“Oh Gush!!” – A Story About Reconnecting to Sensation

In my recent blog post about Circumcision I shared the painful (and not very often acknowledged) truth that many circumcised men have difficulty feeling sensation in their genitals. 

 

My assertion was made, partly from my observations as a British whore working with mainly intact men but also a number of circumcised men, and also from an illuminating Zoom meeting I once had with a victim of circumcision.

 

He chose to break what I call circumcision omerta. I think because he wanted his pain to be witnessed, he wanted his broken humanity to be seen and understood by a group of deeply empathetic women.

 

We were a group of about 6 witnesses who gathered to hear the personal account of this one man’s experience of sex with a circumcised penis. It was a sad tale. He recounted how he had always struggled to connect with any sensation at all in his genitals. How sex (with himself and others) felt numb, and disassociated. How he had dived into tantra to try to connect with sensation but nothing seemed to help.

 

Then he shared a unique and fascinating insight into his shut down and disconnect. One night, whilst on holiday in Ibiza, he had taken “too many pills” and during the resulting trip he had had the gruesome experience of re-living the pain of his circumcision.

 

He told us how re-living that excruciating pain had made him understand why he felt fearful about connecting to sensation in his genitals. Dr Kelllog was was right, circumcision is such an excruciatingly painful experience that the baby/boy/man makes the choice to never feel anything in this area ever again. Shutting down all sensation to avoid ever feeling that pain ever again. 

 

It was a shocking and terribly sad story. Especially when he shared all that he had done to try to regain sensation in his genitals so that he could experience sexual intimacy in the same way as his fortunate intact brothers. He had spent his adult years yearning to feel more so that he could connect on a deeper level with his sexual partners and now with his wife.

 

Having heard of the immense emotional and spiritual pain he had suffered and of his longstanding commitment to his own healing, I asked, “If you have baby boys, will you have them circumcised?”

 

His reply still shocks me. 

“I do have a baby boy and after much discussion, my wife and I decided that he would be circumcised because it is what our people do. It is what makes us as powerful as we are. It stops us wasting our time in pleasure and makes us superior humans.” 

 

Fuck me. Apologies for swearing, but seriously, FUCK ME!! 

 

A man who had spent an hour sharing his own pain and sadness inflicted ALL OF THAT on his own baby??!! It’s an awful thing to do when you are ignorant of the consequences, but when you have lived experience of them? It truly beggars belief.

 

Further, the notion that being separated from your sexuality makes you more powerful? 

 

The notion that an individual becomes superior when he/she is denied access to the sensation that is their birth right has to be the most horrific myth around human sexuality that I have come across. 

 

My horror at his response to my question aside, the purpose of the meeting was for us to gain a greater understanding of how circumcision affects male sexuality. It had been incredibly useful for me to have such a candid first-hand account from a victim which happened to match my observations as a whore. 

 

As I had observed, by now, countless times in my professional practice, circumcision disconnects the victim from sensation in his genitals and even makes him fear feeling sensation in his own body. 

 

Sometimes this shows up in the most incredible and well disguised ways. Take my client P who travels down from the North of England to see me 2-3 times a year. A bit older than me, he had never fingered a woman before he decided to invest in sessions with me. 

 

When I first opened the door to P I saw him, standing on my doorstep with a heavy back pack and a full black bin bag. Unusual I thought. I invited him in and he asked if he could use the bathroom. I pointed down the hallway and off he trotted, bin bag in hand. I waited on my bed. And I waited. And I waited. The candlelight and the music were inviting me to lie down and close my eyes for a bit, but I kept them open and stayed seated, sexily prim, on the edge of the bed.

 

I heard footsteps in the corridor, stood up, straightened my dress, fluffed my hair and put on my most dazzling smile. This man had travelled across the country for a Kama session, I was about to give him an experience he would never forget!

 

In walked P wearing a short skirt, stockings, a lacey teddy, high heels (not as high as mine I noted) and a blonde wig.  I noticed for the first time that his finger nails were painted red. I fixed the smile on my face and said, “You look beautiful.” We kissed. The plastic hairs from the wig kept falling across his face and getting into our mouths, it was a wig designed for looking good in, not for kissing in.

 

So began possibly the strangest session of my life. I am a tantric practitioner. My approach to sex is sensual touch. Many of my sessions are highly erotic, others are steamily sexual, but they are all sensual. I guide my clients into sensation and deep, deep connection with their sensual, physical bodies. 

 

I have no experience, expertise or really any interest in sex that is not sensual. 

 

In my first (and subsequent) sessions with P he found endless ways to avoid being led into sensation. Sessions were whirlwinds of outfit changes and quick fire scenarios using toy after toy from his back pack: 

 

  • The one when I tied him into a cock cage underneath the lacey teddy. 

 

  • The one when we took it in turns to be restrained to a chair with excitingly heavy metal cuffs, blindfolded, wearing a ball gag. 

 

  • The one in which I wore a strap-on and fucked him with a large dildo followed by a larger one. 

 

  • The one when he fucked me with a mouth-dick dildo. 

 

All of which thrilled me and turned me on immensely as a route into pleasure and sensation. But all of which were ended almost before they began in the frenzied need to do them all.

 

Despite all the toys and all the variety I have never found sex to be so boring and unrewarding. I understood that it was very validating and exciting for him to share his toys and outfits with me. It just did nothing for me at all. And the 3 hours that we had agreed to (on account of him travelling such a long way to get to me) dragged on interminably.

 

I hated how unresponsive and grumpy my body was – the poor man had put in so much effort to entertain and please. But I couldn’t make my body be pleased with sex that was so disconnected and empty. Above all I felt sad.

 

P wanted connection. He craved intimacy. His desire to be seen and enjoyed was a part of this. He was doing sex the best way he knew how. But his teacher had been porn, not other women, so his learned methods didn’t work with a real life woman. Proving, yet again, that porn is a lousy way to learn how to do sex.

 

What looked great on film, flopped in real life. This whore is not aroused by lots of doing. I get turned on by connecting with a human being – to feeling sensation in my own body and through that the energy and sensation in another person’s body. But every time we got close to feeling sensation in our own and each other’s bodies the moment would be abruptly brought to a halt and we would move onto the next thing.

 

It was like some mad Charlie Chaplin era comedy in which a crazed band leader stops the band playing as soon as they have reached harmony to re-arrange the seating of the audience. 

 

And it made no sense to me. People who are comfortable with sensation are delighted to feel another person’s turn on and then stay in that space, building the turn on into an explosive crescendo. You may then move on to something else, but you don’t interrupt the flow once you are in it!

 

With P I felt there were two things at play. First, his lack of experience and contact with real women meant P’s sex life had been limited to, and informed by, porn. 

 

Secondly and even sadder, P is circumcised. Thus he may be substituting the resulting lack of feeling with lots and lots of visually exciting doing.  

 

It is even possible that he, like the man on the Zoom call, feared feeling any sensation in his genitals explaining why he consistently interpreted any flow. 

 

Whenever he got dangerously close to feeling something he would stop what we were doing, break the connection and force us to start over from cold, over and over and over again. 

 

It was exhausting. Female sexual energy does flick on/off like a man’s. We are like a pot of water, keep us simmering then turn up the temperature a bit and we will boil as fiercely as you. But drop the pot and refill with cold water and it takes A LOT of energy to get us to boiling again. Hence why I was so drained at the end of every session with him even though I had done very little. 

 

Plus, of course, there is nothing more tiring than boredom.

 

I was very aware that P had not had many (if any) sexual partners, he was making the most enormous effort to come down to see me and as a whore I owed him my time, energy and skills to guide back to the sexual pleasure and connection that is his birthright. 

 

I wanted to gift him the experience of being seen, being enjoyed and having someone share his enthusiasms with him. I wanted him to feel safe to self express and to be able to trust me.

 

The problem was that I am also a woman. And as a woman I reached a point where I could not bear another 3 hours of this kind of frantic, disconnected, pleasure avoidant, performative sex. I found it boring and incredibly draining. 

 

Sex should make you feel amazing. When it doesn’t you have to put a stop to it. That’s a fundamental rule for me and a promise the whore makes to the woman.

 

Eventually, at the end of one of these sessions, the whore looked on aghast as the woman snapped at P for doing something wrong. I can’t remember what it was, but I had reached the point at which I could smile and pretend no longer. It saddened me that I couldn’t play along with it any more, but I had reached the point that I couldn’t and I really didn’t want to.

 

I did feel really bad for him. I knew that I had become a safe place for him, we had built up a fair amount of trust. I knew he felt seen and unjudged by me. I knew I had been a good whore for him, the problem was the woman just couldn’t hack any more of it.

 

My solution was to email him and suggest that we split the long 3 hour session into 2 shorter 90 minute sessions – one session in his hotel room the evening before a follow up session in my home. He replied “Yes please, that sounds amazing.” 

 

I quietly decided that his porn fantasy sex would be restricted to the session in “his” space – the hotel room and that the follow up session in my home would be my kind of sex – a sensual massage connecting him to sensation in his body. 

 

I don’t ordinarily agree to outcalls and when I do, I charge a lot more for them because I do not like driving to a hotel for an intimate experience. Hotel rooms are bland, poorly lit, often have ill considered art on the walls, and always an ugly television to drain the room of any sacred energy. The energy of the space is always chaotic and not often happy.

 

So I prepared myself for my hotel visit with a bit of reluctance. Driving to meet a client does not make my nipples tingle like walking down the stairs does! And I was pretty sure I was going to have to smile my way through another boring dressing up show. 

 

It’s only 90 minutes, I kept reassuring myself. 

 

He was very chivalrous and met me in the car park to show me up to his room – a family room with a kingsize bed for sex and a single bed for sleeping in afterwards (how very convenient and well organised I thought).

 

He turned off the television (thank god) and I moved in to kiss him. He was still in his civvies. I expected him to pull away and say, “I’ll be back in a minute.” But he didn’t, he kissed me back. Softly, and fully on the mouth. A sexy kiss. My cunt started to twitch.

 

Tentatively I started to undress him. I don’t think I had ever had the pleasure of removing a buttoned up shirt from him before. I noticed he was shaking all over as I slowly undid the buttons and slid it off his back. I removed the low cut red top I had chosen to wear as sexy, but not ‘obviously hooker’ sexy. He fumbled with my bra strap as I undid his trousers and pushed down his boxers releasing his erection which bounced against my inner thigh as he started fondling my nipples. 

 

It was a very sexy start to our session. No wig hairs interrupting our kisses, no complicated lace outfits between our bodies, just a man and a woman removing each other’s clothes in a non-descript hotel room in the middle of nowhere. 

 

Unclothed apart from my stockings and shoes, “So sexy,” he remarked, we made our way to the bed, me sitting astride him as he played with my breasts, tweaked my nipples and enjoyed the feeling of me rubbing my vulva on his cock. It wasn’t long before he reached for a towel to protect the bed so that I could come, squirting all over him.

 

“Oh gush!” he exclaimed.

 

We laughed at his clever play on words, I told him they would be used on my website and we kissed, open mouths, greedy for each other. 

 

We kissed a lot, you’ll know that I like kissing, and that I think it is essential for creating intimacy. The oxytocin that kissing releases signals to the body that it is safe to connect, safe to feel, safe to have a deep inner experience within your own body and to share this with another person. Kissing moves people from fear into absence of fear. Kissing moves people into intimacy.

 

P and I shared an incredibly intimate time in that drab hotel room. We kissed, our bodies intertwined, he spent time fingering me whilst biting on my nipples giving me wave after wave of orgasm. I reached for a condom and we fucked, me riding him as he tweaked my nipples making me come more, soaking through the carefully placed towel underneath us. 

 

Reaching into my handbag I brought out the heavy cuffs I had grown used to using with him in the long, tiresome sessions which were all about doing to avoid feeling and being. I looked at the chair and considered cuffing him to it, but then what? I thought, I hadn’t brought my feathers and floggers, pin wheels and canes with me. 

 

Instead I commanded him to go down on all fours on the bed. I cuffed his wrists and ankles and strapped the ball gag tightly into his mouth. We would play with his toys, but we would do it my way – we would use them as a path into sex not a diversion out of sex. From my bag I pulled out my strap on, stepped into it, put on a condom, applied some lube and placed it at the entrance to his arse.

 

He pushed back onto me and we fucked, hard, for a while. I found the heavy cuffs on his ankles and wrists and the ball gag in his mouth thrilling. After a while he rolled over onto his back, ankles in the air to experience me fucking him from a different angle. Navigating my way under the chain to fuck him hard face to face I removed the ball gag so that we could kiss as we fucked. It was surprisingly intimate given the heavy restraints and the feeling of the chain against my back 

 

The session flowed. He didn’t interrupt it once to change an outfit. In fact he hadn’t brought any down with him. He now wanted more from his time with me. And he was ready to experience more during his time with me. 

 

The months in which I had played along with all dressing up and the toys and the constant interruptions to sensation had made him feel seen and accepted, which meant he trusted me – the things a whore goes through to gain a man’s trust! 

 

It had worked, which was satisfying. And, once the trust was there he was open to being guided to feel sensation again. My ticking off, whilst uncomfortable for him, had been the catalyst he had needed. 

 

If I had prostituted myself to feed his porn-fed model of sex, our sessions would have stayed stuck in uncomfortable for me and essentially empty for him. 

 

Because I am a whore I spoke my truth and gave him an option that would enable his growth.

 

And he really grew. Stripped of most of the paraphernalia he became a lover. 

 

I used his name for the first time during a session. He loved that. And he had earned that. 

 

Hearing your name moaned in pleasure is incredibly validating and arousing. When he had been busy changing costumes in the bathroom while I lay alone on the bed there had been no arousal for me, so no reason or opportunity to murmur his name. 

 

But P the lover was giving me many reasons to murmur his name. So, between kisses, I did. 

 

Despite the flow, the intimacy and the orgasmic sex that I was finally experiencing with him, he did still step away from the flow 2 or 3 times. His reason was valid – he wanted to check the time on his phone so that we didn’t overrun. 

 

The reason the conscious mind gives to step away from growth, in this case, feeling sensation in his body, is always reasonable, but I recognised it for what it was – resistance. And I made a mental note to address this in the following day’s massage.

 

I drove away from our encounter in the hotel room feeling very satisfied – both as a whore and as a woman. P had let go of the cock cage, the costumes, the tape, the mouth-dick dildo. In their absence he had felt so much more and he had given so much more. P had transitioned from being a little boy trapped in a porn bubble into a lover who was intent on serving his Queen.

 

His Queen very much approved.

 

And she was not at all surprised when he told me at the end of the session that he had stopped consuming porn. Confirming my long held belief that porn is to good sex what soured milk is to coffee. Freed from the constant images that porn feeds the brain, he was able to connect with a real woman. And the real woman had loved it!

 

The following morning, as I prepared myself and my room for the massage session, I mused over his persistent need to break away from the session. What had been costume changes and some exciting toy had morphed into a “time check” but the break was still there and whilst it had been less of a problem, it was still an interruption to the flow of energy between two bodies which this whore then had to work to reconnect. Annoying.

 

So why does he do it? I wondered. Safety, safety, safety came the whispered reply from deep within me. 

 

When he arrived, in stark contrast to the night before, I invited him to undress himself to lie down on my bed under the fluffy blanket and to close his eyes. The words of the meditation bubbled out of me, line after line bringing his attention to the safety of the room, coaching him to feel safe in his body, even when he felt sensation. I guided him on using his senses and breath to feel sensation and I connected physical sensation with his energy body and The Divine. 

 

At the end of the meditation he was deeply relaxed. Clearly feeling safe and I hoped, had begun to feel sensation in the palms of his hands if not, yet, in his genitals. I removed the blanket, asked him to roll over, turned up the music and placed my hands on his back.

 

The back massage was as beautiful as it always is. I loved the feeling of his body relaxing and yielding to my hands. I could feel that he was feeling and it pleased me. I included his prostate because, after all, I had fucked him hard the night before. 

 

When I invited him to roll over he asked, “Do I open my eyes now?” As he asked this question he opened his eyes, momentarily I felt his body tense so my answer surprised me, “It’s your choice, I think you will feel more if you keep them closed, but it is your session.” 

 

Fortunately he chose to close his eyes again and his body immediately relaxed. I poured oil over the front of his body and sat astride him genital to genital. I picked up his right hand, massaged the heart opening point in his palm before holding it on my heart chakra with my left hand, my right hand placed on his heart chakra.

 

Sitting in stillness, genital to genital, heart to heart for a few moments I allowed the energy to swirl around and between us. I heard him mutter quietly, “This is beautiful.” 

 

When I tried to move the right hand onto my left breast to play with it as I repeated the process with his left hand, his hand refused to move. I managed to massage the left hand and place it on top of the right hand. And he held both hands there for what felt like an age.

 

Where had Mr Interrupt-The-Flow gone?!

 

This was deep connection. Deeper than I think I have ever previously experienced with any client. Through his palms he was connecting his heart to mine. Our genitals throbbed slightly sending energy to each other, otherwise his palms held my body still. He did not want to break the spell.

 

I was in no hurry, I did not want to rob P of this deeply connected moment. This is what he has always wanted. He had just been looking in the wrong places to find it. I smiled to myself. Pleased to have earned his trust to finally give him the experience that he had been yearning for.

 

When he was ready to drop his palms we progressed onto the lingam massage and he enjoyed a full 20 minutes of me pleasuring his wounded cock. He came as I used a variation of the bashing technique that I use with all circumcised cocks to bring them to an explosive 10. With him I moved his cock between my two palms hard and fast, so that the glans bashed against my palms, in a rhythm that I could only maintain with my eyes closed.

 

After he came, he opened his eyes, looked into mine and just said, “Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

 

He didn’t need to say more. I knew that the whore had rewarded him handsomely for pleasing the woman so well the evening before.

 

My whore’s skills had finally been given the space to do what they do so well – re-connect a disconnected man with sensation, with his body, with his energy, with The Divine within him. To do that I had to gain his trust and that had been an interesting journey.

 

And now we are here. He won’t be able to get down to me again for about 6 months. I hope that if he uses porn again it is in moderation and that when I next visit him in a local hotel room our sex builds on the experience we had this time. I hope that with every meet his sexual confidence grows until one day he doesn’t need me any more and he meets a real, real woman who he can make smile and laugh and come.

