Why Society Needs Queens in the Bedroom

According to legend Cleopatra required visiting diplomats to give her cunnilingus before she would meet to discuss the business of state with them – a seriously enlightened female way of checking the quality of a statesman’s “silver tongue”! 

 

Cleopatra was queen at a time when priestesses were still practicing sacred sex in the temples. Sex was not a shut away, only-in-the-monogamous-bedroom activity, it was highly revered, priestesses were highly trained and initiated to high levels in the magic of energy transmutation, it is not at all surprising to me that it was openly part of politics (how much better than the toxic, negative role sex plays in modern day politics).

 

If you Google “Cleopatra, Cunnilingus, Diplomacy” (as I’ve just done) you’ll find a whole host of articles trying to claim that, contrary to widespread popular belief, Cleopatra was not promiscuous, sexual or sexy – they rush to defend her honour as a strong, powerful, female ruler and seem aghast at the notion that she was all that AND highly sexual.

 

So entrenched have we become in our uncomfortable relationship with sex that we cannot imagine a sexual woman as anything other than a loser, a harlot or a slut – a fallen woman to be pitied. In patriarchy’s hierarchy of control the very, very, very bottom of the ladder is where the poor desperate prostitute sits. Brought to this low level by either circumstance or her own innate, insatiable sexual appetite she is completely weak and powerless, a vulnerable victim, an object of societal rejection and derision. 

 

This is the fate of all sexual women under patriarchy. 

 

Because of their central role in pagan (pre-patriarchal) worship, sexual women could not be allowed to stay sexual. Sexual women were, and are, a direct threat to patriarchal hierarchy and control which is why every sinew is stretched to keep them in the gutter “where they belong” and, where, stripped of their power, they can be safely exploited. 

 

To consider Cleopatra, a woman who sat at the very top of the pyramid, to be sexually promiscuous and even politically sexual is both confusing and threatening to the patriarchy-conditioned brain. You can literally hear it having a meltdown as it tries to hold on to two totally contradictory notions at the same time.

 

Sexy ladies are great to have a roll in the hay with, but they are, by their sexual nature, not the kind of women you admire, marry or trust with any kind of power. As Elizabeth I demonstrated, under patriarchy, for a woman to be powerful she must deny her sexuality, proclaim herself “a virgin” and demonstrate that her powerful and reasonable mind has complete control over her chaotic and sinful body at all times. 

 

For this reason I love to believe that Cleopatra welcomed visiting dignitaries by opening her legs and lying back on her luxurious cushions. That’s the way I would be a queen! Hold this idea in your mind. I am taking a detour and you will think, “Where on earth is this crazy whore taking me?” but hold tight, it will all make sense in the end.

 

There are a few things that everyone in a society seems to get socialised into – a cultural code if you like. In Britain ours is to queue and to moan. We moan about the weather, we moan about our politicians – of all sides (fair enough, they are all lousy), we moan about our utility bills and the state of our roads whilst also saying, “Musn’t grumble” – you have to laugh. 

 

One of our top peeves is how wasps ruin every summer. I kid you not, every single summer these pesky little flying stingers come out of nowhere to ruin our enjoyment of an ice-cream, a coke on ice, a G&T – how dare they?! We spend precious few of our days off outside in the sun and when we do dare to venture outside they appear to spoil all the fun.

 

I grew up with wasp traps on every garden table – lidded jars with a few pierced holes – big enough for a wasp to crawl through but not big enough for them to fly out to freedom through. The jars contained sweetened water to attract the wasps and part of our patriarchal enculturation was to delight in our power over these little insects as they desperately flew around the jars trying to escape, until, eventually exhausted, they fell into the water and drowned. If you think about it, it was truly macabre. 

 

At worst a wasp stings you and it hurts for a bit, but unless you’re unlucky enough to be allergic to their sting, they don’t cause anything other than a minor irritation. Yet the fuss people will make around them! Wasps are the enemy of the British summer and any method of getting rid of them is deemed completely appropriate and is actively encouraged. 

 

But, did you know that earlier, in late spring and early summer wasps played a crucial and totally non-chemical role in keeping aphids at bay? Gardeners obviously benefit the most from the uncelebrated labours of the worker wasp (and they are then often the loudest complainants in later summer) but if you want to eat food that hasn’t been sprayed to death by harmful pesticides, you too should show some appreciation for the humble wasp. 

 

The worker wasp spends months busily carrying aphids from our plants (where they would otherwise cause mass destruction) back to their queen who consumes huge quantities of these blighters in the production of her eggs. For every aphid she is brought she rewards the worker with a squirt of sweet liquid – wasp amrita! The wasps adore her amrita, so happily busy themselves all summer long carrying her aphids in return for her sweet reward. 

 

In late summer everything changes. Just in time for the hot days of August when the beaches and parks fill up with children on school holidays with their melting ice-creams and cans of coke, the wasp queen dies, exhausted, job done, all her eggs laid. 

 

Without their source of amrita the worker wasps spend the remaining months of their short lives seeking out alternative sources of sweet, sticky liquid: hanging fruit on the trees, ice cream in sticky hands, a fizzing beverage on ice – they’re not fussy, they just want the sweetness they have become addicted to and they are willing to risk their lives to get it. 

 

The busy worker wasp who has devoted his life thus far to his queen and the continuation of his species now becomes the pest from hell. A flying terrorist set upon ruining our summer days. A completely toxic, unbearable insect that we all agree to hate.  Bereft of a queen to provide a purpose, and importantly, a reward in his life, the worker wasp becomes a nuisance. A pest. One to be avoided, batted away and even drowned in a lidded jar with a few holes in the lid.

 

Worker wasps remind me of male sexuality. When it is offered in devotion to its queen it is utterly beautiful. With purpose (to honour and worship) male sexuality gives pleasure beyond compare, but devoid of purpose, when the queen has gone, male sexuality is as annoying and toxic as wasps on a British summer’s day. 

 

In October 2022 a report by Un Women UK found that 97% of women aged between 18 and 24 had been sexually harassed, but that 96% of these women did not report the harassment because it is so prevalent and “normal” (like wasps on a summer’s day) and nothing would change anyway. 

 

Sexual harassment is not the same thing as sexual assault or rape, but obviously they are all part of the same utterly toxic pattern in male behaviour. 97% is virtually every single woman surveyed. It is an appalling statistic that shames our society.  I would argue that few males intend to be toxic pests, just as few wasps intend to ruin your enjoyment of an ice cream in August. 

 

Both are just trying to survive in a world without a queen. 

 

Toxic sexual behaviour is what results from pushing our natural and sacred sexual desires into the shadows. God has tried, for 1000s of years, to persuade us, gently and not so gently, to forgo earthly (aka sexual) pleasures in return for a post physical experience eternity in heaven. Goddess was wiser. She knew that souls incarnate into human form for that human experience. 

 

Goddess observed and understood that to deny any human a full sexual life is to deny this aspect of their soul’s purpose. If the soul didn’t want to experience sex why incarnate as one of the most sexual species on the planet? Oak trees are far more powerful and live for hundreds of years – if you’re not fussed about sex why not be an oak?!

 

Humans are fussed about sex, just like worker wasps are fussed about squirts of sweet, sticky liquid. Denied their birthright, confused about the moral code, repressed for 1000s of years by sex phobic myths and poorly informed by lousy modern sexologists, British males (and I am sure many of their counterparts across the world) have become a toxic menace in women’s lives. 

 

In earlier times, when humans worshipped Goddess, young men learned from their society how to reverently channel their sexual energy to worship and honour the feminine. In modern “Western Civilisation” boys are raised in the dark on all things sexual,  left to their own, now porn fuelled, devices and the results are ghastly for girls and young women. 

 

If your society teaches you through what you see (porn) and what you hear (in Church and other places of worship) that your penis is a weapon of war, can we be surprised that so many of our young men do not understand that their penises, their lingams, are tools of love? That the vagina is not a land to be conquered and broken into but a sacred temple to be loved tenderly, worshipped in whispers and gazed at in awe and wonder? 

 

The words men use when talking about women’s bodies  – amongst themselves and with us – matter. It is treason to talk of the death of a monarch and yet queens are disparaged with alarming regularity. Cleopatra one senses would not have tolerated this total lack of respect. Which is why I am sure the diplomat-cunnilingus legend is based on truth. She was a powerful woman who understood that queens demand respect best with their legs wide open. 

 

When this whore hears about or witnesses men behaving like nuisance wasps I am irritated, angered, and mostly saddened. I want to slap the men and tell them to behave, of course I do! But I also want to extort women to power up. Put on your crowns women and DEMAND sexual respect! Unlike wasps, nuisance men can be trained. 

 

The vast majority of them are desperately craving touch, intimacy, connection, validation, the sense of being valued, being seen, feeling worthy. Yes they want to fuck – they have hormones surging around their bodies that make them think about fucking pretty much non stop – but they want so, so, so much more. 

 

Human sexual energy is our creatrix energy – it literally creates life! When it is channelled and focused it is our greatest source of personal power, enabling us to build lives in which we reclaim our personal sovereignty. 

 

Sovereign beings, empowered to create lives that work for them, are a direct threat to patriarchal powers, they always have been and they always will be. Which is, of course, why our sexuality has been so deeply repressed by patriarchal powers who seek complete control over all humans – both male and female – in order to exploit us. 

 

Cleopatra was born in the year 69 BC (it’s true – I have just looked it up!) She died 30 years before Jesus was born and our current era began. By the time of her birth patriarchy was an established system in much of the world and yet there still remained, most notably in the temples devoted to the Goddess Isis in Egypt, remnants of the Goddess worshipping cultures. 

 

What we find difficult to imagine – 5,000 years deep into patriarchy – is that a powerful alternative version of living existed before (and alongside) the patriarchal model. Homosapiens have walked this earth for 300,000 years, that is 60,000 times the length of patriarchy! Humans have managed relations with each other in a non-patriarchal construct for waaaaay longer than we have been told that sex is “dirty and sinful.”

 

Cleopatra knew that sex was delicious, and more importantly, powerful. 

 

This whore knows that sex is delicious, and more importantly, powerful.

 

My solution to the modern sexual harassment problem in the UK is not more education, laws, judgement or shaming, it is for women to truly take back control of their pleasure, to learn their YES and retrain their men in the art of sacred, sensual sexuality. 

 

Men are ready for this. They are yearning for this. I truly believe and witness on a daily basis how ready men are to worship, honour and adore us, to give us immense pleasure, healing and power through devoted love making with their lingams.

 

Whores can lead the way in this, but you have to understand, we will never be asked to rescue humanity! The powers-that-be want to use our services whilst denying our true power. We know this, and we keep working anyway. 

 

Because we have regained our personal sovereignty. 

We know we are QUEENS.

 

Recommended further reading: 

 

“She Comes First” by Ian Kerner (I’m not a super fan, but this is a solid how-to guide for cunnilingus – if you are a bit unsure of this vital life skill, this would be a good place to start)

 

“The Woman’s Anatomy of Arousal – Secret Maps to Buried Treasure” By Sheri Winston (my number one favourite book on female sexuality – every home should have a copy!)

 

“Vagina” by Naomi Wolf 

girl-friend-experience-hampshire

You Are a Gorgeous, Gorgeous Fuck – The Real Power of a Tight Cunt

The Silver Fox looked up at me sitting astride him riding his cock and simply said, “You are a gorgeous, gorgeous fuck.” I laughed, bent down so that my lips were teasingly close to his and asked him to repeat what he’d just said. I had heard him well enough, but I was charmed by his choice of words  and I wanted to remember them exactly for my website. 

 

What I didn’t ask was, “Why? What makes you say that? How am I a gorgeous fuck?”

 

I have been told countless times that I am an amazing lover. When you are told something enough times by enough people it becomes part of your identity – your ego self. Now, wherever I go, I carry with me the knowledge that I am an amazing fuck – the English language turning my gift into my identity.

 

The first person I was bold enough to ask  the question, “Why?” was The Lover. Others had told me that sex with me was amazing, but I had always brushed it aside assuming they meant, “Sex is amazing and right now it’s with you, ergo sex with you is amazing.” 

 

My ego wasn’t ready to allow sex to be part of my identity.

 

Until The Lover. He lit an audacious power within me which wanted to receive the feedback, understand it a bit more and then own it. So one day, after he collapsed off me once again exclaiming as he had many times before, “Oh my god that was amazing, I could fuck you all day – you are such an incredible lover!” I replied nosily, “Why? What makes me so good?”

 

The reply changed my life.

 

“You enjoy it. I have never met a woman who enjoys sex as much and with every single part of her body – it is just so rewarding and such fun to fuck you.”

 

I was dumbfounded. 

 

To be “good at sex” all I needed to do was enjoy it?!!

 

But it’s obvious isn’t it? Anyone with any gift, be it singing, dancing, painting, gardening, music making, when they are lost in that gift will be enjoying it. That doesn’t mean every single painting turns out the way you wanted it to and you may criticise the results of your joy, but surely anyone who is lost in expressing their passion is getting pleasure from doing so?

 

Until this conversation with The Lover I don’t think I had owned that sex is my gift. I still struggle to understand that others aren’t as obsessed and passionate about sex 

as I am – because when you find something to be pure delight and joy it is hard to understand that others don’t. It’s how I imagine dancers feel when watching my rhythmless body attempting to move in time to  music – pure bemusement that such lack of co-ordination is possible!

 

So I didn’t ask the Silver Fox, “What makes you say that?” Instead I asked him to repeat the words he used and smiled, my ego flattered and charmed a little bit more. Noticing my smile he added, “I suppose you hear this all the time?” I nodded. I do. 

 

And you know what? It bloody thrills me that so many men, of so many backgrounds and all ages, say the same thing. Partly because my ego enjoys the affirmation, but more because it feels such a big, fat middle finger up to the beauty and sex industries which work so hard to make women feel less than by being real women.

 

For as long as we have had patriarchy, women’s sexual role has been to passively receive whatever a man chooses to give her, her role in sex reduced to arousing his desire by staying young, slim, attractive and not quite available.

 

This combination is played out over and over in our magazines, novels, TV screens and films. The constantly reinforced message to women is that to be desirable, to be a “good fuck”, you have to be young, you have to be slim, you have to be attractive and rather confusingly for women, you have to be not quite available so that he has to chase you and win you. 

 

Under patriarchy, a woman who clearly wants sex is just not as desirable as one that doesn’t clearly want sex. 

 

I’m not going to risk the ire of my lovely clients by being self critical about my body and looks (though varicose veins peeps!!), I am instead going to address the insidious “not quite available” role for women.

