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?

Can tantra help with my sexual dysfunction

Connecting With The Heart Through a Prostate Massage

Yesterday was a Musubi massage, he orgasmed in perfect timing to the music playing in the room. I always use the same play list, in the same order, starting it 15 minutes before my client arrives so that as I move through the session, I am working with the same tunes that I know and love, for each distinct phase of my sessions. It appears that whilst I like variety in my men, I like familiarity in my music!

 

When you really know a piece of music you can predict the next note and your body moves both with the music and in anticipation of the music. I am sure dancers and singers feel this way – the music inhabits you and helps you transcend your limited, material, ego self to create a magical, ethereal experience for your client. Isn’t that what we all seek from live performance? A moment of pure magic when the performer seems “lost” in their performance? That’s how working with my playlist feels to me. I am transported by the music into a different realm from where I can reach out my hands and guide my clients to join me.

 

Oftentimes the music is timed perfectly for the moment I am in. I haven’t selected certain pieces for certain parts of the massage, rather the massage and I have grown with the playlist so that the music that most often accompanies a prostate massage is now completely perfect for the prostate massage. It’s a haunting piece with a beautiful voice that can feel deeply penetrating – and absolutely I time my penetration for that moment. I know when it’s coming and I know from my client’s body what is needed to prepare him for that moment of deep penetration, so I play with him, tease him, arouse him, soften him and reassure him as the music builds to THAT moment. 

 

Yesterday my client was lying on his front. He had just received an incredibly erotic and sensual body to body massage in which he had shown me how aroused he already was – you know, bum pushing up towards my body and grinding into my pelvic mound as I glided over him – it’s a dead give away! I’d completed my final slide down his back, making sure that my nipples were the very last parts of my body to touch his – over his buttocks, then down between his thighs, hopefully connecting briefly with his balls. I was sitting, oil in hand, ready for the next stage of the massage – the prostate – surveying his body, when I noticed that he was lying with both palms facing upwards either side of his buttocks.

 

I like this because it means that as part of my reassurance for deep penetration, I can rest one of my breasts in one of his palms (usually the left breast in the left palm, leaving the right hand free for the main job). Everyone likes to feel held, especially when they are experiencing something very vulnerable. Lying on their fronts, denied access to my eyes (I have good reason for this) I find ways for the rest of my body to provide the kind, loving reassurance that a body needs to relax, surrender and open. 

Prostate massage is many things. The prostate, or P spot, is the pleasure equivalent to the female G spot. It’s highly sensitive and a major erogenous zone. Obviously I don’t have personal embodied experience, but I have been told countless times that orgasm following a prostate massage is way more powerful than regular orgasm. You can massage the prostate internally using a finger or a toy or externally via the perineum. I always use my finger, craftily prepared in a thin, latex free glove whilst I am doing the hands free, body glide part of the back massage (clever huh?!)

 

A prostate massage is about pleasure, deep pleasure, but it’s also about healing and this is an important aspect to a whore – we are all about healing – healing the mind, body and soul through, and with, pleasure. This is one of the ways in which whores are different to prostitutes. A whore knows the healing power in her hands and body and uses both consciously, yes with pleasure, but always for healing.

 

A big part of the healing offered by a whore is opening up and re-connecting the heart to the rest of the body (especially the genitals) so that the client has a heart connected experience . It’s not uncommon for men (and women) to disconnect their heart (emotions and love) from their sexuality (their primal, life force energy) which leads to a distortion of sexuality for the individual, their partners and wider society. Sexual energy disconnected from love energy is obviously more prone to being predatory, toxic, exploitative and ultimately empty.

 

We ALL desire love. Our fundamental core needs as humans is to feel safe, to feel loved and to belong. Many of us spend a lifetime searching to be truly loved, believing that if/when we find the “right person” we will finally rest easy knowing that we are deeply and unconditionally loved. But here’s the shocking truth that will feel like a slap around the face if you are reading it for the first time – you can only receive love from another person to the same extent that you already have love for yourself. 

 

Of course we receive validation from others loving us which helps us to learn how to love ourselves and the wise among us use love from another to re-wire the neural pathways and belief systems to grow an internal love for ourselves, but ultimately love is an inside job. Another’s love for us can assist us on our journey to self love but can never, ever, replace self love.

 

Whores understand this. We are deeply loving humans who understand how love works and we use sex to help our clients reconnect to and open their hearts so that they feel and connect to the love that they have for themselves. 

 

We have a few tricks of the trade. One of which is the heart opening point in the palm of the hand. When you move your palm over your body or another’s, you are opening your heart to the experience. The recipient feels it. Whilst fingers feel lovely, if someone only uses fingers on your body it starts to feel irritating, your skin, your body, aches to feel the connection that only comes from the palm. I always massage the palm of my client’s hands at some point in the massage, usually whilst sitting astride him whilst he is lying face up so that we are connected gentital to genital. I will massage the hands, one at a time, activating the heart opening point in each, before placing his palms on my heart chakra in the centre of my chest, so that we share a heart and genital connected moment before I encourage him to move his hands over my breasts and the rest of my body if desired.

 

But on this occasion I saw his palms, facing upwards as he still lay facing downwards, as an invitation to do things a bit differently. My sense was that if I massaged his palms now, before the prostate massage, he would have a deeper, more heart connected experience. The music “allowed” me time to do so, so I moved my hands from his buttocks up his back, towards his shoulders and then down his arms, swirling around his palms at the ends.

 

I spent time with each palm, intertwining my fingers in his like an established couple on an afternoon stroll, keeping my palms connected with his, pressing them into his, consciously activating his heart opening point. I was aware that to do this my body was over his, my breasts were hanging down, caressing his back in a not discomforting way! That’s the joy of a tantric massage, you use every moment in the massage to connect, to tease, to arouse, to give, whilst also denying. It’s the perfect antidote to society’s smash and grab approach to the penis-centric sex model of sex. It’s slow and erotic and, at times, completely surprising.

 

Heart points duly opened, I returned to his anus. The music was building nicely to the powerful, penetrating moment. I squirted lube onto my fingers, sat astride his left leg, bent my body low over his and placed my index finger firmly but gently in the middle of his anal rose, at the entrance to his anus. I paused, waiting for his body to respond to my “knock on the door”, his sphincter muscle opened a fraction, I slid in that fraction and politely waited. Then as the music built to a crescendo and with his hand clasping my left breast, he relaxed and opened. My finger slid in with ease and I directed it straight to his prostate as the voice filled the room with deep, penetrating intensity. I held my finger still on that first spot for what was probably only a few seconds, but felt like a profound age, before I began to gently stroke his prostate. 

