Today's metaphor: plugging something into a socket. You try it once, twice, three times, and it's unresponsive. Maybe it works, once, to give you hope, then not again. Then, you plug something in, cause, well, maybe this time it'll work, and it sparks and blows out the whole circuit.

That was my night last night in S's flat, which I feel horribly guilty about, though a phone call from Mo (helpfully brought about by J) reassured me that it sounded like a bad socket, not something I actively messed up. It's being taken care of, and S was a dear, not mad or anything- we're sorting it out. Crisis averted.

However, this incident sounds achingly familiar to the meeting I had earlier that day with TB, whom I've decided needs a different nickname as he is no longer a thingboy and tuberculosis is too romantic an illness for him. Therefore, he will hereafter be Sh, for shingles.

Anyway. It's more drama, constant drama. And as much as it frustrated me that he continually struggled with how we met- now I'm beginning to think it really did make a difference, and I doubt more and more that I would ever take a professional relationship personal again. Meeting people at work? Overrated. Yes, I wanted us to stay friends, yes, I thought we could, but it's become clear that he wants to stay in contact to either add to his own suffering or try to make me suffer with him. I'm interested in neither.

We kept finding resolution and then he'd get upset again. I think Sh wants, maybe even needs me to react more than I am, but I can't and won't. Like the socket, I keep trying, and sometimes it's ok and usually it's not- I'm just not sure I'll know, really, when the socket blows.

I said to him I wanted us to start over. I reiterated that I would not play with him until he could come to me and say yes, this is what he wanted, and knew who he was. He says he doesn't want to play ever again. For me, I rarely close a door, but I get closer and closer to it. He seems inclined to blame me for all his current suffering, which won't get him far in terms of healing it. And I can't help anymore.

So, another chapter closed, I suppose. Sh told me to move on, and I am. I wish he would too, but that's not my problem.

After having written my last blog, I've thought a lot about what's been going right in my life. Cause, well, it's certainly not all doom and gloom- it's actually quite lovely at the moment! I consider myself an incredibly lucky girl.

-I've started "officially" dating Mo, as a Real Live Girlfriend. I adore him. He's incredibly supportive, sexy as all hell, sweet, caring, and I truly love him. He loves me back, and it scares me sometime how normal it all is, how nondramatic... but this is growing up, and growing forward. I'm very, very happy, and consider myself incredibly lucky to have such an amazing man at my side. Yay!

-I made it back to London, and am staying with S as I figure out a room. Imight be able to avoid it by staying at the incall, which would be nice in some ways but kinda annoying in others. However, S has been an excellent host, truly lovely, and staying with him has been a treat for sure. It's definitely nice to be centrally located as well!

-H and I had a lovely scene over the weekend- she stayed with me for an overnight and we went to a club called Subversion, which was fun. I dressed as a lamb, she as the Cheshire Cat, and we met a lovely guy there who helped coTop and spanked her til her ass was a delicious shade of red and purple. H is someone I initially played with along with TB, but they fell out fairly soon after he and I did... I don't mind, as having her to myself has been a treat. It's nice to have a cute girl to play with and hang out with, and we get on pretty well.

I'm actually writing this as I'm off on a train to see her in her town, near Swindon, where I've never been. I'm excited to see her on her home turf, see her art in person, snuggle her and add to the bruising. Yum. I'm one lucky girl.

-In the breakup of the situation with TB, H and I decided I had an opening for a straight boy, and proceeded to explore Informed Consent for someone suitably dandyish and sexy. H found me a boy, a very sexy boy who dresses fabulously, is about as close to a flaming gay man as you can get while still having sex with girls, with talented fingers and black rimmed glasses. H, I owe you something incredible, as I think you have found me someone ideal- I couldn't dream up someone better. We met up and got on swimmingly, then I had a playdate with him Sunday. A pile of laundry and a belly full of bacon later, I think we have a winner for sure. I'm easy to please. Mostly. ;) Pillow talk about illnesses led to his nickname for this blog- G for Gout, the illness of libertines.

