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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:

To make them rich.
To keep you too busy to develop the skills by which you could make yourself rich.
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:

“Have I ever sold out to people or organisations that I didn’t truly believe in?
“Have I ever remained in a situation that offered me financial protection because of a desire for financial security?
“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.

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 have resisted 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.

The first is I have limited availability, I only work with one client per day. Which means if that one client cancels and I cannot fill the slot, I am severely impacted financially. Mine is a person to person business and, I think, some people who, say, sell products instead of services, or are employed rather than self employed, or have immense wealth privilege, cannot really wrap their heads around the implications of that.

What makes it more frustrating is that I always have quite a few people on a waiting list who would want to fill that slot if they knew about it in time to make arrangements.

So, reluctantly, in response to the few who have, for whatever reason, the lack of respect to cancel their appointments in a timely fashion I have been forced to introduce my first T&Cs:

Any cancellation, for whatever reason, made with less than 48 hours notice will incur a cancellation fee – 50% of my current 90 minute massage rate. Payment to be made on the day of cancellation by payment link (Sumup) which I will send you.

Any cancellation, for whatever reason, made with less than 24 hours notice will incur a cancellation fee – 100% of my current 90 minute massage rate. Payment to be made on the day of cancellation by payment link (Sumup) which I will send you.

I am also conscious that because of the nature of the service I provide, there are people who face inner turmoil and resistance about reaching out and receiving my services. One of my reasons for writing my blog posts is to provide good quality information about me, my services, my personal journey and to offer a different way of seeing sex and human relationships that may be of help as they deal with their own feelings of doubt, turmoil and resistance.

I do have deep empathy for people who resist the appointment they have made with me. And, I have found it difficult to hold both my empathy for the difficult journey some of my potential clients are on and my own boundaries about not having my time wasted.

From a business perspective it makes no sense to book someone who has a history of letting me down, but I’m not just a business woman, I am also a loving human being who can feel when someone is in pain and I want to be of service. I will always give someone a second, third, fourth, fifth chance.

It is hard to break free from societal conditioning and not everyone can dive into the deep end, there are many toe dippers out there who just need some gentle encouragement.

But, gentle encouragement is not of service if it is only gentle and there is no encouragement! There are only so many ways I can offer reassurance by text/Whatsapp or email. Eventually the highly anxious client who really wants the transformational experience I offer but can’t bring him/herself to make it to my front door needs, still gentle, but also firm encouragement.

This is my third T&C:

For certain individuals who, for whatever reason, have found themselves repeatedly cancelling appointments, I will only take a further booking from them with a 50% (of the service they are booking) non-refundable and date & time-specific deposit.

Instead of blocking “repeat offenders”, I have chosen instead to be kind AND boundaried. I hope that by having more “skin in the game” they are able to overcome their resistance and finally make it to my door.

Resistance to personal growth is an interesting thing. At one level we really want the growth, we know we are stuck in lives that are making us miserable and we have “stumbled” upon a path that seems to offer us an alternative. We want to take the path, but we face deep inner resistance to it. Sometimes the resistance is really clear, like a voice in our heads that shows up to ridicule the path, or judge it, criticize it, shame it or dismiss it in one way or another. Other times the resistance is more subtle, so subtle that we do not recognise it as ours.

The first path that was offered to me was from a friend and neighbour in my village who saw how stuck I was and knew she could help. She invited me to join the 3 days of training she was running in a local hotel, free of charge, as her guest. I made it for days 2 and 3 which were on a Saturday and Sunday, but I could not manage to find a way to organise the childcare on day 1 (Friday). Towards the end of the final day when I was buzzing with excitement at all that I had learned and filled with regret for missing out on a whole third of her magical content, she made the point, to the whole room, that external factors – the ones we think we have no control over – that show up to block us from receiving new opportunities in our lives, are, actually, manifestations of our own, inner resistance.

I realised that my “inability to find childcare” was a form of this resistance. I have clients who have used that one on me and it always makes me smile (a bit) and roll my eyes (a lot) because it reminds me of when I lost out on so much transformation thanks to exactly the same excuse.

So when clients repeatedly message and to say, “My car’s broken down”, or “I have to take my mother to hospital” or “My train has been cancelled”, I hear their most recent excuse and I know I am hearing it from someone with deep, unconscious, resistance to the journey they want to take with me. Which is why I no longer just say, “Hey no problem, these things happen” and will instead ensure they have skin in the game to help them overcome their inner resistance the next time they book.

Of course not all “repeat offenders” face resistance, some, sadly, just lack manners and respect. My intent is that T&C #3 will concentrate their minds enough to show me the respect I require. And of course, many will not want their bad habits to cost them money so they won’t book me at all. Which is fabulous, I will have space in my diary for the lovely, lovely, lovely people who manage to arrive on the right day, at the right time to share a beautiful experience with me.

