The secret life of Audrey Rose

Another good experience

2009-11-11T02:28:00.003-05:00

I keep realizing more and more that I should just put my real self out there, and use it to attract the right kind of client, rather than try to wear some sort of a mask and attempt to please a more general audience.

The gentleman I saw tonight would probably not have noticed me, had I not mentioned books in my blog posts. He is very well-read, and because we obviously share a love of books, we were able to connect and had a very nice date. I'm sure that by blogging about my love for Heinlien I might have lost a potential client or two who are turned off by brains in a woman, but I gained a client who appreciates me for it.

The image I'm trying to create professionally is a little different from the conventional ideal. I am by far not a big-haired, grinning blond, and if I tried to play into that stereotype and appeal to that sort of client, I would fail in this business. Rather, I feel more suited towards a smarter, intellectual audience- I do well with professor types, doctors, and intellectuals. I would imagine I would do poorly with people in the entertainment industry, blue-collar guys, and type-A politicians. This is not set in stone of course, and there are many exceptions, but it's the way things lean.

Not all men like me, but those who like me, love me. And this is the way I want it. I'd rather have a few repeat customers who love what I'm giving them, rather than a bunch of new guys every week, who can't tell me apart from the next girl.

London Client 2

2009-11-03T14:23:00.005-05:00

We had been planning quite in advance- he answered my ad a few weeks before my trip. In the interim days, we kept writing and planning out our date, and finally decided that he would get us tickets to an art exhibition and make reservations at a restaurant. We exchanged photos, and I even sent him a picture of my face- something I loathe to do with strangers, and have since decided that I will never do again.

I was looking forward to seeing this man even more than I would an average client. We were getting on pretty well over email, and I liked his manner and tastes, but even so, I was still feeling a touch nervous prior to the meeting, as I often do.

We had agreed to meet by Nelson’s column at a certain time. I was late and a bit flustered as I picked out my way among the unfamiliar avenues. We didn’t specify which of the four lion statues he’d be under, and I ran all the way around the column looking under each one. He was waiting for me at the last corner I checked, and kissed me on the cheek as we said hello. Although I didn’t feel much attraction to his picture, I could definitely sense a lot of chemistry right then. Seeing someone in person certainly gives me a thousand times more information than a series of emails and phone calls ever could.

We got to know each other over a delicious dinner, and then proceeded across the square to the art gallery. He seemed a bit nervous at first, but by the time we entered the exhibition, the tension went away. I had a fun time lightly touching him while we were looking at pictures: my fingers brushing against his hand, my shoulder leaning into his as we talked about a painting, my breath on his cheek as we spoke. I kept building up the anticipation, and as we walked out and headed for his house, the stage was set for a very intimate evening.

Another Escapade

2009-11-02T23:13:00.002-05:00

I had a lovely evening tonight with a paid friend I've come to really appreciate. Although he is old enough to be my dad, we talk very freely, and it's never hard to relate to him.

Perhaps it's that I've always been a little partial to older gentlemen, perhaps it's that he's young at heart, but somehow we meet halfway, and have great conversations together.

If only all my paid dates were as adventurous and fun!

Close...

2009-10-20T22:52:00.004-04:00

It has recently come to my attention that someone from my University is reading this blog. No way to tell if it's a student, professor, or janitor- but there it is.

A fellow provider, perhaps?

I wonder which department?

Once, I contacted a man from Craigslist who was looking for a beneficial relationship with a younger girl. As I recall, it even had an element of student/teacher roleplay associated with it. After exchanging a few preliminary emails, I have ascertained that he worked at my institution, but at a different department.

Although he was still interested, I told him there was no way we could make it work: a thing like that could get us both kicked out- with full coverage on the news to boot. But at the same time, I was a bit disappointed that I never met him. I'm so fascinated by the underbelly of superficially pristine relationships!

I often fantasize about one of my professors sexually. I see him taking me from behind in his office, me leaning on the door separating us from the main hall, him covering my mouth so I don't moan; me sitting under his desk and fellating him while he talks on the phone or holds office hours; us fucking on his desk.

