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!

Ask Mag says “Stop Stressin’!”

It’s that time again, where lil ol’ me gets to answer (or attempt to answer) a burning question about either the business, the method, the mind-set, or something deliciously sexy!  Remember that all emails/suggestions are kept confidential, and I will at time paraphrase the question for clarity and brevity.  Off-limit topics include specific personal life stories from yours truly, any information about specific clients or providers, and obviously anything (grossly) lewd or disgusting.  I like to think my life is an open book, but I guard sensitive information like a fat kid guards cake.  (I do not mean that in an offensive tone.  I’m a fat kid and I LOVE cake)


Now, onwards to questions!


A lovely reader and fan, whom I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, writes:


Dear Magdalene,

I’ve only seen a few women and I keep having the same problem of being insanely nervous that they won’t like me.  I know it’s stupid sounding but I’m not a good-looking man and I don’t want them thinking I’m disgusting.  Any way of getting me over this problem?


A Big Ol’ Fan

First off, my darling, what we find attractive when we look in the mirror very rarely corresponds with what others find attractive.  Just because you don’t look like Matthew McConaughey (or have his abs) doesn’t mean you aren’t a fine-looking gentleman.  So get that out of your head.  Same deal with your body type.  Most women in this business realize that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and there isn’t just ONE kind of body that comes to them.  I, personally, would prefer a scrubbed clean Dilbert rather than an unwashed and sweaty Adonis.  But that’s just me.

As for your question, it boils down to “Will she like me?”.  If I were to write some of the most common things I hear from clients and potential clients (and maybe one day I will) the whole problem of “Will she like me?” would be in the top 5.  Now, there are mercenary ways of attacking this problem, and there is sweeter, more holistic ways.  Since I like to think that I am a sweet natured person, let’s go that route first:

I, personally, pride myself on being able to find at least one thing about a person that is attractive.  Gorgeous eyes, whip-smart intellect, kind voice, that sort of thing.  You worry about the Companion you are about to see because you have a kind soul, and you see your Companion as a person first, and a professional second.  I’ve found that the men who see me as a commodity rarely seem to care at all past their own needs and desires.  While this is a perfectly legitimate way of thinking, and can be done in such a way it isn’t readily apparent, it isn’t my preferred way to do things.

Your Companion, if she’s worth her salt, will be able to pick up on that kind hearted nervousness and hopefully put you at ease in a jiffy.  If you are punctual, scrub yourself down in the shower, and lay her tribute in the open you have already jumped the biggest hurdle she’s worried about.  (If I were to make a list of provider gripes, lack of hygiene tops the list easily)  You may want to tell her that you care about her needs as well as your own, and believe her when she tells you what she wants to do.  Take her welcoming smile and her warm embraces at face value, and know that she is choosing to be there, with you, in that moment, because there is something appealing inside of you.  Don’t get too hung up on what she wants and needs, because she will tell you.  You should feel free to focus on your own desires, whatever they may be.  That’s the whole reason you are there!  I’m a giver, I’d rather focus on your pleasure than worry about me.

Now, a mercenary thought is “Well, she’s pretending to like you for your money!” or “All those women really just hate men, so it’s not worth trying to please them!”  and while I’m sure there are women who fit this bill, I am personally appalled at the thought.  Not all money is good money, as they say.  And no amount of cash would convince me to get into bed with someone I detested on sight.  Avoiding the women who think this way is as easy as researching your potential Companion.  Is she warm, welcoming, accepting?  Has she a reputation of calming nerves,  pampering her suitors?  Does she legitimately seem to enjoy what she’s doing?  These are the signs of a woman who will not only welcome you into her bed, but will most likely welcome you back again and again!

So, to re-cap!:

  • Be punctual, clean, and courteous
  • Voice your own desires, and desire to please
  • Take her enthusiasm at face value
  • Don’t dwell on cynicism
  • Research before you book

How’s that?  Class is still in session, and I will be taking questions and comments below!

What’s New Pussy Cat?

Hello ladies and gentlemen!  It seems the more I try to stay on topic, relevant, and above all RELIABLE the more the Universe decides to bat me around like a cat with a mouse!  But does that get me down?  Not a whit!