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

Can Tantra Help with my “Sexual Dysfunction”?

The Joy of Soft Cock is the title of one of my yet-to-be-written books. This is only a short blog post, but it is the essence of me and my work, so I am going to try and condense my thinking and experience to under 1,000 words. Here goes….

I think I am going to start, right at the beginning, with the story of my first encounter with a soft cock. I was in my early 40s, passionately in love with a man I saw for only two nights a fortnight. As you will know by now, I am a highly sexual woman, and for twelve nights out of fourteen I was having no sex – so those two nights had to really count! I was younger and much more naive back then, and I thought sex could not happen without an erection. I also, subconsciously at least, believed that it was my responsibility to arouse a man to make him erect. If he desired me (because of my behaviour and/or my looks) then he would get an erection, and if he didn’t get an erection, that meant he didn’t desire me (because of my behaviour and/or my looks).

On one of my precious nights with my delicious lover, we were rolling about in bed, kissing, stroking, my hand moved down to his groin to delight in his throbbing manhood and was met by limp flesh. I was horrified. I froze in panic. Honestly, the thoughts running through my head were not, “Poor love, he must be tired or stressed, or both” they were,

“SHIT, he’s gone off me!!!”

“Have I farted?”

“Did I make it obvious that I was bored by his rugby story?”

“OMG, have I got a spot on my nose????!!!!”

Then something quite magical happened – maybe my current self visited my younger self and whispered some words of wisdom in her ears? I don’t know? But with divine timing, something did, because lying there in his arms, my hand still touching his flaccid phallus, I suddenly knew that his lack of erection was nothing whatsoever to do with me or his lack of desire for me. I knew how much he loved me and how much he enjoyed sex with me – he had told me often enough. I didn’t ask him about it; I decided instead not to make any issue out of it at all. I just stroked it, kissed him and ground my pelvis against his body. We were going to have sex with or without an erection!

As I took control of my freaked-out nervous system I stepped into a power within me that I had not connected with before. Sex was something I could initiate, and I didn’t need the permission or presence of an erection to initiate it. As I felt this power, or knowing, spread through my body, his limp cock stopped feeling alien and a bit repulsive and started to feel velvety soft and erotic. I realised I could hold it all in one hand, manoeuvre it around and play with it, squishing it, like Play-Doh, between my fingers in a way that I never could when handling a rigid erection. It was so much fun!

As I relaxed, so did he. The kissing did its usual magic, and we moved into some of the most intimate, beautiful sex that I had ever had. A few months later, I was at a funeral (of all places) when a fellow guest confided that he missed sex with his wife, but since his prostate op, he wasn’t able to meet her needs. I leaned in and said quietly, “You still have fingers, try those!”

Men and women both fear a lack of erection, and this fear gets in the way of them in the bedroom. If you remove the fear, you are able to go on to have outstandingly incredible sex again.

Men fear they will be judged for lack of performance and be deemed less manly or attractive. Women fear that, any day now, they will lose their man’s love and desire and that this will show up in the bedroom as a soft cock.

If you sat in a group of men and women and honestly talked about erections and the importance of them, you would hear women responding to the male fear around performance by saying, “Honey, the only performance that matters in the bedroom is how many times you make me come, you have fingers and a tongue, don’t you?” Likewise, the men would look at their women and say, “Sometimes I am tired or drunk or stressed (or even all three) and this impacts my ability to sustain an erection, but in no way does that reflect how I feel about you!”

Erections also do just get less strong as men age. But this isn’t matched by male desire for his (or other) women! To restrict sex to times when there is a strong erection in the room is like living in England and refusing to step outside when the sun isn’t shining. It’s maddeningly restrictive. England is glorious in all seasons, as are cocks!

Repeated stress around non-erection sadly gets compounded in some people. Sometimes it is a beloved who expresses irritation or impatience at the presence of a soft cock, thinking that their needs for love and intimacy now can’t be met. I would have been one of these women if I hadn’t been lucky enough to have a download of inspiration and wisdom in such perfect, divine timing. If you’re a woman reading this, please understand the power of your words, spoken and unspoken, to harm or heal your man’s erection.

Sometimes, probably even more often, it is an internal voice – the inner critic – that causes compounded stress. I had one wonderful, wonderful client who had managed, with the assistance of his inner critic, to give himself erectile dysfunction (ED) because he was so, so stressed about how his premature ejaculation (PE) was failing his wife. He showed up, wondering if I could fix his complex mix of ED and PE. I replied that I wasn’t going to promise to fix anything, but I could promise to introduce him to an approach to sexuality that would cast his “dysfunction” in a new light and could be a path to renewed sexual pleasure for both himself and his wife.

