Alexa’s Update # 11
September 8, 2008
Well, I got back Tuesday morning from Fort Lauderdale, as most of you have probably read. I am still having Nikki withdrawals.
Let’s see what’s going on in Alexa-town this week…
My father is considering getting a tummy tuck, according to my mother. lmao He’s always been fit (he has incredibly sexy, runner’s legs and butt, though I’ve never told him that), but I guess age is setting in and causing him to have more tummy than he wants. Apparently, you can get them on an outpatient basis for about three or four thousand dollars these days.
My classes are very interesting, and there’s a lot of intelligent, well-read people in them. This is going better than I’d anticipated, and I am enjoying the heavy reading and class discussions. The students in graduate courses appear, at this point anyway, to be much more…mature than the undergrad ones. 
Is there any other woman who just loves to have their head pushed down into the bed, face down, and just railed from behind? I mean, just, god damn. 
*fans self*
Client Updates:
I’ve seen Rick twice this week. I toyed with him a bit on Wednesday, based on a conversation I’d had with one of my friends. She said she’d love fuck me right after I’d had sex with a man, and eat his cum out of my cunt (trust me, she’s a freak, too!). I told her I was going to tell him that, that I bet he’d really get off on that. In order to do that, though, I’d have to let him fuck me bareback, without a condom. I’ve been seeing Rick for several weeks now, and I am comfortable enough with him to allow him to do that.
So when I went in Wednesday morning, I told him that I had a female client who had a special request, and outlined to him what I described above. Needless to say, he found that to be very arousing. We only have about 15-30 minutes each morning before his staff starts showing up, so I quickly got him hard with some oral attention, and then sat on his desk, and told him to fuck me, but skip the condom. He couldn’t believe his ears. He penetrated me and after only about 10 thrusts, came hard inside me. I got a pad out of my purse, put it in my panties, put them back on, pulled my skirt back on and headed out the door.
Of course, I just went home and showered and did nothing with any woman after I left him, but he didn’t know that. Thursday, when I went back to see him, he asked me how it went. I made up some stuff about her lapping his cum out of my cunt as soon as I walked into her hotel room. That got him all hot and bothered, and he wanted to know if we could “go somewhere” for some extended fun. I had no commitments so I said, “sure.” He took me to a hotel down the street, checked in, came and got me, and we spent four hours fucking. Bareback, of course.
One of the points I made in my post on decriminalization of prostitution is that prostitutes should be allowed to decide for themselves if they want to require condoms, rather than making it a state law, and that’s how I feel. If a prostitute gets to a point with a regular client where s/he feels comfortable not using protection, then I think they ought to be able to go that route. I am at such a place with Rick. I’d never do that with a new client, of course. In Nevada, where prostitution is legal in many places, they require the use of condoms for all penetrative activities. I understand the rationale, but I think the provider is in a better position to decide what level of protection is necessary. Obviously, s/he’s not going to take any unnecessary chances.
I also had my blow-bang/bukkake party Saturday afternoon - the one I’d referred to about a month ago. I got paid to blow 10 guys and allow them to cum anywhere they wanted. It started out quite awkwardly, but got better as the afternoon wore on. Surprisingly, my mouth and throat didn’t get sore. lol Anyway, I’ll be writing about what happened with this and should have it up in a couple of days, depending on how much time I have to put in for classes this week.
Other stuff:
Last Wednesday between classes, I perused some of the stores in the mall. I came across one that was selling some unique clubwear and accessories. I bought a wild new dress to go clubbing in. It is a open-weave fishnet, off-the-shoulder mini tube dress, with a matching bra and thong. There’s not much to it, but in the club I go to, I’ll actually be overdressed compared to some people.
And, apparently, my blog is written at a post-graduate level. 
That’s all for this week, so far. Like I said, keep your eyes open for my account of the blow-bang. Have a great week.
A Few Days in Fort Lauderdale
September 6, 2008
I finally returned to San Francisco Tuesday after a few luxurious days with Nikki in Fort Lauderdale. 
And based on the projected path of Hurricane Ike, it looks like I timed the trip just perfectly - between Gustav and Ike.
And while Hurricane Gustav’s direct threat to southern Florida abated early on, it still managed to fuck up a good bit of my time there. Still, there was a silver lining to it all. Instead of spending all four days wasting away on the beaches, we spent some quality time with one another exploring some places that we’d been meaning to see since we moved down there several years ago, but just never found the time to.
