Ridiculously excited because I suggested to my (tiny) family that we spend Christmas Day volunteering at an animal shelter, and they’ve agreed! x
Much better, thank you for asking. I’m grateful for the ordeal now; falling ill reminded me of how important it is to care for my health. x
(Reference to this picture.) I wouldn’t wear lipstick and a studded bra into surgery! Yesterday I dressed up and performed the pole dancing routines I’ve been working on. Incredibly proud of my progress. x
Swanning around the gorgeous executive suite of this city’s priciest hotel at 09:00am… wearing nothing but a strap-on.
No single women, only couples. (My favourite experience was written about here). In the past, female clients have expected more in terms of intimate activities; they want tongue kissing, to finger me, for me to perform oral sex on them without a barrier, etc. (Men ask for these services all the time, but I have found it harder to tell women “no.”) I don’t offer any of these services to male clients, and I’ve stopped seeing couples because I’m uncomfortable going down on women I don’t know.
Of course. I spend 50+ hours per week at work and channelling so much energy into pleasing strangers causes me to burn out easily. When this happens I take an extended break until I feel refreshed and energised again. (Throughout the past year I’ve spent at least five months on holiday.)
For the first time, I had money taken from my bag by a client.
Another girl and I were booked for a threesome at a nearby hotel, and our client’s friend interrupted the session after half an hour because he “was denied entry into the casino and needed to change his outfit.” The two of us wrapped ourselves in towels and waited in the bathroom. After rushing to cover myself I realised that I left my bag unattended — something I’d normally never do. I checked the inner pockets as soon as our client’s friend left, and the wad of cash appeared to be tucked away as I left it. It wasn’t until we finished the booking and counted our money that we discovered $200 was missing.
Trying to let go of my frustration and disgust, and be grateful that a small amount was stolen, and not the entire $1,000.
Almost never. Sex isn’t a priority for me anymore, sadly. Working in this industry has made sex on the outside world feel “mechanical” because I struggle to detach from my work persona. I think I’ll only enjoy intimacy again when I’ve started a new relationship and know that my partner truly cares about me.
I. I’ve met clients through other avenues online, but not Tumblr (that I know of).
II. Having sex with strangers isn’t something I’ve ever found pleasurable, but I do enjoy the curious interactions, the sultry atmosphere, watching people’s faces crinkle during orgasm, having my physique admired, feeling desirable, tasting luxury, being involved in a lifestyle that many people find dark and intriguing, collecting peculiar stories, and learning people’s secrets. Most of the time I enjoy money more than the interactions, though.
Unlikely. I wouldn’t be interested in speaking to the media or revealing the client’s information if that was to happen, anyway. (Two months ago the Harlem Globetrotters emailed me, asking that I delete photos of us in their hotel room from Instagram incase TMZ exploited them. My friends and I didn’t even have sex with them and that was stressful enough.)
Strange things clients have said about my body in the past week: “I love your child-bearing hips.” / “You’re beautiful, you’d make a great mother.” / “I’d love to cut a hole in a condom and get you pregnant.”
your camomile grows tepid, I will
brush your hair sideways, press
my lips to your temple. I promise
to burrow my tongue into your
wounds, to wrap myself around
your plum flesh like a tourniquet,
to heal the both of us, forever. I will
follow you wherever you go; into
hell’s belly, across beds of broken
glass. And I promise, regardless of
where we walk, that we’ll emerge whole,
in the light, together.