying. Because you can clear your mind and listen to the radio while you’re working which you absolutely cannot do in sex work. At least I can’t.

It was a huge relief to zone out and pull plants instead of focusing my attention on a client who needs my presence for all of our time together. I do love my work, but I’ve learned I need to make physical work a deliberate part of my emotional self care moving forward. I’ve signed up for sailing classes, will be researching chair building techniques and locations, and will be taking more half days to get out and complete small projects.

As I said above, I’m amazed and a bit ashamed it’s taken me so long to not only learn the value of a simple job done well but to recognize the effort and energy involved in sex work and value that as well. I’m headed out again this Sunday to get more stuff done! I hope to catch you before I go but if not, Rose can set up a get together after I get back Wednesday.

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Girl Behaving Badly

Ideas sometimes take a scratch before they precipitate and so it was with this one: What would a sex worker’s Union look like?

I got a glimpse of it earlier this week.

I was made aware that there were formal complaints from providers about me. Namely, my tendency to wag my jaw and take my clients past our session deadline. I’ve gotten much better over the last few years but better than awful still isn’t good. When I first started, in my naïve enthusiasm, my clients routinely received two to three hours for the price of one. After I switched to massage and got a place I took that down but still struggled to stick to the clock. Eventually I took the easy way out and just gave up trying to stay on time. I imagined I wasn’t doing anything wrong if I just sat around talking, it was my problem and no one else’s.

Unfortunately, it’s become other people’s problem and instead of risking confrontation, the grieved parties wisely designated someone I’m reasonably close to as their representative. She took me to task, and not gently, either. She outlined exactly what the problem was, how it was effecting people, and what would be done if it didn’t change.

It took me a full day to cool off and several more to work through my feelings. My idea of myself as a supportive community member and consummate professional was shattered; I felt angry, ashamed, sad, defensive, all peppered with a certain amount of self recrimination. I felt like a child who had just been disciplined by her mother for something I should have had figured out years ago and I determined to change immediately. Over the last few days I’ve written, thought, and talked about it almost nonstop and I am now excited moving forward.

So this is what a sex worker’s Union looks like: Several folks getting together and formally complaining to the ‘union rep’ and that rep acting as skilled and passionate intermediary to protect the community from physical, emotional, and financial harm. Not too bad, huh?

I fell into burnout recently, as many of you already know, and took time off. Reflecting on my recent disciplinary action and the reasons I had given myself for my burnout several things suddenly clicked. I’d been far busier than I thought! Fifteen minutes doesn’t feel like a big deal at the time but a weeks worth of ‘just 15 minutes’ is a LOT of time. Talking with a meditation teacher helped me realize just how valuable 15 minutes can be. How valuable one minute can be. By failing to protect my time, I also failed to protect my joy and enthusiasm for my work and for myself. And so I burned out.

I’d like to make a formal apology to the conscientious clients who foresaw this and have protected my time for me; that burden will be much easier moving forward. I’d like to apologize to my colleagues who have experienced bad behavior inspired by my own. I’d like to apologize to my friends who have been advising me of my errors for several years now and have been brushed off. And I’d like to apologize to those who have gotten used to free overtime for setting a precedent that caused discomfort and bad feelings with other providers. Moving forward I pledge to hold our time together sacred; to protect you, myself, and my community as best I can.

To my beloveds who’ve gotten used to long, luxurious get togethers: Good news! We can still have them! But we’ll have to arrange them that way beforehand and stick to the plan. Social time doesn’t have to be limited to only one half hour and doesn’t have to happen inside. A nice long snuggle session is a lovely compromise.

Thank you to my friends who support me, my clients who patronize me, and my Union Rep who Certainly has my respect.

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Sex work is work

I love the slogan ‘Sex work is work’ because it helps reform the conversation from the morality of sexual activity to the labor issues of exploitation and abuse. I think it’s beautiful that it acknowledges the effort that goes into erotic and emotional labor. In this post, however, I’m going to point out the slogan’s biggest weakness.

I don’t really agree that sex work is just like any other service industry. There are enough parallels that, practically speaking, labor rules governing other intimate service industries (massage, mental health, etc) work well here and so on a policy level I think we should frame our arguments from there. Emotionally speaking, it is different.

Pretty much anyone can, with minimal training and little emotional fallout, stock shelves, operate a Zamboni, clean a house, or serve food. Most people in general find service Industries tolerable or at least not morally repugnant. Even if they can’t see themselves behind a check stand, they have no strong moral opposition to someone else doing it. Unfortunately, sex has such strong moral stigma that sex work carries double that.