 

If I’m going to finger fuck an anus I do it at the end of the prostate massage, sometimes adding 1, 2, 3 more fingers as my client opens for me. Sometimes they pull their knees up underneath them, pulling their anus further apart for me, sometimes they push back onto my fingers so hard I fear my wrist might get damaged. But yesterday’s client was about gentle, quiet surrender- being held through a deeply vulnerable moment, with my body, my breath, my energy and every ounce of my conscious awareness. I held my client, penetrating him deeply, but so, so gently until I felt his anal muscles inviting me to leave.

 

As I removed my right hand I swiftly removed the glove and completed the prostate massage by running the side of my hand down between his buttocks ahead of mounting him so that the energy that had made its way from his root chakra (prostate) up my finger and through my body to my cunt could be returned to him. I very often “fuck” my clients at the end of a prostate massage. It’s their energy and I feel that it’s important to return it to them. Yesterday the flow of energy between his buttocks and my cunt was particularly intense, I could feel his energy penetrating deep inside my cunt making me squirt with pleasure. No cocks, no fingers, but deep mutual penetration of my cunt and his anus. That’s the power of activating sexual energy!

 

 

Leaning forward to say, “Roll over” into my clients’ ears I am never surprised to hear them say, “God I’m turned on!” Often they’ll roll over and despite all of the energy that has been activated and that we have already shared, his cock will still be soft, not post ejaculation soft (though it’s fine when it is), but just still soft because the energy has been activated elsewhere. It always makes me smile with secret knowing when I see that my client is still soft, because, contrary to mainstream belief, it is fully possible for a man to be highly aroused, even orgasmic, and not have a hard on. When you take the attention away from the penis (which is rare in the patriarchal model of sex) you find that there is a whole male body to arouse. It is very common for me to fuck a client’s anus quite hard – to my client’s deep pleasure – and for his cock to stay soft. 

 

Yesterday though, he was very erect. Too erect to give it too much stimulation too soon. A swift glide of my hands across the glands, down the shaft and around the balls told me he was a strong 7 or 8 and would move to a 9 quickly if I wasn’t careful. 

 

I wanted to be careful. I wanted to extend his ecstasy. I wanted to expand his sexual energy further and move it to more of his body. I wanted to make every single cell in his body sing in delight and vibrate with pleasure. I wanted him to feel the light headed giddiness of a full bodied, champagne bubble, firework orgasm.

 

My favourite position when I flip clients over is legs astride him, genital to genital “sharing” the erection (if he has one) cupping his cock between the lips of my engorged labia. I love to pretend the erection is mine, to look down and see this beautiful, pulsating, glossy cock smiling back at me, to take it in my hands and stroke it with pride in the way I imagine a man waking with a morning glory would. If the client isn’t “too” hard I can move my vulva up and down his shaft lubricating him with my juices. With his cock nestled between my cunt’s lips, I spent time massaging my client’s chest, swirling circles around each breast, moving my hands in figures of eight, fingering and tweaking his nipples to see how they responded all whilst grinding my hips so that his cock was gently pleasured by my cock. 

Chest massaged, I spent some time gliding up and down his body. Planting feathery kisses on his face, kissing him full on the mouth and then breathing tantalisingly over his glans as I did so.  I glided over this body like this, pressing my oily body into and along his to tease, arouse and activate until the music told me that it was time to prepare for the final stage of the session – the lingam massage. With one final, unhurried slide down the front of the body oil in hand I made my way to my seated position, cross legged, between his thighs, my feet slightly lifting his bum. 

 

As I took his cock in my hands, I closed my eyes and leaned into the music. If music is important for the rest of the massage, it’s absolutely essential for the lingam massage. I use it to vary my strokes, to alter the tempo, and to bring my whole body to this final, worshipful stage of the massage. It would be too easy to tune out at this stage and just “wank” a client off. But my clients choose me to be better and to do different. Quite a few have been wanked off by professionals and partners – they come to me to be transported. I am a whore, not a prostitute or a wife. I exist to initiate my men into a completely different experience of themselves. And, frankly, I need music, incense, my bed, candlelight – my intentional space – to do this.

 

There are books that outline some of the many strokes that you can give a lingam in this stage of the massage and I followed one (listed below) religiously in my early days of Anabelle. Now I just take the cock for a dance. I connect with the music, I connect with the flow of energy in the room (and beyond) and I move my hands up and down and around his shaft, flicking over his glans and frenulum, cupping and “sucking” his balls, rubbing the root and the perineum, stroking the anal rose and then swirling up his torso or down his legs to distribute the energy that I’m building.

 

I do time this section of my session. I like to play like this for 20 minutes, but other than having a quick look at the clock to double check, I’m generally able to feel the time and also, of course, I have my playlist. Yesterday the timing was perfect. I think I was so relaxed, so in tune with the music and he was so in tune with me that he came, shuddering in orgasm as the song reached its crescendo and then he lay there enjoying the after-waves as the music quietened to its eventual end. 

 

As his energy subsided from explosive fireworks and shuddering body to deep stillness I quietly rubbed his sperm onto my breasts. I love this moment, the peace, the afterglow, the feeling of oxytocin flowing through your body, and of course the delicious stickiness of sperm – always so much more appreciated by my breasts than in a sad, floppy condom wrapped in a tissue and thrown in the bin. 

 

“WOW!” Was his first word. 

Followed by, “No words!” I smiled in gratitude and knowing and we began to talk about the prostate massage. 

 

My question wouldn’t have been, “Are you OK?” (I could feel he was far better than “OK”!) or “Was that good for you?” (How could he say anything other than “Yes”?!) It would have been something more open ended and inviting of information, like, “What was your experience?” 

 

In response he said, “That was so deep – I mean really deep – I felt you were cradling my heart.”

 

BOOM!!!! The heart-sex connection!! My finger had been caressing his prostate and yet he had felt it in the centre of his chest. 

 

As he said these words my hand was resting, as it always does at the close of a lingam massage, on his lake of peace, his heart chakra, in the centre of his chest. 

 

Mission accomplished. 

 

A good result for a whore.