 

The requirement for women to signal that they’re “not quite available” ranges from the behavioural – playing a bit hard to get so that men get the thrill of the chase –  to the far more problematic physical – “tight pussy.” One of the most damaging myths around sexuality in the patriarchal world is that a desirable woman, i.e. a “good fuck,” has a “tight pussy”.

 

Let’s examine when women have “tight pussies”.

 

(1) Sexually naive and inexperienced women have “tight pussies” by virtue of their age. It has long been a patriarchal man’s wet dream to plunder young, inexperienced, sexually naive women. I hope that the behaviour of the Epstein class has exposed this fantasy for what it is – a truly grotesque hangover from earlier times when girls as young as 12 or 13 were routinely married to men in their 30s, 40s sometimes even older.

 

(2) Non-aroused women have “tight pussies”. When a vagina does not want sex and is not in the process of pushing out a baby it closes tightly shut. Of course there are men out there who get a thrill from pushing themselves into a tight, unwilling, unaroused vagina. They are called rapists and for good reason the practice is illegal across the world.

 

(3) Women in the throes of orgasm, when their bodies have been made to come again and again and again by a beautiful lover, have “tight pussies”. These cunts grip hard onto anything inside them. The strong vaginal muscles which push babies into the world clench cocks in pulsating pleasure, often pushing inexperienced lovers out of them, such is the power of female orgasm. 

 

Obviously men want to feel orgasmic cunts devouring and gripping their cocks (3) but somehow, over the centuries the deep mutual pleasure enjoyed by powerful cunts and their partner cocks has morphed into a rapist’s grim fantasy (1) and (2). Let me be very, very clear here – IF YOU PUSH YOUR COCK INTO A TIGHT PUSSY SHE WILL NOT ORGASM. 

 

Vaginal orgasm, that incredibly powerful sensation that cocks love above all else occurs when a woman has been lovingly honoured, revered and pleasured by a masterful lover. An orgasmic tight cunt is the reward a few lucky cocks get for not rushing things and taking the time to make her body sing and her cunt open wide before entering her.

 

This is the bit that younger men and anyone who has learnt how to do sex from porn rather than with real women don’t understand. They think pushing into a “tight pussy” is the goal – the gold standard of sex. Wrong. If penetrative sex has a “gold standard” it is the ORGASMIC tight cunt gripping your cock in wave after wave of pleasure in ways that you can never stop thinking about.

 

Orgasmic tight cunts are not tight on entry, they are the very opposite, they are open, greedy, demanding. Labia lips get engorged with blood as female desire increases, they redden as they do so (this is the origin of red lipstick – to suggestively mirror sexually aroused labia). As desire increases very often the g-spot pushes itself forwards, towards the vaginal opening, mine has been known to push herself out completely. 

 

Aroused cunts make their desire and their pleasure very known! 

 

Most strikingly of all an aroused cunt is wide open. When she wants cock, she isn’t interested in playing along with patriarchal stereotypes and playing hard to get, she wants it and she’s not bashful about it! Legs open, lips red, often ejaculate flowing and g-spot protruding – it’s not a delicate sight. 

 

A desirous cunt is as powerful and demanding as an erection and I am bored of women being expected to be demure and pretty in their desire.

 

It’s one of the reasons why I reject the word “pussy” preferring the more powerful word “cunt” when referring to my vagina, vulva and clitoris. My cunt is super powerful. She absolutely loves to be fucked – by fingers, fists, cocks, tongues – she opens and purrs, “Yes, yes, yes, more, more, more!”

 

I am told she is “pretty,” but you know what? I don’t care. Because through her I access feelings in my body that are simply divine. 

 

My charming Silver Fox and I enjoyed 90 minutes of almost solid fucking. He will be 80 next year. I do not know how I lasted so long, let alone him! Yet when our time was up it was one of those sessions that really didn’t want to end. Every part of my body hummed, I had floated through most of the session, his cock had tried every part of me, but we kept returning to penis in vagina coitus. 

 

Every time he slid into me my cunt whispered, “Thank you.” She felt so, so, so alive. And in her aliveness I felt her gripping him in wave after wave of orgasm. He was skilled and only got pushed out by my orgasmic muscles once, thereafter he pushed into them, fucking me harder and deeper, building one orgasm on top of another so that I barely knew I was in the room. 

 

Over and over I felt my cunt tightening around him, squeezing him in a pulsating motion. I have heard of women practicing kegel exercises to give their lovers this experience, I don’t, I allow my lovers to do all the hard work! 

 

If you play my body right she will sing and she will sing hard. Because I am lucky enough to have plentiful lovers, my body gets to sing most days and my cunt will pulsate with pleasure, exercising those muscles, whether I have a cock or fingers in me or not. 

 

Women of the world, the best kegel exercises you can do are in your bedroom with your lover(s)!!

 

Men of the world, learn to make your woman’s body sing. Devote yourself to her pleasure and turn on. Do little things to please her because that will quicken her vaginal pulse before you even touch her. A singing body will open for your cock and when she opens to pull you in she is far more likely to grip you, soon after, in orgasm.

 

For me, the best thing about vaginal orgasms is the feeling I have in my body for hours and hours afterwards. I call it humming. It’s a gentle background feeling, it’s not loud and explosive like the moment of orgasm and I wouldn’t call it turn-on (though I am easily aroused in my post orgasmic state). It’s calmer and more expansive. 

 

Thinking about it, after a highly orgasmic session like today, when my vaginal muscles were squeezing hard over and over and over again, I guess, I’m feeling a deep post workout relaxation?! It’s very delicious.

 

I feel all this, and am told over and over again that I am an amazing fuck, because I have a wide open, greedy cunt. I would not feel any of this pleasure, this aliveness, this vibrancy, this power if I had a “tight pussy.” 

 

My Silver Fox made me laugh when he asked, “Do you ever have days when you just don’t feel like doing this?”

 

He didn’t expect my answer, “Yes, I do. Today I really wasn’t in the mood.” He looked aghast. Maybe a part of him feared I had faked all of that. 

 

Anxious to allay his fears I continued, “When I woke up this morning I wasn’t really feeling it, many mornings I don’t really feel it. But with me, the minute someone touches me in a certain way, or I feel an erection pushing against my thigh, or a kiss is particularly sensual, that’s it. My switch is turned on.”

 

He looked a bit relieved, and started to tweak my nipples again, but I wasn’t finished, “I think men get turned on thinking about sex, I get turned on doing sex” I said as I pulled him into me so that I could feel my muscles gripping his cock as he tweaked my nipples one more time. Bliss. Pure bliss. 

 

The playlist reached the point when I knew the session had come to an end. I knew I should get him to the shower, receive my payment and send him on his way. Some days it’s harder than others to say goodbye. Today it was hard. 

 

We had created a beautiful energy between us. He was unbelievably charming and had arrived with flowers because he’d read in my Tinkerbell blog post that I like flowers. He had made my body sing the most divine tunes and greedily I wanted more.

 

With great discipline I got up from the bed, put on my post-sex green gown and showed him to the bathroom. When he came back I was sitting primly, legs folded, specs on checking my next available dates for him. 

 

He came over and stood right in front of me. His beautiful cock smelt of soap. He was getting hard again. I couldn’t resist – I am a professional not a saint! I leant over my folded legs and took him in my mouth. He tasted so good. Somehow his hands were on my nipples again. 

 

I am a very fair person. I don’t have favourites and work is work. I had to regain my composure and lovingly allow this beautiful man to get dressed and drive home. I decided I would dress him as sexily as I had undressed him less than 2 hours previously. 

 

It was fun! I especially loved pulling his white pants slooowly up his legs as I sucked his cock one last time. The pants got higher and higher, I slowed down a fraction, I wanted the final few inches of thigh to last. When the pants were up over his buttocks, I had no excuse not to say goodbye to the cock that had given me so much pleasure, so I tucked him away and pulled up his trousers.

 

He insisted on counting out the money – just in case. And then I walked him down the stairs, wished him a good drive home, closed the door on his reversing car and returned to lie on my bed to just feel all the feels for a moment.

 

The thing that upsets me the most about the “tight pussy” myth is what it costs women. 

 

How many women don’t experience, even once in their lives, the pleasure and power of a pulsating cunt because they think they need to have a “tight pussy”?

 

How many women think that enjoying multiple lovers would “loosen her,” robbing her of a “tight pussy,” and so deny themselves the very orgasmic experiences that would strengthen her vaginal muscles?

 

How many women have suffered surgery to acquire a pleasing “tight pussy”?

 

How many women have been given the “husband stitch” post labour in an attempt to give her back her “tight pussy” after the stretching of childbirth? (The fact that any doctors do this is dumbfounding – just think about it – how does stitching flesh at the entrance to the vagina tighten the vaginal muscle which tightens naturally on its own?) How does it benefit a husband to have a wife who experiences not pleasure, but pain, on penetration for the rest of her life? The “husband stitch” is medical misogyny which then slaps men in the face!

 

How many women push husbands away post childbirth because they fear that he will be disappointed in her now that she has lost her “tight pussy”?

 

How many women deny themselves the unique and powerful experience of vaginal delivery of her children because she wants to preserve her “tight pussy”?

 

This whore has had three vaginal deliveries. Each one strengthened my vaginal muscles as they learnt what they are for. I do not think the Silver Fox would have had anything like the same experience if I had either not had children or opted for c-sections. 

 

Vaginal muscles can be immensely strong when they are exercised and used. The strength that births babies also grips cocks. This power and strength, activated by beautiful love making and expressed in fearsome orgasm, is the tightness that men deeply yearn for. 

 

The model of sex that obsesses (and jokes about) “tight pussy” in a not quite available, passive woman,  is never going to deliver the desired experience of a pulsating, orgasmic tight cunt. 

 

Orgasmic tight cunts don’t require perfect legs, a flat tummy, pouting lips, eyelash extensions – they need relaxed and pleasured women who are comfortable in their sexual power. 

 

Female egos that are taught that sexual passivity equals safety are threatened when they meet their true power. It is genuinely challenging to accept how powerful we are – this is the true challenge of labour and, I would argue, the true challenge of sex for women. 

 

Raised to believe that we must be sexually passive and have “tight pussies”, we struggle to allow ourselves the openness, the pleasure and the power to experience our orgasmic tight cunts. 

 

Female openness is the equivalent of male erection. Thus “tight pussy” is for women what erectile dysfunction is for men.

 

I keep saying this – men want the incredible experience of his hard cock being gripped hard by an orgasmic tight cunt. So men, over to you! Devote yourselves to healing the egoic wounding in women that your careless jokes and unthinking expectations have created. 

 

Open her “tight pussy” with love, attention, deep honouring, reverent words, kind deeds. Give her what The Lover gave me – permission to enjoy myself. And then enjoy her ravenous, open, orgasmic, powerful cunt gripping your beautiful hard cock.

 

A pleasured woman is more orgasmic.

 

A relaxed woman is more orgasmic.

 

An honoured woman is more orgasmic.

 

A listened to woman is more orgasmic.

 

A woman who knows in every cell of her being that she is deeply loved is more orgasmic.

 

Men, your desires are met when you give your women all of the above and all the time, not just when you fancy a fuck. 

 

Is it hard work? Yes, it is. (Which is one of the reasons my husband is happy to share the load!)

 

And it is the most rewarding hard work on the planet!

 

Enjoy the fruits of your labour.

 

xxA

Becoming Anabelle Part III – A Conversation With My Fridge

One of the most common misconceptions about sex work is that it is done by someone who is either desperate, out of other options, or both. 

 

Sex workers in film and television are women in a temporary fix who through their own hard work, grit and determination, or thanks to a rescuing angel, are able to escape their temporary plight and move beyond the horror and degradation of “selling themselves”. 

 

The underlying assumption here is that only sex workers “sell themselves.”  

 

Which is clearly rubbish. 

 

Most people in the modern world are exchanging their time for money. This is most obvious if you’re in employment where your contract states the number of hours a week that you are to work in order to receive payment. But the self-employed are also exchanging their time for money. 

 

We are all selling ourselves!  

 

Carolyn Myss  explains that one of the core human archetypes we all carry within us is “The Prostitute.” You know you are interacting with the world from this part of yourself when you are “Selling your soul for money”. 

 

Not your body. Your soul.

 

By Carolyn Myss’s definition we have all been prostitutes at one time or another in our lives, because we have all done jobs we find boring, pointless or out of alignment with our values and belief systems. We do them because we need the money. In our willingness to compromise, and even override our soul’s desires, we allow ourselves to be prostituted.

 

Ikigai (illustrated in this Venn diagram) is the Japanese alternative to prostituting your soul. 

You will notice that when you do something you love which is also something the world needs, you have MISSION.

 

When you do something the world needs which you can be paid for, you have found your VOCATION.

 

When you do something you can be paid for and are good at, you are doing your PROFESSION.

 

When you are doing the thing that you love and which you are good at, you are following your PASSION.

 

When your work is your MISSION and your VOCATION and your PROFESSION and your PASSION you have found IKIGAI.

 

In my early 20s with an Honours degree in Anthropology behind me and filled to the brim with desire to bring peace and love to the world (a true hippy two decades too late) my IKIGAI was teaching. 

 

First I had to fight my parents who didn’t consider it a proper job (ahh, if only they could see how I’ve progressed!) I was passionate and determined because I believed I would be good at it and that I’d love it. I truly believed that education was a right for everyone and that the role of the educator was to light a fire of passion or knowing or something – anything – within the beating breast of every child. 

 

Next, I had to fight the system. Despite a 2:1 from a top university, my degree was one of those “Mickey Mouse” degrees as the BT ads used to say and didn’t automatically qualify me for a place on a Primary PGCE course. I needed to justify it. 

 

So I did. I sat down and wrote a long supplementary letter to my application forms detailing how my degree could be applied to every subject in the primary curriculum. Of course it didn’t surprise me after a degree in Anthropology that a system of control (the British education system) would assert control over the types of people allowed to do the job – it’s what social structures do after all. 

 

I succeeded in talking myself onto the PGCE course and I turned out to be a bloody good primary school teacher. I worked very hard. I loved my classes passionately and would get into trouble on more than one occasion for defending their honour, but for years I didn’t understand why I was such a very good teacher.

 

Becoming a very good whore has shown me. It’s about presence, intent and energy. You can’t stand in front of a class, more concerned about data than you are about the children and be a good teacher. Just as you cannot sit in front of a cock and care more about him “finishing off and paying up” than about an expanded energetic and healing experience and be a good whore.

 

Finding IKIGAI matters. Those of us who find it once are very lucky. Those of us who find it twice – are we just greedy?! The thing is, IKIGAI isn’t a fixed state. Remove one of the 4 “ions” (passion, mission, profession, vocation) and you’ve lost IKIGAI.

