Love Tames the Benumbed Beast

“A man is put to use regarding a woman’s physical safety, but a woman is put to use regarding a man’s mental safety.” – Criss Jami

28135272b0c67d9c893bd27617da0d6eI watched an interesting documentary last night on sex workers in other countries called Whore’s Glory.
The segment that inspired me to think about the topic of this blog was the first, which followed women in Thailand.

The girls would do their thing and make their money, but then relax and unwind by spending all of their earnings in bars. These bars are basically the male version of their own work… the women pay men to sit and drink with them.

I found it highly astounding, and quickly fired off some neurons to explore the concept a little deeper inside my brain’s sandbox. 774bf9074d404472f19c07383c8e2acf

I thought that the idea of a female supporting someone else isn’t new, from a sexworker’s standpoint…
A large majority of sex workers support entire households.

Conversely, the men & women that financially support sex workers by paying them for service are no different… If humans are able to pay for pleasure, why should I be the one to exert a limit on who can or cannot?

Silly me.
I wanted to go further.
In ancient times, the female Priestess, Sacred Whores, Queens and Goddesses were revered & swathed in gifts, tributes, sacrifices, absolute finery.

Befriending one of these sacred women must have been a very fine social position indeed. Imagine the hand-me-downs of a woman considered to be an incarnation of a ruling Goddess – Lordt, give me the job!

I thought of the idea that the very rich, who very often avail of our services, are in a sense handing us the keys to the redistribution of wealth. Sacred Whores very probably had a duty to give back to the community they resided within. I think in today’s modern age that would look like charity work, small business & job creation, the continuation of education, and generally spreading goodness within your environment… Fostering growth, secretly planting flowers everywhere, bringing cookies to retirement homes, saving stray cats, real feel-good stuff, ya know?! 😉

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I Pointed Ahead – Ahead of Myself as well as You

d6250616c2d81fd85afb60f4f3efa5c5The men that have come and gone into my life have always held lessons out to me like juicy, ripe, foreign fruit.

I learned early on in my life that what looks appealing to the eye may not be so fine beneath the surface.

In our elementary school we had a crab apple tree that the poor kids would run to at recess in lieu of the candy lines.
One day, I broke open an apple before eating it to discover earwigs pouring out of the center.

It was a lesson in lessons… Discovery is not always pleasant, however you can always transform something unpleasant into something useful… I threw it at a kid that had been bullying me.

I love the men that can teach me things. I hold the education & exercise of the mind in unbelievably high esteem, and so men that expand the mind are among my most cherished & sought-after gifts to myself.

I consider my relationship with such men to become distinctly paternal in nature, through no fault of either party.b0b60e490b678c12537970b23310be01

I have observed that when men think they are teaching, guiding or introducing a female to new experiences, sexually or otherwise, they seem to develop a sense of overt pride & care for the female they’ve poured their ‘knowledge’ into.

I suppose it would be the sense of creation in a way, the idea or belief that you’ve concretely influenced or left a mark on a person’s character or life, and subsequently, their future. This, I assume, would be where the paternal feelings develop for the male.

It can be entirely unfortunate when a man is unable to understand, face, or work through these feelings. It can lead to the breakdown of a relationship due to an unconscious feeling of having to ‘take care’ of a partner, or there can be a mental disconnect or power struggle that develops internally, creating unstable communication or chaotic dynamics in the day-to-day routine.

The men that have been transient in my life have taught me the most, and are among my more cherished memories of men.

Mr. Sweet-n-Low was a wonderfully sweet, 40-something-year-old man with a laid-back, extremely comfortable manner. He had an ‘ol retriever dog & always bought us coffee.
We would smoke weed and snuggle on the couch listening to music, tossing the wet, slobbery green tennis ball for pup. He never made me feel anything but cozy and warm.be597c3fa6b89eaf8f6c9bf494982a25

We rummaged around in his attic one night for fun. He gifted me a beautiful old vintage hand-sewn wedding dress that he pulled out of that attic. I still own it and think of him.

Mr. Chops was another man who was transient but so sweet.
I like to imagine that my Houdini-men are wonderfully broken, wild, modern-day Richard Burtons… fragmented and sharp, and that they do not stay because they fear cutting me too much. That although they are toughened, with sandpaper tongues and razorteeth, they still melt like heated honey when I touch them…that my voice is like home to these lost soldiers… that they find momentary respite in my innocent, wide, young arms.

I Attracted their Eyes & Haunted their Thoughts

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I have a knack for reading people.
This makes me extremely adept at socialization & conversations beyond the normal scope of ‘So what do you do?’, and when I say I have a knack, I truly mean it is an uncanny gift that even I have a hard time explaining.

