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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

His reply still shocks me. 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Oh gush!” he exclaimed.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

His Queen very much approved.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Where had Mr Interrupt-The-Flow gone?!

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Photo by Alessio Zappatore on Unsplash

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

It wasn’t. 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

That was another moment that changed my life. 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The bra story gets worse.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Huzzah! 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

For shame.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

When he rolled over I wanted to devour him. 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Yep, I had to keep my eyes closed.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

We would have incredible sex.

 

But that wasn’t what he had asked for.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I could fall in love with you.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I want him to message me and book another session. 

 

I want a Kama session with my Adonis. 

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  

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Why is meditation before a sexual service so powerful?

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Recommended further reading: 

 

“Vagina” by Naomi Wolf 

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

Wrong my darlings, wrong.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

How can we connect better? 

 

How do we find belonging? 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Oh she may be weary

And young girls they do get weary

Wearing that same old shaggy dress

But when she gets weary

Try a little tenderness….” 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Does it matter how a home becomes more harmonious? 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash 

 

Recommended Further Reading: 

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

“WOW….that was mindblowing…”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I was a very, very satisfied whore. 

Why Society Needs Queens in the Bedroom

According to legend Cleopatra required visiting diplomats to give her cunnilingus before she would meet to discuss the business of state with them – a seriously enlightened female way of checking the quality of a statesman’s “silver tongue”! 

 

Cleopatra was queen at a time when priestesses were still practicing sacred sex in the temples. Sex was not a shut away, only-in-the-monogamous-bedroom activity, it was highly revered, priestesses were highly trained and initiated to high levels in the magic of energy transmutation, it is not at all surprising to me that it was openly part of politics (how much better than the toxic, negative role sex plays in modern day politics).

 

If you Google “Cleopatra, Cunnilingus, Diplomacy” (as I’ve just done) you’ll find a whole host of articles trying to claim that, contrary to widespread popular belief, Cleopatra was not promiscuous, sexual or sexy – they rush to defend her honour as a strong, powerful, female ruler and seem aghast at the notion that she was all that AND highly sexual.

 

So entrenched have we become in our uncomfortable relationship with sex that we cannot imagine a sexual woman as anything other than a loser, a harlot or a slut – a fallen woman to be pitied. In patriarchy’s hierarchy of control the very, very, very bottom of the ladder is where the poor desperate prostitute sits. Brought to this low level by either circumstance or her own innate, insatiable sexual appetite she is completely weak and powerless, a vulnerable victim, an object of societal rejection and derision. 

 

This is the fate of all sexual women under patriarchy. 

 

Because of their central role in pagan (pre-patriarchal) worship, sexual women could not be allowed to stay sexual. Sexual women were, and are, a direct threat to patriarchal hierarchy and control which is why every sinew is stretched to keep them in the gutter “where they belong” and, where, stripped of their power, they can be safely exploited. 

 

To consider Cleopatra, a woman who sat at the very top of the pyramid, to be sexually promiscuous and even politically sexual is both confusing and threatening to the patriarchy-conditioned brain. You can literally hear it having a meltdown as it tries to hold on to two totally contradictory notions at the same time.

 

Sexy ladies are great to have a roll in the hay with, but they are, by their sexual nature, not the kind of women you admire, marry or trust with any kind of power. As Elizabeth I demonstrated, under patriarchy, for a woman to be powerful she must deny her sexuality, proclaim herself “a virgin” and demonstrate that her powerful and reasonable mind has complete control over her chaotic and sinful body at all times. 

 

For this reason I love to believe that Cleopatra welcomed visiting dignitaries by opening her legs and lying back on her luxurious cushions. That’s the way I would be a queen! Hold this idea in your mind. I am taking a detour and you will think, “Where on earth is this crazy whore taking me?” but hold tight, it will all make sense in the end.

 

There are a few things that everyone in a society seems to get socialised into – a cultural code if you like. In Britain ours is to queue and to moan. We moan about the weather, we moan about our politicians – of all sides (fair enough, they are all lousy), we moan about our utility bills and the state of our roads whilst also saying, “Musn’t grumble” – you have to laugh. 

 

One of our top peeves is how wasps ruin every summer. I kid you not, every single summer these pesky little flying stingers come out of nowhere to ruin our enjoyment of an ice-cream, a coke on ice, a G&T – how dare they?! We spend precious few of our days off outside in the sun and when we do dare to venture outside they appear to spoil all the fun.

 

I grew up with wasp traps on every garden table – lidded jars with a few pierced holes – big enough for a wasp to crawl through but not big enough for them to fly out to freedom through. The jars contained sweetened water to attract the wasps and part of our patriarchal enculturation was to delight in our power over these little insects as they desperately flew around the jars trying to escape, until, eventually exhausted, they fell into the water and drowned. If you think about it, it was truly macabre. 

 

At worst a wasp stings you and it hurts for a bit, but unless you’re unlucky enough to be allergic to their sting, they don’t cause anything other than a minor irritation. Yet the fuss people will make around them! Wasps are the enemy of the British summer and any method of getting rid of them is deemed completely appropriate and is actively encouraged. 