 

Very quickly my vocation and profession for teaching fizzled out. I still had mission and passion but within a few years of passionate excitement that I was actually paid for something I loved doing so much, it dawned on me that I wasn’t really paid at all. I was given a bit of pin money and a pat on the head by a society that underpays all its “caring” (i.e. largely female) professions, replacing hard cash with good feels like “deep respect.” 

 

Deep respect didn’t pay my bills or buy me the clothes to work in or help me save towards an occasional holiday or theatre trip. Deep respect was increasingly irritating. And most annoying of all, maybe my parents were right?  Despite all of my training and hard work I lived on tuna pasta and an overdraft.

 

But I did still love my job. By which I mean I loved my colleagues, I loved the children I taught, I loved interactions with their parents and I did consider myself very, very lucky to do a job that brought me so much deep satisfaction. 

 

Then Michael Gove (eugenicist and Education Secretary 2010-2014) happened. What happens when you put someone who deeply believes in the genetic supremacy of the few (elite white males) in charge of education? Well it turns out that he turns that system from one in which ALL children are helped to find their level of success in the 14 years of compulsory education, to one in which most must fail so that a few can be shown to have succeeded (and thus be deemed superior). 

 

Failure became an essential part of the system that I was teaching in.

 

Teachers who had already lost both vocation and profession now lost their passion and their mission and fled in vast numbers. They have been replaced by suit wearing, brief case carrying data collection robots. My interactions with my colleagues which I had valued so much as a young teacher became soul destroying experiences as schools filled up with more and more people who cared more about data than they did about the individual needs of the children in their classes.

 

I started to hate the profession I had worked so hard to join and had loved so, so much for years. I knew that I was no longer working in alignment with my values and beliefs, but I felt trapped. I was a mum with 3 young children, not the best time to take big career risks. 

 

It was a conversation with my fridge (honestly) that helped me make my decision. 

 

I was sitting slumped in the kitchen chair at the end of another demanding day at school feeling very tired and upset after another horrible interaction with a data collection robot. The hot tea in my hands was slowly building up my strength for the evening of mothering ahead of me. The house around me was blissfully quiet, all I could hear was the hum of the fridge opposite me. 

 

My mind returned to my most pressing problem – what was I to do if I left teaching? It had long ago stopped being my IKIGAI and that day’s interaction had reminded me that it was getting close to impossible for me to stay in a system which I had come to believe was actively causing harm. What could I do instead?

 

On the fridge opposite a postcard, white with stark black words, caught my eye: 

 

“Whatever makes your soul sing – Do that”

 

I looked at it, it made sense. Of course it did, I had bought it and put it there! But it also annoyed me and I told it quite grumpily, “The only thing that makes my soul sing is sex and you can’t make money from sex.”

 

The fridge just laughed. 

 

That tall, fat, white thing in the middle of my kitchen stopped humming and laughed at me. I heard it and I paused to think about what had made it laugh, then shook my head and replied, “Oh – yes, I see what you’re saying – but women like me don’t make money from sex.”

 

What I meant of course was that selling sex was what impoverished, drug addicted, destitute, enslaved, manipulated, weak, vulnerable, fallen women have to do because they have run out of other options – think Fantine in Les Miserables – not a highly educated, “normal”, middle class English woman like me. 

 

I obviously knew that prostitution is the “oldest profession in the world” and I knew that as an industry it makes billions every year. But I was the mother of 3 children in one of the most affluent postcodes in the country. My non-working life was filled with children, dog walking, village fetes, coffee mornings and summer BBQs. None of my neighbours and friends would dream of visiting a prostitute (would they?!) – let alone be one!

 

It was impossible.

 

DAMN – there was a postcard right next to the singing soul one: 

 

“Nothing is Impossible, the word itself means I’m Possible”

 

WHAT???

 

There is no point in plastering inspiration quotes all around the house if you are going to ignore them. So I didn’t. That conversation with the fridge planted a seed. I did some research, talked with my most trusted few and one small step at a time Anabelle was created. 

 

MISSION 

 

I knew I loved sex, as I had told the fridge it truly is the thing that makes my soul sing. Like a painter needs to paint, a singer needs to sing and a dancer needs to dance – I need to give and receive sex, but to be honest, when I started, I had no idea if the world needed Anabelle. 

 

I had no idea that what I would offer would fill a societal need. I have learned over the past 10 years that the world really needs kind, loving, authentic, genuine sexual services. 

 

I have learned that sex, for many, is not the joyful experience that I have always found it to be. Sadly, for many, sex is a disconnected, monotonous, dull, harmful often toxic experience. Humans are wired for connection, nothing is ever going to stop human beings from seeking love and intimacy. Can you imagine a world without great art or great music? 

 

For far too many, their lives are lived without great sex. 

 

Yes, there is most definitely a need!

 

VOCATION

 

Could I get paid for my kindness, compassion, love, understanding and insatiable sexuality?! You may laugh when I tell you that I had doubts, because you see these qualities are just who I am, and we all find it very difficult to attach a value or a price to what we are or what we find easy (i.e. are skilled at) rather than what we have to work hard to do. 

 

If I had denied all of my qualities and trained very hard to be, say, an accountant then I would feel like I had earned the right, through sheer hard work, to charge a high hourly rate. But value something I find natural and easy? That is a much harder thing to do. According to David Graeber  this is why as a society we reward boring desk jobs so much more than the interesting creative or caring jobs – if you enjoy your work, the theory goes, you don’t deserve the same level of compensation.

 

There is a logic to this – I am miserable, but at least I am paid to be miserable!

 

But if you examine value from the receiver’s point of view then it is obvious that people who offer a service that others value deserve to be paid very well for what they do. Adele sings beautiful songs, she loves her art and is very proud of it, she doesn’t offer seats at her concerts for free. So I just had to imagine myself as Adele and charge for my beautiful songs!

 

PROFESSION

 

Once I did the inner work to have the audacity to charge for what I love the most and am uniquely gifted at, it was all quite easy. I will never forget the thrill I had driving my battered little car away from my first job with an envelope of crisp notes in my handbag. I had earned more in an hour than I did in a day as a teacher. 

 

Initially I ran the two professions alongside each other, wearing different hats for different days of the week. I loved sex and had a sense I could charge for providing it, but would I be any good at it, professionally? 

 

Thus far I had only ever had sex on my terms when I was in the mood. Could I guarantee I would be in the mood? Could I be professional enough to be sexy with everyone who walked through my door? What about days when I wasn’t quite feeling it? I am asked these questions quite frequently and I too had them in the beginning. 

 

It turned out that I was a complete natural. I am a very, very good whore. I am incredibly professional and deeply passionate about my work. I have a strongly developed “masculine” or yang energy around commitment and showing up for people. If I commit to something in my family, community or at work, I do whatever it takes to deliver on my commitment. 

 

I read voraciously and invested in incredible training to deepen my understanding and skills. I took my health more seriously because you have to be healthy when you work in this way. I worked differently, but with as much hard work and commitment, as I had in my earlier teaching days. In other words, I was very professional about being a whore and I still am. 

 

PASSION

 

Underpinning it all, all my structures, focus, professionalism, hard work, vocation and mission lies my passion. It’s still the same passion – the passion I have felt very strongly since I was very, very little – to live in a world filled with fairness, love, compassion, kindness, tolerance and respect. 

 

I find people fascinating. I love their bodies, I love their energy and I get to enjoy what very few people on this planet get to enjoy – interactions on a soul level. 

 

I have strong “feminine” or yin energy. I am highly intuitive, very sensitive and incredibly responsive. I can connect with people in an intimate setting with ease and often very, very deeply. I am good at this! And what is more, I absolutely love every minute of it.

 

My passion for sex became my purpose in life. I truly care to give people heart opening, mind expanding, life enhancing experiences. Everyone is different so has their unique needs and desires. The joy in my work is understanding those and allowing my intuition to guide me and meet them. 

 

Sometimes I will voice out loud something that bubbles up inside of me as I am working, but much of the time I quietly give or do something without saying anything and then later learn that it was THE thing they desperately wanted or needed. You can only do that when you have deep passion for what you are doing.

 

Creating Anabelle was the moment this Alice fell down the rabbit hole and went on the most remarkable adventure. 

 

I have worked with hundreds of beautiful and remarkable human beings and learned something from and/or with all of them. Some of the lessons I have learned about humanity have been saddening or shocking, but the vast amount has been nourishing and uplifting. If you could all experience humans the way I do, you would see what I mean.

 

I am still a qualified teacher, but not once has it crossed my mind to leave my life as a whore to rejoin the profession that turned me into a prostitute. 

 

I have found my IKIGAI.

The Penis – a Tool of Love or a Weapon of War?

 

It constantly amazes me how “struggle” and “battle” have been written into the patriarchal narrative. I sit in my garden and observe the level of harmony, collaboration and symbiosis there is all around me. 

Scientists are catching up and are beginning to confirm what indigenous cultures – people who live on, and with, the land – have always told us and what whores always knew – the natural world is perfect, ancient, mysterious and magical. 

There is much harmony for us to observe and learn from. We would do better to observe and learn, rather than seek to enforce our will over it.

But power over is an intrinsic part of patriarchy. 

Elite power over everyone else. 

Male power over women. 

White power over non-whites. 

Human power over the natural world. 

Sitting on top of this pyramid of power, his ever present, judgemental eye watching over us, is the patriarchal God. 

From the beginning he was a vengeful, stern, and strict parental figure. His “love” has always been conditional on our behaviour, his judgement of women has always been harsher than his judgement of men (just ask Eve).

But he was not the first deity to be worshipped and he knew it.

The Old Testament is a series of directives from God via his Levite priests to destroy the peoples, cultures and religions that came before him.

In the world before God, women had far more status and power. It was through women that communities worshipped Goddess. Thus, to destroy the peoples, cultures and religions of pre-God communities you needed to destroy the power of women. 

To do this God committed what this whore considers to be the greatest crime against humanity, he turned the penis from a tool of love, into a weapon of war.

In the God approved model of sex, as first practiced by Adam, men were instructed that the correct and only appropriate way to have sex is in the man-on-top “missionary” position. 

This position gives men enough pleasure to come, but rarely gives women much, if any, pleasure. Adam’s first wife, Lilith, left him rather than suffer any more sex that didn’t include her pleasure. 

She was right to leave him, devoid of pleasure, sex becomes a violation of a woman’s sacred space. Devoid of pleasure, penetration is experienced by the body (and I emphasise by the body i.e. the vagina) not much differently to rape. 

But God went further, hell hath no fury like a patriarchal deity after complete ownership and control of ALL the land and ALL the energy from ALL the peoples living on the planet. “Raping” women nightly in miserable monogamous marriages (the kind detested by Goddess) wasn’t enough. 

Rape was to be used as an act of war against the women of every community that did not surrender and submit to the new male God. 

Recorded in page after page of frankly deranged writing in the Old Testament rape, in the cause of the new religion, was deemed a “good” thing which “God fearing” men did to prove their devotion and commitment to their new God. 

If you think raping women was only part of the initial establishment of patriarchy, you’d be wrong. Rape using a penis or other device including, for example, hot metal rods (during the witch trials) has been used for thousands of years to punish, suppress and oppress women for being women. 

Rape is as prevalent today as it ever was. Young women headed off to university are now advised on ways to avoid being raped by their male class mates as a routine part of their orientation days. 

The most commonly used weapon of war in rape? Yes, you’ve guessed it, the penis. Specifically, an erect penis. Patriarchy succeeded in turning a tool of love into a weapon of war, one which has done immense harm to the collective feminine across centuries creating our, not surprising, love-hate-fear relationship with erections.

Women giggle at, sneer at, avoid looking at, fear, judge and even shame what was once unanimously seen by men and women as a “Shaft of Light”. The lingam (Sanskrit for shaft of light) or penis, has always had the potential to be a giver of profound bliss and joy, a means by which the vagina is lit up – activating and connecting the woman to deep stores of energy within her body by which she transcends the everyday, material reality to spend time dancing in the heavens.

It’s the same body part and yet with different information, and different intent, it can be used either to activate or to kill a woman’s power. 

Just as a kitchen knife can be used to create delicious nourishing food or to inflict deep wounds and even death in another person’s body. It is not the knife, or the penis, that is dangerous. It is what the person wielding both knife and penis intends to do with them.

Devastatingly, boys raised in Judeo/Christian “civilisation” have been raised with patriarchal programming which means even when a man does not consciously intend to do harm with his penis, because of his ignorance, the patriarchal model of sex, exploitative porn and his own unacknowledged trauma (for example infant circumcision) he unwittingly shames, shuts down or violates a woman’s sexuality, and sadly, rape is a far, far more common experience for women than most men are willingly to acknowledge or admit.

And it doesn’t have to be this way! 

This whore knows that when a man is reconnected to the divine love that he can channel through his lingam he is reconnected to the divine masculine power of giving. This is the miracle (i.e. a change in perception that changes everything) that we are ready for.

Because powerful, sovereign people are difficult to control, patriarchy purposefully disconnected men from their greatest power. The power of a man to give a woman deep, deep pleasure and to journey with her, and through her, to magical realms, lifting both of them out of, and beyond, their mundane, material existence is literally infinite. 

The penis was not designed to harm women, it was designed, rather marvellously, to heal and love women.

From the base of the shaft all the way up to the tip of the glans are reflexology points that when gently pressured send healing energy to different parts of the man’s body. Not just any energy – sexual energy – the most potent, powerful, creatrix energy on the planet!  

Rather perfectly our bodies are designed in harmony with each other: the vagina has corresponding points. 

When a penis enters a pulsating, vibrating, alive vagina the penis activates her points passing energy from him to her and because she is throbbing with pre-orgasmic and orgasmic pleasure the supple walls of her vagina massage the length of his penis activating his points, sending her loving and healing energy into his body. 

It’s magical and it’s perfect.

But, obviously denied to all humans, male and female, in the pleasure-free model of sexuality so beloved by patriarchy. 

A fearful, shut down or resentful vagina will not be pulsating with pleasure. You may be able to push into her and pump until you empty your ball bag, but you have missed the entire magical point of sexual connection. The time spent in coitus, penis in vagina, is a sacred time of deep healing, deep connection and the opportunity to transcend the mortal realm.

Man-fearing feminists are right to reject a model of sex that causes harm to our bodies. They are right to erect boundaries and firmly voice their NO. 

But I believe they are deeply misguided to reject men along with a harmful model of sex. 

It is not men’s fault that they have been encultured into a brutal model of sexuality that looks and feels like rape for far too much of the time. It’s what we have all grown up with and what we are convinced is “normal”.

Feminists need our sexual power and pleasure as much as any other human on the planet. Without it we are little more than robots serving The Machine. A more empowered feminist movement reclaims sexual pleasure for women and guides men into the world of joyful bliss, deep healing and connection that awaits us all when we just shift our perception.