 

Recommended further reading:

 

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

 

What’s in a name? Why I am Proud to Call Myself a Whore

What do I call myself when I am working? Well, I used to call myself a prostitute but for reasons I will explain in this piece I stopped using this word for me and my work. So, sex worker? No, I’m not keen on that either – it’s bland, boring and completely devoid of any of the eroticism, sensuality and magic of my work. The words “sex” and “work” aren’t a happy pairing, they’re just not! 

 

I understand that many sex workers prefer to use this term to stress that they are working and, I guess, to claim much needed validation and respect for their role, but by using the word “work” I think they’re associating themselves with the very slavery that we have freed ourselves from which then strips them of any respect they could have earned.

 

By calling themselves sex workers, people in my profession are saying, “Hey, we’re working too. We earn this money. We deserve respect from our clients, the law and society at large.” I don’t disagree with any of those sentiments, but I do disagree with the words “sex work” because, let’s face it, society doesn’t respect office workers a whole lot more than sex workers. They are cogs in the machine, selling their soul as well as their precious time on this earth for a pay packet that increasingly fails to cover even the basics. Who wants to become a “sex worker” to then feel like an “office worker”?!!

 

As Tinkerbell said to The Boyfriend, “Poor you.” No-one wants to become a cog in the machine. Not one parent looks into their new born’s eyes and declares, “I want you to devote your life to pushing paper around in a cubicle on the 3rd floor of a non-descript building at the end of a long, hot train journey with only lunch at Pret a Manger to look forward to?” No-one does that! We desire for our children to become sports stars, dancers, writers, painters, musicians, gardeners, poets, actors, travellers, adventurers. Then we send them to school where they are brainwashed into aspiring to get an expensive degree that qualifies them for a lifetime in a “bullshit job” to pay off their debt. 

 

“Work” is an insidious word and idea. No other animal on earth works as hard as humans do to survive. Our closest relative, the bonobo, devote as much time to play, sex and bonding as they do to the “work” of feeding. Can you begin to see why you’re all so ill and depressed? It is literally in-humane to devote so much of one’s life to the daily grind. Yet almost all of us do. Sacrificing our desires, dreams, relationships, time with our families – pushing them down and away from us – denying our soul’s purpose, which is surely to love, to connect, to experience and to create?

 

It takes years of conditioning to convince humans that work is good for them. Look at how hard every teacher in every school in every country in our modern world is cajoling, bribing and threatening young people into being “good workers.” Work is what the 1% want from us so that they don’t have to work! Work is literally for morons, sorry, that’s a bit harsh, but if “work” were so good for us, why do those at the top do so little of it? My father once said to my son, “The secret of life is to find a way to make other people make you money.” That’s patriarchal capitalism in a nutshell.

 

Of course, as a woman, I have a double cynicism around the word, “work.” It’s something post 1980s that I am expected to leave the home to do to earn a small amount of money that may pay off my mortgage just before I die (increasingly a dream). I’m also expected to work, unseen and completely free of charge when I get back home. Capitalism is built on the UNPAID labour of women. Patriarchy says to men, “Listen, you have a rotten deal, you work hard for little pay or ownership, but we’ll create women from your spare rib, to obediently serve you in your home so that at least there you can feel like a king.”

 

Modern men want to move beyond this. They want to be feminists and support their women to succeed on their terms, but they also find a nice beer and a soft sofa so darn comfortable at the end of a long day in the office. The more hard core capitalism is in a society (easily measured by wealth inequality) the MORE hours of unpaid work women are doing in the home (“Why Women have Better Sex Under Socialism”). Double whammy for women in the 2020s!

 

“A clean house is the sign of a wasted life” is a quote I picked up, ironically from a tea towel. It’s so true. How many books have gone unwritten because the female writer has been hoovering, dusting or scrubbing someone else’s shit from the ceramic loo bowl? How many paintings have remained unpainted, or songs unsung because women continue to work, on average, an additional 3 hours a day more than the men in their lives when they get back home from “work”?

 

Work was created by the elite to do a number of things to perpetuate a system to the benefit of the elite:

 

  1. To make them rich.
  2. To keep you too busy to develop the skills by which you could make yourself rich.
  3. To deny you any pleasure, especially sexual pleasure because sexually empowered people are, um, powerful. 

 

I am a deeply empowered, powerful, magical healer. I use my body and my sexual energy to bring immense pleasure and joy to my clients. I reconnect them with their own magical, sexual inner essence. I am part coach, part therapist, part lover. I consider time with my clients to be incredibly special, intimate and sacred. I do not consider it to be “work”. Just as in the early days of teaching I did not consider my job to be “work”.

 

I consider myself incredibly lucky to have had the inner courage and the external support to get myself off the treadmill and create a niche for myself doing something I feel deeply passionate about. In my utopia everyone has their base needs met so that they have the freedom to create from their soul. I always remind myself that Leonardo da Vinci never went to school proving Pink Floyd right when they sing, “We don’t need no education”. We just need the time and the space to nourish our Goddess given talents to create wealth for ourselves and the rest of society.

 

Meanwhile, back in the real world, in which 99% of us are enslaved by, and for, the 1% I return to words and their definitions. Which brings me to “prostitute” and why I no longer call myself a prostitute. It’s mainly because of the spiritual teacher and writer Caroline Myss who works with human archetypes. One of the core archetypes, which we all have within us, is “The Prostitute.” I am going to quote much of Caroline Myss directly because it has been so foundational to my world view:

 

“The prostitute archetype engages lessons in the sale or negotiation of one’s integrity or spirit due to fears of physical survival or for financial gain. 

 

We prostitute ourselves when we sell our bodies, or minds, for money, or when we compromise our morals and ethics for financial gain. That may include remaining in a marriage or job that endangers our self respect for reasons of financial security. 

 

The prostitute activates the aspects of the unconscious that are related to seduction and control and that render you capable of buying a controlling interest in another person as you are of selling your own power. 

 

Once you become aware of its presence within you, the prostitute encircles you with a strong vibrational field that says, ‘Not for sale’. 

 

The core learning of the prostitute is that self esteem and self respect make you impervious to selling out.”

 

Caroline Myss suggest 3 key questions to ask yourself when considering the prostitute archetype within yourself: 

 

  1. “Have I ever sold out to people or organisations that I didn’t truly believe in?
  2. “Have I ever remained in a situation that offered me financial protection because of a desire for financial security?
  3. “Have I ever felt myself being pulled into a circumstance that would require me to sell out my ethics then found myself strong enough to say, ‘No’?”

 

Having read that and knowing what you know of me, do you think I’m a prostitute?

