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Girlfriend Experiences

When men ask for a girlfriend experience, they mean they want to snuggle a bit, french kiss, and talk like lovers. I hope that when they ask for it, they get the intimacy they're hoping for, and not just some playacting (I'm thinking "But I'm a Cheerleader"'s makeout scene with her boyfriend as she rolls her eyes).

I like to think I am a girlfriend experience.

Maybe it's because I'm a slut, but I manage to create instant chemistry with most people pretty easily. I find myself enjoying our kisses, stroking their chest as I do my male lovers, chatting about the things I find around our outcall location, the little hints I get as to what sort of guy they are. I've chatted about computers, model cars, traveling, the arts, politics... all sorts of things. I divulge personal information easily, because I don't have secrets. I'm great at creating rapport. And often we get so lost in chatting that the erotic massage or the assfucking becomes secondary to the excellent time we have just getting to know each other.

I know a lot of workers dislike the intimacy their clients desire. I can understand why. I think it's valid, too. But for me (maybe cause of my 4 years in SF?) hugging and chatting about deep personal things with almost-strangers is second nature. I've heard all sorts of secrets and confessions- I'd like to think I've healed a few hurts, as well, and imparted some communication skills. I really, really enjoy it. I love the connection, the laughing at the same jokes, the intensity of a political debate with someone who matches my mind. I love it when our eyes light up and we're animated with discussion. It makes the kissing better, just as it does with lovers, casual or not.

And, interestingly... I'm often just a little hurt if I never hear from them again, especially if I thought we clicked. I know guys go to different women, and variety is the spice of life. I guess in a way, I just connect a bit too well. Sometimes I'll think back to someone and wonder what he's up to now, if he ever sorted out that thing or ever told his wife about that fantasy. I miss them, for a moment.

But, unlike a real scorned girlfriend, I don't call them at all hours, or hold their clothes hostage. ::laughs::

Just some musings brought up from my last few experiences in the world of sex work. And, perhaps, a little message to those guys, who may even now be reading my blog.

You might be punters, but I still genuinely care about you. No, we wouldn't date. Yes, it's a professional arrangement. But I do, truly, enjoy your company. It can be just as satisfying to me. I hope you know that.

Categories: client, gfe, musing, personal

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clothed on the outside, raw on the inside

I'd like to specifically draw people's attention to this blog post of Calico's which brought a tear to my eye in its sincerity and truth. It reminds me of similar posts by Bitchy Jones.

When I Domme for fun, it's different. I know the girl I have tied up, mostly. I know her well enough to have a general idea of what I can do to her, what I can show her. And, so far, I haven't played with a partner too heavily, too intensely since my really, really unhealthy Domme/sub relationship when I was 20. My exploits as a Domme have been, for the most part, on the lighter side, the playfully wicked side. And I know why.

I worry that I'll get too deep in Top space, and I'll tear them apart.

I suspect actually that this is why I decided to be submissive for so long. It was safer for me when I was the one bound and crying. I didn't want to look in the mirror and see myself glowing with sex while my submissive bled and screamed and wept. I'd rather be the submissive, and avoid that dark side to me entirely.

I couldn't keep it up forever, though. I wanted to be in charge, wanted to slap lovers in the face and grab them by the hair for a deep kiss. I knew I had changed. And I decided to Domme professionally, because in some ways it allows me to try lots of different things before bringing them home to my lovers.

And now, sometimes, I'll have a submissive client who will touch that Beast inside me in some way. They'll move their head just so, and expose pale neck, and it's all I can do not to grab something sharp in one hand and their hair in another. They'll look up at me in a way that speaks to me, that says "yes, you may do as you will" and yet I know they aren't really saying that, I can't, I just can't. What I will is probably not safe or sane, even if it's consensual. And I can't even guarantee the Beast wants consent.

Sometimes I think I'm harboring a monster behind these brown eyes and black rimmed glasses. I'm a feminist! I support human rights! I'm a volunteer for charity! So what went wrong, really, I ask myself as I wank off to stuff even I find embarrassing, even I hide away so no one will see.

I don't do this to my partners because they want to give up control. They want to trust me. I'm afraid of that trust, afraid of what I might do if given the chance. With a client, they're ultimately still in control, and in some way the exchange of money helps me keep the Beast under control, knowing I'm acting within well-discussed perimeters. There's a script, spoken or unspoken, and there's no room in that script for a predator.

I'm young yet, and can hope it'll sort itself out in the coming years.

"I am turned on by his suffering, but also soft and lost," says Bitchy Jones in the post I referenced above. I know that feeling. And I go home, afterwards, sometimes shaky, feeling like I'm a step away from being a serial killer or some crazy hellcat. And I feel reluctant to ask to be held, because it's a professional gig, it shouldn't really affect me like this. It would detract from the fantasy to ask for a hug, though I sometimes do anyway.