I got in late Thursday evening last week, due entirely to some kind of ground holdup at DFW. We sat on the tarmac for well over an hour because of all of the airplane traffic waiting to take off. I think we ended up being about 30th in line or some shit like that. The pilot came on at one point and said we were number 9 for take off and should be off the ground in about 12 or 15 minutes. About 20 minutes later, he came on and said we were number 9 for take off and should be off the ground in about 12 or 15 minutes. *sigh*
I *so* fucking hate flying these days. I’ve flown well over 100 times, including several times before 9/11. It used to be fun to fly. Nowadays, with all of the stupid, useless security processes, the extra fees for breathing air on the plane (sarcasm, yes, but just wait, it’s coming), idiotic counter people, and the ridiculous process of people finding places to put their fucking luggage on the airplane so they don’t have to check it (saving the baggage fee), it’s just an incredible pain in the ass to go anywhere on an aircraft these days. I was in the 5th group (out of 8) to get on and even at that point, there was no overhead bin space for peoples’ luggage. Anyone who got on after me had to check luggage that wouldn’t fit under their seats or couldn’t squeeze into the bin. I wondered if it was possible to avoid the checked bag fees by checking luggage this way. Regardless, it’s just asinine what you have to go through to get from Point A to Point B by air these days. Good grief, it is so fucked up.
Anyway, I finally made it to Fort Lauderdale. Nikki was waiting for me at the security exit. I ran to her and just wrapped my arms around her and we hugged and cried together for a few minutes. And while it’s not terribly uncommon to see people kissing in the airport, I don’t recall seeing two women kissing like we were. No one said anything, but I saw some people with that “WTF?” look on their faces. Fuck you guys - I’d missed my lover.
It felt so nice to be in real convertible weather for a change. lol We rode home in Nikki’s Miata, and it felt good to feel that warm, humid Florida air coursing through my hair again. We got home and spent a little time catching up, and then went off to bed. The sex was incredible. It felt *so* good to be wrapped up in her arms, our spirits intertwined just as if we’d never been apart. It was so awesome to smell that scent of hers; it is very intoxicating to me. She uses a different shampoo, conditioner and body lotions than I do, so it is easy to differentiate her scent from mine when we’re wrapped up together.
When we got up the next morning, it was overcast, so there was no point in going to the beach. We opted to go to Butterfly World instead. That place is so cool. You go in and walk among literally thousands of gorgeous butterflies. If you stand still for a few minutes, some will land on you. I sat on one of the benches for a few minutes and one of them landed on my nose. 
The butterflies live for about 10-14 days, and they have to release about 3,000 of them a week to keep the place stocked. I wondered to myself what this place does when they have hurricanes come through. Do they lose a bunch of the little critters?
That evening, we went to Cheesecake Factory - Nikki had a bowl of clam chowder and a salad, while I had a hamburger. The meal was of course followed by the requisite slice of cheesecake. I had the Lemon-Raspberry Cream Cheesecake.
On Saturday, the weather wasn’t much better - still overcast and breezy. So, once again, no beach, and we were forced to make alternate plans. This time we opted for the Miami Seaquarium. We watched several shows, including one featuring dolphins and a killer whale named Lolita. We saw some manatees, including one who’d had 2/3 of its tail chopped off by a boat’s propeller. 
We also saw some sea lions and seals, sea turtles, iguanas, flamingoes, and several other animals. They had a small exhibit about the damage the place suffered during Hurricane Wilma. Wilma was our first hurricane experience after we’d moved to Florida from Tennessee.
Saturday night we went shopping at Sawgrass Mills Mall - 350+ stores! The place is HUGE. We didn’t buy anything to speak of, though. We just spent time looking, walking through the mall, holding hands and acting like we hadn’t seen each other in ages.
On Sunday, the weather was markedly worse. It was raining in a lot of places. One of the feeder bands from Gustav was right over southern Florida. He was nowhere near us, but his cloud field extended outward for hundreds of miles, and it was just our luck to be under his influence for still another day. The rain was spotty, though, so we figured we’d go see the Miami Zoo - it is supposedly one of the 10 best in the country. We were apparently on some kind of animal(istic) kick. lol
When we got there, the park ranger told us the zoo had closed early due to rain. Fuck. That was over an hour drive, and several toll booths from home, and we had to make the return trip. We went home and spent the afternoon in bed having sex and just enjoying each other’s company. Sunday night we headed back to the Cheesecake Factory, and ended up with the same waitress we had before (shoutout to our waitress, Jessica!). This time I opted for their 30th Anniversary Cheesecake special - original cheesecake sandwiched in between layers of chocolate cake. Yummy.