Would you like to try a party trick of mine?
Much more difficult via blog posts, but what can you do.

So I first ask someone what their sign is.
Then their favorite number.
Then I ask them to pick the first three colors that first pop into their heads. Next, I ask what their three most favorite colors are. From that information, I compile a fairly accurate ((so far)) reading of someone’s personality, life challenges & situations, and offer some advice for the future. It always freaks folks out, and I love doing it.

The fact that I can read people with such accuracy, and can reach people in such emotional and mentally deep ways really makes me feel like a Priestess, or some kind of Muse-of-Old. I adore helping people, doing energy-work, ‘sin-eating’, being a shoulder or an ear… It’s a very intimate service for humans to be able to access. I love being able to provide that in my sex and sensual work.

Robert Liberace5fd03041187ddeacd2ea158bbe045814One thing I have noted is that men, while shameless about revealing their bodies to a partner or stranger, are usually ashamed or worried about the condition of their bodies when in a relationship setting. I find both the male and female form exquisite.
I do not have a personal preference, but I find fuller figures attractive for both sexes, and I also like more average or thin body types.

Most of my men have had big, solid stomachs and wide barrel chests, tree-trunk legs and wild jungle nests of body hair. I have also had soft, sleek, rippling foreign men, hairless and tanned like old leather. Sweet, tall, thin, handsome men with sex oozing out of their pores & wisps of hair, or great, wiry curls of mohawk. I lust for men’s bodies, the scent of their skin, the warmth of their fingers tracing shivers into my soul. I love men that touch me without hands, men that caress my thoughts when I least expect them to, like gentlemen courting my imagination, keeping me company & soothing my wild, raging loneliness…99d0229703ee6975ade37c8fb1757a9d

I have always felt lonely.
Empty, wild, and alone, always following a distant scent on the wind or lilt in the sound of the earth.

Wild men have always felt grounding to me. There was a man I met on an island once. A biker man, Mr. Chops… A friend of mine had revoked my roomie status and I had to leave the island and get back to the mainland with no funds. I put a note on a profile of a dating website saying I had to get a ride back to the mainland, and Mr. Chops was the man who answered.

We drove out into the wilderness, he took me to see a beautiful river, we swam, talked, had fun, had a sexy little fuck against his car, and he dropped me off at a bus station with enough money to get home. We still talk to this day, and it was such a sweet encounter, completely random and spontaneous, but consensual, and very fun.
It’s quite a fond memory of mine.
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How Different Every Hour is from The One Before

jon fosterWhen I was two years old, my parents were divorced. My father was a delusional man who thought the cysts on his head were a crown from Jesus, that he could decode the bible, that he knew where the holy grail was… and of course, that witchcraft and homosexuality were Of the Devil.

Being that my mother was a lesbian, that didn’t work out so well. She was told if she fought for custody, he would tell her family, ((11 brothers and sisters, and a very old-fashioned mother, )) that she was gay.

She didn’t fight, he won, he told everyone anyway, she was largely disowned.

He was a terrible father.
In retrospect, I can see the abuse, but at the time of course, things were as normal as they could be seen to be as a child, but the memories I do have, laced through with gaping voids of blackness, are tinged with eeriness, a drab, strange sort of feeling… the feeling of nightmares in which you can’t exactly tell what’s wrong, but there is a lurking dread that skirts the corners.

Maybe it is because I consider this feeling to be a normalized experience, that I have constantly run into more ‘socially unsavory’ characters in my life.

Men I meet are rarely attending Yale, though I have met quite a few business owners.
Unfortunately, each one, from the genius, to the resort owner, to the ex-drug-dealer have all had their fair share of unresolved emotional and mental baggage that has superseded all hope of rational, mature relations between two parties. What’s worse is I tend to stick around because I know I am one Tough Lady… Wallace stock and all that, you know… So I choose to stick out at first, because everyone deserves a chance, and of course I will admit it…the ‘superhero syndrome’, you know the one.

I’m ‘Queen Rehabilitate A Motherfucker’.
Excuse me while I gather my bottom, I seem to have laughed it quite off.

So because I am so transient, I come into contact with lots of different guys.
There was a efa29c0cfe80254a020387f3c76f4924fellow I met once, I will dub him Mr. F.I. ((fucking insane)) and this fella was a piece of work. Once I revealed to him that I had mental health issues, slowly he began to develop them as well. I had let him pet-sit my degus and things while transitioning to a new place… but found out my things had been put outside in the ghetto, and he had killed my pets and kept their skulls.

I’m not sure if I can believe someone would be that cruel, however he was pretty out there, had body modifications and such but it seemed more to show off than for a reason.

He wanted to pursue a BDSM style relationship with me and I was 100% not attracted to him in the least. I considered him a dumb giant, but I suppose watch out for dumb giants when they get angry.

