The Joy of Sex with Divine Cocks – Re-framing Premature Ejaculation

As anyone who has worked with me will tell you, I have a lousy memory, so it’s not very surprising that I don’t remember much about my first session with R. Two things have stayed with me. The first is that he arrived highly anxious about security and privacy, needing lots of reassurance that he was safe in my home and with me.  The second is that he absolutely loved my breasts and was slightly overwhelmed that he was allowed to touch them.

 

His love of my boobs was very charming and a bit difficult for him. Starved of boob pleasure in his marriage he used to bury his face in my breasts and shortly afterwards he would come. Sometimes this was within the first 15-20 minutes. The combination of excitement and nerves was too much for his highly sensitive cock and he would go from 0 to an explosive 10 in seconds.

 

He shared with me that his habit of ejaculating “prematurely” irritated his wife, her irritation then fuelled his feelings of shame, failure, disappointment and anxiety around his cock behaving in such a disappointing and non-conformist manner. 

 

I use the term “non-conformist” because I hate the term “sexual dysfunction.” I am frustrated by how many people believe that they are in some way sexually “dysfunctional” simply because their sexuality doesn’t conform to expected norms first laid out by the patriarchs and more recently reinforced by sexologists’ “scientific” studies. 

 

We have obediently followed the patriarchs’ model of sex for about 5,000 years of our 300,000 years of human existence, but that doesn’t change the fundamental fact that it IS only a model, that it’s not the only model and in no way is it “natural.” 

 

I would argue that 20th Century sexologists made sex a lot harder for a lot of people by trying to weave female pleasure into a model that had previously always disregarded female pleasure. (In fact, it was created to shut down female sexual pleasure.)

 

In the patriarchs’ model of sex, men were expected to (i) get an erection in response to sexual stimulus (ii) enter the woman and fuck her until he came, filling her body with seed to breed the next generation. Women were expected to comply – by whatever means necessary. 

 

Sexologists amended this model but that is all it is, an amendment, not a challenge or an alternative to the patriarchal model. 

 

Enlightened modern men are now expected to (i) get an erection in response to sexual stimulus (ii) maintain that erection through “foreplay” required to arouse the woman and make her wet and then (iii) maintain that erection whilst fucking her long enough for her to come before he does, so proving that he is both a proper man and a modern gent. Women are expected to get wet quickly enough for a man to use his erection to penetrate her before he ejaculates or loses his erection. 

 

In the patriarchal model of sex, correct erection function is required to prove your manhood. When your erection fails you in any of the above, patriarchal conditioning tells you that you are less of a man. If your woman fails to arouse step (i) or get wet enough in step (ii) or come before you in step (iii) YOU are also less of a man.

 

That is A LOT of pressure on one man and his sensitive cock. The pressure of this model and the implications it has on masculinity can be summed up thus: 

 

Big, strong erection = masculine. 

 

Hesitant, weak, fleeting erection (for whatever reason) = not masculine. 

 

Sexologists rush in with impressive sounding terms to explain this loss of masculinity. Terms like “erectile dysfunction” and “premature ejaculation” sound like clinical, medical terms but in truth they are another example of a health industry creating labels for so-called “dysfunctions” to make it easier for them to peddle their snake oil.

 

Create a problem, market the hell out of the problem and then sell an expensive solution be it some kind of pill or therapy. 

 

I’m not saying that there are not men who have difficulty sustaining erections or controlling their sexual energy. What I am saying is that both are completely normal responses in a body and that the “dysfunction” approach causes far more harm than it does good.

 

Here’s why – because whatever you give attention to will grow. 

 

As every parent of an upset child knows. 

 

If I have a splinter in my finger and think about it constantly the pain and distress in my finger will grow. If I put a plaster over the finger and kiss it better, not only will the pain decrease, but most often my body will sort out the problem for me.

 

It’s the same with a sexual “dysfunction.” The very worst thing for either ED or PE is to focus on it. If you enter into a sexual situation focussed on what could go wrong, you are pretty much certain to create all the wrong things you are worrying about. 

 

This was R’s sexual experience. He was terrified of irritating his wife further. He was terrified of disappointing her and receiving another eye roll, sigh or ear full. He dreaded the feelings of shame that followed each ejaculation that occurred, according to the rules of patriarchy, “too soon.” 

 

He felt unmanned by his non-conforming cock. I have no doubt that every failed sex session made the problem worse so that by the time he found his way to my door he ejaculated almost immediately.

 

His fears of what could go wrong guaranteed that they did go wrong because whatever you give your attention to will grow. 

