Word of the Day
July 16, 2008
uber whore
Overheard on the TV show, The Secret Diary of a Call Girl.
Performance Anxiety
July 16, 2008
My client last night was a virgin. No, not like that - an escort n00b. He’d never been with an escort or courtesan before. I don’t know why he picked me, and I didn’t ask. It didn’t matter, really. I had a job to do.
And, as is somewhat common with virgins, they sometime have, well, performance anxiety. He was a bit put out by it, as you might imagine. Such a man in lesser hands might have been in for a long, perhaps fruitless night. But Alexa’s psychological and communications skills and masterful oral and vaginal talents brought about a, shall we say, successful resolution. This was one of those instances where a two-hour minimum actually helped. Had I been booked for an hour, we might have had a problem. The pressure to get done in that hour coupled with the pressure he was already feeling to perform would’ve done him in, methinks.
He was cool about it, and the fact that I was able to divert him through the art of conversation helped a lot. We were able to establish a rapport and that kind of helped him get his big head off the problems of his little head, and allow it to work like he wanted it to.
I’ve been told by people on multiple occasions that I am intimidating. By both sexes, actually. Sexually aggressive women are generally seen that way, and I’ve never been one to hide my…aggression!
Actually, that is true for either sex. Men who are sexually aggressive are seen as intimidating as well. It’s just that it is far less common to see it in women than men - we’re not supposed to be sexually aggressive. So it tends to catch people off guard a bit. That’s been an issue for me for a good while now, ever since the middle of high school, in fact. I liked to chase straight girls in high school and in college, and it wasn’t beyond me to use that intimidation factor to my advantage. It’s not always bad, even though it might seem that way to the uninitiated. Some people find that alluring, actually. Sexy, even. I guess some of that’s because it is somewhat unique for a female. It’s different, and different = attractive to some people. Ha. The stories I could tell about my exploits in high school. By the time I graduated, I was responsible for initiating no less than ten girls into bisexuality. But, alas, I digress.
This has been a problem for me online occasionally as well. I was online from the time I was 14. I started out web camming with people (again, another story). As I moved through adolescence, and spent more time online, and my personal experience base grew, my knowledge of sexuality began to expand. By the time I turned 17, I was dispensing sex advice to people in a variety of online forums. And I tend to be pretty straightforward with what I have to say. When you combine that with the utter ignorance about sexuality that many people possess, especially teenagers, my advice was often seen as being presented arrogantly. That continues largely unabated, by the way. Even in forums where “adults” are posting questions and advice about sexuality, there’s still a lot of ignorance out there (especially with respect to how birth control works). And so when I post, I often come across a bit tersely at first to those who don’t know me. I recognize this as a personal fault and I do try to inhibit myself from coming across like that, by the way. So it probably surprises some people when they find out that I can be sympathetic to the plight of someone experiencing an issue like performance anxiety.
Of course, those who really know me, and have watched me spend countless posts working with people on issues they have with their sexuality know that I can be very patient and will work with anyone to solve an issue they’re having, or to help them come to some resolution or peace with something they perhaps might not be able to “fix.” I’ve worked with individuals for months in some cases to help calm them down about the fact that they are attracted to members of the same sex, for example. Such attractions are perfectly normal, of course, but to someone who’s been indoctrinated by religious zealotry and abstinence-only disinformation to believe that it isn’t, it can be excruciatingly painful to deal with.
You know, sort of an aside, but not really, one of my favorite things in the world is when someone contacts me and tells me that I’ve helped them understand their sexuality in some form or fashion. I’ve lost count of the number of times that’s happened. But it always makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside when someone discovers a part of their sexual selves they’d not been aware of previously because of something I’ve told them or something I’ve written. It’s okay to be gay. It’s okay to be straight. It’s okay to be somewhere in between. It’s okay to have fantasies. It’s okay to enjoy some sex acts and not others. It’s okay to enjoy doing anything with your partner, regardless of what it is, as long as both of you are willing participants. I wish I could beat that into everyone.
And, to tie it back to my original point, it’s okay to have performance anxiety from time to time. The key is to just don’t let it get you down - recognize that it is perfectly normal and not indicative of anything “wrong.” I think my ability to convey that, in the heat of the moment when it really mattered to him, made it well worth the financial investment he made last night. 
And yes, I realize this post has jumped from one thing to another and the pieces only vaguely connected to one another. I don’t know why it did, but you have my sincerest apologies for any confusion it may have caused.
Alexa’s Update # 4
July 13, 2008
I seem to have become quite popular over the past few days, and have had several requests for bookings. I have appointments set up for Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of this coming week. And I’ve got a request from a guy to be a “naughty maid.” I’ll have to go out and find a nice, sexy maid’s outfit for this one. Should be fun.
I had a guy ask me to become a professional submissive from one of my ads on a fetish board. I’m not ready for that yet. I have another somewhat unique request in as well, and I’ve agreed in principle to do it, so long as all the participants can provide copies of recent STD test results. The coordinator there is working on that to see what the others think. We’ll see where it goes. 
I had my first request for a facial last night. I suppose it is weird, but I rather enjoy those. And I know my client did. I think I may write a post about facials in the not too distant future as well, since I know there are some pretty strong opinions about them covering a wide spectrum of positions.
I had someone ask why I didn’t post about my appointments from earlier this week. I don’t think writing about just routine sex from most of my straight encounters would be the kind of thing that would be entertaining to most of you. You’d get bored with it easily, and I think it’d get overly repetitive telling you that I blew the guy, he fucked me, he fucked me in the ass and came, over and over again. If I’m wrong, let me know!
I’ll write about the more interesting or “different” encounters, though, to be sure. As I’ve said before, I have few hard limits, and I am looking forward to exploring some of those. Many of my clients (and potential clients) so far have really only expressed an interest in straight sexual encounters, though.
I sent a comment to the author of an article in a newspaper about men cheating on their wives with escorts. She replied back and asked for an interview. I told her I’d do one if we could do it via e-mail or IM so I’d have a record of specifically what I said so if something was taken out of context, I could point to what I said in the record and correct it. She hasn’t replied back. Typical of journalists - if you want to put them in a position where they may have to correct themselves or be held accountable, they flake out. 
Speaking of facials, I am *so* incredibly tired of sexuality being politicized, and people telling others how they should or shouldn’t experience their own sexuality. 
Is it wrong for me to take “That was easily the best sex I’ve ever paid for” as a compliment?