 

I was a prostitute when I was too scared to leave my first marriage. I had children to provide for and I didn’t want them to suffer as I sought to save myself. I stayed for years beyond “happy” due to my fears around our physical survival.  

 

I would have been a prostitute if I had stayed in teaching as the education system moved away from my ethics and pedagogy. Other teachers are clearly comfortable bullying young children for a good set of data, I’m not and I would have been prostituting myself if I had stayed – selling my soul for a measly pay cheque in the mistaken belief that it was a secure job. 

 

Ask yourself right now, are you doing that? Are you a prostitute?

 

The proudest thing I can say about myself is that I’m not, I did not stay in an unhappy marriage for financial security, nor did I compromise my morals by taking him to “the cleaners” in our settlement. Neither did I stay in a job that made me feel sick to the depths of my soul for some professional, ego driven, vanity. I chose to find a way to do what makes my soul sing. 

 

And that was to become a whore.

 

Thousands of years before Man invented God and the pair of them encoded patriarchy, humans lived in collaborative, Goddess worshipping societies (“When God was a Woman”.) For these societies the earth – her fertility and her cycles, both daily and seasonal were deeply sacred. Women, whose own cycles closely mirror those of the earth were revered as being closer to Goddess. 

 

Some women were especially revered and recognised as portals to The Divine. Temple whores (houri in Persian, horae in Ancient Greek) dispensed a combination of mother-love, tenderness, comfort, mystical enlightenment and sex in the temples – places devoted to worshipping Goddess in the way she, the sexy, saucy mamma, commanded. Children were raised, not in nuclear families (based around the concept of ownership), but by whole communities. Goddess abhorred monogamy and men neither owned their wives nor their children. 

 

For thousands of years, human sexuality was used to consciously elevate humans out from their mundane, material existence, up into the quantum realm, the heavens, from their prosaic everyday reality into a magical space where they could create literally anything – the pyramids people!! It was through whores that Man accessed The Divine. It was with whores, through their bodies and their sacred practices, that men found healing and had “the war taken out of them.” Whores were essential to spiritual practice in pre-patriarchal, pagan societies. 

 

For patriarchy to seize control of the people and their lands they had to conquer and destroy the already existing, successful, well functioning and equal societies. To do this, the early Church (and other Abrahamic religions) first had to defeat the whores. They didn’t want to put a complete stop to the whore’s sex practices (they were men after all); it was just crucial to “amputate its spiritual meaning” (Barbara Walker). The destruction took centuries. And the work is ongoing. 

 

Horae were stripped from their sacred position in the temples and relegated to “hora houses” where they would work to stop men from buggering each other. Ironically, the earnings made from the first hora house were used to found convents where nuns would devote their lives in non-sexual prayer to the new patriarchal God. The very word “whore”, once the word used to describe a woman of high regard and sacred calling, became one of the most reviled words, saved for moments of deep anger and vitriol, matched only in venom by that other misused ancient and sacred word, “cunt”. Whore, is a word dripping in shame, disparagement, disgust and even fear. 

 

I first felt the calling as an inner knowing, a spark inside that refused to be extinguished. As a young woman, lacking a sacred journey to initiate me into my powers, I handled my sexual energy a bit messily, and felt deeply shamed by the society I was coming of age in. Well meaning friends suggested I was “looking for love but settling for sex” and that I should work with a therapist to fix me. Maybe I was looking to be loved, but I also genuinely just wanted the sex.  Sex has always made me feel amazing in my body. Not because I feel loved for a brief moment in time, but because my body is super sensitive, and has always felt deliciously fizzy and alive both during sex and for hours afterwards. Other people like running or an intense gym session for the hormonal download. I choose sex. 

 

Gabor Maté points out that, “Highly sensitive people used to be our shaman, now they are shamed.” Sexual shamen are the most shamed of all. Painters are not shamed for creating art, singers are not shamed for creating music, (most) dancers are not shamed for interpreting a piece of  music with their bodies. But sexual shamen, whores, those of us who were born with the gift of heightened sexuality in the cells of our being are reviled, disparaged, condescended and deeply shamed. 

 

There were so many stepping stones on my journey to where I am now, a happy whore writing these words. The first that I remember was reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love”. I was very lonely and depressed when I read it – a trapped mum with young children, living in a community of strangers, lost in a loveless and worse, sexless, marriage. I devoured her words about finding yourself through travel and I so ached to have her opportunity to escape from the completely dysfunctional life I had created for myself and to learn new skills so that I could reinvent myself and create a life I wanted to live.

 

Obviously I couldn’t follow in her footsteps – I had young children who I had brought into the world, I had a duty to care for them. Whatever journey I took to rediscover the “real” me – the soul buried beneath layer upon layer of socially conditioned and miserable ego – would have to take place during school hours and from my home in rural England. Initially that felt quite limiting then two magical things happened in the same year.

 

The first was meeting the village “crazy lady” (“Mad as a box of frogs that one!” they’d say) and learning that she was in fact the most phenomenal spiritual coach and mentor. The second was, I hate to say it, Facebook. Discovering the latter after meeting the former meant that my Facebook feed in those early days was filled with spiritual teachers and alternative thinkers – whores and witches online – who guided me through the most profound transformation. It was amazing. Until greed ruined Facebook, it was the University of Life if you wanted it to be. 

 

You didn’t have to go to an ashram in India to learn meditation, you could do so in your own bedroom. Even better, you didn’t have to travel anywhere to reconnect your sexuality with the sacred. What Elizabeth Gilbert travelled the globe for, I found ways to experience alone, in my bedroom. I have since been on a real live, in-the-flesh, tantric retreat and desire to do more – I can assure you that it was the best money I have ever invested in myself (and my business) but back in 2011 when I desperately needed to create a new way of living for myself I didn’t need to leave my home.

 

Essentially when you embark on reconnecting your sexuality with sacredness you are reclaiming something that the churchmen ripped from us centuries ago. They needed to destroy our temples, torture us, rape us, burn our books, burn us, disconnect us from our ancient plant, body and magic knowledge, but we’re still here. We are the daughters of the witches and whores that you did not burn. The knowledge lives on in our bodies until the day we meet the person who gives us the permission and the words to understand and know our own deep inner wisdom.

 

That’s why I call myself a whore.