We always sit outside on the sidewalk when we eat there if the weather is cooperative (and it was this evening). It is a lot of fun to watch people walk by as you eat. It is right at the western end of the Las Olas Shopping District (high end stuff, for the most part), and you’ll see literally every kind of person pass by. It struck me that one difference between Fort Lauderdale (well, the whole Miami area, really) and San Francisco is that the people, the bodies, here are stunning.
In Fort Lauderdale, a woman can wear a sheer dress with nothing but a bra and thong underneath it and make it look fashionable. In San Francisco, it just looks garish (which, of course, doesn’t stop people from wearing it). One tall (5′ 8″ or so) woman walked by us wearing the shortest miniskirt I have ever seen. She’d cut it off so that the pockets in it were hanging below the cuff, and it just barely covered her ass. She was wearing 4-inch heels to boot. But gosh she had an incredible set of legs that went on forever. Her boyfriend was clearly showing her off, and heads were turning, let me tell you. They walked by and a few minutes later came back to the restaurant to eat. As luck would have it, they sat directly across from us. What a view! Haha! I exchanged glances with her several times, but she just didn’t set my gaydar off, so I didn’t bother to try flirting.
When we were done, we walked down the street and visited some of the stores. There was one store in particular that sold furniture and home decorations. They had a black, ivory-inlaid table with 8 chairs that sold for $39,500.00. Chump change, right? lol They also had some little ivory figurines that looked for all the world like they could’ve been made to demonstrate sex positions from the Kama Sutra. These things were complete with penises entering vaginas, mouths, etc. At $4K a set, though, we didn’t buy any.
On Monday, finally, some decent beach weather. We packed up our shit and headed down to Haulover Beach. If you haven’t been reading me, or just aren’t familiar with it, Haulover is the only government-operated clothing optional beach in the country. And I hate tan lines! So…
Anyway, it was nice to see some familiar, um, faces, and catch up with some friends we’ve met at the beach before. I actually got a bit red this time, too - I guess my body’s not used to being out in the sun like it used to be. But the day was perfect and we spent a good 8 hours lying in the sun, playing in the very rough surf, and just talking with people.
Monday night, we ate at the Bonefish Grill. Nikki had the Chilean Sea Bass, and I had the Grilled Shrimp and Scallops in lemon-butter sauce. That stuff is to die for. It is smooth, very light, yet filling - a very delicious meal.
Once we were done eating, we headed down to Fort Lauderdale Beach to take a leisurely stroll along the ocean front. We parked the car and, unusually, Nikki put the top up on the convertible. Normally she’d just leave it open since we were coming right back. But there were a lot of people running around down there so she just felt better knowing that the car wouldn’t be open. How fortuitous that would turn out to be.
We went across the street (we’d parked in the lot across from the Elbo Room - they have a web cam where you can see the beach, too, btw.), and walked down along the beach side of the road. About halfway between Las Olas Blvd and Cortez Street, we felt what we thought was ocean spray. We’d both began discussing the fact that it seemed a lot more…robust than usual, when all of the sudden the bottom let out. Rain began pouring down on us - I mean it was a frog-strangler. Fortunately, there were no cars coming up A1A, so we took off across the street and ran into a salon that was still open. We still got soaked, though. It was funny to watch all of the people who’d been eating on the sidewalk at the bars and cafes along the strip get up and go running for cover as well. There must’ve been about a hundred people scrambling for cover.
I had to get back to San Francisco Tuesday for school, so I had to take an early flight out of Fort Lauderdale to get back in time to allow me to read my assignment for class. I had to get up at 3AM to get ready. Gah!
My flight left right on cue (which they almost always do from FLL). I made my connection through DFW on time as well, which kind of surprised me, since the whole northern part of Texas was still feeling the effects of Gustav. In Atlanta, if someone flushes a toilet, it fucks airport traffic up for the rest of the day, so it surprised me that I got through DFW without a problem with all of the rain and whatnot.
I made it home just after Noon, and wanted to take a nap before I headed over to the campus, but I was too wound up. So I spent some time reading, meandering around online, and just bumming around, languishing in the sadness of the realization that it’d be another two months before I’d be able to return home.
All in all it was a very nice trip, in different ways than I had anticipated. It was so good to see, hold, and yes, fuck Nikki again. But, alas, I am here, alone, once again.
Alexa’s Update # 10
August 27, 2008
I know I’m a couple of days late on this, but there really hasn’t been much to update you on. I’ve seen a few clients, but nothing has really stood out as something y’all might be interested in. I am still seeing Rick many mornings around 6AM, and he’s still forking out the cash for nothing more than a blowjob and the occasional quick fuck before his staff starts showing up. I have also scheduled my fetish party gig for next weekend, and I’m sure some story will come out of that.