 

But, did you know that earlier, in late spring and early summer wasps played a crucial and totally non-chemical role in keeping aphids at bay? Gardeners obviously benefit the most from the uncelebrated labours of the worker wasp (and they are then often the loudest complainants in later summer) but if you want to eat food that hasn’t been sprayed to death by harmful pesticides, you too should show some appreciation for the humble wasp. 

 

The worker wasp spends months busily carrying aphids from our plants (where they would otherwise cause mass destruction) back to their queen who consumes huge quantities of these blighters in the production of her eggs. For every aphid she is brought she rewards the worker with a squirt of sweet liquid – wasp amrita! The wasps adore her amrita, so happily busy themselves all summer long carrying her aphids in return for her sweet reward. 

 

In late summer everything changes. Just in time for the hot days of August when the beaches and parks fill up with children on school holidays with their melting ice-creams and cans of coke, the wasp queen dies, exhausted, job done, all her eggs laid. 

 

Without their source of amrita the worker wasps spend the remaining months of their short lives seeking out alternative sources of sweet, sticky liquid: hanging fruit on the trees, ice cream in sticky hands, a fizzing beverage on ice – they’re not fussy, they just want the sweetness they have become addicted to and they are willing to risk their lives to get it. 

 

The busy worker wasp who has devoted his life thus far to his queen and the continuation of his species now becomes the pest from hell. A flying terrorist set upon ruining our summer days. A completely toxic, unbearable insect that we all agree to hate.  Bereft of a queen to provide a purpose, and importantly, a reward in his life, the worker wasp becomes a nuisance. A pest. One to be avoided, batted away and even drowned in a lidded jar with a few holes in the lid.

 

Worker wasps remind me of male sexuality. When it is offered in devotion to its queen it is utterly beautiful. With purpose (to honour and worship) male sexuality gives pleasure beyond compare, but devoid of purpose, when the queen has gone, male sexuality is as annoying and toxic as wasps on a British summer’s day. 

 

In October 2022 a report by Un Women UK found that 97% of women aged between 18 and 24 had been sexually harassed, but that 96% of these women did not report the harassment because it is so prevalent and “normal” (like wasps on a summer’s day) and nothing would change anyway. 

 

Sexual harassment is not the same thing as sexual assault or rape, but obviously they are all part of the same utterly toxic pattern in male behaviour. 97% is virtually every single woman surveyed. It is an appalling statistic that shames our society.  I would argue that few males intend to be toxic pests, just as few wasps intend to ruin your enjoyment of an ice cream in August. 

 

Both are just trying to survive in a world without a queen. 

 

Toxic sexual behaviour is what results from pushing our natural and sacred sexual desires into the shadows. God has tried, for 1000s of years, to persuade us, gently and not so gently, to forgo earthly (aka sexual) pleasures in return for a post physical experience eternity in heaven. Goddess was wiser. She knew that souls incarnate into human form for that human experience. 

 

Goddess observed and understood that to deny any human a full sexual life is to deny this aspect of their soul’s purpose. If the soul didn’t want to experience sex why incarnate as one of the most sexual species on the planet? Oak trees are far more powerful and live for hundreds of years – if you’re not fussed about sex why not be an oak?!

 

Humans are fussed about sex, just like worker wasps are fussed about squirts of sweet, sticky liquid. Denied their birthright, confused about the moral code, repressed for 1000s of years by sex phobic myths and poorly informed by lousy modern sexologists, British males (and I am sure many of their counterparts across the world) have become a toxic menace in women’s lives. 

 

In earlier times, when humans worshipped Goddess, young men learned from their society how to reverently channel their sexual energy to worship and honour the feminine. In modern “Western Civilisation” boys are raised in the dark on all things sexual,  left to their own, now porn fuelled, devices and the results are ghastly for girls and young women. 

 

If your society teaches you through what you see (porn) and what you hear (in Church and other places of worship) that your penis is a weapon of war, can we be surprised that so many of our young men do not understand that their penises, their lingams, are tools of love? That the vagina is not a land to be conquered and broken into but a sacred temple to be loved tenderly, worshipped in whispers and gazed at in awe and wonder? 

 

The words men use when talking about women’s bodies  – amongst themselves and with us – matter. It is treason to talk of the death of a monarch and yet queens are disparaged with alarming regularity. Cleopatra one senses would not have tolerated this total lack of respect. Which is why I am sure the diplomat-cunnilingus legend is based on truth. She was a powerful woman who understood that queens demand respect best with their legs wide open. 

 

When this whore hears about or witnesses men behaving like nuisance wasps I am irritated, angered, and mostly saddened. I want to slap the men and tell them to behave, of course I do! But I also want to extort women to power up. Put on your crowns women and DEMAND sexual respect! Unlike wasps, nuisance men can be trained. 