 

I am incredibly proud, in every cell of my being, to belong to this powerful lineage of sacred shaman. To have the power in my hands, and my cunt, to heal, to connect, to initiate, to please, to bring joy and deep pleasure. I am so lucky to have learned how to use my insatiable sexuality for good rather than prostituting myself to earn the money to pay for a therapist to help me feel less than I truly am. Becoming a whore was my route out of Caroline Myss’ definition of  prostitution. Yours may be pottery, gardening, knitting or cooking. I’m not saying that every woman is a whore, I’m just saying that some of us genuinely are. 

 

Human beings across the planet are trapped working in miserable jobs, living in miserable relationships, scrolling through their miserable damned lives. Being disconnected from their innate creatrix, saucy, sassy, sexual energy is not working for them. Goddess knew that humans needed to channel, not repress, their sexual energy to thrive. God knew the same. So to gain control and ensure that we could not thrive, he ordered that our sexuality be repressed. 

 

Repressed energy will twist and contort itself, but it will be expressed. The energy that could be building communities and expanding our consciousness is used instead to terrorise, manipulate and control. I would argue that, distorted, the energy of creation becomes the energy of destruction. 

 

We need a r-evol-ution (read the 4 letters in italics backwards). Love, including sexual love, is humanity’s greatest individual and collective power. If we were to truly harness our love for ourselves, our planet and each other we would save ourselves from what appears to be almost assured destruction. 

 

Humanity needs its shaman to guide it back to love. 

 

Humanity needs its whores.

 

Recommended Further Reading:

“Bullshit Jobs” by David Graeber

“Why Women Have Better Sex Under Socialism” by Kristen Ghodsee

Archetype cards by Caroline Myss

“The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Legends” by Barbara Walker (this is more of a reference book than a cover to cover read!)

“Why Prostitutes Should Rule the World” – by Anaiya Sophia on My Tiny Secrets

“Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert

Pleasure is My Business – That’s Why I Never Fake It

“Are you OK?” my concerned client asked. 

Opening my eyes, trying to get my mouth and brain to work in unison, I replied, “I’m fine thank you.” 

 

Fine??!! I had had to pull myself out of another orgasmic wave to hear and then respond to his question. My body was pulsating with sensation. Every cell in my being felt electrified, vibrant and alive. I had been entering the quantum realm where everything is just vibration, where matter ceases to exist and where separation is a cute little earthling concept. 

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“You’re not making the noise women make when they are enjoying it.”

 

He must have felt the muscles of my vagina tightening around his pleasing fingers. He must have felt my ejaculate as it gushed all over his hand and body? Surely he had seen the skin on my face and décolletage redden? Hell, my whole body was a quivering wreck!

 

“No, I don’t make much noise when I orgasm – I trained myself out of it when the kids were little.”

 

The “noise women make when they are enjoying it” – porn’s moan of pleasure (how do you film tightening vaginal muscles?) After Meg Ryan famously demonstrated how skilled women are at faking the orgasmic moan in When Harry Met Sally, do any men really trust it any more?!

 

I am pretty much incapable of dishonesty. In recent years I have learned the art of telling a white lie, to save time really, but anything more than that and if you ask me a question I will give you a long winded and deeply honest answer. I find most social situations a mix of tiresome, boring and un-navigable as I attempt the steps of the “bullshit small talk” dance that I still struggle to learn. Other people seem to find it so easy and even to delight in it, I don’t. My eyes glaze over, my energy gets chaotic and if I’m not rescued by someone who knows me quite well I’ll end up blurting out something deeply inappropriate just to rescue myself from the boredom.

 

It’s the same with sex.

 

I cannot fake enjoyment and pleasure if my sexual partner is making my skin crawl. A voice in my head says, “C’mon A, he’s paid a decent amount of money, you are a sex worker, a whore, a prostitute – this is your literal job – the least you could do is pretend to be enjoying his______” (fill in the blank). But even with this inner voice reminding me that I should be pretending to feel things that I’m not, I can’t and I won’t.

 

I’m sure this appalls you. “Poor clients!” you must think. “They book an appointment, wait for a month with increasing anticipation, visit an increasingly hard to find cash machine – once or twice depending on the card’s daily cash limit – arrive on time (not early or late) and then when they’re finally in the room with the woman they desire enough to invest all this time, money and effort in, she can’t be bothered to pretend to be pleased when she’s not?! That’s rough.”

 

There is certainly a voice in my head that agrees with you. But I have another voice that coaches me, “Anabelle, you’re a whore. Whore’s don’t fake pleasure, they guide their clients to genuine, mutual pleasure. If you fake it you are doing your client a huge disservice and at some level he will know it and feel that he has been conned.”

 

I am very often the only woman a client has experienced who expresses genuine sexual pleasure. Many, many of my clients have visited other sex workers only to drive home feeling dirty and ashamed because they knew, in their bodies, that the experience was not one of mutual pleasure but another shallow experience in which his partner had faked pleasure whilst she thought about anything and everything else but him and the energy flowing between them. Her lack of genuine pleasure fed back from her body to his, so that, regardless of the fake moans she made, he was left feeling, yet again, that he had exploited a woman for a brief moment of gratification. He regrets the encounter. Regrets the time and money he’s wasted and devotes himself to another year or two of lonely masturbation with soulless porn.  

 

I won’t feed into this sad cycle. I market myself as a woman who knows her own sexuality and who loves sex. If I were to fake it then I become a fake, I won’t do that for my clients, or for me. 

 

My body can be sexual every day with a steady stream of clients because she trusts me not to fake my pleasure for someone else’s comfort or ego. It’s as important for me as it is for my clients that I am honest. I won’t make myself come, I can’t make myself squirt on demand and I won’t make myself kiss someone who is turning me off. I do, absolutely, love sex and I love sex with lots of people. I’m not fussy, I find almost everyone has at least one beautiful quality and I always focus on that. But there is a reason why I much prefer my sessions to at least begin with a massage – it gives me time to connect with his body and energy and turn myself on as I grind myself into him and feel his activated energy flowing through me. 

 

I have many, many clients who can arrive and without a massage kiss me and touch me in ways that make me melt and open for them. T will guide me to the bed, remove my knickers and go down on me for ages by which time I am desperate for the rest of him. J will kiss me sensuously as we undress each other and finds my nipples as soon as they’re released from my bra – he knows me well enough to feel the perfect moment to pinch them really hard, making me gasp with desire for more. N pushes my head onto his cock as I am removing his trousers and socks, assertively pulling me off him again before I make him come. There are a myriad of ways in which my clients walk into my space and, kicking small talk out the way, give me my first orgasm. 