I’ve spent a couple of days working on my post about decriminalizing prostitution. If you haven’t read it yet, please do so and let me know your thoughts - I am genuinely curious as to what people think about my proposal.
Much of the Bay Area is under a “Red Flag Warning” today - this is code for a very high fire danger. The temps have once again been into the 100-degree range - its surreal, really.
I leave tomorrow to go home to see Nikki. I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am about that. For a couple of days earlier this week, I was afraid that Hurricane Gustav was going to fuck things up. The initial projected track of the storm had it going straight up into the southern portions of Florida. Over the past couple of days, though, the weather gurus (such as they are) are now saying it is going to head on over to New Orleans and shouldn’t interfere with my trip home at all.
I started classes this week, and there’s nothing like making an embarrassing first impression. For some reason I thought my early class was on Tuesdays, so I showed up yesterday morning for my first class, only to discover that I was there on the wrong day, and therefore in the wrong class. 
Anyway, the class is one that I’ll end up taking later in my graduate career anyway, so it was nice to see what it was going to be about. I did make it to the early (correct) class this morning just fine. All three of my classes look like they’re going to be really interesting, too. For one class I have nine required texts, along with some research journals and other material that has to be read and digested. There’s going to be a good bit of writing involved in these as well. Fortunately, I like to write about sexuality, so I should be okay. 
And for most of them I’ll be in with the same group of people. There’s about 20 of us starting the program this fall, and most of the rest of the group have some unique and interesting characteristics, experiences and life goals. It’ll be interesting to work with these folks as my time here progresses.
Anyway, like I said, I’ll be out of town until next Tuesday, so you probably won’t hear much from me, though I will be keeping up with any comments I get.
Enjoy your week. 
Role Reversal
August 21, 2008
Sometimes, it’s just more fun to lie there and be fucked.
In a conversation I was having with a close friend a couple of days ago, we were discussing sexual relationships and the role of the aggressor, or perhaps more accurately, the dominant - the one who controls the sexual tension in the relationship. For the majority of my sexual life (which began in the latter part of my 14th year), I have almost invariably been the aggressor. I was the one who initiated sexual activity and controlled how far it went, how often we did it, and how hot it got for the most part.
I had four boyfriends during my time in high school, and in each of those cases the relationships were largely egalitarian - coequal in just about every way. Going into it, each guy knew that I was headstrong and wasn’t going to be someone they could walk over, emotionally, intellectually or sexually. Three of them found that exhilarating, believe it or not. That tends to go against the archetypal relationship dynamic many people have in their minds about male-female relationships, especially those among high school aged couples. Admittedly, though, I was an exception; I knew plenty of examples where the relationship was not only not coequal, but terribly biased toward one member of the pair (and it wasn’t just the males being the stronger of the pair exclusively, either).
After I’d had my first experience with another girl, I went on a tear, seducing as many girls as I could (when I wasn’t in a relationship with a boy). My initial justification was providing them with the same experience I’d had on that fantastic New Year’s Eve. In fact, the sex I had with first three girls I was with after that evening was largely an educational endeavor with my best friends. I wanted my closest friends to experience the intensity I’d felt that evening, so I set out to teach them about lesbian sex (though I refused to even call it that at that point in my life). We literally spent time researching sexual topics and then imparting that knowledge unto one another. I’d had several all-girl threesomes and foursomes by the time I turned 16. Looking back on that now, I am literally quite shocked that they all acquiesced as easily as they did without freaking out.
As time went on, I began to enjoy the thrill of taking a new girl into that experience; by the time I’d graduated from high school, I’d been with ten different girls, some multiple times, some just once. To this day, I have no idea if many of them consider themselves straight, bisexual or what. One of my BFFs has come out to herself and a few close friends as gay, and is in the United States Marine Corps. She’s in the band and just returned from her second tour in Iraq. Aside from Nikki, she’s the only high school friend whose sexuality I am knowledgeable about.
This carried over into the early part of my college career. It literally became sport fucking for me - I wanted to see how many women I could get into bed. I took advantage of the new found freedom that many people experience when they get away from home for the first time, unconstrained by the need to “behave,” and the willingness to experiment. I literally spent weeks, even months, chasing individual women specifically to see if I could convince them to walk on the opposite side of the tracks. By any reasonable measure, I was very successful. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I failed.
The one constant throughout all of this, of course, is the fact that I was always the instigator, the pursuer, the aggressor, when it came to the sexual aspects in all of these relationships.
It is hardly any different with my clients. I am still the one who initiates and/or controls what we do, how long we do it, how far we go, etc. So, even though the client initiated the appointment, I still retain the ultimate control. This is necessary to ensure my safety and to keep the dynamic balanced with respect to the transaction taking place. This is a fundamental concept behind making sex work safe and consensual. If the client exerts too much control over the situation, then I lose my agency and the transaction becomes akin to slavery or abuse.