This, my loves, is the work of whores. The world desperately needs the miracle of whores working in every community teaching men and women the ancient, beautiful, deeply connected art of sexual pleasure. This ancient wisdom that flows through our bodies is the greatest hope humanity has of finding its way back to harmony and love.

I’ll finish with my favourite quote ever, it’s from the beautiful John Lennon:  

“We live in a world where we have to hide to make love 

 While violence is practised in broad daylight.”

And I’ll invite you to ponder over what the world could be like if we no longer had to hide to make love.

 

Recommended further reading :

“When God was a Woman” by Merlin Stone

“Vagina” by Naomi Wolf

“Lingam Massage: Awakening Male Sexual Energy” by Michaela Riedl

 

Photo by Danilo Rios on Unsplash

Becoming Anabelle Part II – Tinkerbell

 

[This post is best read after Black Pants Man though I have tried to write it as a stand alone post] 

 

The Boyfriend wasn’t at all happy with my new hobby which is all that it was at this point – consciously anyway. We had been together for a year and the early heady days had given way to DIY on his rundown cottage and Sunday hockey matches. I had done marriage. I was through with mundanity, I had reached the point in my life where I realised I only had one life and that it was crucial for me to live my life well – which meant on my terms. 

 

If I wanted to put my sexual needs on ice, play house with a husband and come last after the children I had that back home. I did not need to leave my precious children and drive two hours to get it. I wasn’t joining The Boyfriend in his dilapidated cowshed (aka “good investment”) to be a patient and loyal “wifeling”. 

 

I was driving around the M25 for SEX. Lots of it. 

 

All-weekend-in-bed-stopping-only-to-refuel kind of SEX. 

 

But hockey and doing up his investment hovel were important to him, so it was made plain, by him and his family, that I needed to find myself an all consuming hobby to distract me from my insatiable need for SEX. He was very bemused and not at all happy when my all consuming hobby turned out to be, not a healthy sport or creative craft, but what I really, really wanted – SEX!!

 

Obviously being the very honest person that I am, I talked it all through with him. We spent hours and hours discussing it, he bought me books to explain to me what I am – polyamorous apparently. The books backfired, as did the Facebook Community he found for me. I dived in headlong like a parched traveller who’s come across an oasis in the desert. Try telling that thirsty traveller that they have to stop drinking – the brain literally does not compute.

 

Plus, I had met The Lover. 

 

Learning that there was a term for ethical (i.e. honest) non-monogamy – polyamorous and that I was that term – made me feel truly liberated. I’d known in my bones that monogamy was BS and my marriage had proved it – two lovely, funny, sexy, highly sexed people killing each other with boredom. Humans are genetically almost identical to bonobo chimpanzees (1.3% genetic difference) and bonobos are all having sex the whole time. 

 

I had just learned that I was a hairless bonobo and The Lover loved it!

 

The Lover and I had met in the 24 hour period during which my skeletal profile was up on an NSA site. Simply stating my situation, with no pictures uploaded, it simply said, “I’m married, have a boyfriend but need more sex. Can you help me out?” The Lover messaged me only hours before The Boyfriend succeeded in talking me into leaving the site. And his message was sexy-as-fuck. 

 

First off his profile picture was everything a woman wants to get her juices running – an arty black and white photograph of a woman’s back with a pair of male hands gliding down her spine – as if playing a double bass (surely the sexiest of all musical instruments?) His message was as delightfully charming; he said it would be an absolute pleasure to help me out of my predicament and he even used apostrophes correctly! 

 

We soon moved our conversation off the site and were sending each other photos. The tease was delicious. We had two of the sexiest weeks of my entire life before diaries permitted a meet and when we finally did spend a day together there was no way that one meet was going to be enough. He was FABULOUS. 

 

A seriously stunning cock, the kind that takes you aback when you first see it in the flesh, but more importantly he really knew how to use it. When he pulled out of my cunt to feel what it was like inside my arse he did so with so much grace and care that I felt I had never been so deeply loved and held  in my entire life. When we parted on that first, blissful, day and I rushed off to do school pick up, I knew that I was going to need a lot of sex with him to live my life to the fullest.

 

At this point The Boyfriend didn’t break up with me, he just wanted me to stop, to go back to being “normal”, back to being a safe, monogamous, sexy woman on his terms. Nothing stopped him breaking up with me, I didn’t lie to him, he knew everything, but he wanted the incredible sex. I’ll admit I was obsessed, I probably still am, and many people will declare that to be unhealthy, but all I can say, with my dandelion smile on my face, is that I am really, really happy – and healthy. 

 

Years later, after the painful breakup and very established in my role as Anabelle, I wonder why I tried so hard to convert such a narrow minded and conventional man to my way of thinking. It was very obvious to anyone who knew me quite intimately back then – The Lover, my confidant Jenny, one or two other girlfriends, that The Boyfriend was never going to embrace the life that I so deeply desired. Why did I cling on to him? Why did I try to win him over? 

 

I was in love. I loved him truly, madly and deeply. He was the man I wanted to grow old with. Just not yet! I wanted to grow old with a life well lived behind me. I wanted to create memories that would warm me in my final days. Most of all I wanted to die, Lilith style, with a wicked grin on my face. 

“No regrets” became my motto and my decision function machine. When faced with difficult life choices I started to ask myself the question, “On your death bed, which choice will you regret not making?” – the answer showed me the path that I must take, however unconventional, uncomfortable or inconvenient it may be. It is always the bolder, braver, less conventional path that gifts you the most opportunities for growth and expansion. As Vincent Van Gogh said,

 

“Normality is a paved road: it’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.”

 

I love flowers. Which is no doubt why one day I had the bright idea that The Boyfriend and I would have a threesome with a prostitute in an anonymous London hotel. 

 

Surely this would win him over to my side? 

 

What man does not dream of a threesome with two women? 

 

What man would not find a girlfriend who gifts him such incredible experiences, completely intoxicating and hold onto her as a rare and precious gift?

 

I had absolutely no idea how one finds a prostitute and I felt morally conflicted. A bit like buying teak garden furniture – you want to make the purchase, but how do you know that it’s ethical? Women don’t come with a Fair Trade stamp like my coffee does.

I found an agency online, baulked at the hourly rate, and perused the photographs. One or two appealed to me (their bodies made my nipples twitch and my cunt throb a bit) so I pinged their photos to The Boyfriend to ask his opinion. Happily he selected my favourite and I booked both the hotel and the lady. 

 

The whole thing cost me way more than a week’s earnings, but I was living life on my terms, this was a once in a lifetime experience, I was about to convert the man that I loved into the joys of ethical non-monogamy and we were going to make precious memories together. I was taking a step off the paved, expected, path of normality to spend time with my beloved enjoying the flowers. 

 

We were both as nervous as hell when the day arrived. We met her in the hotel bar and fell easily into small talk. Then, bless her, professional that she was, she asked, “Do you only want to talk or would you like a bit more fun?”

 

“Of course” we both replied in unison and led her up to our room. There she removed her dress, tied her long hair in a ponytail, removed a tube of lube from her bag and said, “I think we start with her, OK?” I wasn’t going to argue.

 

It was the first time I had ever kissed a girl, and I really liked it. She was exquisite, small boned, slim, delicate with incredibly soft skin. Kissing a woman after years of stubble was quite a sensation – I was hooked.

She was really fun with me, she guided me down The Boyfriend’s body to share his cock between our kisses. I wasn’t as mad about blow jobs back then, I did them more as a gift for the man rather than for my pleasure, but with her tongue and her lips so close to mine, teasing his shaft and glans between us, I enjoyed sucking cock as never before.

 

And his cock had never been as magnificent before.

 

Afterwards we named her Tinkerbell, she was fairy like in her appearance and playfully fairy like through the whole session. After sharing cock with me she invited me to lie on my back and sliding down my front to pleasure my cunt with her lips and tongue, she directed The Boyfriend to get a condom. That is how I ended up lying there watching The Boyfriend fucking Tinkerbell as she tongue fucked me.

 

And yes it was as amazing as it sounds. Those of you who watch porn are probably a bit blase about sex as I describe above, but for me, at the time, it was out-fucking-standing. I was delirious with delight as we took a short break half way through our two hour session.

 

It was incredibly relaxed. That was my overriding impression of sex with a professional. She was so relaxed about her body, the sex, us, our bodies. Knowledgeable, funny, sweet and above all, relaxed.

The Boyfriend asked what all men of his type ask when they meet someone new, “So do you enjoy your work?” I was embarrassed, I felt awkward. What if she had to lie? W”hat if we learned that we had just tasted non-ethical coffee? 

 

Tinkerbell just beamed, “I love it.”

 

Then she expanded a bit, “I earn really good money, I am saving up to open my own bar with my boyfriend. It’s good, you know.” Then, because this is England and we were making mid-sex small talk, she turned to me and asked, “What do you do?”

 

“I’m a teacher, I teach infants – aged 4 to 7 years.”

 

“Oh, how gorgeous! You must love it!” she exclaimed.

 

“Well, I do, but the money is terrible – it’s taken me a week’s wages to pay your two hour bill tonight!” She just beamed and nodded knowingly, she already knew this. Teaching, an apparently vital, “respectable” profession is just not as respected – in hard cash – anything like  her “disreputable” profession. 

 

She then turned to The Boyfriend and asked, “And you?” 

 

He replied with as much pomposity as I thought it was possible to muster, a pomposity that was completely incongruent with his naked body and softening cock, “I” he announced, “Am an accountant.” 

 

Her face fell and she just said, “Oh, poor you.”

 

It still makes me laugh out loud. I didn’t at the time, I stifled my giggles and marvelled at how she had readjusted her crown in the face of his middle class pomposity. I loved her so much for it. And envied her deeply. 

 

Here was a young woman doing something she clearly enjoyed, earning far more than the two of us combined, and completely owning the space. Young, beautiful, sassy, confident, kind, sexy – pretty dazzling to a middle aged woman set on reclaiming her life to live it on her terms.

 

Tinkerbell taught me the joy of kissing a woman. I learned the delights of a soft female body and soft female moans, of little teeth and small fingers pleasuring your flesh. She was the first woman I tasted, the first woman to taste me and I found both immensely liberating. 

 

She tasted sweet and maybe a bit spicy, definitely not fishy or pungent at all. Why are we told by countless bad taste jokes that women have “fishy fannies” when actually our cunts bear no resemblance to fish at all? I mourned the wasted years in which I’d denied myself the pleasure of receiving oral sex because I was sure I smelt ghastly and decided that I would be more like Tinkerbell. I would open my legs and gratefully receive any, and ALL, pleasure any giver wanted to lavish on my grateful cunt.

 

She also showed me a completely different face to prostitution to the one we are constantly peddled. 

 

Contrary to the mainstream narrative that there is no such thing as a happy and empowered prostitute, the first prostitute I had ever met was both. 

 

I will take your word for it, if you have personal experience otherwise, and I know there is a side to the sex industry that is dark and exploitative, but ALL slavery is exploitative, not just sex slavery. 

 

Selling sex does not necessarily make you unhappy and it can make you very, very happy and empowered. That is what Tinkerbell taught me. 

 

She was another nudge from the universe towards the creation of Anabelle. I think of her often and wonder what she would make of the shy, rather awkward woman she met over a decade ago. I hope she got to open her bar and that Covid didn’t destroy her dreams along with so many others’. 

 

There isn’t a school or a college you can go to to learn the art of being a whore. It is not something you can get certified into. Like much in life, the empowered route does require a certain amount of privilege. Tinkerbell was part of my route. If you had told me at the time that I was doing research for my future business, I would have laughed at you, but meeting her shifted my perceptions entirely and I could feel, in my body, that I wanted to be like her. 

 

I wanted the freedom, the sassiness, the sexual confidence. I wanted to make other people’s dreams come true. Above all I wanted my life to be devoted to pleasure and orgasm like hers was. She was younger and so much prettier than me, but I had a growing sense that I wanted to walk her path.  

 

 

Recommended Further Reading (which happen to be the books The Boyfriend bought me):

 

“Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality” by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha

 

“More than Two” by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert

tie-and-tease-hampshire-s002

Sexual Healing with Kali, The Destroyer of Ego & Lilith, The Witch Who Left Adam

“Sex work can’t be healing” said an angry woman on X. She expanded by telling me that my “rhetoric was wrong” and that it was ridiculous to claim that sex work can be a healing modality. On X I didn’t have space to explain that sex by its very nature is deeply healing and thus sex work, when done in the right way, can be amongst the most healing therapies in the world. 

 

Obviously there are no scientific randomised control trials on sexual healing because there is no money for big pharma in discovering that whores are naturally incredibly powerful healers. So what can whores heal? At the moment I don’t know the full potential of sexual healing. But I feel it every week. 

 

Let’s start there – with what I feel. 

 

I feel bodies relax and reset. I feel men (and women) enjoying their physical, emotional and even spiritual selves. I feel them connect to something within, sometimes, many times, for the first time ever. We live in a world where many (if not most) men (and women) have felt shame for, and of, their sexuality. Leading us to shut down something that is ours by right – our innate sexual energy.

 

Sexual energy is our life force energy. Think about it, sexual energy creates life! It can be channeled and directed by us to create the lives that we desire. Being disconnected from our own life force energy disempowers us, leading us to hand over our sovereignty to those with more power than us. 

 

I contend that loss of sovereignty is one of the main causes of dis-ease within our physical, mental, emotional and spiritual bodies.  Thus, experiencing one’s sexual energy in an honouring, shame free environment is deeply, deeply healing. 

 

I’d like to introduce two powerful and inspirational females to assist me in explaining the healing power of sex work. 

 

The first is Kali, Hindu mother goddess, also goddess of death and rebirth, who is most often depicted as a fearsome female (the stuff of patriarchal male nightmares) often seated in a squatting position with her tongue sticking out wearing a necklace of skulls. 

Kali is not the beautiful, sexually available pagan goddess imagined by Western artists. Kali is fearsome female power personified. And she is scary to look at! Her sticking out tongue represents the power of the female voice, which as most men will confirm, can crush an ego, inflated or otherwise, in seconds. Her necklace of skulls represents those crushed egos.  

 

My second dame is Lilith, Adam’s first wife and dissatisfied lover who left him to allegedly spend eternity fucking the devil and eating babies for breakfast. 

 

Lilith refused to fluff Adam’s rubbish love making. As legend has it he insisted on having sex “patriarchal style” man-on-top but this didn’t give her the genital stimulation that she needed to experience pleasure and orgasm, she tried to persuade him to vary the position, but Adam, being God’s chosen one, knew that the “correct way” of doing things was for him to be on top during their sex and if Lilith didn’t orgasm, well that wasn’t too important was it?