What about “I checked out some of your blogs and the website. You are quite possibly the most articulate & sexy combination I have ever seen in a woman. Well done.”
I get chill bumps watching some things in high definition on my huge plasma TV, especially things on channels like National Geographic, the Science Channel, and whatnot. 
Tony Snow died this week. While I grieve for his family, I can’t help but wonder what kind of person can stand before an entire country and knowingly lie to them like he did on a daily basis. He is by no means the only one to do it, of either party, but I just don’t think I could stand before a group of people and knowingly deceive them every single day like the spokesperson for the President has to. At least, that’s how it has been over the past few years. I couldn’t be a P.R. person.
A trip to the Good Vibrations store is on the schedule this week. I have some disposable income, so…
You guys have a great week.
New Alexa Logo & Miscellany
July 11, 2008
I created a new logo for my own personal branding and marketing purposes. What do you guys think? I think it screams elegance:
Someone in SF captured this image as they rode a bicycle by, headed down Stevenson Street. Look at it a few seconds and see if you can figure out what is going on. If not, the click on the link below it for further…clarification.
Click HERE for an explanation of what is going on.
This guy sits downtown holding his little sign. Supposedly, he’s NEVER had sex or masturbated in his entire life. I don’t know how the person who made that assertion would know, but whatever. People laugh and make fun of him as they go by. I guess he has nothing better to do with his time. I can’t imagine sitting on that fire hydrant all day is very…comfortable. 
In the very bottom right, under the “X” are the words “No orgy.”
My Greatest Fear
July 11, 2008
I doubt any you have ever heard of Chantel Robertson. She was murdered recently. She was a sex worker, an escort to be specific.
Renee, over at Womanist Musings, laments the fact that, in her death, she will not be treated with the dignity that most other murder victims are because of what she did for a living.
I suspect that once again, as the media reports on this case what will be lost is Chantal’s humanity. People will not know about her father Michael, or her little brother that loved her, instead they will focus on the fact that she was a sex trade worker, as though somehow this one fact could encapsulate her young life. They will completely sensationalize the story without asking why as a society we devalue these women, why we seem to feel that their lives are worth less than others.
As she suggests, that is not uncommon. When the story of Ashlee Dupre went public, the media was all over it, of course. They sought out her family in New Jersey and shuffled for position to ask about why their daughter and sister became a whore, rather than asking questions about what kind of person she was, or about her desire to have a music career. Every headline about her had the words “hooker” or “prostitute” in it, not “woman” or “young lady” or even “budding musician.” She wasn’t a human being, she was reduced to a job.
Many of the stories, in fact, didn’t even recognize her as her own person. She was “Eliot Spitzer’s Escort,” or “Spitzer’s Call Girl…” She was deprived of her own unique identity as a woman; she belonged to someone else - someone who bought her. She was property, and therefore not worthy of being treated with the respect afforded a real human being when they’re murdered. Chantal was treated similarly. As Renee stated, she was disposable.
We treat their deaths like honour killings as a way of legitimizing their murders because of their occupations.
I’ve had several people ask me about my safety. They know that this line of work is not the safest in the world, though escorts and the like are far less likely to be harmed or killed than people who work the street. I do everything I can to ensure my own safety, from screening clients to taking precautions about the way I carry myself, to some specific processes and procedures I follow when I meet with a client. Still, I am fully cognizant of the fact that what I do carries some degree of risk. Perhaps that is one of the alluring aspects of it for me; I don’t know. I know that if it was, it wasn’t a conscious thing.
My greatest fear isn’t being murdered by some psycho client, though. My greatest fear is what the media will do to my parents, my sister, Nikki, my friends, or anyone else who had the misfortune of being connected to me in some way in the aftermath. They won’t ask about my personality, what I liked to do when I was growing up, my work as an advocate for comprehensive sex education and women’s rights, my graduation from high school and college with honors, or even what kind of work ethic I have. They’ll ask questions like, “Why did she become a call girl?” “Was there anything in her background that would’ve led you to believe she’d become a hooker?” “Was she sexually abused?” They’ll color the questions with words like “call girl,” “escort,” or maybe even the more politically correct “sex worker,” but the tone in their voice will carry the timbre that debrides the cover for what they really want to say.
It would be even worse at this point because my parents don’t know what I do for a living - I haven’t told them. Yet. And you know why? Not because I am ashamed of it. I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t write here. I don’t want them to know to protect them from the shame they’d likely feel knowing their daughter sells sex for a living. I can’t begin to convey to you how much inner angst I’ve dealt with wanting to be honest with them, knowing that it would hurt them. In all honesty, my mom probably wouldn’t care, as long as she knew I was being safe. My dad would freak, though.
If they did know, though, when someone asked her what their daughter did, they’d have to fight with themselves about what to say in response. How do you tell someone your daughter is a prostitute? So, in my eyes, it is just better at this point that they not know. They can be content telling everyone I am a graduate student - that sounds so much more…acceptable, no?
I am considering telling them at some point. I wanted to get in and make sure it was something I could do before I seriously considered taking that step. Of course, if something happens to me before I’ve had that chance, the way they’d find out would likely devastate them, if for no other reason than the fact that I wasn’t honest with them. I’ve already taken the precaution of writing a letter to them apologizing for misleading them, and explaining how I arrived at the decision to do this in the event that something were to happen to me. I hope it would offer them some small measure of comfort.
And I’ll always carry this with me. Even when I transition out of this line of work, I’ll still be a “former hooker,” or “former prostitute” to the media, if they ever figure out who I am. Interestingly, if I had been an accountant or an attorney, they wouldn’t refer to me as “former accountant,” “former bookkeeper,” or “former attorney” unless it was wholly relevant to a story they were doing. But regardless of anything I did in the future, I’d always be referred to as simply a former purveyor of sex. As if somehow I could be so narrowly defined.
If I were to be exposed while I were still alive, I’ll at least be here to put a face to the name, to the work, to the human being that I am. I’ll be able to explain to people why I’ve taken the path I have, and even if they don’t agree with it, they are confronted with the fact that I am a real, live person - a person with thoughts, hopes, dreams and aspirations, just like they are. I can’t, and won’t, be portrayed simply as a whore. I am so much more robust than that. Like debauchette, I’ll fight back.