Sometimes I feel ashamed, even doing what they asked, because I enjoyed it almost too much. Like Monday- I had a client who wanted to drink my urine, and I had never done it, and decided, sure, why not. But while it was happening I wanted to grab his hair and cover his face and the floor with it, mark him, get it on his clothes and skin and make him lick it up. And I felt horrified, like, what got into me?

I am almost always completely clothed during sessions. Very little of me is exposed, skin-wise, yet I feel so unbearably naked and raw.

It's easier when I don't get into the fantasy. When I do, I find myself just as dizzy as my client, drifting in space. Except I anchor him home, and he leaves for his normal life... while I keep drifting, and dream of blood and violence.

Categories: bdsm, personal, sadism or serial killer

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the idea that no one would willingly do sex work

A friend of mine (vaguely, really, more a cute boy I flirted with often) is going to the Continent in 6 days. He was asking where he should go, and I recommended Krakow and Amsterdam, places he had listed as places he'd like to check out. I mentioned that Amsterdam is trying to buy up the real estate (with public funds, mind) and shut down the windows so they can have high couture boutiques instead. Because of this, it's best to go there ASAP to check out the windows while they're still around, and because Amsterdam is fun, and beautiful (great for bike riding, incidentally, especially along the canals!)

In response, someone else said "You think women prostituting themselves is beautiful? Awwww!"

I felt angered at this response. As a sex worker myself, I get sick and tired of people acting like I someone don't have agency, or that I didn't choose to do this work. Yeah, ok, if I could get paid to, say, eat cookies and read books, I'd do that instead, sure, who wouldn't? But considering it's sex work or baby care/housecleaning, I'll do sex work hands down. I'd rather do sex work than work retail, too. In fact, I doubt I'll give it up completely even if I become a famous psychologist. And I know women, many women, who feel the same way. I'm tired of being lumped in with trafficked women, many of whom are trafficked to provide very low cost home and child care, or thievery!! I know it sounds better to say "women are trafficked for prostitution! children too! the horror!" and that definitely happens, but it's really unfortunate that those people are so loud and ignore the fact that many many (I even want to say more, from reading "Sex Work", but I'd double check before saying it) women and children are trafficked as cheap/slave labor.

So, anyway, this is my response, and my experience of Amsterdam in a short nutshell-

"As a sex worker myself, and having made friends with quite a few ladies in Amsterdam... yeah, actually, I do. I think Amsterdam's whole approach is, for the most part, awesome.

The advantages of the windows are pretty big. The girls pay rent on the window space- they can therefore operate as independent escorts, instead of depending on pimps, and say yes or no to their customers. They get to see them before they agree, and negotiate before letting them in. They also get to flirt with guys they like and ignore those they don't- for example, when I went with my partner, some women flirted with us as a couple, and others, not interested in that, paid attention to other passers by. They also have nearby support from other girls, if they need it, and because of how the areas are designed, it's easy for the girls to kick out men who are being obnoxious.

Never mind the fact that the girls have the support of the police if something goes wrong! Considering the police tend to be more abusive than johns when it comes to sex workers, I think that's an improvement.

Now, most of the ladies I know there work out of the windows. Many of them are students and either don't want to or don't have enough time to take on a part time job. Safer and legal prostitution is a way for them to make some money in a short period of time. Yeah, they COULD work 8 hours in a coffeeshop per day for 6 euros an hour, but why do that when you make more in a half hour blowjob and have enough time left over to study?

A couple of them work as escorts with a service. They tend to have less agency about who they get to see and for how much, and are often pressured to offer more than they feel comfortable with. It depends if they do incalls or outcalls- incalls tend to be safer than outcalls, since there's some support, but the girls don't always get to choose. The windows offer agency in a realm of work that is really profitable, and, because of the testing services and social services available, it's much much MUCH easier to get out of a situation where you feel unhappy with prostitution.

In places like the States where prostitution is illegal almost everywhere, sex workers have to worry about their johns treating them like crap, the police treating them like hardcore criminals with no rights, and other people outing them and making their lives hell. Health care sucks, so it's hard and sometimes expensive to get tested, and easier to let health fall to the wayside. If you get pregnant, you're shit out of luck.

Here in Britain, where it's legal under certain perimeters (basically, being an independent worker and paying taxes) sex workers have a lot of agency and, because there's less of a social stigma, have an easier time accessing services. Health care over here is guaranteed, so it's easy to get tested regularly and have access to free condoms. If you get pregnant, there's support whatever your choice is around it, even after you have the baby. And in Amsterdam, where it's much more acceptable, there's a walk-in education clinic to teach the customers how to be good, respectful customers. It's not like the States. There are far more choices and far more agency.