 

And this is my issue with the health industry nodding along kindly to your concern that you have either ED or PE, they are feeding your attention and the more you feed a problem with your attention the more the problem will grow (which the health industry, designed to make profit, LOVES).

 

As a trainee teacher I learned that the secret to dealing with challenging behaviour in the classroom is to not give it attention. You ignore what you don’t want and you reward and praise what you DO want. It is a difficult practice and confusing to non-trained observers, but it works and in a classroom of 30 children you do what works, not what pleases untrained observers. 

 

Life as a whore uses the same skillset. I focus on, and reward, what I want (orgasmic pleasure for us both) and ignore any problem that shows up demanding attention and trying to disrupt my sessions. ED and PE are very demanding, they have their own egos. They are used to destroying my clients’ lives. Not with me they don’t. I don’t buy into their nonsense, I ignore them and focus my attention on pleasure and sensation.

 

And you can do more than just ignore the problem. You can regain control of your sex life by re-framing the problem as an opportunity. After all, wherever there is a problem there is always an opportunity (as the health industry who created this problem well knows!) 

 

My reframe takes your power back from the industry that persuaded you that your body is a problem and that in some way by being “deficient” your body proves that you aren’t a man enough man. What BS!!

 

My reframe is offered to anyone who is able to open their minds to an alternative way of understanding their body and of thinking about sex.

 

Ready?!

 

I see both ED and PE as invitations, and the man who has either as a lucky ticket winner – think Charlie’s Golden Ticket in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 

 

The ticket, or the invitation, is to escape the narrow confines of a model of sex that is all about performance over pleasure, judgement over experience and programming over connection. 

 

I believe that ED or PE show up in a body that is saying “This does not work for me, I want to connect deeply on my terms, not perform someone else’s script.” ED and PE are the body’s way of saying “I want to experience more. More depth, more connection, more sensation, more pleasure…. MORE.”

 

Sadly, most men, highly conditioned by patriarchy into a narrow performative model of sex, misunderstand their bodies. So instead of hearing the invitation and standing holding their golden ticket with glee, they feel like failures, become dejected and think more and more about their “dysfunction” so that, in time, they become their “dysfunction.” 

 

Whatever you give your attention to will grow. 

 

Patriarchy’s version of masculinity is a very narrow version. It is muscular, it is strong, it is non emotional, it is competitive, it is performative. It is full of rules and “shoulds”. It was designed to separate men from women and men from their own inner divine selves. Patriarchal masculinity is a mask, or a costume, that boys are conditioned into from birth.

 

Beneath the mask lies the essence of the man. This is where you find divine masculine. You can absolutely connect to your divine masculine with a correctly functioning erection, but if you are proudly performing sex to prove (to yourself and others) what an awesome version of patriarchal man you are, then you are not going to connect either with your lover, or with your own inner divine masculine.

 

Macho patriarchal man is like the shell of a nut. It’s just a shell. The real nut is inside. My desire, my job and my joy is connecting to the nut, both for my pleasure, and to reconnect my client to his real nut – his divine masculine.

 

And my theory is that men who are already vulnerable and essentially “unmanned” or de-shelled by their “dysfunction” are offered a portal into their divine by the golden ticket of having non-conforming cocks.

 

But as with Charlie, you have to be willing to use the ticket. You have to say yes to the invitation. You have to be willing to let go of all that you have learnt about male sexuality during your life of patriarchal programming. 

 

The first thing you need to let go of is, of course, the hardest to let go of. You need to let go of your belief that you are some kind of failure or less of a man because you have a non-conformist cock. 

 

You need to update the “big, strong cock = masculine” formula with new information, new ideas and new ways of experiencing your body, mind and soul.This is what R and I have been doing together since his first session with me. 

 

When he first showed up at my door he was very nervous, highly anxious and scared of disappointing another woman and suffering her disapproval. His anxiety (and my boobs) meant he ejaculated quickly and almost without warning. He was already caught in a downward spiral of worrying about how his non-conformist cock was going to behave and so guaranteeing that it would explode “too soon”.

 

My first job was to be completely relaxed about when he ejaculated in the session. It wasn’t hard, I am, genuinely, very relaxed about when a client ejaculates. I can honestly say, as a woman, that I have never cared about when a man ejaculates.  Apart from the brief spell in my life when my first husband and I were making babies, I’ve always found male ejaculate to be a bit of a nuisance. 

 

As a whore I care about my clients experiencing orgasm and I have witnessed so many post ejaculation orgasms that I have deep confidence when I say men can experience much better sex after they come and have stopped worrying about when they are going to explode and “ruin things.”

