You Might Have Been a Hooker* Too Long….

So, does anyone remember those “You might be a [blank] if…” jokes where the punch line is some funny and/or awful stereotype? Like “You might be a redneck if your mother is also your sister”, or “You might be a dumb blonde if you can’t tell if it’s chicken or fish.” Well, you know where this is going! (and please, feel free to add on to this, but only in the fun way. Punch UP never DOWN, as my comedian friends always say)

This whole thing came about because after a sweaty roll in the hay with one of my social sex partners (yes, Virginia, I have a bit of a carrousel of people for what I call ‘sport sex’. Not professional by any means, but not that lovey-dovey romantic love making. Sport sex is much easier to move around) and instead of just laying back and enjoying the after glow, silly auto-pilot me pops up, gets a tissue and a hot cloth, and begins to do the pampered clean up/wipe down that all of my clients get to enjoy (I have a hot towel warmer, and I MUST use it). This was a little absurd to him, as he’d never had his… um… clean up needs taken care of for him before. Half way through I realize what I’m doing, and get a terrible case of the giggles.

“Well, you know you’ve been a hooker too long when you start doing the clean up directly after a sport sex session,” I laugh. After that, I started to think about it a bit more, and came up with a few things. Some aren’t original at all, but some I thought were a little more personal. So, here are my (probably terrible) You Might Be a Hooker jokes:

*(I want to get this out of the way: though I prefer to use the term ‘hooker’ in reference to MYSELF as a sex worker, it isn’t always considered a positive term to other sex workers. As always, this blog strives to speak for ME, and MY experiences without stepping over or silencing others’ voices or making others feel uncomfortable. In place of “hooker” one could put sex worker, provider, escort, Companion, or any number of other words if my use of ‘hooker’ offends. Thank you this has been a PSA by the CYA SW edition)

You might be a hooker if you buy your condoms (all three sizes) in bulk.

You might be a hooker if you calculate bills in sessions, rather than in real money. (ie. the rent is 4 sessions, the utilities are 1 session, those amazing pair of come-fuck-me boots is 2 sessions)

You might be a hooker if your litmus test for make up isn’t if it’s expensive, but if it’s water proof and smear-proof (I still can’t find blow-job proof lipstick, but I’m getting close!)

You might be a hooker if your amazon account seems to always recommend these three things: condoms, hand towels, lubricant. Bonus if there is stockings and fitted sheets.

You might have been a hooker too long when you roll your eyes at a friend who is complaining of having to fold her one load of laundry… because you just got done folding 15 fitted sheets, 4 flat sheets, 12 pillow cases, and 10 body towels.

You might have been a hooker too long when your fridge is full of champagne, bottled water, and strawberries, and nothing else. Likewise, your pantry has 12 different kinds of teas, cocoas, ciders, and about 20 bars of different kinds of chocolate, but no salt, pepper, or spices.

You might have been a hooker too long if you never have to look for an envelope to mail a letter/give a holiday card.

You might have been a hooker too long if your underwear drawer is looking spartan but your stockings drawer is literally overflowing onto the ground.

You might have been a hooker too long if you can go from just out of bed to polished and pretty in under 20 minutes (let’s face it, sometimes last minute appointments fall into our laps)

How To Survive A Cancellation

Hello lovers and dreamers!  I do hope that you are enjoying the fantastically sunny day here in my favorite city, and it is just so sweet of you to come by and visit!  Today’s post is a bit tongue in cheek, a bit ribald, a bit, well, just funny!  Know that there is no malice behind this post nor is there any bad blood.  Let’s laugh together!

However…

Cancellations just suck, don’t they?  As a provider, I spend a good hour or so getting ready for every appointment, not to mention the hours it can take “off the clock” to schedule with someone new. So to have my hopes of sexy fun dashed last minute (usually due to unforseen circumstances, truly) just puts a stutter in my day.  It’s natural to feel bummed out, maybe a little frustrated, even miffed.  BUT!  As it happens, I’ve come up with some pretty fool-proof things to do to boost up that mood a bit, and maybe feel like you haven’t simply wasted an hour (or more) of your precious time!