He doesn't know I have these thougts ;-) I feel naughty, wondering what he would think, if he knew.

Life is hard sometimes

2009-10-20T22:46:00.002-04:00

School and work have made me into a burnt-out, stressed person who wants to sit in her room all day and surf the web. This is not good. I resolve to go out more!

I'm sending out requests for fun clients, interesting dates and loving friends this week! Are you listening, Universe? I would also like to request some love and joy for all other people of the world who are having a hard time dealing with their lives. That's what we need: More love for all!

This is why I got into this line of work, after all- increased TLC for all involved :-)

Not too bad, but the view is spectacular

2009-10-08T00:53:00.003-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen,
I am now going make an announcement: I just had sex at the Empire State Building.

I was asked not to mention the exact floor, but it was closer to the top of the building, with the window shades rolled all the way up. The lights were off, and as I bent over his office desk I could see the shimmering lights of my splendid city, all the way up to GW Bridge and beyond.

I wished he would grab me and pin me to the desk- maybe even tell me that I'm a good little secretary- but all he could do was pull my hair a bit, which was still fun enough (I seem to be having trouble finding a devilishly dominant man).

We were giddy, and drunk on cocktails from the Spotted Pig, where I made him buy me my favorite meal.

After dinner and shagging, I hopped on the subway and was home by midnight. And now, I will go back to doing homework and then sleep.

I love my life.

Heinlein

2009-09-26T14:43:00.007-04:00

One author who was seminal to my understanding of sexual relationships was Robert Heinlein. I got my copy of Stranger in a Strange Land from a friend who didn't want it anymore, and it became somewhat of a revelation- I read it very quickly, and absorbed the social/political ideas within it like a sponge.

By that point, I was in college, and have met some very liberated people. I heard about polyamory, bondage, fetishes, and role playing from these new friends, and started to explore.

Nothing explains the idea of many-partnered love quite like the scenes from Stranger in a Strange Land, and also Job- the only other Heinlein novel I have read so far. To me, the central meaning of a polyamorous lifestyle is that you don't have to abandon one love for the sake of another- if your heart is big enough to accommodate many different feelings for many different people, you don't have to say goodbye to one lover before connecting with another one. The character Alex from Job figures this out in a scene in which he makes love to a girl he meets while looking for his lost girlfriend, Marga.

Although the communal living scenes from Stranger have a 60's cultish-like feel which reads a bit naive today, that does not diminish their underlying idea- that love has many shapes, and we don't have to be so narrow as to focus on one person and twist ourselves into a rigid knot, trying to stay "faithful" to them. Faithfulness comes in many forms, and it does not have to include a promise to not be with anyone else.

To me, faithfulness lies in constant, dependable support of another person. I may or may not have other sex partners or lovers, but if I am there for for someone when they're sad or broke, if they can call me at 3am just to talk, if I know that when I get sick, my lover will take care of me, well, to me, that is faithfulness. And if my partner is big enough to be supportive in this way with other people besides me, well, that doesn't make me jealous- it tells me I have met a saint :-)

Being there for one another is faithfulness. Constantly bickering and undermining each other while not fucking anyone else- that's not faithfulness. That's a lifetime wasted- and I don't need that kind of virtue.

Trying New Things

2009-09-26T13:54:00.003-04:00

I love to try everything new- even when it's not sexual in nature- and New York is a good place for that sort of thing.

I have always wanted to try Kulfi- that dense Indian ice cream I see kids eating in the summer. I've never really had it, except once or twice at an Indian restaurant, because it makes me feel really weird to be the only white girl at the Indian ice cream stall.

For all my adventuring, I often feel timid in situations where I don't know the words for what I'm trying to buy and have to resort to pointing and nodding my head in order to communicate with the vendor- especially with other people standing around. but this day I decided it was high time for me to just go ahead and buy some ice cream- so I bravely came up to the nice Indian man and pointed at the little Kulfi cones in his freezer.