On a fun side note, when I was younger, I dated a fellow who wasn’t legally short enough to be considered a true midget, but his 4’10 to my 5’11 was a pretty unusual sight to folks around town. He ended up having a temper tantrum and throwing a vhs camera recorder at my head, so I threw a psychology book at him. How awfully ironic.

The next unfortunate incident was after hitch hiking across the country.
I was rooming with a technically-e494840d5cfc5901b0593895759c33ea0x boyfriend of mine, Mr. Snowshoes, who was increasingly heated about wanting to be with me again.
We got into some silly tiff and all of a sudden I’m being choked and boffed about the face.
I ended the whole affair by crawling my little bottom right to the neighbors porch, bloody nose, lip, and full of tears and shock, poor things must have been absolutely terrified when they saw me.

I went from that one straight into the arms of Mr. Scootercat a few months later, who eventually ended up clocking a chunk of tooth out of my head, unfortunately still left unresolved today.
Ironically the body feature he claimed to love the most about me!
These men always at least leave me with something to laugh at, if nothing else.
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I’ve noticed in every case of violence or anger or hateful behavior towards me, there is a propensity to try to make me feel as guilty & demoralized as a woman as possible.

I suppose that is one of the perks to dating foolish men… their sharp words are also quite foolish and don’t really cut well.
However, why a man would want to try to demoralize a woman at all is strange to me. Is it an foolish primitive instinct to discourage females from mating?
Is it a primitive fear of females mistreating men if they were the ruling social and political majority?

((Maybe if our pussies can never be satiated, our thirst for power will never cease, Ha!!))

The same goes for the whole breast feeding thing… I believe the people who object to it are either prudes to the Nth degree, or are jealous and secretly totally want to be suckin’ on that titty… and if they can’t, ain’t no one can.

One Man’s Pornography is another Man’s Theology

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It has been my experience that people, and men in particular, base your worth as a person on your sexual appetite or lack thereof. One must possess the exact correct amount of Madonna/Whore, and any deviation is considered frightening, flawed, demeaning, uncouth.

The Beast That Is Media sucks from the mutilated, photoshopped, scripted, tanned, implanted, stretched, filled, squeezed orange-tree-tits of The Feminine…it sells us ripe, fresh, juicy, plump, wet, hot, steaming piles of meat… (( human, yes but also otherwise, of course… always maximize profit.)) Never the real thing, even the ‘authentic’ & ‘organic’ labels mean little, but still… humans are like magpies.

So it’s always been interesting to me, especially with the insurmountable amount of pornography found everywhere from scratched out doodles in kids’ journals to the internet to magazines, classical art, movies, I could go on… that people still are in an uproar to hear that females are allowed to be, enjoy being, and shouldn’t be shamed or harassed because of, independently owning and operating your body as you see fit, in regards to sexwork.

I think there is also a great misconception on the term ‘sexworker’ in general.
There are many different types of Ladies with many different types of boundaries, rules, pricing, services offered… to hear a woman say ‘I am a sexworker;’ doesn’t mean she is a street worker, or even offers traditional penetrative sex. It could mean she offers a girlfriend type of experience via the internet only, which is close to what I do.

We all have become aware that there are many different kinds of bodies, different kinds of fetishes, different styles of sexual position, pussies and tits and cocks all look different…so it stands to reason there are many different shades of sex worker.
To consider them all abused, drug addicted, college age, liars, manipulators, women with low self-esteem, women using an easy way out for fast cash, gosh. Why can’t we actually enjoy the conversations we have and the fun we bring to people’s lives? I also try to be informative and don’t mind my intelligence showing. It’s a way people can genuinely get to know me as me, and it’s been one of the best experiences for rebuilding my mental health as a young woman growing up.

ca50ba4bbe6e36c3912ac958fde73e02When I am in a relationship, I usually cease all webcam work. There have been two relationships I came clean and brought it up in safe settings. The first guy, who I will totally talk about at other times and I forget if I gave him a name yet but, Mr. Blue, was at first confused and apprehensive about it, but found himself quite turned on and ended up helping me out a few times, pardon the French.

The last, Mr. Advertising, found out, and didn’t at all mind in fact, telling me he of course, ‘knew some strippers and escorts’. Of course you do, darling. He told me as long as I didn’t throw it around in his face, and didn’t do it when there was any chance of him being around. I considered that absolutely fair and level-headed, and so when I told him I had done a few hours of camera work for some extra funds, I was aghast when he began a rather extremely dedicated campaign against me…posting my camera link on his public social page, spamming my email, phone, social media with awful things, meant to be degrading to my self-worth, and to be honest, since it began Christmas day and continued until well past my January birthday, I did allow myself to drown in morose, maudlin, terrible depression.

