Category: Updates

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Oh my god, the weather!!!

A couple of weeks ago, I went hiking, and it was miserable. I have my tried and true favorites, but I like to mix it up regularly with new hikes. Once summer is here and I can range farther afield, I’ll start doing overnight trips and camping more, and I know there are dozens of stunning places to visit. Unfortunately on this hike I re-learned a valuable lesson about instagram: it very poorly reflects reality.

To be fair, I learned about the Wonderland Trail on instagram, and everything I hear about it says it will be incredible. Franklin Falls, on the other hand, was a vague, wet, crowded disappointment. 

First, the weather. I’ve gone hiking in cold, wet snow before. Most of the time I’m under tree cover so it evens out, and I’ve got lots of layers so as long as I stay moving, I can keep warm. This was not the case this time. I walked in slush for an hour before encountering any good tree cover, and even then it was more wet than snowy. Waterproof boots helped, but it’s just no fun.

Then, the road. Because federal employees have been fired en masse, there aren’t enough rangers to maintain roads, camp sites, or bathrooms, so they’ve closed them. Instead of driving up to a snow park and ranging the network of trails, it’s two miles on slushy pavement, paralleling the freeway the whole time, before you get to the scenery.

And the people. I am glad that people have the opportunity to get out and about, but I wish they’d get about somewhere else. Even with the road closure and the bad weather, the trail was well traveled. Off-leash dogs, loud talking, and tromped down snow at the falls just made the wilderness feel not wild at all.

Finally, and this is entirely on me, the freeway is right there. I reached the end of the trail, this frozen falls supposedly tucked away in a stunning glade, and stood observing the dropped packs, the dogs, and what I consider an actual crowd when out hiking. As I stood, nonplussed and rapidly cooling, a loud roar went by overhead, followed by a cascade of dirty brown snow. It arced over the edge of the I90 bridge and floated, a slushy spray of dirt and grease and rubber particulate, into the valley.

Also I found a definitely human poo on the trail.

Not a great hike.

But I try to go once a week regardless and so I rallied and, with not a lot of time to spare, I snuck out to good old Mount Si the very next one. With only four hours to work with, I decided to race to the top, pause briefly for a snack and a hot cup of broth, and then race back down again.

A mile and a half in, it became clear that without fuel, I wasn’t going anywhere fast, so I stopped for my snacks early.

Then, waiting for water to boil, I stopped.

Often when I hike, I have a constant mental monologue going. I think about what’s wrong with the world and my friends and myself, and get a lot of my kvetching done silently (and sometimes out loud) while my body runs on autopilot. If the hike is really good, I’ll get focused on the trail and other concerns fall to the background. But background doesn’t mean stopped. I rarely just stop and meditate, but for some reason, this time, I did. I enjoyed my warm cup of coffee, and my hot broth, and I looked at the blowdowns and the green and the sunshine filtering through the trees.

And for a moment I stopped.

When I started again, I had vastly readjusted my expectations for the day. No peaks for me. I didn’t have time after my pause, for one, and the weather was nice for the first time in months. Like, really nice. Balmy, mostly sunny, with no real wind, and a pleasant scent of fresh air. I got back on the trail and headed for my second favorite spot in that trail network: the overlook on talus loop trail.

If you’ve been up there, you’ll know what I’m talking about. It’s the only place outside of Teneriffe falls trail that crosses boulder fields, and trail crews put in a little bench when they built it. You can sit and look out over North Bend and have a snack and sometimes see mountain goats making their way from there to here.

And if you were there this week, right around noon, and you were veeeeeery very quiet, you might have seen something fun.

Topless Sunbathing Hike

I must have spent a solid half hour soaking in some of the early spring sunshine. I wasn’t flashing the mountain the entire time, but I did get a little vitamin D on my DD’s.

Sitting, lounging, sometimes downright lying around on a stone slab on a mountainside, I relaxed for the first time in a while. I can do it in a sauna, which I get to do on occasion, and in the bath, but there is just nothing like feeling the warmth of steady sunshine soaking in. It starts at the most superficial layer and melts into you, slowly warming skin, muscle, until finally your very bones loosen.

At one point, listening to the faraway calls of songbirds, the gentlest whisper of wind through the trees, I thought to myself “I am so happy, I think I could cry.”