Then, I noticed that he had large green leaves laid out behind his stall, and was spreading them with some kind of brown paste. This got me so curious that I didn't notice a second man who came up behind me until he started talking to me. He was buying one of the leaf-things, and explained that people chew it like tobacco, and that it's mildly addictive, such that some people chew it many times a day. Then he offered to buy me one.

Normally I don't let random strangers on the street buy me stuff, but in this case curiosity overcame restraint, and I said sure, why not. He seemed friendly enough, and I was dying to know what this tasted like. After the shopkeeper finished making his leaf (spreading it with paste, sprinkling some stuff on it, and folding it up into a dense wad), he set upon making mine. My new acquaintance told him to make it sweet, and he really went all out, spreading and sprinkling, and adding what looked like 20 different ingredients from jars and boxes in front of him. When he tried to fold it up into a wad, it almost fell apart.

I was a little dubious, and held it in my hands for a few seconds, looking at it. Then, with both men smiling and nodding, I stuck it in my mouth and began to chew.

It tasted like Indian spices and candy, and had a crumbly texture, almost like chewing through dry spices. It took me a while, but eventually I began to feel the flavor of the leaf coming out beneath all that sugar- it was mild and vaguely mint-like. And so, I thanked the man, shook his hand good bye, and went off to class- a wad of paan in my mouth and a Kulfi cone in my hand. I was a good 20 minutes late to class, but I felt like I learned enough that day :-)

Working with B

2009-08-23T09:02:00.005-04:00

At B’s place I change into the corset I bought at H&M a few days ago. I haven’t had time to shower or shave my legs, but the stubble is not too bad, since I shaved last night just before going to a sex party. A very big part of sex work is having to maintain squeaky cleanliness, even when it comes to body parts which “civilians” might forget about. I can’t remember how many times I’ve thought to myself “thank god I scrubbed my feet”, as I leaned back while a client took my feet in his hands and sucked on my painted and pedicured toes.

I use a moist towelette to freshen up “down there”, and then spray mango-scented body mist all over my corset, legs, and hair. In a pinch, this does the job.

The client is here. He’s an older gentleman named Doyle, which sounds like it might be his real name. He’s from Connecticut, and has an honest face of a Florida retiree. At first, he doesn’t come across as someone with whom I could truly connect, but I play it friendly and sweet, and I think he likes me. I’ve realized that since getting into this field, I’ve greatly improved my social skills, and as a matter of fact, this has been one of the (many) reasons I chose this profession in the first place. I was always a little introverted when growing up, and when I suddenly had to start meeting a lot of strange men, I got to practice my conversation skills like never before. Making small talk with people of various ages and social classes forced me to come out of my shell, and helped alleviate my nervousness around strangers. Talking about the weather is clichéd, but it sure eases the initial discomfort of meeting someone new with whom I’m about to have sex ;-)

After we exchange pleasantries, I lounge on the bed while B and Doyle get naked in a slightly awkward moment of stripping in front of each other while still not knowing each other very well. Once all three of us are on the bed, things fall into place.

One of these guys has sex three to four times a day, and the other is an elderly man, and they are both having slight issues staying hard this afternoon. I keep my hands and mouth busy, giving attention to their dicks and testicles. Apparently Doyle isn’t into playing with boys, but he does like to eat pussy, and for a while we try different positions and combinations. A few minutes later I flip onto my back and ease him into me in missionary, with my head resting in B’s lap.

After he comes I ask if he wants to see B come and he says yes, so I turn around and suck B until he fakes an orgasm. Sex work demands a lot of physical strain, and even the horniest of boys can come only so many times in a day. I pretend to swallow, and then take a paper towel and dry my mouth with it, letting some saliva dribble out, looking like it’s the rest of his come. I think it’s a nice touch of authenticity.

After, I go to a Jewish bakery, order a bagel and a cup of tea, and work on a text for my new Craigslist ad. There is a cute long-haired guy at the table to my right, and although he slightly triggers my gaydar, I give him a little smile. Not too flirty and somewhat vague, like I’m trying to say “oh, look at this, there’s a person here. Hi, person!” Then I look at all the nice Jewish people buying bagels here, and how they really don’t know that the regular-looking girl at the coffee table is composing an advertisement for her sexual services, to be posted on one of the most notorious sites on the web. I smile. A little while later I am pleasantly surprised when the cute guy wishes me a good day as he walks past me on his way out.