 

His sassy, sexy, bold, beautiful lover wanted to be creative and playful in the bedroom, but his fragile male ego said, NO. So she left him. And apparently has since spent eternity with the devil – who apparently is a much better lover – quelle surprise!!

 

Maybe Adam needed to meet Kali, because Kali’s necklace of skulls is to remind humans of the impermanence of ego. We are all trapped into believing our ego selves over our real selves, but it’s all an illusion. 

 

Our ego selves are a painstaking construction of “self”. I like Pink Floyd’s metaphor of a wall – brick by brick your ego is constructed to separate you from every other human (or non human) being on the planet (and beyond) and also to keep you separated from your own true self – your inner essence, your soul, your divine spark.

 

In our highly material (and materialistic) age our egos are fed, watered and maintained by possessions, qualifications, labels, friendships, relationships, jobs, clubs, social media, our communities and so on. We are born free of ego (that’s why it is so easy to look into a newborn’s eyes and see infinite possibilities awaiting them) but from within minutes of our birth the world conspires (against us) to construct our egos.

 

Some babies suffer the barbarity of circumcision in their early hours – an unthinkable practice still common in much of the world. Its only purpose is as a crucial brick in the wall. How better to separate you from your inner spark than to prevent you from feeling that spark? But all babies are fed, clothed, named and held (or not) according to societal norms. 

 

In the west, for example, no crying baby is ever put to a male nipple for comfort – the idea to most is appalling – yet throughout human history and in much of the world today this is a completely normal and beautiful way to calm, nourish, nurture and bond with an infant. Gabor Maté will tell you that the lack of physical body to body contact in western baby rearing practices underpins much chronic disease and neurological conditions later in life.

 

Maté points to the Inuit who carry a baby continuously for the first two years of life, importantly this role is shared by all members of the community, male and female, not left to an exhausted mother coping, isolated and alone, on her own. 

 

But coldness and isolation are an intrinsic, I would argue essential, aspect of patriarchal control. And one of the many, many ways society creates your ego without you noticing.  

 

Therapists and life coaches will tell you that one of the most common beliefs people carry about themselves which prevents them from living a heart connected life is, “I am not worthy.” This is an ego belief. The constructed self has learned to believe that they are unworthy of all that they yearn for – love, connection, belonging, security, safety. 

 

Hasn’t patriarchy done a number on us all?! 

 

Can you see how much easier it is to control people who believe they are not worthy of a life beyond the treadmill?

 

This is what makes Kali furious and what Lilith would not settle for. 

 

My client today has an awful ego, and not in the way that you think when you read, “awful ego.” He is not “egotistical” – he doesn’t drive a flashy car and swagger around in look-at-me clothes. 

 

On the contrary, his ego has entrapped him in a life of miserable grey. He is possibly the greyest man I have ever met. Mr Cellophane: dull, easy to ignore and utterly miserable. He will be tormented on his death bed when he reflects on his completely wasted life.

 

Well maybe not entirely. Somehow he found me and he books regular Ra (tie and tease) sessions which are perfect for him. Ra is my Kali-esque session. It’s the session to strip you of ego and allow, if only for a moment, your true self to shine. To the untrained eye it looks harsh, like Kali, but the blindfold, cuffs, crops, floggers and pin wheels are there not to literally strip away flesh, but to invite you into surrender and sensation. 

 

Tantric sex is very much about sensation – about bringing your conscious awareness to sensation inside the body, not to label it as an emotional feeling, e.g. happy, sad, nervous, turned on, but as pure sensation, e.g. fizzy, warm, bubbly, throbbing, sharp, soft, gentle. 

 

Sensation leads us to the experience of energy in our bodies and energy leads us out of the material (and materialistic) realm into the quantum realm and back towards our original essence or soul. This is the journey you take with Ra.

 

My clients are blindfolded on arrival, they don’t get to see me in my lingerie let alone naked until after they have come. For years I thought the blindfold just removed sight – the most over-used of our senses – so allowing space for the other senses: hearing, taste, smell and touch to become heightened. But a female client of mine introduced me to a whole new way of seeing the blindfold – as an interruption to ego.

 

Remember, your ego self is who society tells you that you are. Years of social programming says that you are THIS person with THIS set of beliefs and THESE characteristics. Your ego self separates you from your true self and never is this truer than in sex. 

 

I introduced the blindfold to this female client during a yoni massage that I was coaching her lover to give her. To receive the massage she needed to lie spread eagle with her legs wrapped around her lover in full view of me – a virtual stranger. Even a whore might have qualms about this! So I suggested she wear a blindfold for her comfort. She loved it and thought about it for days afterwards. Eventually she messaged me to say, “I think it’s like holding your hands over your eyes as a child – if you can’t see them, they can’t see you, so you don’t have to feel the shame.”

 

Through the childish trick of wearing a blindfold my female client was freed from “being seen.” In the darkness she could let go of who she is meant to be (her ego self) and connect with her true, inner self – and the inner self loved the sensations she was receiving through her lover’s yoni massage. 

 

Do you begin to understand the allure of gimp masks now?!

 

I’ve yet to use a gimp mask on any of my clients but in a Ra massage they are always blindfolded for the full duration of the session. They’re also tied – both wrists and both ankles – spread eagle on the bed, first lying on their fronts and then on their backs. It’s not about pain, it’s about sensation, and, I know how pleasurable pain can be, so I don’t hold back! I want to make their skin tingle so that when I’ve stopped flogging and spanking them and pour oil over their skin they feel the oil, followed by my hands, with heightened sensitivity. 

 

I want to make their ears listen out for every movement I make, I want to activate that nervous anticipation that quickens the pulse and shortens the breath. It’s such a rapid activation of the body. The game they are invited to play with themselves is to receive it all. To take whatever I give them. To surrender to sensation – whatever it is. To submit to pleasure, all of it. 

 

It’s dark and it’s wicked and it strips layers of ego from them. Freed from their pathetic, miserable, dull little egos these giant men emerge. Men who feel so big, so bold, so WORTHY.

 

Today’s client thanked me at the end, again, for being his “safe place.” He had been tied up, and hit really hard – I’d even slapped him on the arse cheek whilst my finger was deep inside him. I had really “punished” him today. Yet he feels safer with me than anywhere else. He feels able to be “himself.” He feels seen and understood and – my words – freed from his depressed and depressing ego existence.

 

Today he told me that our sessions had given him the confidence to change jobs. To move from a job that is slightly better paid into a position that is more in alignment with him and thus carries much less stress. He is beginning to make choices that are good for his soul rather than what’s expected of him by those who seek to maintain his ego. 

 

Good whores don’t fluff male egos. Like Lilith we dare to lead our men into more mutually pleasurable, soul nourishing experiences. Like Kali we know that living a life on your terms, one that will free you of death bed regrets, means stripping yourself free of the limitations of ego as much as you possibly can. 

 

We can’t re-grow foreskins, but we can blindfold you and flog your backside until it’s red raw and your body tingles in ways you’ve never previously experienced so that when you return to a shitty job you feel worthy enough to say, “Fuck this!” 

 

Kali is smiling down at my client today – he is taking bold steps towards reclaiming what is left of his life to live it on his terms. 

 

That is the power of sex. 

 

“Good” sex takes you beneath ego so that you reconnect with your true self. 

 

Separation from our true selves is, I believe, one of the greatest causes of dis-ease on the planet. Reconnected to your true self you are able to give yourself the love, the care, the acceptance that you need to live a healthy and nourished life, and you are guided to make life choices that are actually good for you. 

 

The patriarchal model of sex pulls men and women away from “Good” sex. This infuriated Lilith who fled the scene. 

 

Whores, a bit kinder than Lilith, devote themselves to showing you the way back. 

 

So, I repeat the claim that I rather foolishly made to an angry woman on X, sex is the most potent healing power on the planet and thus whores, our sexual shamen, are the planet’s greatest healers.

 

Kali picture credit Raja Ravi Varma on Wikipedia

Lilith picture credit: Charles Chen on Unsplash 

The Joy of Soft Cock – Re-framing Erectile Dysfunction

What is sex for?

 

Why do we have sex? 

 

What do we get from sex? 

 

The answers really matter but I also know that few of us answer these questions freely. We are highly, highly conditioned to answer these questions in a particular way. 

 

We have lived within a patriarchal system for about 5,000 years of our 300,000 year existence as humans on this planet. While a tiny fragment of human evolution and history, it is still 5,000 years of humans interacting from a socially approved and controlled narrative of what sex is for. A narrative programmed into our minds and bodies for a specific desired outcome. That outcome includes compliance, obedience, control and ownership of the many by the few – sons for war and daughters to breed the next generation of workers, warriors and wives. 

 

Sex which had been primarily about pleasure during the earlier Goddess worshipping era was reduced to the prosaic function of reproduction in the God fearing patriarchal era.  

 

In God’s model, sex became all about erections. So much so that when I tell people that you don’t need erections to enjoy incredible sex, that men and women can have multi-orgasmic experiences without an erection, that often sex is more orgasmic without erections, I am met with blank stares on disbelieving faces – cognitive dissonance writ large. We have been told for 1,000s of years that erections are essential for sex, so this simply must be true. 

 

The obsession with erections inflicted huge damage to female sexuality. No longer experienced as portals to The Divine, no longer revered for creating life within, our highly sensitive, sensual, erotic bodies were reduced to mere fields in which Man would sow his seed by means of his erection. Female pleasure was not deemed necessary for passive female fields to receive this active male seed. All that was needed was male erections. The female role was reduced, and has remained so, to being attractive enough to trigger the all important erections.

 

Erection obsession also did huge damage to male sexuality. I absolutely love erections, possibly more than any other woman on the planet, but I see, day after day, in my work, what the pressure to have and maintain erections does to men. Making sex all about erections has, I would argue, made sex another stressful experience for everyone involved. Discomfort around soft cocks has separated us all, men and women, from our true sexuality and sexual pleasure.

 

Women fear soft cocks and this fear is communicated to their men who do not want to let their women down. You may well ask, “Why would women fear male softness?” The answer, sadly, is that it is primarily about our worthiness and desirability which, at a deep level, means our safety.  For as long as we incite erections in our men we are safe. Just ask Anne Boleyn what happens to women when our male provider and protector is no longer aroused by our charms. This runs very, very deep in us. Female desire has been shown to rise as we see evidence of our man’s desire for us. And how do we measure our man’s desire? By one thing, and one thing only, his growing bulge.

 

Oh, the pressure! 

 

To reassure a woman that she is valued, still desirable and safe you have to get hard. 

 

To reassure her all the way through the act of sex, including the careful time spent arousing her slower energy, you have to stay hard. 

 

Then on penetration, when your over excited cock wants to explode with pleasure, you have to hold back until she has already shown, in some way, that she has already come. 

 

I am a woman, my clitoral erection is too small to be detected by any but the most observant of lovers, but I feel this pressure and it pains me! Sex could be our route out of stress, out of the sympathetic nervous system into the healing calm of our parasympathetic nervous system. Instead we all run on a model of sex that adds more stress into our lives and keeps us stuck in fight, flight, fawn or freeze

 

So, I offer a re-frame on soft cocks: they represent the softness, the gentleness, and the tenderness in our men. Soft cocks crave to be seen and to be held – cradled gently in soft palms, kissed lightly by soft lips, nuzzled sensuously by soft cunts. When you have the honour of being with a man who is naked and soft, rather than averting your gaze, take a moment to smile lovingly at his vulnerable tenderness. In that one small moment you will have healed so much in him.

 

We all crave to be loved and accepted exactly as we are. Love (including sexual love) that is conditional on performance is, well, conditional love. It brings fear of rejection and abandonment into that most intimate of spaces – our sex lives, erecting barriers to truly deep intimacy. And it is completely unnecessary! We are unconsciously enacting a script handed to us by a frankly sex-phobic society! We could, instead, write our own script and enact that one.  

 

Let’s start by redefining “sex”.  For me sex is the space two (or more) bodies move into so that they can experience energy within and between them. In this way it is perfectly possible for me to have sex with my husband at a table surrounded by other people, whilst doing the washing up or walking along the beach. It is not the act that makes it sexual, it is the connection to and experience of sensation (energy) in the body that makes it “sex”.

 

Once you redefine sex as the experience of sensation, or energy, moving around and between bodies, it removes many of the barriers that have been erected by society towards feeling sexual. You no longer need to be naked to feel sexual. You no longer need to be in private to be “having sex”. You no longer have to set aside special time for sex. You no longer need an erection for sex.

 

Having the time, the space and the privacy to explore this energy with each other is delicious, but when you enjoy sexual energy within your body regardless, you become a sexual being again rather than a being who occasionally has sex. Life becomes sexual, by which I mean life becomes lighter, brighter, fizzier, more vibrant. You care less and less about doing to prove yourself worthy, and increasingly comfortable in yourself as a being who is worthy. 

 

And let me stress, you do not need an erection in the room to feel any of this. In fact erections make it complicated for men to connect with their sexual energy – obviously when they are in a public place, but also in private, erections need managing! Freed from the need to have an erection, men and women are able to connect within themselves and through themselves to the energy in their partner. You feel your energies connecting, combining, moving together, expanding together.  You move from the prosaic material realm into the quantum sexual realm. 

 

Orgasm is experienced in wave upon wave of bliss as energy expands and builds, moves and flows within and between bodies. Instead of building intensely in one area (the genitals) and then exploding outwards, it builds more gradually, and is consciously channelled, moved around the entire body for a full bodied, cell nourishing experience, sometimes with ejaculation, very often without. 

 

There is no pressure anywhere in any of this. It is kind, it is accepting, it is loving, it is exploratory, it is creative, it is playful, it is endlessly changing. Sex becomes the life that you lead rather than something you hope to connect to on a Sunday night if you have the time and all your parts work. Clients wonder how I am so sexual. It is because I am never not sexual! I interact with the world as a sexual being. Everything is more alive and more vibrant for me because I do so. And best of all, whilst I love erections, I am not relying on any to connect to my sexual energy.

 

Which is why soft cocks simply delight me. I do not experience them as a sense of failure. I experience them in the same way as I experience feet, or nipples, or lips – a body part that is sensitive and worthy of my love and respect. I love their velvety softness, I love their floppyness, I love that I can weave them in and out of my fingers and roll them around in my hands. 

 

I love experiencing pleasure from a man with a soft cock who is so focused on my pleasure that he hasn’t noticed if he is erect or not. Let’s face it, when you are pleasuring me with your fingers or tongue, why would either of us be concerned about how hard your cock is?! 