In sessions with me, he connected with his sexual energy inside his body, learning to expand and move it with breath and attention alone. He went on to develop a regular practice at home, both in bed and in the privacy of his own garden, in which he would have incredible orgasms without even touching himself. I’ll never forget the morning I woke to a message from him saying, “Anabelle, I had my first earth orgasm today! I was standing barefoot on the grass, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, doing the breathing and moving the energy and then boom – it just flooded through me! It was absolutely incredible!! I want to announce this to the whole world! Why isn’t everybody doing this?!”

Before I met him, I had been running with the theory that maybe a soft cock is a portal or invitation to connect with your sexual energy in a deeper way? Erections can be very demanding – they show up with much urgency and heat – they can be a bit more goal-oriented rather than experience-oriented. Soft cocks have none of this urgency; they make no demands. They appreciate being touched, stroked, licked, and sucked just as much as erect cocks do, but they don’t threaten to explode at any moment – you can take your time and feast on them! Thus, my theory was, when you aren’t being pestered by an erection, sex slows down, giving time for all parties to truly connect with the energy inside of their bodies, expanding and moving it with breath into fuller, richer, deeper orgasmic experiences.

My fabulous client confirmed my theory, especially with his message about his earth orgasm! I will happily say it loud and clear: your soft cock is not a “sexual dysfunction”. It is an opportunity, or a calling, to experience far deeper, more connected, more loving, more intimate AND MORE ORGASMIC SEX!!

I can confidently say that whilst tantric philosophy and practices may not give you a strong and/or long-lasting erection, they will give you indescribably good sex!

What’s the hardest thing about my job? My answer may surprise you.

I created Anabelle in the Spring of 2016, 9 months before Tim Stokely launched OnlyFans. I haven’t substantially changed the way I work in the past decade, but OnlyFans has, I think, radically changed the way in which people access, view and enjoy sex work.

For centuries, sex was something you enjoyed in and with your body. People would physically meet and enjoy a sexual encounter in the hay bales, in a forest glade, behind the bike sheds, maybe sometimes even in a bed! Yes, people thought about sex, but the images in their heads would largely be from real-life sexual experiences they had first experienced in their bodies.

Photography and film began to move sex from a physical experience (in the body) into a mental experience (in the head). The internet turbocharged this process. Today you can access a continuous flow of images, both real and AI, moving and still, to feed an often voracious dopamine habit. I think both women and the art of sex have been degraded in this process.

In spiritual terms, prostitution is the act of selling your soul for money. In my work, I never feel like a prostitute, because I am following my soul’s calling. But when I have to engage with my site and feed it photographs – that is when I feel most like a prostitute, when I most feel as though I am selling my soul.

The ordeal of taking photographs for my site forces me to step into a world which is all about presentation and packaging: appearance, makeup, lingerie, and poses. It’s a world made for fake – fake boobs, fake lips, fake smiles. A world in which the photographer incites you to smile into the camera by suggesting that you, “Think about how much money he’s going to spend on you.” The fake world of film is as far removed from my experience of sex as I think is possible.

In my experience, sex is an authentic connection between two bodies, two energies, two souls. That’s what I delight in offering and giving.

How can you make such an offer visible? It is the intangibility of sex that gives it its magic.

Authentic sex in which you connect and feel and experience, is not visible. It is a feeling. It is a sensation. It cannot be turned into a photograph or a film; I don’t think many artists have managed to capture the magic. Words also fail to describe the experience because the English language isn’t a language of lovers – it’s a language of bureaucrats. We lack the vocabulary to describe it and there’s no kind of image, painted or photographic, that can capture it. All you can do is drop into the space and experience. Yet I have to go through the ordeal of having photographs taken because that’s an essential part of every business’s marketing in the modern world.

And it’s an ordeal I absolutely hate because it reduces something so beautiful and so magical to something that, for me, just feels tawdry. You put my body in lingerie, pull it into poses to hide my belly, and I feel cheapened by a process that turns my 4D work into a 2D image. Worse, as I select the images that my bruised ego can cope with, I know I am conforming, as far as I am able, to stereotypes of what a sexy woman should look like: legs, boobs, bum – but as little tum as possible!

As I get older, the process becomes more of an ordeal, and on more than one occasion, I have considered hanging up my stockings and calling it quits. But then I work with another beautiful soul, our energies connect, dancing together for an hour or 90 minutes, and I am reminded that sex is so much more beautiful and incredible than any image or film could ever dream of replicating.

The modern world fetishes youth above all else. Women (and increasingly men) are marketed endless products in a consumer culture that relies on our self-hatred for their profit and growth. Youth=beauty=sexy in our topsy turvy world. Our ageing bodies are deemed less sexy and erotic than youthful ones in our overly visual, material world. Never mind that the energy within our bodies – our quantum selves, if you like – is timeless, never ages and is more easily connected to, with age and experience. Ironically, whilst the process of taking photographs gets harder and crueller with age, my confidence in my actual body and my work has grown exponentially over the past decade.

