Fuck the Swedish Model.

By that, btw, I don't mean these delightful chickadees from First Time Tied, a Swedish Bondage site (though they are lovely, awwww! so precious).

I mean the laws around prostitution that are continually tossed around here in the UK as the ideal we should be working towards. Every time a politician talks about whoring, it's about the Swedish Model, and how well it's working. Mmmk. Having spoken to Swedes about it, it's NOT working, not at all.

"Anyone who for remuneration procures a temporary sexual relationship will be guilty – if their action is not punishable by some other offense according to the penal code – of purchasing sexual services, and will be sentenced to fines or prison for not more than six months."- translation of the law from here, which is a good run down and, well, I don't want to reiterate- just check it out :)

Reading through a lot of the discussions around the Swedish Model, I can't believe we're even having this argument still, to be honest. How can the Poppy Project support the Swedish Model when, in Sweden, the prostitutes that are suffering the worst consequences are the illegal immigrants? The trafficked women the Poppy Project is supposed to be helping? It blows my mind.

Again and again, these discussions seem to ignore the problems with vague language. As an American, I am perhaps excessively sensitive to vague language. Our politicians often make a lot of noise about "change" or "patriotism" without ever really going into detail about what that means to them. There's a reason for this. It's easy to work people up when you use these words, but harder when you specify. It becomes easier for your opponent to rip into your argument if you use specific language. Also, it becomes more obvious how educated you are about your topic- one of the reasons I despair in US politics, as neither has proven to me, when they say they have a plan, what that concretely MEANS.

So when I hear stuff like "remuneration", I want to know what, exactly, that covers. Cases in Sweden have apparently covered non-monetary things like drugs or furs- so what about trips, education costs (oh, the number of sex workers out in SF looking for "financial aid"... thanks, America) or fancy dinners? Expensive shoes? Purses?

"Temporary sexual relationship"? Ok, every single word in this is actually very vague. How long is temporary? If you have a regular john, is that ok, then? Sexual in what way? Is BDSM sexual enough to be arrested for? Foot fetishism? Phone sex? And relationship... wow, I mean, I get into these discussions about what "relationship" means to my sweeties and I ALL THE FUCKING TIME, and that's socially! Imagine then how confusing it must be to define it thoroughly enough to make legal judgements?

See how this gets murky?

Never mind the fact that I can tell you, as a woman who, I guess, is technically a migrant sex worker- I've worked in the US, where buying AND selling sex is illegal. Let's set aside for a moment the discussion of privilage and ethnicity- I acknowledge that I am middle class, white, comfortable in my body as female, and, in California anyway, legal to do other forms of work. So let's not bicker about all that, and just compare for a moment the difference in experience for such a woman in San Francisco, where prostitution is illegal, and London, where it's legal under certain circumstances.

The clients I had in California treated me differently. I had to be on my guard a lot more often. I worked out of a hot tub establishment because it was what I could afford, rent-wise, and I felt better having guys around who knew what I was up to and would come help me if something went wrong. I could not call the police. I couldn't fully give consent to a client because I couldn't be explicit or communicate fully without fear that the "client" was actually a policeman ready to arrest me. There was no SMS messaging system to check up on me. And the clients... well, most of them were respectful, but the kindest among them pitied me, and the worst among them stalked and threatened to kill me. Keep in mind, when, as a prostitute, you fear the police, you are put in an incredibly vulnerable position. The police, time and time again, have proven to be the cruelest victimizer of prostitutes and other sex workers. The Swedish Model means that mostly the assholes will continue to be clients. Say what you will about the ideals you have for it, that's the reality. That's why I work here.

See, in the UK, I have, not one, but multiple groups I can contact for legal, medical, and emotional help. I can explicitly spell out on my site and in emails and phone calls what I will and will not do, which prevents ugly debates in person. I can call the police for help. I can report a rape and have it... well, more respected, anyway, than in the States, where I would be laughed at and sent home without being given the opportunity to report, because I'm a sex worker. I mean, hell, there's a Union, even, which, if given enough power/respect/political oomph could very likely offer up some ways to help trafficking victims AND sex workers who have come into the profession willingly.

Anyway. I have to somehow make this into a better, more academic-sounding submission to the F-Word. Probably means less cussing. But for you guys, that's my initial thoughts about the Swedish Model. Maybe it looks pretty on the outside, but... no substance.