 

Circumcision is a horrific crime committed by patriarchy on men. But it doesn’t have to be a life sentence of denied pleasure and sensation. Trust can be built between two people to create a space that is safe enough for wounded, terrified, brutalised cocks to feel sensation again. 

 

I am so pleased and proud to have the skills and knowledge to create that safe space and also the bluntness to refuse to play along with someone’s avoidance tactics, however creative and playful they may be. 

 

I am a whore. My passion, my mission and my life’s purpose is to reconnect people to the pleasure and sensation that is their birth right. 

 

Including the men who have been brutalised by the people who despise me.  

 

Photo by Alessio Zappatore on Unsplash

Life Without a Bra – Liberating Myself From Chronic Pain & Discomfort

 

For nearly a decade I have put on a bra only in the certain knowledge that it will be removed again within 10 minutes. 

 

Apart from that brief spell my breasts have been free to move as they will under my clothes for so many years that I can barely remember a life in which wearing a bra all day, every day was obligatory. 

 

From my early teens until my late 40s I thought bras, for me, were non-negotiable. I am a large breasted woman, from a family of large breasted women, and the message from my family, friends, magazines, and Trinny and Susannah (do you remember them?!) – was that as a big breasted woman I had to wear a supportive, underwired bra to give me shape and to stop my boobs from drooping down to my knees.

 

Obediently I complied. For about 35 years. I was certain that if I skipped even one day the great catastrophe of “saggy breasts” would befall me. 

 

Every night my breasts ached when I released them, so much so that I had to hold them in my arms to slowly acclimatise them to life-without-the-bra. 

 

For decades I suffered from a stiff, immobile neck which cost me significant money with acupuncturists, chiropractors and osteopaths as I tried to solve a recurring problem that never really went away. 

 

On hot summer days the wire would rub against the soft skin under my breasts making them red raw.

 

The skin of my shoulders was always marked by red lines.

 

My shoulders hunched over with the strain of carrying weight that was not meant for them. 

 

But I never once questioned my choice to strap myself in every morning for the next 12 to 15 hours. I fitted in. To go braless was completely unthinkable. So I didn’t think it.

 

Then I travelled to Mexico for a week’s tantra retreat with my coach and teacher Layla Martin. It was a long journey involving a connecting flight in Mexico City airport (where, I kid you not, I spent a good hour searching for Gate TBC) and sadly I didn’t think to give my poor body a break from the bra. I was in public, so the bra stayed put.

 

By the time I got to the privacy of the hotel room, where I was staying one night before I joined the retreat, the skin under my breasts was rubbed raw, in places the unforgiving underwire had broken through the skin. And worse, I was in the heat of the tropics to which my body had, not surprisingly, a very sweaty response. The sweat found its way into my rubbed skin, irritating it further. 

 

I had travelled half way across the world for a week of tantric transformation and my body was feeling irritated and irritable. Not a great start.

 

I was so tired I just slept. I guess I hoped that the sore, rubbed under-boob skin would be better in the morning, like it usually is. 

 

It wasn’t. 

 

I journeyed the final leg to the retreat in a bra that was killing me and it still didn’t occur to me to just take the damned thing off.

 

Thank goodness for Layla and for the week I had travelled to attend. 

 

At some level I knew there was going to be nudity involved on the retreat. I guess a bit like my clients know that nudity is going to be a part of my sessions! But I was incredibly unpractised at being nude in front of more than one person, I was far, far more used to being naked with one man than with 40 plus women and I wondered how Layla was going to persuade us all to remove our clothes.

 

As with all her work, she did it with ritual. And it’s a ritual I have adapted to use in some of my couple’s sessions. 

 

We were put into groups of 5 in which one person would receive sensory stimulation from the other 4. The practice began with the receiving person standing in the middle of a circle created by the other women. This person would remove her clothes, item by item, stating one thing she wanted to gain from the week with each item she removed.

 

In this “Goddess Reveal” we were removing “old skin” and as we did so we were calling in the person we felt ready to become. 

 

Once undressed the receiving woman lay down in the middle of her group to receive positive messaging in a multi-sensory way. One woman gently stroked her skin with rose petals, another held beautiful scents under her nose whilst stimulating taste with delicious fresh fruits. The other two women spoke positive affirmations into her ears – one person in each ear, overwhelming the conscious mind, making it impossible for it to object and offer resistance.

 

At the end of my turn as the goddess in the middle, I opened my eyes to find my naked body covered in pink rose petals. I had never felt so beautiful, radiant, held and seen in my whole life. The women were complete strangers to me and yet had gifted me with one of the most impactful 20 minutes of my life. 

 

At the end of the ritual we were all naked and we remained so, in the tropical heat of Mexico, for the rest of the week. Above all it felt completely natural and normal. What I had assumed would feel uncomfortable or awkward felt anything but. Freed from our clothes, and the identities we put on with them, we were more equal and more beautiful than I had ever previously experienced in a group of women before. 

 

It was a week devoted to pleasure and deep healing. To reconnection. To inner truth and knowing. To unconditional love for self. We did all of this using self pleasure, dance, ritual and breathwork. 

 

Inside the structure we were safe to become wild and untamed. I roared. I laughed. I cried. I spoke my truth. And I felt energy in my body on a completely different level. This was the week in which I experienced my true humanity, I felt more alive, more present and more ME than I had ever felt before. 

 

One day, after another incredibly powerful practice, a young German woman, who I  thought was the most beautiful amongst us, said, “I am looking around at all your beautiful bodies, all so different and yet all so perfect, and I realise that if YOU are all so beautiful then I must be too?!” 

 

We laughed, because every single one of us thought she was undeniably beautiful, how could she possibly think otherwise? But her point was spot on. If every woman in the room – all different shapes and sizes and ages, is beautiful, then how is it possible for me to be the sole exception? 

 

We all stood still and absorbed this profound truth. We are all beautiful. We are all perfect. We are all frigging magnificent!

 

That was another moment that changed my life. 

 

Looking around the room every single body was unique, no two were the same and yet every single body was perfect and balanced. I realised it’s the clothes that we try to fit into that make us less than perfect, WE are all utterly beautiful. 

 

I saw how all of our freed breasts moved in perfect harmony with our bodies – as if they were made to fit (imagine that?!) All different shapes, sizes and ages, we all look balanced, natural, perfect. 

 

One woman kept her bra on for the week (she had made a promise to her husband not to remove it) and she was the only one whose body looked odd. I was really struck by how odd a body looked wearing a bra. Her breasts didn’t move with her body. They perched a bit too high and a bit too forward, they didn’t look right at all. 

 

I realised bras are made to make clothes look good, not to make bodies either look, or feel, good. 

 

Spending a week with 40 plus naked women I understood why men who love women generally love every female body. We are all unbelievably beautiful! I wish every woman could experience this embodied experience. It would destroy the beauty industry, but make for much much happier humans and far more intimate relationships. 

 

When the week came to an end we realised we needed to put clothes on again. We had only been free of them for a week and yet it already felt deeply alien and a hostile act to restrict our bodies in such a way. The skin under my breasts had had a wonderful rest but, in the sweaty heat of Mexico, hadn’t healed. 

 

I selected layers for my travelling home outfit and packed the rest away in the suitcase that would go in the aeroplane hold. My bra was zipped away into my case. It travelled home with me but I was a changed woman and I would never unthinkingly wear it again.

Who can forget this advert? When I was a young woman this image was on every billboard on every city street across the country, probably the world. 

 

It must have made a lasting impression on me because when I think “SEXY” I think “HELLO BOYS.” This image was clearly at the back of my mind when I styled my first Anabelle pictures (if you call rummaging in your underwear drawer on the morning of your first photo shoot “styling”?!)

 

After Mexico I didn’t burn my bras, I just wear them selectively, choosing to only wear a bra for impact, for that important first impression when I open the door to my client. Red lipstick, bouncy blonde hair and black plunge bra – what’s not to like?! I do still love the feeling of a man removing my bra and don’t want to lose that additional moment of joy from my life.

 

Bras are great for certain situations – like the pleasure of feeling hands on your back fiddling with the catch – and certain outfits require them, but in my day to day life I feel so much freer and way more comfortable without a wire digging into my soft flesh. 

 

Returning to normality after Mexico was hard. I landed back in England at the beginning of a warm summer, the sun was warm enough for me to be naked as I had been on retreat, but I have no privacy in my garden and I knew my kids would object. 

 

I ached to feel as vibrant and alive as I had in Mexico, I yearned to feel the sun on all of my skin again but I had to compromise. Clothes would stay on but my bra would stay off. 

 

And that is how I took off my bra. It wasn’t a great big political act or statement. It was just me finding a way to honour my body’s deep yearning to feel a little bit less clothed, constricted and uncomfortable. 

 

As much as I loved the feeling of my freed breasts (especially the soft arousal of my nipples rubbing against my clothes) I lived with a nagging fear of The Great Catastrophe. 

 

If I persisted in being wild and untamed and allowing strangers in Waitrose to see my nipples pushing against the fabric of my clothes – surely I would get punished by the gods and receive the cursed “saggy breasts”? 

 

My rebellious nature, which had definitely found herself expressed and loved in Mexico, said, “Fuck it!” but there was always a highly conditioned, frightened voice within me cautioning compliance. 

 

First there’s the problem of the visible nipples, not naked but still visible – what would Mark Zuckerberg make of them? Should I walk around with two nipple stars attached to my clothing? 

 

And there’s always been the deeply embedded fear of The Great Catastrophe. 

 

Were my careless, bra-less ways going to lead me to deeply unsexy, saggy boobs? Wouldn’t I be better to play it safe and invest a bit in discomfort today for the pleasure of well shaped boobs tomorrow?

 

Then Substack offered me an article entitled “What Happens To Your Body When You Stop Wearing A Bra For 30 Days.” I was brushing my teeth before bed and clicked on the article, fully expecting to read about The Great Catastrophe and how it was too late for me – how I was doomed (there’s nothing like a bit of doom scrolling just before bed is there?!)

 

Imagine my surprise and delight when I read that, on the contrary, abandoning my bra nearly a decade ago was one of the best things I ever did for my health.

 

Yep. You read right. Bras are bad for women’s health and the less we wear them, the better.

 

Let’s start with The Great Catastrophe. Turns out to be another honking myth. Who’da guessed?! 

 

Breasts are more than milk sacks with horny nipples attached. They are MUSCLES, which just like the vagina or arm or leg muscles need to be used to work. When you stop walking your leg muscles suffer muscle atrophy. It’s the same with breasts. When the muscles of the breast are not used to support the weight of the breast the muscles lose their ability to support their own weight.

 

Our breast muscles are supported in their work by ligaments – Cooper’s Ligaments to be exact – and they become more active and effective at holding the breast tissue in position when they are allowed to do their job.

 

Wearing bras reduces the ability of the body to support itself. Much like staying in a wheelchair after a broken leg has healed reduces your ability to walk again. This is why removing my bra at the end of the day had been painful for years – the unworked muscles and ligaments were being asked to carry their weight after denying them decades of the necessary training. 

 

The bra story gets worse.

 

If you’re a woman you know that your bra is meant to fit tightly around your back. The shoulder straps are to hold shape, not carry weight. Much like the hip strap on a heavy back pack redistributes the weight from your shoulders to your hips. 

 

However, as most women will also tell you, soon after a bra fitting (and how often do we actually have those in our decades of bra wearing?) the back strap loosens, and as we have shoulder straps we don’t really worry about it too much. Thus our shoulders end up doing a job that they are not equipped to do.

 

This is the reason so many of us suffer from chronic pain across our shoulders and in our necks. The bra has taken the job of supporting our own breasts away from the muscles and ligaments designed for the job and redistributed it to our shoulders which were never designed to carry this load.

 

This explains why, since my return from Mexico, I have not needed to visit anyone to help me with neck pain. I don’t suffer from it any more. I hadn’t made the connection. 

 

I thought it was because I live a life with much less stress than I used to. I am sure being less stressed is good for me, and I am also sure that allowing my breasts to develop independence and strength has been very good for a body that is blessed/cursed with large breasts.

 

I’ve spoken at length about the sore skin I suffered from wearing an underwire bra. This is just an irritant compared to the real problem. 

 

The underwire inhibits the lymphatic system in the body from draining properly. The lymphatic system is the drainage system that clears cellular waste, immune debris and excess fluid. WASTE AND DEBRIS – i.e. shit you do not want in your body is inhibited from leaving your body by the wire in your bra! 

 

No wonder I have more energy in my mid 50s than I did in my mid 40s. I have spent nearly a decade with my body removing waste in the way it was designed to – huzzah!!

 

And it gets worse, especially from a tantric whore’s perspective. 

 

The tightness of the bra’s back strap inhibits a woman’s ability to expand her chest fully to inhale the oxygen we use to stay alive. It’s pretty obvious that the bra is what remains of the corset that stopped women breathing for hundreds of years. We thought we had escaped. But we haven’t. We are still routinely wearing a garment that makes it harder to breathe than it should be.

 

This is not a small matter. The air we breathe in – notably oxygen – is carried through our blood stream to every single cell in our bodies where it is used to create energy –  the energy our bodies use to keep us healthy, vital, vibrant, active, alert, engaged, sexy – alive. When your body is limited in its ability to inhale oxygen your energy, and your life, is deeply inhibited. 

 

There’s an irony here. Women wear bras to look sexy (they raise our boobs and enhance our waists) but by wearing them we probably feel a lot less sexy. Because who feels sexy suffering from a sore neck, with a build up of waste fluid in your body, with boobs that ache because they can’t self support and lacking the oxygen we need to create energy in our cells?

 

I had no idea when I abandoned my “everyday bra” that I was doing something so good for my body. No doctor ever suggested that I stop wearing a bra so that my lymphatic system could drain properly and so reduce the build up of toxins in my body that may lead to cancer. Of course they don’t, they don’t want to empower me to live healthily, they want to make money from scans, operations and toxic drugs. 

 

I had no idea that The Great Catastrophe was happening every day I continued to wear the contraption that I was told would prevent it.  I had no idea that the best (and scientifically proven) way to prevent The Great Catastrophe was to allow my breasts to do the job they were designed to do and support themselves.

 

My breasts are happier. My nipples are WAY happier! My neck is happier. The cells in every part of my body are happier. And from making a decision that SAVES me money every year. 

 

I cannot think of another thing that saves me money as my health improves.

 

Huzzah! 

Circumcision Through the Eyes of a British Whore **Sensitive Content**

I do not write to upset anyone. I write to offer a different perspective and hopefully bring about change. Circumcision is a barbaric practice, if I can save one penis from this suffering by writing my truth, then that is reason enough for me to be honest and brave. 

 

Deep, heartfelt apologies if I cause any further pain to anyone by doing so. 

_______________

 

When I was a young child I was obsessed with collecting conkers every autumn. My sister and I would wake early and rush out to the local conker trees to gather our hoard before any competition arrived. 

 

My very, very favourite finds were intact but cracked shells with the conker still nestled cosily inside. My eager fingers would prize the crack open until the shell broke in half to reveal the glistening conker within. 

 

We were always so pleased with our early morning collection, gathered up in our skirts to transport home. Old shoe boxes, containers and even drawers filled up with our precious finds. We’d then watch, with great dismay (every year the same dismay) as our precious, glossy conkers dulled, dried out and hardened. 

 

We’d try to varnish them with clear nail varnish to bring back the glorious glossy coat but that didn’t halt the drying out process. Within days the glisten had completely gone, within months our beautiful, moist, plump, glossy conkers were shrunken and withered. 

 

To anyone who knows the joy of finding a fresh conker in its shell but has only ever known circumcised penises, this is what you are missing out on. The emergence of moist, plump, glistening glans pushing out of the foreskin as the cock hardens always reminds me of the thrill of a brand new, glossy conker on a crisp autumn morning.

 

As a British whore I encounter relatively few circumcised cocks, and I grieve with all of them.

 

The men attached to these circumcised penises generally don’t know the horror of what was inflicted on them. They were either too young when it was done to them to have any conscious memory of an intact penis (of course all boys enjoy their intact penises in the womb) and/or are too socialised into how “normal” it is to remove the most sensitive part of the male body in a barbaric and highly profitable blood sacrifice.

 

I don’t share my sadness with my clients. I don’t want to make them angry or upset about something that they cannot change, but I have decided that I need to write about my experiences because the omerta around circumcision is the only way this barbaric practice continues. 

 

Let’s begin with my experiences. I accept that I bring my own feelings about circumcision into my work, so you could argue that the pain, and sometimes anger, that I feel coming from the cock into my hands is a projection, but I don’t think it is. 

 

At the start of every lingam massage I hold the cock in my hands for a few moments. Cocks are so conditioned for performance – to do something, to be hard, to be majestic, to impress – that it’s very healing for them to be gently held, cupped in your hands with no expectations. I sit still for a moment, quietly, lovingly, connecting the heart opening points in my palms with his lingam in whatever state of arousal he is currently in. 

 

Often the cock will soften slightly as I sit and hold it, I can almost hear the sigh of relief as it does so. A few cocks cry when I sit and hold them in this way. I feel their pain and the tears almost start flowing from my eyes. 

 

Every single one of them has been circumcised. Every circumcised cock that I hold at the beginning of my sessions is in pain – deep emotional and spiritual pain. 

 

As an expert in lingam massage I understand why. They have far less sensitivity than their intact brothers. They have been mutilated. Brutalised to stop the man feeling his true sensual pleasure. 

 

Yet here he is, lying before me hoping to experience the pleasure that will always elude him. 

 

However much breathwork he does, however creative his positions, however skilled he or his partner become, he will never recover the sensation that was cut away from him at birth or in early childhood. 

 

The “civilised” West abhors female genital mutilation yet remains in conspiratorial silence about male genital mutilation. 

 

We mutilate and brutalise our baby boys (well I didn’t – thank you NHS) and are then – shock horror – horrified when our boys act in brutal ways when they reach adulthood. 

 

***Not all circumcised men brutalise women*** – I am categorically NOT claiming that. But I have read reports linking a society’s rates of circumcision with its levels of violence against women and even, quite shockingly, unnecessary gynaecological surgery. There is a correlation. Which makes sense – brutalised people brutalise.  