I’ve been hiking weekly for well over a year, getting into shape, and planning several very long trips for this summer. And I’m finally ready to start offering hiking dates. Urban hikes of up to three hours (800USD) might involve doing the Queen Anne stairs or an extra long loop at Greenlake. Woodland hikes of around five hours (1200USD) would include me bringing along all the snacks and water we need, and planning for a short stop to picnic. These are social dates only, and of limited availability. They are intended to help me help you get outdoors, to create opportunities for us to deepen our connection, and to help me worry less about being enough as I continue my fitness journey. Still have questions? Ask me at our next appointment and we can make plans!

I am so excited for this summer. I expect it will be full of camping, hiking, swimming, kayaking, sunbathing, and fooling around with my sponsors and patrons. You all are fabulous humans and I am so fortunate to have you in my corner. Things are getting scary out there and being ok has become a radical act of protest. I would not be ok without you, and without the freedom and affection and support you offer.

Thank you.

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I am in love with my planner.

Two years ago, a friend of mine mentioned how much she adored her custom daily planner. The only millennial I’d ever met who still uses a physical appointment book is Danielle, so I was surprised to find that my tech babe friend deliberately took herself offline every day to plan and record it. I was intrigued enough to try it so I ordered a semi-customizable planner for myself. Fifty-two weeks of doodles to fill in, stickers to place, half hours to schedule, habits to track, and notes to make arrived a few weeks into 2023.

As with most new projects, I was religious about filling it in at first.

Unlike most new projects, I kept filling it in. Then I filled in some more.

Before I knew it, the year was nearly over and I had filled in every day. I tracked how many glasses of water I drank, how many hours I worked, I wrote down what I had for dinner and even filled in evenings with large blocks labeled “Hyrule” or “nature shows” and even, sometimes, “dick all the way around.” At the end of the year, I went back and thumbed through it. It was revelatory.

You see, I struggle with feelings of inadequacy. I should work more, do more admin and marketing, exercise more, read more, socialize more, be… more… somehow. And without a good sense of what I was doing, all I could think about was how much I wasn’t. Learning French (faster). Learning to draw. Learning to play an instrument. Joining a choir. Volunteering. Building. Exercising.

Being able to look back and see how much I actually did, how often I worked on a project or got some middling task finished, how often I achieved the simple tasks of existence, and, crucially, how much farther along on larger goals I was than I had been months back, was a huge, freeing experience.

Every evening, I sit down and check off the tasks I completed. Then I fill in my mood and habit trackers. I look forward to the days ahead and try to plan how to use my time. Finally I add a line to my self-care journal, and if I’m feeling fancy I add stickers to celebrate or laugh at anything special or unusual. The planner came with several sheets and why not go through them? They’re fun!

I’m a few weeks into my third now, and, though I’m not quite as religious about it as I was, I still go in and fill the spaces with my daily minutia. It’s done the work of helping me feel less inadequate, so I’m not as religious about planning my days and checking things off, but I am happy to have the data, because one of my favorite things at the back is the year in review.

There is room at the end of the planner for a variety of optional pages. Daily gratitude journal, mood and habit tracker, workout tracker, doodles, sudoku, class schedule, maps, places to make lists of books, movies, or TV to watch, all kinds of things, including two pages full of prompts to review the past year and set intentions for the new one. As an acknowledgment that the future is impossible to predict, I only ever use pencil in my planner… except on these two pages.

Before I fill in the page, I write a long entry in my journal. I try to be as honest as possible, even when it’s not flattering. I roll the prompts around in my head and let the words spill onto the page. Sometimes where I land is far from where I started. I like it as an exercise, and by the time I’m done, I have good, comfortable, short answers to pen in.

Then I get to make plans. Something I want to do, things I want to learn, things I want to spend more, or less time or money on… things like that. I still journal about them, but it’s a more hopeful sort of journaling. Lots of plans and hopes, fewer mistakes. I don’t often spend as much time on it, because I’l be revisiting as the year churns by.

So far I’ve only had one opportunity to compare the coming year forecast to the past year retrospective. I didn’t opt for those pages in my first planner, so 2023 only got a reflection, not a prediction. But 2024 I got to start with Growth, Ease, and Power as my three words to describe my expectations and then end with Comfortable, Tough Talks, and Obstacle Course Racing! As my three words (generously defined) to describe the previous year. To see how my expectations were met in unexpected ways was one of many pleasures.

I think my favorite example of reassessing my strategies was my intention to bust my yarn stash. I know how to knit, and have completed some really cool projects. A huge, gorgeous fluffy blanket scarf, a variety of hats, some of which are still regularly worn, gloves (difficult, badly fitting, but lovely), half of a pillowcase for a sofa cushion… And I’ve always wanted to knit myself a cardigan. There’s a yarn store in my neighborhood and some of the fibers are irresistible. Simply stunning. Why buy a cashmere sweater when I can make one!?!

