Pleasure is My Business – That’s Why I Never Fake It
“Are you OK?” my concerned client asked.
Opening my eyes, trying to get my mouth and brain to work in unison, I replied, “I’m fine thank you.”
Fine??!! I had had to pull myself out of another orgasmic wave to hear and then respond to his question. My body was pulsating with sensation. Every cell in my being felt electrified, vibrant and alive. I had been entering the quantum realm where everything is just vibration, where matter ceases to exist and where separation is a cute little earthling concept.
“Why do you ask?”
“You’re not making the noise women make when they are enjoying it.”
He must have felt the muscles of my vagina tightening around his pleasing fingers. He must have felt my ejaculate as it gushed all over his hand and body? Surely he had seen the skin on my face and décolletage redden? Hell, my whole body was a quivering wreck!
“No, I don’t make much noise when I orgasm – I trained myself out of it when the kids were little.”
The “noise women make when they are enjoying it” – porn’s moan of pleasure (how do you film tightening vaginal muscles?) After Meg Ryan famously demonstrated how skilled women are at faking the orgasmic moan in When Harry Met Sally, do any men really trust it any more?!
I am pretty much incapable of dishonesty. In recent years I have learned the art of telling a white lie, to save time really, but anything more than that and if you ask me a question I will give you a long winded and deeply honest answer. I find most social situations a mix of tiresome, boring and un-navigable as I attempt the steps of the “bullshit small talk” dance that I still struggle to learn. Other people seem to find it so easy and even to delight in it, I don’t. My eyes glaze over, my energy gets chaotic and if I’m not rescued by someone who knows me quite well I’ll end up blurting out something deeply inappropriate just to rescue myself from the boredom.
It’s the same with sex.
I cannot fake enjoyment and pleasure if my sexual partner is making my skin crawl. A voice in my head says, “C’mon A, he’s paid a decent amount of money, you are a sex worker, a whore, a prostitute – this is your literal job – the least you could do is pretend to be enjoying his______” (fill in the blank). But even with this inner voice reminding me that I should be pretending to feel things that I’m not, I can’t and I won’t.
I’m sure this appalls you. “Poor clients!” you must think. “They book an appointment, wait for a month with increasing anticipation, visit an increasingly hard to find cash machine – once or twice depending on the card’s daily cash limit – arrive on time (not early or late) and then when they’re finally in the room with the woman they desire enough to invest all this time, money and effort in, she can’t be bothered to pretend to be pleased when she’s not?! That’s rough.”
There is certainly a voice in my head that agrees with you. But I have another voice that coaches me, “Anabelle, you’re a whore. Whore’s don’t fake pleasure, they guide their clients to genuine, mutual pleasure. If you fake it you are doing your client a huge disservice and at some level he will know it and feel that he has been conned.”
I am very often the only woman a client has experienced who expresses genuine sexual pleasure. Many, many of my clients have visited other sex workers only to drive home feeling dirty and ashamed because they knew, in their bodies, that the experience was not one of mutual pleasure but another shallow experience in which his partner had faked pleasure whilst she thought about anything and everything else but him and the energy flowing between them. Her lack of genuine pleasure fed back from her body to his, so that, regardless of the fake moans she made, he was left feeling, yet again, that he had exploited a woman for a brief moment of gratification. He regrets the encounter. Regrets the time and money he’s wasted and devotes himself to another year or two of lonely masturbation with soulless porn.
I won’t feed into this sad cycle. I market myself as a woman who knows her own sexuality and who loves sex. If I were to fake it then I become a fake, I won’t do that for my clients, or for me.
My body can be sexual every day with a steady stream of clients because she trusts me not to fake my pleasure for someone else’s comfort or ego. It’s as important for me as it is for my clients that I am honest. I won’t make myself come, I can’t make myself squirt on demand and I won’t make myself kiss someone who is turning me off. I do, absolutely, love sex and I love sex with lots of people. I’m not fussy, I find almost everyone has at least one beautiful quality and I always focus on that. But there is a reason why I much prefer my sessions to at least begin with a massage – it gives me time to connect with his body and energy and turn myself on as I grind myself into him and feel his activated energy flowing through me.
I have many, many clients who can arrive and without a massage kiss me and touch me in ways that make me melt and open for them. T will guide me to the bed, remove my knickers and go down on me for ages by which time I am desperate for the rest of him. J will kiss me sensuously as we undress each other and finds my nipples as soon as they’re released from my bra – he knows me well enough to feel the perfect moment to pinch them really hard, making me gasp with desire for more. N pushes my head onto his cock as I am removing his trousers and socks, assertively pulling me off him again before I make him come. There are a myriad of ways in which my clients walk into my space and, kicking small talk out the way, give me my first orgasm.