 

My second job was to help him to relax into a sexual situation. Introducing meditation into our sessions really was a game changer. Just 10 minutes of a guided body meditation focussed on relaxation and connection to sensation in his body made the most enormous difference. 

 

Gone was the pressure to perform, he was too relaxed to care. When anxious thoughts bubbled up in his mind he learned how to breathe them out and allow his awareness to return to sensation in his body.

 

Over the months he received the same message from my words – he is a fragment of the Divine and as such is divine. I guided him to connect to his divine energy, his spark, his sexual energy in his whole body. The room was always filled with the scent of frankincense (scent of divine masculine) and the music helped my words to draw him into the physical sensation in his body 

 

So by the time I placed my hands on his back and began the massage he was deeply, deeply relaxed and floating amongst the stars. When you connect with yourself and your power in the quantum realm it is hard to care about whether you are conforming to some old men’s rules.

He loves, loves, loves feeling my breasts moving across his body. But in his highly relaxed state he is able to enjoy the sensation without climaxing. Climax needs tension, relaxed bodies simply don’t comply! I know when I massage his feet with first my hands and then my breasts that he will enter heaven. So I take an extra long time to get to his feet, to tease and build the anticipation in his body. 

 

Sensation, anticipation, frankincense, candlelight, soft music, touch – an erotic alchemy activating divine masculine in R’s body. Over the months he would ejaculate at various points during the session and it mattered less and less to him. 

 

As he became more connected to sensation in his body and his sense of himself as a diving lover grew he used the time and space he had with me to give himself pleasure by giving me pleasure. And because I don’t have an issue about when he comes, I am the lucky bloody woman who gets to experience the divine lover that R has always been. 

 

With permission to enjoy sex in a non-judgemental environment his confidence grew and the nervous man who seemed to always be apologising for being in my space and taking up my time is now a genuinely exciting and rewarding lover. 

 

Something lights up in him when he receives my touch. The shell cracks open and this beautiful, beautiful man emerges who delights in making my body sing. Most often this is after he has ejaculated and his cock has softened, but as you don’t need an erection to make a woman ride wave after wave of orgasm neither of us care. 

 

In our sex “foreplay” is meditation and massage and Anabelle’s orgasms are the “afterplay.” We have never ended our sex when one of us ejaculates, the idea is just ridiculous. We stay in the space we have created, lost in the pleasure of each other’s bodies and energies, normally until well after the end of the session because we genuinely lose track of time. 

 

Today was extra special because as wonderful as our sex is, we haven’t often managed to fuck. Usually as soon as he clocks me reaching for a condom his cock will over-react and that’s it, no chance of fucking. As you surely know by now, we have amazing sex, but I know how much he loves the idea of coming inside me, so I have long wanted to get it right for him.

 

When I asked him to roll over (about 45 minutes into the session) his cock was hard, not about to explode hard, but strongly erect. This is a huge change from the early days when there is no way he could have experienced so much bodily contact with my boobs and not come. I smiled with gratitude at his cock proving my theory – relax and focus on sensation in your body and the problem just goes away.

 

Whatever you give your attention to will grow and R has learned to give his attention to sensation growing in and moving around his body – so this grows. He has learned to move from his head (the source of worry, judgement and shame) into his body where he experiences his pleasure and his magnificence. 

 

Because I know R and his cock well, I tweaked the order of the massage. Instead of massaging the front of his body with the front of mine (which can get very hot and steamy very quickly) I chose to give him a careful lingam massage before an abandoned hot and steamy finale to the session.

 

I positioned myself, cross legged under his legs and took his lingam in my hands. Over the months R’s cock and I have become good friends and I am very fond of this beautiful part of my divine lover. It was deeply pleasurable and satisfying to give him a full 20 minute lingam massage using a range of different strokes, lovingly massaging his inner thighs, balls, perineum, root, shaft, frenulum and glans moving the energy activated around his whole body with my hands.

 

R was deeply relaxed at the other end of the bed. I could tell he was fully immersed in the experience. So when I reached the end of the 20 minute lingam massage, I planned my next move carefully. 

 

I slowly shifted my position to move up his body quietly reaching for a condom as I did so. The rustle of the condom packet alerted him and he began to stir. I really didn’t want his mind to intervene and spoil my finale, so as quickly as I could I tore open the wrapper, rolled the condom onto his erection and took him inside me. 

 

My nipples found their way into his fingers which he tweaked with just the right amount of pressure (oh the joy of connected bodies!) making the muscles of my cunt squeeze in gratitude around him as I gently rode him.  