 

When I feel that I am in confident, assured hands I am like putty in them. But the problem with Kama (my full girlfriend experience) is that it does require a man to arrive with a certain level of confidence and/or assurance. You can have less of one if you have more of the other, but lacking in both and booking Kama with a woman who doesn’t, can’t and won’t fake it, is a dangerous choice!

 

This is what M did. He’s been desperate to fuck me for years but he has lots of rules in his head that had meant fucking was out of the question for a long, long, time. Our massage sessions are amazing. He arrives nervous and anxious but responds well to meditation and he absolutely loves feeling my body on his. By the time I ask him to roll over he’s ready to pop and quite often, he has. So we’ve never contemplated a blended Musubi/Kama session. So I don’t know why I accepted the booking for a straight Kama session, but it wasn’t very bright of me.

 

Without the time spent together in massage he didn’t have the chance to relax. His tension fueled his lack of confidence which is, in turn, fed by his lack of positive experiences. Experience, assurance and confidence are a circle that can flow either way. In the positive cycle an individual enjoys a number of positive experiences so gains assurance which builds confidence which helps him or her to enjoy further positive experiences. In the negative cycle the individual has a number of negative experiences (or very few experiences at all) so never gains assurance which feeds low confidence making it harder to have any positive experiences. 

 

M has been trapped in the negative cycle. To which I’d add a further stage: belief. If you go around this cycle enough you create the belief in yourself that you are not sexual, or not good enough, or even repellent to the people you desire to have sex with. That belief then determines how you show up for sex, even with sexually available, booked and paid for women like me – ie a dead cert. It takes quite a powerful belief in inadequacy to turn a dead cert into a dead “no way”. Yet, sadly, despite our many beautiful and highly sexual Musubi massage sessions, that’s exactly what he did.

 

He touched me hesitantly. His lips were tight and his tongue proddy. All completely forgivable in a 16 year old, but not in a 50+ year old. I have spent literally hours modelling sensual touch and sexy kissing to him and I was looking forward to him arriving and confidently bending me over the bed so he could enjoy the view of me in stockings and heels as he pushed into me. I’d even warmed myself up a little with nipple clamps and wand to be wet and open for him on his arrival.

 

But he showed up with his belief that he’s not good enough or not deserving and my energy fizzled out in seconds. Because I can’t and won’t fake it, when I felt my body arching away from his insistent, demanding, probing tongue, I just said, “No, we can’t do this. Let’s start with a massage and see where it leads us.” He seemed relieved. Fantasy Anabelle, the woman on the website who fulfills your every desire and wish is not much more real than any porn star. She is who you make her to be. Real me is just like any other woman. I blow hot and cold. My sexual energy takes time to build and seconds to demolish. I like to be seduced, pleasured, taken, devoured. I don’t like to have to pretend you’re amazing when you’re not. M could handle fantasy Anabelle, he was frozen and incapable with real me. 

 

So we returned to what we do best – a sensual and highly erotic Musubi massage. I rolled him over and spent a few minutes giving him a lingam massage then I slipped on a condom and took him into my cunt. He didn’t have to do anything. I saved him from having to turn me on (I did that myself through the massage), I saved him from taking the lead or managing his erection. And I gave him both the fuck he has always wanted and a really good positive experience of himself and his sexuality to turn the direction of his cycle. 

 

He came inside me. I removed the condom and we kept going. With the confidence gained from the massage and the fuck achieved, his kiss was open and sensual, his hands and mouth found my nipples and then my cunt, he sucked and bit my nipples, as he fisted me deep. I came and I came and I came soaking the satin sheets with copious quantities of amrita. He left knowing that he had genuinely pleased me. He had taken pleasure in my pleasure, knowing how much he had made my body throb and vibrate. He had felt my vaginal muscles squeezing first his cock as my warm ejaculate gushed over his balls, and later his fist as I came over and over in raptures of pulsating pleasure. It was another genuinely beautiful experience for both of us because I had been honest enough to not fake it and skilled enough to take the lead and guide him through an experience that will both build his assurance and grow his confidence.

 

This is how whores are different. And this is why, despite my honesty and my willingness to deflate my paying clients’ egos I always send them home feeling more magnificent than when they arrived. 

 

Women of the world, STOP FAKING IT. You do your man, and ultimately yourself, a huge disservice. Refuse to do this bullshit dance a day longer. Become a whore in your own bedroom – be honest, be authentic and become wholly devoted to pleasure – your own and his.

My Terms and Conditions (and Why They Are Necessary)

The vast majority of my clients are really lovely, lovely, lovely people. They find my site, decide they can trust me, book an appointment, show up on the agreed date, and politely wait for me to be ready at our agreed time. 

 

When I open the door they are very often a bit nervous or anxious but they have taken a slot in my diary so they have the respect and personal integrity to show up as they said they would. We then go on to have an amazing session, their nerves soon vanish and they leave restored, happy, connected, and feeling alive again.

 

Because the vast majority of my clients are such lovely people, who like me, have developed personal integrity and have a natural respect for other people, I continue to resist the oft given advice that I should take non-refundable deposits from all of my clients at the time of booking. 

 

I work with energy and haven’t wanted to bring in the energy of distrust into my business. I sincerely believe that if I don’t trust the people who book with me, I will draw people who are not trustworthy into my life.  

 

My approach has worked for many years but it is not without its difficulties. My limited availability,  taking only one booking per day, ensures quality of service but leaves me especially vulnerable to someone changing their mind at the last minute.

 

I think many people reading this would be shocked by how casually I have been treated over the years. We live in a disposable, throw away culture, and sadly, increasingly, that is the way more and more people are treating their fellow humans.

 

And still, the vast majority of my clients are really lovely, respectful and appreciative people.  I don’t want to scare away the good guys because I have to deal with a few rotten ones!

 

So, here’s my deal (T&Cs) which I ask you to agree to before making an initial booking with me.

 

1. We will agree on a date which we both commit to. If for whatever reason one of us has to cancel we will do so with as much notice as possible.

 

2. I will send out a confirmation message the week before the date of the appointment (usually on a Thursday). You will take responsibility to reply to that message to secure your booking and understand that if you do not reply to that message, or my follow up messages, that the date will then be offered to my cancellation list.

 

3. I will get myself and my work space ready for the agreed time and you will make your way here for that agreed time.

 

I understand that on booking my service you want the process to feel comfortable, kind and for it to be an experience of mutual trust.  As a human being you, like me, deserve to feel that level of respect. 