Well, because it’s hard, it takes forever, and it makes your hands hurt. Halfway through last year I realized that I simply wasn’t going to bust my stash in the traditional way. So I decided to shift tactics and bust it by gifting it to a friend who actually does fiber craft. Not often, not quickly, but consistently. I saved a few skeins back to maybe someday finish that pillowcase, but I gave up the part of my identity that said “knitter” and softened it to “knows how to knit.”

And that’s ok. Someday I’ll table the label “hiker” too, probably, in favor of “has really good boots.” It’ll make room for a different interest, which in turn will probably also make room for the next.

But that’s what the year end reflection is about! It’s to see how far I landed from where I thought I’d be, a reminder to redouble my efforts in some areas, a chance to abandon my plans in others. An opportunity to set lofty goals, knowing that sometimes close is close enough, and sometimes I’ll reach them through unconventional means.

So what did I write for 2025? Achievement, settling in, and experimentation. I’m excited. Optimistic, like I’m close enough to understanding myself to hack life. I want to hike the Wonderland Trail and do some end-of-life financial planning. I’ll be challenged to safely complete the Trail, and all the other hikes I’ve got planned before and after. I’ll also be challenged supporting my best friend as her partner struggles with a chronic, and worsening, illness.  I want to learn to draw, to use a map and compass, to hammock camp, and to play the guitar. I look forward to lingering on my hikes, drinking in the views, and to Dragon Con in September. I want to spend more time meditating, drawing, practicing doing things with my left hand more, and reading. I want to spend both less and more money saving. I want to begin surrogate partner training, and I want to stop being tied to my phone so closely.

These are the results of hours of thought, and will be the subject of more as the year goes by. It’s only been nine weeks so far and I’m already making small progress. Added a few bits to a costume. Got an ultralight stove to camp with. Helped with a big move. And had not one but three “perfect weeks” where I did at least one each of a run, a weight lifting session, yoga, a hike, and a pull-ups drill.

I had a big weekend last week and got to fill in my days with “birthday dinner” and “cat sitting” and “naps”. This week it’ll be “Pilates” and “hike” and “work (DUO!)” and “Grocery Shopping”. And in six months I’ll wonder how I stayed busy when work was so slow, and I’ll flip back to see that I spent time with my friends, my books, my colleagues, and my self, all of which move me towards my goals.

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Three out of five spicy

When I began in this world, over ten years ago now, I really dove in. Not deeply, necessarily, but with broad interest that covered anything remotely sexual. Most of what I thought of when I imagined kink didn’t appeal to me. Giving up control, being struck with objects or hands, being tied… But I did find it fascinating. And I met people who did like it. I learned about what they liked and wanted and found pleasure or safety in. I watched, with excited fascination, a lot of people doing a lot of things to a lot of other people that I didn’t at all want done to me.

Over time, I gathered knowledge. Bits and bobs here and there, accumulating in the corners of my mind at the same time toys accumulated in drawers, whims and requests and gifts relegated to storage. I didn’t use them much. One or two favorites saw the light of day, but the rest sat, organized and gathering dust.

Until now.

I have been asked before, more than once, whether I would offer sensual domination. I’ve always demurred. Between the genuine risk of injury, my own lack of training, and my aversion to pain or discomfort, I’ve never been sure I could do a good job. But I’ve been feeling stagnant of late, looking to add to my repertoire, so this time, when a trusted friend made a gentle inquiry, I said what the hell and went for it.

Turns out I’m kind of into it.

I spent my early FBSM years learning it. First in official, actual massage school to learn how to do it properly, then in constant practice to get good at it. My style evolved as I mastered first one skill set, then another, and another. Now I get to master another still!

I’m opting out of the formal education route this time. Several years ago, I spoke seriously to a bondassage instructor to have them fly to Seattle and spend a weekend instructing myself and a friend. Ultimately, the price tag put me off it, but it wasn’t just that. Bondassage is a trademarked protocol and, while it comes with certification and certainty, it’s also confining. It’s someone else’s way of doing things, which is fine and lovely and not really for me.

Instead, I am experimenting. I cut a hole in my old massage table and played around with it. I LOVE having a milking table, but I didn’t find them ready made to order from anywhere I trusted, and my hack job, while functional, doesn’t meet my standards. I hope to get something custom designed in the future, but for now, it will make the occasional appearance.