But not with everyone. Sex workers have a wide range of feelings toward their ‘work sex’ from seeing themselves as a conduit for God’s love to seeing their clients as worth nothing more than the cash they leave behind.
One colleague, talking about seeing a male provider for personal pleasure, put it like this: “With work sex, it’s 90% me, 10% them sweating and grunting. With civvie sex, it’s still 70% me, 30% them expecting me to be grateful for their attention. With a male provider, I get to do exactly what I want and put out exactly as much effort as I want. I don’t have to worry about them ripping off the condom or whether they come or not, it’s all me.”

Another colleague will cancel appointments if she’s not in the mood so she rarely sees full service clients unless she’s genuinely interested in sex. Yet even her ease to orgasm and sexual interest doesn’t satisfy her the way sex with non-clients does. There’s a selfless and perform active aspect to it that makes it distinctly different.

Yet another provider I know is a lesbian and only has sex with men for cash, never for fun. We fall everywhere in between on our feelings toward ‘work sex’ but we all know there’s a difference and we all share one critical attitude: we all consent to sex we wouldn’t normally have in exchange for a financial incentive.

For me, when I was escorting, it didn’t feel different than my ‘regular’ sex because I was banging people who sucked at it. This was before I learned about my body and what it was capable of. If I were to take up FS work again, I’m not sure I’d be able to just show up for whomever and settle for ‘work sex’. Three years ago, I was happily done when he was done. Now, he’s not done until I’m done, and that’s not how sex work works.

So even within my own self, I have complicated feelings around sex. My colleagues all have their own feelings around sex. Our friends, families, and strangers on the internet have their own feelings about sex and until we can acknowledge that feelings are the root of most policy disagreements, we can at least be more thoughtful in our discussions of it.

This is why I have to question the simplicity of the slogan “sex work is work”. I don’t question the truth of it; anyone who has been an erotic services provider whether it’s a porn performer, escort, cam girl, whatever knows that work sex is work, even when it’s awesome. The exclusion of emotional issues around sex gives the slogan a weak point. No one wants to think of the sex they’re having with their partners as work; they don’t want to complicate an already complicated issue and that’s smart.

So how can we strengthen the slogan? Focus on the strength of it: that labor issues are universal; exploitation and abuse is not limited to sex work and this industry can be regulated like many other intimate service industries. So maybe “Sexual service is a service” or “Erotic laborers need labor rights”? Something that acknowledges the difference between the sex you have at home and erotic labor however it’s rendered and focuses on the need for non-criminal regulations to prevent or mitigate abuses instead of painting the entire industry as some combination of morally wrong and inherently exploitative.

Because until you’ve been a provider and had work sex, you can’t know the difference and that’s ok. You just need to listen to those of us who have when we ask for what we need.

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Setting rates is HARD

When I first started full service escorting, I charged 300USD for one hour and 200USD for each additional hour. I chose these numbers after looking at dozens of other websites to see what the going rate was and after reading a bunch of Maggie’s advice columns. I required a half hour of social time, for free, in public in order to reassure myself and sometimes these half hours turned into several. It was a hobby, I felt like I was making huge wads of cash (when normally I only made 10.25 an hour), and my clients seemed satisfied.

When I switched to massage and had no training, I felt self-conscious about my perceived lack of experience and charged 160USD for my first few hour long appointments. This was when Adelle was allowing me use of her incall and helped me gain experience. She was the one who strongly encouraged me to raise my rates and eventually find my own place.

When I moved into my first solo incall it was inexpensive, small, a little dank, and at 180USD I slowly grew my client base and savings account. After a pair of singularly unpleasant client interactions I reinstated my social time requirement. Instead of offering this time pro bono as I had before, I charged a nominal (for this industry) 50USD for it.

That was the first time I felt actually uncomfortable about my rates. I felt guilty that I charged for something I required. To me, 50 bucks was a lot and I didn’t like to feel as though I were taking advantage of my clients’ desire to meet me. I didn’t want them to feel as though I was bilking them prior to a get together and I certainly didn’t want them to feel like they couldn’t come see me because of this one-time deal. But my friends encouraged me so I did it.