 

R fulfilled his wish, he came inside me and it felt unbelievably triumphant. 

 

Between us we had managed the session perfectly. He had followed the instructions of my meditation, he’d relaxed and focussed all of his attention on sensation in his body. This enabled me to activate a huge amount of energy in his body and move it around so that it did not build up in his genitals and explode out of him in an uncontrolled manner. 

 

I bent over him and we kissed passionately as his cock softened inside me. I lifted myself off him to remove the condom without pulling away from his mouth and we lay in each other’s arms kissing, smiling and stroking each other. 

 

The energy remained strong and grew within me as he applied increasing pressure to my nipples and started fingering my cunt. He stroked my vulva, played with my clit and fed me one finger at a time until my cunt greedily pulled in his fist. Then he fucked me again as I exploded around him.

 

When R is in this space he is pure divine masculine. He devotes his sexual energy to giving me orgasmic pleasure. In doing this he has taken the pressure off himself to perform which ironically is what enables him to be the most incredible lover. 

 

I would like R to get himself a soapbox and go teach the men of the world how to make love to a woman. He won’t, he’s far too modest. Maybe my blog post will do the work for the both of us?

 

R is one of my many, many clients who come to me with “non-conformist” cocks. He is one story of many that I could tell of the truly incredible sessions I have with men when they accept the invitation of their golden ticket. 

 

Based on my actual experience (not theories written into books by people who don’t have a lot of sex with a wide variety of real people) I am confident in asserting that the patriarchal model of sex doesn’t work for many of us. Very, very few people have erections that function correctly within this rigid model, especially if you are doing more than paying lip service to female pleasure.

 

But when you change the way you experience sex, removing all pressure to perform, it changes everything. 

 

R and I had everything in our session today. We both orgasmed, we both connected to sensation in our own bodies, we both connected to the other’s sexual energy, we fucked, we relaxed, we laughed, we made love. We freed ourselves from a formulaic approach.

 

When you remove any hierarchy from sex, and free “foreplay” from the inconvenient bit you’re obliged to do before fucking, you experience so much more in your sex. THIS is the golden ticket! And this is why I think men with non-conformist cocks are the lucky ones – if they allow themselves the reframe.   

 

Great sex may include penetration but that is a very small part of what really good sex is – especially for most women. When you step away from the narrow script prescribed by the patriarchs and allow yourself to be playful, creative and devote yourself to pleasure over performance, amazing miracles happen.

 

When you experience the joy of sex as a path to experiencing energy moving in your body leading to full bodied orgasm (with or without ejaculation) it no longer matters what your cock is doing in any given moment. 

 

Erections are great fun, they truly are. And so are the “non-conformist” cocks who choose to do things a bit differently.

 

As a final thought, maybe my term “non-conformist” cock can be improved? 

 

What about “divine cocks”?

 

Divine cocks – portals to reconnecting to The Divine within yourself through which you become a divine lover.

 

Yep, that’s a good place to end this one.

 

Here’s to you R and your simply divine cock! 

 

Further Recommended Reading:

 

“Lingam Massage – Awakening Male Sexual Energy” by Jürgen Becker and Michaela Riedl

 

“The Multi-Orgasmic Man: Sexual Secrets Every Man Should Know” by Mantak Chia and Douglas Abrams Arava

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)

Connecting to Tenderness in The Wounded Masculine

“Patriarchy teaches boys that masculinity means control, emotional invulnerability, sexual access, public authority and distance from everything coded female. It teaches them that anger is strength, grief is weakness, care is emasculating and women’s attention is a resource owed to them if they perform masculinity correctly….

 

….This is the crisis. Not ‘men are monsters.’ Not ‘boys are born bad.’ Not ‘women good, men bad, please clap.’ The crisis is that boys are being handed a broken emotional toolkit and then told the hammer is the only instrument a real man should need….

 

….I hate the system that teaches boys to amputate parts of themselves and then calls the wound masculinity…

 

…Need is human, while entitlement is political. A man needing love, care, intimacy, friendship, sex, belonging, respect, purpose and tenderness is not a problem. Those are human needs, Everyone has them. Everyone is shaped by whether they receive them….

 

…..Patriarchy is killing us. It is killing women through violence, control, medical neglect, forced pregnancy, economic inequality….It is killing men too, through isolation, emotional repression, grievance, politics, violence, addiction, despair (war – my addition) and the lie that being loved is less important than being obeyed. Feminism did not create this crisis. Feminism is just one of the few traditions honest enough to name it….