 

I’d come across a few circumcised cocks as a young woman, but to be honest, to the untrained eye one erect penis looks much like the next (and young women tend to avoid looking directly at any penis, erect or not), so my first circumcised cock as a professional, about 10 years ago, was a bit of a surprise and a rather sad challenge. 

 

He was a lovely, lovely man who was going through a divorce and navigating all the emotions and financial disputes that entails. He wanted some TLC and a session that would help him rebuild a bit of sexual confidence. I tend to suggest a Musubi massage in these cases: lots and lots of body to body contact with no pressure at all to perform, he could just lie back, receive and interact as much as he wished to.

 

We met, we chatted, we undressed. I massaged his back then his front, incorporating lots of deeply sensual, oily, body to body gliding and grinding, maximising contact with my breasts, nipples and pelvic mound. Everything was as it always is – stirring energies in both of our bodies, a lovely erotic, sensual massage.

 

I slid down his chest to sit between his legs and begin the lingam massage. His cock softened as I held it in my palms and I noticed, with curiosity more than anything else, that he was circumcised. I honestly didn’t think much more about it. 

 

I naively assumed that he would experience the lingam massage in much the same way as all my intact clients did. By now I had tried and tested strokes that cocks responded to quite predictably. I just assumed that this one would be no different.

 

But oh, how very, very different. 

 

To begin with I didn’t have the joy of watching glistening glans emerging from a foreskin. There was no foreskin. His glans were different to the ones I was used to in my professional experience to date – they were toughened and leathery and the deep glossy purple that I was used to was replaced by a dull skin colour.

 

Worse, where was his frenulum? I searched both sides of his glans to find it (hoping that somehow I had forgotten its location and that if I looked hard enough I would find it!) It was gone. Sliced away with his foreskin at whatever age this had been done to him. 

 

The frenulum is possibly the most important body part in a lingam massage. A bit like the clitoris is possibly the most important body part in a yoni massage. Both are packed with nerve endings. Both are different on every body you encounter, but so far, in my professional work as Anabelle, every lingam had had a frenulum, and a foreskin for that matter.

 

So many of my tried and tested strokes had been removed from me because this lingam in my hands had had the most important parts removed. I obviously knew what had occurred but there wasn’t a chapter in the book I had learned lingam massage from on how to deal with a circumcised lingam. 

 

Sadly circumcision omerta is as alive and well in the positive sex movement as it is across the rest of society. I had to think on my feet and fast.

 

I spent extra time massaging his balls – at least the knife doesn’t touch these (they wouldn’t – too crucial for the precious patriarchal seed) so they thankfully retained the sensitivity they were born with. I massaged the root of his cock and about two thirds of his shaft were unaffected by the “surgery” but I was at a bit of a loss about how to give sensual pleasure to the desensitised glans.

 

I spent a long time honouring his cock, pleasuring him as best as I could but he didn’t come. At the end he told me that he had enjoyed a “relaxing” massage and I knew it had been both sensual and erotic at times, but I also knew that his “failure” to come was the last thing he needed to rebuild confidence. I was relieved when he asked if he could see me again – I would have a second chance to get it right for him.

 

After he left I rushed to Google to find out how you give a lingam massage to a circumcised cock. One suggestion, I kid you not, was to spend more time massaging his ankles as this is apparently super erotic for men. I bagged the tip but I didn’t think an ankle massage was going to get my client from a “relaxing” and erotic 7 or 8 to an explosive 10.

 

I kept searching for what seemed quite an elusive answer – circumcision omerta again – no-one wants to admit that circumcised cocks are a completely different beast to those that are intact. 

 

How can you give a circumcised cock which has lost so much sensitivity a deeply sensual massage?

 

Finally I found an answer that frankly horrified me – it was suggested that I slap or bash the glans to mimic hard fucking. I hated the idea, but committed myself to giving it a go if he visited again.

 

He did and I did use my palm to bash the end of his cock as I moved the other hand up and down his well oiled shaft. It made me wince, but it made him come. Hurrah – but how awful. 

 

I am used to using delicate fingers and the soft palm of my hand sensuously over the glans, bashing this usually highly sensitive body part with my hand seemed the complete opposite to loving, tender, sensual or sexy. He left feeling a lot better and I felt really, really sad. And angry.

 

Why? Why are men routinely circumcised across the world? Why remove such an important part of their bodies for NO MEDICAL REASON WHATSOEVER? If you ask an intact man if he would willingly forgo his foreskin and frenulum, he’ll wince, instinctively cover his cock with his hands and say, “NO WAY!”

 

My understanding of circumcision in the patriarchal world is that it evolved to save men, like Abraham (the uber patriarch) from sacrificing their first born sons to an incredibly blood thirsty God. Where Mother Earth Goddess encouraged her people to self pleasure and fuck each other in worship of her, the new Sky God wanted blood. Not menstrual blood but the blood of young boys, on their father’s knives.

 

I think there is some idea that to “belong” to God’s tribe you must sacrifice that which is most precious to you, if not your whole son, then at least the most sensitive part of his body. 

 

For most of the centuries since the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, when Christians have felt it important to be distinct from their Jewish cousins, a circumcised penis was otherised – it was a clear sign that the man belonged to the other faith. Christians in Europe had intact penises and this practice was assumed at the creation of the NHS, much to this whore’s deep gratitude. 

 

Something strange and very sad happened to Christian menfolk in North America in the 19th Century. Masturbation, which had always been seen as a seed wasting sin under patriarchy, became the topic for much hand wringing and pulpit pronouncements. 

 

Dr Kellogg, eugenicist and nutritionist (yes, THAT Dr Kellogg), was particularly agitated by the evils of male and female self pleasure. He created cereal based breakfast products to help American youth to grow up healthy in body and mind – apparently cornflakes would stop young people wanking.

 

Sadly, in his fear and disgust of sexual pleasure, his remedies were far more brutal than boring breakfast cereals. For girls he recommended the use of carbolic acid to burn away the clitoris, and circumcision – without anaesthetic – so that “the brief pain….will have a salutary effect on the mind” was the remedy he used for boys. 

 

Fortunately for women the carbolic acid remedy didn’t take off. Unfortunately for men the circumcision remedy did, becoming mainstream, “normal,” and even a symbol of belonging amongst American men.

 

What America did in the 20th Century, the world mimicked. As with nylons, rock and roll, movies and popcorn, so with little boys’ penises. 

 

Now, much of the world removes the most delicate and sensitive part of baby’s penises, robbing these boys and the men they will grow into of a huge amount of their sensitivity and pleasure that they were born to experience.

 

Today in the US, baby foreskins are a multi-billion dollar industry. Hospitals harvest foreskins for their profit. Parental consent is not required. Parents who want to stop this from happening to their babies have to keep round the clock vigil. Exhausted mothers fear falling asleep in case a nurse whips their baby away to be tortured and maimed for life for the profit of the medical industry.

 

And it is torture. I have read many horrific reports from nurses who had to stand by and watch as newborn babies are strapped into a plastic, inverted Y shaped raft forcing their legs open and apart. Held down in this way the baby is unable to raise his knees to protect himself or respond to the hideous pain of having an area rich in nerve endings operated on. 

 

Kellogg’s recommendation that no anaesthesia is used is unbelievably continued to this day. The “surgical” procedure is done without anaesthetic because the baby is too young and vulnerable to cope with such medication. 

 

There is no thought to delay the procedure until the baby is able to withstand anaesthetics. The completely unnecessary procedure is carried out on newborns without any pain killers. 

 

In a supposedly rational and civilised country the very youngest and most vulnerable are mutilated, often against their parents’ expressed wishes, for the profit of the medical industry, to fit in with societal norms and, I would argue, even to this day, in an ancient ritual of blood sacrifice. 

 

Mothers report the hideous pain of having their babies returned to them blank eyed, staring, crying, un-soothable. The happy, nuzzling baby she had met at birth has morphed into a pained, distant, isolated child. Mothers report the guilt of not protecting their boys when they were at their most vulnerable. 

 

Sons report never truly bonding or trusting Mother – or any other woman – ever again. Thus patriarchy succeeds in dividing mothers from their sons at what should be the most beautiful, sacred, precious and protected time. 

 

I cannot tell you how happy I am that my sons were born in England.

 

The little boys grow up to become men and everyone – I mean everyone – pretends everything is alright. A penis is a penis right? Once erect they all look the same and “perform” the same, right?

 

WRONG. Oh how terribly, awfully, badly wrong you all are.

 

A circumcised penis is a traumatised penis. 

 

The delicate and highly sensitive frenulum has been removed along with the foreskin exposing the sensitive glans which naturally harden over time. Further, unlike its intact brothers the circumcised penis cannot self lubricate – that ability was removed with the foreskin. Decades later many still carry the clear scars of the procedure. The scars are not just physical.

 

As I discovered, the toughened glans need rougher treatment to feel any sensation. The gentle spidery strokes that make an intact lingam quiver in my hands are simply not felt by a circumcised cock. 

 

And it gets worse! 

 

Very often the man is unable to feel sensation in his genitals at all. Dr Kellogg was right. The pain of the procedure is so great that the baby chooses to never feel anything in this area ever again. Can you imagine a life devoid of feeling the tingle, pleasure and explosive joy in your penis? 

 

Circumcision is the triumph of patriarchy that wants sex for reproduction without the distraction of pleasure. This is why I don’t have time for anyone who claims that patriarchy exclusively harms women for the benefit of men. Baby girls are not butchered within hours of birth in any country, certainly not in the supposedly “civilised” West. 

 

Circumcision is patriarchy harming men.

 

But male circumcision doesn’t only harm men. It deeply harms women too. Women understand the deep pleasure of slow, sensual, languorous, sacred sex. Sex that is as much about “fore” play or “outer” play as it is about penetration – it’s how we get aroused and we can spend hours there. 

 

Reduce the pleasure that one of the bodies feels during this kind of sex and you are going to reduce the amount of time spent there. Much to the detriment of women who love it so much.

 

Internet porn has made a bad situation worse and it infuriates me that young intact British men are learning how to “do” sex from what they see on their screens. Porn is largely an American industry – thus the circumcised cock dominates both as the star and the consumer. 

 

Porn is made by (directed by, produced by, acted by, edited by, even lit by) circumcised men for circumcised men. No wonder women find most of it repulsive, it’s not made with our pleasure in mind. Worse, I think the hard, repetitive fucking it models often harms women and reduces the pleasure an intact man could have. 

 

I am lucky to have lovers who range from their late 80s down to their early 20s. Generally speaking, the older the lover, the better he will be. Clearly, men, like women, get better with age! But I think it’s more than that. 

 

I was a young woman once and I had sex as a young woman – before internet porn – with young men. And they did not fuck like the jack hammers of today do. I do not like repetitive hard fucking that goes on for the length of a wank. It is tiresome, boring and wears the soft flesh of my cunt. 

 

Intact men who learned how to fuck pre-internet porn are more nuanced, varied and imaginative. They vary the tempo, the position, the speed, the angle all so that they, and I, can feel a little bit more. Porn influenced lovers, even the intact ones, don’t seem interested to feel, they simply want to act the porn star in their own imagined film. It’s shit sex!!

 

The insidious practice of circumcising Christian men across America and much of the West is now robbing intact British men (and their women) of the true joy of sex and it’s a problem that is getting worse. 

 

Women know what orgasm feels like, we bring ourselves to orgasm a lot. Having sex with a jack hammer just doesn’t measure up. It is not orgasmic for us. It may look good in a porn film (does it?!) but it feels at best boring and at worst abusive in real life. 

 

American women are flocking to sex coaches to mend “their” brokenness, and they may well experience shut down and shame in their bodies which can be healed through beautiful, mindful practices. 

 

But those practices alone are not going to mend the non-orgasmic sex they are having with deeply traumatised cocks.

 

Someone has to name the elephant in the room. 

 

Circumcision is a hideously brutal practice inflicted on men and by extension the women in their lives, by a patriarchal system that seeks to suppress and oppress and deny all that is beautiful and powerful within us so that they can continue to oppress, control and exploit us. 

 

If any body part could summarise the exploitation and abuse of patriarchy I would suggest it’s the foreskin. 

 

_______________

 

Further Recommended Reading: 

 

After my first professional encounter with a circumcised cock I fell down a bit of a rabbit hole to try and understand how such an obviously harmful practice is still so mainstream in our modern, supposedly rational world. I have tried to do what I always do in these blog posts and stick to my experiences and thoughts. If you want to explore further, as I did, I highly recommend Intact America as a place to go to for further information and, if you feel motivated, to join the campaign to stop any further genital mutilation of baby boys.

 

Photo by Georg Eiermann on Unsplash

Indulge in my Full Girlfriend Experience

Taking The War Out of Man – A Whore’s Musings

What is this “War”?

 

What is “Man” fighting?

 

For many men the war is deeply personal – grief, loss, loneliness, disappointment, depression – a life lived so out of alignment with his soul’s purpose that he can’t rid himself of the constant sense of dissatisfaction, however much material success he has created in his life.

 

I contend that these (and other) personal experiences are different manifestations of the same war waged on all men. A war waged on all humans by the social structure we have lived under for the last 5,000 years of our 300,000 year existence – patriarchy.

 

Patriarchy does not serve women, we know that, but anyone who thinks patriarchy serves men, or indeed, is designed to serve men any better is deluded and just not seeing the actual evidence right in front of their eyes.

 

It frustrates me how common it is to see men unthinkingly defending a social system that is designed to control them and limit their dreams and desires, just as much as it intends to control, limit and suppress women. 

 

Patriarchy is the system created by an elite FEW (very, very, very few) to own ALL the resources including human time, labour and energy for the benefit of that teeny tiny elite.

 

Patriarchy fully intends to control and exploit men. 

 

It does so by pretending to represent them and by offering them the control of women in exchange for their compliance – a classic, age-old strategy of divide and rule. Patriarchy is a hierarchical social structure which, by offering men power over women, hopes to hoodwink men into not seeing their own loss of personal power and sovereignty. 

 

Based on what I see in the world around me the strategy worked.

 

Obviously this is a tragedy for women who have spent 1,000s of years under the boots of their men-folk. Considered little better than the rest of the family’s livestock, not even granted a soul for 100s of years, women were consigned to live under the “Rule of Thumb” (an English law that stated a husband could use corporal punishment on his wife – his possession – as long as the stick he beat her with was no thicker than his thumb).

 

But it is an equal tragedy for men who suffer immeasurably from the separation and disconnect this patriarchal structure has imposed upon us all. 

 

Men and women are at their very best when they are connected in loving harmony. Harmony, equality, union, co-operation, collaboration are all ideas that are deeply threatening to patriarchy which relies, for its survival, on a hierarchical structure of control.

 

Maybe the most threatening teaching that Jesus offered the world was the joy of union with a woman he considered his equal in all ways. Certainly the efforts of the patriarchal Church to suppress and extinguish anything to do with Mary Magdalena (including her gospel) would suggest this to be the case. Unlike Adam, Jesus was at ease receiving wisdom, guidance, love and deep sexual companionship from his female companion, Mary.

 

As she was highly trained to do, Mary ignited Jesus’ kundalini energy playing with it to strengthen his energy body for the trials he was to endure. It was an integral part of their work together. The union of Mary Magdalena and Jesus had the potential to heal the deep wound of separation inflicted on humanity by the vicious response of a vengeful God for Eve’s innocent curiosity.

 

The patriarchs would not allow it and we know the rest of the story – the crucifixion, the Council of Nicea and the extermination of the Cathars, just for starters.

 

Maybe that is why men have remained so compliant? They look at what the patriarchs did to Jesus for daring to connect in divine sexual union with a woman he considered his equal in all ways, and, from fear, have denied themselves this pleasure ever since? 

 

I am sure very few men find themselves nodding along to my words, they’ll be saying, “Not me…I’m not like that.” But in 100s of different ways you are.

 

Let’s look at the statistics. Something like 95% of women aged between 18 and 24 admitted to having been sexually harassed in some way.  The only way a figure this huge can be explained is that men (and women) just don’t know to interact sexually. 

 

This is no surprise to me. Patriarchy pushed sexual desires and urges deep into society’s shadow from where, unseen, unacknowledged, untrained, unchannelled, unmastered, unrefined –  it simply reeks havoc.

 

Few of the men doing harm to women want to harm them. They want the opposite. They dearly want to connect deeply and passionately but they simply don’t know how.

 

This is 100% the fault of patriarchy! 

 

Divide and rule remember. How better to divide and rule than to divide us by gender and make 50% of the planet fear the other 50%. And yes, I know the fear goes both ways. Whilst women fear physical harm (even death), men fear emotional harm and deep shame from women. 

 

Everyone is meeting for sex filled with fear (and her sister shame) making sexual intimacy an increasingly rare experience. 

 

And patriarchy is delighted by this!

 

The unhappier and more disconnected we are the more we self medicate with their offerings: material possessions, food, alcohol, drugs (peddled both legally from your GP’s surgery and illegally on the streets) – it makes them richer by making us poorer – materially, emotionally and spiritually. 

 

The war I see in all men (and by extension all women) is this tragic disconnect between them and the lie, which began with Adam that there is only one “correct” way of “doing” sex and that everything else is in some way sinful. We have all been duped into believing that the “original sin” was reaching for and tasting knowledge from the Tree of Life.

 

Adam’s self injurious notion that Lilith should submit to the new patriarchal model of sex as the only way to have sex birthed 1,000s of years of myth making around human sexuality denying humans their true sexual nature and the deep connection that flows from it.

 

The worst myth, and it absolutely is a myth, is that men want power over women in the bedroom. It concerns me that every single one of my clients thinks that he is “odd” because my pleasure is more important to him than his own gratification. I am concerned that he finds this “odd” because it is completely normal! 

 

Every man wants his sexual partner to be lost in raptures of orgasmic pleasure – it makes him feel AMAZING. 

 

Yet Adam has convinced us all for 1,000s of years that “real men” are threatened by, even uninterested in female sexual appetite and pleasure. To maintain the patriarchal version of “masculine” men reinforce the notion that it is “normal” for them to disregard (or even shame) female sexual pleasure.  

 

When they confess their true feelings it is to me, a whore, rather than with other men in the locker room or the pub.

 

Imagine a world in which men felt safe to share spell binding sexual experiences and pool ideas on how to please their women with each other. You can’t can you? That’s patriarchy damaging men. 