 

So I will continue, for now, to operate on trust for the first booking. 

 

However, mess me around once and you will not be afforded that same level of trust again.

 

I will not refuse to take a booking from you again, there will just be conditions, which I will decide on a case by case basis (taking into account the amount of time given for the cancellation, the reason given for the cancellation, and even the level of politeness, respect and kindness – the way you handle my humanity – in your messages).

 

My conditions may include:

 

  • Taking full payment on any future booking at the time of booking

 

  • Taking a non-refundable, date-specific deposit on any future booking at the time of booking

 

It is with great sadness that I find myself needing to write these T&Cs and, I take great comfort in the knowledge that 95% plus of my clients are such lovely people that they will wholeheartedly agree with every word I have written and accept them without difficulty.

 

Thank you – you restore my faith in men and I look forward to seeing you soon.

Closing Your Eyes – a Path to Powerful Orgasm

Men enjoy looking at women. Every man knows this. Every woman knows this. Our art galleries, films, and now computers are filled with naked and semi-naked women artfully displayed to please the male gaze. Products are made more enticing to buy through the use of the beautiful female form – whether it’s Page 3 of a British tabloid rewarding men for reading the “news” or scantily clad women at all car shows – our bodies are used by men to sell to men. (And yes this whore uses exactly the same device to sell her services to men!)

 

Being commodified in this way has made the male gaze problematic for women and worse, we are policed in our outfit choices because of male discomfort or criminal intent. A male rapist’s defence in a male dominated criminal justice system is most often, “She was asking for it….her skirt was too short…her heels too high….look jurors at the tiny thong she was wearing!!” What women wear and how we look is to blame for how men then choose to treat us. 

 

It is a tightrope all women walk on. Be pretty and alluring enough to attract a partner (this is patriarchy – life is just infinitely easier and more enjoyable for women when we have men in our lives as protectors, co-providers and as our lovers) but not too pretty or alluring so that we attract too much or unwanted attention. It takes women decades to learn how to navigate the male gaze and I suspect that for many, maybe most, of us it will always be slightly uncomfortable.

 

Why? What is so uncomfortable about a man finding pleasure in looking at your body? I’ve pondered this for years. As someone who has the privilege of having a slim but curvaceous body, I still find it deeply discomforting to have a man look at me. It makes me feel like a cow at market. Or a racehorse being led out for inspection by a prospective buyer. Either is awful. An animal to be owned by the man appraising me. It’s the essence of patriarchy and however complimentary the man might be, I feel demeaned by the appraisal and never quite know what to do with the compliment. I don’t ever treat men in this way. I would never stand in front of a man looking him up and down in his underwear and pronounce whether he was “Very nice” (or not). How rude!!!

 

The worst session I ever had, and the only one in which I have been assaulted, started with a new client arriving, very pumped and possibly high on some substance or other. His energy was frantic and very hot as he walked into my work space and commanded that I stand back from him so that he could “Take me all in.” Startled and taken a bit aback, I did as he “asked” and was appalled to hear him actually say, out loud, “Good, good, yes you’re good enough.” I was standing a good few feet away from him naked apart from my underwear. This was not seduction. This was not a man who on first meeting me blurts out, “Oh my god you’re beautiful” as he plants gentle kisses on my neck, this was a buyer at a cattle market, or worse, a slave auction. Instead of sensually undressing each other, kissing, stroking, teasing each other into full arousal, Adam had pushed me away from him so that he could fully appraise “his purchase”. Mistake number 1: paying for a period of my time does not equal purchase of me.

 

I am not treated in this way, by anyone. No self respecting whore is. I was outraged and asked him to leave. He refused.

 

That was tricky for me. And I knew I needed to use my wits. He had paid for Kama, my full girlfriend experience, he had an urgent, throbbing erection thanks to my bloody underwear and he was going to empty himself in me or on me however much I resisted. So, I did what millions of women across millennia and across the planet have done before me and will do after me, I made myself as safe as I could using the tools available to me. There was no way I was going to ask my cunt to open for this horrible man. She and I have standards and we don’t invite repellent energy inside us. But I am very skilled with my hands so it was an easy and very fast decision to deploy them. 

 

I don’t know how we “fell” onto the bed, but I remember him on top of me biting into the flesh of my breasts. You know I love my nipples being tweaked, really hard when I am highly aroused, but (a) my energy was as flat as a pancake after his rude comment and refusal to respect my “No” and (b) I don’t like teeth sinking into my flesh on any part of my body, ever. I made all the right noises and my hands did their work. He came within a few minutes. As he did so I sunk my teeth into his shoulder as hard as I possibly could, I was aiming to draw blood. 

 

With his impatient energy ejaculated out of him he calmed down and was almost apologetic. I pointed to his pile of clothes and asked him to leave. As he drove away I messaged him saying, “It’s important for you to know that the bite on your shoulder was not from passion, it was from a furious woman. Every time you see it remember that when a woman says NO and asks you to leave you must respect her wishes. Good bye.” And I blocked him.

 

He liked what he saw and he felt entitled to take it, like a brute whipping a horse he had just paid for. But I am not a horse or a cow at market, I am not an animal on a farm, I am a highly skilled whore. No-one ever pays for me. They pay for an exquisite service that I feel honoured and very lucky to have the skills and expertise to provide. 

 

Maybe this experience is why I am not that excited about sexy underwear. I buy very few items, (despite the fact the HMRC allows me to claim it against tax as “work wear”). I know that whilst I may look sexy in lingerie, I am far, far sexier out of it! Lingerie is uncomfortable. It’s why we don’t choose to wear it on the school run, whilst nipping to the shops or emptying the dishwasher. I have genuinely heard men complain that their wives don’t wear it often enough and how much it would please them to see her wearing a sexy stocking and suspender ensemble as she sorts the laundry or prepares him an evening meal (yes, my eyes rolled every time!)

 

The patriarchal fixation on erections puts an enormous amount of pressure on women to look a certain way to ping a man’s desire. Our sole role in sex has been reduced to pleasing his gaze so that his cock is switched on and he’ll gallantly initiate and lead the act of sex. All we women have to do is remain forever young, maiden-like, thin, perky, smooth, hairless, unlined, pouty lipped and wear uncomfortable garb so that he gets hard and takes us. 