 

….Men and boys are not in crisis because women got too mean, too educated, too independent, too feminist… They are in crisis because patriarchy promised them a throne and gave them a cage. And some of them are so attached to the cage they cannot even see the bars.”

 

 Professor Meredith Bitchy History on Substack

 

I read Professor Meredith’s brilliantly written and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny article while drinking my morning coffee in the garden as the day warmed up. It had been another viciously hot week and being able to sit and enjoy a coffee was a rare treat. The birds were singing and the garden humming with life – so much abundance, so much joy, so much life. 

 

I watched the cats stretch out in the early rays, enjoying the soft breeze before the heat of the day became something to hide from, and I wondered how did we all get so lost? How did we all get so disconnected from how beautiful and magical and abundant life is?

 

The answer is always the same. 

 

A system of hierarchy and control that was created to separate us from the world around us and from each other. Separated and disconnected from the magical abundance of life and our innate creativity, we flap around like fish out of water, desperate to breathe but in completely the wrong environment to do so. 

 

Of course a fish out of water won’t survive long. The GENIUS of patriarchy is to make it survivable but only that – survivable.

 

Let me be clear. Patriarchy is not men. Men are not patriarchy. 

 

Patriarchy is a system of extraction and exploitation. It uses hierarchy as an instrument of control. Of course, if you are slightly up the hierarchical ladder you feel “good” when you look down on those beneath you, but it’s still only survival, just in a slightly nicer suit.

 

To thrive humans need to feel connected. We need intimacy, both platonic and sexual. We need belonging – with an intimate partner (or partners), within a family and within a community of deeply trusted friends. In order to develop and nourish these intimacies we need the emotional skills to ask for what we need/desire and to hear (without defence) what others need/desire from us.

 

We need to reach adulthood skilled in kindness, compassion, love, patience, honesty, courage, open-heartedness, tenderness. We need to be able to feel and safely express the full range of our emotions.

 

But patriarchy does not want us to thrive. A thriving population would learn its collective power and so would strive together, in unison, for independence, self-governance and sovereignty. 

 

You can’t exploit a thriving and empowered population. 

 

You can’t control people who know their own power and see and celebrate the power in the people around them. 

 

You can’t control people who collaborate with one another instead of competing as they have been programmed to do. 

 

But you can control people if you train them from a very young age into roles that will define them, and their relationships with other people, for life. The Jesuits famously proclaimed, “Give me the boy until the age of 7 and I will give you the man.” I watched as my children were conditioned, despite my best efforts, by people and wider society around me.

 

One day particularly stands out in my memory. I had walked the youngest across the fields to meet his school bus at the other end of the village as we did most mornings. We had had a particularly lovely walk, he has always had an incredible, enquiring mind and interesting perspective on the world and I have always deeply valued our chats. 

 

On that morning we were feeling particularly connected and him leaving me to go to school, which would bore his beautiful, inquisitive mind to death, felt like a cruel wrench – for both of us. 

 

The mini-bus drew up as we were swapping red wellies for black school shoes and we both started feeling really emotional – we weren’t ready for the impending separation. Neither of us wanted to be separated (separating children from their families for compulsory education is an essential tool of patriarchy), I was holding back tears and “being brave.” 

 

My little boy was less tightly programmed than me – he was still young, they’d had him for far fewer years than they had had me – and he started crying in great big sobs. It really tugged at my heart, but that was not what was making me want to cry. I wanted to cry because I didn’t want to be parted from my joyous, beautiful boy any more than he wanted to be parted from me.

 

As we stepped onto the bus so that I could settle him into his seat, the old, kindly Santa-look-a-like bus driver said, “Pull it together lad – look you’re making your mother cry – man up!”

 

I was furious. I turned on the sweet old man who was, after all, only repeating the harm done to him, and hissed, “How dare you! Crying is a perfectly acceptable and honest expression of emotion and a sign of a healthy person. DO NOT presume to tell my son how he should behave.”

 

Of course my words were wasted. The damage was done. Patriarchy had won, again. My boy didn’t come home a completely changed being, but it was another brick in the wall. 

 

The kindly Santa-look-a-like bus driver seemingly played a very peripheral role in my son’s life – he only drove the mini bus to and from a school. Yet he was one of the men who raised my son, the men in society beyond my front door, and therefore beyond my control, who taught my boys what it is to be a man. 

 

I am a woman. I cannot raise boys to be men. I am a model for girls, not boys. On that morning the bus driver amputated a part of my young son’s emotional body. My boy carries that wound into adulthood, it was one of the lessons that helped him to define and understand what it is “to be a man.” 