For those who were worried about my absence, not only are you all princes and princesses, but you have no need to worry.  Radio silence on my end more likely means my life is getting interesting and full of “real world” commitments, but rarely does it mean something awful has happened.  **Little secret:  I have one or two safety protocols in place that if something dire were to happen to me, not only would steps be taken to safeguard all of my information, but would get the word out on my social network sites like WP and Twitter.  Be prepared!**


So, what was so interesting that I was pulled away for this long?  Well, in a nut shell:

I got seven (7!) hours of work done on my tattoo, which means the tree is nearly finished.  yay!  BUT my body didn’t like the huge shock that comes with repeatedly jabbing needles into one’s skin for hours on end, and my immune system dropped.  Sadly I picked up a bit of an infection (not at the tattoo site, this was like a really bad head cold) and though I have excellent health care, I was given some sulfa drugs that, it turns out, I’m allergic to!  It took nearly a week to get that out of my system, and then to come back from everything else.


I know that’s boring, but that’s what was going on 🙂  In between the tattooing, head cold, antibiotics and allergic reactions I found a lovely yoga studio that I think I will be attending regularly.  It’s time that I really start taking care of this sexy body, don’t you think?  Healthy body, healthy mind, right?  🙂


Now, my darlings, we can get back to our regularly scheduled entertainment!  I’m thinking it’s high time for another “Ask Mag!” entry, so look forward to that tomorrow!

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!

Writer’s Block? More Like Writer’s Iron Curtain!

Lovelies, I have no excuse for denying you the dubious pleasure of being inside my brain.  I am at a complete loss as to what to talk about that I haven’t already beaten into the ground, and I am not quite at a spot yet where I can discuss book-y goodness.

BUT!  No fear, I can at least help tide over the visual lusts!  Behold, a few snaps from my most recent impromptu photo shoot!



Sexy Book Club

Hello lovers and dreamers!

Any day now I will begin reading Mary Roach’s amazing and hilarious book, Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex along with a lovely gentleman who desires a bit of a sexy book club fantasy.  I read this book when it first came out originally, and over the years I’ve bought it and given it away and re-bought it only to give it away again!  It’s that good!



Since I seem to have a horrid time updating this blog (and since so many of you worry for me when I disappear, really who could ask for better friends?)  I will attempt to bring up some salient points in the book, my own observations, and my personal opinions on her conclusions (hint: I don’t agree with her lock step on all issues!  My specific skill set gives one a unique perspective)


How about that, darlings?  If you were to follow along with me and discuss in a round robin sort of fashion, that would be just cracking!  (sorry, I’ve been watching a LOT of BBC stuff lately… pish posh, tops, bloody hell, and whatnot!)


Until we speak again, my darlings!  Kiss kiss!


Summer time in the city!

Oh my gosh darlings!  *fans self* it has been a hot one lately!

I won’t bore you all to death, my absence has been a mix of annoying health quirks, busy family time (lots of birthdays!), and a complete lack of what to write about!

A recent delightful encounter led me to this particular update:  What does Magdalene do to keep cool?  Here’s a list, in no particular order:

  1. Sipping delicious iced drinks! (Lemonade, iced tea, smoothies, ice wine)
  2. Wearing flowing skirts and blouses with absolutely not a stitch underneath! (because of the breezes, you see!)
  3. Shuttering up her abode during the day, only to venture forth at night in the cool air! (vampire, what can I say?)
  4. Cavorting about naked as the day I was born, in front of a fan! (With the blinds /mostly/ shut)

Can you darlings guess which one I like the best?  (hint… it’s a mix of number 1 and 4, naturally)

For those of you not on my mailing list, this month is my very first attempt at an outdoor shoot!  I’m not quite sure where I can get away to that won’t put me in handcuffs for bouncing around naked, but we will see!  This month also notes my very first attempt at a dedicated work out schedule since the Army.  I promised myself I would NEVER force myself to run again unless I was being chased by zombies, but I think I’ve found a good mix of cardio and weight lifting that will both slim down my curves to an even more pleasing ratio AND not make me want to kill my personal trainer.  The heat is notorious for sapping my appetite, so the exercise regimen is also supposed to keep my food intake up at a tolerable level.  It’s not uncommon for me to go days without eating more than a yogurt and an iced latte.  Heat and me just don’t really go together, ya know?

So that’s the latest, sweet followers!  Look forward to my next article, something just for the ladies!  (I figured out that I have a not-too-small group of lady readers.  How did that happen!?)  I am still taking suggestions for what to write about, and my Ask Mag! page is seeing results, so look for one of those in the near future too!

Stay cool, stay lovely!

1950s House Wife Experience, Anyone?


Let me tell you about a fantastic offering I have had hidden away on my website:

1950s Housewife Experience (HWE) . For the man who, after a hard day’s labor, wants nothing more than to come home to a home-cooked meal, a beautiful lady in her best back seam stockings and pearls, and perhaps a well-shaken martini.