 

The vast majority of them are desperately craving touch, intimacy, connection, validation, the sense of being valued, being seen, feeling worthy. Yes they want to fuck – they have hormones surging around their bodies that make them think about fucking pretty much non stop – but they want so, so, so much more. 

 

Human sexual energy is our creatrix energy – it literally creates life! When it is channelled and focused it is our greatest source of personal power, enabling us to build lives in which we reclaim our personal sovereignty. 

 

Sovereign beings, empowered to create lives that work for them, are a direct threat to patriarchal powers, they always have been and they always will be. Which is, of course, why our sexuality has been so deeply repressed by patriarchal powers who seek complete control over all humans – both male and female – in order to exploit us. 

 

Cleopatra was born in the year 69 BC (it’s true – I have just looked it up!) She died 30 years before Jesus was born and our current era began. By the time of her birth patriarchy was an established system in much of the world and yet there still remained, most notably in the temples devoted to the Goddess Isis in Egypt, remnants of the Goddess worshipping cultures. 

 

What we find difficult to imagine – 5,000 years deep into patriarchy – is that a powerful alternative version of living existed before (and alongside) the patriarchal model. Homosapiens have walked this earth for 300,000 years, that is 60,000 times the length of patriarchy! Humans have managed relations with each other in a non-patriarchal construct for waaaaay longer than we have been told that sex is “dirty and sinful.”

 

Cleopatra knew that sex was delicious, and more importantly, powerful. 

 

This whore knows that sex is delicious, and more importantly, powerful.

 

My solution to the modern sexual harassment problem in the UK is not more education, laws, judgement or shaming, it is for women to truly take back control of their pleasure, to learn their YES and retrain their men in the art of sacred, sensual sexuality. 

 

Men are ready for this. They are yearning for this. I truly believe and witness on a daily basis how ready men are to worship, honour and adore us, to give us immense pleasure, healing and power through devoted love making with their lingams.

 

Whores can lead the way in this, but you have to understand, we will never be asked to rescue humanity! The powers-that-be want to use our services whilst denying our true power. We know this, and we keep working anyway. 

 

Because we have regained our personal sovereignty. 

We know we are QUEENS.

 

Recommended further reading: 

 

“She Comes First” by Ian Kerner (I’m not a super fan, but this is a solid how-to guide for cunnilingus – if you are a bit unsure of this vital life skill, this would be a good place to start)

 

“The Woman’s Anatomy of Arousal – Secret Maps to Buried Treasure” By Sheri Winston (my number one favourite book on female sexuality – every home should have a copy!)

 

“Vagina” by Naomi Wolf 

girl-friend-experience-hampshire

You Are a Gorgeous, Gorgeous Fuck – The Real Power of a Tight Cunt

The Silver Fox looked up at me sitting astride him riding his cock and simply said, “You are a gorgeous, gorgeous fuck.” I laughed, bent down so that my lips were teasingly close to his and asked him to repeat what he’d just said. I had heard him well enough, but I was charmed by his choice of words  and I wanted to remember them exactly for my website. 

 

What I didn’t ask was, “Why? What makes you say that? How am I a gorgeous fuck?”

 

I have been told countless times that I am an amazing lover. When you are told something enough times by enough people it becomes part of your identity – your ego self. Now, wherever I go, I carry with me the knowledge that I am an amazing fuck – the English language turning my gift into my identity.

 

The first person I was bold enough to ask  the question, “Why?” was The Lover. Others had told me that sex with me was amazing, but I had always brushed it aside assuming they meant, “Sex is amazing and right now it’s with you, ergo sex with you is amazing.” 

 

My ego wasn’t ready to allow sex to be part of my identity.

 

Until The Lover. He lit an audacious power within me which wanted to receive the feedback, understand it a bit more and then own it. So one day, after he collapsed off me once again exclaiming as he had many times before, “Oh my god that was amazing, I could fuck you all day – you are such an incredible lover!” I replied nosily, “Why? What makes me so good?”

 

The reply changed my life.

 

“You enjoy it. I have never met a woman who enjoys sex as much and with every single part of her body – it is just so rewarding and such fun to fuck you.”

 

I was dumbfounded. 

 

To be “good at sex” all I needed to do was enjoy it?!!

 

But it’s obvious isn’t it? Anyone with any gift, be it singing, dancing, painting, gardening, music making, when they are lost in that gift will be enjoying it. That doesn’t mean every single painting turns out the way you wanted it to and you may criticise the results of your joy, but surely anyone who is lost in expressing their passion is getting pleasure from doing so?

 

Until this conversation with The Lover I don’t think I had owned that sex is my gift. I still struggle to understand that others aren’t as obsessed and passionate about sex 

as I am – because when you find something to be pure delight and joy it is hard to understand that others don’t. It’s how I imagine dancers feel when watching my rhythmless body attempting to move in time to  music – pure bemusement that such lack of co-ordination is possible!

 

So I didn’t ask the Silver Fox, “What makes you say that?” Instead I asked him to repeat the words he used and smiled, my ego flattered and charmed a little bit more. Noticing my smile he added, “I suppose you hear this all the time?” I nodded. I do. 