After making a few exceptions to my rule and regretting it, my guilt disappeared. I realized that, for me, the social, emotional, and mental connection we establish in those few minutes is not only important for me but creates a much more intimate and fulfilling experience for my client. I have had a few prospective clients refuse to pay for my social time which tells me that my requirement is screening out folks incompatible with my needs.

For my birthday the year after I graduated from Massage school, I bumped my rates pretty significantly. I decided to do it because it was my birthday, I had completed an educational and professional milestone, and looking around at my colleagues, I felt comfortable settling into a higher tier. Having done duos and received bodywork from several other providers, I felt as their equal and chose to change my rates accordingly.

I settled for a year or two there, with my one bedroom apartment well placed and well priced, my squishy comfort zone wrapped around me, happily complacent with a steady clientele and major goals just over the horizon.

Last October a lot changed. I returned from Europe, moved into a smaller yet more expensive space, stayed crazy busy and since then I’ve lost weight, revamped my wardrobe, and my emotional relationship with my offerings has changed. More recently, I had a new photo shoot done, I’m building a new, safer, more sleek website, I’m expanding the ways and places in which we can meet, and beginning to see the outlines of my next goals solidify in the hazy future.

And so we come to my current wrestling match: my thoughts and feelings about my finances. Generally good, don’t get me wrong, but complicated.

You see, I care a great deal about my clients. I recognize that this is, for many, both a luxury and a need. I know some ladies who have charged the same for years and others who charge as much as they think they can get away with and both have an emotionally stable relationship with those rates. I have clients from all over the socio-economic range. For those of you who couldn’t care less what you spend on me, awesome, thank you for tipping. For those of you who save, agonize, budget, or simply consider rates before meeting me, please know that it is not easy for me to set my rates, particularly as they creep higher. It is the reason I added snuggle sessions to my repertoire: to give you a break without taking a hit to my emotional stability and energy levels.

Because emotional stability and energy levels are the base on which my rates sit. In order to be fully present with you and in order to focus on you for hour(s) at a time I have to have enough off time and down time, not just for boring stuff like cleaning and writing, but for emotionally restorative things like receiving bodywork of my own and sharing time and society with supportive friends. As my sense of self grows, so does my sense of what I could ask for.

Providers set rates all over the map for all sort of reasons and I’ve had tons of conversations with my colleagues about why their rates are where they are and how they feel about them. We have to handle a ton of weird stuff and, more than physically, we need to maintain our emotional presence. This post, as written, was about three times as long as the edited version ended up because my colleagues are all over the map in every way and I kept trying to categorize us. Smart, simple; young, old; hot, not; big, small; magnetic, cold; expensive, bargain; every color, every economic background, every idea, every personality, every religion, every sexuality, everything. All magnificent, all desirable, not a single one of them agree on what to charge and why. If I tried to parse out all the reasons they set their rates where they did I’d be writing all day! In the end, it’s all about how we feel.

I’ve tried in this post to give you an insight into how deeply I’m invested in my rates as one aspect of my personal, successful sole proprietorship. In attempting to write it I’ve realized I can’t. The question comes up on provider/client boards all the freaking time and I always want to say something but the things I have to say about it take way too much space. I thought I could address it here but I’ve discovered that I can’t.

So I’ll leave you with this: We are complicated humans with big complex feelings. If you’re not ready or willing to pay what I ask, that’s ok. I’m not mad, I understand many, if not your, reasons why. I get it. I’m definitely on the higher end for bodywork and I’m not done climbing. I feel like I’m worth it for dozens of reasons but this is SUCH a personal industry that while I may be worth it for many, I may not be worth it for you. For you who do come see me, please know that I don’t take it lightly and I very much appreciate my beloveds who have shown me not only respect in honoring all my requests but appreciation for my work.

After all these words only two matter: Thank you.

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Everyday Activism

At the panel a few weeks ago the same question came up in several different forms. One person asked

“What would you say to my intelligent, feminist, female friend when she says all prostitution should be outlawed due to the harms of trafficking and underage workers?”

Another asked

“How do I respond when someone posts and anti-sex work text or link on Facebook without dragging myself into a huge discussion?”

And at the private provider’s social one person asked

“What can I do if I can’t come out as a sex worker to destroy the stereotypes?”

The base of the questions is “What can I do every single day (sometimes as a well-intentioned, middle class person) that doesn’t jeopardize my social, financial, and physical safety?”

Here is what I do.