If I were to be killed, though, everyone would make assumptions and there’d be no one to speak for me, as me. I’d become an object, a fuck toy for the media, if you will. The media will use me, just as they used Ashley, and just as they used Deborah Jeane Palfrey, without compensation, for their own lurid purposes. I’d be objectified. The media will cast me as a prostitute, a hooker, a call girl, when I am so much more than that, even to my clients. I don’t feel objectified by my clients, but the media would do just that. I wonder if the irony of that escapes them when they write their headlines about someone like Chantal being killed?
Here’s a tip for you folks who write copy for the media: When you’re writing about a woman (or a man) who is or may have been a sex worker, avoid headlines like, “Former Hooker Alexa…” and write something like, “Alexa…, a woman who is believed to have been a sex worker…” or “Alexa, a woman who was convicted of (or arrested for) prostitution…” Even that subtle change in the way your sentence is constructed allows the person to be presented as a unique human being with a name, rather than just the sum of his/her work.
Chantal, I never met you but I am so sorry. I am sorry that your life had to come to such a tragic end. I am sorry that you never had the chance to live out your dreams, and most of all I am sorry that even in death you have not been granted the respect that is your due. Sleep well baby girl.
Indeed. I hope Chantel has found some measure of peace, wherever she is.
Anni, Collared. Part I
July 10, 2008
After having corresponded with Anni via e-mail and offsetting blog comments for well over a year, I was excited to finally be meeting her. As I waited for the plane to arrive, a tremendous excitement built up in me knowing what I had in mind for her when she got off the plane. I’d never done anything like this in such a public setting before, and I was quite sure she hadn’t as well. It should be interesting.
Anni is the very embodiment of the term MILF. She was in her mid thirties, and had the body and face of someone two-thirds her age. She was a mother, a wife, a girlfriend and, for the upcoming week, unbeknownst to her, she was also going to be a whore. My whore.
She walked through the security gates and got a huge smile on her face when she saw me. She ran up to me and hugged me tightly, as if rediscovering a long lost friend.
“I have a surprise for you, sweet face.”
“What is it?”
“This.” I pulled a collar with a leash attached to it out of my bag. Anni’s eyes widened to the point where I thought they were going to burst from her head. “Tilt your head and pull your hair back.”
“Right here?” She looked around nervously, knowing that the vast throngs of people passing by would see me collar her right here in the middle of the airport. But I knew of her deep desire to be owned, and I was going to play it up for all it was worth. She was going to be my collared little slave for her stay here in San Francisco, and it was going to start right here, right now. “Yes, you little cunt. Right here, right now.”
Her face turned dark crimson with embarrassment as I placed the collar around her neck and locked it behind her. After I had secured it, I put my hand behind her neck and pulled her to me. I gave her a deep, passionate kiss right in front of everyone; I wanted her and all of those around us to know that she was mine. I grabbed the leash and pulled her with me as I took her down to collect her bags. “Come on.”
“I see you wore a skirt like I asked you to as well. It looks good on you.” In midstream I changed my mind about going straight for her luggage and diverted us to the bathroom. “I’ve got a better idea, actually.” We darted into the first women’s bathroom we came to. I pulled Anni into a stall, leaned against the wall, raised my skirt up and pulled my panties to one side. “Get on your knees, bitch. You know what to do.”
Anni complied exuberantly and buried her face in my cunt, teasing my clit with her tongue like a professional. I had imagined her doing this a great many times during our online conversations. And clearly she’d been practicing with her girlfriend at home. I grabbed a handful of her dirty blonde hair and pulled her face into my crotch harder, and began grinding myself on her gorgeous little mouth. I wanted to make sure I marked her face with my juices so she’d be cognizant of my scent the rest of the afternoon. Within the space of a few minutes she was hitting those magical places that push me over the edge, and I came quite hard.
I took a couple of minutes to regain my composure, then tied Anni’s leash to the coat hanger on the door so I could wash my hands. “Take your panties off and give them to me.” She complied and handed me a red thong. “Red, huh? Women who wear red panties are said to be hotter than average. Are you hot, Anni?”
“I like to think I am. You think I am,” she said with a knowing look in her eyes.
“That’s true, I do.” I bent in and licked her lips. “Hmm, I taste good on you. Do you think most of the men in this airport would think you were hot?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Well, let’s go see.” I handed her the thong, grabbed her leash, and pulled her out into the walkway outside the bathroom. “Find some guy who’ll buy your thong.”
“What?”
“Find some guy walking down the terminal here and convince him to buy your thong. You’re so hot, surely some guy would want one of your thongs with your scent in it, don’t you think?” Anni stammered for an answer, unsure of how to proceed. “Just walk up to random guys, hold out the thong and ask them if they’d be interested in buying it. How hard can it be?”
“I can’t do that, Alexa. I just can’t.”
“If you don’t, I’ll leave you here in the airport, holding your panties. That’d be embarrassing, don’t you think?”
Anni lowered her head. “Yes.”
“So get on out there and sell them. I’ll watch you.”
Anni began walking out into the middle of the walkway, trying to stop every guy who walked by. She had all the grace of a newborn fawn, unsteady on her feet and unsure exactly what she was supposed to do at this point. Most of passersby just dodged her, appearing to be in a hurry to get to their next flight. A couple of them stopped, but quickly walked away shortly thereafter. I couldn’t hear what she was saying to them, but it obviously wasn’t having the desired effect. I guess it is somewhat strange for a woman to be standing around in the middle of an airport with a collar on and a leash hanging from her neck trying to sell used panties.
Finally, a pair of young guys came down the hallway. She approached them and convinced them to stop for a minute. During the course of their conversation, I could see the two guys looking at each other, at her, and at me. They got huge grins on their faces and one of them pulled out some money – I couldn’t tell how much – and handed it to her. She handed him the thong, and turned around and walked back to me. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. When she got to me, I wiped them from her face, and kissed her softly on the lips. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”
“I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life.”
“You’re in for a long night, then, my dear.” I grabbed her leash and we headed for our original target, the luggage claim. “How much did they give you?”
“Ten dollars.”
“You’re a cheap little whore, aren’t you? What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know. I figured you’d want it.”
“No, you can keep it. I’m sure it won’t be the last money you make this trip.” Anni got a very puzzled look on her face. That’s okay; she’ll figure it out soon enough, I thought.
We headed down to luggage claim and stood around with everyone else waiting for the luggage to show up. Many of the people kept glancing over at us furtively, no doubt wondering what kind of woman would allow someone to lead her around n a leash through such a public space. What kind indeed.