When I feel that I am in confident, assured hands I am like putty in them. But the problem with Kama (my full girlfriend experience) is that it does require a man to arrive with a certain level of confidence and/or assurance. You can have less of one if you have more of the other, but lacking in both and booking Kama with a woman who doesn’t, can’t and won’t fake it, is a dangerous choice!
This is what M did. He’s been desperate to fuck me for years but he has lots of rules in his head that had meant fucking was out of the question for a long, long, time. Our massage sessions are amazing. He arrives nervous and anxious but responds well to meditation and he absolutely loves feeling my body on his. By the time I ask him to roll over he’s ready to pop and quite often, he has. So we’ve never contemplated a blended Musubi/Kama session. So I don’t know why I accepted the booking for a straight Kama session, but it wasn’t very bright of me.
Without the time spent together in massage he didn’t have the chance to relax. His tension fueled his lack of confidence which is, in turn, fed by his lack of positive experiences. Experience, assurance and confidence are a circle that can flow either way. In the positive cycle an individual enjoys a number of positive experiences so gains assurance which builds confidence which helps him or her to enjoy further positive experiences. In the negative cycle the individual has a number of negative experiences (or very few experiences at all) so never gains assurance which feeds low confidence making it harder to have any positive experiences.
M has been trapped in the negative cycle. To which I’d add a further stage: belief. If you go around this cycle enough you create the belief in yourself that you are not sexual, or not good enough, or even repellent to the people you desire to have sex with. That belief then determines how you show up for sex, even with sexually available, booked and paid for women like me – ie a dead cert. It takes quite a powerful belief in inadequacy to turn a dead cert into a dead “no way”. Yet, sadly, despite our many beautiful and highly sexual Musubi massage sessions, that’s exactly what he did.
He touched me hesitantly. His lips were tight and his tongue proddy. All completely forgivable in a 16 year old, but not in a 50+ year old. I have spent literally hours modelling sensual touch and sexy kissing to him and I was looking forward to him arriving and confidently bending me over the bed so he could enjoy the view of me in stockings and heels as he pushed into me. I’d even warmed myself up a little with nipple clamps and wand to be wet and open for him on his arrival.
But he showed up with his belief that he’s not good enough or not deserving and my energy fizzled out in seconds. Because I can’t and won’t fake it, when I felt my body arching away from his insistent, demanding, probing tongue, I just said, “No, we can’t do this. Let’s start with a massage and see where it leads us.” He seemed relieved. Fantasy Anabelle, the woman on the website who fulfills your every desire and wish is not much more real than any porn star. She is who you make her to be. Real me is just like any other woman. I blow hot and cold. My sexual energy takes time to build and seconds to demolish. I like to be seduced, pleasured, taken, devoured. I don’t like to have to pretend you’re amazing when you’re not. M could handle fantasy Anabelle, he was frozen and incapable with real me.
So we returned to what we do best – a sensual and highly erotic Musubi massage. I rolled him over and spent a few minutes giving him a lingam massage then I slipped on a condom and took him into my cunt. He didn’t have to do anything. I saved him from having to turn me on (I did that myself through the massage), I saved him from taking the lead or managing his erection. And I gave him both the fuck he has always wanted and a really good positive experience of himself and his sexuality to turn the direction of his cycle.
He came inside me. I removed the condom and we kept going. With the confidence gained from the massage and the fuck achieved, his kiss was open and sensual, his hands and mouth found my nipples and then my cunt, he sucked and bit my nipples, as he fisted me deep. I came and I came and I came soaking the satin sheets with copious quantities of amrita. He left knowing that he had genuinely pleased me. He had taken pleasure in my pleasure, knowing how much he had made my body throb and vibrate. He had felt my vaginal muscles squeezing first his cock as my warm ejaculate gushed over his balls, and later his fist as I came over and over in raptures of pulsating pleasure. It was another genuinely beautiful experience for both of us because I had been honest enough to not fake it and skilled enough to take the lead and guide him through an experience that will both build his assurance and grow his confidence.
This is how whores are different. And this is why, despite my honesty and my willingness to deflate my paying clients’ egos I always send them home feeling more magnificent than when they arrived.
Women of the world, STOP FAKING IT. You do your man, and ultimately yourself, a huge disservice. Refuse to do this bullshit dance a day longer. Become a whore in your own bedroom – be honest, be authentic and become wholly devoted to pleasure – your own and his.