 

I love feeling orgasm expand in a man with a soft cock. I love watching his body pulsate as the energy moves through his torso, down his arms and his legs – just as energy moves through my body – expanding and growing, taking him on a dance with The Divine. I feel so honoured to witness this expansion in him. I feel so deeply connected to him as we play in all of this energy freed from the pressure to have and maintain an erection. 

 

Erections can make sex extraordinary. But the pressure around erections completely destroys sex for all involved. And I know what I am talking about! I have lost count of the number of times an incredible session has been derailed by my client noticing, and then fussing with, his softness. 

 

Sometimes it is during a lingam massage in which I purposefully soften cocks – distributing energy around the body – so that I can then intensify the pleasure I give the shaft, glans and frenulum. When my client surrenders to this and allows himself to stay connected to the sensation of energy building and moving through his body he will always have the most incredible orgasmic experience. Sadly a few will raise their heads, notice their softening cock and a look of anger and disapproval will spread across their previously relaxed and pleasured faces. 

 

This of course guarantees the poor thing will shrivel in my hands. It’s like standing next to a small child as a parent berates and shames them and I hate it. I will hold the “disappointing” cock in my hands and channel as much love as I can through my palms, but it is rarely enough – the cock, like the small child, wants its parent’s love and approval, not mine.

 

Sessions don’t often recover from this point. It always happens towards the end of the time they have paid for and whilst I am not a clock watcher and don’t ruthlessly end the session when the time is up, neither am I able to re-create the magic – that I have spent the previous 75 minutes building – from the destructive self sabotage of my judgmental client. 

 

It saddens me every time, but I am merely one whore working against a cultural narrative that is thousands of years old and believed by almost everyone on the planet. What can I possibly do in the remaining 15 minutes of a session to undo all of that?!

 

If I am allowed, I will use my voice to invite my client back into sensation. I will remind him to listen to the music, use his breath to relax and connect with the pleasurable sensations in his body. I will do my soft cock strokes and say over and over in my head and with my hands, “You are safe, you are loved, you are worthy.” Sometimes there will be a tentative hardening in response to my loving kindness, but with a client that is already angry and disappointed with his cock, this is never “hard or strong enough”. 

 

Very often my hands are brusquely pushed aside and an angry male hand will grab the vulnerable flesh and yank it repeatedly in a vain attempt to force it to ejaculate. This is as difficult to witness as a man squeezing the life out of a baby bird, and it never works. I am reminded of the Aesop fable, “The North Wind and The Sun” – The North Wind blew and blew with all his might to get a traveller to remove his cloak, yet however hard he blew he failed. The Sun succeeded by simply shining. As the traveller warmed he removed the cloak that had previously been tightly knotted around his neck. Loving presence, the warmth of the sun if you like, is always going to be more effective with erections than furious, angry action (whatever porn films show).

 

Erections thrive, like everything in our bodies, when we are relaxed, in the parasympathetic “rest and digest” mode. Stress kills erections as quickly with a whore as with a girlfriend or a wife. A whore may have more knowledge and skills, her hands may work magic on a daily basis, but we cannot compete with a man’s mind if he has decided that his cock is a failure and so, by extension, he is a failure. We are working against the mainstream cultural narrative that has always told men that a soft cock is a failure of masculinity.

 

Piffle!!

 

Soft cocks are a response to stress. Physical stress in the body (e.g. post operative, a build up of toxins, aging),  mental stress (e.g. loss of sovereignty in your life), emotional stress (e.g. an unhappy relationship, grief, old trauma) and spiritual stress (e.g. living out of alignment with your soul’s purpose). It is only in our warped society that “masculine” has become equated with not feeling or responding to these many stresses. And, obviously, as men push their feelings of stress down deeper and deeper within their psyche something is going to give. Personally I would rather have a soft cock than cancer, but hey, I’m just me. The point is that the body will keep the score. 

 

Erections are a very natural part of the human experience so the absence of one is a message. Responding to that message with fear, anger, disappointment, shaming, judgement, criticism, ridicule of the messenger increases the stress, perpetuates the problem and stops you from ever hearing the message. 

 

So much better to receive the message from the soft cock with open-minded curiosity and kindness. Hold him in your hands gently, like a most precious belonging (which he is) and ask him, “What’s up? What do you need to tell me?” And then listen for the answer. Give the messenger space to be heard and then listen. 

 

The answers may be inconvenient, like “My job sucks,” and you may not be able to take radical action, but you may find small ways to set some boundaries and reclaim some sovereignty in your “sucky job.” Ultimately we are all at choice, even when we choose to take no action we are making a choice. Learning to connect to and listen to our bodies helps us to make choices that are in alignment with our values and, ultimately, with our souls. 

 

Look – you now see your soft cock as a messenger from The Divine to help you get your life back in alignment with your soul – how’s that for a reframe! 

 

There are other ways in which my client fussing over his soft cock will derail a beautiful session. Very often I will have slid a condom onto a deliciously hard, pulsating cock only for it to shrivel in minutes. Condoms are stressful for cocks (and for this whore who still puts them on the wrong way!) In my experience very, very few cocks withstand a condom and yet when the cock softens it’s not infrequent for my clients to respond with anger and frustration, as if they have failed in some way. I wish men would talk honestly with each other – if you did, you’d all know, condoms kill all erections. 

 

If you want a lot of penetrative sex with a lot of people that is a problem.  But if you enjoy sex because of the build up and movement of energy in your body condoms are not necessary and, if they are briefly used and kill the erection, this doesn’t matter either. This whore responds to a condom-killed cock in a variety of ways. Sometimes I take the softness in my mouth to tease and coax him back to hardness, sometimes I manoeuvre my cunt over my client’s face so that he’s too busy tasting my juices to worry about his cock, sometimes I sit astride him, cock held by my labia inviting his hands back to my nipples so that he feels my juices rushing over his shaft and balls, sometimes I lie back on the bed and open my legs wide inviting him to pleasure me as he chooses. 

 

Always guided by my intuition, I will find ways to draw my client back into pleasure. If he is open to it. Most are. I have a powerful sexual energy and I have a knack of knowing what he wants. But a few of my clients are so distracted by their soft cock that they can never re-enter a sexy space with me. Instead of allowing himself to get drawn back into a sexual tornado, he goes through the motions, but he’s not really there. His softness has become an insurmountable obstacle to feeling pleasure.

 

An insurmountable obstacle is just that: insurmountable, so he doesn’t experience pleasure like he did before the condom unmanned him.  His cock, which has failed him, isn’t given the space to feel rising excitement and desire in response to my orgasmic energy. His body goes into lockdown. 

 

I am a highly skilled, highly sexual whore and, obviously, I am not emotionally involved with any of my clients so I don’t interpret my client’s rejection of his soft cock as a rejection of me, but I can well imagine how corrosive this is in relationships. Which is why when we find ourselves in this place, when I can’t excite my client into forgetting about his softness long enough for him to get hard again, I will instruct him to lie on his back and position myself between his legs for a lingam massage. 

 

In this place I can at least bring some healing to his cock. I can hold him and love him in his softness. Sometimes he will get hard and I can dance him to ejaculation. Very often he stays soft. And I make it very, very clear to both my client and his cock that I am completely comfortable with that. I accept you exactly as you are in this moment. To be seen and accepted, to be held and loved exactly as you are in this moment is probably my number one job as a whore. I am proud and deeply honoured to do it.

 

Another frequent cause of soft cocks is my client not being able to manage the intensity of the energy in the room. He walks in with highly charged energy, his erection a large bulge in his trousers. My energy is lit the minute my nipples are tweaked, which doesn’t take long in a Kama session, and my energy is very powerful. The combination is often too much for someone who doesn’t have sex as often as I do. It’s not at all uncommon for my client to have come within the first half hour for a 90 minute session.

 

You may think “What a waste!” On the contrary dear sir.

 

It is almost always the beginning of something incredible. Today was one of those occasions. He had come, filling a condom inside my arse almost upon penetration. We had met about 20 minutes earlier. He was ecstatic. He had ticked an item off his bucket list and lying back on the bed invited me to lie alongside him. We chatted a bit, my hand idly stroking his cock, welcoming his softness, and he asked me to tell him more about tantra. I told him a bit and he asked, “Show me.” So I did. 

 

Lying next to him on the bed in the calm, quiet place that a body goes into post ejaculation, I quietly mouthed the words of my body meditation. Because I was also in a post orgasmic state and lying next to him, the words landed deeply in my body and I guided us both into a beautiful trancy state. By the end I was tingling all over and dying to share my energy with him. I raised myself over his still body and started flowing my hands, my lips, my hair, my breasts and my labia over his body. His cock twitched. I felt it and smiled, I wasn’t surprised. We had both connected to energy deep inside our bodies during the meditation.

 

I offered my mouth to him to kiss but he didn’t respond as he had earlier, it was almost as if kissing me pulled him out of the place that my words and the music had taken him. I didn’t pursue this line of action, I made the choice to slide down his torso and turn this Kama session into a lingam massage. I didn’t expect or need his cock to harden, I just wanted to give this man pleasure like I was pretty sure he had never received before in his life. Sitting cross legged under his legs, taking his beautiful cock in my hands I began. 

 

He did get quite hard, especially in response to my fingers and palms sliding over his oily glans, but his energy never got close to the heat he had had on arrival. I wondered if he was going to ejaculate again and/or if I would feel the power of orgasm moving through his body as I have so many times. I didn’t. He lay very still. Motionless, silent and eyes closed. He could have been in a coma. It was the last song of the 90 minute session, I was pretty sure there was going to be no second ejaculation, so I moved my hands with the music and as the music died down, my hands slowed and I watched as his cock softened.

 

The room was completely quiet for a few moments between songs. In that moment he opened his eyes, and said, “WOW…..incredible….amazing…..That was so much better than normal sex!” 

 

He had never cared about whether or not he had an erection. He hadn’t set himself the performance criteria of a “second coming.” Instead, he had done something truly powerful, he had given himself permission to experience something different. He was interested in my world, the words I had chosen to use to describe it appealed to him and he wanted to taste it. So he did. And he had an experience “better than sex.”

 

I told him, “This is sex! Just a different way of doing sex.” And we both laughed. It had been an exquisitely beautiful experience for both of us. We had had an incredible time both with and without an erection – and this is the bit that is so critical – because neither of us made an erection a prerequisite to pleasure we were free to experience intense pleasure. 

 

My soft cock invitation to you is this – free yourself from pressure. 

 

If you are a woman, enjoy soft cock. Enjoy the feel in your hands, your mouth and even your cunt. Bring all of your awareness to pleasure, to sensation, to energy moving through your body. If an erection shows up, by all means enjoy him, but do not wait for an erection to give yourself permission to connect with your pleasure and sensation – your energy – moving around and between your bodies. 

 

And if you are a man, make peace with your softness. Spend time with your cock whilst he is soft – hold him, listen to him, forgive him, accept him, laugh with him, stroke him, honour him, pleasure him free of expectations. When he shows up during sex with your partner, don’t fail him by shaming him or getting angry with him, hold space both for him and for your partner’s fears. Voice your fears and encourage her to do the same and notice how when they are brought into the light they no longer feel as overwhelming and scary. Hold each other with tenderness. Allow your softness to soften both your hearts and feel how it draws you closer when you allow it. Allow yourself to be held and loved and accepted exactly as you are in this moment.

 

You are worthy. 

 

Dedicated to my beautiful friend and lover – Mr R Cloud – thank you.

 

Recommended further reading:

 

“The Body Keeps The Score” by Bessel van der Kolk

The One in Which I Wear the Blindfold

“Hi….I’ve just been reading your blog posts! 

They turn me on massively but I’m concerned I don’t achieve what you like…

Hopefully that’s not the case as turning you on is my main aim….

D”

 

I read this message with mixed feelings. I was obviously delighted that my posts are doing their job – I write them to be read and enjoyed so it’s gratifying to hear that someone other than me reads them! But I was concerned that my words feed someone’s sense of inadequacy – that is the very last thing I would ever want to do. 

 

My purpose in life is to reconnect others to their extraordinary. Yes, I want to make people feel amazing when they are with me, but more importantly, I want them to drive away feeling alive in ways they haven’t felt for years, decades even. Above all, I want my clients to reconnect with the power and nourishment of their innate life force energy – their sexual energy – and to re-enter the real world feeling healed, whole and magnificent.

 

D messaged me about 24 hours before his Kama appointment. His excitement at seeing me again was now mixed with a fear that he was not good enough or deserving enough of my time and my pleasure. I needed to reassure him, partly because I didn’t want him cancelling on me, but also because selfishly I wanted to enjoy an abandoned session with him and that would not happen if he was stuck in his head worrying if he was “good enough” for me.

 

“Don’t be crazy!!

I enjoy sex full stop.

I enjoy the connection full stop.

None of it is performance.

When you read my words you get turned on, right? That’s your body, your subconscious mind recognising truth.

Your conscious mind then kicks in with, “You’re not good enough for her.” That’s deep programming, but NOT truth.

Trust your body.

Trust your turn on.

xxA”

 

It worked. His reply came an hour later, “Thank you and I’m really looking forward to tomorrow!”

 

Over the last few sessions we have played with me wearing a blindfold for a part of the session. This morning as I prepared myself and my room I decided I was going to wear the blindfold for the whole session if I possibly could. I don’t know why I decided this, it was just a strong feeling and, as you have just read, I trust the feeling! 

 

D arrived, we small talked our way upstairs and as soon as the bedroom door was closed our mouths found each other. I could feel his body trembling under his clothes. He wasn’t wearing much, the weather’s still stinking hot, so it didn’t take me long to remove them – oh how I love flip flops! It all felt completely delicious but I was annoyed with myself – the blindfold was out of reach on the bed and I couldn’t work out a way of reaching it without breaking the spell.

 

Instead I slowly untied my wrap dress, enjoying the sensuousness of the satin ties as they snaked their way across my skin, his hands found my breasts as I carefully threw my dress across the chaise longue at the end of my bed. I pushed my pelvis against his, his erection felt strong against my groin, parting my legs I was able to take him between my thighs and gently squeeze against his hardness. 

 

His excited hands were taking their time in undoing my bra, but I left him to it;  there was no rush and I was enjoying the feeling of anticipation of feeling his fingers on my nipples. Bra duly dispatched, my nipples got what they were yearning for, he squeezed them hard and I felt the beginnings of my amrita flowing. We were standing over his shorts and underpants – he needed them dry to go home in! So I chose that moment to stand back from him and turn around to pick up the blindfold.  

 

I chose to make the act of putting on the blindfold both a tease and a ceremony. I wanted my face to convey in the seconds before I put it on, “I am in your beautiful hands now, I trust you completely, I surrender to you.” I caught his eyes, held his gaze, raised the blindfold and covering my eyes, tied it tight around the back of my own head. I was in almost complete darkness. With my eyes wide open I looked at the blackness of the satin and felt the complete thrill of handing the session over to him.

