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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.

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 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

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.

Connecting With The Heart Through a Prostate Massage

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

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

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