 

It’s such a cliché but in 2016/17 my beautiful boy learned that TO BE A MAN you must:

 

  1. Not cry
  2. Not upset your mother

 

This is a huge wound that needs healing. 

 

Children are NEVER responsible for their parent’s emotional states – that is the job of adults, not children. Yet my young boy had just been told by an older (thus to be respected) MAN (i.e. role model on masculinity for my boy) that he was indeed responsible for my emotional states. 

 

And worse, he learnt this in the year his parents – the people who should keep him safe – were themselves going through a divorce thanks to their own unresolved childhood trauma.

 

I hope that my son, now a young man, will be challenged in relationship to heal this wound. Or maybe he will find a good therapist, a men’s healing group or a shaman skilled in using plant medicine? Sadly the wound is below the level of consciousness and he lives in a society in which carrying this wound is the entry criteria to “masculinity.”

 

So, when after a particularly beautiful and intimate session with a client, lying, limbs entangled on the bed, he mused that feminism had gone too far and made intimacy too difficult for men and women I was honestly lost for words (a rare event for me!)

 

I clearly live in a completely different algorithmic world to him. I am not fed manosphere diatribes against feminism, I am fed Bitchy History diatribes against patriarchy! I am not reading that the feminist fight for bodily self autonomy and the right to choice in our lives is somehow to blame for the crisis in “masculinity.”

 

I think he thought that because I am a sexually active woman who loves cock and offers a professional sex service I am somehow not a feminist? I took a deep breath, reminded myself to be kind and said something like, “How does women having choice harm men?”

 

Flustered, (he obviously realised a bit too late that he had ejaculated all over a real life feminist) he replied, “No….but it’s gone a bit too far hasn’t it?”

 

“In what way?” I asked.

 

When he didn’t reply I offered, “It seems to me that you think feminism is some kind of war against men? It really isn’t. It’s a war against a system of oppression and control that harms men just as much as it harms women. If only men could see how trapped and exploited they are and then either join women in fighting patriarchy as feminists or create a parallel movement to fight with us for freedom for us all?”

 

I had said too much. The cognitive dissonance was writ large on his face and he muttered about not being as well read as me and fled to the shower. 

 

When you’re not enduring a relationship with a man who’s stuck in the algorithmic manosphere it is easy to have compassion for them. They are clearly being manipulated into hating and fearing THEIR PATH TO FREEDOM. 

 

Yes women were the first (of the two genders) to see that patriarchy is shit, we’ve read, written, talked, marched and even self-pleasured our way towards freedom and we love nothing more than when men (with the beautiful cocks we so enjoy sucking and fucking) join us in that fight.

 

But obviously patriarchy is going to fight back. Obviously the machine will pay to boost a few toxic individuals who eagerly tell men, “It’s all women’s fault” to keep men from the warrior women who could work with them towards freedom, power, personal sovereignty and meaningful connected community.

 

The cage that patriarchy works so hard to keep men in is incredibly brutal. From birth boys are conditioned to disconnect from, suppress, judge and shame essentially human traits. Let’s list just a few:

 

Sensitivity – being alert and receptive to the mood in the room, your own and other’s emotions, states of wellbeing and energies. Shut down because a “sensitive man” is a sissy. (Patriarchy doesn’t only seek to shut down sensitivity in men – I was raised in a family that used the label “over-sensitive” not as a compliment, but as an affliction to grow out of.)

 

Collaboration and cooperation – sacrificed on the altar of competition as boys are taught that being Number 1 – A Winner – is more desirable than working collectively within community to reach an outcome that benefits everyone.

 

Kindness – left to women.

 

Compassion – left to women.

 

Empathy – left to women.

 

Tenderness – what even is that? Definitely left to women.

 

Crying – don’t ever do this!! And never, ever allow yourself to feel anything that might make you cry. Crying effectively equals woman. Only women and babies cry. A man who cries is effectively cutting off his own balls. 

 

Which brings me onto: 

 

Circumcision – the single most effective and brutal act inflicted by patriarchy on infant boys. You cannot argue that it’s not both cruel and unnecessary, yet half the planet is still circumcising their infant boys who live with the consequences of trauma and reduced sensitivity for life. 

 

You still think patriarchy is something you want to defend by attacking feminists?!

 

In my session today I was very preoccupied with the concept of tenderness. What would tenderness even look like in a man? What is tenderness? How is a man tender? 

 

I was musing over these questions as I lit my candles and incense, connected my playlist to the speaker, showered, dressed, applied lipstick and mascara. Could I think of a moment when I had witnessed or experienced tenderness in a man?