 

Men are not safe to talk amongst themselves about the sex that they yearn for because to do so would make them appear less masculine. 

 

So they continue to joke about “fishy fannies” whilst secretly adoring the taste of the woman they were lucky enough to go down on. 

 

They continue to publicly slut shame young women for sexual misadventures but never the young men they were misadventuring with.  

 

In this world where good sex happens in secret, but bad sex is practised in broad daylight, is it any wonder that many men simply do not learn how to “sex” a woman?

 

A second damaging myth, related to the first, is that women are not, by their “true nature”, as sexual as men, and worse, that sex harms women. According to patriarchy, men have (and are even encouraged to have) voracious, “animal-like” sexual appetites and it is the duty of women to counter this, fend off the beast in man and civilise him. 

 

Thus women are shamed if we feel anything animal-like within us and then shamed further when we fail to tame our men (who, until recently, could legally beat us with thumb thick sticks when we disobeyed them?!) Under patriarchy men get all the permission and women get a double dose of shame, so how does this myth create a war in man?

 

Because “Nice guys”, men who have grown up under feminism with newly empowered mothers (released from the “Rule of Thumb” at least) believe this myth. They have either been told expressly as young and impressionable boys by their mothers that sex harms women, or they have absorbed this from the culture around them. 

 

Of course as decent human beings many, if not most, men will reject the abusive and exploitative model of sexuality personified by the likes of Andrew Tate but many, very sadly, come to the wrong conclusion that it is sex that harms women not harmful men misappropriating sex that harms women. 

 

With good information (the reason why I write this blog) and with good experiences (the reason I am a whore) men can learn how to give women sexual experiences that nourish and empower both parties. But deprived of good information and/or good experiences, and living in a world flooded by toxic online porn, many, many men are left feeling that in some way their desire for sex with women is harmful and must be suppressed. 

 

Can you see how that harms men and causes an internal war within them?

 

Penetrative sex, the sex that men most yearn for, requires the man to be so deeply present, so loving, so honouring, so respectful, so trauma conscious, so confident, so strong and sure in himself – it’s a big ask! 

 

And it is all possible. 

 

However, if you have grown up believing that sex is harmful to women how can you show up in this way for women sexually? How can you be deeply present for her during sex if you are fighting internal feelings of guilt, shame and self loathing?

 

Any sex you do have will lack connection. The experience will lack real pleasure for either of you. Worst of all, your lack of presence will make her feel unsafe, she won’t be able to abandon herself to you and the rubbish sex that you end up having will have been harmful to her because sex without deep connection, presence, honouring and reverence is harmful.  

 

This is how nice guys inadvertently cause sexual harm to women, ending up not so different to the monsters they distance themselves from.

 

And, for many men, unresolved, this situation gets worse.

 

Lucky women are married to men who have had enough good experiences or have consciously chosen to develop the traits she needs him to have for nourishing, abandoned, orgasmic sexual experiences. These women, your whore included, remain sexual their whole happy lives. 

 

Unlucky women are married to men who haven’t done the self development and growth, so faced with years of weakness and lack of presence in the bedroom they simply stop agreeing to sex with their men.

 

Being married to a woman who does not want sex with you is such an obvious harm to men that I am seriously flummoxed that they can’t see what patriarchy, and its myth making, has robbed them of!

 

Please don’t misunderstand me, I don’t think any of this is the individual man’s fault. I do not blame men for patriarchy. My whole shtick is that patriarchy harms men as much as it harms women and to give you some really good reasons to stop defending it and fighting to keep it! 

 

Patriarchy has done immeasurable harm to human sexuality. We heal it by understanding what has been done to us and then by working together, not by pointing fingers of blame at each other which only hands another win to patriarchy.

 

The war in man is much the same as the war in women – of course it is! We are all humans and we have all been driven apart by an exploitative social system that seeks to control us all.

 

So let’s blow these myths right out of the water shall we? 

 

Women are by nature as sexual as men – we have been shamed since before Eve by patriarchal society way more than men – but we ALL, men and women, want sex!

 

Men and women all yearn for deep loving intimacy in our sex. Men do not want to exert their power over women sexually or in any other way. They never did. It has always harmed them, at a spiritual level, as much as it did women. 

 

Men want partnership. They want to be seen, to be held, to be loved, to be accepted for who they are as much as women want to be seen, to be held, to be loved and to be accepted for who they are.

 

We are not different. We are all the same. Essentially it’s not complicated – we all want the connection, the joy, the orgasmic download of hormones, the experience of transcending our prosaic material existence to dance amongst the stars in the infinite quantum realm. 

 

We all want the deeply intimate connection with another human being that stops us feeling so isolated and alone on this planet.  

 

Whores understand this. We see the war in men and experience the war in our own bodies. We have done our own deep inner healing and committed to enough personal development to show up for others from a place of deep love and compassion. 

 

Whores want to bring the world together in love and harmony but we are up against a very well oiled and very powerful machine which does not want to let go of its creation: disunited and miserable humans living separate, isolated lives. 

 

Challenge these myths in your psyche when they show up. 

 

Be a ripple in the pond that shifts humanity’s consciousness. 

 

“Normal Women” By Philippa Gregory

 

“The Magdalen Manuscript – The Alchemies of Horus and The Sex Magic of Isis” By Tom Kenyon and Judi Sion

 

“No More Mr Nice Guy” By Dr Robert Glover

What is the Point of the Clitoris Anyway? A Whore’s Musings & Fantasy

What if, in the beginning, human sacrifice wasn’t literally about taking the physical life of a human being, but an offering of something from the selected human to please Goddess? 

I have a hunch, in my body, like a soul-level knowing (so not provable, by me at any rate) that early sacrificial ceremonies were sexual not bloody. That any blood involved would have been menstrual blood but quite possibly of secondary importance to amrita – the “nectar of the gods” – the healer of all ills.

What if, pre-patriarchal humans gathered around a sacrificial altar not to draw blood but to draw orgasm and female ejaculate? The death, le petit mort, would have been the spiritual death of ego perhaps? Maybe these ceremonies were initiation ceremonies that apprenticed whores went through to earn their places as temple priestesses?

The position of the clitoris on the human female body is curious and frankly problematic for anyone who claims that the ONLY role for human sexuality is procreation. Why evolve a highly sensitive bundle of nerves out of reach of the penis during the patriarchy-approved-man-on-top model of penetrative sex if the ONLY reason for sex is to make more babies? 

For that matter, why evolve a clitoris at all?

Patriarchy hasn’t cared too much to provide an answer to this conundrum. Men get pleasure from patriarchy approved man-on-top penis into vagina penetration and that’s all that’s needed for his active seed to be planted inside the passive, receptive female who will host it while it grows into a baby. 

The ancient Greeks believed female orgasm was necessary for conception but the enlightenment era disabused us of this ridiculous notion and from that point onwards, for conception anyway, female pleasure has been of no importance.

So why bother giving a woman a clitoris that is not in any direct contact with the male body during the “correct” (man on top) method of conception? 

Dr Kellogg was so bothered by its existence that he suggested the use of carbolic soap to burn it away (plus the invention of bran cereal to bore us all to death). A few highly patriarchal societies still practise its removal so that women aren’t distracted by the temptation of pleasure in any moment of their enslaved lives. 

The presence of the clitoris has bothered a lot of people over the centuries. A lot. And when a lot of people, in a lot of societies, make so much fuss over a small, apparently superfluous, body part it makes me ask, “Why?” And I muse over this “Why” a huge amount.

I’m not a particularly “clitoral woman” but in the UK we don’t tend to circumcise any of our children, so I do still have both my clitoris and labia – inner and outer- complete and untampered with by anyone ever. (If you have a clitoris and labia and are reading this, do yourself a massive favour and keep all kinds of persuasive plastic surgeons away from this very sacred and highly sensitive area. Please.) 

Many of my clients assume that because I am a woman the best way to arouse me is to stimulate my clitoris (it’s not) and because they are my clients and it’s not unpleasant in any way I will happily allow them to lick and stroke my clitoris for often very long periods of time. And, Mr Enlightenment Scientist, it’s never during penetrative sex!

I have one client whose devotion to my clitoris is exemplary and for about a year our 90-minute sessions were almost completely devoted to this one small body part. He is particularly obsessed with watching me come and whilst I would guide his hands to my nipples and vagina, he would return to his favourite spot: my clit. 

There’s only so many times that a modern whore can correct her client, eventually you get to the point where you decide, “This is a lesson for me. It’s time for me to practise what I preach – surrender to sensation and go with the experience.”

It’s incredibly enabling and permissive to reach the point of surrender. As the professional in the room, I figure that’s my client’s treat, but I have many clients who get enormous pleasure from watching my surrender and abandonment and, with a trusted few, I really go there. With my clit client I reach the point in a session when I know my role is to receive whatever he chooses to give me. 

Obviously, that takes enormous trust which we have built together over the years he has been visiting me. I also play with surrender at a whole new level. I have explained to him that for me to receive the amount of sensation that he gives my clitoris I need to be really still. I need to focus on my breathing and the distribution of energy he activates there. 

I play a game with myself of being completely pinned down, spread eagle on the bed, held by four imaginary people who will not allow my limbs to move in response to him at all. It feels sacrificial. And, at times, his touch feels as sharp as a knife.

The game is to take it all. As my clitoris gets increasingly sensitive, I allow myself to receive and feel at deeper and deeper levels within my body. Yesterday, for the first time, a priestess stood next to me, her mouth by my ear whispering, “Surrender Anabelle, surrender.” Every time I felt like raising a knee, twisting a pelvis or moving an arm in response to the penetrating sensation, I felt her presence commanding me to stay still, to surrender, to be the sacrifice.

I don’t know of what. But it thrills me. It thrills me to submit to increasing levels of discomfort that lead to deeper and deeper orgasms. To feel myself transported to an ancient time when our bodies were revered and worshipped and offered in sexual rapture to The Divine. It thrills my client too. He most often lies with one arm under my head, holding my body close to his, keeping it still, sometimes rolling a nipple between his teeth. 

His entire being is fully devoted to my rapture and he doesn’t relent even when he can tell the pleasure has become so intense that I can barely take it.

On many occasions over the years I have whispered, “Keep going” in reassurance that I am ready and willing to be taken over this cliff edge. It is terrifying. And exhilarating. It feels like I am going to break in half, but if in that moment, I remind myself to breathe and relax, letting go of any tension, giving sensation space in my body to move down the legs and through the torso, the intensity is reduced and I’m able to take more. 

My mind travels back thousands and thousands of years to when I sense this was the lived experience of my lineage. 

Imagine the excitement of being dressed “for sacrifice” in pure white, wearing a crown of blossom, perhaps May blossom, on your head. Being led up the aisle to the altar, through a community gathered in wonderment to witness you being offered to Goddess. You sit on the altar, your white robes and flower crown are removed and you lie down on the hard, cold stone, your arms and legs pulled to the four corners of the block and held down. The high priestess stands by your head to lead the “service”.

In my imagination there are two scenarios at this point. In the first a single shaman stimulates my clitoris making my body pulsate in wave after wave of orgasm – my pleasure is the offering to the Goddess. 

In the second, I am there to be pleasured by every man selected to take part in the ceremony. As a sacrificial body I lie in the same position, I do not lift my arms or my legs in any way, I am there to be fucked senseless. Senseless as in beyond feeling – into a deeply, deeply surrendered state.

The fucking goes on for hours. My body gives everything in sacrifice to Goddess, my amrita drenches the altar and the many men who have fucked me. They have drunk from me and got drunk on the energy from me. Goddess is satisfied and I am carried off to be bathed, to eat, drink and sleep.

In the morning I am reborn. Le petit mort that I experienced over and over and over again on the sacrificial altar has been my initiation into the most highly revered position in society: a priestess in the Temple of Horus, a temple whore. I will now join similarly highly trained and initiated whores in daily worship of The Divine, who we know as Goddess.

My client is a very self-effacing professional, he has no idea that he is a shaman involved in human sacrifice!  

What he does know and he does express to me is how much pleasure he gets from watching me come. He feels amazing that he can make me come over and over again and is amazed at my ability to surrender and receive more and more and more sensation on my clitoris.

“Most women push you away after she’s come, they say it’s too sensitive, it’s amazing how you allow me to do it again and again.” 

I explain my “game” and what I’m doing and it delights him. 

So, let me add to the initial conundrum, why are so many men so pleasured by female pleasure if sex is ONLY about procreation?

For many, many sessions we didn’t even fuck and it’s only recently he’s allowed me to give him blow jobs before the clitoral sacrifice. And he’s far from unique in my professional experience. 

The clients who book Kama (my full sex service) do so, less because they get to fuck me, and far more because they get to experience my sexual pleasure. They want to drink my amrita, they want to see me lost in wave after wave of pleasure, they want to feel the joy of my complete abandonment. 

Why are men wired to enjoy female sexual pleasure so much if sex is ONLY about procreation and female pleasure, (according to Messrs Enlightenment Science) is not a requirement for that?

My theory, one that I initially read in “Sex at Dawn”, is that human sexuality is not ONLY for procreation, it is also, as our ancestors knew, a deeply sacred portal to The Divine. 

Orgasmic folk who are reading this know what I am talking about and will nod along in agreement because they will have experienced this in their own bodies. Orgasm is far more than the release of sticky liquid from the end of a cock and a delicious download of chemicals in the body. 

For many of us, orgasm is when we transcend our mundane, earthly existence and are transported into a sacred realm for a period of time that seems to last an eternity. 

Folk like me feel immensely relieved to stumble into the world of tantra because, finally, we hear ancient knowledge and understanding that explains our hitherto deeply sinful desires, re-framing them as something profoundly sacred.

“A miracle is a shift in perception that changes everything” I recently heard the podcaster Dan O’Connor say. Accepting the universe’s invitation to become a whore and reconnecting my sexuality to the sacred has been miraculous. I didn’t need evidence (though I enjoy it when I read it) I only needed to change my perception. To make this happen I simply frequently ask the question, “What if?”

These two words have totally changed my life. They allow for infinite possibilities, they’re playful, creative and deeply rebellious.

Now whenever I am told that I can’t do something I cheekily ask myself, “What if I did?”

When my body screams “I can’t take any more!” I gently ask, “What if you surrendered deeper?”

When society tells me, “Women aren’t by their ‘true nature’ as sexual as men,” I giggle, “What if they are?”

When I’m told that all men are bastards and don’t want to give us any pleasure, I retort, “What if that’s bullshit?”

Can you see how miraculous “What if?” can be? 

You can question and re-frame any rule or belief handed down to you; in fact, I think it is our obligation to do so! Because ultimately the greatest, most threatening question we can collectively ask is, “What if we can sexually pleasure our way back to personal sovereignty and freedom?”

Despite my clitoral sacrifice fantasy and play I don’t believe it is a woman’s duty or role to be a portal to The Divine for the whole community. Much as I would LOVE that job, I actually believe it was shared amongst us all. 

We all have front facing genitalia, perfectly positioned for us to stimulate on our own without the assistance of others. We also all know the great pleasure and transformation we experience in our bodies when we stimulate our genitalia. What if we all have highly sensitive genitalia on the front of our bodies so that we can all partake in group ecstatic dance ceremonies to worship and honour The Divine?

We know that Goddess wanted her people to be highly sexed and that she discouraged monogamy. I am certain that human communities worshipped Goddess and bonded tightly with each other through sexual ceremonies. In churches Christians still drink the blood and eat the body of Jesus Christ – what if the origins of this continued practice are amrita and blow jobs?! 

Sounds so much more fun to me!!

In my very first week of spiritual training in a completely mundane provincial hotel conference room the coach stood us 10 participants in a circle. She talked us through about 10 minutes of “Haa” breathing – deep inhales followed by long, slow, slightly restricted exhales that cause you to make a “haa” sound in the throat. Initially it made me feel a bit light headed, then as I got into the flow, I became aware of tingles throughout my body as it oxygenated. 

As the tingles grew, I became acutely aware of the energy coming from other course participants. The circle we were standing in held the energy in the middle. When we stopped breathing, we were invited to feel the energy we had created between us. It felt as tangible as a large beach ball and we laughed as we moved it around and across the circle.

I had never consciously felt the energy of a group before; I was completely awestruck. And hooked. That was the point of no return for me – my life has been devoted to experiencing energy ever since.

We were only 10 people and we were not accessing our sexual energy; it was not that kind of training. All genitalia were neatly packed away – it would take a few more years for me to experience group practices that incorporated breath work and genital stimulation. And yet, the power of the energy in that room created by a group of newbie breathers who weren’t accessing their sexual energy was incredible.

What if someone learnt how to harness that energy?

What if someone highly skilled and experienced guided groups of people to activate and direct energy through the power of breathing?

What if these same people knew to add in the creatrix power of sexual energy?

What if humans truly believed to the core of their beings that their sexual energy was sacred and rightfully used in group ceremonies under the direction of a shaman for the good of the whole community and the satisfaction of Goddess?

Would the frontal position of our genitalia make a little bit more sense if my “”What ifs” were all true?

Lilith abandoned Adam because he decided he was God’s first (and most important) child rather than one of many children beloved by Goddess. In his absurd arrogance and profound ignorance, he turned his back on millennia of beautiful, playful, devout, sacred sexual practice and in his wake centuries of men have struggled to explain the presence and location of the clitoris.

What if Adam and all his male followers have all been wrong?

What if sex is for all our pleasure?

What if female pleasure is a particularly sacred aspect of sex?

What if procreation is a positive side effect of worship, but a side effect much like whey is from the main product, yogurt?

I don’t wish to diminish or deny the joy that children bring to our lives, I just seek to suggest that maybe, just maybe, sex is about so much more than making sons to fight wars and daughters to pick up socks from the floor.

What if the whores you diminish and despise are actually here to guide you back to The Truth.

 

Recommended further reading:

“Sex at Dawn” by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha

“She Comes First” by Ian Kerner (A how to guide on the art of giving clitoral pleasure – Note: not all women are aroused by clitoral pleasure – this whore isn’t!)

 

Photo by Margo Evardson on Unsplash (woman on sacrificial block)

Giving Adonis an Adonis Massage – The Day I Met Black Panther

 I am a married woman and I am a whore. Strange combination you might think?! 