I spend the rest of the day shopping and writing. I wanted to go for a run, but the weather is so nasty that I stay indoors. Laundry must wait as well. Instead, I hand wash a few pairs of panties and hang them up to dry in my room. I wonder why, with all this free time, I still can’t find time for laundry.

A picture

2009-08-23T09:02:00.004-04:00

My hair is somewhat longer now, but I love this image and don't want to give up using it. The photographer and I did a whole series of nudes with the red cloth on white background, and they really look like art rather than your basic escort photos. He's talented :-)

Sebastian

2009-08-23T09:00:00.002-04:00

I call “Sebastian” to let him know I’m running a few minutes late. Although he has since told me his real name, I still think of him as Sebastian- the fake name he has contacted me with.

Sebastian is not a client, but it’s nice to let him pay for everything- drinks, bar food, cab. I don’t think of him as being in the same category as my “normal” guy friends. With my boyfriends and other male friends we always split the bill, and sometimes I even offer to treat them, because making the man “win” my love by paying for our dates always seemed kinda tacky. It doesn’t even occur to me to ask R for expensive gifts or berate him for never getting me flowers. We’re just two close people who love and trust each other, and this is why we don’t require such formalities- it doesn’t matter who pays for whom, as long as we enjoy ourselves. It’s the same with all the other guys I’ve ever dated.

With Sebastian, even though we met to “date”, we don’t have that type of equal dynamic. I think it’s because on our first date I decided that he’s a self-absorbed, pompous fool, with unwarranted feelings of entitlement, and an ego the size of Jupiter. He’s a good-looking man, and a fun conversationalist, but if he didn’t pay for our dates, going out with him would not be worth the money I’d be spending on drinks. However, as long as it doesn’t cost me anything but time, I still want to see him.

He fulfills certain needs for me that can’t be met in my other beloved, but very comfortable relationships. These are things like the need to practice socializing with high-power males, a demographic I don’t often interact with, but to which many clients belong. Also, the need to practice flirting and playing the dating game- a process I never learned in my private relationships. Finally, he feeds my unyielding fetish for Englishmen, which is a superficial need, but still a need to be met ;-)

Dating someone I’ll never get serious about is healthier than getting my feelings involved with a man just because he's from England- a mistake I’m apparently prone to making. If I he started developing feelings for me, I would end things immediately, to spare him the humiliation of dating someone who’s not that into him. However, I believe he’s just as unattached to me as I am to him, so I figure for now we’re even. And this is why, despite thinking of him as a cute and educated douchebag, I still want to go out with him. He’s good practice, and I might as well have fun.

This is our second date, and we meet at the same pub where we went last time. We drink and talk, and listen to the open mike acts while getting progressively drunker and giddier. During the third open mike act I call Tony, the cab driver I sometimes use if I need to get somewhere fast. When we get to his place, Sebastian asks Tony how much he owes, and I let him pay for the ride without even pretending to reach for my wallet.

His place turns out to be full of awesome junk- used books, movie tapes, oil paintings leaning against walls and chairs, and the rest of his collection of unidentifiable items, most of which are assembled on floors and other surfaces. I love his haphazard sense of style. Oh, why does he have to be a pompous jerk? I would so date him if he wasn’t! He offers to roll a joint, and I ask him to make me tea. Eventually, drunk and giggly, I end up on top of him on the couch, and we make out and then move to the bedroom.

As we’re rolling around on his bed, he takes a fistful of my hair and suddenly I get so wet, I can almost feel it spreading between my thighs. In his ear I whisper for him to bite my neck and shoulders, and he obliges- though a little too gently for my tastes. After a bit of that, it’s time to reach for the rubbers.