I am out to my closest friends and some semi-close friends who I knew wouldn’t react too poorly. I am not out at all to my family. To everyone in between, I am out as a sex workers rights activist. I support the Sex Worker’s rights movement, I work as a sex positive massage therapist to sex workers, and I do my small daily part to educate people when it comes up. I do that by admitting that I’m an ally and through my ally-ship I have met actual, real, honest-to-God sex workers and found them to be at the least normal, more often interesting and powerful women. I can talk about SASS and what I learned, the literature out there, the effects of decriminalization in other places, and I’m doing it not from a place of ‘you’re wrong, stranger’ but from a place of ‘dude check this out! I had no idea but sex workers actually care about themselves!’ I find that, as long as it’s not someone with strong moral beliefs, a different perspective from a trusted source (you, their friend) can begin to change the conversation.

So what can you do when someone posts a link on Facebook? First: recognize that they are not your audience. They’ve already made up their mind and while it’s possible you can change it, it’s unlikely. Your audience is not the poster, it is their friends and yours. Engage with the poster, knowing they are providing you a platform on which you can show others alternatives to the narrative. If you’re really serious about it, keep a note on your phone with links to interesting news articles like Liz Nolan Brown’s long form TRB essay or Maggie’s number crunching post. That way you can just copy/paste with a comment.

What can you do in real life? Next time someone makes a ‘hooker joke’ don’t laugh. Next time someone says something you know to be untrue, ask them why they said that (don’t correct them, facts don’t change hearts). If you’re brave, bring up the article you just saw about how young women are turning to camming and ‘sugaring’ to pay for college and how you had no idea it was so normal/widespread. Talk about the panel you just went to and how you met some interesting sex workers fighting for their rights. Send them one of my blog posts with the naughty stories and maybe they’ll stumble on something else interesting (you can play dumb and say you found it linked somewhere and didn’t read the rest of the blog).

The opportunities don’t come up often for me but when they do for you, don’t be ashamed to be an ally. Don’t be afraid to tell people you know real sex workers in real life and they’re actually surprisingly cool. And don’t fight so hard you lose the love and trust of your true friends. First it won’t work and second you’ll lose something important. I want decriminalization (Toni mac’s TED talk is a great link to explain that) but not as much as I want everyone to move forward, together.

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Stimulating

I’m a Redditor. Some of you have stumbled across me and recognized my writing style, my rhetoric, or my cause in my comments but unless you’re a Redditor you won’t know what I’m talking about.

First, Reddit.com is a user generated content aggregator. The hell doe that mean? It means that users can post content such as images, videos, links to other sources, original text, and even links to different areas of the site itself. Topics range from the benign to the terrifying and, as all communities do, has its share of drama. The community is global and share a certain number of inside jokes like Kyle, the CumBox, /r/theDonald, and your mom. If you don’t understand any of those, that’s ok. It probably because you’re doing something productive with your life.

What I like about Reddit as a social media platform is that, more than any other platform, I can carefully curate my experience. With Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and the like, you can follow certain people or organizations or trending topics, but with Reddit you subscribe to different sub-domains that each have their own vibe. I subscribe to SeattleWA, UpliftingNews, TwoXChromosomes, AdviceAnimals (silly memes), Science, AMA (ask me anything, basically live interviews with interesting people where the interviewer is the community), AskReddit (the inverse of the previous), BestOf, and several other interesting and sometimes highly specific topics such as for my favorite authors or this seriously long form story some guy is writing. It’s a place where I can directly interact with users from all over the world and share information, ideas, and support.

I also like that there is a voting system. As potentially compromised as it is, the voting system generally means that if I sort the comments by ‘top’ the first few pages of replies are generally interesting or quality content. It’s no free-for-all like a news outlet or blog’s commentary. I mean, it is, but poorly written, unhelpful, and outright wrong responses are often buried so you don’t have to waste time on them.

Another thing I enjoy about Reddit is the folks who create novelty accounts. One guy has a duck fetish, another writes only in haiku, /u/poem_for_your_sprog is one of the most talented and prolific poets I have EVER read and shows up all over the place. Another that I get goosebumps from is /u/commentnoir. He writes all his comment responses as if they were ripped from an old times noir novel and they’re actually really, really good. I saved this comment sometime late last year:

“Fresh haircut making me feel like a new man. Long, carefully manicured nails on the back of my scalp. A witchy woman seducing what’s left of my soul. Hide the hard-on; feel it pushing against my jeans. Red rocket ready to paint a Masterpeice the would make Jackson Pollock blush. She’s got full control, and she knows it. Sensation that makes a strong man weak and a rich man buy diamonds.”