 

And you know what? It bloody thrills me that so many men, of so many backgrounds and all ages, say the same thing. Partly because my ego enjoys the affirmation, but more because it feels such a big, fat middle finger up to the beauty and sex industries which work so hard to make women feel less than by being real women.

 

For as long as we have had patriarchy, women’s sexual role has been to passively receive whatever a man chooses to give her, her role in sex reduced to arousing his desire by staying young, slim, attractive and not quite available.

 

This combination is played out over and over in our magazines, novels, TV screens and films. The constantly reinforced message to women is that to be desirable, to be a “good fuck”, you have to be young, you have to be slim, you have to be attractive and rather confusingly for women, you have to be not quite available so that he has to chase you and win you. 

 

Under patriarchy, a woman who clearly wants sex is just not as desirable as one that doesn’t clearly want sex. 

 

I’m not going to risk the ire of my lovely clients by being self critical about my body and looks (though varicose veins peeps!!), I am instead going to address the insidious “not quite available” role for women.

 

The requirement for women to signal that they’re “not quite available” ranges from the behavioural – playing a bit hard to get so that men get the thrill of the chase –  to the far more problematic physical – “tight pussy.” One of the most damaging myths around sexuality in the patriarchal world is that a desirable woman, i.e. a “good fuck,” has a “tight pussy”.

 

Let’s examine when women have “tight pussies”.

 

(1) Sexually naive and inexperienced women have “tight pussies” by virtue of their age. It has long been a patriarchal man’s wet dream to plunder young, inexperienced, sexually naive women. I hope that the behaviour of the Epstein class has exposed this fantasy for what it is – a truly grotesque hangover from earlier times when girls as young as 12 or 13 were routinely married to men in their 30s, 40s sometimes even older.

 

(2) Non-aroused women have “tight pussies”. When a vagina does not want sex and is not in the process of pushing out a baby it closes tightly shut. Of course there are men out there who get a thrill from pushing themselves into a tight, unwilling, unaroused vagina. They are called rapists and for good reason the practice is illegal across the world.

 

(3) Women in the throes of orgasm, when their bodies have been made to come again and again and again by a beautiful lover, have “tight pussies”. These cunts grip hard onto anything inside them. The strong vaginal muscles which push babies into the world clench cocks in pulsating pleasure, often pushing inexperienced lovers out of them, such is the power of female orgasm. 

 

Obviously men want to feel orgasmic cunts devouring and gripping their cocks (3) but somehow, over the centuries the deep mutual pleasure enjoyed by powerful cunts and their partner cocks has morphed into a rapist’s grim fantasy (1) and (2). Let me be very, very clear here – IF YOU PUSH YOUR COCK INTO A TIGHT PUSSY SHE WILL NOT ORGASM. 

 

Vaginal orgasm, that incredibly powerful sensation that cocks love above all else occurs when a woman has been lovingly honoured, revered and pleasured by a masterful lover. An orgasmic tight cunt is the reward a few lucky cocks get for not rushing things and taking the time to make her body sing and her cunt open wide before entering her.

 

This is the bit that younger men and anyone who has learnt how to do sex from porn rather than with real women don’t understand. They think pushing into a “tight pussy” is the goal – the gold standard of sex. Wrong. If penetrative sex has a “gold standard” it is the ORGASMIC tight cunt gripping your cock in wave after wave of pleasure in ways that you can never stop thinking about.

 

Orgasmic tight cunts are not tight on entry, they are the very opposite, they are open, greedy, demanding. Labia lips get engorged with blood as female desire increases, they redden as they do so (this is the origin of red lipstick – to suggestively mirror sexually aroused labia). As desire increases very often the g-spot pushes itself forwards, towards the vaginal opening, mine has been known to push herself out completely. 

 

Aroused cunts make their desire and their pleasure very known! 

 

Most strikingly of all an aroused cunt is wide open. When she wants cock, she isn’t interested in playing along with patriarchal stereotypes and playing hard to get, she wants it and she’s not bashful about it! Legs open, lips red, often ejaculate flowing and g-spot protruding – it’s not a delicate sight. 

 

A desirous cunt is as powerful and demanding as an erection and I am bored of women being expected to be demure and pretty in their desire.

 

It’s one of the reasons why I reject the word “pussy” preferring the more powerful word “cunt” when referring to my vagina, vulva and clitoris. My cunt is super powerful. She absolutely loves to be fucked – by fingers, fists, cocks, tongues – she opens and purrs, “Yes, yes, yes, more, more, more!”

 

I am told she is “pretty,” but you know what? I don’t care. Because through her I access feelings in my body that are simply divine. 

 

My charming Silver Fox and I enjoyed 90 minutes of almost solid fucking. He will be 80 next year. I do not know how I lasted so long, let alone him! Yet when our time was up it was one of those sessions that really didn’t want to end. Every part of my body hummed, I had floated through most of the session, his cock had tried every part of me, but we kept returning to penis in vagina coitus. 