-I also got to see and snuggle with my favourite client, who is just lovely. Every time I see him I feel recharged, and happy, because he's respectful and kind and thoughtful. Again, I'm a lucky girl, to have these wonderful people in my life in their various capacities.

-And finally, in spite of what could've been a dramatic situation with D, a friend of mine and TB's and a Domme in her own right, we've sorted out our differences and moved on, which is really nice. I've always struggled to have female friends, and to have one as solid and no-bullshit as her really enriches my life.

-Also, can someone please call me poppet?

So, while it hurts, how things with E and things with TB ended... I have, as always, a really good life, and while it'll likely be complicated as I won't be getting the fiance visa after all, Mo has promised to help me make whatever decisions I make a reality as best he can- and with support like this, who needs drama?

I've recently had to hurt two people I care pretty deeply for in the interest of my personal sanity, and cutting the dramatic out of my life as much as I possibly can. I have no doubt in my heart it was the right thing to do, on both counts, but that doesn't make it any easier, really.

First, I got my stuff at last from TB. Standing in his room, looking at him, I realized that either I didn't love him anymore, or that I had shut my love away so deeply that it couldn't surface and hurt me again. All I wanted to do was get away. It rips at me, because TB... well, I loved him passionately, but I don't think we're good for each other, at least not now. We chatted formally, and I tried offering up some small intimacies, but he was closed off. Maybe it's still too soon. I miss him, but I think I miss the TB I knew months ago. I feel guilty- I don't know if I really did break him, or broke him further, or if he came broken. I want to make things right between us. At the same time, I don't think he's healthy for me, and I don't really trust him. I'm still hurt, deep down.

Then, after E twittered about moving out of London in two weeks, I split with him. Yes, we're no longer engaged. I feel awful about it, though I've tried to be flippant, but I really hoped we could make things work. However, he just proved again that he would rather sabotage than try to fix things, and this time I had to let him win and leave. I feel like if I didn't walk he would respect me less, and I was tired of trying to keep up with his moods.

While I know these were two important moves for me as a person, it was still difficult, and I still think I'm unsettled about both situations. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let someone go, I guess...

No, they aren't rose-tinted. They're rather boringly clear, I hate to say, but with anti-reflective lenses, hurray for that!

I look a bit like I'm about to scold someone. Probably myself, god knows why I'm awake at this hour. Well, ok, I also know why. I'm anxious. Anxious about going back to the UK, even just for a couple months. Anxious about money, though I feel fairly confident I'll be ok. Anxious about places to sleep, though I have several at my disposal. As per usual, it'll dissipate as I land, and sort things out. Doing that in person will help immensely. It always does. I'm just a crazy worrywart and a control freak. :) Who would've thought?

As I'm sort of revamping and reordering, I figure I'll post up the list o regular characters for those just beginning to follow along-

Mo- my California statistically significant other and boyfriend
E- hates for me to blog about him, so I won't, but figured he should be mentioned :)
S- was T, but to be in keeping with my mostly Victorian ailments trend, I figured this is more in keeping
C- was my Canadian girlfriend, from our favourite illness, Cholera
H- for my chickadee
J- a geeky friend of mine and C's
TB- originally meant to stand for thingboy- my client-cum-lover-turned-ex

Right! Ok, so that should make it easier to blog properly. And yes, each one is assigned a classic illness... don't ask. Or do, and I'll talk about it. A lot. :)

Anyway. That's more for my head than yours, carry on...

So, a blog entry. I'm flying back to London on the 30th, get there the morning of the 31st. I'm a lucky girl as I have J meeting me at the airport to help me get to S's flat, where I can crash while I sort out what to do from there. S won't be home yet, so I'll have some alone crash out time, which is likely a good plan as I may well be a nightmare. A tired, hungry nightmare.

