Tag Archive for: Sacred sexuality

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 

The One in Which I Wear the Blindfold

“Hi….I’ve just been reading your blog posts! 

They turn me on massively but I’m concerned I don’t achieve what you like…

Hopefully that’s not the case as turning you on is my main aim….

D”

 

I read this message with mixed feelings. I was obviously delighted that my posts are doing their job – I write them to be read and enjoyed so it’s gratifying to hear that someone other than me reads them! But I was concerned that my words feed someone’s sense of inadequacy – that is the very last thing I would ever want to do. 

 

My purpose in life is to reconnect others to their extraordinary. Yes, I want to make people feel amazing when they are with me, but more importantly, I want them to drive away feeling alive in ways they haven’t felt for years, decades even. Above all, I want my clients to reconnect with the power and nourishment of their innate life force energy – their sexual energy – and to re-enter the real world feeling healed, whole and magnificent.

 

D messaged me about 24 hours before his Kama appointment. His excitement at seeing me again was now mixed with a fear that he was not good enough or deserving enough of my time and my pleasure. I needed to reassure him, partly because I didn’t want him cancelling on me, but also because selfishly I wanted to enjoy an abandoned session with him and that would not happen if he was stuck in his head worrying if he was “good enough” for me.

 

“Don’t be crazy!!

I enjoy sex full stop.

I enjoy the connection full stop.

None of it is performance.

When you read my words you get turned on, right? That’s your body, your subconscious mind recognising truth.

Your conscious mind then kicks in with, “You’re not good enough for her.” That’s deep programming, but NOT truth.

Trust your body.

Trust your turn on.

xxA”

 

It worked. His reply came an hour later, “Thank you and I’m really looking forward to tomorrow!”

 

Over the last few sessions we have played with me wearing a blindfold for a part of the session. This morning as I prepared myself and my room I decided I was going to wear the blindfold for the whole session if I possibly could. I don’t know why I decided this, it was just a strong feeling and, as you have just read, I trust the feeling! 

 

D arrived, we small talked our way upstairs and as soon as the bedroom door was closed our mouths found each other. I could feel his body trembling under his clothes. He wasn’t wearing much, the weather’s still stinking hot, so it didn’t take me long to remove them – oh how I love flip flops! It all felt completely delicious but I was annoyed with myself – the blindfold was out of reach on the bed and I couldn’t work out a way of reaching it without breaking the spell.

 

Instead I slowly untied my wrap dress, enjoying the sensuousness of the satin ties as they snaked their way across my skin, his hands found my breasts as I carefully threw my dress across the chaise longue at the end of my bed. I pushed my pelvis against his, his erection felt strong against my groin, parting my legs I was able to take him between my thighs and gently squeeze against his hardness. 

 

His excited hands were taking their time in undoing my bra, but I left him to it;  there was no rush and I was enjoying the feeling of anticipation of feeling his fingers on my nipples. Bra duly dispatched, my nipples got what they were yearning for, he squeezed them hard and I felt the beginnings of my amrita flowing. We were standing over his shorts and underpants – he needed them dry to go home in! So I chose that moment to stand back from him and turn around to pick up the blindfold.  

 

I chose to make the act of putting on the blindfold both a tease and a ceremony. I wanted my face to convey in the seconds before I put it on, “I am in your beautiful hands now, I trust you completely, I surrender to you.” I caught his eyes, held his gaze, raised the blindfold and covering my eyes, tied it tight around the back of my own head. I was in almost complete darkness. With my eyes wide open I looked at the blackness of the satin and felt the complete thrill of handing the session over to him.

 

I felt his body against mine. His mouth on mine. His fingers tweaking my nipples and stroking my cunt and the slight pressure of his body moving mine backwards to the bed. As I felt the mattress behind my legs I bent my knees and allowed his kisses to lie me down. I badly wanted to feel his cock in my mouth but I could tell from the way his body was moving that he was going to feast on me first. Lifting my pelvis slightly, spreading my legs apart, heels up in the bed I felt the delicious sensation of tongue, lips and stubble against my vulva and clitoris. I lay there in the darkness as he danced my body to heaven. 

 

The bed was soaked, I was soaked, he was soaked, he moved his body up mine to kiss me full on the mouth again. Deep kisses activate my throat, as my mouth opens wider and wider with the kisses my throat remembers the sensation of swallowing cock and competes with my cunt for attention. 69 is obviously the best position to satisfy both demanding body parts with only one man, but I was blindfolded, still wearing killer heels, which though sexy, would un-man my client with one careless move, I needed to act with great care!

 

I chose to slide down his chest moving my dangerous shoes further and further away from the beautiful cock that I wanted deep down my throat. It took a while to find him in my blindfolded state, but then, bliss, his glistening glans and strong shaft were in my hands being guided towards my mouth. I parted my lips, I licked his glans, I toyed with his cock for as long as my self control held and then I slowly took him, as I had longed to, deeper and deeper into my throat. 

 

He responded by pushing his pelvis into me, pushing his cock in that little bit further, my throat, as voracious as she is, wasn’t yet ready to take all of him, clearly my cunt first needed to open more. I never ask any body part to take more than she is ready to. The session was young, I knew she would open far more with a bit of time and a lot more pleasure. I could feel that he was loving the sensations his cock was receiving, but he wanted to feel closer to my pleasure. He asked me to turn my body around so that he could taste my cunt as I pleasured myself on his cock. In the darkness I carefully obliged. Placing my heels behind his head, taking great care not to poke an eye out. 

 

As my head moved up and down his cock and his tongue pleasured the lips of my vulva I did marvel that I was still blindfolded. I think I have always seen a blindfold as part of a fairly static, passive experience – one in which you didn’t move around much – yet here I was moving around his body with a bit of thought but also real ease whilst blindfolded! I was managing both Louboutins and a blindfold and I felt very clever! Plus it was incredibly erotic. 

 

As I say so often to my clients, when you remove sight your other senses are strengthened – the music was vibrating through my body, the taste of him and the smell of our sex heightened the experience further, my body was pulsating with life. He could feel it – his fingers and tongue pleasuring me to gush over him again and again and again. 

 

I took his cock deeper and deeper as my cunt responded to his attention. His balls were right up against my nose, his glans pushing against the back of my throat, his firm shaft completely filling my throat. The orgasm I experience in my throat is very different to the orgasms I experience from nipple, clitoral, g-spot or cervical stimulation, it’s possibly the most powerful orgasm I currently experience.  Afterwards I always need a few moments to gather myself again. I lifted myself off him, swung my legs around and lay on his chest, my mouth seeking his, wanting to be held as my body experienced wave after wave of pleasure.

 

And I was still in the dark.

 

His cock was hard under my stomach as I lay trembling on top of him, kissing him deeply. I wanted to feel him inside me. I really yearned to adjust my body to just allow him to slide inside. But I am a professional, so instead, I spent a few moments thinking through how to reach for and slide on a condom whilst blindfolded, could I do it? I reached out my right arm. Nothing. I waved it around a bit. Still nothing. I hoped my kisses were distracting him, otherwise he would think I had completely lost the plot! I realised I was lower on the bed than I had imagined, the bedside table with my bowl of condoms must be higher up, I reached out to the right and up and there it was. I carefully extracted a condom and whilst sliding over this body I tore open the packet, removed the condom and felt for his cock. I felt completely triumphant as I slid him into me and my cunt expressed her appreciation for all my efforts very quickly by squeezing hard around him and ejaculating again!

 

It was a very exciting fuck. I was still wearing the heels, which were tucked behind me, poking against the cheeks of my arse, so as I moved up and down his cock they stroked my buttocks. I couldn’t see him, but I was well aware that he could see me and would be freely enjoying the sight of me riding his cock as I came over and over. I arched my back which he took as an opportunity to finger my clit. His other hand found a nipple and he tweaked hard. The pure joy of a blended orgasm! I felt so much everywhere, “Incredible” doesn’t do it justice.

 

I fucked him until I was utterly exhausted. Not only from the physical exertion of moving my body up and down his, but also from so much orgasm. This is why I charge more for a Kama session – non-stop orgasm is really tiring! I collapsed on the bed next to him, one hand sliding off the condom as I did so – I may be blindfolded, but I am still the professional in the room! My body was humming all over, my throat, cunt, clit, nipples were all on fire and vibrantly alive. I was lying next to the sexiest man on earth. We both felt it.

 

He was a complete gentleman and gave me at least 2 minutes to lie and appreciate all the yummyness flowing around my body before asking me to finish him off with a “hand job”. I smiled and said that I would be honoured to give him a “lingam massage.” As I reached for the oil, repeating my earlier up and to the right arm stretch, I noted I was still wearing the blindfold and asked him, “What does it do for you?”

 

“I like the sense that you don’t know what I am going to do next, I like adding in that element of surprise” he replied

 

“Could it also be, in part, that you feel free of scrutiny? That you don’t feel watched, assessed and appraised by me?” I wondered.

 

“Possibly, I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, that is also quite possible.”

 

“I think it frees me from the need to watch your face. I hadn’t realised that I do that, but not being able to do it has made me realise how much I do check in with my client’s faces for feedback and assurance. Being blindfolded frees me of that. I feel somehow freer.”

 

I poured oil over his cock and my hands started to do their work. I don’t need to see what I am doing when I give a lingam massage, it’s all about touch and responding to the lingam in my hands. I had chosen not to sit between his legs, slightly underneath him, as he could barely reach me in that position and I had just heard him saying how much he enjoyed surprising me. I had to leave him with that option, so I sat astride his left leg. He moaned as my hands pleasured his lingam, I couldn’t see the clock, but I could tell from the play list that we had about half an hour left together, I wasn’t keen to make him come too soon, so I took it easy, only applying intense strokes for short, manageable periods of time. 

 

After a while of lying back and receiving from his blindfolded courtesan, he said, “I can’t resist, I need your cunt!” We shifted positions so that one of his hands could be inside me and we pleasured each other in this way for a while. It was delicious. My body was singing with pleasure, his cock was hard in my hands, my cunt was wet and soft in his. But my mouth was empty, she wanted to be involved again. So I asked him to kneel over me.

 

He did so. With his cock deep down my throat he played with my clit and lips so that I squirted copious amounts over and over, he rubbed my amrita over my body and returned to milk more. His now oily balls were massaging my chin as his cock moved around in my mouth and throat. Often the sensation was too much so I released his cock and took his balls in my mouth instead, rolling them around as my body convulsed in pleasure. Then his hands were on his cock and I heard his voice say “I am going to come all over your tits…” 

 

“Boobs” I said quietly to myself as I slid my hand over my amrita soaked body to play with my cunt. A few moments later I was splashing him with more juices as I felt the warmth of his ejaculate flowing over my breasts. He sat back. The music continued. The fan in the room continued. And my body just fizzed all over. 

 

“So which initial can I use for you in my latest blog post?” I laughed.

 

“D. D is fine” came a voice from the darkness.

 

He then asked if he could have a quick shower, I didn’t refuse him, but I did ask if he could find his own way to the bathroom so that I could enjoy the tingle “Just a little bit longer.” In over 10 years this whore has never asked a client to find his own way to the bathroom for a shower at the end of the session!

 

When he returned I was still lying in the position in which he had left me. I heard him come in and, rolling over onto my belly, removed the blindfold. He was dressed! I don’t know how long I had been lying there in the dark just absorbing all of the sensations, but I knew I didn’t want it to stop. I had to get up. I had to receive my payment and show him out. I had to find my manners. But all I really wanted to do was lie and feel the tingling, the vibrations, the energy moving through my body. I wanted this dance and I am sure that it would have lasted for hours if I had given my body the time and the space to experience it all. 

 

So, D, yes, you do give me what I want, you do “achieve” what I like! You are a masterful lover. Today you made my body tingle all over and you gifted me an incredible and unique experience. I grew as a lover today. I learned something about myself which I will apply more in my work and my life. I thank you for that. And, maybe best of all, hours later my body is still humming. 

 

Please, going forwards, trust the feelings you have in your body. They will guide you towards the experiences that will help you grow, evolve and reconnect with your beautiful, unique essence. The voices in your head are there to keep you small and disconnected. They want to keep you safe, which is a valid objective, but safety, especially when based on outdated information, can increasingly resemble a prison. 

 

Your body wants you to feel alive. It wants to guide you back to connection, back to your unique essence, back to your sexy soul. 

 

The feelings you feel in your body, if you listen to them, will guide you back to TRUTH.

 

xxA

What’s in a name? Why I am Proud to Call Myself a Whore

What do I call myself when I am working? Well, I used to call myself a prostitute but for reasons I will explain in this piece I stopped using this word for me and my work. So, sex worker? No, I’m not keen on that either – it’s bland, boring and completely devoid of any of the eroticism, sensuality and magic of my work. The words “sex” and “work” aren’t a happy pairing, they’re just not! 

 

I understand that many sex workers prefer to use this term to stress that they are working and, I guess, to claim much needed validation and respect for their role, but by using the word “work” I think they’re associating themselves with the very slavery that we have freed ourselves from which then strips them of any respect they could have earned.

 

By calling themselves sex workers, people in my profession are saying, “Hey, we’re working too. We earn this money. We deserve respect from our clients, the law and society at large.” I don’t disagree with any of those sentiments, but I do disagree with the words “sex work” because, let’s face it, society doesn’t respect office workers a whole lot more than sex workers. They are cogs in the machine, selling their soul as well as their precious time on this earth for a pay packet that increasingly fails to cover even the basics. Who wants to become a “sex worker” to then feel like an “office worker”?!!

 

As Tinkerbell said to The Boyfriend, “Poor you.” No-one wants to become a cog in the machine. Not one parent looks into their new born’s eyes and declares, “I want you to devote your life to pushing paper around in a cubicle on the 3rd floor of a non-descript building at the end of a long, hot train journey with only lunch at Pret a Manger to look forward to?” No-one does that! We desire for our children to become sports stars, dancers, writers, painters, musicians, gardeners, poets, actors, travellers, adventurers. Then we send them to school where they are brainwashed into aspiring to get an expensive degree that qualifies them for a lifetime in a “bullshit job” to pay off their debt. 

 

“Work” is an insidious word and idea. No other animal on earth works as hard as humans do to survive. Our closest relative, the bonobo, devote as much time to play, sex and bonding as they do to the “work” of feeding. Can you begin to see why you’re all so ill and depressed? It is literally in-humane to devote so much of one’s life to the daily grind. Yet almost all of us do. Sacrificing our desires, dreams, relationships, time with our families – pushing them down and away from us – denying our soul’s purpose, which is surely to love, to connect, to experience and to create?

 

It takes years of conditioning to convince humans that work is good for them. Look at how hard every teacher in every school in every country in our modern world is cajoling, bribing and threatening young people into being “good workers.” Work is what the 1% want from us so that they don’t have to work! Work is literally for morons, sorry, that’s a bit harsh, but if “work” were so good for us, why do those at the top do so little of it? My father once said to my son, “The secret of life is to find a way to make other people make you money.” That’s patriarchal capitalism in a nutshell.

 

Of course, as a woman, I have a double cynicism around the word, “work.” It’s something post 1980s that I am expected to leave the home to do to earn a small amount of money that may pay off my mortgage just before I die (increasingly a dream). I’m also expected to work, unseen and completely free of charge when I get back home. Capitalism is built on the UNPAID labour of women. Patriarchy says to men, “Listen, you have a rotten deal, you work hard for little pay or ownership, but we’ll create women from your spare rib, to obediently serve you in your home so that at least there you can feel like a king.”

 

Modern men want to move beyond this. They want to be feminists and support their women to succeed on their terms, but they also find a nice beer and a soft sofa so darn comfortable at the end of a long day in the office. The more hard core capitalism is in a society (easily measured by wealth inequality) the MORE hours of unpaid work women are doing in the home (“Why Women have Better Sex Under Socialism”). Double whammy for women in the 2020s!

 

“A clean house is the sign of a wasted life” is a quote I picked up, ironically from a tea towel. It’s so true. How many books have gone unwritten because the female writer has been hoovering, dusting or scrubbing someone else’s shit from the ceramic loo bowl? How many paintings have remained unpainted, or songs unsung because women continue to work, on average, an additional 3 hours a day more than the men in their lives when they get back home from “work”?

 

Work was created by the elite to do a number of things to perpetuate a system to the benefit of the elite:

 

  1. To make them rich.
  2. To keep you too busy to develop the skills by which you could make yourself rich.
  3. To deny you any pleasure, especially sexual pleasure because sexually empowered people are, um, powerful

 

I am a deeply empowered, powerful, magical healer. I use my body and my sexual energy to bring immense pleasure and joy to my clients. I reconnect them with their own magical, sexual inner essence. I am part coach, part therapist, part lover. I consider time with my clients to be incredibly special, intimate and sacred. I do not consider it to be “work”. Just as in the early days of teaching I did not consider my job to be “work”.

 

I consider myself incredibly lucky to have had the inner courage and the external support to get myself off the treadmill and create a niche for myself doing something I feel deeply passionate about. In my utopia everyone has their base needs met so that they have the freedom to create from their soul. I always remind myself that Leonardo da Vinci never went to school proving Pink Floyd right when they sing, “We don’t need no education”. We just need the time and the space to nourish our Goddess given talents to create wealth for ourselves and the rest of society.

 

Meanwhile, back in the real world, in which 99% of us are enslaved by, and for, the 1% I return to words and their definitions. Which brings me to “prostitute” and why I no longer call myself a prostitute. It’s mainly because of the spiritual teacher and writer Caroline Myss who works with human archetypes. One of the core archetypes, which we all have within us, is “The Prostitute.” I am going to quote much of Caroline Myss directly because it has been so foundational to my world view:

 

“The prostitute archetype engages lessons in the sale or negotiation of one’s integrity or spirit due to fears of physical survival or for financial gain

 

We prostitute ourselves when we sell our bodies, or minds, for money, or when we compromise our morals and ethics for financial gain. That may include remaining in a marriage or job that endangers our self respect for reasons of financial security. 

 

The prostitute activates the aspects of the unconscious that are related to seduction and control and that render you capable of buying a controlling interest in another person as you are of selling your own power. 

 

Once you become aware of its presence within you, the prostitute encircles you with a strong vibrational field that says, ‘Not for sale’. 

 

The core learning of the prostitute is that self esteem and self respect make you impervious to selling out.”

 

Caroline Myss suggest 3 key questions to ask yourself when considering the prostitute archetype within yourself: 

 

  1. “Have I ever sold out to people or organisations that I didn’t truly believe in?
  2. “Have I ever remained in a situation that offered me financial protection because of a desire for financial security?
  3. “Have I ever felt myself being pulled into a circumstance that would require me to sell out my ethics then found myself strong enough to say, ‘No’?”

 

Having read that and knowing what you know of me, do you think I’m a prostitute?

 

I was a prostitute when I was too scared to leave my first marriage. I had children to provide for and I didn’t want them to suffer as I sought to save myself. I stayed for years beyond “happy” due to my fears around our physical survival.  

 

I would have been a prostitute if I had stayed in teaching as the education system moved away from my ethics and pedagogy. Other teachers are clearly comfortable bullying young children for a good set of data, I’m not and I would have been prostituting myself if I had stayed – selling my soul for a measly pay cheque in the mistaken belief that it was a secure job. 

 

Ask yourself right now, are you doing that? Are you a prostitute?

 

The proudest thing I can say about myself is that I’m not, I did not stay in an unhappy marriage for financial security, nor did I compromise my morals by taking him to “the cleaners” in our settlement. Neither did I stay in a job that made me feel sick to the depths of my soul for some professional, ego driven, vanity. I chose to find a way to do what makes my soul sing. 

 

And that was to become a whore.

 

Thousands of years before Man invented God and the pair of them encoded patriarchy, humans lived in collaborative, Goddess worshipping societies (“When God was a Woman”.) For these societies the earth – her fertility and her cycles, both daily and seasonal were deeply sacred. Women, whose own cycles closely mirror those of the earth were revered as being closer to Goddess. 

 

Some women were especially revered and recognised as portals to The Divine. Temple whores (houri in Persian, horae in Ancient Greek) dispensed a combination of mother-love, tenderness, comfort, mystical enlightenment and sex in the temples – places devoted to worshipping Goddess in the way she, the sexy, saucy mamma, commanded. Children were raised, not in nuclear families (based around the concept of ownership), but by whole communities. Goddess abhorred monogamy and men neither owned their wives nor their children. 

 

For thousands of years, human sexuality was used to consciously elevate humans out from their mundane, material existence, up into the quantum realm, the heavens, from their prosaic everyday reality into a magical space where they could create literally anything – the pyramids people!! It was through whores that Man accessed The Divine. It was with whores, through their bodies and their sacred practices, that men found healing and had “the war taken out of them.” Whores were essential to spiritual practice in pre-patriarchal, pagan societies. 

 

For patriarchy to seize control of the people and their lands they had to conquer and destroy the already existing, successful, well functioning and equal societies. To do this, the early Church (and other Abrahamic religions) first had to defeat the whores. They didn’t want to put a complete stop to the whore’s sex practices (they were men after all); it was just crucial to “amputate its spiritual meaning” (Barbara Walker). The destruction took centuries. And the work is ongoing. 

 

Horae were stripped from their sacred position in the temples and relegated to “hora houses” where they would work to stop men from buggering each other. Ironically, the earnings made from the first hora house were used to found convents where nuns would devote their lives in non-sexual prayer to the new patriarchal God. The very word “whore”, once the word used to describe a woman of high regard and sacred calling, became one of the most reviled words, saved for moments of deep anger and vitriol, matched only in venom by that other misused ancient and sacred word, “cunt”. Whore, is a word dripping in shame, disparagement, disgust and even fear. 

 

I first felt the calling as an inner knowing, a spark inside that refused to be extinguished. As a young woman, lacking a sacred journey to initiate me into my powers, I handled my sexual energy a bit messily, and felt deeply shamed by the society I was coming of age in. Well meaning friends suggested I was “looking for love but settling for sex” and that I should work with a therapist to fix me. Maybe I was looking to be loved, but I also genuinely just wanted the sex.  Sex has always made me feel amazing in my body. Not because I feel loved for a brief moment in time, but because my body is super sensitive, and has always felt deliciously fizzy and alive both during sex and for hours afterwards. Other people like running or an intense gym session for the hormonal download. I choose sex. 

 

Gabor Maté points out that, “Highly sensitive people used to be our shaman, now they are shamed.” Sexual shamen are the most shamed of all. Painters are not shamed for creating art, singers are not shamed for creating music, (most) dancers are not shamed for interpreting a piece of  music with their bodies. But sexual shamen, whores, those of us who were born with the gift of heightened sexuality in the cells of our being are reviled, disparaged, condescended and deeply shamed. 

 

There were so many stepping stones on my journey to where I am now, a happy whore writing these words. The first that I remember was reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love”. I was very lonely and depressed when I read it – a trapped mum with young children, living in a community of strangers, lost in a loveless and worse, sexless, marriage. I devoured her words about finding yourself through travel and I so ached to have her opportunity to escape from the completely dysfunctional life I had created for myself and to learn new skills so that I could reinvent myself and create a life I wanted to live.

 

Obviously I couldn’t follow in her footsteps – I had young children who I had brought into the world, I had a duty to care for them. Whatever journey I took to rediscover the “real” me – the soul buried beneath layer upon layer of socially conditioned and miserable ego – would have to take place during school hours and from my home in rural England. Initially that felt quite limiting then two magical things happened in the same year.

 

The first was meeting the village “crazy lady” (“Mad as a box of frogs that one!” they’d say) and learning that she was in fact the most phenomenal spiritual coach and mentor. The second was, I hate to say it, Facebook. Discovering the latter after meeting the former meant that my Facebook feed in those early days was filled with spiritual teachers and alternative thinkers – whores and witches online – who guided me through the most profound transformation. It was amazing. Until greed ruined Facebook, it was the University of Life if you wanted it to be. 

 

You didn’t have to go to an ashram in India to learn meditation, you could do so in your own bedroom. Even better, you didn’t have to travel anywhere to reconnect your sexuality with the sacred. What Elizabeth Gilbert travelled the globe for, I found ways to experience alone, in my bedroom. I have since been on a real live, in-the-flesh, tantric retreat and desire to do more – I can assure you that it was the best money I have ever invested in myself (and my business) but back in 2011 when I desperately needed to create a new way of living for myself I didn’t need to leave my home.

 

Essentially when you embark on reconnecting your sexuality with sacredness you are reclaiming something that the churchmen ripped from us centuries ago. They needed to destroy our temples, torture us, rape us, burn our books, burn us, disconnect us from our ancient plant, body and magic knowledge, but we’re still here. We are the daughters of the witches and whores that you did not burn. The knowledge lives on in our bodies until the day we meet the person who gives us the permission and the words to understand and know our own deep inner wisdom.

 

That’s why I call myself a whore.

 

I am incredibly proud, in every cell of my being, to belong to this powerful lineage of sacred shaman. To have the power in my hands, and my cunt, to heal, to connect, to initiate, to please, to bring joy and deep pleasure. I am so lucky to have learned how to use my insatiable sexuality for good rather than prostituting myself to earn the money to pay for a therapist to help me feel less than I truly am. Becoming a whore was my route out of Caroline Myss’ definition of  prostitution. Yours may be pottery, gardening, knitting or cooking. I’m not saying that every woman is a whore, I’m just saying that some of us genuinely are. 

 

Human beings across the planet are trapped working in miserable jobs, living in miserable relationships, scrolling through their miserable damned lives. Being disconnected from their innate creatrix, saucy, sassy, sexual energy is not working for them. Goddess knew that humans needed to channel, not repress, their sexual energy to thrive. God knew the same. So to gain control and ensure that we could not thrive, he ordered that our sexuality be repressed. 

 

Repressed energy will twist and contort itself, but it will be expressed. The energy that could be building communities and expanding our consciousness is used instead to terrorise, manipulate and control. I would argue that, distorted, the energy of creation becomes the energy of destruction. 

 

We need a r-evol-ution (read the 4 letters in italics backwards). Love, including sexual love, is humanity’s greatest individual and collective power. If we were to truly harness our love for ourselves, our planet and each other we would save ourselves from what appears to be almost assured destruction. 

 

Humanity needs its shaman to guide it back to love. 

 

Humanity needs its whores.

 

Recommended Further Reading:

“Bullshit Jobs” by David Graeber

“Why Women Have Better Sex Under Socialism” by Kristen Ghodsee

Archetype cards by Caroline Myss

“The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Legends” by Barbara Walker (this is more of a reference book than a cover to cover read!)

“Why Prostitutes Should Rule the World” – by Anaiya Sophia on My Tiny Secrets

“Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert

Text & Photography © Copyright 2026 - Incall Escort / Outcall Escort - Anabelle - Hampshire & Surrey - Tie & Tease - NURU & Tantric Massage - Made by Samshosting