Quaintly, he leaves the room to put the condom on in the bathroom- my first time with a guy who does that- and as he comes back onto the bed, I reach for his dick, just to make sure it’s really on. As he fucks me, I get wetter because he’s still pulling my hair. My eyes roll back, and I am floating on an incredible high. I wish he would talk dirty to me, tell me how much he wants to fuck me, but he’s too distracted to understand what I’m asking, or perhaps too self conscious to do it. As he thrusts, I am thinking that ordinarily this friction would be painful, but the weed is numbing any pain I might feel, so I am left with just the exhilaration of getting fucked. I tell him to take me from behind, and when we switch, I start to play with myself with one hand. I wish he would be a little more dominant, but in just a few moments, he comes. As he pulls out, I grab his cock and hold the rim of the condom, to prevent it from slipping off inside me. We collapse exhausted into each other, I rest my head on his arm, and soon enough I hear him snoring and feel his body give little twitches in its sleep. An hour later he gives me $20 for the cab and we hug goodbye.

In the car I notice my feelings, and realize that I am not at all sad to be leaving, and neither am I enamored of him, like I normally would be after having passionate sex with a man. I am happy. I feel fine. Although I have lots of sex with different people, this is a first of sorts, and I like it.

While I am very professional within my paid relationships, my “free” relationships can sometimes become an outlet for wild emotions. At times, emotions have overwhelmed me to the exclusion of all common sense, even transforming into neediness when the lover does not reciprocate sufficiently. I was never happy with myself for feeling this way, but up until now had trouble figuring out how to control it. This newly-discovered divorce of emotion and sexual expression is liberating. It’s amazing that I can finally feel passion without mixing it up with love, and I can’t wait to continue exploring.

Sex Party with B

2009-08-23T08:59:00.001-04:00

That morning, I made a mad dash for my dentists office in Queens. It was a nightmare of a trip, since I was carrying a large bag full of winter jackets, it was hot and I was aggravated, and I accidentally got on the wrong train, realized my mistake, transferred to the right one, and finally came out at the wrong train station. Twice. The second time was because I got off at the right station, didn’t recognize it, and got on the train again thinking it’s the next stop. It was a nightmare, and I ended up being late. After the dentist, I texted B to see if we’re hanging out tonight. He said we might get a job.

Back home, I showered, shaved, and scrunched some curling cream in my hair. B wanted to meet at 9:30, then texted me to come at 10. We were not working after all, but his friends have offered us discount passes on a sex party: normally it would be $125 per couple, but with these tickets it’s only $50, and we decided to go and check it out. I was curious and really wanted to go, since B told me it was quite an experience.

The party turned out to be a great experience. It was hosted at a very posh space downtown, and the crowd was upscale but chilled out. The converted warehouse-type building had a huge patio, a roof deck, a lounge, and a dance space. The theme was “Summer of Love”, and everyone’s 60’s-style wigs and headbands prevented even the snobby people from looking pretentious. There were a couple of extremely hot strippers as entertainment, and lots of action going on in corners and on couches all around the room. We chilled out with B’s friends- an older couple and a younger girl they brought with them. They offered to smoke us up on the roof deck, and after sharing a pipe and making small talk, suddenly the older woman and I started making out with B, and then I turned to the younger girl and made out with her. She turned out to be a giddy and excited sweetie, and I immediately felt that despite the posh atmosphere, these are very cool people.

We went to a section with couches and lounged around, making out and talking. Next to us was a couple, and whereas the boy was average-looking, the girl was an impossibly hot, racially-mixed vixen, with curly hair and a gorgeous, tight body. After we’ve been next to each other for a few minutes- me on top of B, and her on top of her guy- B suggested that I start touching her, and after I worked up some courage, I reached out a hand, and stroked her lovely backside. She turned out to be incredibly responsive, and a great playmate. None of us went “all the way”, but we all made out and groped each other for a good 20 minutes, which was insanely hot. At one point, I was surprised when the male stripper who had been entertaining the crowd earlier, stepped off the stage and started playing with my ass. Although I was not interested in going any further with him, merely the fact that he was willing to do it was sexy and fun.