 

My client arrived – a Musubi/Kama session – I invited him to undress and lie down and guided him through a short body meditation. He relaxed quickly and fell into a deep trance, “excellent” I thought. I asked him to roll over onto his front which he did almost without stirring, again – “excellent” I thought. 

 

His body reacted quickly to the massage and despite the heat in the room I gave him a really sexy, deeply sensual and highly erotic massage. He hadn’t been sure whether he wanted a prostate massage, I had suggested that we follow his body’s desires (or lack of) and go where the energy flowed. His body screamed for a prostate massage – all the classic signs – bum pushing up towards my hands as they glided over it, relaxed buttocks, soft anal rose. 

 

Gingerly and very slowly, I entered him. I applied gentle pressure to his prostate whilst I stroked his shaft, frenulum and balls with my free hand. He was moaning with pleasure, his cock hard, he was pushing back against my finger, but I knew this was the first time for him and I know the released energies are powerful. He had a beautiful cock which I wanted to feel deep down my throat and deep inside in my cunt, I didn’t want to make his energy too powerful for him to ride.

 

So I withdrew my finger and sat astride him, grinding my vulva into his buttocks for a few moments, moving the energy I had just activated between and around our two bodies, while I removed the glove I had worn to penetrate him. Then I leant forward and whispered in his ear, “Roll over.” I raised myself up allowing him to roll over underneath me so that as his face came around he was met with an eyeful of oily breast. 

 

He immediately took hold of them and buried his face deep into their generous flesh, his fingers finding my nipples which you will know, if you have ever spent any time with me, always makes me come. He hadn’t met me before, he felt my juices beginning to flow over his cock and between his legs, “That feels amazing” he sighed. 

 

“Pinch harder” I replied, kissing him full on the mouth knowing that what was about to come would blow his mind as it always does. He pinched and then, as invited, bit down on my nipples. The heavens opened, the longed for rain gushed over him and he was soaked. 

 

 It was too much for him. 

 

“I’m going to come,” he gasped. I could see him desperately fighting the urge to come, tensing his body, tightening his face – tension and tightness accelerate the process and before I could coach him into long gentle exhales to relax and allow, he had come – copious amounts of beautiful sperm all over his sacrum and hip, my thigh and the bed. There is something endlessly magical and miraculous about sperm isn’t there?

 

His exhilaration and intense pleasure was immediately fighting disappointment and shame. 

 

Disappointment that his session – for him – had come to an end and shame that he had failed to control his pleasure and come “too soon.” I could see his inner turmoil and frustration and I did what any self respecting tantric whore would do, I invited him to relax and receive pleasure in a softer, gentler, calmer state.

 

I have brought countless men to orgasm post ejaculation. Many are only too pleased to lie and fully relax, even sleep lightly, as I work my magic with my hands. Post ejaculation men can fall into a deep, deep place of relaxation and in this place it is so much easier to move energy around the body. Very often, whilst almost asleep, they will then feel the unfamiliar experience of orgasmic energy in their chest, arms, hands, legs, feet.

 

Their cock hardens but hasn’t got the same urgency to come because they are so deeply relaxed. It’s beautiful to watch and very empowering. Yes, I was sad not to ride my client’s cock today, but I was equally excited about pleasing him as he dozed off, building his energy until we were both caught up in the dance again.

 

We had plenty of time left on the clock. I wiped away the sperm, picked up my little bottle of coconut oil and settled myself between his legs to give exquisite pleasure.

 

“Thank you, that was amazing. Can I have a shower?” said the voice at the other end of the bed.

 

“Would you not accept my invitation to receive pleasure in a softer, gentler, quieter state?”

 

He lay quietly for a bit, but his legs stayed upright, feet planted on the bed either side of me, knees restricting the movement of my arms, creating a protective barrier around his cock. This was not a body open to receiving or relaxing back into pleasure.

 

I persevered. I stroked, twisted, licked and even sucked his beautiful soft cock. At moments it throbbed its appreciation and I smiled back, “I know it’s lovely to experience tenderness.”

 

TENDERNESS. 

 

That word again. In that moment I was in the wound. And I understood what tenderness is. 

 

Tenderness is softness. 

 

Tenderness is being soft, feeling soft, sharing soft.

 

Pleasure can be so soft – think of a feather stroking across skin. But men are conditioned to expect and require their cocks to be hard. Only a hard cock earns the right to be grasped, stroked, teased, licked, sucked, fucked. 