Looking back over my writing from the past 5 years I am astounded at some of the things I articulated. Some of them hold true, even now, though I'm no longer depressed enough to write poetry like I used to. There are snippets I can smile at, here and there, and I just think "oh, yes..."

Things like "for I have no mercy to offer you ".

It was like that two nights ago. I was tipsy, which is generally not the place where I start a scene but I was feeling in the groove and I had my safety scissors on me so I felt comfortable that I could take care of things. Which is ultimately a long way of saying "I wanted to do it anyway, so I did".

I had savored a drink called the "Special Agent Cooper", a mix of espresso and cherry liquor that made me both awake and slow, a predatory combination. In the restaurant I kept wanting to reach across the table and slap his face for no reason. Just because it was mine to do with what I wanted, and isn't that reason enough, really? I had been masturbating to the thought of what I wanted to do for a couple of days so I felt prepared, mostly. I had brought cuffs, and a flogger, and a paddle, and some rope, along with a bit gag. I anticipated he might want to make some noise.

We went to Harmony to pick up some new smut for me; I dragged it out a bit to take the edge off the alcohol so I wouldn't have to wait when we got back to his. I got a book of vintage lesbian erotica on the premise that it was less tame, generally, back then- I prefer Anais Nin to most of the current "women's erotica" out there today. I like my smut filthy, preferably with a lot of dirty talk, and I was bored with what I had. Not that I had been using those books for a few days...

He had told me a few days before that he felt he could take some pain for me. This is what I thought about when my fingers slipped into my panties on any given day... his face, tear stained, a gag in his mouth, his ass red and burning. The "for me" was the part I really liked- that he wasn't into it, but he would take it because I wanted him to. That I found it erotic and therefore he would let me.

That wasn't enough, though, ultimately. I wanted to play with his ass, too. I wanted to tie him up and yank him around, beat him and cover him in hot wax and kiss his lips as they clenched around a bit. I wanted him trussed up in leather. He was beautiful, that way, though he's very pretty anyway.

I ended up marking him, accidentally, when I bit the chest ropes and got his flesh entangled. I apologized but couldn't help myself caressing the reddened bruise. He saw the delight in my eyes and slapped me, playfully, but also warningly- his hands were free at that point, an hour or so later. The bed was covered in wax, and I was wetter than I had ever been.

If I had ever felt unsure about whether or not I was a sadist, the fact that he could slip his fist inside me with minimal struggle after maybe 10 minutes of fingering should indicate that. I couldn't tell if the pain when he pushed in was bad or good, which usually means good. I felt like I had exploded into a sticky, bloody, leathery, waxy mess, and I was puddling on the floor. It was incredible.

Mercy. Who wants mercy in bed? Suffering tastes so, so good.

Again and again I am amazed at how hard it must be to be a punter and admit your pervs to a complete stranger. I mean, in some ways, maybe it's way easier, because you never have to meet them and you never have to see their look of horror... but in other ways I feel flattered that people come to me to try stuff that they're worried will squick me out. Maybe if any of my readers are clients they could say something about how it feels to ask for what you want during a session, or before a session? Do you fear rejection, or do you just not personalize it and move on?

Anyway, it reminds me of something I read about a butch female gigalo, and how hir card said "All kinks respected, most catered for". I like that. That's how I try to be.

Adult babies are one of those things that don't honestly do anything for me but I will defend to the death the right for them to enjoy themselves in the kink world. I tried being a Mommy once and it was probably more of a squick to me a mothering figure than that he was a baby. I would give it a go again as a Daddy, possibly, but the Mommy gig is so not mine. I have the mothering instinct of something that eats its young.

However, I was on one of the forums I spend a fair bit of time on when someone asked a question about adult babies. This wasn't a kink forum, this was an escort forum, and therefore some people are familiar with various expressions of kink and others are not. So far I've spoken up for sadists not being rapist/murderers and people into spit not being fucked in the head, along with other altsex things. I'm probably the kinkiest person on the site that actually posts. Possibly in part because the other girls can be really scathing about fetishes they don't get.