Other long forgotten toys have come out of the closet. A series of insertables, some vibrating friends, things that prickle and tickle and sting… For someone who finds sensations of interest, a collection of items that deliver such a variety of them is of interest indeed.

Since that first “fuck it, why not” I have entertained a small cadre of familiar gentleman callers. Some were expected, others a surprise. I’ve learned from everyone, and some have learned a thing or two from me.

Because I come from a sensual massage background instead of a BDSM background, my personal style is still very sensation oriented versus domination oriented. I don’t ask for special titles, and I am not inclined to humiliate my darlings. I don’t dress any differently than I usually do; no spiked heels or latex for me. I default to my hands and my teeth as my primary tools, and we will almost certainly reach my limits before we reach yours. For now.

For those seeking a little spice in their massages, I will be a good fit. For those who wish to do a little experimenting, you are welcome here. And for the adventurous folks who can’t get enough, I have a few friends who would be very happy to join us. They’d like to remain anonymous to the general public so for the purposes of this post they are known as the sprite, with an impish spirit and a boisterous laugh, the goddess, firm but kind, and the demon, harmless to the flesh but evil to the mind. Each of my special friends brings their own flavor to the session: like trying a different dish from the same restaurant. The curious are welcome to reach out with questions.

If you’ve been curious, but shy to take part, I encourage you to try me. I’m not going to spit on you, or degrade you, I won’t call you names or leave mysterious bruises anywhere. For that there are many more capable and willing than I. All we will do is explore a little, see what works and what doesn’t, and maybe open some doors you didn’t know you had.

Or maybe some of mine 😉

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Tomorrow is my birthday!

I turn 36 tomorrow. Valentine’s day. I rarely go out on my actual birthday. I don’t like fixed menus, people who don’t usually go out, trying to impress their girlfriends, crowds… so you can almost always find me enjoying my lovely birthday evening a day or two before or after.

Tomorrow will be much like any other day, for me. I’ll be up around seven, get myself some coffee, check my emails, maybe stare out the window a while. Be bleary-eyed and greet the morning slowly.

I’ll go for a walk, maybe a hike, talk to a friend or family member, play some puzzle games, look at too much internet, entertain a guest at work…

And yet it’s not like every other day.

I’m not young anymore. And that’s not me saying I’m old. I’m not old yet by any stretch.

But some of my wide eyed innocence and optimism has cooled. I’m still painfully optimistic in many ways, but my expectations have been tempered. Realism seeps through, the way the damp seeps through the walls of my tent. I’m still glad I’m camping, but I know it’ll be brisk once I leave my sleeping bag and I’ll have to move around a bit before I can get comfortable.

In someways it’s a bummer. I don’t get fired up the way I used to. The wonder of discovery comes to me less often now; I have to seek it out where before it fell at my feet. My standards for words and food and people are higher, so I enjoy fewer of them than I once did. I’ve seen so many iterations of my own faulty behavioral patterns that they irritate me when I don’t stop them in time.

And yet…

I’m able to discover things more obscure than before. The joy of understanding comes to me more often. The words and people and food that I do enjoy, I spend more time with. I am slowly growing closer and closer to being the kind of person I want to be.

I’m not as slender as I was in my twenties, but my strength and stamina are far greater. The looming specter of old age has made me determined to stay moving and functional as much and as long as possible.

I’m not as passionate as I was in my twenties, but I’m more composed now.

I’m not as firm and pert as I was in my twenties, but the sex I have now is so much more satisfying.

I don’t think younger me could have imagined the life I lead. A younger me had more paths available. More energy. But I do think younger me would be very happy with me now, and I’m looking forward to finding out what’s next.

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The Worst Admin I’ll Ever do

On July 18 of this year, I had to send an email I had hoped I’d never need to.

I get tested for STIs regularly, though sometimes I let more time go by than I should. Historically, my results have always been negative, which makes sense, given my practices and activities. For ten years, every few months I would get pricked and swabbed and sampled, and every time my results came back “negative – within normal limits” for everything.

Well my streak came to an abrupt and unpleasant halt this summer.

Everything south of the border was good to go, but my love of licking finally got to me, and my throat swab came back positive for Ghonorhea.

The usual symptoms are sore throat, burning, swollen glands, etc, but I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t have even known if I hadn’t been (over, to be honest) due for testing. Which, by the way, is exactly why we do it regularly instead of waiting for something to happen.