 

Actually it is perfect. I am very happy in my marriage, I am married to an incredible man, who is proud of my work, as I am of his. We met over 12 years ago and are still very much in love. We have one of those beautiful loves that gets stronger and stronger with every passing year and, importantly for both of us, our sex just gets better and better as our bodies age. 

 

After work I find it really helpful to transition from whore, not only back to mother, but also to wife. It keeps me grounded. And it stops me from losing myself in my work. When an enthusiastic client invites me away on holiday or out to dinner I genuinely don’t want to go – I want to be with hubby. So whilst I am willing to go – if they pay me of course – I don’t get confused and blur my boundaries by being nice and accommodating. 

 

I genuinely like and even love my clients when they are with me. I am uniquely placed to experience a part of people that most people don’t connect to, I know I have quite a few clients who experience parts of themselves that they don’t connect to with their wives or anyone else. I feel deeply honoured to be that person. I value my clients’ trust and faith in me and work with integrity not to break it.

 

And, very importantly, other than my pay, I don’t want anything from my clients. That is the exchange. It is clean. It is professional and it keeps both sides safe and boundaried. I feel it is very important that I never want anything back from my clients. Life would become an agony if I were waiting for a text from every man I had shared a beautiful moment with. 

 

So after work I refocus my love and my energy on my man, my god, my king. 

 

Then one day, as a delivery man was unloading a bulky delivery in my drive, my client arrived. Earlier, I had messaged to warn him about the delivery and to ask him to park on the lane instead of the drive. He had replied politely that that would be no problem. 

 

I was feeling a bit more frazzled than I like to feel. 5 minutes before his arrival I had been out on the drive in curlers and kimono signing the paperwork. And there he was, calmly walking towards me like a character out of a Marvel movie – Black Panther in the flesh. 

 

He was BEAUTIFUL. All my clients are beautiful. They all have beauty within them and every single soul is a beautiful being, but this man was BE-AUT-I-FUL. Drop dead gorgeous, turn heads in the streets, kind of beautiful. Young, tall, broad, well built and he was walking towards me standing in the doorway feeling very old, frumpy, normal and, well, inadequate.

 

Fuck I thought, he’s made a mistake. This is going to be soooo awkward.

 

“Hi, lovely to meet you” I smiled. He returned the greeting and stepped inside, sliding off his shoes and following me up the stairs.

 

“Do you need to use the loo?” I gabbled.

 

“No,” he said with smiling eyes, “I think I’m alright, thank you.”

 

Oh his voice. He had a beautiful voice too. HELP!! 

 

I showed him into my room, checked that my Adonis massage was the service that matched his desires, asked about prostate massage, his reply, “I don’t want to deny myself the experience, but I’m not completely sure,” then asked him to undress and lie face up on the bed for the meditation. 

 

I am meant to be the calm one. It is my job to be calm and reassuring to steady my client’s nerves and I wasn’t feeling at all calm. I had a bad case of imposter syndrome. What was this complete Adonis doing in my space? 

 

He lay down, I spread the sarong over him and I started the meditation. Thankfully, because I say it most days, the words found their own way out of me and calmed me as they guided him into a deep relaxation, connecting him to his senses and through them, to his energy body. I kept my eyes closed, I generally do, but on this occasion it was to stop myself from seeing the horror on his face when he realised his mistake. 

 

Meditation over, I asked him to roll over, turned up the music, placed my palms on his sacral and heart chakras and then drizzled oil over his back. It glistened in the candlelight. I have massaged some beautiful backs, I have even been in the presence of other Adonis backs, but this one thrilled me like never before. I think it was the play of candlelight on his dark, oiled skin and the contrast with my pale hands, it was exquisite. 

 

What is he doing here? He’s perfect. Why would he want to spend time with you? You are so unworthy of him.  Over and over the same unhelpful thoughts interrupted my hands. I felt less free and flowing than I usually do – when I feel worthy. 

 

I had to get a handle on myself or I would not give this beautiful man the massage that he was most worthy of. 

 

So I gave myself a talking to. I reminded myself that I am a whore. We are here, above all, to give service. I did not have time for all this “I’m not worthy” BS, I needed to put my shoulders back and behave like a proper whore so that this Adonis received the service he had come here for. 

 

It sounds like an easy task, to give yourself a bit of a talking to and banish the “I’m not worthy” voices and feelings long enough for you to do your job, but it hasn’t been easy for me. 

 

Raised by a family which told me, daily, for years that  “You are the ugly one”, “You are impossible”, “You are difficult”, “You are angry”, “You are disruptive”, “You are unwanted because of your behaviour,” I developed a very strong ego identity about being deeply unwanted and unworthy. I’ve done a lot of work to re-wire myself and, “I’m not worthy” is still obviously in there because it still shows up on occasion.

 

My lack of worthiness was very much based on looks. Yes, you all tell me I’m attractive, and I know I am attractive enough, but I am not on the same level as this Adonis. I have age, height, lack of athleticism and just boring old genes against me. As I massaged his back I just felt older and fatter and flabbier. Oh dear!

 

And then, the queen in me said, very powerfully, “ENOUGH Anabelle. This lovely man has entrusted his beautiful body into your very capable hands, give him what he came for and what he deserves.” 

 

I closed my eyes, I connected to the music and I connected with his energy beneath his skin. Under his perfect cloak he was as vulnerable and as human as me and I had been in danger of denying him connection because of my feelings of unworthiness.

 

For shame.

 

After the stern talking to from my queen the session was beautiful. He had requested that I incorporate my feet into the massage in some way. After massaging his feet, I leant back, oiled up my feet and rubbed them over his shoulders, buttocks, thighs and back. I enjoyed the challenge and the creative playfulness. 

 

I did give him a prostate massage. His anus was very unsure and it took a long time for him to open for my finger. I wielded my feet to both arouse and reassure him, stroking his legs with my right foot as my finger quietly moved into him. Inside I stayed very still, feeling for his racing pulse to slow down and allow his muscles to relax. They did and I was able to gently massage his prostate. 

 

I was careful to remove my finger as gently as I had inserted it. If you pull a finger out quickly it shocks the sphincter muscle into tightening and tensing, gripping the finger you are trying to remove. I didn’t want to cause him any shock, so I very, very slowly removed my finger as my left hand moved down his back from his heart chakra until, finger removed, my left hand cupped his anus gently.

 

I circled my breasts around his buttocks a few more times distributing the energy that would have been released by the prostate massage and then as the music quietened to almost nothing I asked him to roll over.

 

I had dealt with my “I am not worthy,” now I had a new challenge. He had booked for an Adonis which is a classic, very boundaried tantric massage. He had reiterated when I asked on his arrival, that he wanted a session in which he felt the energy moving inside of his body, not an interactive session. My role was to facilitate his pleasure.

 

When he rolled over I wanted to devour him. 

 

I had admired, and felt slightly intimidated by, his beautiful back. As I appraised the front of his body I simply desired him. If he had booked for Kama or Musubi, this would have been fine, I could have enjoyed moving my body up and down his torso, holding his cock between my thighs, feeling it inside me if he had booked Kama – oh I ached to feel him inside me. 

 

But he had booked a boundaried Adonis. I am a professional and had no idea about his personal situation. I don’t allow an Adonis massage to go “off piste” because it is only by having strong boundaries that my clients are safe with me. I may have strongly desired him, but he had not booked a Kama session to fuck, so I couldn’t allow my desires off the leash.

 

I smiled, breathed deeply – a long, slow exhale – and poured oil over his torso, in circles around his perfect flat belly, along his shaft, over his strong thighs and I continued to honour this perfect, perfect man, who I really, really wanted to fuck, with the most beautiful massage that I am capable of giving. 

 

I kept my eyes closed as much as I could to keep my mind clear of all intruding thoughts of sitting astride him, taking his cock into my body, of feeling his beautiful big hands on my back (a bit calloused – carpenter? I wondered), of lowering my nipples into his mouth to feel a sharp nip from his teeth, of kissing those full lips. 

 

Yep, I had to keep my eyes closed.

 

It’s an unfamiliar feeling for me to desire someone so much. You may think that strange, let me explain. 

 

In sex I have very strong feminine energy – I am a masterful receiver. I give an exquisite massage, but my real talent is in receiving and mirroring back the energy that a lover gives me.

 

Think moon/sun. Where the sun (masculine energy) is the source of light – the giver of pleasure – the moon (feminine energy) merely reflects the light, or the joy, given by the sun. 

 

Without the sun we would never see the moon. And it is usually the sun in another person who lights up my moon. Which is why I come alive in the arms of a lover but am very quickly bored by self pleasure. I, the moon, respond to other people’s desire, I am not the sun, radiating desire for others. 

 

Yet here I was filled with incredibly strong, desirous energy. I wanted to move the session from massage to full sex. Every fibre of my body was begging me to make the first move and seduce him into sex.

 

I may be a sexually empowered woman but I am also a whore. I hadn’t met this beautiful, crazily desirable man in a bar, I had brought him into my life via my website in which I offer professional services with professional boundaries. I had checked in with him at the beginning and he had reiterated that he wanted the boundaried service.

 

We would have incredible sex.

 

But that wasn’t what he had asked for.

 

I may be experiencing unfamiliar sun energy in my body, but I would have to keep it under wraps. 

 

I moved my body further away from the temptation of his and arranged myself at the bottom of the bed, between his feet, so that I could massage his chest and cock with my feet. I had to use all my concentration to do this safely which made for a really good distraction for my overheating sun.

 

His eyes were closed. His body relaxed, his whole being was lost in the experience. I should have been really pleased with myself, I could tell he was having a really beautiful inner experience. I manoevered my body into position for the lingam massage, took his splendid cock in my hands and released a few really long, deep, slow exhales.

 

His lingam, like the rest of his body, was a complete joy to massage. I opened my eyes a few times to check that he was still relaxed and to locate my oil bottle, but as I generally like to do, I massaged his lingam with my eyes closed, following the music connecting to his energy and losing myself in the experience.

 

He came explosively after about 20 minutes – just the right amount of time I noted with satisfaction. And he lay still for quite a while. His energy was calmer which calmed mine. I opened my eyes as I rubbed his sperm onto my breasts. I surveyed his beautiful, relaxed body with a mixture of deep satisfaction and pride and also regret. I remember stroking his right thigh with my left hand and as I watched my hand move slowly over his glistening skin thinking, I could fall so in love with you.

 

Not I love you. Not you are deeply loved. Not I am channelling love from the divine to you. 

 

I could fall in love with you.

 

The last man I thought that about is now my husband. 

 

I thought I was immune from falling for a client. I thought I was the consummate professional. 

 

And I am. I had this feeling, I had these thoughts and I didn’t act on them. I am the consummate professional. 

 

He opened his eyes and said, “That was immense. Thank you.” I smiled my reply – you’re welcome, my pleasure. And I said, “You have a very perfect body, it was a joy to give you a massage.”

 

“Thank you, I work hard in the gym to achieve it. I am glad you liked it. That’s good to hear.” He laughed gently. Oh, his voice….

 

We talked weights and he told me he can hold his own body weight hanging from his hands for a full 4 minutes (explaining the callouses on his hands), “I can do 10 seconds” I laughed. 

“10 seconds is better than no seconds, every little bit helps” he purred. 

 

It felt very intimate sitting between his legs, holding his softening cock in my hands. Looking down so that there was no chance of making eye contact, I said, “It’s lucky I am a married woman, I could fall very in love with you.” He didn’t say anything, but seemed a bit taken aback. 

 

I continued nervously, talking to fill the silence – an annoying habit of mine, “I mean you’re just incredibly beautiful, it’s such an honour to touch a body like yours. At the start I had a big inner battle with feelings of unworthiness and had to give myself a stern talking to…..”

 

His response interrupted my flow, “You felt unworthy? I was worried you wouldn’t open your door to me!”

 

I looked at him. For a moment I held his gaze. And felt such shame and sadness for the multiple ways humans have found to divide ourselves from each other. Age, race, class, beauty, hobbies, income, the cars we drive, the houses we live in – all conditioned egoic ways to keep us separated from each other, partitioning ourselves into narrower and narrower silos, limiting our life experiences and keeping us divided. 

 

I stroked his beautiful body, not wanting to let him go. To keep him on my bed talking, talking about anything so that I could feel the vibrations of his beautiful voice stirring every cell of my being. I wanted to keep my hands on his body feeling the energy of him moving through me. I feared if I let him go I would never feel him again. 

 

Then he said something that my former self (as in my 90 minutes earlier self) would not have believed. “I used to think I didn’t have a type. But more and more I think I do. She’s kind of you.” 

 

My fragile, I-am-not-worthy, ego struggled to receive those words, she still does. This Adonis thinks I’m his type? How ridiculous! 

 

How I did not fall onto his body and beg him to fuck me I do not know. And writing this, I really hope he did not confuse my professionalism for rejection.

 

Instead I walked him down to the shower and returned to my room to begin tidying away the session, to begin my transition back to wife and mother.

 

He returned, cleaned and as beautiful as ever. And we engaged in small talk as he dressed. I thanked him for being so accommodating about my delivery, I asked about his work – how very English and we talked about the hot dry spell we had had – also how very English.

 

Then I showed him out. He walked away from me. I may never see him again. 

 

I had a beautiful experience with an incredibly beautiful man. I am immensely proud of myself for maintaining boundaries and proving to myself that I am, still, however tempted, a professional. 

 

But, I have crossed a professional rubicon, for the first time in a decade working as Anabelle, I want something from one of my clients. 

 

I want him to message me and book another session. 

 

I want a Kama session with my Adonis. 

“I Don’t Need The Meditation.” Au Contraire Sir, You Really Do!

I write a lot about the beautiful sessions that I experience with my clients. By now you must think I only have amazing sessions, that somehow I am beyond human in my compassion, tolerance, kindness and sex drive. Sadly this is not the case. I am very human and sometimes my sessions are a car crash.

 

I try my utmost to avoid the car crashes. My booking process weeds out a lot of people whose desires or needs are not in alignment with my work and I am careful to confirm which of my services a client wants before s/he arrives. 

 

Today was a car crash and it was, in part, because yesterday I simply gave up trying to extract from this client which service he wanted, suggesting that we chat about it on his arrival. I assumed that because he had visited before he knew, appreciated and liked the way that I work. BIG mistake. 

 

As he walked into my carefully prepared space he told me that he wanted Kama (my full sex service) with a massage but added bluntly and somewhat dismissively, “I don’t need the meditation.” He is a man of mature years with the material trappings of a very successful life – the gold watch, the big flash Range Rover – and he fully expected me to give him exactly what he wanted on his terms.

 

But, as you know, I am a whore, not a prostitute. 

 

I offer very specific services which I have explained and described in great detail both on the main pages of my site and in my blog posts. The only reason why he could assume to dictate how I run my session is because he manages to combine entitled arrogance and a deep lack of respect for me and my work. 

 

As my husband points out this is not hugely unusual from people who have made A LOT of money – they have become accustomed to “Walking all over others” and it programmes them to behave in toxic and, sometimes, self-defeating ways.

 

Let me repeat. I am a whore, not a prostitute. Which means your money cannot buy me. Which always comes as a huge surprise to men who are used to buying everything (including the trophy wife).

 

Yes, I exchange money for my services, just as you almost certainly do, but I dictate how I give my services, not my clients. I am deeply honoured and proud to work in the way that I do and my hackles rise in much the same way, as I imagine a solicitor’s or tax advisor’s hackles rise when their clients deem to tell them how to do their job.

 

If you don’t like the way I choose to work, book someone else! But do not take a booking in my busy diary (that I could give to someone who respects my work) to then walk into my space and disrespect my very carefully considered and crafted practices.

 

Furthermore, Mr “I Don’t Need The Meditation” turned out to very much need the meditation. 

 

I have long used meditation in my practice. For years I would meditate as part of my transition process from mother to whore. Mothering is a frazzling business! Lots of rushing around ticking jobs off a list, knowing where everything is and anticipating multiple needs from multiple people. It is the opposite way of being to the calm and deeply present whore.  

 

So, after doing the school run, walking the dog, hanging out the laundry, unstacking the dishwasher, tidying the house, making the bed, showering, doing my hair and dressing I would sit and talk my way through a calming and connecting body meditation before my client arrived.

 

I also used a tantric body meditation with all of my coaching clients and in my personal life as a means to connect more deeply during sex. But for years I chose not to lead my Anabelle clients through this incredibly powerful tantric practice. 

 

My tantra teacher Layla Martin used to say “Lighting a few candles does not turn a regular massage into a tantric massage.” She was alluding to the fact that the word “tantra” has been co-opted by the sex industry to sell a service that resembles tantra like chicken nuggets resemble roast chicken. 

 

I was marketing my tantric massages to people who were expecting chicken nuggets and for years I lacked the confidence to give them roast chicken. But the thing about confidence is that it grows and I became increasingly aware that my clients only wanted chicken nuggets because they had never tasted a well roasted organic, free range chicken – which I have the knowledge and skills to give them.

 

I decided to move my meditation time inside the session time so that my clients could be led through the same meditation I had been leading myself through for years. The results have been miraculous. 

 

Why is meditation before a sexual service so powerful?

 

Well firstly, it relaxes your physical body. A relaxed body experiences sexual energy in a very different way to a tense body. Tension pushes sexual energy out of the body (ejaculation) in part because tension and tightness create blocks to the natural flow of energy around the body. 

 

When you are deeply relaxed, and free from tension, sexual energy can expand inside of your body, moving to fill every cell of your body so that orgasm, when it happens, is an expanded, whole body experience. Tantra is not actually about “better sex” it’s about consciously connecting to your energy body, your creatrix power, and connecting to the energy of other people through, amongst other things, sex.

 

You connect to your energy body by feeling and connecting via your senses to sensation in your body. The meditation I guide myself and my clients through is a body meditation – it brings your awareness into your body so that you have a heightened physical experience inside your body. When I finish the meditation my body is fizzing all over and I know from client feedback that this is very often their experience too. What an incredible way to feel before you’ve even touched! 

 

It takes about 10 minutes. I ask my clients to close their eyes, listen to the music, smell the scent of divine masculine – frankincense incense – burning in the room, and to feel sensations both on their skin and inside their body. I guide them to connect with their breath, coaching them gently on using the exhale to relax their physical body and the inhale to oxygenate, and so grow their energy body.  