Soooo... yeah. I think women being able to do prostitution if they want on their own terms without having to compromise their health and safety is a beautiful thing. I wonder if you've done much research into sex work, or spoken to many sex workers. I'd recommend "Paying For It", "Whores and Other Feminists" and "Sex Work" as some great places to start."

Grrr. Sometimes I really hate the idea of going back to the States. And the woman who said the comment considers herself a socialist and caring about human justice and rights! I ask you.

Categories: Amsterdam, sex work myths, the stupid States, your morals are not my morals

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Sponsor me for the Walk For Life- HIV/AIDS prevention!

Because funding for more/better education is always good, and England really needs help getting their shit together with safer sex awareness!

www.walkforlife.co.uk/public_...ship.php

Photo: French AIDS posters. They're weird, and, well, wrong. I don't know anyone who got HIV or AIDS from having sex with a scorpion.

Categories: causes, help, politics, sexuality

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Sweet! Now, my LJ friends can follow along with this blog

I finally figured out how to publish Blogger entires at LJ, thanks to Lexi's Lounge's post on the topic. Hurray! My blog entries on Blogger will now feed directly into my sex work filter on LJ, thus making it easier for those of you who read LJ and can't be bothered scrambling around for another blog. Goddess knows I wouldn't. ;)

Categories: interwebz, personal, triumph

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Inventory of a Pervert- Sex Toys Edition

So C and I have a toy chest, in which I put all of the sex and BDSM toys. Some of the toys I have as sex toys may seem more like kinky toys to you all, but I'm basically splitting it into "things that are likely to get genitalia juice on it" and "things that are less likely to do so". I, being a Capricorn and probably a little over-zealous when I feel like organizing something, decided it was time to go through the chest and sort it out again. I do this every once in a while, but this time, I made a toy list for my sex toys for easy referencing. As it's all written on a piece of paper that may or may not disappear into the chest, I decided to type it out here. Who knows? You might see something you're curious about, or something new.

So, without further ado:

The Sex Toy List

Dildos, large-
-Grim Reaper
-pink thick
-inflatable, medium size
-Nexus double dildo, medium

Dildos, regular-
-light pink
-light pink g curve
-black thick
-black thinner
-red beginners
-purple medium

Anal Toys-
-gemstone metal plug, rainbow medium
-gemstone metal plug, pink large
-silicone anal beads, small
-silicone anal beads, medium
-p-spot plug, medium
-blue plug, medium/large
-baby Jesus plug

Vibrators-
-Ideal vibe
-vibrating eggs, 4
-USB egg with extra bits
-penetrative vibe, blue medium
-penetrative vibe, pink large
-magic finger vibe
-waterproof travel vibe
-mini bullets, 2, with extra bits
-rock chick
-kegel balls, silicone
-kegel balls, metal, 4
-clit pump with vibe

Safer Sex/Playful Sex-
-huge variety of condoms
-assorted lubes- glycerin free, tingling, organic, silicone, water based
-Flower Balm
-black latex gloves
-regular latex gloves
-blue nitrite gloves
-Good Vibes wipes
-edible body paint
-toy cleaner
-massage lotion and oil
-Tickle Her Pink gel

Assorted-
-speculum
-leather strap on harness
-packing dildo
-cock rings- rubber and metal
-gates of Hell, leather
-inflatable ball gag with 6" dildo on other side, rubber

Things that are conspicuously missing-
-dental dams
-a Rabbit of some sort
-smaller butt plugs
-glass toys
-another harness

So there you go- that's what I have in my sex toy section of the chest- stay tuned for the kinky toys side!

-

Categories: list, personal, reference

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Butch/Femme

So I've promised this entry for a little while and never quite gotten around to it. This could be in part because it's so confusing for me that I don't know how to start without sounding like a complete dumbass. But here we go.

I'm a girl. I was brought up with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and My Little Ponies, ballet and karate classes, a little bit of pink and a little bit of blue. My family doesn't subscribe really to a gender being any particular way, so I was never told "girls don't do _____". I wore jeans and dresses (more often jeans cause I ran around a lot). I never really thought too much about makeup til I was Goth, and then, everyone wore eyeliner. And I never really considered myself "sexy" per se- I wore granny panties and baggy clothes, because I was a fat girl and didn't want people to see my body.