The physical impact, for me, was basically nothing. I popped over to my local planned parenthood, they gave me a single intramuscular dose of antibiotics, and sent me on my way. I went back to my doctor two weeks later for a follow up and I was 100% good to go.

The emotional impact, however, was so, so much worse, and that’s why I’m writing about this publicly.

Because I was overdue on my testing, I had to go back FIVE MONTHS in my calendar and tell every single person I’d met within that time frame that they had possibly been exposed. And because It’s hard for me to resist that specific kind of a good time during even my FBSM appointments, I had to tell everyone everyone.

I can tell you, that’s the hardest email I’ve ever sent. I was embarrassed I’d fallen so badly behind on my testing. I was afraid that people would be angry with me for exposing them. I was chagrined at the fact that others would have to spend time and money (and in some cases miss out on work or appointments with other providers) on a problem I could have maybe prevented. I was committed to doing better. And I was fucking proud of myself for hitting send on that email, snaky hands and all.

To those of my readers who got that email, I cannot stress enough how fucking proud I am of you. The overwhelming response was “Thank you for telling me. I’ve scheduled an appointment to get tested. I’ll let you know what the results are.” Some of you were scared, too. And helpful. And kind. One or two of you were defensive or insecure. All of you did a great job being responsible.

To my first replier, the one who said “I know you don’t need to hear this but you’re doing the right thing”: I really, really did need to hear that. Thank you.

I drew on my close friends for support (shoutout to Tiny Phryne who sat with me via text as I was drafting the email) and felt so much love and reassurance, but it could easily have gone very badly for me. It only takes one pissed off individual to ruin a career in this industry and it would have been entirely understandable to be upset at this kind of news.

But every single person handled themselves well, and everyone who followed up with their results was negative. Every new result reported made me feel better. I was worried I would have been the cause of someone else’s discomfort or embarrassment and I’m so glad that everyone came out unscathed. I was also reassured that, even if someone had popped hot, at least they knew and could stop it in its tracks.

As for where it came from… If anyone turned up positive, they chose not to share that with me. Which is fine. I’m curious, but it wouldn’t have changed anything for me that I wasn’t already changing anyway. I decided to first: be more diligent about sticking to a once per three months testing schedule and second: to up my throat swab schedule to once a month.

Since July, I’ve done exactly that. I have been pleased to get the regular notification from my health care team telling me I’m good to go for another month, and instead of waiting until it’s time and then trying to remember to schedule my next test, I stop by the front desk on my way out and schedule a rematch as close to four weeks out as I can. It works so much better, and helps me hold myself to a professional standard that I more often aspire to than reach.

I’m writing this post, partly because writing is how I process, but partly to normalize testing and sharing your results when you need to. And honestly, partly as marketing. Good marketing is as much about who you don’t appeal to as who you do, and I’d like to invite anyone who is turned off by this post to cherish that. Discomfort is a sign from your body that you’re not ready, and listening to those signs is exceedingly wise.

Thank you my friends for being such incredible people. For taking it in stride, for seeking knowledge, for being kind, and for trusting me. I am honored to be worthy of that trust and I look forward to many more years of good health.

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Good Grief, 2023!

We are moving toward the end. The year moves inexorably to a close and we find ourselves reflecting. We hope. Planning for a better year next year.

I believe 2023 was the year of grieving, for me. A year of loss and pain and endings.

In September 2022, a professional conflict that had been simmering between me and my former friend and mentor since the spring resurfaced. She did something I didn’t agree with. I did something she didn’t like. The conflict got personal, then nasty. I couldn’t relax, nor could I reconcile, and the stress of it all had my hair literally falling out. In December we parted ways permanently, and with bad blood.

In November of the same year, a friend’s boyfriend kissed me. The kiss in itself wasn’t a problem, but it brought others to light and over the next few months, I tried to establish new norms of conduct between us. It did not go well. By September, other fractures in other relationships had grown and the tension in ours was the final fissure. The entire social group, one that sustained us through pandemic and saved at least one life, had shattered by the end of the month.

In the meantime, my best friend suffered a mental breakdown. A variety of stressors (stolen car, job woes, a loved one’s failing health, among others) turned my mild-mannered, self sacrificing friend into a ball of rage that careened through her closest relationships at the slightest provocation. It was touch and go for most of the summer but I have reason to expect that this relationship, at least, will emerge stronger than ever. Of the three of my friends, people I was close to, shared secrets and time and love with, only she is committed to our future. She has apologized and she is working diligently toward a permanently stronger position and with her, so am I.