 

Oxygenating the body serves two powerful purposes in tantra. First the rapid intake of oxygen expands and grows your energy body (like bellows strengthen an unsure flame into a roaring fire) and second it takes down your cerebral cortex – your bossy, busy, rule following, conditioned mind – leaving you free to enjoy your sexual pleasure in a shame free, rule free, performance free way. 

 

The combination of a quiet mind and an activated body is super powerful when it comes to experiencing your sexual energy in unfamiliar yet powerfully expanded ways. And it is both my passion and my mission to introduce my clients to this power within them.

 

If I could wave a magic wand over humanity for them to experience more connected sex, it would be to get them out of their heads and into their bodies. This is why I now always start my massage sessions with a meditation, I am waving my magic wand. 

 

Gone are the days when I will give a tantra-lite massage. There are loads of women who do that, but as you know, I am a whore not a prostitute and I serve roast chicken. 

 

When today’s client told me that he didn’t need the meditation, I simply smiled (hopefully hiding my irritation) and replied, “Yes you do.” 

 

I invited him to undress and lie down so that we could begin. But you and I both know that from that point onwards it was a waste of my time (and his). He was certain that he didn’t need the meditation so he lay in stubborn resistance – you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink. 

 

I loved the meditation and my body was fizzingly alive when I asked him to roll over. I turned the music up slightly and placed my hands on his sacral and heart chakras. The irritation I had felt when he had dismissed my practice as unnecessary had dissolved, I had let it flow out of me on the exhale as I guided him to “Release, relax and let go.”

 

I gave him an exquisite massage, making sure to include his arms and the heart opening points on the palms of his hands. His feet curled around my breasts as I massaged them, his buttocks lifted up to grind against my body as I glided over his bottom. It was sensual, erotic and at times very sexy, exactly what he had wanted, but I knew he was only accessing a fragment of the sensation that would have been available to him if he had allowed himself to receive the meditation.

 

The build up to the car crash started when I asked him to roll over and the session transitioned from a Musubi massage (where I am in control and giving pleasure) to Kama full sex service in which I hand over the reins a bit and receive as well as give pleasure. 

 

Receiving pleasure from a man who opened the session by disrespecting you is always a challenge. The meditation and the massage had moved my body from irritated shut down to open-to-being-persuaded, but she did still need persuasion.

 

As women’s bodies go, mine is really very easy to persuade. Especially when you, the giver, are connected to the energy in your own body so can feel the energy communicating from my body – which ahem – is the point of the meditation. When the two (or more) people having sex are connected to the energy (sensation) in their bodies, have stopped thinking about sex and are feeling sex it’s easy, it flows and it is utterly magical.

 

But if you are stuck in your head and not connected to sensation in your body it is so easy to get it wrong. And boy did my client today get it wrong.

 

Sex from the head feels wrong. This is because when people give touch and sex from their heads they are following a recipe, a manual, a list of pre-programmed DOs, they are not feeling and responding to the person they are actually with. 

 

For most of human history humans lived in their bodies and sex would have been an extension of that. Then the patriarchs got busy and wrote a sexual rule book, which as you will know by now if you’re a regular reader of mine, was written to shut down human (particularly female) sexuality. 

 

Severed from our natural connection to our bodies we stopped feeling sex, replacing feeling with thinking and the results are just icky. The giver doesn’t know why it is all going wrong and can’t feel what to do to make things better. So they frantically work through their list of “Things I DID that once worked” in a desperate attempt to please their partner who is dealing with the great big ICK of having sex with someone who is not connected to their own humanity, let alone hers. 

 

With my body moving over his, my oily breasts massaging his torso and occasionally stroking his cock, his fingers briefly found my vulva. “Ooh good” I thought, I love my vulva being stroked as I stroke a cock with my body. I imagined our sensual play slowly becoming more sexual until I reached for a condom and we fucked.

 

Then to my surprise and horror his fingers passed over my delicious vulva – a body part that is well known to get aroused when stroked – and one of them pushed into my arse suddenly and abruptly. After a few moments of over-excited prodding around in my anus with a sharp nailed finger,  just as suddenly and abruptly he was  heading back to my cunt – with the same finger.

 

Let’s set aside the crass disregard for my body’s health and hygiene and let’s return to sensation in the body. IF he had been in any way connected to sensation in his body he would have been enjoying the feeling of energy moving from my body to his cock as I glided up and down his front. He would have lost himself in our sensual kissing, he would have pleasured my breasts, my nipples, my vulva, my clit – all the quite standard places to turn a woman on!

 

But his head had a mission. And it was to tick anal play off his bucket list. So with seriously poor timing he just pushed his finger inside me. And timing is everything.

 

I removed my body from his, slid down to the bottom of the bed, pulled a thin latex glove from the box I keep on the chaise longue and said, “Ooh, I see someone is excited about anal play! You’re the one with the prostate, you’ll enjoy it so much more than I do!” and applying lube to my finger (I am better mannered than he is) I pushed in my finger.

 

Regular readers will know that this is never, ever the way to enter an arse, male or female, but I gave him what he had just assumed to give me. He didn’t like it any more than I did, despite having a prostate. Removing my finger and the glove, I sat over him, rolled a condom onto his actually very beautiful cock and rode him. He felt nothing. Of course he didn’t! He was wearing a condom and had not connected to sensation in any other part of his body. 

 

It was soon pretty tiresome. I closed my eyes to hide my boredom. I knew he was desperate for me to come and squirt on his cock like I had in our previous session, but Mr IDNTM had angered my cunt with his thoughtless finger and once angered she will fuck you until you come, but she won’t give you the pleasure of her pleasure as she does so. 

 

His mind was racing, I could see it and feel it. He was rummaging through the “How to have good sex” guide that he had written for himself in his 7 plus decades of life. His suggestion was that I remove the condom and finish him off in his mouth while he finger me.

 

Anything to bring this session to an end my cunt begged.

 

So I raised myself off his cock, removed the condom and bent down to give him the best blow job that my mouth and throat were willing to give. And this is the critical part. Women’s bodies open for lovers when they are respected and pleasured. 

 

This whore is a woman, my body opens delightfully for lovers who respect and honour me. She is far less willing with someone who seeks to control me. Today my body was pretty damned reluctant. I needed to progress carefully so as not to violate her boundaries.

 

Over the years I have often had to negotiate with my cunt. She will be saying, “Really?!!” and I will find myself offering her all sorts of promises and inducements to carry us through the session. We have a good working relationship and she has not had to give me a UTI, thrush or anything worse to get my attention and respect for over a decade.

 

I love her deeply. I respect her immeasurably and I am so grateful to have lived this lifetime in partnership with her. She trusts me. And because she trusts me I can go to incredible places with her and my clients. I will not break my relationship with her for anyone.

 

Bent over his cock, carefully taking his girth into my mouth, I manoevered my body so that his clean hand could find my cunt.  I still expected him to start sensuously stroking my vulva, partly because he had told me he wanted the massage (without the meditation) because he enjoyed sensual sex, but also because I just thought that is the kind, respectful and thoughtful way to approach a woman’s cunt.

 

I had forgotten that despite saying that he likes sensual sex, Mr IDNTM wasn’t connected to sensation in his body so he couldn’t feel what would work for me in that moment. He was thinking, obsessively by this point, about what would make him come. Feeling me squirt over his hand whilst his cock was in my mouth would make him come, so respect be damned, kindness be damned, thoughtfulness be damned! He was going to make me squirt!

 

When he referred to his not-very-good-homemade-guide-to-sex he found that hard fucking is what makes him come. “Aha, that is what will make her squirt, hard finger fucking, just the way MY COCK LIKES IT!” 

 

So, whilst sucking his cock my cunt had to endure 2 or 3 hard (and in places painfully sharp) fingers thrusting in and out of me at a manic pace. She took the frenzied fingers for about 30 seconds and then she screamed, “Anabelle, ENOUGH!!” 

 

And because I am an empowered whore and not a prostitute or a trophy wife I respected my cunt’s wishes and agreed to stop his intolerable treatment of her vulnerable gentleness. 

 

I moved my body away from his fingers, lifted my mouth from his cock and said, “That hurts. Why do you think my cunt would enjoy such violent treatment?  I don’t slap your cock?” 

 

As I said these words my right hand reached down and slapped his beautiful erection a few times, just to make the point. 

 

I don’t feel proud about doing that, but I am a deeply honest person and if I am going to write about a car crash I have to include the moment I crashed the car!

 

By mutual agreement we agreed to end the session. It was about 10 minutes before the end of the 90 minutes he had paid for. I took him down to the shower, and when he was dressed showed him to the door. I didn’t give him a partial refund, because I don’t work like that. He booked my time. He used my time. His lack of respect for me and the way in which I work meant he had a poor experience so he won’t book again and we will both benefit from that.

 

I write a lot about how shit sex has shut down female sexuality. Mine is not shut down because I have been lucky enough to have had hundreds more good sexual experiences than bad ones and I am prepared to stop the sex when my body says NO MORE. I will and I do negotiate with my cunt when she isn’t 100% about someone, I say, “Be kind, give him a chance.” Very often our kindness pays off and we have an incredible time with him.

 

Today, with Mr IDNTM, we did not have a good time and she pressed me to bring it to an end, so I did. 

 

Which is sad. It truly is. Mr IDNTM really needed the meditation. 

 

He needed to take the time to be guided to connect to his body. 

 

He needed to feel sensation in his body from where he would feel my energy, my turn on, my sensation. 

 

The meditation would have helped him to connect with sensation which would have led to the sensual session he desired. 

 

He would have been guided by the energy we co-created to give my body what she wanted to light up and squirt all over him. 

 

But because he knew better than the expert, he left with his tail between his legs, his ball bag still achingly full and his relationship with the whore – who could have guided him to deep intimate pleasure in the final decade of his life – severed. 

 

Recommended further reading: 

 

“Vagina” by Naomi Wolf 

(This is such a good book to read to understand the vital importance of orgasm for women and the price we pay when we don’t experience regular orgasm in our lives. This is an essential read for any man who wants to honour cunt and for any woman who wants to understand herself better.)

 

“The Woman’s Anatomy of Arousal – Secret Maps to Buried Pleasure” by Sheri Winston 

(If Vagina explains the problem, The Woman’s Anatomy of Arousal is, as described, a map, a “how to” guide, a good quality update to the useless manual so many men carry in their minds. It taught me more about my body than any man ever did. An essential book for every home. Gift it to your children, male and female, it will change their lives!)

Nurturing Intimacy in The Marital Bedroom – How Can Whores Help?

Whores exist to sell sex, there’s no “intimacy” involved, everyone knows that!

 

Wrong my darlings, wrong.

 

Whores may sell sex, but they give intimacy – they use their knowledge, skills and bodies to guide their clients into a place of deep intimacy.

 

Humans are hard wired to need both sex and intimacy. All of us, men and women, need lives filled with sex and intimacy to thrive physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. 

 

Sadly there is a distinct lack of both in the world at the moment. Sex seems to be everywhere – it’s certainly all over our computer and television screens – but screen sex is to sex what MacDonald’s is to food – it might taste good as you eat it but as soon as you have finished your meal you begin to feel queasy and long term use will slowly destroy all vitality you ever had in your body.

 

Real sex, the sex that is nourishing for your body, mind and soul is increasingly rare and I would suggest that is because intimacy is also increasingly rare.

 

Let me begin by explaining what I mean when I use the word “intimacy”. 

 

Intimacy is derived from the Latin “intimus” meaning “innermost” or “deepest”. Applicable both to your deep feelings for another person, and an innermost/deepest experience within yourself. In other words, intimacy is the word given to the deep connection you are able to make both within yourself and with others.

 

However, and there is a big, painful, however. Intimacy can only be experienced when there are no blocks to intimacy in an individual or a couple. And what blocks intimacy? One word. Fear. 

 

Fundamentally, you are only able to experience intimacy (with self or others) to the same extent that you are free from fear within yourself and with others. Intimacy requires that you feel safe within yourself and with others. 

 

Sadly, sex which can be a powerful means to build intimacy, is very often riddled with fear. 

 

From a young age our minds are filled with fear around sex by anxious parents, awful (if existing) sex-ed in schools, The Church (and other places of worship), the media, big pharma (peddling their expensive and toxic drugs), our friends and wider society – all telling us that sex is something that is difficult, dangerous and harmful. So that by the time many (maybe most) of us reach the age when we start feeling sexual stirrings we are not only ignorant, but also terrified, about how to act upon them.

 

Our bodies carry yet more fear. 1,000s of years of shit sex alone have traumatised the collective feminine. Trauma is carried through our bodies intergenerationally. The egg that became my daughter was in me when I was inside my mother’s womb so that any trauma my mother experienced, sexual or otherwise, was imprinted not only in me, but also in my daughter. Add to that the trauma our bodies experience in this lifetime (including shit consensual sex).

 

My contention is that men haven’t fared much better. It’s pretty obvious to me that causing harm to other people ultimately harms you. Up until 1991 (when marital rape was criminalised in the UK) the law may have been on a man’s side when he claimed his conjugal rights, but if the woman’s body flinched and withdrew from his touch as she endured his claim, it would have been harmful to him at an energetic level if not consciously. 

 

Further, however well intentioned and loving men are individually (and most truly, truly are), they have been raised in a society which for 5,000 plus years has sexually harmed women, often just by insisting that she “enjoy” unpleasurable (aka harmful) sex because that’s what God says is the “right” way.

 

The combination of fear in our minds – fear of shame, fear of sin, fear of harm, fear of failure, fear of pregnancy, fear of disease, fear of rejection, fear of laughter, fear of orgasm (le petit mort), even fear of death (le grand mort – for those of us who grew up in the shadow of HIV) – with the fear we carry in our bodies – the physical memory of trauma from this life, a past life or even inter-generational, creates an enormous block to intimacy in sex.

 

Fearful people cannot develop intimacy – a place of safety – within their own bodies, let alone anyone else’s. So sex becomes rushed, reluctant, functional, mechanical, predictable, dull, boring and fails to light up our bodies, or our relationships. 

 

Intimacy is needed to experience good sex. Good sex is needed to develop intimacy. 

 

The challenge for all of us – those in relationships and those looking for relationships – is how do we create intimacy so that we can love better? 

 

How can we connect better? 

 

How do we find belonging? 

 

We all need to feel safe, to feel loved and to belong. But childhood trauma, inherited trauma and the collective trauma makes this very complicated for us. 

 

Surely one incredibly important step we need to take to find the love, connection and belonging that we need is to identify our needs, wants and desires and then to communicate them to those closest to us in our lives, especially our relationship partner.

 

Humans evolved the most brilliant means of communication – it’s the reason our brains grew and the reason we created pretty much everything we have in our modern lives. Humans communicate through talk – words expressed by a mouth and heard by another’s ear. Talk literally evolved humans, so surely communication through talk should be easy in our relationships?

 

I’m very struck by the silence men are reared to conform to. In England it’s long been called the “Stiff upper lip” and it’s revered as one of the most essential of English qualities. We send our boys off to boarding schools, sometimes at incredibly young ages, separating them from the warm, chatty women in their lives in order to instill this omertà. 

 

It’s not only English men who are stripped of that most essential of human traits – the ability to communicate by talking with others and raised to bear it all in silence. It seems to me, to some extent or another, silence in men is highly valued across the western world as a sign of masculinity.

 

Omertà, staying quiet, not saying out loud how you feel, not asking for help, not feeling or showing any vulnerability is both highly prized by patriarchy and immensely damaging to men who suffer in silence and alone in their millions. 

 

The suicide rate for men in the UK is almost 3 times higher than it is in women, coping alone, not feeling and sharing their feelings, not talking, not asking for their needs to be met has an enormous toll on our men. This should trouble everyone. It certainly troubles this whore.

 

As many women know, and all whores know, men DO talk and they’re capable of sharing deep truths when they feel safe. Men need safety and intimacy just as much as women do. 

 

What does a man need to feel safe? Again, whores know this. 

 

They need physical, sensual, sexual touch. They need to be held close and feel physically held and loved. 

 

Fucking really, really, really helps a man to talk and to cry – there is something deeply healing for a man about feeling his penis held inside a vagina (I suspect this is partly about returning to the safety and unconditional love he last felt when he was inside the womb). 

 

Esther Perel theorises (from a career spent working with couples) that whilst women need to talk in order to feel safe enough to fuck, men need to fuck in order to feel safe enough to talk.

 

This is fine when you are in a well functioning relationship and learn to do enough of both to satisfy both parties. But how do you get your floundering relationship back on track when you need the opposite things to feel safe enough to re-build intimacy between you?

 

Currently, in a society which believes in the binary nature of gender and uses biology to prove that we are different “by nature” rather than 1,000s of years of patriarchal indoctrination, I don’t see much hope for deep intimacy in most monogamous marital bedrooms. I just don’t. 

 

There’s a chasm between men who need/want sex and women who need/want talk in order to feel safe enough to give the other one what they need to feel safe. Resulting in an ever growing lack of safety in our relationships. 

 

Lacking the intimacy we need, most of us fail to articulate our needs, desires and wants but still expect them to be met. We look to our relationship partners to heal the childhood wounding we brought into the relationship with us even when, most often, we are unaware of the wounding we are carrying. 

 

We feel hurt, angry and upset when our partners fail to meet our (unacknowledged and unarticulated) needs and express ourselves clearly in tears, tantrums and fights, but, lacking intimacy, we never manage to dig deep enough to understand the underlying wounding.  

 

We get stuck in a negative spiral of unmet needs leading to emotional tempestuousness creating an unsafe environment in which we cannot learn about, let alone express, our deeply held unmet needs. 

 

We have all been in at least one relationship like this. The lucky ones find good quality help to break the cycle. The unlucky ones continue to suffer and pass the trauma down another generation and most likely spiral through a few relationships in exactly the same way before declaring they have “Given up on men/women (delete as appropriate).”

 

Maybe this is why, when whores worked in the temples, women – wives, mothers, sisters, cousins – took their men to the temple whores to “Have the war taken out of them” ? 

 

I genuinely don’t know whether men and women need different things to feel safe because of biology or socialisation. What I do know is that men currently feel very unsafe and it shows up in all sorts of toxic and aggressive ways. 