I get really scared for the future when even the hookers would rather spend time pointing the finger at each other and saying "YOU'RE the fucked up one" rather than focusing that energy on politics. There were three girls who said how adult babies = paedophilia, and one even suggested that the post be removed from the board for being inappropriate. The post in question (one about a client into AB, and should she bring up the suggestion of playmates) was clear, to most of us anyway, about it being adult babies. One of the girls insulted the poster. None of them actually addressed the question.

I got frustrated. Even among the closest thing to "my people" (the sex workers), I feel I have to speak out to protect my other "people", the kinky community. I have a book about escorting that implies that domination is something to be looked at with a hint of distaste. Apparently being actually into being on top is something that really does set me apart from other pros. And as I'm sort of the kinkster of the forum, I keep feeling like I have to say something. Because when even the sex outcasts are squabbling about what this kink means or doesn't mean, how can we, as kinky people or as sex workers, ever hope to overturn horrible, invasive politics like the extreme porn ban that makes photos of piercing or fisting illegal, or encourage positive things like New England Leather Alliance's educating police officers about the difference between consensual BDSM and abuse? Never mind all the usual stuff about two girls working in the same place!

Anyway. This is what I wrote, I wanted to keep it on here as reference.

"First off:

It's a mental illness/disorder fetish-wise or alt-sex-wise IF and ONLY if it affects their day to day life in a negative/harmful way. This is true for all fetishes across the board- crossdressing, sadism, latex, etc. That's what any psychologist worth their salt will say as that's what it says in the DSM.

Secondly:

Needles aren't everyone's thing, but no one's saying (to my face, anyway) that I'm sick and need help cause I'm into them. Needles are not inherently sexual for me, but I would count them in the realm of my sexuality anyway, because they're part of BDSM. Just because I enjoy needleplay doesn't mean I have the urge to run around stabbing people with needles. Just because you might like cunnilingus, doesn't mean you plan on plopping your pussy on the face of any random passerby, yeah? We all have self control.

Maybe adult baby isn't your thing. That's ok, you don't have to do it, right? I don't see how having a fetish to role play being a baby means you're a paedophile, or that you've suddenly lost the capacity to control yourself elsewhere. That's a logical fallacy (fallacy of composition, I believe, though I need to look it up), and a hugely dangerous one.

Why is it dangerous? Well, it's all about language. Elsewhere on the boards I said something about how using the word sadistic to cover every murder that's cross-gender means it changes the meaning of the word. Now, if I say I'm a sadist, people will consciously or unconsciously connect that to murderers and rapists. That's the power of language. However, again, there are murderers and rapists who would not be diagnosed as sadists, and there are sadists like me who would never dream of doing anything nonconsensually- a is not equal to b.

Back to adult babies. Even in the cases where adult babies and adult kids get together to play with each other, it's not inherently a sexual thing. It's a return to innocence. It's freedom from responsibility. It's feeling taken care of. And I'll say, while professionally most of the clients asking for adult baby are het men, in SF most of the adult babies and adult kids I know are women, by a LONG shot. And yes, they have play dates together. In fact, the adult babies I know are very aware of their surroundings and what others might think-

"My Daddy and i went to the playground this morning. It was a little earlier than we thought all the real babies would be out so i dressed up. Daddy put me in Bambinos and a school girl outfit. I just didn't want to be in baby clothes in case someone brought their real little kids. And since it's easy for me to pass for 12 (more than acceptable to still be on the playground) i figured a school outfit would be good. I also brought my new bear Pineapple which Miss Katie bought me. I love pineapple. He went on all slides with me and on the swings. Good thing no one else was on the playground because you could easily see i was wearing a diaper when i was on the swings and on the slides."- from Diapered Kitten

Not only is there no interest in children, there's a fear of being AROUND children!

As for would you leave your child in the room with an adult baby... well, would you leave them in a room with a strange adult man, regardless of what he was into or wearing..? Again, it's a logical fallacy (confusing correlation and causation, this time?)- I would argue that most of you wouldn't leave your kid alone with a strange man, even taking sexuality out of the equation entirely! And even if you put it back into the equation- I think you'd feel just as iffy about leaving your kid in the same room while you gave a blow job or someone crossdressed. It's not the adult baby thing as much as whether you think your child should be around sexuality in general.