 

1. Practice a new make up technique: I’m so boring with my makeup.  Concealer, powder, eye shadow, liner, lipstick.  It’s all the same, I can do it in my sleep (well, no I can’t but you see the hyperbole for what it is).  No matter the fun pictures or “so easy!” how to’s I find on YouTube I never seem to pull the trigger and actually try something new!  So, this time I decided to go an entirely different direction with my eye makeup and highlighting. Maybe you learn something new (pastel pink is a good color on me), maybe you learn a new trick (hide under eye circles with yellow pigment!), maybe you fail miserably (I can not be trusted with traditional liner pencils. I will ruin them in my quest to sharpen them perfectly) but here’s the good news: NO ONE has to see it or even know about it! You’ve just eaten up at least half an hour!
2. Find an involved hair tutorial and test it out.  I know this sounds the exact same as number 1, but trust me, it’s way different (and takes up way more time) This is how I learned to perfect my victory rolls cheat. (photographic proof below)
3. Dust under something. No, stay with me! If you are anything like me, I spend a good 30 minutes or so before an appointment sweeping, dusting, wiping down or fluffing up things so it looks neat as a pin.  I organize, I stack, I even out and fold.  But there is something that I’m not really proud of: I really dislike wiping down my baseboards.  Call it a mental block, call it laziness, but I just don’t. like. it. So, I have decided that when I get stood up for whatever reason I resolve to do at least one round with my fancy duster thing on my baseboards.  If you regulate that one distasteful job to a (hopefully) rare occurrence like a cancellation or no show it seems far less daunting, right?
4. I’m not even going to sugar-coat this, but get some “self love” time in!  (OK that was still pretty sweet) One of the best pieces of advice my mentor gave me was to always, always, always be excited for your engagement.  Now, most might have taken that to mean get amped up, look pretty, treat him like a long-lost lover come home again.  However, MY mentor was a crazy sex freak (in the best of ways, holla lady!) and spelled it out for me: m-a-s-t-u-r-b-a-t-e. Before every engagement. Not necessarily to completion, you of course want to save all the extra fun stuff for when you are together, but it’s the best way to get that alluring glow in your cheeks, that heady aroma in the air, and hey, masturbating feels awesome, why wouldn’t you do it? So, if you have an hour to kill, maybe it’s the perfect time to rev up that dopamine and oxytocin generator and go to town!
5. Take a nap.  This might just be me, but I love naps. Need I say more?

 

So there you have it, darlings, five spectacular ways to take the sting out of a cancellation.  Now that it’s getting to be gorgeous again we can probably add to the list “take a walk outside” or “read a book on the roof” or “go pick flowers in the park”, but I wanted to keep things pretty specific to in doors and in studio.  I can’t lie, with the odd engagement fizzling right at go time, I’ve had a lot of time to think about these things. You can’t ever be disappointed if you have a proper back up plan!

 

(Oh, and here’s my little experiment with victory rolls.  The secret hack is to pull the side hair out at almost 90 degrees then curl it -back- and pin)

“The Dog Days of Summer”

Did you know that the dog days of summer were once considered a good thing?  A time to lay back, be lazy, it was too hot to consider doing any sort of real work.  Now, we think of the dog days as the bitter, humid end to a summer that isn’t exactly ended yet.  90 degree days and 70% humidity at night.  Hell, when it rains it just feels sticky since there isn’t enough cold to freshen everything up.

Anyway, like the delicate flower I am, I cannot bear the mix of heat and humidity.  So I’ve been desperately trying to keep from melting and doing a fairly poor job of it!  So I have been curled up, in the blessed dark, fans on high and not a stitch on, reading.  Oh and the things I’ve been reading!  Sons of the Profits tells the (not so glamorous) tale of how my favorite city in the world began (that city, obviously, being Seattle).  Good Time Girls tells the sordid story of just how integral “seamstresses” were to the growing logging and mining community in our fair city.  And, just to round out my sexual education, I’ve picked up The History of Sex.  There was NEVER a time where women were delicate and fainting, men were chivalrous and neutered, and no one ever talked out of turn or did “nasty” things.  Let me just tell you, the Greeks, Romans, Turks, and the British have ALL done some things that would curl your nose hairs.  It’s amazing.

So, what’s coming down the pipe is this: I have a very special “Ask Mag” article I’m trying to hammer out, so that might be a while, I am gleefully typing up my own short handed account of “Good Time Girls”, I think it’s time for another sexy sex toy review, and maybe a poem or two memorializing just how dewy one’s bosom can become when she is reading erotica in the summer swelter.

Just a tid bit to tide you over, my lovers and dreamers.  Wish for rain!

Let’s Get Physical!