For most of my life, I’ve been a pushover. A people pleaser who would rather suffer quietly than possibly, maybe, potentially upset someone. More than that, I would solve every problem around me, not out of selflessness or love, but to avoid proximity to other people’s upset feelings.

It turns out that when you stop doing that, people who liked you when you did, don’t really like you anymore. For the first time in my life, I stuck up for myself. Like, really stuck up for myself. I pushed back on things I didn’t feel were right, and when the pressure turned up I didn’t run away.

Finally. After doing it over and over for 34 years, I didn’t run away.

I am walking away from these relationships, from this year, grateful and proud. Grateful for the learning opportunities, for the tools I’ve walked away with, and for the good times I had before things fell apart. Proud of myself for making the effort to change things I didn’t like, and for not giving in this time. I feel so much older, so much less afraid. I feel more prepared for the future, more able to handle what others might do. I’m a little more cautious, which is good but also makes me a little sad. I have more patience for other people’s feelings, but less now for their actions. I am willing to tolerate others’ discontent, and unwilling to tolerate bad behavior. I feel victorious in a battle of wills against my old self and after a year long battle, ready to be calm for a while.

Because dear god I’m so glad that’s over. At every stage of every conflict I second guessed myself. I had to constantly remind myself (when I had the presence of mind to realize it) that what I felt was real, that it was reasonable, and that what I was asking for was also reasonable. In dozens of conversations, poring over comments and asides, looking at situations from every possible angle, I checked and rechecked my assumptions. Was I being fair in my descriptions when seeking outside perspective? Did other people’s opinions confirm my conclusions? Was there any room at all for me to be wrong, apologize, and fix this by once again sacrificing my own well being to ease others’ anger?

For weeks on end I could think of nothing else, and the stress of being in the thick of the process grated on those around me. Now that it’s over, I almost feel weird being at peace. Taking a long walk and thinking about the answers to my crossword puzzle and the events of the book I’m reading instead of writing and rewriting messages in my head, jumping at every turn, afraid to say a wrong word and set off another tirade. To say “not much” when people ask what I’ve been up to and realize that’s the truth. To feel normal and sure of myself.

It feels weird.

It feels good.

That, my beloved readers, is one reason I’ve been away so long. Instead of inspiration, my waking hours had been taken up with some things I simply couldn’t share. They were too personal, they were often someone else’s private business, and they were muddled. And now they’re done.

Though my writing schedule is unlikely to return to the weekly notes I once sent, I do have a few things in the wings, fun things I hope you’ll enjoy.

Thank you, again, to my dear patrons who have supported me, listened, and yet been too wise to pry. This year has been a wild ride and I couldn’t have done it without you.

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I tried something.

It didn’t work.

Early last year I was suffering from some pretty heavy duty burnout. Between work, travel, friends, volunteering, writing, and event planning, I wasn’t happy. Somehow, I cosmically projected this and the world manifested an enforced vacation. As of December, I have very few stressors and I’m loving it.

There is, however, one left.

The cost difference between the table focused bodywork I offer and the bed-based bodywork I offer is… almost absurd. One is exactly half of the other, despite being no less legally risky or time intensive. It does not require half the energy, time, or effort as other activities. Finding this balance unsatisfactory, when I returned FBSM to my offerings, I resolved to expend half the energy and raise rates only marginally. I would keep to a rigid timetable, keep chit chat to a minimum, offer nothing but the best erotic massage I could, and hopefully help keep from burning out again.

I failed in two perfectly opposite ways.

For the first time ever, someone declined to return because getting intimate with someone they hadn’t yet gotten to know just wasn’t for them. You see I had, in previous blog posts, advised new clients to try massage first. This was in the days where we would sit and chat for a while first, playful and smiling, establishing a mutual like for each other that made table time a step in a budding relationship as opposed to a somewhat clinical standalone session. This poor young man was thrust into an intimate situation without proper introductions. My attempt to guard my energy had worked. I didn’t like it.

And so, over the past few months, as I inevitably slipped back into patterns comfortable to me, I chit chatted and relaxed and everyone enjoyed themselves much more, the hours stretched to 75 minutes, 80 minutes, 90… and in the back of my head a little voice repeated: stop giving away your time!

I used to love my two hour FBSM appointments until I noticed that, aside from the average quantity of laundry, they were just as difficult, and as fun, as any other two hours spent with my lovers. I began to compare the two and would up eliminating the two hour FBSM from my offerings. Would you accept half your salary at your job just because you completed a different task?

