i. ii. iii. iv. v. About & FAQ
"…a pale hand slipping past my pinafore, past my rib, past all earthly touch."

 —  forth

so strange how words can mean and not mean. if i mention i am drinking lemonade it creates an atmosphere, if i say i am drinking coffee another. it’s almost as if you could live two separate lives based on tiny things such as what shampoo you use, what you drink first thing in the morning, whether or not you like the colour blue.

—  Jessica Therese, contramonte.tumblr.com.

7 . 23

Anonymous: this may be a little too personal but when you are with a client is your only priority their orgasm or pleasure? like are you not allowed to make them do things for your pleasure or do you orgasm during? im just curious about the nature of your work

As a sex worker, men pay me to emulate their fantasies. In providing this service my priority is to learn what my clients want, and to surpass their expectations, without doing anything I’m not comfortable with.

Telling my clients to do things for my enjoyment is one of the ways I get them off. The majority of men love seeing a woman cum. Acting like I’m horny and telling them to touch me in a certain way, or fuck me in a certain position is all a part of the act. A simple, “don’t fucking stop” or, “make me cum all over your cock” works wonders.

I never derive any pleasure from this, though. (I have plenty of friends who cum while they’re working, so this doesn’t apply to every sex worker.) If I wanted my clients to make me orgasm, I could, but it’s never appealed to me.

When I’m working, I’m mechanical. Being with strangers doesn’t give me sexual pleasure. A guy could fuck me for hours and I wouldn’t feel a thing, because my mind is elsewhere. (Checking that the condom hasn’t slipped or broken, focussing on how my body looks, making sure he’s enjoying himself, watching the clock to make sure the session is running according to my schedule, etc.) I’m disconnected from the reality of most situations when I’m working.

Keeping my feelings separated from sex work has always been a priority for me. This doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t enjoy it; it just means I don’t enjoy it sexually. x

7 . 23

"Your power, your pleasure, your perfect femininity."

[Trigger warnings: violence, suicide role play, gender role play.]

[Read Part I here.]

Pig Dog strips in the entranceway and crawls to kiss our shoes. My girlfriend and I kick repeatedly; into his torso and testicles at first, before aiming at his face.

We spit, we slap, we laugh and look down on him. When we tell the Pig Dog he belongs below us, his reply is always “I know.” Together, we’re showered with compliments. He tells us how lucky we are to be born as perfect females.

Pig is permitted to drink from a bowl on the kitchen floor. Again, we giggle amongst ourselves. He laps at the still water like an animal.

I’m stroking my girlfriend’s peachy thigh while she fantasises about castrating our guest with a blunt blade.
"My pig testicles are an insult to you. I’m so, so sorry Miss K. I’m nothing but your torture slave. I want to die for you."

I hand him a length of rope; 1.5 metres, cotton. He’s unsure of how to tie a noose. I demand that he learns to do so immediately. (A torture pig must know how to secure a knot if he’s to dangle in his rightful place, from the railing of my balcony, after all.)

We lead Pig Dog to the bathtub and instruct him to piss into his mouth. Cowering, he claims he can’t. My girlfriend whines, “why have you embarrassed me in front of my friend?” He apologises, sincerely and repeatedly. It’s not good enough and we tell him to get out of our sight.

"Goodbye Pig, I hope you’ll impress me next time."
“Snort, snort, snort.” (Pig noises.)

*

My girlfriend received this message after he’d returned to his suite:

"Dear Miss K. Thank you for hurting me. Thank you for allowing me to be in the same room as you and your lovely friend Miss H. I am so sorry again for failing to fill my pig mouth with pig piss squirting out my pig sausage while the two of you laugh and feel contempt for this pig. While lying in your tub trying to perform I had a good look at my sausage with its stupid dick head hole pointing at my face. It and the balls are unspeakable disgusting. The lowest of the low. You are so beautiful and perfect. Your skin your raw and powerful female perfect body. You deserve pigs to kill and beautiful girls to get off with. I hope to be the first of many pigs that you castrate. Sitting back on your throne. Happy and loving it: the pig tied but mouth squealing while someone cuts the balls off … in exactly the way using exactly the cutter as you’ve chosen. I hope to have my pain tolerance build up so that you can torture me. Slowly cruelly truly mercilessly. I hope to be your torture pig. Like a medieval torture victim living in a dungeon. A starved sack of torture shit. With the dick and balls sack of shit … impotent shit snail and the hairy shit testicles hanging like the sad pathetic repulsive distract they are. A cadaver meat pig whose only life is to be tortured. Who knows always how right your cruelty is. Your cruelty is a pigs only honesty. I hope to be part of a pack of abuse pigs who will all kill themselves for you. You are an Aphrodite. Your power your pleasure your perfect femininity. You are born to rule. Oink. Xxx"

7 . 23

On healing.

[TW: Depression, suicide.]

Suffering with depression has always been my choice.

This is coming from a girl who self-harmed as young as ten. Suicide wasn’t only something I obsessed over, but romanticised. My teenage years were spent nestled beneath my duvets, debating whether I “deserved” a gory or a silent death. It got to a point where (I thought) I actually enjoyed sabotaging, depriving, and “punishing” myself. As a result, I missed countless opportunities for excitement, growth, and peace.

My twenty-second birthday is just around the corner, and overcoming depression last year is one of my proudest accomplishments to date.

The course of my life changed when I stopped seeing myself as a victim, and started viewing each waking moment as an opportunity to create something better, more beautiful. Taking responsibility for my own thoughts was both confronting and liberating. I realised that while others could influence me, the only person in control of my thoughts and reactions was me. I’d spent years clutching at anger and resentment, when really, I was choosing to hold them so close. Suddenly I realised that the act of “blaming” (blaming others, my childhood, my current environment, etc) was lazy, and to be honest, really embarrassing. Even so, I needed to be gentle. If I wanted to become healthier, I had to stop beating myself up over the tiniest of mistakes.

I still have heavy days. All I wanted to do this afternoon was sob, for no particular reason at all. Nothing had happened; I was just sad.

The difference between 12 months ago and now is that I know I’m powerful enough to choose. Instead of being consumed by negativity, I observe it. I’m aware of my feelings of guilt, misery, and hatred, but I don’t let them devour me. Actively distancing myself from these thoughts means I control them, instead of them controlling me.

Giving myself permission to “feel” has healed me immensely. Instead of fearing pain, I make peace with it. The second I stop fighting misery / anger / guilt, is the second it stops consuming me. There is nothing to be scared of because I know no feeling is final. Patiently allowing my emotions to pass through me organically (as opposed to holding and controlling them) brings me closer to healing. I honour the process.

Now, life couldn’t be more perfect; I live in a beautiful home, my friends and family are gorgeous, I work as often or as little as I please, my savings account is plump, I’m free to travel and indulge in all manner of luxuries, and my body is fitter and healthier than ever. Passion drives everything I do, and I create as many opportunities to express gratitude as possible.

I’m not saying people develop depression because it’s their fault. Deep down, nobody wants to hurt, and we all cope in the best ways we know how. I do, however, believe that most people are powerful enough to conquer depression. The way we think, and ultimately feel, is our choice, whether we to take responsibility for it or not.

Happiness isn’t something that just happens to a person; it requires a lot of fucking work. It took me a long time to realise that sitting around and waiting for things to change was pointless. If I want joy and laughter and light, I have to manifest it myself. These are things I will continue working towards with discipline and patience.

Dragging my body from my bed was a struggle today, but I did it. And that is an achievement in itself.

7 . 23

My grandmother

My grandmother is so excited to watch my pole dancing competition in October, that’s she’s already planning her trip to the city. (She lives 600 kilometres away.) I’m so, so blessed to have a gorgeous family who support me in whatever I do. x

7 . 23

I’d never tried this trick before today, and nailed it on the second attempt. Happy, happy. (Instagram: @likelace.) x

7 . 21

On self love & having a gorgeous life.