 

Every time he slid into me my cunt whispered, “Thank you.” She felt so, so, so alive. And in her aliveness I felt her gripping him in wave after wave of orgasm. He was skilled and only got pushed out by my orgasmic muscles once, thereafter he pushed into them, fucking me harder and deeper, building one orgasm on top of another so that I barely knew I was in the room. 

 

Over and over I felt my cunt tightening around him, squeezing him in a pulsating motion. I have heard of women practicing kegel exercises to give their lovers this experience, I don’t, I allow my lovers to do all the hard work! 

 

If you play my body right she will sing and she will sing hard. Because I am lucky enough to have plentiful lovers, my body gets to sing most days and my cunt will pulsate with pleasure, exercising those muscles, whether I have a cock or fingers in me or not. 

 

Women of the world, the best kegel exercises you can do are in your bedroom with your lover(s)!!

 

Men of the world, learn to make your woman’s body sing. Devote yourself to her pleasure and turn on. Do little things to please her because that will quicken her vaginal pulse before you even touch her. A singing body will open for your cock and when she opens to pull you in she is far more likely to grip you, soon after, in orgasm.

 

For me, the best thing about vaginal orgasms is the feeling I have in my body for hours and hours afterwards. I call it humming. It’s a gentle background feeling, it’s not loud and explosive like the moment of orgasm and I wouldn’t call it turn-on (though I am easily aroused in my post orgasmic state). It’s calmer and more expansive. 

 

Thinking about it, after a highly orgasmic session like today, when my vaginal muscles were squeezing hard over and over and over again, I guess, I’m feeling a deep post workout relaxation?! It’s very delicious.

 

I feel all this, and am told over and over again that I am an amazing fuck, because I have a wide open, greedy cunt. I would not feel any of this pleasure, this aliveness, this vibrancy, this power if I had a “tight pussy.” 

 

My Silver Fox made me laugh when he asked, “Do you ever have days when you just don’t feel like doing this?”

 

He didn’t expect my answer, “Yes, I do. Today I really wasn’t in the mood.” He looked aghast. Maybe a part of him feared I had faked all of that. 

 

Anxious to allay his fears I continued, “When I woke up this morning I wasn’t really feeling it, many mornings I don’t really feel it. But with me, the minute someone touches me in a certain way, or I feel an erection pushing against my thigh, or a kiss is particularly sensual, that’s it. My switch is turned on.”

 

He looked a bit relieved, and started to tweak my nipples again, but I wasn’t finished, “I think men get turned on thinking about sex, I get turned on doing sex” I said as I pulled him into me so that I could feel my muscles gripping his cock as he tweaked my nipples one more time. Bliss. Pure bliss. 

 

The playlist reached the point when I knew the session had come to an end. I knew I should get him to the shower, receive my payment and send him on his way. Some days it’s harder than others to say goodbye. Today it was hard. 

 

We had created a beautiful energy between us. He was unbelievably charming and had arrived with flowers because he’d read in my Tinkerbell blog post that I like flowers. He had made my body sing the most divine tunes and greedily I wanted more.

 

With great discipline I got up from the bed, put on my post-sex green gown and showed him to the bathroom. When he came back I was sitting primly, legs folded, specs on checking my next available dates for him. 

 

He came over and stood right in front of me. His beautiful cock smelt of soap. He was getting hard again. I couldn’t resist – I am a professional not a saint! I leant over my folded legs and took him in my mouth. He tasted so good. Somehow his hands were on my nipples again. 

 

I am a very fair person. I don’t have favourites and work is work. I had to regain my composure and lovingly allow this beautiful man to get dressed and drive home. I decided I would dress him as sexily as I had undressed him less than 2 hours previously. 

 

It was fun! I especially loved pulling his white pants slooowly up his legs as I sucked his cock one last time. The pants got higher and higher, I slowed down a fraction, I wanted the final few inches of thigh to last. When the pants were up over his buttocks, I had no excuse not to say goodbye to the cock that had given me so much pleasure, so I tucked him away and pulled up his trousers.

 

He insisted on counting out the money – just in case. And then I walked him down the stairs, wished him a good drive home, closed the door on his reversing car and returned to lie on my bed to just feel all the feels for a moment.

 

The thing that upsets me the most about the “tight pussy” myth is what it costs women. 

 

How many women don’t experience, even once in their lives, the pleasure and power of a pulsating cunt because they think they need to have a “tight pussy”?

 

How many women think that enjoying multiple lovers would “loosen her,” robbing her of a “tight pussy,” and so deny themselves the very orgasmic experiences that would strengthen her vaginal muscles?

 

How many women have suffered surgery to acquire a pleasing “tight pussy”?

 

How many women have been given the “husband stitch” post labour in an attempt to give her back her “tight pussy” after the stretching of childbirth? (The fact that any doctors do this is dumbfounding – just think about it – how does stitching flesh at the entrance to the vagina tighten the vaginal muscle which tightens naturally on its own?) How does it benefit a husband to have a wife who experiences not pleasure, but pain, on penetration for the rest of her life? The “husband stitch” is medical misogyny which then slaps men in the face!