Linzi, Sexy Hannah... I understand it squicks you and it's not your thing. But it's not true, fair, or even respectful to turn around and say that those of us who HAVE engaged in this don't know what we're talking about when we say it's not a sexual thing. It's like Harriet Harman telling us that she knows all about sex work cause she met a streetwalker once, or read a paper on it. Not that I would suggest Harman go into sex work ::laughs:: she'd do pretty poorly, but I do think that people who have done this sort of thing and explored/studied it are in more of a position to say what it's about than someone making a value judgment.

And what I REALLY don't want to see happen is this board become a place to bash people with fetishes that they keep between consenting adults. Not your thing, that's ok, but is there really a need to therefore insult people into it?

(logical fallacies info)"

Passive-aggressive notes. I love to hate on them, and they often make me laugh. There was recently a post that had to do with brothels and such, which I wanted to link to. Taste the bittersweetness that are passive-aggressive notes!

This photo is apparently from the good old Soho area of London, so I guess I need to poke around now and see if I can find it.

The blog itself makes me laugh. I promise TB that the note on your door is a mild version. Check it out. You'll laugh so hard you cry.

disclaimer- I am a woman. I talk about my menses. If you have a problem with women's menses, well, you should probably go gay, because WTF, we have to smell your balls.

::ahem::

Dating Mr Primary, I ended up with this habit called "the sex towel".

The sex towel is a lovely invention. Whenever I get fisted, or have my period, or just in case things get messy, we take out the sex towel. It's pink, covered in bits of hair dye, and possibly one of the most beloved things I have. Every time the sex towel comes out, I know I'm in for a treat. It allows me the chance to let go and not worry about the sheets.

I've spread this to other lovers, including TB. We do not, yet, have a designated towel, but we did make use of one around his flat because I'm bleeding and I really love orgasms when I'm bleeding. I feel a little tender, extra sensitive to being touched and horny as all hell. I also get possessed by this desire to paint my lovers with blood, probably because I'm slightly insane, possibly because it's mine and it's a way to mark them without hurting them. I usually resist because, wow, unsafe sex, but it's one of those little fantasies I have.

I got to be the bottom, mostly, thanks to a win at air hockey where I decided we should play for forfeits. It was suprisingly intense- I was bound, my head effectively hooded, while TB played with the new anal toys he got (for HIM, may I add, not that I minded in the least). I was a little concerned that I was passing in and out of the here-and-now, because sometimes anal play leads to unhappy flashbacks, but I enjoyed it enough to stick it through and it didn't go into the scarier places. Little by little, I get closer to healing those wounds. I got some much-needed snuggles. And, right when I was feeling pouty that my pussy was being left out of it, he made me cum, over and over again. Thanks, sex towel!

However, I obviously need to step it up as a top. I'm slipping- Thursday night we were both stubbornly not getting out of bed for water, because neither of us wanted to cave in. An hour or something later, and I was up for the water. And I didn't just get some for myself. I'm a bad sadist. Ah well. I can make up for it Sunday, when he's going to be a table for us. :)

Tonight I think I'll go to Klub Fukk, the queer sex party. I doubt I'll play much, thanks to the bleeding, but I think I'll enjoy the energy there and maybe I'll get to pimp out my girlfriend. It'll hype me up for High Tea tomorrow. Maybe I'll watch some Dexter, someone else who can appreciate playing with blood.

I'm trying for find a flat for 3 months, November to February.

I'd like it to be in zone 1-3. Double bed. Easy access to tube, or at least buses to central London. Warmish. Mixed gender or male. Under 600 quid a month, bills included.

But this appears to be really difficult. :/

I'm getting concerned I won't be able to find a place, which would be a real problem. I mean, I need to have this sorted soonish! I guess it's a bit early to panic (hah, it's never too early) as I don't need it til Nov 13th really, but....

I've tried moveflat.com and gumtree, but I get a lot of scams, not actual flats. Argh! I hope this doesn't lead to me havingto go back early...

Ok, guys, look. I understand you want a Girlfriend Experience. I understand that you want to suspend disbelief for an hour or two when you come to see me. I even understand that you *want* me to cum during our session (though I do try to clarify with you that I'll be honest, and that may or may not happen).