 

So much better for them to visit a whore – like someone with a bad back visits a chiropractor – to help them heal the pain within. Sadly, as much as men crave to feel loved, held, nurtured and cared for, if they’re not lucky enough to have this in their relationship, they don’t have a safe place to go. 

 

Downgrading the once revered position of the temple whore to the denigrated prostitute has (purposefully?) not created a safe, healing space for our men. Far too many men have reached for a moment of connection only to have gained themselves months, if not years of shame.

 

Dis-empowered prostitutes can’t keep their clients safe. They can’t hold space, they can’t define their terms, their hours, their way of working – which obviously harms them but it also harms the men who visit them. 

 

When wives, exhausted by long days of caring for young children or from climbing up the corporate ladder, or whilst dealing with the upheaval of menopause can’t reach their once beloved partners but want to help them feel good about themselves again, who can they take their men to with deep confidence? 

 

Heck, who can these women go to themselves to reconnect to the pleasure of their orgasm?

 

I am a whore and I am also a wife. I want my husband to thrive and I want our relationship to thrive because I want to live inside a thriving life! Despite my whore’s skills, understanding and knowledge I find it difficult to always be the person my husband needs and when our needs conflict we can easily spiral. 

 

Fortunately we have worked together for over a decade to learn how to reverse the spiral quickly, but I know what it feels like. I know how anger and resentment builds a wall between us that at least one of us has to use significant energy to scale or demolish. I know how quickly a misspoken word leads to sleeping in separate beds, hard faces and words being replaced by grunts. 

 

I know the pain of loneliness inside a relationship that is no longer intimate. 

 

This is where modern whores can be of service as our predecessors in the temple were. We can be a dispassionate third party with infinite love, compassion, tenderness, magic and sexual healing and act as a pattern disruptor in a spiralling relationship. Only one person in the relationship needs the energy to scale or demolish the wall that blocks intimacy. Whores can reconnect that one person to their energy, their light and their love.

 

Renewed men can then return home to their tired, angry, lonely, sad, frightened (and “frigid”) wives and show them how loved they are. Renewed men can take on the divine masculine role of holding their wives and giving them the love that they so desperately need. As Otis Reading sang: 

 

“Oh she may be weary

And young girls they do get weary

Wearing that same old shaggy dress

But when she gets weary

Try a little tenderness….” 

 

Intimacy is created in a space that is free from fear. Men and women alike desire and need intimacy to flourish and thrive. Maintaining intimacy is a challenging and constant job – like carrying grey water from my kitchen sink and showers out to my garden through the long, hot and very dry summer of 2026. It’s hard, if not impossible to do it on your own. But relationships, like gardens, will die if they are not watered. 

 

The temple priestesses restored men to their true power. They helped them to be better fathers, lovers, sons, husbands.  I truly believe that when enough prostitutes say “ENOUGH” at being downtrodden and despised and instead declare, “I AM A WHORE AND I AM PROUD!!”  we will be able to activate immense healing in relationships on this planet. Healed relationships raise happier children who do not find themselves repeating the toxic relationship pattern in adulthood. 

 

Yep, I said that, whores help you raise happier children!

 

A whore’s healing power is temporarily in her hands and in her cunt, but truly, it’s what her knowledge and skills reconnect her clients to – a safe, sacred space and energy within their own bodies because, ultimately intimacy is an inside job. 

 

We re-connect with ourselves first and from there we reconnect with our partners. The whore reconnects people to the divine light and love that is within them – has always been within them – but has been dimmed by so many years living in a toxic society.

 

When a client drives away from my house they don’t leave filled with shame and regret. They leave feeling renewed, feeling seen, feeling loved. None of this is an illusion, it’s all truth. I do see them – their unique essence, their divine beauty. I interact with their energy. I connect with their soul.

 

I truly hope that my married clients return to their homes feeling healthier, happier and able to give their spouses the love and attention they desire and need. I am aware most wives don’t know about me and that they’d be furious if they found out. 

 

But I’m not their competition or enemy, I am actually, not only helping their marriage stay together, I am also quietly coaching their husbands on how to show up more for their wives, to sit and listen as she talks about the children, her day, what Doris next door has just done. To be present for her and her need to talk and be properly listened to so that she is drawn back into intimacy with him.

 

If wives don’t want to fuck their husbands to help them feel safe enough to talk then allow me to do the honour! And I do consider it an honour. We could work together so well if only they’d open their hearts and minds to the possibilities. 

 

I hope that my blog posts help to shift perceptions to make this happen. But until such a miracle occurs I’ll continue to do my bit and send my clients home with a big smile on their faces and renewed intent to buy some flowers, make eye contact, ask generously, “How was your day darling?” and remember to put his underwear in the laundry basket.

 

Does it matter how a home becomes more harmonious? 

 

Does it matter who helps a couple to find safety with each other again? 

 

If a whore (working in the shadows until she is welcomed back into the light) has the skills to help rebuild loving intimacy in a relationship shouldn’t we celebrate her rather than feel threatened by her? 

 

Everyone in society gains when whores are restored to their rightful place – honoured and revered sexual shaman who’s healing work with men and women frees them from fears and rebuilds intimacy in their bodies and relationships.

 

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash 

 

Recommended Further Reading: 

 

“Odd Man Out – Breaking the Vow of Male Silence” by Nige Atkinson 

 

“Mating in Captivity – How to Keep Desire Alive in Long-Term Relationships” By Esther Perel

 

“Getting the Love You Want: A Guide for Couples” By Harville Hendrix

Are You Ready to Unleash Your Full Orgasm? Could Your Arse Take a Fist?

“WOW….that was mindblowing…”

 

I am quite used to this response and it always pleases me. I devote my body and my full attention to my clients’ pleasure, to activating, expanding and moving energy around their bodies so it’s always reaffirming to hear that I did a good job! Today was a regular Musubi massage, I didn’t allow it to go “off piste”, I don’t know why, intuitively I sensed that he needed a truly tantric experience. 

 

I say “regular”, it was in terms of how interactive it got. It wasn’t in that he had asked if it might be possible for me to fist him. It most certainly was. The human body never fails to fascinate and amaze me and I am just incredibly lucky to have experienced bodies in ways that relatively few people have. 

 

Over the years I have fisted a fair few anuses and worked with other clients towards receiving a full fist. It’s an unusual area to have a speciality in, but I would now claim that I do – it’s all about relaxation and pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. 

 

I begin all my massages with a short meditation to kick start the relaxation process. I use words to both relax my clients and also to impart some instructions and gentle teaching. I don’t use a script, I have the same key pieces of information I want to convey – I want my clients to connect with their breath, to use their senses to drop into their bodies and to feel sensation within. 

 

I want them to relax really, really, really deeply. With my key points at the back of my mind I just allow the words to flow. I allow the energies of the specific moment – theirs, mine, the  room’s, the day’s to guide me and I just allow the words to intuitively bubble out of me. 

 

Generally I close my eyes. I stand naked next to the bed and I notice that as I move into the meditation, feeling it in my body, my arms will rise so that they’re at a “Jesus angle” from my body, palms facing my client. As I guide my client through the breathing my body begins to tingle, I can feel my energy activating, so that before we even touch our energies connect and are beginning to mingle, merge, flow and dance together. 

 

With us both in a deeply relaxed state, feeling our hands and bodies tingling with life-force, creatrix energy, I will remove the blanket I have thrown over his naked body and ask him to roll over onto his front. My first touch is the most intentional of the entire session. Kneeling beside him, I place my left hand over his sacrum and my right hand over his heart chakra. In deep stillness I will pause for a few breaths for his body to accept my hands and for my hands to connect with both his sexual and heart energies. 

 

Then lifting my hands I will apply oil in a spiral over his heart chakra drizzle it down his spine creating a second spiral over his sacrum. Then guided by the music I begin to massage the back of his body with my hands.

 

As I did this today, my left breast slightly touched his right buttock and he inhaled sharply. I smiled, when someone is this sensitive to the touch of my breast it’s a sign that he will feel his energy well and enjoy the experience of it moving through and around his body. 

 

The body gliding part of the massage was highly pleasurable for him and his feet wrapped around my breasts when I massaged them with a combination of fingers, palm, nipple and breast tissue. His pelvis pushed up towards my body as I slid over him. He gasped repeatedly as my breasts massaged his upper back, neck, shoulders, waist, buttocks, inner thighs, legs. I could feel that he was both highly pleasured and deeply relaxed.

 

It was time for the anus. I started with more boob action – partly because men love boobs and I’ve got great boobs that love to be loved – but also because massaging a man’s buttocks with my breasts flows my heart energy into his root chakra, connecting my loving energy with him and making him feel safe before starting an intensely vulnerable anal massage. 

 

Today he really pushed back against my breasts, lifting his pelvis so that my breasts could reach underneath his buttocks and tease his testicles, perineum and cock. I could feel my heart energy penetrating him and it thrilled me.

 

When you understand that sex is essentially about activating and moving energy it changes everything. Most days I am fully connected to an energy that is beyond me (Universe, Source, Divine Love, Goddess) and I feel it moving through me. I don’t give away my reserves of energy, I flow or channel the infinite energy of Goddess through my physical and energetic body for my clients. I feel sure Mary Magdalene did something similar with Jesus. She was a highly trained temple priestess, I’ve just stumbled into this work and experimented, and I find that utterly thrilling. 

 

Finding my balance, I removed one of the two hands that had been steadying my body for this heart/bum fuck and used it to start tracing my fingers down his arse crack, over his anal rose, flowing over the perineum, ball sack and finishing with the tip of his cock. Lifting my body slightly, I reached for the lube with my other hand. I rubbed it all around his arse and applied enough to ensure that all the fingers of my right hand were properly covered. His anal rose was perfect. 

 

Oh my god, if I could choose one anal rose to teach people the joy of anal play it would be his! Exquisitely soft, delicate, completely hairless – he had prepared well which is always a sign of deep respect. I suspect he had given himself a good clean inside as well, fisting is very filling and could possibly be messy if the anus hadn’t been given a good clean out before the session.

 

His sphincter happily drew in my index finger, squeezing it with pulsating pleasure, inviting more. I slowly fed him my middle finger, then added my ring finger, then easily tucking in my pinky finger behind them. He was full but not filled. 

 

I had started in a low position with my left breast within reach of his left hand, but he was very still and seemed distracted rather than pleasured or reassured by my breast so I raised myself to an easier and more upright position over his body. It was time for the thumb.

 

Adding the thumb is really what creates the fist – as the thumb knuckle seeks to join the rest of the knuckles inside the warm core of the anus the hand is at its widest. Very often the sphincter just cannot, or will not, relax and open enough to allow in the full fist. I’ve reached this point with a few clients but they just are not relaxed enough for the final surrender. 

 

Today as I curled in my thumb to nestle inside the rest of my hand the sphincter just opened, like a door on Star Trek! I’ve experienced this happening before, but only with the aid of poppers. I knew my client didn’t have poppers and yet, here was his arse opening on demand for my full fist – amazing! I went in.

 

I don’t have particularly small or delicate hands so to feel my full fist moving with ease into an arse is an incredibly exhilarating experience. It is just magical to feel the usually tightly closed muscles in the anus drawing you in. Today my client’s anus felt as greedy and demanding as my cunt often does, pulsating and throbbing, hot as it drew me in deeper – if my cunt feels as good as this anus did no wonder men love to fuck me so much! 

 

My fist filled all of him, I moved very little. Contrary to what I imagine you see in porn (I haven’t looked) I don’t move a fist rapidly in and out of an anus – definitely not in the first 5 minutes, definitely not on a first “visit” and probably not ever much at all. Fucking with a fist risks damaging the fragile skin and muscles of the anus and is completely unnecessary for a super deep, fulfilling and energy activating experience. So I didn’t fuck my client with my fist, I held his energy with mine as he pushed back onto my hand. 

 

He ground his body slowly, moving his anus around my hand gently encouraging his anus to open more and receive deeper and deeper in a way that felt totally safe and pleasurable to him. The energy that it activated was incredible. Any kind of prostate massage will activate deep energies, a fist activates on a whole new level! 

 

I felt his energy surging up my right arm. On a few occasions I had to moan to release the pressure of energy in my body – the feedback from receiver to giver is, in his words, mind blowing – again, no wonder men love to fuck a truly alive, activated and orgasmic woman – it feels like nothing else on earth. 

 

The energy was swirling between our bodies, my fist stayed inside him for a fairly long time – a good 5 minutes – just experiencing the warmth, the wetness and the throbbing pulse of his anus. The only movement I made inside him was to turn gentle circles to connect different parts of my fingers with different parts of his internal muscles. As you turn a fist around you also ask the sphincter muscle to relax, open and surrender to you in different ways, which his truly did.

 

When I sensed that he had had enough I removed my hand gently, holding it over his arse with just one finger lying inside the arse crack. Breathing gently, giving him time to integrate the experience and feel the feeling of emptiness and loss without feeling completely abandoned. 

 

Withdrawal is as crucial as entry. No-one wants to be left floundering, rejected and abandoned. The finger, fist or cock may have left the anus or vagina but the person still wants to be held, to feel loved, to maintain that connection as they assimilate to life on their own again. 

 

Only when I felt he was ready for me to do so did I lift my hand away from him and move to sit astride his bum to ride him, grinding my pubic mound into him, connecting the lips of my cunt with his delicious energy as I removed my glove and wiped away all traces of lube from my hand. 

 

In this way I “fucked” him with my energy and he “fucked” me right back. Penetrating each other deeply, moving energy back and forth until I couldn’t absorb any more and I came, squirting all over his arse. He’d have felt it trickling down his arse crack, over his perineum and balls, the shaft and tip of his cock which was getting harder and harder underneath all of this action.

 

My “on piste” massages don’t get derailed between me asking my client to roll over onto his back and his ejaculation at the end of a 20 minute lingam massage. A tantric massage shouldn’t become a full sex session, partly because as a professional it is important that I honour our agreed boundaries at the beginning of the session, and, as, importantly because when a man receives a full 90 minute tantric massage he is relaxing into receiving – into his yin energy – often for the first time in his life. 

 

God’s patriarchal model of sex requires men to perform and “give” to compliant, uncomplaining, often un-pleasured and submissive women. For 1,000s of years men have had to, literally, rise to the occasion, take command and impose themselves on (and in) women. It’s thus a deeply powerful and reconnecting experience for a man to receive the complete opposite. To lie in almost total stillness, do nothing and yet feel so much. It reconnects them to something buried deep in their psyche, way beyond their conscious reach: joy, peace, calm, orgasm, expansion, safety, realignment, contentment, self-love & compassion, belonging, tenderness, ease. 

 

Men are deeply conditioned by society to want to fuck, but when, for whatever reason, they make their way to my door and I give them one of my versions of a tantric massage – highly sensual, erotic, but always focused on expanding the experience of energy within the body – they always have a completely mind blowing experience. 

 

The orgasm they feel with me literally blows away all the bullshit conditioning that our beautiful men’s minds have been programmed with. Proving to me, day after day, that male sexuality is as highly conditioned as female sexuality and that patriarchal sex does not serve them much better than it serves women. Quelle suprise!

 

Remember it was God who limited sex to penis-in-vagina-in-the-missionary-position model of sex. Prior to his edicts, Goddess had only desired humans to enjoy lots and lots of sexual pleasure devoted to Her in worship. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore the moment a cock enters my cunt and I feel her wrapping herself around his warmth, but I can’t imagine my sex life being limited to that any more. Not one of my clients has a proper orgasm through fucking me. Some ejaculate this way and we always have a jolly good time, but they don’t experience the immensity of a full bodied, “mind blowing” orgasm by doing lots of frantic fucking. 

 

No, the mind blowing orgasms occur when my client is deeply relaxed, lying on his back, eyes closed, receiving a lingam massage. With legs wide apart wrapped around me –  seated, cross legged, feet underneath his bum – music pulling him deeper and deeper into his body, connecting to sensation within, using breath to maintain this highly relaxed, surrendered state as I massage his lingam for an extended period of time. This is the way to build a full bodied orgasm and the orgasms I have witnessed men experiencing in this way, on my bed, have been absolutely incredible. 

 

An integral part of a traditional lingam massage (as taught by Michaela Riedl in “Lingam Massage”)  is for the practitioner to move energy from the lingam up to the heart chakra using our hands. We do this to reconnect a man’s sexual energy to his heart energy. One of the many disconnects in the patriarchal model of male sexuality is this sexual centre-heart centre disconnect which leaves men disconnected from their true “Lover” energy, sometimes for an entire lifetime. I believe it is one of the ways in which men are at war with themselves. 

 

As humans we ALL have a fundamental need to feel loved. Sex is a powerful means to feel this love – love for self, love for another, love for community, love for the planet, Divine Love – whichever, through sex we can connect with love. Unless you have been told that men have a biological, physical need to fuck and women alone seek love from the experience. ARGH!!! What total and utter rubbish!

 

This woman can tell you that I and many, many, many other women deeply crave carnal, physical pleasure from sex and every single one of my male clients (100s, if not 1,000s now) all desire to feel loved. Yet the patriarchal model literally programmes them into taking love out of sex. 

 

The loving hands of a whore, or any informed partner, can reconnect a man’s sexual energy (located in this root chakra – his prostate and perineum) and move it physically, using our hands, to his heart chakra (located in the centre of the chest), so reconnecting sex with love and integrating the body into a magnificent WHOLE human being.

 

Another of the beautiful gifts that a lingam massage gives a man (and one way in which it differs from a quick wank to conclude a massage with a “happy ending”) is the comfort and ease the practitioner has with his soft cock. Soft cocks is the subject for a blog post of their own, but here I will just mention that when I move my hands from a lingam to dispense energy throughout the rest of his body, the lingam will, unsurprisingly, soften as the energy moves from his lingam up into his torso, down his arms and into his legs and feet. 

 

This is exactly what I want and if I have succeeded in relaxing my client enough so that he is fully in the zone and connected to sensation (energy) in his entire body he’ll barely notice that his cock has softened, and if he does, he no longer cares! 

 

The bonus, as I see it, is that I can afford to use hotter strokes. On the 0-10 scale a soft cock has further to go than a hard one, so I can afford to increase the pleasure more when he is slightly soft. Remember, I don’t want to wank him off and make him come. I want to activate, expand and move his energy giving his lingam as much delicious pleasure as I can until his whole body shakes with orgasm.