 

How many women push husbands away post childbirth because they fear that he will be disappointed in her now that she has lost her “tight pussy”?

 

How many women deny themselves the unique and powerful experience of vaginal delivery of her children because she wants to preserve her “tight pussy”?

 

This whore has had three vaginal deliveries. Each one strengthened my vaginal muscles as they learnt what they are for. I do not think the Silver Fox would have had anything like the same experience if I had either not had children or opted for c-sections. 

 

Vaginal muscles can be immensely strong when they are exercised and used. The strength that births babies also grips cocks. This power and strength, activated by beautiful love making and expressed in fearsome orgasm, is the tightness that men deeply yearn for. 

 

The model of sex that obsesses (and jokes about) “tight pussy” in a not quite available, passive woman,  is never going to deliver the desired experience of a pulsating, orgasmic tight cunt. 

 

Orgasmic tight cunts don’t require perfect legs, a flat tummy, pouting lips, eyelash extensions – they need relaxed and pleasured women who are comfortable in their sexual power. 

 

Female egos that are taught that sexual passivity equals safety are threatened when they meet their true power. It is genuinely challenging to accept how powerful we are – this is the true challenge of labour and, I would argue, the true challenge of sex for women. 

 

Raised to believe that we must be sexually passive and have “tight pussies”, we struggle to allow ourselves the openness, the pleasure and the power to experience our orgasmic tight cunts. 

 

Female openness is the equivalent of male erection. Thus “tight pussy” is for women what erectile dysfunction is for men.

 

I keep saying this – men want the incredible experience of his hard cock being gripped hard by an orgasmic tight cunt. So men, over to you! Devote yourselves to healing the egoic wounding in women that your careless jokes and unthinking expectations have created. 

 

Open her “tight pussy” with love, attention, deep honouring, reverent words, kind deeds. Give her what The Lover gave me – permission to enjoy myself. And then enjoy her ravenous, open, orgasmic, powerful cunt gripping your beautiful hard cock.

 

A pleasured woman is more orgasmic.

 

A relaxed woman is more orgasmic.

 

An honoured woman is more orgasmic.

 

A listened to woman is more orgasmic.

 

A woman who knows in every cell of her being that she is deeply loved is more orgasmic.

 

Men, your desires are met when you give your women all of the above and all the time, not just when you fancy a fuck. 

 

Is it hard work? Yes, it is. (Which is one of the reasons my husband is happy to share the load!)

 

And it is the most rewarding hard work on the planet!

 

Enjoy the fruits of your labour.

 

xxA

Becoming Anabelle Part III – A Conversation With My Fridge

One of the most common misconceptions about sex work is that it is done by someone who is either desperate, out of other options, or both. 

 

Sex workers in film and television are women in a temporary fix who through their own hard work, grit and determination, or thanks to a rescuing angel, are able to escape their temporary plight and move beyond the horror and degradation of “selling themselves”. 

 

The underlying assumption here is that only sex workers “sell themselves.”  

 

Which is clearly rubbish. 

 

Most people in the modern world are exchanging their time for money. This is most obvious if you’re in employment where your contract states the number of hours a week that you are to work in order to receive payment. But the self-employed are also exchanging their time for money. 

 

We are all selling ourselves!  

 

Carolyn Myss  explains that one of the core human archetypes we all carry within us is “The Prostitute.” You know you are interacting with the world from this part of yourself when you are “Selling your soul for money”. 

 

Not your body. Your soul.

 

By Carolyn Myss’s definition we have all been prostitutes at one time or another in our lives, because we have all done jobs we find boring, pointless or out of alignment with our values and belief systems. We do them because we need the money. In our willingness to compromise, and even override our soul’s desires, we allow ourselves to be prostituted.

 

Ikigai (illustrated in this Venn diagram) is the Japanese alternative to prostituting your soul. 

You will notice that when you do something you love which is also something the world needs, you have MISSION.

 

When you do something the world needs which you can be paid for, you have found your VOCATION.

 

When you do something you can be paid for and are good at, you are doing your PROFESSION.

 

When you are doing the thing that you love and which you are good at, you are following your PASSION.

 

When your work is your MISSION and your VOCATION and your PROFESSION and your PASSION you have found IKIGAI.

 

In my early 20s with an Honours degree in Anthropology behind me and filled to the brim with desire to bring peace and love to the world (a true hippy two decades too late) my IKIGAI was teaching. 

 

First I had to fight my parents who didn’t consider it a proper job (ahh, if only they could see how I’ve progressed!) I was passionate and determined because I believed I would be good at it and that I’d love it. I truly believed that education was a right for everyone and that the role of the educator was to light a fire of passion or knowing or something – anything – within the beating breast of every child. 