I read that and it gave me shivers. It made me want to be the sensation that makes weak men strong and rich men buy diamonds. The musky glamour of Chinatown wafted from the screen and all he was talking about was the scalp massage during a haircut.

Yes, I wrote this entire post, all that background on some website that, if you don’t spend time on it yet, you probably shouldn’t, just so I could share that last phrase with you.

It resonates even more with me now than it did when I first read it. Then, I was still in elastic and flats. Now I ride the world in heels and elegance. Then, the woman I am becoming was a dream. Now, she is my future.

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Velvet: Round Two

For our friend’s birthday a year or two ago, Danielle and I so saturated our darling friend with sensation that he lost his ability to speak for a moment. I wrote about it because of how powerful the experience was. At the time, I simply assumed her energy broke through so vigorously all the time but I have since realized that, as with many, many other occasions, the long standing friendship and respect opened the floodgates. This is what happens when, over the course of four, five, or more years our clients earn our trust, respect, and friendship.

It started at a small Halloween Soiree where, among others, Tanuki (Caroline), Danielle, myself, and our mutual friend Velvet mingled. Someone made a joke about having all three of us for his birthday and you know me; my mind flew forward. A few words in the right ears and in a remarkably short amount of time (meaning a week or two instead of a month or two) we had all four sorted our schedules and settled the details. He brought donuts, I brought du fromage et du Prosecco (some cheese and some bubbles), Danielle brought little seafood nibbles, and Caroline brought a bottle of tawny port and some sweet Muscat grapes which just happened to be in season..

Standing around in the kitchen watching the four different energy levels rise and fall to meet each other, I felt a little shy, haha. For those who know me, you understand why I chuckle at that. We only have four hours and four bodies to work with and I have a lot of plans and I’m having a hard time getting naked! I mean, not too hard, but harder than usual.

Some friendly frottage and casual kissing leads all four up a flight of stairs to the massage table. Looking behind us I can see a trail of jeans, sweaters, and socks from the kitchen and I smile to myself. I’m not a fan of blow-by-blow recounts of personal, very special events; suffice it to say we made very good use of a solid, sensational, casual yet very sexy 45 minutes or so after which we all needed a moment to recover. Given the energetic combination it was a long, slow burn with some serious fireworks scattered throughout and I had as much fun playing with my colleagues as with our cashmere companion. With all three of us giving but not accepting touch, the poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

During the afterglow I made known my personal goal for the night: at our location was a large soaking tub with jets and a hand-held shower head. I led the charge up yet another flight of stairs into what quickly became a swampy, sweetly scented, bubbly, private steam room where we fed each other odds and ends brought from the kitchen and chatted. We all four adore each other and I have a tremendous amount of professional respect for my colleagues. With three and a half of us overflowing the tub and one sitting off to the side, we soaked until our toes turned into little pink raisins. I’d have stayed longer but the water got cold. Sigh.

On request and as a special favor, someone produced a jug of nuru gel and a waterproof mattress cover. Oh. My. God. That shit is fun. And messy. But fun! Round two of the evening was a playful, joyous, giggling mess. Less sizzle and pop and more goofy, sexy because we’re friends, chilly, frictionless, pressurized pleasure party. At one point, Danielle gave me a nudge and I swooshed from headboard to foot right between our friend’s knees! He planted a hand on either side of Caroline and myself and we spun like naked little tops over and over. We all almost fell off at one point or another but it didn’t matter, it was all in good fun.

We exhausted ourselves, stopped moving, and started to dimple with the chill so we all took turns in the shower and followed our trail back down, down the stairs into the kitchen where we donned the last few articles, gave our friend huge happy birthday hugs, and grinned.

I am incredibly fortunate to have in my life people willing to make time for pleasure and play like this. People I get to know over several years, people who listen and care and for whom I will bend over backwards to be with. At the end of the night, our grins weren’t just for the payoff, they were for the mere fact of our existence. That four hours fooling around was the most productive thing most of us did that day. That our lives are such that this sort of thing is not only possible, but happens easily, without effort or concern. We grinned in disbelief and in contentedness.

Special events like this can’t happen right away. Much of our willingness to orchestrate this get together relied on mutual respect and long standing relationships. Sometimes chemistry never does ignite and they can’t happen at all. But when it does, when we’ve racked up enough hours and become easy with one another while holding space for respect, then a whole world of possibilities opens up.