It'll be interesting to go back to working, since I've been mostly out of commission while here in California. I'm definitely excited for it, and excited for potential playtimes while there... I have a few dates possibly, so that tends to kick start the old libido. The only thing standing in my way is retrieving my toys from TB, but that should go smoothly enough. It's amazing how much I've missed my violet wand, or my canes!

I'm also very excited to see H again after a long time apart. I'm itching to get my hands on her. I got these lovely cuffs that I'm quite thrilled to be using on her pretty wrists... patent leather bows, aww! She'll look precious. So I have things to look forward to- some I can confess, others I must keep secret. ;)

Still, it's scary. I'm sad to leave Mo after getting to a really amazing place with him. That said, one of the things I love about him is that I know he'll be here when I get back. Ours is the longest non-relationship I've ever had, and I'm really pleased and lucky to have him in my life. In some ways I wonder why I'm leaving this wonderful guy I know for this crazy unknown- but then I think, "Kitty, dahling, it's YOU!" and, well, it's true. I do this a lot. I like it. I like proving to myself that I can make shit happen out of nothing if I work hard enough. It keeps me feeling sassy.

It's amazing to me in some ways how easy it is to be out about work here, and also in London. I get a lot of questions, for sure, but it's so worth it, because I get the chance to dispell a lot of myths while still validating the experiences of others. We need more outwardly chatty sex workers, I think. If only we didn't get arrested for it here!

Also, I'm considering starting a zine. Something cheap and easy, like me. Oops, I mean, something cheap and easy that I can put together easily- I was considering my first one to be a client guide thing, the second to be about queering sex work, the third about safer sex tips and stories... I dunno, it's sort of an idea floating around. Yes? No?

It’s been too long since I’ve had a bruise on my body that was sexyfuntimes related, instead of just due to my own clumsiness. I missed the joy I would feel looking at the underside of my breast to discover little black and blue kisses, little reminders of orgasms hard won. I missed the desire that would overwhelm me, the slaps to my face that made me wonder how hard was too hard, the tears that would trickle out of my eyes, unheeded.

Thankfully, my sweetie (let’s call him Mo, after Mono, to go with my illness theme cause, well, I'm weird) here understands all this, and left me with a nice bruise to savor for the next couple of days. And we’re discussing some play that’ll take me closer to the edge

At the same time, I’ve retreated, I suspect, back to being in charge. I’ve noticed my feistiness has tended towards quick bondage and squirming girls under my fingertips, instead of taunting the Beast in a lover, asking it to come out and play. I got lucky tonight, and met up with an old flirting buddy who let me take the edge off, let me take the Beast out for a walk on a leash. Watching him cry and beg made me want to eat him alive, and it was wonderful to remember that I could still feel that way.

I’d say once burned if I hadn’t been burned before, but I have. Maybe it’s a hiatus from the more confusing world of my own surrender, choosing the simpler one where I’m just a girl who likes to get what she wants, likes to provoke a response in the wide eyes and pale skin of a bottom under my grasp. I suspect I’d rather be the freak doing the weird things than being the freak who enjoys those weird things being done. I’m more comfortable with the idea of being a sociopath than a doormat, which, I guess, says a lot about me as a person.

I’ve been pondering what made TB special in terms of switching. Why did I trust him so much more than other sweeties? Not for his experience, for sure, as he was fairly new to these things. Was is sheer enthusiasm? Did I not, actually, trust him that much, and that was what made it sexy? Pheromones? Am I really so shallow as to say “well, he was hot, so I let him do what he liked, and loved it”? Possibly.

Mo, my statistically significant other in California. likes spanking, and anal play, two things I go for, though they both kinda freak me out sometimes. I’ve recently asked him to slap me, and that resonated in me as something I was missing. I guess, in spite of living a life of leisure here, I feel stressed enough that I need the release of a good teary-eyed fuckfest. Having broken down some barriers on the anal play department with TB, I’m eager to try it again, go a bit further. But my libido is still… not dead, but resting? Out of service, sometimes. Not there with me. And I wonder how long that’ll last. Did he break me? Can I fix it? Of course, but I didn’t realize how deeply it all affected me til I had it again, and felt that rush, that tingle. I feel it now, writing this.