 

Next, I had to fight the system. Despite a 2:1 from a top university, my degree was one of those “Mickey Mouse” degrees as the BT ads used to say and didn’t automatically qualify me for a place on a Primary PGCE course. I needed to justify it. 

 

So I did. I sat down and wrote a long supplementary letter to my application forms detailing how my degree could be applied to every subject in the primary curriculum. Of course it didn’t surprise me after a degree in Anthropology that a system of control (the British education system) would assert control over the types of people allowed to do the job – it’s what social structures do after all. 

 

I succeeded in talking myself onto the PGCE course and I turned out to be a bloody good primary school teacher. I worked very hard. I loved my classes passionately and would get into trouble on more than one occasion for defending their honour, but for years I didn’t understand why I was such a very good teacher.

 

Becoming a very good whore has shown me. It’s about presence, intent and energy. You can’t stand in front of a class, more concerned about data than you are about the children and be a good teacher. Just as you cannot sit in front of a cock and care more about him “finishing off and paying up” than about an expanded energetic and healing experience and be a good whore.

 

Finding IKIGAI matters. Those of us who find it once are very lucky. Those of us who find it twice – are we just greedy?! The thing is, IKIGAI isn’t a fixed state. Remove one of the 4 “ions” (passion, mission, profession, vocation) and you’ve lost IKIGAI.

 

Very quickly my vocation and profession for teaching fizzled out. I still had mission and passion but within a few years of passionate excitement that I was actually paid for something I loved doing so much, it dawned on me that I wasn’t really paid at all. I was given a bit of pin money and a pat on the head by a society that underpays all its “caring” (i.e. largely female) professions, replacing hard cash with good feels like “deep respect.” 

 

Deep respect didn’t pay my bills or buy me the clothes to work in or help me save towards an occasional holiday or theatre trip. Deep respect was increasingly irritating. And most annoying of all, maybe my parents were right?  Despite all of my training and hard work I lived on tuna pasta and an overdraft.

 

But I did still love my job. By which I mean I loved my colleagues, I loved the children I taught, I loved interactions with their parents and I did consider myself very, very lucky to do a job that brought me so much deep satisfaction. 

 

Then Michael Gove (eugenicist and Education Secretary 2010-2014) happened. What happens when you put someone who deeply believes in the genetic supremacy of the few (elite white males) in charge of education? Well it turns out that he turns that system from one in which ALL children are helped to find their level of success in the 14 years of compulsory education, to one in which most must fail so that a few can be shown to have succeeded (and thus be deemed superior). 

 

Failure became an essential part of the system that I was teaching in.

 

Teachers who had already lost both vocation and profession now lost their passion and their mission and fled in vast numbers. They have been replaced by suit wearing, brief case carrying data collection robots. My interactions with my colleagues which I had valued so much as a young teacher became soul destroying experiences as schools filled up with more and more people who cared more about data than they did about the individual needs of the children in their classes.

 

I started to hate the profession I had worked so hard to join and had loved so, so much for years. I knew that I was no longer working in alignment with my values and beliefs, but I felt trapped. I was a mum with 3 young children, not the best time to take big career risks. 

 

It was a conversation with my fridge (honestly) that helped me make my decision. 

 

I was sitting slumped in the kitchen chair at the end of another demanding day at school feeling very tired and upset after another horrible interaction with a data collection robot. The hot tea in my hands was slowly building up my strength for the evening of mothering ahead of me. The house around me was blissfully quiet, all I could hear was the hum of the fridge opposite me. 

 

My mind returned to my most pressing problem – what was I to do if I left teaching? It had long ago stopped being my IKIGAI and that day’s interaction had reminded me that it was getting close to impossible for me to stay in a system which I had come to believe was actively causing harm. What could I do instead?

 

On the fridge opposite a postcard, white with stark black words, caught my eye: 

 

“Whatever makes your soul sing – Do that”

 

I looked at it, it made sense. Of course it did, I had bought it and put it there! But it also annoyed me and I told it quite grumpily, “The only thing that makes my soul sing is sex and you can’t make money from sex.”

 

The fridge just laughed. 

 

That tall, fat, white thing in the middle of my kitchen stopped humming and laughed at me. I heard it and I paused to think about what had made it laugh, then shook my head and replied, “Oh – yes, I see what you’re saying – but women like me don’t make money from sex.”

 

What I meant of course was that selling sex was what impoverished, drug addicted, destitute, enslaved, manipulated, weak, vulnerable, fallen women have to do because they have run out of other options – think Fantine in Les Miserables – not a highly educated, “normal”, middle class English woman like me. 

 

I obviously knew that prostitution is the “oldest profession in the world” and I knew that as an industry it makes billions every year. But I was the mother of 3 children in one of the most affluent postcodes in the country. My non-working life was filled with children, dog walking, village fetes, coffee mornings and summer BBQs. None of my neighbours and friends would dream of visiting a prostitute (would they?!) – let alone be one!

 

It was impossible.

 

DAMN – there was a postcard right next to the singing soul one: 

 

“Nothing is Impossible, the word itself means I’m Possible”

 

WHAT???