I am happy to host this little getaway, for the man who prefers to play away from home. Give me at least four hours of your time, and I will take you on a most luxurious and dare I say deeply domestic journey.

We begin, obviously, with a welcome kiss at the door. I will take your hat and jacket, while you settle yourself on my couch with a drink in hand. Relax as I remove your shoes and administer a foot rub as I ask about your day. Dinner is smelling delightful, and we soon find ourselves at the table, witty banter, flirtatious looks, and a glass of wine as we enjoy a meal perfectly prepared.

After dinner, of course, comes dessert! We can undress each other, peeling layer after layer down, until I am down to my stockings and garter. Would you enjoy a sudsy couple’s shower so I can scrub and rub away the day’s labor? Or perhaps you would prefer to stretch out on my queen sized bed for a relaxing and arousing massage with hot oils? I can feed you strawberries and cream while you lay back in my arms, or perhaps I can become your dessert plate as you lick chocolate and honey from my supple breast and soft skin.

From there, satin sheets and fast-beating hearts do their duty and call us to more carnal desires… a lady never reveals all of her secrets…

What more could a busy man ask for than engaging conversation, a truly lovely dinner companion, and the luxury of being pampered like the king you are?

This offering isn’t for everyone, surely, but I do adore building a specific and intimate encounter that only you and I will share together. I am happy to converse at length about this particular offering, to tailor it just so to your exacting standards.


Those of you who follow me on the boards have probably come across my most recent ad, in which I showcase my newly coined offering The HouseWife Experience (HWE).  Without becoming overly loquacious, which is my wont when I get truly excited, I have tried to evoke a very specific fantasy I’ve had the pleasure to meter out a few times before.  It is the very discerning man that would request such a time-intensive play-acting scene, but it is a particular favorite of mine for a number of reasons.


First an foremost, it is ALWAYS a treat to be able to dress up in my flowing dresses, back seam stockings, garter, girdle, heels, and the rest to be admired for more than the span of the walk from the door to the bedroom.  I can spend upwards of two hours on my “look”, given adequate motivation, and darn it if it isn’t a little discouraging when in the first ten minutes my lipstick is smeared and my hair pins have been tousled out of my hair.  (Please don’t twist my meaning, sometimes that last image is exactly what I am wanting and going for.  There IS a proper time and place for everything, even smeared lipstick!)


I think more generally, however, I just enjoy cooking for someone.  I grew up in a household where home-cooked meals, while more common than most, was more of a statement of intent and love than just a vehicle to feed the lot of us.  My father did all the cooking, and ever the showman he took great pride in not only concocting delicious dishes, but he painstakingly developed the ability to make everything look amazing as well.  Asparagus spears laid out ramrod straight with artful drizzles of hollandaise sauce.  Rack of lamb with hand-made crowns tufted in gold foil around the bones.  Perfectly steamed carrots, bright orange, punctured with dots of clove and lemon zest.  Presentation is part of the meal, I was raised to believe, and a truly appetizing plate not only smells and tastes delicious, it looks the part, too. It’s no fun to stir up a pot of soup for one, or to spend 30 minutes whipping red potatoes with cream, butter, chives and chicken broth just for little ol’ me.  So I spend most nights with perfectly nourishing but boring food.  Given the slightest provocation, however, and I can create pineapple upsidedown tarts with raspberries, swirled white chocolate mocha brownies, or lemon chicken linguine with pesto and broccoli.  I cook with butter and salt, garlic and cream.  I love mixing colors and textures in a pleasing fashion, but it only counts if it’s for someone else.


This idea started, like so many do, out of curious necessity   I had a client who had just moved to this city, and was quite literally living (and eating) out of boxes.  He confessed to me that though he knew how to use a stove and oven, he never learned how to cook for himself. His idea of a “home cooked meal” was popping something frozen in the broiler for two hours, not caring about the burnt edges or watery middle of those mass produced frozen monstrosities they sell in grocery stores.  I offered to come over and make him something “simple”.  He said his favorite meal his mother used to make him was meat loaf, so I came over with some ground pork, lamb and beef, some home made bread crumbs and about a pound of yukon gold potatoes and got to work.  


I don’t need to tell you that his house lacked something fierce for spices, and I didn’t even think to bring my own.  I made do with flaked black pepper, table salt, ketchup and brown sugar.  With no chicken broth in sight, I suctioned off some of the resulting “loaf” drippings and used them to blend the potatoes into stiff peaks.  Ketchup mixed with a slightly obscene amount of brown sugar created a sticky sweet glaze for the meat loaf.  In two hours his house smelled like meat and sugar, not an unhappy aroma.  He remarked on how famished he was, and how his house had never smelled so good.