I’ve fallen back into touch with my energy. My self: a vessel through which marvels flow — music, imagination, gratitude, ecstasy, intuition, soft light. To give love is to heal. I consciously care for myself because I am deserving. I am deserving, I am deserving, (repeat, repeat, repeat). I am worthy of joy, care, nurturing, indulgence.

I believe we’re all worthy of receiving pleasure; nobody is born to struggle. People aren’t bought into the world to worry, to fear, to suffer. We don’t deserve this. I mean, what’s the point? Dreading routine, lacking passion and peace, and succumbing to boredom is unnatural. What is life without health, vitality, and excitement? There’s no shortage of love or comfort or luxurious happiness that one can enjoy, and I truly believe we’re all worthy. We deserve a life bursting with absolute pleasure.

Life is a process of creation. Wonderful things don’t “just happen” to us; magic is manifested. Each waking moment is an opportunity to create the beautiful life you were born to live. This doesn’t necessarily mean doing something spectacular every day — creating beauty is as simple as having kind intentions; gentle thoughts, gentle words, gentle actions. Be conscious throughout your day and try to notice how many negative thoughts you have (about yourself, others, certain situations). How do they quantify in comparison to your positive thoughts? Be generous with your thoughts. First, towards yourself, and then towards others. You deserve to have a wonderful life. It all begins with choices.

Recommended reading: The Power, Rhonda Byrne.

7 . 19

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.

—  Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book of Hours  (via scrlett)

(via herdirtylittleheart)

7 . 18

I made a guy cum

I made a guy cum by saying “your penis is like a toe.”

7 . 17

This morning

This morning has consisted of strangers coming to my house, licking my feet, and leaving.

7 . 15

UK visa application

UK visa application has been approved! Guess I really am moving to England. (I still can’t believe it.)

7 . 14

It’s kinda great

It’s kinda great how a guy (young, tattooed from neck to ankle, blatantly a dealer) can be smoking crystal on the edge of my bed one minute, and gyrating on my strap-on the next. I love giving strangers an avenue to be themselves, I delight in the secrecy, and I still feel as blessed now as I did when I started escorting two years ago.

7 . 12

in one of the apartments in the building across from mine, someone is putting different colored scarves over a lamp, making the light change into slightly different hues of golden-gold. everything today seemed to flow into each other so seamlessly. not a single stutter, not a single […] in the stream of things. the days where i feel the most with it are the days like today, where we’re all weaving around doing what we’re doing, but we touch or we pass one another on the street and for a single moment we acknowledge one another and the fabric of who we know of what we’re doing of our humanity just tightens with a little tug. the days where everyone kind of falls into the same pulse, the same rhythm. outside of my building i sat and watched as five strangers (to myself and to themselves), out of the blue began to run. a couple and a man with a briefcase running past each other to avoid a taxi with its yellow lights streaming forward over the asphalt. the couple laughing, holding hands. the man holding his hat to his head, grinning apologetically. a girl running with a high pony and headphones past them. a small child with silk and black hair across the street on the back of her papa as they run, smiling and smiling. all of them, all of the people crossing paths for one moment and then moving away. burst and un-burst. touch and un-. do you know what i mean? and i just sat there and i felt as though i witnessed something so full of magic, so full of what, what do i call it - the holzerism of everything being delicately interconnected. yes, that. there are days where it feels like the world seems to be working itself up to this kind of blossoming, this kind of ease. i’ve been dancing all day. what is this hum that i’ve been hearing? mm, i’ve been dancing all, all day. it’s all so sticky and so sweet.

—  Shinji Moon.

7 . 11

Anonymous: And what did you and your girlfriend do in that suite?

Got paid in hundred dollar bills.

7 . 10

My girlfriend and I

My girlfriend and I bumped into James Packer in the lobby of The Crown last night, and ended up with our own keycard to the executive suite. (Two unrelated bouts of luck. I certainly wouldn’t be posting about this if I was in Packer’s hotel room.) Escorting has opened me up to countless opportunities to meet wealthy, influential, and notorious people. I’m going to miss this terribly.

7 . 10