These were all mistakes. My attempts to hoard time and energy, to cheat my burnout problem, while still staying affordable* to a wider variety of lovers only short changed us both.

So I’m trying something different, inspire once again by my friend and colleague. For FBSM booked before March 31, rates and conditions stand unless you opt into changes. For FBSM booked after March 31:

1 hour: 350$, for returning clients only

90 minutes: 500$ (550$ new clients)

2 hours: 600$ (650$ new clients)

Finition Francais: Opt-out

It does remain a one-way experience. Time for you to relax and do nothing but enjoy yourself. Grabby hands will not be rewarded and I’ll do my best to leave conversation on the couch. I learned during massage school that I am incapable of both talking and giving my best massage at the same time.

But man it’ll be good to get back to the old days when my wide-eyed wonder turned every body into a magical jungle gym and I truly had enough time to know you. To the days when I felt awe every time someone walked through my door. I’m not jaded, I have too many excellent loves to be jaded, but I’m a lot less naive than I was.

*Who am I kidding? This is about as affordable as “affordable housing” downtown. Please know I don’t take this lightly. In my utopia, everyone has access to affordable, quality providers in every industry but we don’t live there. I continue to offer discounts to Womxn and transgender folk, a nod to historic discrimination.

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Travelogue

I travel! Sometimes.

I tend to mosey around a bit, especially when invited by earnest and generous gents. I realized, however, that it’s not always clear to everyone just exactly how much, or how little, I travel. I thought it might be nice to kind of collect it all in one place where I can update things as I go, partly to enjoy the reverie, partly to let anyone reading know what’s usual and what’s extraordinary.

Spokane

I travel to the Spokane area often, about once a month through the summer. In 2018 I went at least five times during the summer, probably more that I didn’t write down. That said, I rarely ever see anyone professionally when I’m in or near Spokane, party because it’s primarily a personal trip, partly because I don’t have a location to host from, but mostly because Spokane residents are resistant to Seattle prices and, more importantly, screening. I’m open to finding a few good men to visit regularly throughout the summer, but my time of actively seeking them out is over.

—2019 Travels to Spokane area:

7/17-7/31

Portland.

I went to Portland at least five times in 2018 and I’ll be returning about every six weeks in the coming year. I now have friends and family both in the area and on the way to and from. Seeing a lovely client or three while in town is a great way to make the trip easier to do more often. It makes me feel like I’m not necessarily missing out so I don’t feel like I have to stress out.

—2019 Travels to Portland:

1/24-1/26
2/28-3/2

Chicago

I went to Chicago once in 2018 and it went incredibly smoothly. My gentleman was exactly that, transit was a breeze, and I just found out an old college friend lives there, so I have even more incentive to return.

4/4-4/6

San Francisco

I went to San Fran once in 2018 and immediately fell in love with the city. I have a different old college friend living there who gave me a small downtown tour and I had one of the more intense and mind opening experiences in my career.

Walla Walla

I travel back once or twice a year to reconnect with old friends and enjoy the pleasure of wine country. I spent a great deal of time there in my late teens and early twenties and I though many of my friends from that time have scattered to the four winds, we reconvene to refresh our friendship.

—2019 Travels to Walla Walla

5/3-5/5

New Orleans

I have not yet been to NOLA but I am making plans to visit mid May. I’m looking forward to writing about it upon my return.

Las Vegas

Vegas is an enigma, a strange, alluring, yet repulsive place. I’ll make my virginal pilgrimage on a personal trip 3/24-3/26 and plan a return in mid June.

I will update this list as I go from place to place. When I decide to take a trip, the first thing I do is send out a newsletter blast to subscribers who have chosen a location near my travel plan. In order to make sure you’re on the list, check the relevant city when signing up for the newsletter and make sure you’ve opted in to marketing. My email service automatically filters out subscribers who have opted out. If you’re not getting location specific emails, you can scroll to the bottom of the most recent newsletter and click “Update Your Preferences” to make changes.

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Hot For Teacher

I’ve finally reached a point where I can teach. I first had sex when I was 16 and it was awesome, but I was bad at it. I learned a little at a time, incidentally, as I found new boys to play with, and a few girls. I’m naturally curious, get bored easily so am always seeking something new, and also I’ve been doing sexy things at a professional level for a good six years now. I feel it’s important to be good at your job so I keep accumulating information, strategies, techniques, thoughts, concepts, communication tools, confidence, formal education, until something clicks and I make a breakthrough. Well, I think my next breakthrough is hands on teaching.