But one thing that is definitely Not Ok is for you to feel that you can then give me the Boyfriend Experience. You cannot skimp on showering. You cannot ask me for unprotected sexual play. You can't change the negotiations around after you've shown up. You definitely cannot schedule an appointment and think it's acceptable for you to not call and not show up. I'm not booking you as a boyfriend, where I might tolerate some of these things sometimes (don't get ideas, Mr Primary or TB- though to be fair you're both excellent) . You are, ultimately, a client. And I'm a professional.

One thing that really drives me crazy about being a sex worker is that my time is somehow considered less valuable than the time of the people I work with. For any other job, a deposit would be expected for the time being set aside- in fact, there would likely be a cancellation fee if you couldn't make it. But in sex work, if you ask for that you're looked at with suspicion, like you'll run off with the money. Some girls might, I'm sure. But in exchange, I end up booking appointments and, well, respecting them. I don't double book. So when he doesn't call and doesn't show, I've wasted time I could've spent with someone who would actually treat me like a professional.

I say treat me like a professional because the temptation is to say treat me with respect. TB pointed out however that by saying that, I'm taking it personally, and in order for this job to not take its toll I can't personalize the cancellations. Shit happens, but ultimately they're going to treat me like a professional or they won't, and I should be responding to them in that way. He's right when he says I let myself get sucked in.

I've asked around and taking deposits is possible but will definitely turn a lot more men off. I don't know if that's a good idea. My girlfriend suggested I take booking deposits to guarantee availability... but again, I think in the world of sex work guys just would refuse. Which pisses me off. See, if people saw this as a JOB then it would be ok, but because it's apparently a hobby or something else, it's harder to demand guarantees. Argh!

Anyway, I'm ranting because yesterday was initially a wash. It got better. And the next day looks good too. It's just one of those things that may eventually make me want to stop working. I want some sort of stability.

There are little ways he turns me on more than anything.

Like when we spent a good hour or so giggling at the most random things, like the creaking of the sign outside his flat, and as we wiped tears from our eyes I complained that now how would I get the fucking I wanted? and he said I could wake him up in the middle of the night.

I could. I've even done it before. And he's happy to interrupt his sleep, to stroke me the way I want while his sleepy lips meet mine- or at least, if he isn't, he hasn't said anything against it yet. I love the feeling as he begins to wake up more and more, the feel of his cock, hard, pressing against my thigh. Sometimes I wish I had a cock so I could express that desire that succinctly. Instead I wrap my legs around his, press myself against his thigh, let my fingers twine in his hair before pulling him to me with it.

Or how, afterwards, when it's cold and I want tea but I don't want to get out of bed, he'll go to the kettle, naked, and make it happen. For me. How I only told him once how I like it, and he remembers.

Sometimes, it's too much. I feel like the Beast is clawing to come out and I'm not sure if I can keep her at bay, or if I even want to. And what makes it all more edgy (and more exciting) is that as my Beast advances, he dances back, urging me on. I think he enjoys playing with fire, as long as we think we can put it out. He's not like normal prey, scared, or hiding- rather, he's loping away, looking over his shoulder as if to say "bet you can't catch me". He's daring me. And that turns me on incredibly and completely.

While we don't use collars in our play often, I find myself touching him in public, almost to remind myself he's really there. I rest my hand on the small of his back and it's all I can do not to grab him to me. It makes time spent not playing into foreplay.

I had begun to feel so jaded and underwhelmed by kink... and he comes along and makes it fresh again. I swear I keep looking over my soft limits (and his) for what to break next.

Oh, San Francisco.
Sometimes I'll see some photos of something awesome (like the Prim Queer Tea (where "modesty is the new kink!", in the middle of the Folsom Street Fair, thanks to the lovely Nifer, Slim and Colin) and I'll actually miss it again. Not enough, mind, but a little... yeah, Dickens Faire is lovely, but I'm in London where I can imagine it for real! (BTW- Christmas is coming, and I'd love a NifNaks squid flash drive or a Dali moustache... just sayin'..)

I bought my tickets from Boston to London and then from London to SF. And it's exciting (as well as a relief to have it done). But I'm expanding and developing here, and in some ways I think I'm doing it faster than I would be in SF. It's very easy to be distracted there by all the things going on- here, I tend to take it easy, going to only a couple of things a week, while there I'd want to go to everything. Generally I plan, schedule, and set things up so that I'm not flooded with things to do.

