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