My darlings, what is a girl to do when she realizes she just needs a little bit of help to get into those tight, tight wiggle dresses?

 

I am NOT one to tie on sneakers and go work out in a gym… Frankly I had enough of that in the Army and good riddance.  No, I would much rather take a pole dancing class, or go rock climbing!  Adventure, thrill, a good story afterward!  That’s what I want.

 

My doctor tells me that even the most vigorous sex isn’t enough to be considered a full workout regimen (yes, I did indeed ask her that.  She and I have a great rapport) so she has suggested that since I just about slid out of my seat from boredom while she was discussing running, jogging, and swimming (Chlorine is TERRIBLE for my hair!) she finally told me that if I could find trails to walk really fast on, it could be considered a cardio work out.  So!  That, in combination with a 4 floor walk up, and a little bit of weight lifting, I should be looking 10 years younger in no time!

 

I do have a serious thing to ask of you, my lovely readers.  I think for this to work, I really need to continue all of that glorious, sweaty, vigorous loving.  So what I need from you is your support and encouragement!  Let’s nip this wibbly tummy in the bud so I can get back to wearing my slinkiest dresses!

Travel Plans, Portland…. HO!

(yes, I made a pun. I’m punny.)

My lovers and dreamers, guess what I did that I promised I wouldn’t do? That’s right, drop off the edge of cyber-world. What is a girl to do? Luckily, as penance I have something just daring and delicious in the works, so keep faith and hold on to your socks.

Speaking of socks! (here) that I’ve listed what I think are most if not all contingencies concerning my travel. Obviously I have nothing down dictating multi-day excursions, and the reason being I haven’t quite figured out a proper rate scale there. I would rather take into account the wheres, whys, how longs and whens before setting a number to a week or more journey. A trip to Hawaii and surrounding islands for a week is quite a different beast than a four-day slamfest in Las Vegas! (I know, because I’ve done both!)

I’m curious, my darlings, where have been your favorite vacation spots? Where would you go again, or (and here’s a fun game) pretend that money is no object: what is your dream destination? Personally, I am torn between Japan (and Okinawa) and trekking through western Europe. I do hope that one day I can tick both of those off my list, and maybe even climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in heels!

A Resurgence of the 1950s housewife?

I was recently pointed to an article which posits the question, “Are we bringing back the 1950s housewife paradigm?”.  The author points to the latest fashion design week, where not one but two designers admitted to using 1950s housewife tropes in their designs (one papered his models in custard tins and plastic bags, while the other took more style lines from the era via skirts and dresses), the popularity of Mad Men, and how celebrities like Katy Perry and Taylor Swift have embraced “their inner housewife”.

The article is keen to point out that this is also the 50th anniversary of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique, in which Ms. Friedan urges women to retire their aprons, walk out of their kitchens and find self-fulfilling work and claim their independence.  I suppose one is to ponder what Ms. Friedan would think of the modern woman’s desire to wear red lipstick and knee-length skirts whilst toying about in the kitchen wearing a lacy apron.

What is amusing (and sad) to me is that fashion is dictating this author’s opinion on what was a gender war.  The 1950s woman had very few options given to her: marry (best choice), or if no man would have you, teach or care for children, while also caring for your aging parents.  If she went to college at all, the expectation was to drop out and/or quit when she found a husband.  Some women were even sent to college for the express purpose of finding a husband who would someday have a well-paying career.  Women were ruled by their husbands, and in turn the children she was expected to have would run her life inside the home.  Intelligence might have been seen as a positive, but she wasn’t ever asked her opinion unless it was home-related.  I’ve had some seniors I volunteer with tell me of stories of when they were young and married, how discussions of politics and religion and finance were “men’s areas” and how the women were shooed away from such talk.  A 1950s housewife was expected to be beautiful, put together, gracious, and above all else, subservient to her husband.

Just because a lady likes to put on a diner dress, roll her hair up into pin curls and paint her eyes and lips into the classic bombshell look does NOT mean she’s ready to hand over her individuality (and her brain!) to a man.  Having a lust for baking and all things frilly does not a meek woman make.  Trust me… I dare you to tell me to shut up and get back into the kitchen!Now to be fair, the author does touch on the exact rant I just gave you:

“But the revival of the 1950s housewife look isn’t necessarily a cause for concern. Dressing up doesn’t need to be a problem for feminism and there’s even something liberating about fashion designers like Kukhareva reinventing the housewife as a newly emancipated, sassy renegade marching down the catwalk.