I missed it.

Not working hasn’t helped, actually. I didn’t realize how much positive sexy energy I got from sex work. Sometimes I wonder if I’m some sort of succubus, and that’s why the sex is so important to me, that the oomph I get then is what powers me up to want more. When working 2, 3 times a week, I wanted to rush home and play as often as possible. Is it like a muscle? Has my libido atrophied? I mean, I went from 3, 4 times a week, generally a few orgasms a day, to 3 times in the past 2 months. I know, I know, these things come and go… I’d just like it to come back.

Sitting here in the Berkeley hills, hanging out at my grandmother’s house, I feel frustrated. Frustrated because my application for my visa can’t mention what I do for work, or even that I’m employed- why? Because my work is socially stigmatized- it’s more socially acceptable for me to be unemployed than a sex worker. What the fuck.

I’m always trying to explain how I view sex work like any other work, at least for myself. At least I see it like other types of physically/emotionally intimate work, like massage, or being a carer, or a therapist- not everyone’s cut out for it. The only reason sex work is easier to start doing is because there’s no training or certificate to be earned required before getting into it. And you know, that wouldn’t be a terrible idea?

I wonder how you could pull that off, actually, without it being somehow seen as classist. I mean, it could be a free certificate- you go to classes and “graduate” after… maybe a massage one, and a sex work basics one. What would be covered in sex work basics? Safer sex, conflict resolution, negotiating boundaries, taking care of yourself, self defense… possibly another class on sex work economics, or another on sex worker writing/journaling/blogging, basic BDSM, roleplay/acting?

I wonder if that would be beneficial, both for the sex workers, giving them a skill set they might not otherwise have, or even have access to… but also for the clients, if it was a recognized thing. A client could say, “oh, this girl has gotten her cert in safer sex, she’s probably pretty well informed”. It could indicate a measure of care. I mean, it’s like the difference between being a burger griller at a fast food joint and a sous chef at a nice restaurant. Both involve cooking, sure, and both satisfy at different times- but one involves caring enough about the work to study for it, to try to become better and more well-rounded. I don’t know, but I think that would help people respect it as an actual job.

With that said, sex work will never be treated like regular work until we socially treat sexuality as natural, and desire as ok, in its variety. Whether with clients, lovers, or people who spanned the gap, the struggle to accept the desires they held really put a strain on them, on me, and I’m guessing on the lovers they had before and after me. I try to extend my hands and reassure them, tell them it’s ok to experiment with a consenting partner, to be risk-aware but not risk-adverse… but… it’s hard to fight back against years and years of conditioning.

It’s hard to not be broken.

"Patience is a virtue". I can't begin to describe how often I hear this and how much I fight against it, but I know it to be true. It's a virtue I haven't possessed and something I'm constantly struggling to learn. Patience.

Currently I'm waiting on the visa decision for a tourist visa. I want to go back to London to visit my fiance, and due to being refused entry before I decided it was better to go along the government channels and try to do it the Right Way. Let's hope I don't end up $116 poorer for it and no visa! I miss the UK, I miss my sweeties. Fingers crossed it won't be much longer.

Beyond that, it was a month of waiting to talk to TB after our communication broke down completely. Our first discussion was not as scary as I thought it would be, but it's left me wondering what, exactly, I hope to gain from a friendship with him, and if I think we can even maintain friendship. Thankfully we're no longer not speaking, officially, though we're also not talking like we used to. Healing takes time. And patience. Fucking patience!