However, with all that said- I was pleased to get to go to a little shindig at Midori's, where I proceeded to feel like "omg am I cool enough for these people??" However, I did NOT fall over in my heels (score!) and I actually spoke to people I didn't know. A lot of them, in fact. I ended up really enjoying myself (though I drank a bit more than usual- anxiety = fidgiting = drinking) and feeling comfortable. It was... nice. And one of those experienced where I push myself out of my bubble of comfort and am ok afterwards, which is always inspiring and makes me exceedingly proud of myself.

That's one thing I really miss about SF. Almost all the people I read, who inspired me growing up, live there- Pat Califia, Carol Queen, Annie Sprinkle, Chanta Rose, Dossie Easton, Janet Hardy, Jay Wiseman. The other ones- Cecilia Tan and John Warren- are from the state where I grew up, Massachusetts. And it's both incredibly inspiring and absolutely intimidating to be out in a scene where these people (my idols, in a way) MIGHT SHOW UP. I feel totally freaked out attempting rope bondage around people who are professional riggers, for example! But at the same time, watching them at play can inspire me later on (in the privacy of my house, where no one can see me) and help me add new things to my play I might not have otherwise considered. I remember how awed I was when Annie signed my g-string, or Carol came to my community college class. I still feel like I'm going to faint when I speak to Midori!

I guess I love how in SF it's very DIY about sexuality and stuff, and if you do something interesting you might get these people who were your guiding lights to show up. However, because there's so much going on there, it can all fade into the background- you tend to compete. Here in London, I can air all my crazy ideas (like a sex worker munch, or the Ladies High Tea and Porn) and there's NOTHING like it yet. I feel like I can actually do something awesome and good. I feel like I can be inspirational, and give back in some way. And it's a fantastic feeling.

So yeah. SF, I miss you, but London and I aren't through yet!

First, I would like to show you guys a cute video... it's a group called Carrotmob and their way of promoting energy efficiency in local businesses. I'd embed it but that doesn't seem to work...

Anyway. Watch it. It's one of those types of videos that makes you say "wow! So I can use my consumerism to actually affect change in the ways I want to see, and it can be THAT EASY... why not?"

So I think I might try to lay down the foundation to get people going on it here in London. I don't see why we couldn't do it, right? Pubs and local shops seem like a perfect first possibility.

And then I thought about it further. Ok, if it works for environmental stuff...

...what if we tried to do that with sex work?

Like, if you're in the union, you get a special union stamp to put on your site, so guys could choose to go with a union-protected sex worker if they wanted to. We could advertise that as a selling point, even! Or go around to strip clubs with a bunch of guys and say "look, if you promise the most in the way of wages and fair dealings with your workers, we will frequent your establishment more than any other, or perhaps eve exclusively". Could we make a difference?

In the current atmosphere of sex trafficking and attempts to criminalize punters, this might be a solution. If punters said "yes, I care about the well-being of the hookers I see- I choose union girls", then what we could accomplish as a group has the potential to be remarkable for the well being of the girls. Possibilities could include adding 10 quid, maybe, to our rates, that could be donated towards paying the union fees for other girls, or towards well-being workshops or something. (Just to state, there are male sex workers as well, and I think we could band together for this). Like in SF, a lot of people I know will go to the Lusty Lady but not the other strip clubs/peep shows, because the Lusty is union and a co-op (has great stage tips as well- check them out!). How can you not love a place that describes the girls as "like a Noah’s Ark of feminine archetypes"?? Ahem. Anyway. :)

I think people do care about this stuff in the sex work profession- in fact, a fair few of my clients look concerned for me when they see my bruises from my personal play at home. I just laugh and say "don't worry, it was all consensual" before pressing their faces into them for kissing. They seem to feel better about it then! But that leads me to think that these guys do want to make sure I'm doing this because I WANT to, not because I HAVE to. Having something like a union to back me up might be another indicator of my full consent and participation in the work I do. I'm not sure. Any punters out there who might be willing to say if they'd feel better seeing a girl who was union and taken care of?

I'm sure there will be a part 2 to this post eventually- capitalism and sex work is a huge thing- but this should be a good place to open the discussion up.