 

Today my client orgasmed bang on 20 minutes with a roar of enormous power –  it came from deep within and sounded both incredibly animalistic but also very Divine Masculine. Then he lay in stillness. I always give my clients a good amount of time to integrate the experience, to bathe in the afterglow of orgasm, lying still, being held physically and energetically by me. 

 

I cup the softening cock in my hands, allowing it to rest in my “vagina replica” hands as the energy dissipates. If I’m lucky enough to have received his ejaculate on my breasts I will use one or two of my hands (when he feels ready for me to disconnect) to rub the sperm into the skin of my breasts, smiling at how when I am buried my breasts will still have a magnificent youthful glow! And I wait for my client to open his eyes and re-enter the room.

 

As you already know, today he did so with the exclamation, “WOW!!” followed by the words, “That was mindblowing!” I smiled and said I was pleased and that it was my great pleasure to have been able to give him a “mindblowing” experience. He didn’t seem to want to talk and whilst I was curious to know how he had experienced the anal fisting, I honoured the fact that if he wanted to share he would, that it wasn’t for me to pry. So I offered him a shower and led him down the corridor to the bathroom. 

 

I returned to the bedroom to do what I always do – turn down the music, strip the bed, cover the mattress with a pretty sarong, clean and refill my little oil bottle, clean the lube bottle and tidy it all away. My energy shifts as I do all this, I can feel my cunt returning to closed (probably a gentle simmering 2 or 3 on my scale). When my client comes back from his shower I am more friendly teacher/coach than sexual partner, the boundaries of normal life have been re-erected.

 

And, very often, this is when the talk happens. Maybe it’s because there’s been time to reflect in the shower? Maybe it’s because they still feel different despite the break away from me and the energy of the room? I don’t know why, but very, very often my clients want to talk about what they have just experienced, to try and understand it, to put a lived experience into words before it fades from their memory.

 

Today my client smiled broadly and said with some amazement, “It’s incredible, I don’t feel dirty.” This is my deepest desire as a whore – for my clients to leave feeling amazing, restored, healed, connected, joy-filled, lighter, happier, seen, understood, loved, energised, never, ever “dirty” or regretful in any way (another reason for firm boundaries). Sex is NOT dirty. Our society has made it so by pushing it into the shadows. 

 

If you visit a whore in her temple of course you will feel differently afterwards compared with how you would feel if you spent time rolling around with a prostitute in the gutter! Sex with a proper whore will never, ever feel dirty because she sets the intent for the session to be all about love and reconnection to The Divine, neither of which are “dirty”. Sex can be sacred and it feels so much better when it is.

 

He also reported that he hadn’t crashed, that on the contrary he still felt amazing –  “Normally when I come I have a deep crash straight afterwards.” 

 

That, my dears, is the difference between ejaculation and orgasm. 

 

A full bodied, carefully developed, expanded and managed experience in a relaxed body feels amazing for an extended period of time. Ejaculation, most often forced out of the body using tension, feels exhausting. Tension is exhausting. 

 

Limiting male sexual pleasure to ejaculation and robbing men of their full orgasmic experience is one many crimes committed by patriarchy against men. Yes, my client ejaculated, but only after I had consciously and carefully moved energy around and through his body. I had observed his orgasm building in his body, I had seen him orgasm (shudder with energy) more than once before he actually ejaculated. 

 

Orgasm is an energy experience. Ejaculation is a physical experience. They can be combined, very often they are not, and they should no longer be confused as being the same thing.

 

We finally talked about the fisting and the amazing way in which his body opened so quickly and easily to receive my full fist. “It was as if you were taking poppers but I know you didn’t have any on you” I remarked, adding, “It was an amazing experience to be so deep within you, to feel myself a part of you.”

 

He replied, “I opened easily because I was so much more relaxed than I thought I would be. I felt safe. The meditation, your words telling me that I was safe, worked. I felt completely safe with you.”

 

As I showed him out of the door I smiled deeply, it had been a good session. 

 

I was a very, very satisfied whore. 

I Lost All Touch & Sexual Intimacy in my Life – This Powerful Practice Brought it Back

 

“I really needed that!” he said, collapsing on top of me. The condom had done what condoms do and killed his erection; I moved my hand down his chest to remove it and let it drop over the side of the bed – I would tidy it away later.

 

“That is the first time I have felt a woman’s touch, let alone been inside her, for…..” he counted quietly in his head, “6 years.” I held him close, kissed him deeply, and allowed the lips of my labia to wrap around his softening cock. His pain was palpable.

 

It’s been a long time since I was in his shoes. For me it was the years filled with babies and young children when my then husband and I were both too exhausted to think about, let alone do, sex. I remember only too well what the lack of touch did to me. 

 

The feelings of aloneness, the emptiness, the way days lost their sparkle, how everything got just a little bit heavier, how my smile became a thing of the past. I remember how days became months, became years and then I found myself in a GP’s surgery being prescribed anti-depressants to stop me from killing myself. 

 

Lack of physical touch has a catastrophic effect on us. We are hardwired for touch. As a species we need touch and lots of it to remain healthy – mentally, emotionally, spiritually and yes, even physically. 

 

I now look back on my conversation with the GP with a whore’s wry smile, very much tinged with sadness. She was a very sweet, well meaning young woman who messaged reception to tell them she would need more time as soon as she looked at my “Depression Score” questionnaire. For the NHS she was very generous with her time which she used to insist that I get counselling as a condition for being  prescribed antidepressants. 

 

Counselling – talk therapy. 

 

Talk was better than nothing. But what I really, really, really needed was touch. 

 

Like my client today needed touch. 

 

Lack of touch has resulted in him also being prescribed antidepressants – another win for big pharma but a loss for him – they affect the strength of his erection which is never positive for a man. And here he was collapsed, buzzing with happiness and aliveness in my arms, his whole body vibrating with the pleasure of feeling a woman underneath him and wrapped around him. 

 

I made as much use as I could of every part of my body, my mouth pulled his into long deep kisses, my pelvis pushed up against him, my arms moved across his back and over his head, my thighs held him close, my feet stroked his legs and buttocks. I wanted to touch all of him with all of me. I wanted him to feel completely held and loved and showered with touch.

 

Touch is magical and it did its magic. The energy within our bodies criss-crossed between us, my turn on feeding his turn on which in turn fed mine. 

 

I had yet to feel his cock in my mouth and I deeply desired to. Earlier he had feasted on my cunt so hard and greedily I had been taken aback, his desire to be buried nose deep inside me had forced me back onto the pillow in deep surrender. Rarely has oral sex felt so penetrating! 

 

I wanted to feel his lips, his tongue, his stubble on me, and in me, again, but I wanted it with his cock pushing into my throat, deeper and deeper and deeper.

 

The session had begun with a meditation and massage as all my Musubi/Kama sessions do – very calm, deeply loving, an invitation to relax and receive. His sensitive body, so long deprived of physical contact with another human, had quivered in response to my first touch – the gentle laying of my palms, oil free, on his sacral and heart chakras at the start of the massage. By the time I was massaging the small of his back and his buttocks with my oily pubic mound the energy between us was intense. 

 

He is a very, very sexy man, a powerful lover who is intense in giving and receiving touch. I think it’s criminal that this beautiful man has been on the “no sex” shelf since the birth of his child – 15 years ago – with absolutely no touch for 6 years! 

 

I think it was criminal that I was on a similar shelf, also for about 6 years with no touch.

 

I know that he and I are far from alone. 

 

So, so, so many of my clients tell me that sex was great until the birth of their children since when they barely have any sex and little more touch. Men and women seem to lose the ability to connect with each other with touch once children are in the home. 

 

Women turn to the bottle of cold white that is always ready, waiting in the fridge and men turn to readily available porn or professionals.  

 

What happens in our relationships? 

 

They start out so sexy and full of excitement, we can’t keep our hands off each other, and can’t imagine a day when the magic might die, then one day we end up in the GP’s surgery being prescribed anti-depressants because our beloved can no longer be persuaded to touch us, no matter how hard we beg?! 

 

What is going on??

 

Life is stressful, I get that, and children as wonderful as they are, undoubtedly increase the stress load. But surely when life is stressful you would turn to your partner for comfort and nourishment? 

 

Why do we respond to stress by not leaning into each other but by pulling away from each other? That seems like a crazy act of self harm, but we all do it.

 

Why?

 

Here’s a novel idea for you. I will share some theory first and then a practical experience.

 

Under patriarchy, the sexy, caring feminine has been split in two. 

 

On the one hand we have the sexually available woman – the “whore” – represented by Mary Magdalene. 

 

On the other hand we have the virginal mother represented by The Virgin Mary. 

 

Whether you are a biological mother or not I believe that, in the West, you carry within you what I and others call the “Mother/Whore Split”. 

 

Furthermore, I believe we have projected onto us, by our men and wider society, a deeply held belief that women are either “Whores” (exciting, sexy, intoxicating, beautiful, dangerous, scorned, excluded members of the community) OR “Mothers” (loving, giving, nourishing, kind, upstanding, responsible, comfortable, included members of the community). Never both.

 

Men want to fuck the former and marry the latter.

 

I need to stress that this is a societal construct, i.e. a belief that is encultured into us from birth, for lifetime after lifetime. I do not believe this split is in any way “natural” and that it has only become to feel “normal” because so many of us carry this as a belief within us. 

 

For most of us the “Mother/Whore Split” is buried deep within our subconscious, i.e. below the level of conscious knowing. 

 

I probably wouldn’t be aware of mine had I not met the “Crazy Lady” in the village who invited me on a spiritual training course she was delivering. The course changed my life, no doubt about it, and the most powerful practice was the one in which I healed my “Mother/Whore Split.”

 

“Crazy Lady” explained how in our nervous systems we split off parts of ourselves that hold incompatible beliefs, creating different voices, even personalities, within us. This all happens within our subconscious and goes a long way towards explaining why you fail to get the things you desire most in life – a part of you is working against your goals or desires without you consciously knowing or understanding what is going on.

 

“Parts Integration” is a powerful tool to bring the differing parts together to help you move forward in life in one clear direction and we were going to learn how to do it. 

 

We were asked to think of a problem that was deeply affecting us in our lives. Where others chose things like “difficult boss” or “not enough money,”  I was quick to identify “lack of sex or any kind of touch in my marriage” as my number 1, most pressing problem, the one that, if I could solve, would make my life inordinately better. 

 

I had married a man, who when I was younger had had incredible sex with. We both had high sex drives and enjoyed a lot of truly beautiful times together. But conceiving children had completely destroyed our sex. 

 

Whilst pregnant I was hornier than ever (not uncommon apparently) I would have fucked anyone, but I was in a monogamous marriage and I had vowed, in a church, to be faithful to my husband. If he didn’t want sex with me then I had to accept I didn’t have sex. 

 

At first I thought my ballooning body was the problem, but even after the birth of our children our sex life never returned to what it had been before I had conceived. 

 

Because I wanted sex so badly I figured the problem was him. But I was on a training course that repeatedly reminded us that the only person you can change is yourself, so I was the problem that I took into the practice. 

 

I had never heard of the “Mother/Whore Split” before the practice. My fellow trainee (the coach) asked me to identify two opposing voices in me that had differing opinions on my presenting problem: “lack of sex or any kind of touch in my marriage.”

 

It was quite easy to identify sexually frustrated me – a woman who missed sexual intimacy with the man she loved, who missed the blissful joy of orgasm, who missed the sexy man she had married – the way he used to look at her, hold her and fuck her. This woman was sexually lascivious and as my coach asked me to connect with her and describe her words like slut, greedy, exciting, fun, happy, sexy, orgasmic and powerful flowed out of me. 

 

This part of me (the “Whore”) flicked her hair back, looked you straight in the eye, wore push up bras & thongs, and swayed her hips as she walked past you. She was young, free and single and oozed sex appeal.

 

The other me was quite dowdy by comparison. She was tired, responsible, kind, caring, constantly on the go meeting other people’s expectations and needs. She was the new me – wearing granny knickers from M&S, leggings, DMs, long flowing tops in muted colours, her uncut, uncoloured hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She wore lip salve instead of lipstick and smiled less, which saddened me. She was short tempered and very managing – she had a lot to manage. 

 

My “Mother” part, it turned out, was slightly sneering towards sex, “Who has time for that?” she would say.

 

The reason why coaching is such a powerful process is because the coach asks layer after layer of questions which brings up to the surface long buried beliefs, locked deep in the subconscious that you are completely unaware of. 

 

I found it remarkable that I had within me a part that was so sneering towards sex. I was desperate for sex! And yet I clearly had a part in my own nervous system that was pushing it away?!

 

No wonder my husband steered clear of me – who knew which “me” he was going to get?!

 

Having identified these two parts within me, I was then invited to bring the Whore part onto one palm and my Mother part onto the other. Please picture the scene, I was sitting on a straight backed chair, both feet on the floor, holding my arms out in front of me, shoulder width apart, palms facing upwards with the Whore on one palm, the Mother on the other.

 

For a while they both just sat there. Eyes closed, I was coached to connect with the feeling of each of them in my body, and then the essence of each of them sitting separately on my separated palms. 

 

Then, very slowly, I was guided to draw my palms together, to integrate the two separate parts into one integrated whole. All the time my coach was talking very, very quietly encouraging my hands to join so that my separate, un-aligned parts would integrate. 

 

Most people ask at this point, did it work?

 

Well I think you can answer that for yourself!

 

I am both an active mother and an active whore.

 

Allowing space for my Whore to be fully expressed has enabled me to be the Mother I wanted to be. 

 

I wanted to earn well so that I could provide my children with a good life and I wanted to be present for them. I wanted to be at the school gates when they finished school, I wanted to cook them evening meals, help them with their homework and get them to after school clubs. 

 

You can’t do all this if you join the corporate treadmill and work hours that suit an employer but not a family. 

 

And of course, I wanted lots and lots of beautiful sexual experiences.

 

Within months of doing this practice I had met The Boyfriend, a year later I met The Lover, was actively polyamorous and well on my way to becoming a professional whore. I have done hours and hours of spiritual training, for me this half hour practice is probably the one that changed my life the most.

 

Initially I thought the “Mother/Whore Split” was a uniquely “me” thing. Then I started noticing other people talking and writing about it and I realised that this is a societal thing, not a “me” thing.

 

Listen to women talking about sex and/or their husbands. It is incredible how quickly the excitement of the honeymoon period where the Whore is pre-eminent gives way to the sneering Mother who is “too busy for that sort of nonsense.” Much to their husband’s dismay, and I would argue, to their own physical, emotional and spiritual cost. 

 

Of course, there is much more going on for these women in their relationships and their lives which plays a role in their declining sexual interest in their men (not least your pants on the bedroom floor guys!!) but I have personal experience of the incredible power of integrating these two common personalities within one’s own nervous system.

 

And, of course, this split isn’t restricted to women. If you are a woman reading this, look for it within yourself. If you are a man reading these words, do the same. Examine your own beliefs around women and sexuality. 

 

Maybe begin with a provoking question like, “How do you feel about whores? Do you see them as exciting and enticing women and/or do you judge them as fallen women, victims of circumstance to be pitied and shamed?”

 

Go on to ask yourself, “Would you marry a whore?”

 

“How would you feel if your wife told you she wanted to leave her boring, badly paid 9 to 5 to set herself up as a whore?”

 

I have lost count of the number of times a man has told me that he once had incredible sex with a certain woman, but he didn’t marry her. In answer to my question, “Why not?” I am told something along the lines of, “She wasn’t the right kind of girl to marry, d’you know what I mean?” 

 

That there is the “Mother/Whore Split” in men! And it is really common.

 

I believe that many, many men carry the “Mother/Whore Split” within them. I hear it when they are slut shaming a woman for being openly sexual – they both desire the slut and judge her because “good” women i.e. “Mothers” are non-sexual, or at most only passively sexual.

 

Where this split in men takes on a whole new flavour is when they’ve paid to enjoy the Whore but found themselves nuzzling into the Mother. 

 

As someone who has integrated Mother and Whore within my nervous system I am, like the temple priestesses before me, able to be both incredibly sexual with my clients and give them tender, motherly love during my sessions. I even theorise that the reason why men crave to feel their cocks inside a woman so badly is because, at some level, a part of them wants to return to the safety and unconditional love of the womb. 

 

An integrated lover can give a man this. She can entice, beguile, arouse, seduce, excite and also care, nourish, comfort and love him.

 

If I were to set up a school for whores or a whore certification course (I think both are illegal in the UK) the first thing I would have every one of my trainees do is integrate their “Mother” and “Whore” parts.

 

A sexually integrated woman is far more certain and confident in her sexuality, in her body and in her life. How could you do this work if a part of you were judging you, sneering at you and shaming you for doing it? It would create a chaotic energy for both client and whore. 

 

The role of the whore is to heal, initiate and guide people from one broken, dysfunctional model of sex to another, kinder, more holistic, even sacred, model. Whores can’t heal in others what they haven’t healed in themselves. Modern day whores are only a fraction as powerful as the women who worked in the Temple of Horus but we have to start somewhere. 

 

For me the place to start is with integrating the Mother/Whore Split, I guess because that is where I started?

 

Before he left, I got what I wanted from my very sexy client – we spent quite a while with me on top of him in my favourite position – 69. By gripping the base of his cock with a circle of index finger and thumb I could hold his turn-on in the top two thirds of his shaft so my throat had to open wider and wider to take what felt like a very strong erection. At the other end he was feasting on me as powerfully as he had earlier – my body was singing with orgasm. 

 

When I couldn’t take any more and thought I needed a break, I rolled off him slightly, but then found that lying, heads on each other’s thighs was an even better position to pleasure each other. Thrusting our pelvises slightly we could fuck each other’s mouths. I felt like the cat that had got the cream!

 

Like I do almost every day, I deeply appreciated and celebrated my life and adventures as a whore. It is inconceivable to me now that I would do a “normal” job and not get to connect with such beautiful people in this beautiful way and make really good money by doing so!

 

At the end he showered, paid me and left. I showered, threw the used condom in the bin, went downstairs and spent the afternoon sitting in the garden writing this – until the kids all drifted home and we had a delicious family supper together as the heat of the day died down. At the end of the night I curled up in bed beside my delicious husband and, before we drifted into sleep, had more sex 🙂 

 

An integrated life is very, very, very good.

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