 

I felt his body against mine. His mouth on mine. His fingers tweaking my nipples and stroking my cunt and the slight pressure of his body moving mine backwards to the bed. As I felt the mattress behind my legs I bent my knees and allowed his kisses to lie me down. I badly wanted to feel his cock in my mouth but I could tell from the way his body was moving that he was going to feast on me first. Lifting my pelvis slightly, spreading my legs apart, heels up in the bed I felt the delicious sensation of tongue, lips and stubble against my vulva and clitoris. I lay there in the darkness as he danced my body to heaven. 

 

The bed was soaked, I was soaked, he was soaked, he moved his body up mine to kiss me full on the mouth again. Deep kisses activate my throat, as my mouth opens wider and wider with the kisses my throat remembers the sensation of swallowing cock and competes with my cunt for attention. 69 is obviously the best position to satisfy both demanding body parts with only one man, but I was blindfolded, still wearing killer heels, which though sexy, would un-man my client with one careless move, I needed to act with great care!

 

I chose to slide down his chest moving my dangerous shoes further and further away from the beautiful cock that I wanted deep down my throat. It took a while to find him in my blindfolded state, but then, bliss, his glistening glans and strong shaft were in my hands being guided towards my mouth. I parted my lips, I licked his glans, I toyed with his cock for as long as my self control held and then I slowly took him, as I had longed to, deeper and deeper into my throat. 

 

He responded by pushing his pelvis into me, pushing his cock in that little bit further, my throat, as voracious as she is, wasn’t yet ready to take all of him, clearly my cunt first needed to open more. I never ask any body part to take more than she is ready to. The session was young, I knew she would open far more with a bit of time and a lot more pleasure. I could feel that he was loving the sensations his cock was receiving, but he wanted to feel closer to my pleasure. He asked me to turn my body around so that he could taste my cunt as I pleasured myself on his cock. In the darkness I carefully obliged. Placing my heels behind his head, taking great care not to poke an eye out. 

 

As my head moved up and down his cock and his tongue pleasured the lips of my vulva I did marvel that I was still blindfolded. I think I have always seen a blindfold as part of a fairly static, passive experience – one in which you didn’t move around much – yet here I was moving around his body with a bit of thought but also real ease whilst blindfolded! I was managing both Louboutins and a blindfold and I felt very clever! Plus it was incredibly erotic. 

 

As I say so often to my clients, when you remove sight your other senses are strengthened – the music was vibrating through my body, the taste of him and the smell of our sex heightened the experience further, my body was pulsating with life. He could feel it – his fingers and tongue pleasuring me to gush over him again and again and again. 

 

I took his cock deeper and deeper as my cunt responded to his attention. His balls were right up against my nose, his glans pushing against the back of my throat, his firm shaft completely filling my throat. The orgasm I experience in my throat is very different to the orgasms I experience from nipple, clitoral, g-spot or cervical stimulation, it’s possibly the most powerful orgasm I currently experience.  Afterwards I always need a few moments to gather myself again. I lifted myself off him, swung my legs around and lay on his chest, my mouth seeking his, wanting to be held as my body experienced wave after wave of pleasure.

 

And I was still in the dark.

 

His cock was hard under my stomach as I lay trembling on top of him, kissing him deeply. I wanted to feel him inside me. I really yearned to adjust my body to just allow him to slide inside. But I am a professional, so instead, I spent a few moments thinking through how to reach for and slide on a condom whilst blindfolded, could I do it? I reached out my right arm. Nothing. I waved it around a bit. Still nothing. I hoped my kisses were distracting him, otherwise he would think I had completely lost the plot! I realised I was lower on the bed than I had imagined, the bedside table with my bowl of condoms must be higher up, I reached out to the right and up and there it was. I carefully extracted a condom and whilst sliding over this body I tore open the packet, removed the condom and felt for his cock. I felt completely triumphant as I slid him into me and my cunt expressed her appreciation for all my efforts very quickly by squeezing hard around him and ejaculating again!

 

It was a very exciting fuck. I was still wearing the heels, which were tucked behind me, poking against the cheeks of my arse, so as I moved up and down his cock they stroked my buttocks. I couldn’t see him, but I was well aware that he could see me and would be freely enjoying the sight of me riding his cock as I came over and over. I arched my back which he took as an opportunity to finger my clit. His other hand found a nipple and he tweaked hard. The pure joy of a blended orgasm! I felt so much everywhere, “Incredible” doesn’t do it justice.

 

I fucked him until I was utterly exhausted. Not only from the physical exertion of moving my body up and down his, but also from so much orgasm. This is why I charge more for a Kama session – non-stop orgasm is really tiring! I collapsed on the bed next to him, one hand sliding off the condom as I did so – I may be blindfolded, but I am still the professional in the room! My body was humming all over, my throat, cunt, clit, nipples were all on fire and vibrantly alive. I was lying next to the sexiest man on earth. We both felt it.

 

He was a complete gentleman and gave me at least 2 minutes to lie and appreciate all the yummyness flowing around my body before asking me to finish him off with a “hand job”. I smiled and said that I would be honoured to give him a “lingam massage.” As I reached for the oil, repeating my earlier up and to the right arm stretch, I noted I was still wearing the blindfold and asked him, “What does it do for you?”

 

“I like the sense that you don’t know what I am going to do next, I like adding in that element of surprise” he replied

 

“Could it also be, in part, that you feel free of scrutiny? That you don’t feel watched, assessed and appraised by me?” I wondered.

 

“Possibly, I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, that is also quite possible.”

 

“I think it frees me from the need to watch your face. I hadn’t realised that I do that, but not being able to do it has made me realise how much I do check in with my client’s faces for feedback and assurance. Being blindfolded frees me of that. I feel somehow freer.”

 

I poured oil over his cock and my hands started to do their work. I don’t need to see what I am doing when I give a lingam massage, it’s all about touch and responding to the lingam in my hands. I had chosen not to sit between his legs, slightly underneath him, as he could barely reach me in that position and I had just heard him saying how much he enjoyed surprising me. I had to leave him with that option, so I sat astride his left leg. He moaned as my hands pleasured his lingam, I couldn’t see the clock, but I could tell from the play list that we had about half an hour left together, I wasn’t keen to make him come too soon, so I took it easy, only applying intense strokes for short, manageable periods of time. 

 

After a while of lying back and receiving from his blindfolded courtesan, he said, “I can’t resist, I need your cunt!” We shifted positions so that one of his hands could be inside me and we pleasured each other in this way for a while. It was delicious. My body was singing with pleasure, his cock was hard in my hands, my cunt was wet and soft in his. But my mouth was empty, she wanted to be involved again. So I asked him to kneel over me.

 

He did so. With his cock deep down my throat he played with my clit and lips so that I squirted copious amounts over and over, he rubbed my amrita over my body and returned to milk more. His now oily balls were massaging my chin as his cock moved around in my mouth and throat. Often the sensation was too much so I released his cock and took his balls in my mouth instead, rolling them around as my body convulsed in pleasure. Then his hands were on his cock and I heard his voice say “I am going to come all over your tits…” 

 

“Boobs” I said quietly to myself as I slid my hand over my amrita soaked body to play with my cunt. A few moments later I was splashing him with more juices as I felt the warmth of his ejaculate flowing over my breasts. He sat back. The music continued. The fan in the room continued. And my body just fizzed all over. 

 

“So which initial can I use for you in my latest blog post?” I laughed.

 

“D. D is fine” came a voice from the darkness.

 

He then asked if he could have a quick shower, I didn’t refuse him, but I did ask if he could find his own way to the bathroom so that I could enjoy the tingle “Just a little bit longer.” In over 10 years this whore has never asked a client to find his own way to the bathroom for a shower at the end of the session!

 

When he returned I was still lying in the position in which he had left me. I heard him come in and, rolling over onto my belly, removed the blindfold. He was dressed! I don’t know how long I had been lying there in the dark just absorbing all of the sensations, but I knew I didn’t want it to stop. I had to get up. I had to receive my payment and show him out. I had to find my manners. But all I really wanted to do was lie and feel the tingling, the vibrations, the energy moving through my body. I wanted this dance and I am sure that it would have lasted for hours if I had given my body the time and the space to experience it all. 

 

So, D, yes, you do give me what I want, you do “achieve” what I like! You are a masterful lover. Today you made my body tingle all over and you gifted me an incredible and unique experience. I grew as a lover today. I learned something about myself which I will apply more in my work and my life. I thank you for that. And, maybe best of all, hours later my body is still humming. 

 

Please, going forwards, trust the feelings you have in your body. They will guide you towards the experiences that will help you grow, evolve and reconnect with your beautiful, unique essence. The voices in your head are there to keep you small and disconnected. They want to keep you safe, which is a valid objective, but safety, especially when based on outdated information, can increasingly resemble a prison. 

 

Your body wants you to feel alive. It wants to guide you back to connection, back to your unique essence, back to your sexy soul. 

 

The feelings you feel in your body, if you listen to them, will guide you back to TRUTH.

 

xxA

Becoming Anabelle Part I – Black Pants Man

The man I consider to be my first client doesn’t actually know he was a client. He hadn’t booked an escort, he hadn’t visited “Adultworks”, or stumbled across Anabelle. He was on “MarriedAffair.com” the day that I, out of curiosity, had Googled, “What’s an NSA?” 

 

I had always been highly sexual, but 15 or so years ago I was also incredibly ignorant of anything sexual outside of the confines of a monogamous relationship. I had been married for 13 years, monogamous and completely faithful to the man I had married for nearly 20 years. I didn’t particularly believe in monogamy. I just didn’t, at the time, know of any alternatives.

 

I do believe in honesty. Being as truthful and honest as you can be, to yourself, and to others. And part of honesty is accepting the things that you are not. I think these were the kinds of thoughts that were swirling through my head on the day I Googled, “What’s an NSA?” 

 

Google did what Google does and didn’t just reply with the answer, “NSA, meaning ‘no strings attached’, are websites where people meet for casual sex.” 

 

Google offered me a list of NSA sites.

 

For a woman who didn’t believe in monogamy but had always been religiously monogamous and completely honest, I was intrigued about who uses an NSA site. What kind of people lurked out in this underbelly of society? My insatiable curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on the top link.

 

Of course, how naive of me, they don’t let you nose around without having some skin in the game, I needed to create a profile. I chose the name “Bonny” after my pretty pony who had been a frisky and, at times, challenging ride – it seemed apt and made me smile. I needed to write a few words, without much thought I quickly typed, “I’m married, have a boyfriend but need more sex, can you help out?” Enter.

 

It was unbelievably thrilling. I skipped downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee, hugging myself in delight at the audacity of my behaviour. Could I really just meet random men for completely casual sex? I didn’t know if I was brave enough, but I did know that I really, really wanted to. My body, my cunt in particular, was fizzing with excitement as I tamped my ground coffee into my stove top coffee pot.

 

Coffee in hand I returned to the laptop in my bedroom, wiggled the mouse to open up the screen and was greeted with the reality of being a sexually available woman in a society starved of sex. In the short time it had taken me to make my coffee I had been inundated with messages on the site. I hadn’t even uploaded a picture. How could so many men want to fuck me when they knew nothing about me other than the fact that I wanted sex? Could it really be this easy?!

 

The Boyfriend had told me to find a hobby to keep myself busy during the weeks we were apart, and on the weekends we were together but he chose to leave me on my own to do DIY or play sports. Had I found my hobby? My cunt throbbed her answer – an emphatic “YES!!”

 

I decided I would be fair and respond in order of time received, then, diary, permitting, I would meet them all. They had made the effort to message me after all – the least I could do was find a slot in my “mummy diary” for them. I did decide on one caveat though, there was a limit as to how far I would travel to meet them. Due to our personal circumstances, I did all the driving to meet The Boyfriend, I wasn’t going to spend any more on petrol for this new hobby. They would have to come to me.

 

I clicked on the first message. It opened to reveal a middle aged male torso cut off at the neck and knees wearing, yes, you’ve guessed it, a pair of black pants. It made me giggle. It was an awful photo to attract a woman. No mystery, no style, nothing erotic or poetic, just a slightly flabby body in a pair of M&S pants. But he lived very locally, so not much travel. He wondered if we could meet today? I looked at the clock, I had time before I needed to be at the school gates, I replied, “Yes, I have time, where do you suggest we meet?” 

 

I heard Jenny, our cleaner arrive with her usual bright, “Hello” and rushed downstairs with my favourite, but very crumpled, summer dress in hand. “Jenny – please, please, please could you iron this for me while I have a quick shower? I’ve found my new hobby…..I’m starting it today…..I’m off to meet this guy I have just met online – for SEX!!”

 

She stared at me, started laughing and stared some more, then said, “What?!” Jenny is AMAZING and had, by this point, watched a seriously depressed woman pull herself out of the darkness  (by amongst other things, my first round of spiritual training), then fall in love with The Boyfriend and persuade The Husband to let me have him in my life, but this was, shall we say, an unexpected step.

 

She didn’t tell me not to, she just asked me to be safe. I told her I would tell her where we were meeting and promised to text her on my way to school afterwards. I assured her I’d be fine. I had a very strong feeling that Bonny knew how to handle herself. 

 

I ran upstairs to check his reply before I jumped in the shower. I wiggled the mouse, nothing. My screen opened but the page I was talking to him on had vanished. There was no getting it back, this was 2014, years before our village got super fast broadband, and our internet was down – again. It was a good thing. It stopped me from making a mistake. In all my excitement about making choices and taking actions that pleased me, I had forgotten to think about The Boyfriend. I owed him, as well as myself, complete honesty and it was better to tell him of my intentions before I met Black Pants Man rather than afterwards. 

 

The first opportunity we had to talk was the following afternoon, a hot Saturday. I remember vividly sitting under the tree in the garden quietly explaining my genius plan as the children played in the sun around me. You may not be surprised to hear that he was a little bit less enthusiastic! He clothed his “NO” in concern for my safety, which, as a grown woman I was confident in brushing aside. We then spent the entire weekend haggling. 

 

I was very surprised to face this much push back. It was him after all who had told me to find a hobby. It was him that left our love making for his hobbies, who was he to judge how I then chose to use my time? I was learning that under patriarchy even really nice men believe that they own their women (ironic, because he was, after all, The Boyfriend, not The Husband.)

 

During the haggling I had checked the website, Black Pants Man and I had settled on a time and a place – Bluebell Woods, meeting in the car park on Monday morning at 9.30am conveniently after school drop off. I was on the phone for 2 hours with the Boyfriend that morning from 5am until the kids woke up at 7am with him begging me not to go ahead with the meet. But I have a funny thing about following through on commitments – to myself and other people. 