That first dinner was a wake up call for me.  Though the meal itself was quite plain by my standards, the client was satisfied down to his bones!  In a way I’ve never fully appreciated until then, he became more comfortable in his skin, and more genuine in his desires.  During the washing up he quipped that perhaps I should take off my pretty dress, in case I got soap on it.  I stripped down and he stared in awe at my girdle attached to garter straps and stockings.  He had no idea that I was vintage to my skin!  I gave a show of sudsing up the plates and utensils, buffing and rubbing and honestly making an absolutely obscene spectacle of myself.  After that it was just a matter of time before he whisked me away to the bedroom.


In the resulting shower, as I scrubbed his back clean of sweat and lust, he remarked on how I should come over again and do “that wife stuff” for him.  I obliged, and for almost a year we had a weekly night where I would arrive close after he returned from work around 6pm, dinner at 7:15pm sharp, and after a snuggle and a movie (with wine and chocolate, naturally) I would “perform my marital duties” with a vigor that would make a real June Cleaver blush!  A kiss goodnight at midnight and I would be off, and he would think on the next meal he would have with me.


Over that year I perfected my domestic skills.  Laundry, ironing, the dreaded vaccuming and dusting.  I learned how to hem slacks, sew buttons onto popped shirts, starch collars and tie ties.  I learned how to polish shoes to a high shine, and found out just why copper bottomed pots are so superior to their counterparts.  I learned how to be a perfect wife.  


But just for a night.  That’s where the fantasy lies, in that perfection.  I would make a horrible “real” wife, you see.  But I do so love playing the part, that I always look forward to those nights when the work load is tiring and the laundry is piling up, and my client needs his “little wifey” to materialize.  June Cleaver, eat your heart out.  


I am not a victim.

Hello my lovelies.  May I be serious for a moment?

I know we have fun.  We joke and tease and gripe about little foibles and idiosyncrasies in this community.  I know I’ve had a rant or six about this or that, and I am so glad that I have a readership that loves me anyway.

Recently I had a most disturbing conversation with someone.  I’ve known this person tangentially for a few years through mutual friends, and I would consider them fairly intelligent, sex positive, and open minded.  Apparently, there is a limit to everything, and there are some issues that transcend political leanings or even sexual or cultural orientation.

I won’t try to list the conversation verbatim, as it was long and drawn out and honestly I wouldn’t be able to do it justice.  It will suffice to say that this was a conversation about sexual assault victims, coercion, and misogyny.  I’ll bet you can guess where the conversation went.

This person spent the better part of an hour describing why I am a victim of patriarchy by actively allowing men to sexually assault me.  I am somehow being forced into this profession because of dire circumstance or desperation.  All I need do is walk into any battered women’s shelter and beg for help, and they could set me up with project housing and a minimum wage job so I could “leave this filth behind”.  I was speechless, and for those of you who know me, that’s kind of a big deal.

I am not denying that there are women, men, and children out in the world right this second who are forced into sex work.  Some are manipulated into it by a “boyfriend”.  Some are addicted to drugs and this is how they get their fix.  Some are literally chained up and abused like animals in cages.  Guess what?  I am none of those things.  Equating what I do with the horrors of trafficking and slavery is offensive, as it draws attention away from the real victims.

Sex work, when entered into freely, performed happily, and having the ability to leave it behind, is not something people need saving from.  My work is a calling, if you want to know the truth of it.  I do good.  I create bonds and heal soul and heart wounds.  I give a good time and a sense of freedom and youth.  This person didn’t even seem to hear me when I tried to defend what I did, and began berating these “so-called clients” as abusers, rapists, cheaters and dogs hungry for meat.  How could a man treat a sex worker like a real woman, they argued, if they are literally buying her body?  Of course, we know that you never -buy- a body.  You are renting intimacy by the hour.  Buying implies ownership, and no one will ever own me.    Buying implies possession, as one would possess a chair or model plane.  If I own this chair, it is within my rights to re-paint it, or saw off one leg, or even break it up for fire wood.  I am not a possession, and one does not possess me.

Let me be clear, lest I receive a bunch of tut-tutting.  I am only speaking from my personal experience, as a “privileged” sex worker.  I come from a solid home, attended college, and choose this work out of desire instead of desperation.  I speak of those like ME, not the drug-addicted street walker, (though it’s not like every street walker is addicted to drugs), nor the underage girl being passed back and forth like a rag doll.  No one deserves treatment this person assumes happens to us all, but they were blind to the idea that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a black or white issue.  We live in shades of gray, and this is no different.