Most sex educators talk you through things, show you models, make you do cute exercises. To teach you concepts, but how many of them will talk you through eating pussy, using your cock as their model? Of course sucking cock and eating pussy are very different, but there are common core concepts and I feel very strongly that it is important to know what it feels like to receive whatever it is you are learning to do.

My sexual history is deep and wide. I’ve done long term relationships and one night stands, long form blowjobs and quickies on your lunch break, I’ve had sex standing up and bending over, lying on top, underneath, and backwards, I’ve given several hundred orgasms to cocks and a dozen or so to pussies, I’ve had hundreds of my own from mouths and hands and cocks and toys, I’ve teased and gone straight for the gold, I’ve had good sex and unwanted sex and mediocre sex and mid blowing sex and I only finally got good at sex about a year ago. I’ve read books, written blog posts, watched videos, sexted, chatted online, flashed people in public, stayed under covers, I’ve talked to folks about nontraditional sexual outlets, watched people get picked up, pushed over, forced to come, fucked by machines, whipped, tickled, trusted and tried, and I’m still only getting started in some places.

The least I can do is share a little of what I’ve learned.

The benefit of coming to learn from me instead of from videos and books and things is time and specificity. It’s like walking into a huge store and asking someone where to find the product you’re looking for. If you need a new set of kitchenware, you don’t need to hunt the aisles in the garden section. If you need strategies on how to make your specific sex life better, I can, probably, help you in just a couple of hours. It’s also useful to have immediate and concrete feedback and tips from someone you don’t need to impress.

I don’t want to make promises. Sometimes it’s not the sex life that’s the problem, it’s the relationship, and learning how to give good relationship advice will take another ten years or so. A little bit of relationship advice kind of comes with the whole sex life territory, but I can only help you with your willing partner, I can’t make your partner willing for you.

That said, it’s been a pleasant surprise for me to realize just how much I know about sex that other people don’t. Toys and lubes and condoms are just the first step. How to seduce a woman with confidence, how to give the most mind blowing hand job of all time, how to help keep yourself in the moment and how to forgive yourself when it doesn’t work, how to read a body’s arousal signals and home in on what works…

I suppose this is just me saying: if you’ve ever wanted to learn more about the sexy basics, I can help. I find a series of 90 minute to two hour appointments is an excellent format for getting comfortable, getting naked, and getting schooled. This isn’t exactly an ad, per se, since these kinds of things often happen organically; I’m writing this partly because I just had a rewarding morning with someone that went very much in the teaching way, partly because it’s really the perfect content for this blog, and partly because I want people to know that not only am I fun to have sex with, I’m also willing to pass on some of my knowledge. You only have to ask.

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Farewell to the FC

I mean, you all can use it, but I’m afraid I cannot.

The ‘FC’ is a female, or internal, condom. I’ve used it to great effect in the past and had great reactions…. for the boys. The way it works is that, instead of rolling a tight condom down onto your hard cock, I put a loose nitrile sleeve inside me. Two firm rings, one at either end, hold it in place while your cock slides in and out, as close to a natural feeling as you can get while still maintaining peace of mind. No risk of breaking, falling off or out without noticing, and even greater coverage of skin to skin contact.

Unfortunately, What happens sometimes is that I get wet and you get a bit dry and suddenly, instead of you sliding easily back and forth inside the sleeve, the sleeve slides back and forth inside of me. You’d think that wouldn’t be an issue given how regular condoms work, but it’s all about the fit. Since it’s overlarge, it ends up creating ridges, and not the smooth, “for her pleasure” ridges on those gimmicky trojans. They are harder and, under the right circumstances, can be slightly sharp. I’m just gonna leave that there.

Many of you know that self care is something I constantly struggle with. Writing publicly about something I intend to do to help myself is my way of giving myself permission to enforce it. I know not everyone reads everything right away, but once it’s out there, particularly for a while, I don’t feel guilty about disappointing or upsetting anyone. I will always do my best to make sure folks are fulfilled and happy when they leave me but there are some exceptions. Unfortunately for some, this is one of them.

I’m actually really bummed, too. I love the opportunities they give gentlemen who have a hard time (har har) in many ways with regular condoms. I’ve had people come using the FC who haven’t come while wearing a condom in years. I’ve seen people able to lose themselves in just that little bit more freedom. Plus I love that in a duo you can simply switch back and forth without pausing in between. I know that Sofina still allows them and has them in stock so if it’s important to you, you can find it. Just not with me.

I may make exceptions under rare extenuating circumstances, but don’t expect it. Sorry :-/