Afterwards, B drove me to the subway. Before I went in, he asked if I’m available for a job the next day, and told me to be at his place by noon. It was extremely late and I was more than ready to go home, but apparently transportation was not my forte that day. I got on the wrong train and immediately fell asleep, sending myself into the deep recesses of the Bronx. After getting out, backtracking, and getting on the right train, I couldn’t sleep anymore. Dawn was breaking as I walked home from the station to the sound of chirping birds, and when I put my key to the keyhole, I could see it clearly by the new daylight.

London Client #1

2009-08-23T08:57:00.001-04:00

Immediately after the semester ended, I went on a little UK getaway. This wasn’t a working vacation, exactly, but I did see clients while I was there. My main reason for going was to sight-see and spend time with dear friends, but I wanted to offset the cost of the trip, and have fun without worrying about overspending. So, before leaving, I advertised on Craigslist.
I had two dates, which I set up prior to departure. A third one was nearly confirmed, but fell through due to poor planning and flakiness on my part (if you’re reading, sorry!), which I’m going to blame on end-of-semester stress.

I’ve gone on paid dates when the money at the end seemed like a consolation prize for spending time with a person I wasn't crazy about. But every now and again, I get lucky and go on a date which is so good that it’s almost inspiring. Times like these remind me why I chose to do sex work, and almost make me wonder why the client is paying me, and not the other way around. Both of the British gentlemen I saw were like this, and spending time with them was so delightful, that it felt like a holiday before the official holiday even began. In each case, I stayed well past the appointed time, and enjoyed myself so much didn’t even occur to me to “watch the clock”.

It’s amazing how much I tend to build up my expectations of clients prior to the date- to the extent where it’s almost surprising when they turn out to be real people. Just because they have more money than me, I assume they must have a stiff upper lip, or have weird habits, or talk about things I don’t understand. However, more often than not, what's in my imagination is quite different from the real person who is the client. It often turns out that I’m the one who talks about things they don’t understand due to the subjects I’ve studied, and every now and again I even dumb myself down a little, so as not too seem too nerdy and accidentally put them off.

John turned out to be a well-mannered older gentleman from a suburban part of town. I didn’t have to dumb myself down, since he was easily at my level, and our conversation was easy and relaxed. His place was spacious but not huge, and didn’t look pretentious. After chatting and getting to know each other, we drove to the restaurant where he had a reservation. It turned out to be quite good, and I drank almost an entire bottle of red wine, because he refused to drink more than half a glass. By the end, I was very comfortable, and almost more relaxed than I’d ordinarily be with a client.

During dinner we talked a little bit about his fantasies, how he came to have them, and what he would expect during the session. When we got back to his apartment, I changed into pajama bottoms that he had prepared in advance. I knew he would be spanking and caning me, and after I got over my initial fear of pain, we had a really fun time giving me English history lessons. It was very charming to play teacher and pupil, and afterwards I changed into my own pajamas and actually worked on a paper I had to submit that day to one of my professors, while he waited for me in bed, half-asleep.

The next morning we drove to a nice place for breakfast, and kept talking about his family, his life and divorce, my education, travel plans, and whatnot. It almost felt like spending time with a sweet older uncle, and I loved the slightly kinky implications of thinking of him in that way. I wondered what the other diners at the restaurant might think we were in relation to each other. He even bought me dessert that I could take away and have in my hotel room later, and then gave me a ride into central London where I was staying. He was such a sweet man, that I was sorry to have to say good bye.

Sexual Development 2

2009-06-23T04:43:00.002-04:00

A long time ago, before I began exploring alternative lifestyles, I was at the Strand with my mother, and became fascinated by a coffee table photography book. The theme was vaguely centered around body modification and non-traditional identities, with portraits interspersed by model interviews. I remember a lot of these pictures, and they were things I’ve never been exposed to before: goths, a man who thought of himself as a vampire, people with tattoos, scars and brands. One photo was of a shaved-headed middle-aged man who was wearing a dress. The picture was taken as he lifted up his skirt, revealing the penis underneath.