 

I had been honest and kept him informed, how he felt in response to my choices was for him to deal with, if it meant ending our relationship, I knew I’d be sad, but I also knew that I had to live my future life differently to my past life. I had, after all, repeatedly asked him to spend our weekends with me instead of filling them with sporting fixtures, I wasn’t doing this to punish him, just to please me, like his sport pleased him.

 

I followed Black Pants Man’s instructions and found Bluebell Wood’s car park easily. I parked my battered hatchback alongside a black Range Rover with personalised number plates. Easily big enough to transport a body, I noted, so it was with relief that the man inside emerged in a pair of shorts, deck shoes and a tennis shirt. Very middle class, very middle England, no chain saw in sight. 

 

I opened my boot and removed the basket with a picnic blanket, condoms, wipes and a bottle of water. Packing for sex with a stranger was not that different to packing for a day out with the kids – just swap the apples and fruisli bars for condoms! Typical man, he hadn’t considered condoms (why is this always so irritating?) or wipes or a picnic blanket. I guess he doesn’t do practicalities in his fantasies. Luckily he was meeting a very practical woman. 

 

We greeted each other with an awkward kiss on the cheeks then walked off together with the, not so easy as it turns out, task of finding a suitable spot. If you don’t want to be seen, outside sex is tricky to pull off. I had no desire to be watched or arrested, so it mattered to me that we find somewhere secluded but not prickly (obviously). Eventually we found a good enough spot and, mindful of the time, I efficiently laid out the picnic blanket and removed my dress.

 

In a new and rather nice set of red bra and panties, I stepped into his space and started kissing him. I had never been so forward before and it utterly thrilled me. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know what a sensible, practical, capable mother I am. How I bake an awesome fruit cake for every village and school event. How I walk the dogs every morning at 6am so that they’re “done” by the time the kids wake up for school. He didn’t know me as a teacher, PTA member, neighbour, friend. All he knew was he was about to have sex with this confident, self assured and incredibly sexy woman. I liked that. I really enjoyed playing the role. So much more fun than apron wearing mother in the kitchen!

 

The actual sex, from what I remember was very mediocre and quite dull. Neither of us were particularly experienced and beyond the thrill of meeting a stranger, there was nothing else to pull us together. We both wanted sex, had both been available on the same day and open to having it. That was it. It was very functional. Of the actual sex, only two moments remain in my memory. 

 

One was when a golden retriever sniffed us out in the bushes. Its owner, a woman, was on a walk with another woman and stood yards away from us calling for her dog. We lay, mid fuck, completely still. I think I may have stopped breathing. I dreaded being caught by two furious and self righteous women – I just sensed they wouldn’t laugh (which breed of dog would have owners that would laugh upon discovering a middle aged couple having sex in Bluebell woods at 10am on a Monday morning?!) Fortunately the lure of treats pulled the dog away from Black Pants Man’s balls and as the women walked off we were able to return to good old, honest, fucking.

 

My second memory is that as the fucking dragged on and I got a bit bored, I flipped myself over into the doggy position, both to vary the experience and also in the hope that a different position might bring things to a conclusion. But Black Pants Man surprised me and, I still think, given that I wasn’t yet a professional, it was a bit rude. He pulled out of my vagina and pushed into my anus. No request, no warning or warm up with fingers or tongue, just a direct and very abrupt swap. You’ll know by now that that is never the way to enter another person’s arse, but as I was on my own little adventure, training myself to be a happy whore, I didn’t make a fuss, I pushed back against him and took it all.

 

He came, withdrew and I dealt with the condom. It’s why we bring wipes to casual sex meets boys! We dressed, I rolled up the picnic blanket and we headed back to our cars. This was when we made small talk – after sex – a pattern I continue to this day. He told me he had a personalised number plate so that no-one knew the age of his car. I had never considered that such a thing mattered, but I’m not from these parts. 

 

He also told me that he and his wife never have sex. That they weren’t compatible and had never really loved or fancied each other. 

 

“Why on earth did you marry her then?” I asked.

 

“I did it to please my mother.”

 

“Was she pleased?”

 

“Yes, I think so. She’s dead now.”

 

“I’m sorry…..so why not…..kindly of course…..get divorced and free each other to find a sexy and loving relationship?”

 

“I’ve thought about that, but we have a very nice house.”

 

How very English. How very middle class. How unbelievably predictable. I’ve learned as Anabelle that it’s far from uncommon for British couples to stay together in dead and unhappy marriages not for the children (as in my childhood) but for the house. 

 

Peeps, houses don’t care! They DO NOT love you!! But I must not be judgemental, shelter one above sex and more important than love on Maslov’s Hierarchy of Needs, maybe he’s right to hold onto his house rather than seek deep love (and thrilling sex?) 

 

He asked me what I did, I told him I was a mum and a part-time teacher, that I was separated from my husband and slowly working out how to afford a new life for myself and the kids nearer to my boyfriend. Then, rather audaciously, I voiced my big secret, “You know what, I think what I secretly most want is to become a prostitute.”

 

To my surprise this shocked him and rather unbelievably he became quite judgemental. Meeting a strange man for sex in the woods was apparently absolutely fine, but charging for my time somehow made me untouchable? It was interesting to me that being a very cheap slut (actually completely free) was more socially acceptable to Black Pants Man who-drives-a-black-Range-Rover-with-personalised- number-plates-so-that-you-don’t-know-the-real-age-of-his car than sinking into the gutter completely and becoming, whisper it, “a prostitute.”

 

It was, and is, so obviously ludicrous. On my drive home I pondered at his hypocrisy and noted that his stance was most convenient for him – why pay for something that your sexy profile pic can get for free?! It infuriated me that in his model of the universe somehow paying for sex devalued the sex? Maybe he was suffering under the illusion that he would become a regular lover of mine, that his M&S pants and cheeky fuck up the arse had won me over to the charms of Mr Very Ordinary Middle England?

 

Not a chance!

 

I accepted I needed to do more research and hone my skills a bit. But Black Pants Man had set me on course, whether he approved or not, to create Anabelle. And like it or not mate, you were my first client. After you I knew I could fuck anyone. I learned that it’s not the person, it’s the act I enjoy. 

 

I had created Bonny – Anabelle’s early self – I was on my way. There was no looking back – much to The Boyfriend’s confusion and chagrin. It soon turned out that he was much more similar in outlook to Black Pants Man than to me. 

 

We painfully parted ways but not before my second “happy whore adventure” – the night I met Tinkerbelle.

Spell Casting for Incredible Sex

“Dear Anabelle, thank you for an amazing time today. I loved every second of it. As requested, it was deliciously sensual and the journey was definitely exquisitely enjoyable. 

 

There were a couple of firsts for me today. I have never been with someone who has squirted before, and I loved it! Also I have never licked an anal rose before, but judging by your reaction I will certainly be doing that again! As you said, it was sensuous, but also a bit taboo too, so surprisingly exciting! 

 

I really do appreciate how you got me to admit to myself, and to you, that the voice in my head was stifling my enjoyment. Having realised that, I feel certain that that particular ghost has now been exorcised and I can just let myself enjoy sex much, much more. 

 

Your website talks about Kama making people feel like a sex god making love to a sex goddess. I think that is absolutely right. You are a sex goddess and what we did today has made me feel distinctly sex godly! N xxxx”

 

I felt sure this was going to be an amazing Kama session the moment N touched me. His fingers on my naked skin were exquisite – really soft, feather like, gentle yet penetrating – it made me shiver with anticipation. This was a man who knew how to give the delicious pleasure of soft touch. I assumed, given that he’d booked a two hour Kama session, that it was also the sign of a highly confident lover who knew how to play a woman’s body with a beautiful combination of touches, contrasting feathery with sharp, light with intense, soft with pain. My body, which had felt a bit flat 5 minutes earlier when I opened the door, quivered, my cunt throbbed, my nipples hardened.

 

We undressed each other, me squatting in my Louboutins, taking his cock in my mouth, as I slipped off his trousers, socks and pants. Mirroring his touch of me moments before, I kept it light, only flicking my tongue over this frenulum and freshly exposed, glistening glans, allowing only the very tip of his cock to pass between my lips. I would honour his erotic approach to my body with an equally gentle and sensual approach to his.

 

It was a beautiful start to the session and I was feeling very happy that I was going to spend a full two hours with such a sophisticated lover. Lucky me I thought as I invited him to lie face down on the bed to give him the Musubi massage start that he had asked for.

 

It always turns me on to massage a man with my full body. I find ways to feed my nipples into his fingers and grind my cunt into his buttocks so that my energy is truly activated before I roll him over. It activated him too! When he rolled over it was with a magnificent erection. I so wanted to take him in my mouth and deep down my throat, but I held myself back, for a short while anyway, to kiss his mouth and glide my body over his, inviting more of his exquisite touch. 

 

The energy between us was hot at this point. I expected his touch to become more demanding, stronger, insistent, probing. My nipples wanted to be bitten and pinched, my cunt wanted to be fingered and fucked, but his touch didn’t respond to the energy between us, instead he continued to touch my body with the same soft, feathery strokes. 

 

What had felt amazingly erotic when he first arrived and our energies were cool, now felt incongruous and even irritating. I wanted to command him, to tell him plainly what he needed to do to please me, but a voice within me urged caution and gentleness – he was a client after all! His body picked up on my impatient, even critical energy and his cock began to soften underneath me. I was losing him and if I didn’t step very carefully I might not get him back. So continuing to glide my genitals over his, ignoring his softness, I gently asked him who polices his sex life. 

 

“Umm, me and my partner I suppose” he replied, a bit startled.

 

“I meant in your head, who in your head is telling you what you can and can’t do with me right now?” 

 

His eyes caught mine, he held my gaze and he held my body still. “I know exactly who it is – gosh, I hadn’t realised!”

 

“Who?”

 

“A woman, my ex-wife, we parted – not happily – years ago.” 

 

As he spoke, putting into words the truth that his ex-wife had been highly critical of him and rejected him sexually, his cock began to harden underneath me. We weren’t moving at all, just talking, me asking very general, open questions and him talking, probably for the first time, about how his ex-wife had made him feel. His cock grew harder and harder as he spoke his truth. 

 

“You’re quite the psychologist!” he laughed.

 

“I don’t think so – psychologists work with the mind, I work with the body. I’m a body-ologist! My intuition knew there was some kind of pain or shut down in your body. Besides, psychologists can’t use this,” I stroked his very firm erection, “To ascertain if you’re speaking your truth or not!” He laughed and I reached across to get a condom.

 

As we fucked I talked. I used words and our combined sexual energies to rewire beliefs he has carried since the ex-wife. I used the words “amazing” and “incredible” a lot. My cunt joined in. I felt her squeezing around him as she orgasmed, squirting her approval at his deep and powerful penetration. I don’t do this very often because I know the power of sexual energy and I’m mindful that you really need someone’s explicit permission before you go about re-wiring their beliefs. But I took his answers to my questions as permission and I knew that giving him updated and empowering beliefs about his sexuality would be of service to him. 

 

It was my first coach who taught me the formula for a spell (words you say to get a desired outcome):

 

Intent + Energy 

_________________  = Outcome

Time 

 

You take your intent, you add energy and over time you will achieve your outcome. The clearer the intent and/or the greater the energy you put in, the shorter the period of time before you have your outcome.

 

I knew I was spell casting with N. I was using my understanding of energy, carefully choosing my words and mixing them in the original witches’ cauldron – my cunt. The alchemy created by the words and our sexual energy travelled from my cunt into his cock, my mouth into his ears and my heart into his heart. Powerful, magical healing shit! Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I know this stuff and that I am lucky enough to use my knowledge every day to heal different versions of the war in men. 

 

Just as careless men harm women and ruin their sexual pleasure, so careless women harm men. I’ve lost count of the numbers of men who have told me similar stories to the one N told me. Women readers, please take a moment to reflect on how exposing and vulnerable the patriarchal model of sex is for men. With no more training or guidance than us, they are expected to: 

 

  1. Charm a woman to bed
  2. Pleasure her through talk, caresses, soft lighting and music to remove her clothes
  3. Get an erection at the right time (and have a big enough – but not too big – cock)
  4. Deal with the condom out of sight
  5. Penetrate and fuck her to orgasm before coming himself

 

Get any of this wrong and he risks being shouted at, criticised or worst of all laughed at. Most unforgivable is a woman then spilling the beans to her friends to deepen and widen his humiliation and shame. Through all the steps 1-5 the woman is allowed to be (even expected to be in the patriarchal model) a completely passive, even lifeless receiver of his efforts.

 

So, so many of my clients have encountered women who have deeply hurt them sexually and many of these wounded men are married to the women who hurt them. Beautiful, sensual, sensitive, erotic lovers are reduced to fearful, anxious, apologetic men who struggle to relax and enjoy themselves sexually, with any woman, ever again.

 

Until they find a proper whore.

 

Because yes, the women who do harm include “professionals” – women who take money for sex but aren’t professional by any standard, who lack any training, any intelligence or any empathy and end up hurting their paying clients just as much as girlfriends and wives do.

 

The world needs whores!!

 

Obviously a damaged, shut down, sexually unhappy man is more likely to get sick mentally and physically and more likely to do harm to the people in his life, because hurt people have the habit of hurting others. Conversely, happy, confident, sexually secure men are going to show up for the people in their lives in a far stronger, more loving way. 

 

N went home with a massive smile on his face, Mrs N was going to have a much happier evening without ever knowing how or why. She doesn’t need to know – her husband is more relaxed, more loving, less needy, more secure. Because he found a whore who took the war, that the ex-wife had installed, out of him.

 

With the war removed we had a marvellous time! He pinched my nipples, making me squirt repeatedly, once whilst I was sitting on his face, filling his mouth with my amrita which we then shared in a passionate kiss. I travelled my wet mouth down to his cock, finally taking it deep in my throat as his fingers found my cunt and fucked me hard making me squirt over and over and over again. We fucked again and he felt amazing – filling my cunt with a strong, generous girth. And of course, whilst in the 69 position he tongued my anal rose which felt liberatingly taboo and naughty for him and just delicious for me. 

 

He was a man reborn. In his words a “sex god” who confidently made sweet, sweet music with his goddess. Lying together at the end, sharing experiences and feeling into the afterglow in our bodies we talked about how well Beethoven writes “sex” – the perfect contrast between a gentle quiet note and then the explosion of a crescendo and then back to the still, calm peace of an occasional note. 

 

That’s what sex with N felt like after we exorcised the ex-wife. It’s not that her voice has completely left him forever, it’s that he has a strongly wired counter narrative to choose. He’s now back in control of his sex life which is surely a fundamental human right?

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