In the meantime, I'm doing very little in the way of work, though I have one lovely client I'm seeing tomorrow that I look forward to. Most of my time has been spent taking photos, going to parties, and sewing- I made a squid hat for a party and now I'm getting hat commissions, which is exciting for me and gives me something to do with my hands as I wait.

The other thing I'm doing a lot of is self-exploration. I'm spending a lot of time reflecting on who I am and where I want to be, who I want in my life, how I want to support those in mine. I've figured out who I want to spend more quiet time with here in the Bay, which has been really helpful and grounding... I've enjoyed going on some fun and playful dates, and have others planned, which are exciting... and I'm checking in a lot about what it is I need and want to feel like I'm taking care of myself. I spent a month celibate, which was really helpful for grounding myself, and now I've toned way, way down, which is also helping to keep me from falling into old patterns. When I decide I want to change something, I fucking go for it hardcore!

So, in summary... I'm good. Let's hope I get my visa. I miss the way things were with TB, but not enough to invalidate the growth I've made so far. And this patience shit is hard, but man, if I can do it, wonderful things await on the other side.

Calico, as usual, says things that not only turn me on immensely but also speak to me and inspire me to say more... this time, it was her post on deepthroating:

"I love challenging sex, like deepthroating and facefucking, because my partner and I need to be incredibly tuned in to each other’s bodies. Often we can read the other better than ourselves. I don’t realize I’m on the edge of gagging until he lifts his hips, feeling me tense, and I grab a needed breath. And when I realize from the trembling in his thighs that he is going to come, I can swallow him deeper for that one last thrust.

When I welcome a cock into my throat, it’s because I can’t get him close enough. Sometimes when we’re fucking and he’s inched into my cunt, pushing as far as he can go, I can press down on my abdomen and feel the shape of him. That’s a close second. He’s incorporated, a part rather than a visitor, like a new and necessary bone graft.

The vocabulary breaks down — it’s not enough to fuck. I want to subsume him."

Intimacy. Communicating so well you don't have to speak, it's all said in the eyes, the way you rise to a lover's fingertips or pull ever so slightly away. Moving, even for a little while, as one being. It sounds like hippie shit, but when you've been there, you know exactly what I mean. The feeling of just fitting, or things just being right.

I've been accused on more than one occasion, by more than one lover, of finding my intimacy within sex, depending on physical touch for my emotional connection. I've protested, said I find it other places too, etc, but... yeah. It's true. I think because, in sex, there's a purity to body language, and either you *know* each other or you don't. You don't *have* to have that unspoken bond to have great sex, mind... but man oh man, when you are so lucky as to just KNOW he'll let you breathe right before you safeword, if you can just... give... it... one... more... minute... it's ever more intense for me.

This intimacy isn't about the deepthroating or the fucking, though. It can be all sorts of moments- breathplay, tight bondage, an edgy roleplay or, as I discovered, even the strangely tender act of having your urine wiped from your labia for you so you don't have to be untied to pee... it's those moments where unspoken touch says endless volumes. And I don't know, I trust the language of the body more than anything said aloud. "Actions speak louder than words", indeed.

When I was reading "Watching the English", Kate Fox mentions that, in the act of sex, British people can let go for a while of their constraint- for a little while they are free to truly be themselves, outside of the social rules and norms or class and flirting rules and whatnot. Maybe that's why I clung to it as a way to reconnect, though that's certainly not exclusive to the Brits- makeup sex has a long tradition after all. I feel like, in the act of sex or play, I truly SEE the other person, they're vulnerable and raw and naked in a way that has nothing to do with their clothes. And I trust and respect that raw, unpeeled nugget on the inside of a person more than the armored outsides.

Maybe they feel frustrated because they feel how could I get that intimacy from them when they hadn't said anything. They don't have to, though- I can sense it in the way their fingertips graze my skin, the way our eyes meet and hold, the pressure of lips against lips. It's why I'm good at my job, though the sparks tend to go one way- I can read them, but keep myself collected and cool. But with a partner, there's an electricity that connects us in those moments that's next to impossible to replicate elsewhere.