 

My client today was clearly deeply uncomfortable receiving pleasure in softness. His cock wasn’t. It was throbbing appreciatively in my hands and mouth. But his mind – the seat of patriarchal conditioning – was roaring NO!!! YOU HAVE NOT EARNED THIS!!

 

When he asked again if he could go and have a shower of course I didn’t deny his request. I was sad that he was unable to receive my loving attention post ejaculation, but I wasn’t going to force myself on him. 

 

I smiled, held his cock in one hand, placed the other on his heart chakra, took a few deep heart connected breaths, sent my love through my hands to his heart and his cock and then withdrew my touch and escorted him to the bathroom.

 

And I’m left with a new question to muse over this afternoon – how can a man show tenderness towards others, his partner, children, friends, society, the planet when he can’t allow himself to feel tenderness within himself? 

 

If he’s uncomfortable with being soft, how can he give the people in his life and beyond, the softness that they yearn for, crave and need? 

 

Can you feel the wound?

 

Can you see how patriarchy harms men and the people that they love?

 

Are you beginning to see the bars of the cage?

 

Are you ready to join us in resistance to reclaim your personal sovereignty, or will you carry on blaming women?

 

26.06.2026

 

Photo by Nour Wageh on Unsplash  

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.

Becoming Anabelle Part II – Tinkerbell

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Plus, I had met The Lover. 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

Surely this would win him over to my side? 

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

And his cock had never been as magnificent before.

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

Tinkerbell just beamed, “I love it.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

“More than Two” by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert

Can tantra help with my sexual dysfunction

Connecting With The Heart Through a Prostate Massage

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“WOW!” Was his first word. 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Mission accomplished. 

 

A good result for a whore.

 

Recommended further reading:

 

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

 

The Number 1 rule of a sex worker

The “Number One Rule” of Sex Work & Why I Ignore it

The text will say something like, “Can I ask you a question?”

To which I reply, “Of course :)”

“I hope I won’t offend you…”

“I am fairly unshockable, don’t worry!”

“Do you allow kissing?”

Every time I am asked this I spit out a mouthful of tea!

Given that my services involve full sex this is such a sweet, almost naive, question to be asked.

My answer, always, is that I cannot imagine doing this work without lots and lots of kissing!

I too have seen “Pretty Woman” plenty of times – I love, love, love both Julia Roberts and Richard Gere (he was my first big crush). So I also know that the “Number one rule of sex work is – don’t kiss your clients.” From memory, the premise of the film is that if you kiss your clients an emotional bond will be formed and that will become messy. Far better to stick to the commercial exchange of penetrative sex for money keeping any chance of connection away from the exchange.

In my 10 years of actually working with clients I could probably count on one hand the number of individuals who came for a connection-free experience. No-one wants sex without connection. Not me and certainly not my clients.

Human beings (as distinct from human doings) are hard-wired for connection. We crave deep physical, emotional and spiritual connection – it’s how we remember we are human and reconnect to our own humanity.

In a world that is rushing to turn us into ever more efficient robots, it is in the moments of deep connection with another human that we are nourished and are able to re-connect with our own soul, which is surely THE THING that distinguishes us from the robots they wish to turn us into?

In my opinion kissing is one of the foundations of sex. It’s highly erotic, highly arousing and best of all anyone can do it! There is no performance pressure for anyone around kissing, just lips connecting as hands gently stroke and explore. I could kiss for hours. And it’s really good for you too: the stimulation of the mouth’s nerves releases endorphins which reduces stress and leads you into a state of euphoria. I know I would rather kiss than meditate my way to low blood pressure!

Controversially (if you are of the “Pretty Woman” school of thought) kissing triggers the release of oxytocin, the bonding and love hormone, thus building emotional and physical bonding between the kissers and signalling to the body that this person is safe to have sex with. Removing kissing from sex workers would thus increase their body’s unease with the sex that they’re selling, turning a potentially beautiful experience into a more brutal and exploitative exchange. Western culture has a problematical relationship with sex workers – this is just one of the many ways it rears its ugly head.

I haven’t met a single client EVER who wants to exploit me or use me. I’m not saying that these kind of clients don’t exist, I just haven’t attracted them into my orbit. I meet people who are open and honest about craving connection – with me, with a power within themselves or sometimes with an energy/power beyond themselves – whatever type of connection is sought, the one constant is that they crave connection and kissing is the path to that connection.

When oxytocin flows through your body, you are not only connecting to the person you are with, you are also able to connect with yourself – with energy, emotions, sensations, feelings that you spend most of every day life unaware of. It is immensely powerful to slow down and spend time in a space where it is safe to connect again.

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