Tag Archive for: 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 

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.

The Penis – a Tool of Love or a Weapon of War?

 

It constantly amazes me how “struggle” and “battle” have been written into the patriarchal narrative. I sit in my garden and observe the level of harmony, collaboration and symbiosis there is all around me. 

Scientists are catching up and are beginning to confirm what indigenous cultures – people who live on, and with, the land – have always told us and what whores always knew – the natural world is perfect, ancient, mysterious and magical. 

There is much harmony for us to observe and learn from. We would do better to observe and learn, rather than seek to enforce our will over it.

But power over is an intrinsic part of patriarchy. 

Elite power over everyone else. 

Male power over women. 

White power over non-whites. 

Human power over the natural world. 

Sitting on top of this pyramid of power, his ever present, judgemental eye watching over us, is the patriarchal God. 

From the beginning he was a vengeful, stern, and strict parental figure. His “love” has always been conditional on our behaviour, his judgement of women has always been harsher than his judgement of men (just ask Eve).

But he was not the first deity to be worshipped and he knew it.

The Old Testament is a series of directives from God via his Levite priests to destroy the peoples, cultures and religions that came before him.

In the world before God, women had far more status and power. It was through women that communities worshipped Goddess. Thus, to destroy the peoples, cultures and religions of pre-God communities you needed to destroy the power of women. 

To do this God committed what this whore considers to be the greatest crime against humanity, he turned the penis from a tool of love, into a weapon of war.

In the God approved model of sex, as first practiced by Adam, men were instructed that the correct and only appropriate way to have sex is in the man-on-top “missionary” position. 

This position gives men enough pleasure to come, but rarely gives women much, if any, pleasure. Adam’s first wife, Lilith, left him rather than suffer any more sex that didn’t include her pleasure. 

She was right to leave him, devoid of pleasure, sex becomes a violation of a woman’s sacred space. Devoid of pleasure, penetration is experienced by the body (and I emphasise by the body i.e. the vagina) not much differently to rape. 

But God went further, hell hath no fury like a patriarchal deity after complete ownership and control of ALL the land and ALL the energy from ALL the peoples living on the planet. “Raping” women nightly in miserable monogamous marriages (the kind detested by Goddess) wasn’t enough. 

Rape was to be used as an act of war against the women of every community that did not surrender and submit to the new male God. 

Recorded in page after page of frankly deranged writing in the Old Testament rape, in the cause of the new religion, was deemed a “good” thing which “God fearing” men did to prove their devotion and commitment to their new God. 

If you think raping women was only part of the initial establishment of patriarchy, you’d be wrong. Rape using a penis or other device including, for example, hot metal rods (during the witch trials) has been used for thousands of years to punish, suppress and oppress women for being women. 

Rape is as prevalent today as it ever was. Young women headed off to university are now advised on ways to avoid being raped by their male class mates as a routine part of their orientation days. 

The most commonly used weapon of war in rape? Yes, you’ve guessed it, the penis. Specifically, an erect penis. Patriarchy succeeded in turning a tool of love into a weapon of war, one which has done immense harm to the collective feminine across centuries creating our, not surprising, love-hate-fear relationship with erections.

Women giggle at, sneer at, avoid looking at, fear, judge and even shame what was once unanimously seen by men and women as a “Shaft of Light”. The lingam (Sanskrit for shaft of light) or penis, has always had the potential to be a giver of profound bliss and joy, a means by which the vagina is lit up – activating and connecting the woman to deep stores of energy within her body by which she transcends the everyday, material reality to spend time dancing in the heavens.

It’s the same body part and yet with different information, and different intent, it can be used either to activate or to kill a woman’s power. 

Just as a kitchen knife can be used to create delicious nourishing food or to inflict deep wounds and even death in another person’s body. It is not the knife, or the penis, that is dangerous. It is what the person wielding both knife and penis intends to do with them.

Devastatingly, boys raised in Judeo/Christian “civilisation” have been raised with patriarchal programming which means even when a man does not consciously intend to do harm with his penis, because of his ignorance, the patriarchal model of sex, exploitative porn and his own unacknowledged trauma (for example infant circumcision) he unwittingly shames, shuts down or violates a woman’s sexuality, and sadly, rape is a far, far more common experience for women than most men are willingly to acknowledge or admit.

And it doesn’t have to be this way! 

This whore knows that when a man is reconnected to the divine love that he can channel through his lingam he is reconnected to the divine masculine power of giving. This is the miracle (i.e. a change in perception that changes everything) that we are ready for.

Because powerful, sovereign people are difficult to control, patriarchy purposefully disconnected men from their greatest power. The power of a man to give a woman deep, deep pleasure and to journey with her, and through her, to magical realms, lifting both of them out of, and beyond, their mundane, material existence is literally infinite. 

The penis was not designed to harm women, it was designed, rather marvellously, to heal and love women.

From the base of the shaft all the way up to the tip of the glans are reflexology points that when gently pressured send healing energy to different parts of the man’s body. Not just any energy – sexual energy – the most potent, powerful, creatrix energy on the planet!  

Rather perfectly our bodies are designed in harmony with each other: the vagina has corresponding points. 

When a penis enters a pulsating, vibrating, alive vagina the penis activates her points passing energy from him to her and because she is throbbing with pre-orgasmic and orgasmic pleasure the supple walls of her vagina massage the length of his penis activating his points, sending her loving and healing energy into his body. 

It’s magical and it’s perfect.

But, obviously denied to all humans, male and female, in the pleasure-free model of sexuality so beloved by patriarchy. 

A fearful, shut down or resentful vagina will not be pulsating with pleasure. You may be able to push into her and pump until you empty your ball bag, but you have missed the entire magical point of sexual connection. The time spent in coitus, penis in vagina, is a sacred time of deep healing, deep connection and the opportunity to transcend the mortal realm.

Man-fearing feminists are right to reject a model of sex that causes harm to our bodies. They are right to erect boundaries and firmly voice their NO. 

But I believe they are deeply misguided to reject men along with a harmful model of sex. 

It is not men’s fault that they have been encultured into a brutal model of sexuality that looks and feels like rape for far too much of the time. It’s what we have all grown up with and what we are convinced is “normal”.

Feminists need our sexual power and pleasure as much as any other human on the planet. Without it we are little more than robots serving The Machine. A more empowered feminist movement reclaims sexual pleasure for women and guides men into the world of joyful bliss, deep healing and connection that awaits us all when we just shift our perception.

This, my loves, is the work of whores. The world desperately needs the miracle of whores working in every community teaching men and women the ancient, beautiful, deeply connected art of sexual pleasure. This ancient wisdom that flows through our bodies is the greatest hope humanity has of finding its way back to harmony and love.

I’ll finish with my favourite quote ever, it’s from the beautiful John Lennon:  

“We live in a world where we have to hide to make love 

 While violence is practised in broad daylight.”

And I’ll invite you to ponder over what the world could be like if we no longer had to hide to make love.

 

Recommended further reading :

“When God was a Woman” by Merlin Stone

“Vagina” by Naomi Wolf

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

 

Photo by Danilo Rios on Unsplash

tie-and-tease-hampshire-s002

Sexual Healing with Kali, The Destroyer of Ego & Lilith, The Witch Who Left Adam

“Sex work can’t be healing” said an angry woman on X. She expanded by telling me that my “rhetoric was wrong” and that it was ridiculous to claim that sex work can be a healing modality. On X I didn’t have space to explain that sex by its very nature is deeply healing and thus sex work, when done in the right way, can be amongst the most healing therapies in the world. 

 

Obviously there are no scientific randomised control trials on sexual healing because there is no money for big pharma in discovering that whores are naturally incredibly powerful healers. So what can whores heal? At the moment I don’t know the full potential of sexual healing. But I feel it every week. 

 

Let’s start there – with what I feel. 

 

I feel bodies relax and reset. I feel men (and women) enjoying their physical, emotional and even spiritual selves. I feel them connect to something within, sometimes, many times, for the first time ever. We live in a world where many (if not most) men (and women) have felt shame for, and of, their sexuality. Leading us to shut down something that is ours by right – our innate sexual energy.

 

Sexual energy is our life force energy. Think about it, sexual energy creates life! It can be channeled and directed by us to create the lives that we desire. Being disconnected from our own life force energy disempowers us, leading us to hand over our sovereignty to those with more power than us. 

 

I contend that loss of sovereignty is one of the main causes of dis-ease within our physical, mental, emotional and spiritual bodies.  Thus, experiencing one’s sexual energy in an honouring, shame free environment is deeply, deeply healing. 

 

I’d like to introduce two powerful and inspirational females to assist me in explaining the healing power of sex work. 

 

The first is Kali, Hindu mother goddess, also goddess of death and rebirth, who is most often depicted as a fearsome female (the stuff of patriarchal male nightmares) often seated in a squatting position with her tongue sticking out wearing a necklace of skulls. 

Kali is not the beautiful, sexually available pagan goddess imagined by Western artists. Kali is fearsome female power personified. And she is scary to look at! Her sticking out tongue represents the power of the female voice, which as most men will confirm, can crush an ego, inflated or otherwise, in seconds. Her necklace of skulls represents those crushed egos.  

 

My second dame is Lilith, Adam’s first wife and dissatisfied lover who left him to allegedly spend eternity fucking the devil and eating babies for breakfast. 

 

Lilith refused to fluff Adam’s rubbish love making. As legend has it he insisted on having sex “patriarchal style” man-on-top but this didn’t give her the genital stimulation that she needed to experience pleasure and orgasm, she tried to persuade him to vary the position, but Adam, being God’s chosen one, knew that the “correct way” of doing things was for him to be on top during their sex and if Lilith didn’t orgasm, well that wasn’t too important was it?

 

His sassy, sexy, bold, beautiful lover wanted to be creative and playful in the bedroom, but his fragile male ego said, NO. So she left him. And apparently has since spent eternity with the devil – who apparently is a much better lover – quelle surprise!!

 

Maybe Adam needed to meet Kali, because Kali’s necklace of skulls is to remind humans of the impermanence of ego. We are all trapped into believing our ego selves over our real selves, but it’s all an illusion. 

 

Our ego selves are a painstaking construction of “self”. I like Pink Floyd’s metaphor of a wall – brick by brick your ego is constructed to separate you from every other human (or non human) being on the planet (and beyond) and also to keep you separated from your own true self – your inner essence, your soul, your divine spark.

 

In our highly material (and materialistic) age our egos are fed, watered and maintained by possessions, qualifications, labels, friendships, relationships, jobs, clubs, social media, our communities and so on. We are born free of ego (that’s why it is so easy to look into a newborn’s eyes and see infinite possibilities awaiting them) but from within minutes of our birth the world conspires (against us) to construct our egos.

 

Some babies suffer the barbarity of circumcision in their early hours – an unthinkable practice still common in much of the world. Its only purpose is as a crucial brick in the wall. How better to separate you from your inner spark than to prevent you from feeling that spark? But all babies are fed, clothed, named and held (or not) according to societal norms. 

 

In the west, for example, no crying baby is ever put to a male nipple for comfort – the idea to most is appalling – yet throughout human history and in much of the world today this is a completely normal and beautiful way to calm, nourish, nurture and bond with an infant. Gabor Maté will tell you that the lack of physical body to body contact in western baby rearing practices underpins much chronic disease and neurological conditions later in life.

 

Maté points to the Inuit who carry a baby continuously for the first two years of life, importantly this role is shared by all members of the community, male and female, not left to an exhausted mother coping, isolated and alone, on her own. 

 

But coldness and isolation are an intrinsic, I would argue essential, aspect of patriarchal control. And one of the many, many ways society creates your ego without you noticing.  

 

Therapists and life coaches will tell you that one of the most common beliefs people carry about themselves which prevents them from living a heart connected life is, “I am not worthy.” This is an ego belief. The constructed self has learned to believe that they are unworthy of all that they yearn for – love, connection, belonging, security, safety. 

 

Hasn’t patriarchy done a number on us all?! 

 

Can you see how much easier it is to control people who believe they are not worthy of a life beyond the treadmill?

 

This is what makes Kali furious and what Lilith would not settle for. 

 

My client today has an awful ego, and not in the way that you think when you read, “awful ego.” He is not “egotistical” – he doesn’t drive a flashy car and swagger around in look-at-me clothes. 

 

On the contrary, his ego has entrapped him in a life of miserable grey. He is possibly the greyest man I have ever met. Mr Cellophane: dull, easy to ignore and utterly miserable. He will be tormented on his death bed when he reflects on his completely wasted life.

 

Well maybe not entirely. Somehow he found me and he books regular Ra (tie and tease) sessions which are perfect for him. Ra is my Kali-esque session. It’s the session to strip you of ego and allow, if only for a moment, your true self to shine. To the untrained eye it looks harsh, like Kali, but the blindfold, cuffs, crops, floggers and pin wheels are there not to literally strip away flesh, but to invite you into surrender and sensation. 

 

Tantric sex is very much about sensation – about bringing your conscious awareness to sensation inside the body, not to label it as an emotional feeling, e.g. happy, sad, nervous, turned on, but as pure sensation, e.g. fizzy, warm, bubbly, throbbing, sharp, soft, gentle. 

 

Sensation leads us to the experience of energy in our bodies and energy leads us out of the material (and materialistic) realm into the quantum realm and back towards our original essence or soul. This is the journey you take with Ra.

 

My clients are blindfolded on arrival, they don’t get to see me in my lingerie let alone naked until after they have come. For years I thought the blindfold just removed sight – the most over-used of our senses – so allowing space for the other senses: hearing, taste, smell and touch to become heightened. But a female client of mine introduced me to a whole new way of seeing the blindfold – as an interruption to ego.

 

Remember, your ego self is who society tells you that you are. Years of social programming says that you are THIS person with THIS set of beliefs and THESE characteristics. Your ego self separates you from your true self and never is this truer than in sex. 

 

I introduced the blindfold to this female client during a yoni massage that I was coaching her lover to give her. To receive the massage she needed to lie spread eagle with her legs wrapped around her lover in full view of me – a virtual stranger. Even a whore might have qualms about this! So I suggested she wear a blindfold for her comfort. She loved it and thought about it for days afterwards. Eventually she messaged me to say, “I think it’s like holding your hands over your eyes as a child – if you can’t see them, they can’t see you, so you don’t have to feel the shame.”

 

Through the childish trick of wearing a blindfold my female client was freed from “being seen.” In the darkness she could let go of who she is meant to be (her ego self) and connect with her true, inner self – and the inner self loved the sensations she was receiving through her lover’s yoni massage. 

 

Do you begin to understand the allure of gimp masks now?!

 

I’ve yet to use a gimp mask on any of my clients but in a Ra massage they are always blindfolded for the full duration of the session. They’re also tied – both wrists and both ankles – spread eagle on the bed, first lying on their fronts and then on their backs. It’s not about pain, it’s about sensation, and, I know how pleasurable pain can be, so I don’t hold back! I want to make their skin tingle so that when I’ve stopped flogging and spanking them and pour oil over their skin they feel the oil, followed by my hands, with heightened sensitivity. 

 

I want to make their ears listen out for every movement I make, I want to activate that nervous anticipation that quickens the pulse and shortens the breath. It’s such a rapid activation of the body. The game they are invited to play with themselves is to receive it all. To take whatever I give them. To surrender to sensation – whatever it is. To submit to pleasure, all of it. 

 

It’s dark and it’s wicked and it strips layers of ego from them. Freed from their pathetic, miserable, dull little egos these giant men emerge. Men who feel so big, so bold, so WORTHY.

 

Today’s client thanked me at the end, again, for being his “safe place.” He had been tied up, and hit really hard – I’d even slapped him on the arse cheek whilst my finger was deep inside him. I had really “punished” him today. Yet he feels safer with me than anywhere else. He feels able to be “himself.” He feels seen and understood and – my words – freed from his depressed and depressing ego existence.

 

Today he told me that our sessions had given him the confidence to change jobs. To move from a job that is slightly better paid into a position that is more in alignment with him and thus carries much less stress. He is beginning to make choices that are good for his soul rather than what’s expected of him by those who seek to maintain his ego. 

 

Good whores don’t fluff male egos. Like Lilith we dare to lead our men into more mutually pleasurable, soul nourishing experiences. Like Kali we know that living a life on your terms, one that will free you of death bed regrets, means stripping yourself free of the limitations of ego as much as you possibly can. 

 

We can’t re-grow foreskins, but we can blindfold you and flog your backside until it’s red raw and your body tingles in ways you’ve never previously experienced so that when you return to a shitty job you feel worthy enough to say, “Fuck this!” 

 

Kali is smiling down at my client today – he is taking bold steps towards reclaiming what is left of his life to live it on his terms. 

 

That is the power of sex. 

 

“Good” sex takes you beneath ego so that you reconnect with your true self. 

 

Separation from our true selves is, I believe, one of the greatest causes of dis-ease on the planet. Reconnected to your true self you are able to give yourself the love, the care, the acceptance that you need to live a healthy and nourished life, and you are guided to make life choices that are actually good for you. 

 

The patriarchal model of sex pulls men and women away from “Good” sex. This infuriated Lilith who fled the scene. 

 

Whores, a bit kinder than Lilith, devote themselves to showing you the way back. 

 

So, I repeat the claim that I rather foolishly made to an angry woman on X, sex is the most potent healing power on the planet and thus whores, our sexual shamen, are the planet’s greatest healers.

 

Kali picture credit Raja Ravi Varma on Wikipedia

Lilith picture credit: Charles Chen on Unsplash 

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

Spell Casting for Incredible Sex

“Dear Anabelle, thank you for an amazing time today. I loved every second of it. As requested, it was deliciously sensual and the journey was definitely exquisitely enjoyable. 

 

There were a couple of firsts for me today. I have never been with someone who has squirted before, and I loved it! Also I have never licked an anal rose before, but judging by your reaction I will certainly be doing that again! As you said, it was sensuous, but also a bit taboo too, so surprisingly exciting! 

 

I really do appreciate how you got me to admit to myself, and to you, that the voice in my head was stifling my enjoyment. Having realised that, I feel certain that that particular ghost has now been exorcised and I can just let myself enjoy sex much, much more. 

 

Your website talks about Kama making people feel like a sex god making love to a sex goddess. I think that is absolutely right. You are a sex goddess and what we did today has made me feel distinctly sex godly! N xxxx”

 

I felt sure this was going to be an amazing Kama session the moment N touched me. His fingers on my naked skin were exquisite – really soft, feather like, gentle yet penetrating – it made me shiver with anticipation. This was a man who knew how to give the delicious pleasure of soft touch. I assumed, given that he’d booked a two hour Kama session, that it was also the sign of a highly confident lover who knew how to play a woman’s body with a beautiful combination of touches, contrasting feathery with sharp, light with intense, soft with pain. My body, which had felt a bit flat 5 minutes earlier when I opened the door, quivered, my cunt throbbed, my nipples hardened.

 

We undressed each other, me squatting in my Louboutins, taking his cock in my mouth, as I slipped off his trousers, socks and pants. Mirroring his touch of me moments before, I kept it light, only flicking my tongue over this frenulum and freshly exposed, glistening glans, allowing only the very tip of his cock to pass between my lips. I would honour his erotic approach to my body with an equally gentle and sensual approach to his.

 

It was a beautiful start to the session and I was feeling very happy that I was going to spend a full two hours with such a sophisticated lover. Lucky me I thought as I invited him to lie face down on the bed to give him the Musubi massage start that he had asked for.

 

It always turns me on to massage a man with my full body. I find ways to feed my nipples into his fingers and grind my cunt into his buttocks so that my energy is truly activated before I roll him over. It activated him too! When he rolled over it was with a magnificent erection. I so wanted to take him in my mouth and deep down my throat, but I held myself back, for a short while anyway, to kiss his mouth and glide my body over his, inviting more of his exquisite touch. 

 

The energy between us was hot at this point. I expected his touch to become more demanding, stronger, insistent, probing. My nipples wanted to be bitten and pinched, my cunt wanted to be fingered and fucked, but his touch didn’t respond to the energy between us, instead he continued to touch my body with the same soft, feathery strokes. 

 

What had felt amazingly erotic when he first arrived and our energies were cool, now felt incongruous and even irritating. I wanted to command him, to tell him plainly what he needed to do to please me, but a voice within me urged caution and gentleness – he was a client after all! His body picked up on my impatient, even critical energy and his cock began to soften underneath me. I was losing him and if I didn’t step very carefully I might not get him back. So continuing to glide my genitals over his, ignoring his softness, I gently asked him who polices his sex life. 

 

“Umm, me and my partner I suppose” he replied, a bit startled.

 

“I meant in your head, who in your head is telling you what you can and can’t do with me right now?” 

 

His eyes caught mine, he held my gaze and he held my body still. “I know exactly who it is – gosh, I hadn’t realised!”

 

“Who?”

 

“A woman, my ex-wife, we parted – not happily – years ago.” 

 

As he spoke, putting into words the truth that his ex-wife had been highly critical of him and rejected him sexually, his cock began to harden underneath me. We weren’t moving at all, just talking, me asking very general, open questions and him talking, probably for the first time, about how his ex-wife had made him feel. His cock grew harder and harder as he spoke his truth. 

 

“You’re quite the psychologist!” he laughed.

 

“I don’t think so – psychologists work with the mind, I work with the body. I’m a body-ologist! My intuition knew there was some kind of pain or shut down in your body. Besides, psychologists can’t use this,” I stroked his very firm erection, “To ascertain if you’re speaking your truth or not!” He laughed and I reached across to get a condom.

 

As we fucked I talked. I used words and our combined sexual energies to rewire beliefs he has carried since the ex-wife. I used the words “amazing” and “incredible” a lot. My cunt joined in. I felt her squeezing around him as she orgasmed, squirting her approval at his deep and powerful penetration. I don’t do this very often because I know the power of sexual energy and I’m mindful that you really need someone’s explicit permission before you go about re-wiring their beliefs. But I took his answers to my questions as permission and I knew that giving him updated and empowering beliefs about his sexuality would be of service to him. 

 

It was my first coach who taught me the formula for a spell (words you say to get a desired outcome):

 

Intent + Energy 

_________________  = Outcome

Time 

 

You take your intent, you add energy and over time you will achieve your outcome. The clearer the intent and/or the greater the energy you put in, the shorter the period of time before you have your outcome.

 

I knew I was spell casting with N. I was using my understanding of energy, carefully choosing my words and mixing them in the original witches’ cauldron – my cunt. The alchemy created by the words and our sexual energy travelled from my cunt into his cock, my mouth into his ears and my heart into his heart. Powerful, magical healing shit! Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I know this stuff and that I am lucky enough to use my knowledge every day to heal different versions of the war in men. 

 

Just as careless men harm women and ruin their sexual pleasure, so careless women harm men. I’ve lost count of the numbers of men who have told me similar stories to the one N told me. Women readers, please take a moment to reflect on how exposing and vulnerable the patriarchal model of sex is for men. With no more training or guidance than us, they are expected to: 

 

  1. Charm a woman to bed
  2. Pleasure her through talk, caresses, soft lighting and music to remove her clothes
  3. Get an erection at the right time (and have a big enough – but not too big – cock)
  4. Deal with the condom out of sight
  5. Penetrate and fuck her to orgasm before coming himself

 

Get any of this wrong and he risks being shouted at, criticised or worst of all laughed at. Most unforgivable is a woman then spilling the beans to her friends to deepen and widen his humiliation and shame. Through all the steps 1-5 the woman is allowed to be (even expected to be in the patriarchal model) a completely passive, even lifeless receiver of his efforts.

 

So, so many of my clients have encountered women who have deeply hurt them sexually and many of these wounded men are married to the women who hurt them. Beautiful, sensual, sensitive, erotic lovers are reduced to fearful, anxious, apologetic men who struggle to relax and enjoy themselves sexually, with any woman, ever again.

 

Until they find a proper whore.

 

Because yes, the women who do harm include “professionals” – women who take money for sex but aren’t professional by any standard, who lack any training, any intelligence or any empathy and end up hurting their paying clients just as much as girlfriends and wives do.

 

The world needs whores!!

 

Obviously a damaged, shut down, sexually unhappy man is more likely to get sick mentally and physically and more likely to do harm to the people in his life, because hurt people have the habit of hurting others. Conversely, happy, confident, sexually secure men are going to show up for the people in their lives in a far stronger, more loving way. 

 

N went home with a massive smile on his face, Mrs N was going to have a much happier evening without ever knowing how or why. She doesn’t need to know – her husband is more relaxed, more loving, less needy, more secure. Because he found a whore who took the war, that the ex-wife had installed, out of him.

 

With the war removed we had a marvellous time! He pinched my nipples, making me squirt repeatedly, once whilst I was sitting on his face, filling his mouth with my amrita which we then shared in a passionate kiss. I travelled my wet mouth down to his cock, finally taking it deep in my throat as his fingers found my cunt and fucked me hard making me squirt over and over and over again. We fucked again and he felt amazing – filling my cunt with a strong, generous girth. And of course, whilst in the 69 position he tongued my anal rose which felt liberatingly taboo and naughty for him and just delicious for me. 

 

He was a man reborn. In his words a “sex god” who confidently made sweet, sweet music with his goddess. Lying together at the end, sharing experiences and feeling into the afterglow in our bodies we talked about how well Beethoven writes “sex” – the perfect contrast between a gentle quiet note and then the explosion of a crescendo and then back to the still, calm peace of an occasional note. 

 

That’s what sex with N felt like after we exorcised the ex-wife. It’s not that her voice has completely left him forever, it’s that he has a strongly wired counter narrative to choose. He’s now back in control of his sex life which is surely a fundamental human right?

Can tantra help with my sexual dysfunction

Connecting With The Heart Through a Prostate Massage

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“WOW!” Was his first word. 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Mission accomplished. 

 

A good result for a whore.

 

Recommended further reading:

 

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

 

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

Closing Your Eyes – a Path to Powerful Orgasm

Men enjoy looking at women. Every man knows this. Every woman knows this. Our art galleries, films, and now computers are filled with naked and semi-naked women artfully displayed to please the male gaze. Products are made more enticing to buy through the use of the beautiful female form – whether it’s Page 3 of a British tabloid rewarding men for reading the “news” or scantily clad women at all car shows – our bodies are used by men to sell to men. (And yes this whore uses exactly the same device to sell her services to men!)

 

Being commodified in this way has made the male gaze problematic for women and worse, we are policed in our outfit choices because of male discomfort or criminal intent. A male rapist’s defence in a male dominated criminal justice system is most often, “She was asking for it….her skirt was too short…her heels too high….look jurors at the tiny thong she was wearing!!” What women wear and how we look is to blame for how men then choose to treat us. 

 

It is a tightrope all women walk on. Be pretty and alluring enough to attract a partner (this is patriarchy – life is just infinitely easier and more enjoyable for women when we have men in our lives as protectors, co-providers and as our lovers) but not too pretty or alluring so that we attract too much or unwanted attention. It takes women decades to learn how to navigate the male gaze and I suspect that for many, maybe most, of us it will always be slightly uncomfortable.

 

Why? What is so uncomfortable about a man finding pleasure in looking at your body? I’ve pondered this for years. As someone who has the privilege of having a slim but curvaceous body, I still find it deeply discomforting to have a man look at me. It makes me feel like a cow at market. Or a racehorse being led out for inspection by a prospective buyer. Either is awful. An animal to be owned by the man appraising me. It’s the essence of patriarchy and however complimentary the man might be, I feel demeaned by the appraisal and never quite know what to do with the compliment. I don’t ever treat men in this way. I would never stand in front of a man looking him up and down in his underwear and pronounce whether he was “Very nice” (or not). How rude!!!

 

The worst session I ever had, and the only one in which I have been assaulted, started with a new client arriving, very pumped and possibly high on some substance or other. His energy was frantic and very hot as he walked into my work space and commanded that I stand back from him so that he could “Take me all in.” Startled and taken a bit aback, I did as he “asked” and was appalled to hear him actually say, out loud, “Good, good, yes you’re good enough.” I was standing a good few feet away from him naked apart from my underwear. This was not seduction. This was not a man who on first meeting me blurts out, “Oh my god you’re beautiful” as he plants gentle kisses on my neck, this was a buyer at a cattle market, or worse, a slave auction. Instead of sensually undressing each other, kissing, stroking, teasing each other into full arousal, Adam had pushed me away from him so that he could fully appraise “his purchase”. Mistake number 1: paying for a period of my time does not equal purchase of me.

 

I am not treated in this way, by anyone. No self respecting whore is. I was outraged and asked him to leave. He refused.

 

That was tricky for me. And I knew I needed to use my wits. He had paid for Kama, my full girlfriend experience, he had an urgent, throbbing erection thanks to my bloody underwear and he was going to empty himself in me or on me however much I resisted. So, I did what millions of women across millennia and across the planet have done before me and will do after me, I made myself as safe as I could using the tools available to me. There was no way I was going to ask my cunt to open for this horrible man. She and I have standards and we don’t invite repellent energy inside us. But I am very skilled with my hands so it was an easy and very fast decision to deploy them. 

 

I don’t know how we “fell” onto the bed, but I remember him on top of me biting into the flesh of my breasts. You know I love my nipples being tweaked, really hard when I am highly aroused, but (a) my energy was as flat as a pancake after his rude comment and refusal to respect my “No” and (b) I don’t like teeth sinking into my flesh on any part of my body, ever. I made all the right noises and my hands did their work. He came within a few minutes. As he did so I sunk my teeth into his shoulder as hard as I possibly could, I was aiming to draw blood. 

 

With his impatient energy ejaculated out of him he calmed down and was almost apologetic. I pointed to his pile of clothes and asked him to leave. As he drove away I messaged him saying, “It’s important for you to know that the bite on your shoulder was not from passion, it was from a furious woman. Every time you see it remember that when a woman says NO and asks you to leave you must respect her wishes. Good bye.” And I blocked him.

 

He liked what he saw and he felt entitled to take it, like a brute whipping a horse he had just paid for. But I am not a horse or a cow at market, I am not an animal on a farm, I am a highly skilled whore. No-one ever pays for me. They pay for an exquisite service that I feel honoured and very lucky to have the skills and expertise to provide. 

 

Maybe this experience is why I am not that excited about sexy underwear. I buy very few items, (despite the fact the HMRC allows me to claim it against tax as “work wear”). I know that whilst I may look sexy in lingerie, I am far, far sexier out of it! Lingerie is uncomfortable. It’s why we don’t choose to wear it on the school run, whilst nipping to the shops or emptying the dishwasher. I have genuinely heard men complain that their wives don’t wear it often enough and how much it would please them to see her wearing a sexy stocking and suspender ensemble as she sorts the laundry or prepares him an evening meal (yes, my eyes rolled every time!)

 

The patriarchal fixation on erections puts an enormous amount of pressure on women to look a certain way to ping a man’s desire. Our sole role in sex has been reduced to pleasing his gaze so that his cock is switched on and he’ll gallantly initiate and lead the act of sex. All we women have to do is remain forever young, maiden-like, thin, perky, smooth, hairless, unlined, pouty lipped and wear uncomfortable garb so that he gets hard and takes us. 

 

Urgh!! I cannot tell you how much I hate this passive, pathetic role for women. We are immensely sexual and sensual. We are naturally multi-orgasmic, capable of wave after wave of deep pleasure in each of our individual, unique, sacred bodies and any man is very lucky and privileged to share that pleasure with us. We are truly powerful, not because we have earned the right to say “No” (though that is a crucial right for both women – and men), but because we are intoxicating when we say, “Yes, yes, yes!!!”

 

For this reason I enjoy turning off the male gaze in my sessions. It’s liberating for me to work away from it’s constant appraisal and it’s liberating for my clients – who when they are freed from the dominating sense of sight become reconnected to their other senses, most importantly touch. When my clients listen to my invitation to close their eyes and connect with sensation in their bodies the ensuing sessions are absolutely breathtaking.

 

P had booked a Musubi/Kama session (a body to body massage leading into a full girlfriend experience) and on arrival he asked if I could make sure to give him a full lingam massage at some point during the session. Duly noted, I invited him to undress and lie face up on the bed so that I could guide him through the meditation I open all my massage sessions with. As he lay down and I threw a warm blanket over his naked body, I invited him to close his eyes, quietening the usually dominant sense of vision so that his other senses became heightened. Then I guided him to connect to the sounds he could hear (my voice, the music, occasional sounds drifting in from the outside world), to the smells he could smell (incense wafting over him from the table near the bed, drops of frankincense on the pillow), to the tastes in his mouth that he was swallowing down into his body and most importantly to what he could feel – to the sensations on his skin and within his body – as he dropped deeper and deeper into a calm, relaxed state of peace and stillness.

 

He stayed in this deeply relaxed state, eyes closed, breathing deeply, throughout the session. I massaged his body with mine, rubbing my breasts, tummy, pubic mound, thighs and feet all over the back of his body. I massaged his prostate carefully and slowly, his anus was unsure, but accepted my “gentle knock on the door” and pulled me inside. When I asked him to roll over onto his front I didn’t glide up his chest to initiate “girlfriend experience”, instead I sat between his legs and gave him the lingam massage he had asked for. I could feel his energy moving around his body and had to hold back my own impatience to feel it inside mine, but I was determined to give him the full 20 minutes on his lingam that he had specifically asked for. 

 

He was fully absorbed in the experience: connecting to sensation in his body, feeling it expanding on every inhale, feeling it moving throughout his body on every exhale. He later told me that he was so deeply in trance and so absorbed by the sensations moving around inside of his body that he had no idea whether he was erect or not.

 

As it happened, he stayed firmly erect throughout the lingam massage. Even when I moved my hands from his cock onto his torso and down his legs to disperse and move his sexual energy, his cock had stayed hard. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had softened, I’m interested in the flow of energy not in the performance of an erection. What was interesting was that he didn’t know. His erection had become unimportant to him – even though this was a Kama session – because he had connected to something so much deeper and profound: his sexual energy, the joy of moving it around the body and the magic of intentional breathing and touch that facilitated his journey. The journey wasn’t about him and me. It was about him. It was deeply internal, I knew that. I completely understood that he was feeling so much more because he was doing so much less and the less included no vision. 

 

When it was finally over I allowed myself to kiss the tip of his cock then open my lips and pull his beautiful, glistening erection into my mouth and deep down my throat.

I enjoyed playing with his cock in my mouth, flicking my tongue over his sensitive frenulum, making his cock twitch against the roof of my mouth, using moist lips over moist glans, my tongue, lips and fingers moved up and down his shaft, over his balls and across his perineum. I enjoyed taking him deeper – slowly, gradually, giving my throat time to relax and open around his hardness, mirroring the way his sphincter had earlier allowed in my finger. 

 

He had “endured” 20 minutes of lingam massage followed by at least 10 minutes of me enjoying his cock in my mouth, he was still breathing, he was still deeply relaxed, but I was pretty sure that he must be quite close to popping. In a Kama session I do try to ensure my client gets the chance to feel himself inside my cunt, if his erection is strong enough to sustain a condom. His was. I moved from my position between his legs, to glide up his body so that I could kiss him and be in a position from which I could reach for a condom in the bowl next to the bed. My left breast fell into his mouth as I reached onto the bedside table to pull the condom bowl towards me. I lingered, making the most of the beautiful sensations moving through my body as he nibbled my nipple. I slid back down, opening the small packet as I did so and once I was positioned with his cock standing up firm between my legs I rolled on the condom. 

 

His cock throbbed in anticipation as I did so, I manoevered my body and took him deep inside me. His hands were lying either side of his body, they showed no sign of wanting to hold my hips or pleasure my breasts, I noted that I would be riding this cock alone. Our pelvises shifted position so that his cock penetrated me deeper, it made me gasp a little, which encouraged him to move his pelvis a bit more, turning circles so that his cock massaged my cervix. The energy was incredible. I started to come, I could feel my vaginal muscles squeezing against him, but he just held me tight – moving his hands to hold my thighs on his,  thrusting deeper into me, pushing against the squeeze of my muscles. It is so sexy when a man does this. My orgasm got stronger and stronger but he held me firm and managed not to be ejected. 

 

As I had suspected, he didn’t last long. He came before I stopped coming and then all was still. I removed myself, tidied away the condom and sat back, between his legs waiting for him to open his eyes. He still hadn’t opened his eyes! We had experienced all of this and he hadn’t opened his eyes once.

 

This always happens, dear reader, when a client keeps his eyes closed for the entire session he has a profoundly different experience. With his eyes closed he connects deeply with sensation in his body, rather than to the visual receptors in his head. The mind can lead you to a certain level of orgasm but you don’t need to be with a whore for that – the ready supply of cheap porn or even a swimwear catalogue will do that job perfectly well. Time and money invested in a proper whore is time to switch off from the domineering sense of vision and turn on the less confident, frequently overwhelmed senses: smell, sound, taste and touch. Vision will overpower all of these which is a huge shame because when you’re with a real human being what you smell, taste, hear and feel matters as much as, if not more than, what you see. 

 

As P finally opened his eyes he laughed incredulously and said, “Wow, that was amazing. I have never experienced an orgasm like that – I can still feel it everywhere – in my feet…. here…” he pointed to his chest, “In my hands…” he laughed, “Everywhere!! I was so deeply in trance I could feel everything. It was absolutely amazing. So much more and so much better than the sex I normally have.”

 

Try it. Close your eyes. Close off vision, just for a short while, and connect with your body.

 

Go inwards.

 

Enjoy the journey. 

 

Photo by Narissa de Villiers on Unsplash 

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