She saw her bag come out and instinctively went for it, and the sudden movement caused her leash to pull out of my hand. “Oh, my god. You did not just do that.” Anni stopped dead in her tracks and once again turned a deep shade of red as it occurred to her that everyone had heard me holler at her. “Come back here.” She did as she was ordered. “Bend over and grab that rail, and pull your skirt up over your waist.”
“Please don’t do this in front of all of these people, Alexa. Please.”
“Bend over, bitch.” Anni stared at the ground for a few seconds, then pulled her skirt up and reached down to grab the rail along the edge of the luggage track, exposing her naked little ass to the entire crowd. I took a little leather crop out of my bag. “You must learn not to yank the leash like that, Anni.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I swatted Anni across her taut little butt cheeks five times, each time eliciting a yelp from her and leaving a little red stripe across her golden brown cheeks. The crowd stood aghast at the spectacle unfolding before them, to a person. Some of them were clearly entertained by what was happening to my little toy, while others were just as clearly troubled, perhaps not even believing their eyes. And with her bent over like that, everyone had a clear, unobstructed view of her hairless little cunt. It was hard to miss the fact that she was very aroused by what was happening to her.
“Now, go get your luggage and let’s get out of her before you embarrass yourself some more.” Anni shot me a snide look and took off after her bag. She tried to ignore the looks she was getting from everyone in the crowd. A couple of people tried to taunt her, and I had to chime in, “You guys leave my whore alone.” With that they backed off.
Anni snagged her suitcase and we headed off for the tram to the parking garage, with me pulling her by the leash the entire way. I lost count of the number of people who stopped mid-stride to stop and stare at us.
“I can’t believe you embarrassed me like that in front of all of those people.”
“Oh, shut up. You had cunt juice draining down your leg. You were getting off on it.” Her ensuing silence spoke volumes.
When we got to my apartment, there was the usual handful of people milling around in various places, including Kelsey, the girl who worked the front desk. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw me pulling Anni around by the leash. Everyone else ignored us and we headed on up to my apartment. As soon as we walked in the door, Anni asked if she could go to the bathroom. “You can after you take care of my needs.” I reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down and let them fall to the floor, and then leaned over and grabbed the top of the chair. “Make me cum.”
I knew in this angle, Anni would have to bury her whole face into my backside, with her nose buried right in my ass. I put my leg up on another chair, and reached around to pull my cheeks apart so she could have better access. As she buried her tongue in my cunt, I grabbed and pulled her head into me. Again, in rather short order, she’d done a yeoman’s job and once again had me climbing Mount O. She clearly knew her way around the female anatomy, and I was looking forward to spending the next few days allowing her to hone those skills. I came so hard I almost fainted.
“Okay, now you can go use the bathroom. And whatever you do, don’t wash your face. Leave my scent on you,” I said, nearly out of breath.
“Ooookay. You taste good,” she said with a hint of insolence, licking her lips.
She went off to the bathroom and remained in there for what seemed to me an inordinately long time. Curiosity got the better of me, so I snuck over to the door and listened. The unmistakable sounds of muffled orgasm wafted through the door. The little cunt was getting herself off! Without permission, even! I grabbed the handle and swung the door open, much to the surprise of my little charge.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone blush so much within such a short space of time. “Go ahead and finish. I’ve always wanted to see you have an orgasm anyway.” I folded my arms and leaned back against the wall to watch.
Without hesitation she splayed out on the toilet seat, furiously rubbing her clit with one hand, and finger fucking herself with her other hand. She maintained eye contact with me the entire time, making sure that I could see that her orgasm was coming from deep inside that special dark place she had in her psyche – the place where her secret submissive side lay hidden from all but a select few. She knew that she needed this and was willingly accepting the role I’d selected for her on her visit.
It didn’t take long before she was having her second orgasm. When she came down, she lay spent against the back of the toilet. God, she looked so sexy laying there, so vulnerable, yet so strong - the ultimate embodiment of feminine sexuality.
“Wash up, except for your face, and bring your luggage into my bedroom. You’ll be sleeping in my bed.” You have a long night ahead of you I suspect, so we need to get a bit of rest before we head out. Do you remember that club I was telling you about? Cockblock? We’re headed there tonight.” I could see the look in her eyes – one that told of ecstasy combined with fear. Tonight would be interesting no doubt.
I went and took my clothes off and crawled into bed and awaited Anni. She came into the room, removed what little she still had on, and crawled in next to me. I snuggled up next to her, wrapped her in my arms, and kissed her lightly on the neck behind her ear. “Welcome to San Francisco, sweet face.”
She squeezed my hand. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Alexa’s Update # 3
July 7, 2008
I’m changing the name of my occasional updates from “Random Notes” to “Alexa’s Update” just so it makes more sense and so you guys don’t forget who’s writing them!
So I had my first San Francisco date Saturday. It went well. I have another lined up for tonight (a “quickie” - 2-hour sort of thing), and one for Friday night. I enjoyed Saturday’s very much - more so than I thought I would actually. I am still wrestling internally with the belief that I am not supposed to find this work enjoyable, despite many other escorts telling me (and the world) they enjoy the work. It just seems so…unnaturally surreal.
Many of you know from reading here that I have a strong desire to explore my submissive side, and one way I am incorporating that into my work is by advertising and promoting myself and my services to some of the sex clubs in the area. There’s a huge variety of BDSM/Fetish clubs in SF, and if I can work out something with one or more of them to allow for a mutually-beneficial arrangement, I may do so. More on this in the following weeks if something materializes.
I am a huge tennis fan (and have a pretty good backhand, myself). I watched the Wimbledon Finals match between Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer yesterday - all 8+ hours of it, and I have to say I concur with those who say it is probably the best match ever. Wow.
This girl HERE (YouTube) knows how to work a pole. Damn, she’s flexible, and has some good upper body strength! 
I had one of my readers ask in an e-mail why I won’t discuss “work” with a client. There are several reasons for this, actually. First, it eliminates putting me at a potential psychological disadvantage. Talking about work puts me in a position where I have to talk about intimate or personal details about why I do what I do, other customers, etc., and I’d rather avoid those altogether. I sure don’t want to get into a position where I end up talking about one client to another - that would betray the trust that the client places in me that I’ll keep what I do with him/her confidential. I talk about it here, but what you see here has been sanitized and I have time to think about what goes into what you see. Talking about something off the cuff runs the risk of inadvertently exposing details about relationships that I have with other people. And I’m sure you as a client wouldn’t want me to do that.
A second reason has to do with the nature of the work to begin with. In the event that someone is setting me up, anything I say might be recorded and used against me. The truth of the matter is that, even though the assumption is that I’ll be seeing a client to have sex with them, the date is technically just that - a date. We might have sex, but we might not - that is purely up to our discretion. If the chemistry isn’t there (and, admittedly, the bar is lower than it might be if I were going out on a date I initiated), then we won’t be having sex. So if I speak about other people who’ve paid me, and that I’ve had sex with them, then it makes it appear as though I am seeking payment specifically for the sex. That, of course, is illegal. It isn’t illegal to pay for a date, even if it gets to the point where sex occurs, so long as the sex wasn’t the intent of the payment. If that makes sense. It may be an issue of semantics, but semantics is often the difference between guilty and not guilty.
It is supposed to be 105 F here Wednesday and Thursday! What. The Fuck?
I may have to avail myself of Baker Beach in the next couple of days.
I think that’s it for today. I’ll let everyone know how tonight goes. Enjoy your week. 
Play Ball - My First San Francisco Client
July 6, 2008
“Mike” completed the online application a couple of weeks ago, wanting to be my first appointment after I started accepting clients in the San Francisco area. After I verified his identity, we began e-mailing back and forth so that I could get to know him a bit. Some providers prefer to talk to people on the phone first, some prefer to e-mail. I am one who prefers e-mail first because the way someone expresses themselves through writing gives me some insight into how their mind works, and I can gauge from this whether or not the potential client might be a good fit for me. After exchanging e-mails for a few days, he seemed pretty cool, so I called him and we set up the appointment.
He knew of my interest in baseball, and as a Giants fan, he suggested that we might go see a game as a way to break the ice and spend some time together. Since he wanted to spend some quality time after the game back at his hotel, we mutually agreed that an 8-hour appointment would probably work best.
Unlike with my first professional fuck, I wasn’t nervous and didn’t have butterflies tumbling around in my stomach for days before this appointment. I had already proven that being paid to fuck wasn’t going to be a problem to me, and through our conversations, I’d become quite at ease with Mike. So up until the time I left my apartment, I really wasn’t anxious at all; it seemed, well, like a normal date, actually.
I got in my car and drove the few blocks to the Westin Hotel where he’s staying this week. I drive up, hand my keys to the valet, get my ticket and walk through the front door into the hotel lobby. This Westin is a very luxurious place. Wow. I remind myself of the words of other escorts who’ve walked through these spaces, and the instructions they’ve written about how to do it without attracting attention: Make sure you know the way to the elevator so you won’t look like a hooker looking for a way up to the client’s room, walk like you know what you’re doing and like you have a reason for being there, and try to avoid catching the eye of security. That last one is going to be hard to do dressed like I am - everyone turns their heads to look at me. Mike had asked that I wear something “drastically sexy, but not slutty” for the game. I’d chosen a black lace, midriff-bearing halter, a pair of low-rise Express jeans and a pair of wedges. I had a good six inches of skin exposed. I was wearing a long sweater over it, but it was still fairly easy to see that I was dressed to attract attention. That’s what he wanted, though - arm candy for the night.
I hop on the elevator with five other people, including one of the bellboys. I wonder in the back of my head if any of these people can tell why I am here. I know they probably can’t, but the thought invades my mind nonetheless. I get out on the appropriate floor, walk down to his room, and knock lightly on the door. The wait for the answer seems interminable, and of course, now that I’ve arrived at his hotel room door, the little flutterbies hit me and I even feel a bit faint. God, this is my first serious job. Just hurry up and open the door already. The door pops open. He is a nice looking man, in his late 30s, well groomed and with an air of confidence about him. Just as he’d described and just as he’d come across in my conversations with him. He’s dressed nicely, in a polo shirt and a pair of khakis; perfect for a baseball game.
“Alexa?”
“Yes. Hello, there. It is nice to finally meet you in person.” As I walk in the door, I kiss him and immediately begin to look around. I spy the envelope containing my fee on the table. “Let me take care of the business end of this first and get that out of the way, and we can spend the rest of the afternoon and evening enjoying each others’ company, okay?”
“Sure. The bathroom is there on the right.”
I pick up the envelope and walk to the bathroom. Once inside, I open the package up and count the money. The envelope contains thirty $100 bills and another $65 to cover the cost of valet parking at the hotel. It’s all there. I put the envelope in my purse, take care of a couple of personal security issues, use the bathroom, wash up, and head back out.
“Do I look suitable for you?”
“Of course you do, but your photos don’t do you justice. Wow.”
“Well, aren’t you a sweety?” I walk over and kiss him once again, this time with a bit more intensity. As I slide my hand down to his crotch, I whisper in his ear, “Would you like a little preview of things to come?” He blushes noticeably. How endearing, I think to myself. Though he’s probably ready to head off to the game, I thought it’d be nice to give him something to think about during the four hours or so that we’ll be there.
“I think it’d be foolish to refuse such an offer.”
I resume kissing him as I unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants, and slide them down, along with his underwear. I slide down to my knees, take his flaccid cock into my mouth and begin teasing it with my lips and tongue. He wastes little time getting hard, and I begin one of my famous hands-free blowjobs. His cock is slightly larger than average, perhaps seven inches long and of good girth, just the right size I think to myself.
I look up at him and gaze into his eyes while I am going down on him - eye contact is so important for making the experience more erotic for a man, and I want him to know that I am enjoying having him in my mouth. After just a few minutes, I can tell he’s approaching the point of no return - his breathing gets heavier, he starts making those little guttural grunts people subconsciously make when they start down that road to an orgasm, his hips start to move back and forth as if he wants to fuck my mouth harder, and he puts his hand on my head. Finally he cums, and, like the professional little slut that I am, I swallow every drop of it without missing a beat.
“Jesus Christ. That was intense.”
As he comes down from his orgasmic high, I finish cleaning up his cock, and help him get his pants back up. I walk back to the bathroom to rinse my mouth out, and return to find him still putting himself back together. “Are we about ready to go?”
“I am now, yes,” he says with a big grin on his face.
We both laugh and head out the door. We go down to the garage and get in his car (a silver, high-end BMW, very nice indeed), and drive to the stadium. AT&T Stadium is only a few blocks away, though traffic increases the time it takes to get there exponentially.
I’ve been to a handful of professional baseball games, mostly in Atlanta, and one in Philadelphia. The electricity of a baseball crowd has always infatuated me, and this one is no different. As we walk from the parking lot to the gate, I am aware of looks and stares being directed at me, though I am not really dressed much differently or any more provocatively than many other females in the crowd. Maybe I am imagining things. Though I am holding Mike’s hand and it appears we’re a couple, I still subconsciously wonder if people can tell why I am really there, and I wonder to myself if I’ll ever overcome that feeling.
We get in and find our seats. They’re very well situated, down at field level along the first base line behind the dugout, about 10 rows back from the wall (in Section 107 for those familiar with the park). We’re there about 45 minutes before the game starts, so we watch the players taking batting and fielding practice for a few minutes, chat about random stuff, including the chances of the home team winning tonight (which we collectively decide is practically nil).
“Would you like anything to eat or drink?”
I am a bit hungry, so we head off to the concession stand, where I get a hot dog (I love concession hot dogs!), a bag of chips and a diet Coke. We spend the time before the game chatting about a variety of things, but mostly my newness to San Francisco and about baseball. He asks how I got interested in the game and I go into this spiel about my parents taking us to games when we were little, and my watching it on TV growing up. We always had TBS, and they were always playing Atlanta Braves games, so I became a fan, mostly because of Chipper Jones! Ha! We talk a bit about the Braves and their history, and the fact that, sadly, they always seem to choke late in the season. Interestingly, this year, the Giants have a worse record than the Braves do at this point.
Finally, it is time for the game to get started. We settle in and things get pretty bad for the Giants right off the bat (so to speak). The Dodgers score two runs in the first inning, and it stays that way most of the game. The Giants don’t score until the bottom of the 6th, and then it is only one run. During the game the score flashes up that the Atlanta Braves lost once again (6-1, to Houston). Dammit. The Giants score again in the bottom of the 7th, tying the game up, and the crowd goes ape shit. Miraculously, they go on to score three more runs, and win the game 5-2. No one really thought they’d win because the pitcher’s record was like 3 and 12 or something. Anyway, there is much celebrating.
We hang around for a few minutes to let the majority of the crowd get out of the way, and then leave ourselves. We get back in the car and begin the long, arduous process of creeping through the traffic to get out and head back to the hotel. It’s about 9:15, which means he has me for another three hours or so. After a few minutes of inching our way toward the edge of the parking lot, we’re clearly not going anywhere in a hurry, so I figure I may as well find a way to kill some time. “I’ve never given road head before. Does it count if you do it in a line waiting to get out of a parking lot?” He looks over at me as if in disbelief.
“Does it matter if it counts or not?”
“Not really.” I reach down and unzip his pants and reach in to pull his cock out. It had already started getting hard and that made it a bit difficult to get it out. I am finally able to free him and move my head down and take his fully erect cock in my mouth once again. Giving head in this position, in his car, is a bit more…problematic. The fit is, shall we say, tighter. Regardless, in between moving his foot back and forth from the gas pedal to the brake, he appears to be enjoying what I am doing, and within a few minutes he cums again. A horn blows, refocusing his attention on moving up the few inches necessary to placate the asshole behind us. I quickly swallow and begin cleaning up my mouth while he re-situates his cock into his pants. I wonder out loud if the couple in the car next to us in line realizes what I was doing?
We spend the next 15 minutes or so in parking lot traffic and finally break free. We eventually make it back to his hotel around 10 PM and head back up to his room. I head to the bathroom to freshen up and return to him. He offers me a drink, and I ask if he has any sodas available, or perhaps some water. He hands me a bottle of water and we spend about 30 minutes talking about random stuff, including my school background and what I want to do with my graduate degree when I get done with it. I can tell he’d like to ask about my work, but I explained to him before our meeting that that subject was off limits, and he respects that.
Finally, I reach over and give him a slow, lingering kiss. “Why don’t we get a bit more comfortable?”
As he begins removing his clothes, I explain to him about safewords. “Basically, you can do anything you like, ask for anything you like. We can take it as easy as you want, or as rough as you want; I am open to just about anything. If I use my safeword, then you know it is getting to be too much for me, okay?” I give him my safeword.
“Anything?”
“Within reason, yes. If you’re unsure, just ask.” I have to attach that qualifier to it; I never know what someone else’s idea of “anything” might include.
“Do you do anal?”
“Yes, I do.” I take off my top, and pinch and play with my nipples, giving him his first full view of my boobs. He seems happy enough, so I start taking off my pants as well. Soon, I am standing there in front of him, naked as the day I was born. I move into him and begin kissing him again. He puts his arms around me and reciprocates, and then begins kissing down my neck, and down to my chest. When he reaches my chest, he begins lightly biting and sucking on my nipples. This sends a tingle down my spine and raises little chill bumps on my skin. He gets tickled at this. I push him back into a sitting position on the bed, straddle his lap and continue kissing him. I can feel his cock begin to harden under me.
He then decides he want’s to be the aggressor, turns and pushes me back onto the bed and begins to crawl in between my legs. I know where he’s headed so I grab my knees and pull my legs apart, opening myself up to his tongue, his lips, and his teeth. He’s very confident, lightly biting at my clit, sucking it and massaging it with his tongue. I can tell he’s got some oral skills. I’ve always cum easily, especially when someone who knows what they’re doing is at work, and this case is no different. My orgasm comes rather quickly in fact. I can sense that his success has emboldened him a bit.
“Are you ready to fuck me?
“God, yes.”
I reach over to the table and grab a little package, and open it up to reveal a condom. I pull it out and roll it over his erect cock, lie back, and guide him toward my entrance. He positions himself over me and slowly pushes in, and then commences to fucking me. I reach around and grab his ass and pull him into me. “Yeah, that’s it. Fuck me. Just like that. Yes.” God, it feels good to have a cock inside me. He slows down for a minute and then looks down to where we’re joined to admire himself going in and out of my cunt, and then picks up the speed again. I counter with pelvic thrusts of my own.
“You know, I’m not going to last long at this. Do you mind if I put it in your ass?”
“Not at all.” He pulls out, and reaches over for the bottle of lube on the table, and begins dripping it on his cock. I squirt some on my finger, reach around and push it into my asshole, not so much to lube it up as to make sure the little hole is ready to be penetrated. I was glad I’d given myself an enema before I left tonight. I always do that because I never know when a client will want anal penetration. I turn around on my hands and knees with my ass facing him.
“I love your tattoo.”
“Thanks. It was actually my birthday present to myself on my 18th birthday.” I feel the tip of his cock at the entrance to my back door, and he slowly starts to push in. It is fairly easy to tell that he’s not as experienced with this kind of sex as he has been with our other activities. “Grab a hold of your cock and push it in sloooowwly.” As he does that, I push back on it, and it slides in. That momentary spasm of pain tells me the head is inside. I let out a little grunt, mainly for his benefit.
He begins thrusting, slowly, back and forth, pushing his cock deeper into my butt with each successive penetration. I don’t know why, but I have always been comfortable with anal sex. It has never really hurt me like it has some people and I am very grateful for that at this particular point. Eventually he bottoms out and then begins thrusting harder. I lean up and pull his hands from my hips and put them on my tits. “Fuck my asshole. Fuck it with that big cock.” He kneads my tits as he continues his thrusting, and uses them to pull himself into me.
Within the space of about two minutes his grunting tells me that he is on the verge of cumming again, so I start squeezing my anal muscles in rhythm with his thrusts. This sends him over the edge and he cums in my ass. I reach around and put my arm around his neck to help stabilize the both of us as his final thrusts empty his cock into my rectum. As he comes down, he kisses me on the neck. I go back down into a doggy position, and he falls softly over my back, spent.
As we lie there I playfully squeeze my asshole around his cock a couple of times, which makes him laugh. He gets up and pulls out, removes the condom, and goes to clean himself off. I clean myself off as well and when he returns, he finds me lying on the bed on my back, masturbating for him. He still has a little under an hour left of our time, and I plan to make it worthwhile for him. Perhaps it is just my naivete at this point, but I feel if someone shells out three thousand dollars for an evening with me, they deserve as much as I can give them, especially if I am enjoying myself. And I am.
“Have you ever watched a woman masturbate before?”
“I can’t say that I have, really. Except in pornos.”
I continue playing with myself for a few minutes. “Do you want to help?” His face brightens up as he moves in between my legs and begins tongue-fucking my cunt again. Again he demonstrates his prowess and I let him enjoy himself. I grab some hair on his head and gently grind my cunt into his face. Once again I find myself on the verge of another orgasm, and allow myself to just let go. The orgasm overtakes me and I try to suppress my groans so that we don’t attract the attention of his neighbors.
As I lie there recovering, he allows his hands to wander up and down the inside of my thighs. “You have such gorgeous skin.”
“Thank you. I try to take good care of myself, though if truth be told I probably spend more time out in the sun than I should.”
“Well, the tan really works on you. I notice you don’t have any tan lines, either.”
“No, I don’t like tan lines on me, so most of the time I spend in the sun is sans clothing.” We just lie there, both of us naked for a few minutes, just talking about random shit.
“Well, I’ve had a really good night. My team won, and I’ve had three orgasms. I can’t say that I’ve ever had that much success in one evening.” We laugh as we get up and begin cleaning up. I get dressed, gather my belongings, and call down to the Valet Desk to have my car brought out.
We spend a few more minutes talking, and I finally tell him it is time for me to leave. I give him one last kiss.
“You know, I’ve been out with I think about eight escorts now here in the city, and you are easily the most remarkable young woman I’ve had the pleasure of being with. I just felt so…comfortable I guess is the word. I still can’t believe this is your first time.”
“Well, thank you for that. I appreciate your saying that; it makes me feel good. I’ve always had a knack for making people feel comfortable around me. I don’t know what it is; maybe it is my genes or something.” We both laugh.
“I hope you’ll allow me to see you again in the future.”
“Absolutely. I had a great time. You have my number; just give me a call whenever you’re ready to see me again. Especially if the Giants play the Braves. Ha ha! See you later.” I give him another kiss and wink at him as I walk out the door.
I take the elevator down to the lobby, and walk out to find my car waiting for me. I pay the valet charge, get in and drive back home. I walk up to my apartment, go in and immediately pull out the envelope, and lay out the money on the desk in front of me.
“Wow.”
Sex with Men vs. Sex with Women
July 5, 2008
I’ve been asked several times about the differences between sex with men and sex with women. Each is a unique kind of experience, and trying to explain the differences to someone who has not been with both sexes is a bit difficult to do, but I’ll give it a shot. I consider myself what I like to refer to as a true bisexual - I fully enjoy sex equally with members of both genders. I don’t necessarily believe that sex with one gender is better than the other – they’re just different.
Note that these are solely my opinions, and are generalities, not rules, and are based upon my own experiences. Sex is a highly personalized interaction and there are really no such things as hard and fast rules when it comes to this particular subject. Still, it is possible to draw some generalities with respect to how the two genders interact when it comes to sex – the individuals involved have to decide if any particular one is better than the other for themselves.
First off, penetrative sex with a guy involves what I refer to as an erotic power struggle - a confluence of dominant vs. submissive, if you will. And I don’t mean that in a negative way. In fact, it is actually very much a positive thing as I see it. What I mean is, during the physical act of having sex the guy must exert a certain amount of physical force or power against which the woman must react in order for either/both to achieve orgasm. That forceful penetration and the reaction to it is one of *the* best things about sex with a guy in my opinion. Even being penetrated by a woman with a strap-on is nowhere near as satisfying as it is when a live cock is involved. An owner of a real penis has a feedback loop that helps guide him during the act of intercourse (the fact that some may be clueless to it or choose to ignore it notwithstanding). He can sense if he’s going too deep, if the lube is drying up, or if she’s squeezing her PC muscles, and all of this (ideally) works to facilitate a mutually beneficial outcome. With a strap-on, there is no such feedback, and the person wearing the it generally derives no significant benefit from it outside knowing that she’s giving her partner pleasure.
With perhaps the possible exception of a woman performing oral sex on a guy, almost by its very nature the act of penetrative sex with a man requires the woman to be submissive; this is imposed on us by the fundamental biological differences that exist between the male and female. I add the qualifier regarding oral sex because I believe it is possible to construct a valid argument that sucking a man’s cock is not a submissive act (though I realize many feminist types might disagree with that). Any woman who knows how much control she’s had of a man when she’s had her lips wrapped around his cock knows exactly what I mean by that.
When two women have sex, however, the encounter is far more egalitarian in nature – each has the capability of performing upon the other in like fashion and that dominant/submissive disparity doesn’t exist. So that innate power struggle that occurs between a male and female is absent, and in many ways that provides a safer space for the women to express themselves sexually. For some women, however, the absence of that reassuring comfort of being in a strong man’s embrace might actually inhibit sexual expression.
Each type of interaction has its benefits depending upon your point of view and/or the mood you’re in at the time, though. I mean, the act of being dominated in bed that takes place when a guy fucks a woman cannot be duplicated between two women - I don’t care what anyone else says. Conversely, the tenderness that occurs with two women making love cannot be replicated between a man and a woman in my opinion.
With men, ego is a much more significant concern. For example, if a woman asks a guy to do something different (“Could you change the way you’re eating my pussy?”), in many cases, the male’s ego will be bruised. This generally isn’t intentional of course, but guys are just indoctrinated in our society to believe that they should know what they are doing in bed. Fortunately, it is becoming seen as much more acceptable for men to ask for direction when they’re performing on women nowadays. There’s no shame in that. In fact, having a receptive, attentive man who’s willing to adapt to my needs on the fly at my crotch is a huge personal turn on. The feminine ego does not get in the way of this in bed like the masculine one does; at least, not in my experience.
Many guys are too timid to ask for or participate in anything outside of pure, vanilla sex (oral, vaginal, and maybe anal). Much of this goes along with the concept that guys must be the ones in control in the bedroom (though some societal conditioning also plays a role), and seems to obviate itself more with a man’s regular partner than when he’s fucking someone on a one-night stand. A lot of that has to do with not wanting to be seen as a “freak” or “weird” or being frightened of what the woman’s reaction might be and the potential for damage to a standing relationship. I can understand that. In fact, much of my business is generated by just that hesitation from the guys. Many guys would hesitate to ask their girlfriends or wives to allow them to “face fuck” them, but would have little hesitation in asking me to allow them to do it.
Similarly, if a woman expresses a desire to try something different, especially if it involves some act being performed on the guy (“Let me stick my finger in your ass while I give you head – you’ll love it.”), the guys are also frequently reluctant to acquiesce. Women are much more open to experimentation if the request comes from another woman I’ve found. I believe this is because a woman will trust another one to know what hurts, what works, what doesn’t, etc., and believes that she wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt her; whereas guys are not always known for their gentleness (again, not necessarily a bad thing)! A terrific example would be anal play. If a guy asks a woman to allow him to stick a finger (or his cock) in her ass out of the clear blue, the woman typically has a “no way!” reaction. At least, initially. If a woman asks another woman to allow her to stick a finger in her ass, she is much more willing to allow her to try it. I once had sex with two sorority girls in which one of them had experienced a really bad episode with a guy and anal in the past. When I went for her asshole with my tongue, she freaked out and jerked away. After I calmed her down and explained what I was going to do she relaxed and let me do my thing and she had one of the strongest orgasms she’d ever experienced (her friend was under her eating her pussy at the same time). She trusted me because I was a female and understood that I wasn’t going to hurt her. That wouldn’t have occurred had I been a guy I don’t believe.
Sex with another woman occurs on a much different emotional plane than sex with a guy does. When two women are in bed together, they bond emotionally much more readily than a man and a woman will and it takes on the aura of a much more spiritual experience rather than a purely physical one. This, of course, is derivative of the natural ease with which women form interpersonal bonds in their daily lives to begin with. That sharing of emotional commonality allows for a greater connection between the spirits of the two women, and I just don’t think that is wholly possible between a man and a woman (except perhaps in those soul mate kinds of relationships). This is one reason why I think every woman should have sex with another woman at least once in her life – it is so markedly different than sex with a man, and opens you up to new insight into how you view your own sensuality.
Stamina levels are also typically quite disparate between men and women. I can lie in bed with another woman for hours having sex and neither of us will feel rushed; just touching, stroking, licking, biting, kissing, etc. Many guys are, by and large, programmed for “fuck and forget” and after a fairly short period of time, they’ll tire of even just being in the bed. I love having “Multiple O” contests with other women, seeing who can get the other off the most times. That’s almost unheard of in sex between a man and a woman. Unless, of course, you luck up and get a guy who’s got some Tantric sex experience.
For women who’ve masturbated and know their own bodies well, they come equipped with the innate ability to please another woman without having to learn their way around. That is not to say that it doesn’t take some effort to figure out what gets the other woman off, but a woman knows where the clit is and how to approach it right off the bat, whereas most guys just…don’t. I have taken first-timers (women) into the bedroom and within a few minutes and a little coaching and encouragement they can eat pussy like a champ. For some guys, it often takes a long time to get them to learn how to do it correctly (and from what I understand, some never do!). They’ve just never been on the receiving end of that and have no frame of reference for how it feels. Again, this is a product of biological disparity. I’ve heard bisexual men state that men know how to suck cock better than women for the same reason – women just don’t have the frame of reference to know how certain actions feel when performed on a cock. There’s nothing wrong with that; it is just a fact of life.
Let’s see, some other disparities. Guys and girls have different scents when they’re having sex. With a guy, it is much more animalistic; whereas with a woman it is a much muskier, sweeter odor. With a guy, the touch is much stronger, much more powerful. With a woman, it is a gentler, more comforting, reassuring kind of touch.
Then there’s the issue of trust. For me personally, I am able to relinquish myself wholly to another woman much more readily than I can to a guy, for many of the reasons stated above. For those of you that have gotten to that level with anyone (male or female), you know how empowering that can be for both sides during a sexual encounter. It’s not that I literally don’t trust the guy I am in bed with (if I didn’t, I sure wouldn’t be fucking him). But with another woman, it is easier to trust that she won’t do anything to hurt you (intentionally or unintentionally) than it is with a man, if for no other reason than she knows (or should know) how to treat the female body.
So there you have it in a nutshell. As I said, I don’t really consider sex with one gender any better than the other; they’re just, well, different. Whether or not one is better than the other is derived from the attitude of the individual(s) involved, their willingness to learn and to coach, and the attention to detail that each brings with them, rather than which gender they are. I know a lot of what I have just written makes it sound like I enjoy sex with women more than I do with men. I can see how you might take that away from this. But that isn’t true. As I said, each has its benefits. I just happen to be able to express the more feminine side of it a bit better I suppose.
I would certainly be interested in hearing about anyone else’s experience with both genders, including any of the guys who are bisexual and have been with men and women.
Alexa = Pussy
July 4, 2008
My good friend Nina went to the trouble of creating my name for me in kanji, the alphabet of the Japanese language. We were both amused at the apparent English word that the characters spelled.
Can you almost see the word “pussy” in that?
Alexa in Japanese is pronounced Arekkusa, and the above represents how it is written out.
That seems almost…fitting, no? 
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