Choosing the Session to Reignite Your Fire!

So you’ve found my site, you love my photos and the words I use to describe my approach to sex and the services I offer; you’re close to making contact but you’re confused or undecided about which service you want. Let me try to help.

Being uncertain about which service to try for a first booking is probably the question I am asked the most and, much as I hate to answer a question with a question, it does very much depend on what you are looking for. So close your eyes, feel into your body and ask yourself: “What do I really want to experience?”

And/or, “What desires are currently unmet in my life which I’d like Anabelle to help me fulfil?”

Many people with busy, demanding lives want to lie back and receive. I know when I am not working this is what I most want! Others want to take control from the start and experience real pleasure and turn on from watching and playing with my pleasure and turn on. If you’re in the latter group, you will not get what you want from an Adonis, Ra or Apollo massage.

Adonis and Apollo are both classic tantric massages in which you receive touch from me, but not vice versa. During both, you will experience your sexual energy in an expanded way, but you will not experience my sexual energy – she stays under wraps when I give either an Adonis or Apollo massage. In a Ra massage, you are both blindfolded and restrained, so my energy is even further removed from your experience.

Musubi, my body to body massage, is a more interactive massage than Adonis, Apollo or Ra. I use my body to activate and move sexual energy around your body and admit to getting quite turned on in the process (you try grinding your pubic mound into someone’s sacrum without feeling turned on!)

Musubi is the massage to book if you want a sensual, erotic experience which gets hot and steamy but doesn’t become full penetrative sex. Adonis and Apollo are for people who want to connect with energy within their bodies and to be helped to play with it for an extended period of time. Musubi is for someone who wants to feel and interact with another body.

Then Kama. Kama is my “girlfriend experience” – nuanced sex industry speak for full sex (including penetration). It is supposedly all the good parts of having a girlfriend without any of the bad parts! My answer to people when they ask what is included in Kama is again a bit annoying. I don’t guarantee anything nor do I have a ban on anything. Sex is an experience between two (or more) people: their bodies, energies, emotions, minds, souls. Every single sexual experience is a unique moment in time because we are constantly changing and thus are different every single day.

I think the difference between the authentic experience I offer and the forced or fake experience that leaves one feeling empty (both ball sack empty and soul empty) is that I never, ever fake anything – ever. If I were to, say, list “anal” as one of my list of DOs but then not feel like it on a particular day – for whatever reason – I would still feel pressured to do it and would then have to fake my pleasure leading to an exploitative and empty experience for both of us. So instead I answer, that nothing is guaranteed but nothing is off the table. I am genuinely very, very sexual. I enjoy being pleasured and I am a rewarding lover, I will very happily go wherever the energy flows.

I have had the most amazing, incredible, beautiful, indescribable sex with hundreds of clients over the years. Every single session has been unique and I have pretty much experienced everything. The younger me would probably condemn me as a tart, the older me celebrates that my soul has seriously got to live this human experience! I mean why else incarnate into a highly sexual body?!

For a successful Kama session my client does need to arrive with a certain level of confidence, charm or assurance. Kama is not the session to book if you are shy, uncertain or know you lack confidence. During a straight Kama session I see myself as a blank canvas for my client to paint his (or her) picture on. Or, if you like, a musical instrument that he (or she) plays his (her) tune on. Skilled lovers play my body incredibly and have an amazing time. Unskilled clients make the mistake of undressing themselves, lying down and telling me to “Show me what you’ve got.” They receive a massage at a Kama rate – don’t be one of them!

If you crave sexual interaction with me (which I would if I wasn’t me!) but you lack the confidence, skills, experience or assurance to arrive and seduce me, I offer a Musubi/Kama session that is perfect for you. The session begins with Musubi massage and only after our bodies have relaxed and our energies have intertwined does it flow naturally into a more sexual session.

Almost all of my sessions are incredible. The only ones that have not been are either massages in which the client has not respected my boundaries and tried to have sex with me (and earned the kind of ticking off that shrivels erections) or a Kama session like the one described above when a client arrives and expects me to please him. That is just not the dynamic that leads to great sex. It may work in porn, but it doesn’t work in real life. Above all, I am a real woman who loves real sex. Please don’t book me to be your porn star – I think AI will help you create her!

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

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

My Terms and Conditions (and Why They Are Necessary)

Closing Your Eyes – a Path to Powerful Orgasm

Can Tantra Help with my “Sexual Dysfunction”?

What’s the hardest thing about my job? My answer may surprise you.

Choosing the Session to Reignite Your Fire!

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