Yet playing dress up should remain firmly within the remit of style. When fashion blogs breezily talk about ‘celebrating’ the housewife without thinking of its wider associations, and when women like Swift and Perry denounce feminism or show a lack of understanding of its ideals, it’s time to ensure that it’s just the flower-print 1950s dresses that stay retro, not our underlying attitudes.”

Even here, I have an issue.  Just a little niggle, actually.  The “new wave” of feminists (like, say, Taylor Swift’s age) have grown up fearing the “Feminazi” who burns bras, hates men, and froths at the mouth at the mention of a woman even TOUCHING a frying pan.  I say this with distinction as I was raised as such and am in a similar generation.  I shied away for YEARS calling myself a feminist, because I didn’t hate men, and I didn’t have a problem with my mother staying at home caring for her family.  It wasn’t until I realized that true feminism is about the choice to stay at home or earn a career, that true equality means equal pay for equal work, and that a woman shouldn’t be held back from enriching herself because “that’s men’s work”.  Are we at risk of sliding back to the “good ol’ days” of 1950, with segregation, marital rape, and a prevailing attitude that women are to be wedded and bedded and silent?  I don’t think so.  A pair of back seam stockings and retro hairstyle is a far cry from that.  Even attempting to juxtapose the two is laughable because on it’s face retro clothing is a choice a woman makes to be proud of her sensuality and femininity, while keeping her self-worth at an acceptable level.  Liking the vintage look isn’t a political statement or a defense of “traditional” values, and maintaining said style isn’t some comment on anti-feminist thinking.  Just as women wearing men’s work boots doesn’t mean we are ushering into a woman-dominated Mad Max (or Zardoz), a woman donning a circle skirt and cardigan doesn’t mean she’s ready to give up all that difficult schooling and career thing and defer to a man.

Now, who wants cookies!?

Why did Mrs. Claus kick Santa out? Because he called her a “Ho, ho, ho!”

I can hear you groaning from here!  But, tis the season to be jolly!  I love a good groaner as much as the next one!

In the holiday spirit, I give you my own rendition of The 12 Days of Christmas!

On the First day of Christmas my lover gave to me: Striped socks that go over my knees!

On the Second day of Christmas my lover gave to me: Two sets of stockings and striped socks that go over my knees!

On the Third day of Christmas my lover gave to me: Three massage candles, two sets of stockings and striped socks that go over my knees!

Oh the Fourth day of Christmas my lover gave to me: Four kinds of coffee, three massage candles, two sets of stockings and striped socks that go over my knees!

On the Fifth day of Christmas my lover gave to me: FIVE LACY THONGS!!! Four kinds of coffee, three massage candles, two sets of stockings and striped socks that go over my knees!

I am having a ridiculous time thinking up things that are A) sexy, B) up my ally, and C) fit the rhyme and rhythm scheme!  I give up!  I know an extremely kinky versions of the 12 Days of Christmas, full of cock rings and whips and 12 bare hand spankings.  Oh my!

During these holiday times, I like to think back on my life to remind myself how good I have it.  Tis the season for egg nog and holly, but it’s also the cold Winter that chills families without heat, and can even kill those poor souls without shelter.  I donate my time at the VA Hospital throughout the year, but during Winter I walk around handing out food and warm liquids to the homeless vets I know are out pan handling.  If I can (and if they’ll let me) I try to get them into a shelter or even hospital.  It’s not much, but what I do really makes me feel like I’m attempting to do some good in the lives of others.

So, with my preachy preachiness out of the way, can I wish all of you a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, a Memorable Kwanza and a Joyful Solstice.  And, of course, there’s Festivus for the Rest-of-us, air your grievances to the right.

Like a Virgin…

*Please note:  I will never use any identifying information regarding my clients on this blog.  Discretion is of utmost importance to me.  Anything written here regarding a singular client has been written with full consent*

I recently had my first virgin.

No, not someone who’s never seen an escort before (because I’ve had those, and they are a lot of fun!) but a man who has never, in his life, engaged in sexual congress with another person. Nothing.

Oh! My Stars and Garters!

Hello my lovelies!  I’ve taken the plunge, bitten the bullet, or something else that signifies that I’ve joined the slowly growing group of working girls who blog.  And, as if Lady Luck has a sense of humor (she does), I even have a perfect piece of material for my first post in six months!

In Which Magdalene Encounters Mr. Italian: