Wednesday, 21 May 2014
This week I've had the privledge of visiting my two favourite ladies on consecutive days. This wasn't due to greediness, rather their tour dates coinciding.
The result for me has been complete serenity and a sense of being in touch with all that is good in the world.
I won't name either of these ladies, but both are from these islands. They are both mature, highly intelligent, strong and admirable women. In many ways, they are the most wonderful people I have ever known.
Let me explain. Yes these ladies are escorts. Yes I partake of some of the sexual services they offer, and absolutely wonderful they are too. But that is only part of the story. Visiting these ladies is an all-round experience. We talk, we laugh, we kiss, we embrace. We pleasure each other sexually and talk candidly about everything from cats to deeply personal issues.
These ladies help me immensely and I hope that I help them in more ways than the financial. They are counted amongst my very closest friends and in turn, my closest friends are fully aware of their importance in my life. Were they not able to accept this, they would no longer be counted as my friends. Instead they are understanding and happy for me and that is a true mark of friendship.
I have reached middle age and that puts much into perspective. Life is short and should contain as much happiness as possible. I have never been as happy as I am now and much of that is down to the escort experience. Sexually yes, I have progressed, both as a lover and a submissive. Socially I am more confident. But what is huge for me is being granted access to what these ladies have been through in their lives, realising how strong they are, how much they love their children, how they continue despite huge obstacles constantly placed in their way. And that very much puts my own paltry problems in perspective.
I have always admired and in some cases desired strong women. They do not come much stronger than sex workers believe me. These ladies have a continual parade of time wasters, some malicious, some simply weak or inconsiderate men. They juggle finances, book venues, market on many levels, answer endless texts and messages, travel widely, care for their children, their family and their pets. They entertain and they humour. They may be exhausted but they go on. They love and in many cases are loved. And they still find time to feed themselves, keep themselves looking beautiful and above all, project the wonderful person that they are.
This would be more than enough, but add to the above the constant droning of the judgemental -- the neighbours who find unruly kids, barking dogs and vandalism acceptable, but somehow find a sex worker having a few visitors per day an issue to be hysterical about. The 'investigative' journalists, the suspicious hoteliers, the sexually frustrated nuns, the highly funded NGOs, the jealous and the territorial and all the while the ridiculous social stigma forcing these ladies to hide and remain largely alone. Not to mention the occasional abusive client or the threat of assault or robbery.
I challenge anyone to live with the above and keep going. That my friends is true grit. That is why our sex workers deserve and need our respect. Not our ridicule or small mindedness. Not some sad demonstration of our own ignorance. But real respect for a job that dates back millenia and will always be a part of our society.
Few truly realise the good these ladies do. Speaking purely for myself, they have turned my life around. For others they have saved relationships, preserved marriages, prevented suicides, given joy to the disabled and simply brought happiness into so many lives. In a true, caring society, these ladies would be celebrated for what they do.
As a client, I see little or nothing of the world the abolitionists portray -- if it exists, it appears to be very cunningly hidden. The bottom line is there is money, very much misguided money, in persecuting sex workers. These are good people, victimised for sinister and cynical NGO ends. Don't ever let anyone tell you what they do is wrong.
To these two ladies and to all I have met, I want to thank you for being there and for allowing me into your lives. You are wonderful people and the world is a better place for your presence.
Friday, 25 April 2014
A dominatrix -- that's a woman in black PVC brandishing a whip and generally beating the crap out of some idiot for an extortionate fee right?
Well as with most statements, there's an element of truth in there. And as with most sex work stereotypes, the subject is vastly more complex than the uninitiated wish to admit.
Firstly, the participants are not idiots. From my own research (which consists of conversations with my own domme as opposed to making it all up), her clients, or 'slaves' as she prefers to call them, are generally from the more intelligent, high achieving bracket. Why should this be?
Well there is a cogent argument that high powered men such as GPs, company bosses, MPs and judges spend their lives making decisions about others and need the counter balance of complete helplessness.
There is also my own argument that the more intelligent are often more broadminded and see the therapeutic effects of BDSM, as well as the sexual aspect.
Anyone wishing to visit a domme must realise that it is a vastly different experience to an escort. Some dommes allow full sex, others only intimate body worship and many allow no sexual contact at all.
So what does it mean to me? Well this little snippet, written in the aftermath of a demanding session, may give you a little insight into my own thinking:
''Suddenly it becomes apparent what drives people to push themselves to the limits of endurance and sanity in other fields. It's the feeling of being truly, completely alive, yet staring into the abyss of what, but for one slip, might be the very end of existence itself. That glorious uncontrollable rush of adrenaline and endorphins.