But then, as I got older, the more I read about gender, the more confused I got. It wasn't (and isn't) generally upsetting to me- I mean, I'm comfortable having a female body, for example, which is one of the big hurdles of gender discovery. I thought for a long time I was femme, perhaps female to femme- I love dressing up, frills, makeup, really drag-queen stuff in general. I loved the look of femme, all curves and ferocity and glitter and grit. I couldn't walk in heels, sure, but I didn't feel like that necessarily made me less femme- I could pick and choose what I wanted my femininity to be, how I wanted to be femme.

Still, I felt and feel out of place in the femme world. I feel, often, like I'm not quite doing it right, like I'm not exactly femme. I try to be aware of how I move through the world, try to claim space as a femme, try to get that look and feeling I admire, but it feels almost forced. I just can't quite get it.

Then I read "Butch is a Noun" by S. Bear Bergman, and I felt a pull there, too. I wanted so badly to be a butch, to be able to light the cigarettes and open the doors for femmes and be loved for that butch energy I carry. I want to be able to sweep a femme up in my arms and whisk them around the dance floor, looking dashing in a suit and spats.

Or do I? I think about it, I step out of the world of reading and I feel like I'm under a glaring spotlight, one that says "how dare you imagine yourself as butch when you have high heeled boots and corsets in your closet!" And I feel even more lost.

I'm jealous when Bergman talks about having older people to talk to about being butch. Maybe I'm missing it, but I don't know where or if that dynamic of teaching and coaching exists within the queer community anymore. I would love to talk to 50 year old femmes and butches and explain these feelings and see what they'd say, if they could guide me. I often feel quite alone in this struggle. How do you explain that you feel like you were born in the right body but with no real clue as to how you gender?

I remember seeing Miss Vera's Finishing School for Boys Who Want to be Girls, and thinking "yeah, that's what I need. I need a class to help me attain this femmeness I have inside but just can't manage to get my body to cooperate with". Which is why I tend to say I gender as a drag queen- I feel often more like a bisexual male in a woman's body and loving it than I do with any of the conventional options. But I also feel frustrated, often, like I have this femme fatale inside me that wants out, and I also have this butch inside me begging for a chance to see the light, and I keep stuffing them all inside and saying "look, will you just make up your minds so I can move on already?"

The more I think about my gender, the more I feel torn, confused, unsure. And there's a voice in me that says "oh really, Kitty, c'mon- is it that hard? You have a pussy. You like being fucked. Who cares how you gender?"

I care. It matters, for some reason, to me. I feel like I carry too much masculine energy to be a femme, and yet my body is too curvy and feminine to be butch. I love my hourglass figure, don't get me wrong, but it bothers me somehow that when I explain to someone this struggle I feel they laugh and say "You? You're femme, it's obvious". And when they say femme, they mean "you're a female, and you look feminine, so what's the big deal?"

Is it? I feel like while my body says "feminine", my brain is screaming out that it's so much more complicated than that. And I'm desperate for it all to be taken seriously. I feel like I'm on the fence, living in the slash between butch and femme, and sure, I could say I'm something else, and maybe I am, but these resounding feelings I get about both mean something, and I just don't know what.

Categories: assumptions, gender, musing, personal

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dreams flashing with silver, tasting like iron

When I hear a whimper on the end of a phone line.

When I see a flash of pale skin, right above the knee, underneath a skirt.

The way hair curls from the nape of a neck, or the way her breasts move when she laughs, or the way he lightly but firmly grips the handle of a door.

I think of knives.

It's one of the unsafest sexes around, this taste for blood and blades. Maybe that's why I like it. In a world where latex is sexy and sex to breed is taboo, I like the things that are raw and feral. There's always this little whisper in me that says "push a little harder, a little deeper".

If you bare your belly to me, I will be wet and hungry.

I had a dream last night, you see. I had met a girl in a bar, and she had told me she liked rough play (and, well, in a dream, I don't have to ask consent). I pulled her outside and kissed her roughly, her back pressed against the cold brick of the bar. I told her to follow me, and we ducked into an alleyway, where I told her to get on her knees and suck my clit, one hand in her hair, one hand on my blade that I held to her throat to keep her "inspired".

I awoke with a hand in my panties.

Sometimes, this desire just slips out. In a sexy phone call, I'll press a blade against the throat of the man as I force my strap on into his throat. I slice a crossdresser's fishnets from hir legs. I feel clumsy afterwards, apologetic- I've let my fierce lust escape its cage, so sorry, won't happen again.

But my eyes flash like the sharpest edge. I will never forgive my body for not giving me claws. I want to draw blood when I cum. I want to drink screams like the sweetest honey. It soothes my soul, quiets the beast within.

One day... I will have a lover who will welcome me beneath her skin.

One day.

Categories: edgeplay, fantasy, fetishes, personal, sexyfuntime