This person and I had heated words, and I’m not going to lie, I really was itching to introduce my fist to their smug face.  I am used to being belittled and scorned for my profession, from men and women alike.  But this was the first time that I honestly felt angry.  Pushing victimhood onto someone such as myself is not only ignorant, but it’s absolutely no help to anyone.  Worse, this person denigrates the men who seek out women such as myself as ravening hounds, slavering at the idea of a woman who can’t say “no”.  Penalties should be higher for men caught in the act, and even castration was lobbied about for repeat offenders.  I wasn’t even sure if this person was even acknowledging my presence at this point.  As insane as this person’s rant was, it was a sad thing to know that there are others who feel this way.

This blog was started to tell a story: The Happy Hooker with a Heart of Gold.  I wanted to show that this profession can be satisfying, even amazing.  I wanted to show that this was 100% MY choice, MY decision, and MY ass on the line if anything were to go awry.  I wanted to show how fulfilling this calling has been for me, how I’ve seen hearts mended and self-esteems boosted with my help.  I am now going to start writing this blog with the idea that I will spit in the eye of this person who tosses the baby out with the bathwater, just because they can’t see that there is a huge difference between what I do, and what sex traffickers do.  I am with them on one point: We do not need any more victims of the sex trade OR human trafficking.  I encourage everyone who reads this to support one or more of the local and national organizations who’s goal it is to end human trafficking.  I donate to NW SWOP, the Sex Worker Outreach Program whenever I can.  Their mission is to educate, protect, and support sex workers and former sex workers, while also trying to influence policies that would make sex work safer for women and men.

I know this won’t be the last time some well-meaning person will tell me that I don’t have to do this work, or that I’m hurting myself and my future.  It won’t be the last time I patiently explain the differences between victims and myself, and try to get them to understand that in my case I am as free as I can be.  I will have to prove that I am not being beaten, drugged, coerced, or otherwise forced into doing this.  Sometimes it’s not enough.  Sometimes they don’t even want to hear it, as it messes up their thinking.  But I will continue to write my stories, I will continue to love what I do, and I will continue to fight the good fight against ALL human trafficking.

The Form 2, Quite Possibly The Best Vibe Ever.

Lovelies!  It’s time for another sexy and scintillating sex toy review!

Today, we look at JimmyJane’s award-winning personal vibrator, the Form 2.


This little baby is ah-maz-ing.  Like, blow my hair back amazing.  Like, how did I ever masturbate without it amazing.  It’s compact, it’s adorable looking, and oh look, it’s waterproof!

Just some specs on this turbo tickler:

  • Waterproof
  • Phthalate-free material
  • Cordless recharging dock (Wave of the future!)
  • 5 pulsations and 3 intensity settings
  • Each “bunny ear” vibrates independently

Now, I am not going to lie.  I am a little biased on this guy.  I am what you call, ahem, sensitive, and I looked around forever trying to find a toy that could be used solo or with a partner, that wasn’t so damned intense it would make me jump out of the bed.  There is a direct and indirect way to stimulate a woman’s clitoris, and I am definitely an indirect girl!  This toy is perfect for that, as each little finger can be placed on either side of the pleasure pearl!

Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the men, either.  This toy seems built to tease and torment a man’s love gun.  It’s perfect for the frenulum (that little piece of skin on the underside of your cock) or to run up and down the shaft until you just can’t take it anymore.  There’s a little something for everyone in this toy.  It’s cute, non-threatening, and fits in the palm of your hand.  You can even take it in the shower for some sexy, sudsy time.

Just because this little guy is a favorite of mine, doesn’t mean it’s not without its flaws.  The battery life is no better than your average smart phone, which means if you use it for more than half an hour it’ll be dead by dawn.  The charger is nice, as it’s just a little cradle to hold the thing in, but it’s finicky.  You have to put it juuuuuussst right or else it won’t charge.  This toy also has a sensor built in it (what is it with me and smart vibes?) that when the little nubs up top are pressed against something or maneuvered around the vibration changes.  This is actually a bit annoying to me, and I thought the thing had broke on me until someone from the company explained that little detail to me.  They do have a 3 year warranty, which is great, but blast if I ever keep my receipts!

Final verdict?  A-.  Fix the charging issue, and for the love of all that is sexy do something about that “smart sensor”.  This could very well be the perfect toy.  Oh, and make it come in a rainbow of colors, if you would.  I like to coordinate my sex toys.