Knowing that nominally you are in control, that with one word you can make it all stop, yet also knowing that you will never say it, that to do so would be a betrayal of you both, everything you had worked towards, everything you both desired. A beautiful, exquisite, vicious, shared experience.
Struggling against your bonds, staring in fear as the next trial appears, revelling in the torment of absolute obedience and complete surrender. Safe in the knowledge that your captor is enjoying every sweet, twisted second. Seeing in her eyes the joy of being the manipulator, of having your entire existence in her hands. No going through the motions, no feeling of being a burden, just the absolute joy of pleasing another in whatever manner she decrees. Absolute, complete, otherworldly joy. At last you have found your own personal nirvana and it has been here all along, daring you to enter, to participate, to envelop you in it's perfect, tainted embrace....''
Essentially, the experience is about completely relinquishing control. I get a huge buzz from being naked, handcuffed and at the whim of a fully clothed powerful woman. It's perhaps akin to the activity of wing walking -- constantly balanced on the edge of oblivion, yet safe in the knowledge that you won't be allowed to fall. In the hands of a skilled dominatrix, you will experience fear, humiliation and tailored pain, but you will be safer in her hands than you would be crossing the road.
The effect is as much psychological as physical. Over time, the domme can read you like a book. She knows just how much to push those little limits of yours and will keep you coming back for more.
Ideally you will leave the premises feeling ten feet tall, completely destressed and self confident. Not perhaps the reaction many would expect, but it certainly works for me.
Now perhaps it's time for those of an anti-sex work bent to explain why I shouldn't be allowed to take part in this therapeutic and rewarding experience.
Tuesday, 22 April 2014
I visit escorts and I visit a dominatrix.
Why would someone do such a thing? Over the course of this blog, I'm going to do my best to explain why.
I'm going to begin with a little overview of a 30 minute escort visit, specifically the most appealing aspects from my own viewpoint.
The clandestine nature of the encounter. Driving to a pre-agreed area, parking and calling her on the phone for discreet directions. Walking past people going about their daily business, delightfully oblivious to your inner excitement as you approach the forbidden holy grail. That little frission of fear as you enter the unknown. The adrenaline rush as you approach the door, navigate lifts and stairwells and locate the gateway to divine escapism.
The neatly defined parameters. No social minefields to negotiate, no body language to read. It is understood that your donation and your presence are the sole necessity. There will be no rejection, no realistic possibility of failure. The currency of intimate bodily contact is universally understood.
That first contact. The smiles, the gentle kisses, the little introductory chat, the slightly nervous derobing.
The fascinating entity that is the female body. The soft skin, the gentle curves, the tan lines, the cascading hair, the inviting lips. And then down to the intimate. The beautiful nipples cresting those soft breasts, the eternally fascinating pussy, the sweep of those milk white buttocks.
The thrill of the intimate. Gently taking a nipple between your lips, sucking it so slowly, curling your tongue around it with care. Moving down to her soft, warm pussy, drinking in that heady lake of pleasure, exploring with your tongue, listening for those soft moans of pleasure. The delight of finding it moist, then wet, then moving involuntarily beneath your tongue.
The joy of giving. Hearing those soft moans rise to a crescendo, feeling warm liquid cascade over your tongue, the desperation as she grasps the sheets, your hair, anything within reach, as she cries out in ecstacy. Your gift to her, the wonderful satisfaction of knowing you have pleased, the warm smile as you return to her and kiss passionately once again.
The joy of recieving. Feeling those soft lips envelope your cock, gently sliding up and down, driving you to paroxsyms of ecstacy. Stopping for a moment as she allows her fingers to tease the shaft, bringing you closer to that ultimate moment. Then watching as it disappears into her mouth once more. Writhing with joy on the bed as she controls your world completely and utterly for interminable moments.
The moment of togetherness. Slipping on the condom, sometimes, wonderfully, with her teeth, the gorgeous warmth as she slips herself onto you, thrusting into that beautiful innerness, caressing her breasts as you smile up at her in absolute gratitude. Rolling over to reverse roles. Thrusting inside her, kissing passionately, fingers intertwined.
The point of climax. Sometimes in, sometimes out. Sometimes by hand, sometimes by mouth and tongue. That incredible, life affirming feeling as you orgasm at the whim of another, as you cry out in that moment of absolute surrender.
The afterglow. Lying together in a warm breathless, embrace. Talking about Venice. Or shopping. Or kittens. Laughing together. Kissing gently, almost shyly. Gazing into the eyes of this wonderful, intimate stranger. Dressing slowly, still chatting, accepting that parting embrace. Stepping out into the air, the bustle of everyday life, feeling that spring in your step, that subtle little smile, the assurity that life is good. Absolute completeness.