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Bridge City Indeed!

I drove to Portland last weekend. I was supposed to take the train but, due in part to my lack of clock-watching abilities and in part to a mud slide, I ended up driving Sunday morning instead of taking the train Friday afternoon. I had one marvelous appointment, took a girlfriend out for phenomenal Russian tapas at Kachka, and had a long and pleasant shoot with the infamous Jughead (newsletter subscribers see them first!).

Complications to the trip have sparked a rash of inspiration and it’s about damn time.

Friday, I was scheduled to leave on the 2:10 train from Seattle to Portland. I didn’t take any appointments, though I perhaps should have, and I hadn’t prepared the day before for the trip, though I definitely should have. I spent the morning taking a long bath, trying on various photo shoot outfits, and listening to an audiobook. Public transit has mostly cured me of my habitual tardiness; if you’re one minute late, you’re twenty minutes late so now I’m (usually) present and ready early. This time, however, I underestimated not only how long it would take me to walk to the station, but had it in my head that the train left at 2:20 instead of 2:10. I simply wasn’t thinking, I was existing in a state of dissatisfied laziness.

When I arrived, sweaty, at the train station to find boarding over, I was furious. At myself for an unforgivable lack of initiative and at my perception of my own lack of accomplishments lately. I hadn’t finished my blog post on time, I haven’t worked on my book in months, I attended but wasn’t useful at meetings and while in reality I have done quite a bit lately, I didn’t feel as though I had. This was the last straw. I changed my ticket to 6p and stalked away, muttering self recrimination under my breath and searching for someone with whom to pick a fight.

My partner is useless for fighting as every jabbing, pissed off text message met with kind understanding and empathy. I couldn’t hit something walking down the street; my vanity won’t let me appear anything but put together in public. I tried to vent to a friend but she wasn’t available for comment. So I mentally wrote the most scathing, ridiculous email in my history and continued my subaudible, vile litany.

Now I’m stalking up the sidewalk in tasteful heels and a backpack, seething, muttering, and deciding to run some errands. After a short stop at my studio I reemerge into the sparkling, gorgeous day and run one errand, try to run the second but the mangey, God-forsaken government office is closed!, and, anger renewed by inconvenient business hours, I settle into a coffee shop close to the train station for tea, pie, and a clacking vent session.

Then my prepayment software fails me. Square cash rejects one client’s payment and I have to scan my drivers license in order to accept another’s. I can’t find it. The rejected client cancels his appointment. I’m frantically texting and calling the woman I’m renting a work space from and then I get a call from Amtrak. The trains are all canceled until Sunday.

Fuck. Me.

This is when I start crying. Frustrated, angry, on the verge of cancelling the entire trip, everyone else trying desperately to cheer me up and offer options, and disappointed by the pie. It was really good pie but I’ve been spoiled by perfect pie so to me, I’m a girl at a table in the corner, crying over delicious tea and mediocre pie.

I almost canceled everything. I’m so close to fighting with my friends and blowing off clients that I feel I’m an emotional danger and I almost start making phone calls. But I said I would be there and so, after a few hours of writing to blow off steam (I will not be publishing that, haha) and a long, familiar bus ride home, I spent a decent chunk of time working on my new website and feeling like I’m accomplishing things.

The next morning bright and early I get ready to drive to Portland. I need to be there no later than noon so 7:30 and I’m up. Everything is ready to go in the car, I fill up the tank…. And my tire’s almost flat. And the gas station’s air pump is broken. Sigh. Whatever. I fix it and I’m on the freeway by 8:15. It rained the entire drive.

I don’t feel like a real person until 1. I’m sitting on a lovely chaise longue in a dim, quiet room, sipping coffee and eating lunch from the salad bar next door. I’ve got a client in an hour, a shower is waiting for me, and life feels normal again. After that the whole trip was a smashing success.

That said, I am hesitant to return. My friends come to Seattle, though not often, I won’t need or want another shoot for nearly a year, and trying to schedule clients in Portland is like pulling teeth. No one wants to screen, no one trusts my reputation, and no one wants to pay full rates. I feel, with the one notable exception, disrespected and under appreciated and why would I put up with that when you guys are so overwhelmingly delicious!?! I think if I can get a crew to go work a club for the night that could be fun but I’m really not excited about another trip.

Maybe next time I’ll go to Vancouver.