Back then the little I knew about kink was too strange for my mind to process and was too afraid to look for it. But kinky things held a fascination for me: and equal measure of interest and fear. After seeing that picture I didn’t even understand why I remembered it so well, but remember it I did, and thought back to it often. The more I learned about sexuality the more I kept thinking back to it, wondering why it seemed so exciting and what about it made such an impression.

As I see it, it’s not emasculating for a man to be wearing a skirt. In fact, the very act of putting it on is more like a reaffirmation of maleness, which can’t help but come out from under the feminizing clothes. It’s the masculinity in that whole ensemble that drew me back then.

I still find men in skirts erotic, though it’s not a particular fetish of mine (I don’t really have any). I think Scottish guys are sexy (and yes, I realize that I’m practically asking for a beating by alleging that that thing which Scotsmen wear is called a skirt), and I love straight guys who are confident enough to occasionally wear nail polish or non-masculine garb. A dress-up is not a requirement for attraction, but is one of the many things that could draw me in.

Literary Whore

2009-06-21T01:17:00.004-04:00

I got my final push into sex work by reading books. When I was growing up, everything to do with emotion, sex, and sensuality felt embarrassing, to the point where I would leave the living room if a kissing scene came up on TV. Pornography was unavailable to a pre-teen girl, we had no erotica in the house, and my friends couldn’t supply me with anything beyond confusing misinformation and the basic “in and out” facts of anatomy. It was through reading that I learned about passion, excitement, and sensual intimacy.

It took a lot of effort and time before I freed myself from my shyness about sexuality. I’m a very open and sensual person now, but the path towards reclaiming my sexual expression had not always been straight-forward. I spent more than a decade discovering and developing my sexuality, and it was years before I learned to recognize and accept it as a vibrant part of myself- another of the many things that make me, me.

I’ve done much exploring over the years, which is fodder for posts to come, but at some point, I got to reading Balzac, whose novels are inhabited by 1800’s French courtesans. I immediately fell in love with these books, because his female characters are beautiful, young, charming, and often coy. My parents loved that I was reading classical literature, and I enjoyed getting to know about these women.

The courtesan trope is beautiful and captivating, not least because these women embody things which I strive to be: charming, light-hearted and well-mannered. Some were popular actresses, supported by wealthy benefactors with whom they had to sleep in exchange for apartments, furniture, jewels, and clothes. In addition to the old men, these girls had boyfriends- often impoverished noblemen or students, whom they supported using the money from their “patrons”. A courtesan is a skilled conversationalist, a girl who can gently and delicately get her way without ever uttering a rude or demanding phrase. I feel like I have miles to go before I reach that level of coquettish charm- but it’s something to aspire to.

From that reading, I moved on to more modern writings. I discovered Tracy Quan’s Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl at Borders a few years ago, and was immediately sucked into the fascinating world of Nancy Chan, the stylish, intelligent, and self-reliant protagonist. I credit the Nancy novels for giving me a gentle nudge I needed to take the leap from contemplating sex work to actively pursuing it. Nancy’s character is confident, edgy, and yet emotionally whole- contrasting with the conflicted or deceitful characters I have read about before. Hers was the voice of a woman unapologetic for what she does. Reading about her was like a revelation- she was a prostitute who didn’t feel ashamed of what she did. In the past I had assumed that all escorts felt guilty and powerless over their lives- now I knew that smart, together, responsible women could be escorts as well. That meant I could do it too, and still keep my individuality intact. I saw that a downward spiral of drugs, shame, and loss of self-respect were not a pre-determined destiny for every girl wishing to escort.

After Tracy Quan, I picked up Belle de Jour, first in book form, and then on the web, and through her blog discovered a whole world of hooker writings online. It was the blogs of other sex workers that gave me the tools to think about escorting in a healthy way, and to process my own life choices without resorting to the shame and guilt that was taught to me at a young age.
From then, it was a small step to start my own blog. I owe this chapter of my life to writing and literary expression indeed.