Maybe that's why when I find a lover I communicate in that way with, someone who dances intimacy the way I do, it's so, so hard to let them go. It's a rare thing to find.

Hello, I'm Kitty. It's been 3 weeks since my last session.

But I finally had one, last Friday.

I had been unsure, going into it- even driving in the car, I kept feeling like maybe I should turn back, maybe I wasn't ready. I've spent the last few weeks here celibate, and not doing much more than snuggle or kiss- even my dates have been cautiously planned to be public affairs that will prevent too much physical intimacy, in case I faltered. I wasn't sure if the first kinky thing I did here should be a session, but I was also not going to turn away the only work I've had here since I got back. On the road, having decided to go, I made the mistake of listening to the mix cds I made to help me process and let go of TB, something I'm still in the midst of struggling with and something that gets only a little easier each day. Never mind this was pre-Valentine's Day, and the various pangs related to all that!

By the time I pulled up, I was awhirl with emotions. I swallowed my worries and grabbed my bag, headed into the hotel with my client.

And it was fantastic.

I was really glad to have gone, actually. It wasn't a complicated scene, by any means, but it was just the sort of teasing playful fun I apparently needed. I left the room feeling chipper, not to mention having enough money to pay for therapy, which I had decided that afternoon was high on my list of presents to myself. He was a peach, and really fun to bounce off of. I found myself looking forward to seeing him again- and as he was from the UK, we talked about possibly hooking up there, as well.

In a way, it underlined how much I really enjoyed the play I was getting in the UK, and the play I wanted to do when I got back. There's some pain wrapped up in that, as I'm always uncertain how things will be when I go away and come back. But I regained my confidence, as a Top, as a sexual being, as a femme and as an independent person. I woke up the next day feeling like myself again. And it was the first time I woke up to a dry pillow and no dreams.

This healing process is hard shit. But as I spend time reflecting and rejuvenating, I have to say, I feel more and more solid about who I am, and can separate where I fucked up and where I didn't. I feel like I have the courage to hurt, but also to heal. And it reminded me that I was still the powerful, fun, sexy woman my clients and play partners enjoy... which is ultimately the best Valentine's Day present anyone can receive.

So, a shout out, though I doubt he even knows this blog exists- thank you, Friday 13th. You gave me a service I needed without either of us even realizing. I'm grateful.

It's been a while since I've blogged consistently here. It's been a period of change, hardcore- personal development on speed, mostly, relationship processing and reprocessing, acclimating to the Bay Area and the ridiculousness to be had here... and really internalizing that while communicating and doing hard work on yourself is important, it's also important to let go and have fun, because therein lies change and development too. Like this sock puppet party- photo courtesy Matt G.

It's interesting to be back when most of my friends are coupled up, living together, getting married, having kids. As far as relationships are concerned here, I'm pretty single, which is actually a kinda nice place to be. There's no one I can assume I'll be seeing on Valentine's Day, no one I'll see every weekend- it's all open, for me to go out or stay in as I see fit. Lots of personal time. People will be shocked to know I've been sticking to my guns and being celibate for the last two weeks- yup, it CAN happen! And I'm enjoying snuggles and hugs more because of the lack of expectation.

I'm excited for my return to the UK- I want to go back to work, and I miss my friends and play partners back there. Setting up plans to be with my fiance, making plans for some fun playful scenes with the chickadee, and I'm planning to set up a party with T that will challenge the British "stiff upper lip" bullshit, we'll see how that goes. It's all radio silence with TB for the time being, but hey, there's plenty more fish in the sea if we run out of men. Either it'll sort itself or it won't. And I mean, I miss my clients, I miss doing what I love. i miss being somewhat respected. Here... well... it's just not the same. The work is crap. The clients are dicks.

Oh, England. I'm coming back. I miss you. SF is cool, but... we're just not meant to be, y'know?