 

There is no point in plastering inspiration quotes all around the house if you are going to ignore them. So I didn’t. That conversation with the fridge planted a seed. I did some research, talked with my most trusted few and one small step at a time Anabelle was created. 

 

MISSION 

 

I knew I loved sex, as I had told the fridge it truly is the thing that makes my soul sing. Like a painter needs to paint, a singer needs to sing and a dancer needs to dance – I need to give and receive sex, but to be honest, when I started, I had no idea if the world needed Anabelle. 

 

I had no idea that what I would offer would fill a societal need. I have learned over the past 10 years that the world really needs kind, loving, authentic, genuine sexual services. 

 

I have learned that sex, for many, is not the joyful experience that I have always found it to be. Sadly, for many, sex is a disconnected, monotonous, dull, harmful often toxic experience. Humans are wired for connection, nothing is ever going to stop human beings from seeking love and intimacy. Can you imagine a world without great art or great music? 

 

For far too many, their lives are lived without great sex. 

 

Yes, there is most definitely a need!

 

VOCATION

 

Could I get paid for my kindness, compassion, love, understanding and insatiable sexuality?! You may laugh when I tell you that I had doubts, because you see these qualities are just who I am, and we all find it very difficult to attach a value or a price to what we are or what we find easy (i.e. are skilled at) rather than what we have to work hard to do. 

 

If I had denied all of my qualities and trained very hard to be, say, an accountant then I would feel like I had earned the right, through sheer hard work, to charge a high hourly rate. But value something I find natural and easy? That is a much harder thing to do. According to David Graeber  this is why as a society we reward boring desk jobs so much more than the interesting creative or caring jobs – if you enjoy your work, the theory goes, you don’t deserve the same level of compensation.

 

There is a logic to this – I am miserable, but at least I am paid to be miserable!

 

But if you examine value from the receiver’s point of view then it is obvious that people who offer a service that others value deserve to be paid very well for what they do. Adele sings beautiful songs, she loves her art and is very proud of it, she doesn’t offer seats at her concerts for free. So I just had to imagine myself as Adele and charge for my beautiful songs!

 

PROFESSION

 

Once I did the inner work to have the audacity to charge for what I love the most and am uniquely gifted at, it was all quite easy. I will never forget the thrill I had driving my battered little car away from my first job with an envelope of crisp notes in my handbag. I had earned more in an hour than I did in a day as a teacher. 

 

Initially I ran the two professions alongside each other, wearing different hats for different days of the week. I loved sex and had a sense I could charge for providing it, but would I be any good at it, professionally? 

 

Thus far I had only ever had sex on my terms when I was in the mood. Could I guarantee I would be in the mood? Could I be professional enough to be sexy with everyone who walked through my door? What about days when I wasn’t quite feeling it? I am asked these questions quite frequently and I too had them in the beginning. 

 

It turned out that I was a complete natural. I am a very, very good whore. I am incredibly professional and deeply passionate about my work. I have a strongly developed “masculine” or yang energy around commitment and showing up for people. If I commit to something in my family, community or at work, I do whatever it takes to deliver on my commitment. 

 

I read voraciously and invested in incredible training to deepen my understanding and skills. I took my health more seriously because you have to be healthy when you work in this way. I worked differently, but with as much hard work and commitment, as I had in my earlier teaching days. In other words, I was very professional about being a whore and I still am. 

 

PASSION

 

Underpinning it all, all my structures, focus, professionalism, hard work, vocation and mission lies my passion. It’s still the same passion – the passion I have felt very strongly since I was very, very little – to live in a world filled with fairness, love, compassion, kindness, tolerance and respect. 

 

I find people fascinating. I love their bodies, I love their energy and I get to enjoy what very few people on this planet get to enjoy – interactions on a soul level. 

 

I have strong “feminine” or yin energy. I am highly intuitive, very sensitive and incredibly responsive. I can connect with people in an intimate setting with ease and often very, very deeply. I am good at this! And what is more, I absolutely love every minute of it.

 

My passion for sex became my purpose in life. I truly care to give people heart opening, mind expanding, life enhancing experiences. Everyone is different so has their unique needs and desires. The joy in my work is understanding those and allowing my intuition to guide me and meet them. 

 

Sometimes I will voice out loud something that bubbles up inside of me as I am working, but much of the time I quietly give or do something without saying anything and then later learn that it was THE thing they desperately wanted or needed. You can only do that when you have deep passion for what you are doing.

 

Creating Anabelle was the moment this Alice fell down the rabbit hole and went on the most remarkable adventure. 

 

I have worked with hundreds of beautiful and remarkable human beings and learned something from and/or with all of them. Some of the lessons I have learned about humanity have been saddening or shocking, but the vast amount has been nourishing and uplifting. If you could all experience humans the way I do, you would see what I mean.

 

I am still a qualified teacher, but not once has it crossed my mind to leave my life as a whore to rejoin the profession that turned me into a prostitute. 

 

I have found my IKIGAI.

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