Sexual Development 1

2009-06-19T00:13:00.003-04:00

I try not to define myself sexually. I am attracted to girls. But I can’t in all honesty call myself bi because a girl who loves men, has had many relationships with men, and has never had a girlfriend, to my mind is not bisexual. I think in order to be fully bi, there needs to be more of an evenness of attraction to the genders. Which brings up the question of which convenient label I should attach to myself. Maybe I’m what they call “bi-curious”, although that’s not really accurate, as there’s nothing really to be curious about- I know very well that I’m into girls. Just not nearly as much as I am into boys.

And there’s more to it, because as soon as I realized that I’m capable of being attracted to women, it became obvious to me that I can be attracted to other types of people as well. Trannies, intersex people, or anyone else who chooses not to apply any labels at all, are all welcome as my playmates. We’re all people. And we’re all capable of being beautiful, sexy and fun.

Nowadays I explain it like this: 85% of me is a normal straight girl, and the other 15% is polyamorous and pansexual. That means I’m open to everyone. But mostly, I stick to men.

H&M

2009-06-17T09:34:00.003-04:00

I was looking at underwear in H&M a few days ago and found corsets for $24, which surprises me for two reasons:

1. Decent price (but then again, this is H&M, so a good deal shouldn't be unexpected). 2. I didn’t realize H&M sold corsets. Alongside the thong panties I also notice garter belts in matching colors. Apparently even the mainstream stores have realized that women like to wear sexy underthings. I've gone into this store many times, but don't recall anything beyond the usual (albeit cute) panty and bra selection.

Back in college many of my friends owned garters and stockings, but I don’t think this was typical of most college students- and I don’t remember buying them at H&M. Is this a sign of a shift towards sexual positivity in our culture? Better yet, I discover the clearance rack with corsets reduced to $15. This made me wonder who decides what to put on sale, since they were almost exactly the same as the regular priced ones.

Now I have a cute lacy thing to wear to sessions and photoshoots.

Working on Craigslist

2009-05-29T23:39:00.005-04:00

All the recent Craigslist hoopla makes me want to talk about it.

For a long time I never posted, and my only source of contacts was responding to ads of others.

When I went on CL to find opportunities, I would read through hundreds of listings a day, and write to the ones that sound like real people. Of all initial contacts I made, only about 20 percent bothered getting back to me, and of those, about three quarters were freaks and time wasters.

It took me a while to learn to spot these people. They like to email back and forth, demand more pictures, more emails, more discussions about their fantasies, and then suddenly disappear. Often they write at length about their desires, but as soon as I trust them enough to give out my number and ask them to call me to set up an appointment, they never contact me again.

No capitalization and one-word responses = unfailingly a flake. This was a hard one to accept because a lot of my friends write like that, but eventually I learned. After wasting hours of my precious time trading emails back and forth with the one-sentence people, I have yet to meet one. On the other hand, good grammar, proper sentence structure and capitalization have resulted in many good clients.

When I first started getting in touch with people online, this behavior really confused me. It made me angry when people flaked on me, and I took it personally. Now I just hit the delete button. As soon as I see "text speak", pictures of nether regions, or long-winded, self-absorbed descriptions of "desires", the message is eliminated.

This is why only about 5 to 10 percent of all posts I respond to result in meaningful real-world contact. This is a time-wasting aspect of my life, and the money at the end is not as much as it seems if you factor in the hours I spend wasting time on false leads.

I think many CL posters harbor anxieties and fears of their own sexuality, which prevent them from actually following through and acting on their fantasy, but they still keep them going on Craigslist again and again. And wasting other people's time.

First Post

2009-05-25T23:35:00.005-04:00

Hi everyone.

I've been considering writing a blog. For about a year. I usually consider things for a good long while: I like to mull things over and see them from all the different sides.

But now it's time! I want to blog because I enjoy reading others, and want to add to the community. I do not lay claim to anything profound, but merely want to start writing and see what happens.

Another reason is that putting my thoughts out on a page helps me sort through my feelings, and this will blog be as much for me as for whomever chooses to read.

But the one really, really important reason is that I enjoy discussing sex.