 

Urgh!! I cannot tell you how much I hate this passive, pathetic role for women. We are immensely sexual and sensual. We are naturally multi-orgasmic, capable of wave after wave of deep pleasure in each of our individual, unique, sacred bodies and any man is very lucky and privileged to share that pleasure with us. We are truly powerful, not because we have earned the right to say “No” (though that is a crucial right for both women – and men), but because we are intoxicating when we say, “Yes, yes, yes!!!”

 

For this reason I enjoy turning off the male gaze in my sessions. It’s liberating for me to work away from it’s constant appraisal and it’s liberating for my clients – who when they are freed from the dominating sense of sight become reconnected to their other senses, most importantly touch. When my clients listen to my invitation to close their eyes and connect with sensation in their bodies the ensuing sessions are absolutely breathtaking.

 

P had booked a Musubi/Kama session (a body to body massage leading into a full girlfriend experience) and on arrival he asked if I could make sure to give him a full lingam massage at some point during the session. Duly noted, I invited him to undress and lie face up on the bed so that I could guide him through the meditation I open all my massage sessions with. As he lay down and I threw a warm blanket over his naked body, I invited him to close his eyes, quietening the usually dominant sense of vision so that his other senses became heightened. Then I guided him to connect to the sounds he could hear (my voice, the music, occasional sounds drifting in from the outside world), to the smells he could smell (incense wafting over him from the table near the bed, drops of frankincense on the pillow), to the tastes in his mouth that he was swallowing down into his body and most importantly to what he could feel – to the sensations on his skin and within his body – as he dropped deeper and deeper into a calm, relaxed state of peace and stillness.

 

He stayed in this deeply relaxed state, eyes closed, breathing deeply, throughout the session. I massaged his body with mine, rubbing my breasts, tummy, pubic mound, thighs and feet all over the back of his body. I massaged his prostate carefully and slowly, his anus was unsure, but accepted my “gentle knock on the door” and pulled me inside. When I asked him to roll over onto his front I didn’t glide up his chest to initiate “girlfriend experience”, instead I sat between his legs and gave him the lingam massage he had asked for. I could feel his energy moving around his body and had to hold back my own impatience to feel it inside mine, but I was determined to give him the full 20 minutes on his lingam that he had specifically asked for. 

 

He was fully absorbed in the experience: connecting to sensation in his body, feeling it expanding on every inhale, feeling it moving throughout his body on every exhale. He later told me that he was so deeply in trance and so absorbed by the sensations moving around inside of his body that he had no idea whether he was erect or not.

 

As it happened, he stayed firmly erect throughout the lingam massage. Even when I moved my hands from his cock onto his torso and down his legs to disperse and move his sexual energy, his cock had stayed hard. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had softened, I’m interested in the flow of energy not in the performance of an erection. What was interesting was that he didn’t know. His erection had become unimportant to him – even though this was a Kama session – because he had connected to something so much deeper and profound: his sexual energy, the joy of moving it around the body and the magic of intentional breathing and touch that facilitated his journey. The journey wasn’t about him and me. It was about him. It was deeply internal, I knew that. I completely understood that he was feeling so much more because he was doing so much less and the less included no vision. 

 

When it was finally over I allowed myself to kiss the tip of his cock then open my lips and pull his beautiful, glistening erection into my mouth and deep down my throat.

I enjoyed playing with his cock in my mouth, flicking my tongue over his sensitive frenulum, making his cock twitch against the roof of my mouth, using moist lips over moist glans, my tongue, lips and fingers moved up and down his shaft, over his balls and across his perineum. I enjoyed taking him deeper – slowly, gradually, giving my throat time to relax and open around his hardness, mirroring the way his sphincter had earlier allowed in my finger. 

 

He had “endured” 20 minutes of lingam massage followed by at least 10 minutes of me enjoying his cock in my mouth, he was still breathing, he was still deeply relaxed, but I was pretty sure that he must be quite close to popping. In a Kama session I do try to ensure my client gets the chance to feel himself inside my cunt, if his erection is strong enough to sustain a condom. His was. I moved from my position between his legs, to glide up his body so that I could kiss him and be in a position from which I could reach for a condom in the bowl next to the bed. My left breast fell into his mouth as I reached onto the bedside table to pull the condom bowl towards me. I lingered, making the most of the beautiful sensations moving through my body as he nibbled my nipple. I slid back down, opening the small packet as I did so and once I was positioned with his cock standing up firm between my legs I rolled on the condom. 

 

His cock throbbed in anticipation as I did so, I manoevered my body and took him deep inside me. His hands were lying either side of his body, they showed no sign of wanting to hold my hips or pleasure my breasts, I noted that I would be riding this cock alone. Our pelvises shifted position so that his cock penetrated me deeper, it made me gasp a little, which encouraged him to move his pelvis a bit more, turning circles so that his cock massaged my cervix. The energy was incredible. I started to come, I could feel my vaginal muscles squeezing against him, but he just held me tight – moving his hands to hold my thighs on his,  thrusting deeper into me, pushing against the squeeze of my muscles. It is so sexy when a man does this. My orgasm got stronger and stronger but he held me firm and managed not to be ejected. 

 

As I had suspected, he didn’t last long. He came before I stopped coming and then all was still. I removed myself, tidied away the condom and sat back, between his legs waiting for him to open his eyes. He still hadn’t opened his eyes! We had experienced all of this and he hadn’t opened his eyes once.

 

This always happens, dear reader, when a client keeps his eyes closed for the entire session he has a profoundly different experience. With his eyes closed he connects deeply with sensation in his body, rather than to the visual receptors in his head. The mind can lead you to a certain level of orgasm but you don’t need to be with a whore for that – the ready supply of cheap porn or even a swimwear catalogue will do that job perfectly well. Time and money invested in a proper whore is time to switch off from the domineering sense of vision and turn on the less confident, frequently overwhelmed senses: smell, sound, taste and touch. Vision will overpower all of these which is a huge shame because when you’re with a real human being what you smell, taste, hear and feel matters as much as, if not more than, what you see. 

 

As P finally opened his eyes he laughed incredulously and said, “Wow, that was amazing. I have never experienced an orgasm like that – I can still feel it everywhere – in my feet…. here…” he pointed to his chest, “In my hands…” he laughed, “Everywhere!! I was so deeply in trance I could feel everything. It was absolutely amazing. So much more and so much better than the sex I normally have.”

 

Try it. Close your eyes. Close off vision, just for a short while, and connect with your body.

 

Go inwards.

 

Enjoy the journey. 

 

Photo by Narissa de Villiers on Unsplash 

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