Isn’t that terrible, though?
We had a conversation one night about porn…previous and totally unrelated to the arguing. I was curious about his porn habits because instead of fucking me he would go out into the living room and relieve himself with the aid of other things instead. Long story short, he showed me his porn and we spent quite a few hours ‘immersed in discovery’, let’s say. It was one of the best sexual experiences between us. b19d9451fcd05aab9ad6a56d6766082a

Men that consume pornographic or erotic material that then deride the feminine or individual female have always both fascinated & disgusted me in equal measure.

Women are powerful creatures. You cannot have your cookies, eat them greedily, then kill the baker. It’s quite simply rude.

Females that choose to exert, expose, utilize their sexuality, their body, their sensual mind instead of the analytical…are seen as broken.

I reassure you that is most certainly not the case.

I’m tired of being seen as broken for choosing to enjoy that men love me….Choosing to allow them to talk to me, to fall in love with me, to please me, to give me gifts to delight & surprise me…I enjoy my men.

I enjoy the attention. I enjoy feeling feminine. I enjoy feeling connected to goddesses & priestesses in far-off, smoky, heat-fueled lands that men made devoted quests to, just to hear them speak. I like the energy I can raise from a single look, an angle of the face, a sliding touch of a finger on a shoulder. It’s a beautiful, glorious, pretty thing, a force to be adored, not scorned or spit upon.

Women are beautiful creatures. Men are allowed to be able to look at beautiful creatures, if those creatures allow them to play. Those beautiful creatures are allowed to want to play, and they can choose their game & its rules every time…rules subject to change without notice of course. 😉

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There is no Love sincerer than the Love of Food

Sex & Food.
So often paired together, and quite appropriately.c5e91fbca91d48a3902f4e3b9794b152

To consume.
To consummate, devour, lick, suck, slurp, nibble, bite.
To eat.
To taste.

Aroma, flavor, texture… I wonder if some ‘sex addicts’ are merely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice in experiences…

There are foodists, may there be humanists?

Men & Women devoted to mapping the ingredients of bodies…do our flavors change from place to place?

I know the flavor of men is different for each… some men have been cool water, sating my thirst…some have been black licorice and ginamos… but each has been a meal I have feasted upon and drank deeply of. I relish putting my mouth to skin, sucking a vacuum of nerve and tingle, licking a wash of flush and heat…I often tell my men they are delicious. They are.

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Many of my fantasies involve heady debates in velvet-and-taffeta-draped rooms…places with smoky scotch, finger food & heavy tomes lined floor to ceiling.

Places I can be mentally bested by a masculine beast, a drooling Alpha fully aware of the meal he makes of me. I want to be eaten, devoured, consumed, tasted, delighted in.

I tend my gardens very well.
I would absolutely adore a man who could properly pick my peaches, a man who knew just what brand of sugar and bourbon to use to sweeten me up, a man with a hot enough oven to roast me in….Oh, to be food!

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Some Folks are Happier Not Being Saved

f6c17e59d4938efd07f2b5681b4574ccI have struggled with the idea of monogamy for a very long time.

My nature is, ironically, quite private, and rather simplistic… I prefer my own company, a thick book & strong coffee to lunchtime ‘Cocktail & Tells’ with ladies-in-waiting… however, just try to drag me away from a conversation on Mesopotamia or Physics with an educated mind… I won’t pull my claws out an inch.

The idea of becoming so enamored with someone that you need them in your life is simultaneously sweet & weak in equal measure.

In my experience,  relationships always shift and settle into routine, pattern, predictability, & rigidity. There becomes less chance or space for unpredictability, spontaneity, or excitement. ‘You always surprise me!’
quickly turns into ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ once routines are established.

I have never fucked for pleasure.
The opportunity has never presented itself. I have never fucked for myself.

When I open my body for men to enter, I tuck away my own desires and focus on his. I do not tell men to kneel, to suck, to lick and twist and caress and push with finger, tongue & lip, like solid earth, quaking my body’s ocean storms into submission…often I say nothing at all.

I gather them into me, doing and saying everything they need to let go, to feel safe, to feel renewed.

I provide them with comfort.
They provide me with cages.

I don’t blame them…if I found a toy to take away the pain of being human, I would probably cling to it as well…but it’s so unfortunate when I forget myself in order to assuage them…unfortunate when they fall in love with a mask and I forget to take it off, allowing it to fuse to my face.

It could be argued that One can still be monogamous while also being wild, passionate & thirsty for life in all it’s experience…perhaps so, but it would mean a pairing of two humans, perfectly balanced within themselves, with no reservations in allowing the other to explore all of life’s tastes…and it’s not often you find that delicate recipe.