And, while it’s a lot of fun to be the one who initiates and controls the sex, especially with someone who’s never been down that road before, the past couple of years have seen me become more and more interested in exploring the opposite end of the spectrum - being the submissive one; the one who is on the receiving end of sexual pursuit; the one who’s being done, rather than the one doing someone else.
As you know, if you’ve spent any time reading my original series of posts, I’ve spent some time exploring some avenues of submissiveness, mainly through indulging personal fantasies. I started down the road for real when I went through the process of getting my first facial. That is a rather benign expression of submissiveness, of course, but my own personal fantasies have included some extremes, including one of being gang raped*.
This is the root of why I find my experiences with Chase so intense. She’s the one in the driver’s seat most of the time, and I find allowing myself to submit to her, to be penetrated by her, to have my sex controlled by her, highly erotic. This just works to intensify the sexual chemistry that exists between us to begin with. I find myself wondering if the girls and women I was with in my early years felt the same way I do when I am being fucked by her. I’d sure like to hope so, but, as you know, we each experience sex on such an individual level that it’d be impossible to know for sure without asking them (and who asks that kind of question after sex? lol)
She lets me take the opposite role, easily. And, in fact, I do that during our sexual encounters - we reverse roles quite often in bed. My sexual relationship with Nikki is, for all intents and purposes, very similar as well - we can both be the aggressor or the submissive in any given sex session. Neither one of us maintains as sexually dominant across any specific length of time, and I absoultely adore that. Some days she’ll ask me if I’d like to have sex; on others, she’ll just push me down and fuck me.
I think, to be a sexually balanced individual, you should be able to switch from one role to the other to a degree. Not necessarily seamlessly, but in some kind of combination that allows you to experience a broad realm of experiences so as to make one whole sexually. Not unlike having a balance between emotion and logic, if you will. I think others would probably disagree with that, but it is just my personal opinion.
I have yet to experience it, but I know a lot of escorts have male clients that want to be controlled, that want to be penetrated, dominated, fucked. As I said here, this is a common expression for someone who spends the majority of his/her life “in control” - they want to be done to, rather than the one responsible for doing. What’s sad, to me anyway, is that these people don’t feel free to express that within the confines of the relationships they have with their wives, girlfriends, or partners. I do, however, understand why it isn’t safe to do that, or, rather, why the perception that it isn’t safe exists.
I often reflect back on my high school time and wonder how things would’ve been different had I been the one who was pursued by another female. In the absence of having had an experience with another girl, how would I have felt? Would I have found it enticing? Would I have been reluctant? Would I have been scared? Would I have had an orgasm?
Had I had the same curiosity streak I possessed in high school, I believe I would have enjoyed it because I have always been driven to know as much as I could about anything that held my interest, including, especially, sexuality. And I honestly believe that I would’ve craved the experience. The difference would have been that I probably would’ve lacked the confidence to make it happen; I would’ve waited for someone to pursue me.
In the end, though, I can’t honestly say that I am disappointed with the way things have turned out.
*This is a password-protected post, so you’ll need to contact me for the password.
23
August 17, 2008
Today is my birthday. I turn 23. I’ll be getting gray hairs before you know it.
This birthday is the first in seven years that Nikki isn’t sharing it with me, and while I have a great group of e-friends who’ve wished me happy birthday and whatnot, I’d still give almost anything to be with her today.
This is one of my favorite songs, and it is so appropriate for how I feel today.
When You’re Gone ~Avril Lavigne
I always needed time on my own
I never thought I’d need you there when I cry
And the days feel like years when I’m alone
And the bed where you lie is made up on your side
When you walk away I count the steps that you take
Do you see how much I need you right now
When you’re gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you’re gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you’re gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you
I’ve never felt this way before
Everything that I do reminds me of you
And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor
And they smell just like you, I love the things that you do
When you walk away I count the steps that you take
Do you see how much I need you right now
When you’re gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you’re gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you’re gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you
We were made for each other
Out here forever
I know we were, yeah
All I ever wanted was for you to know
Everything I’d do, I’d give my heart and soul
I can hardly breathe I need to feel you here with me, yeah
When you’re gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you’re gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you’re gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok
I miss you
Chase Me, Fuck Me.
August 16, 2008
I was horny Wednesday afternoon, and wanted someone to play with for my pleasure.
I keyed into my Blackberry, “You’re a hot little bitch.” and hit the SEND button.
“U wanna play 2nite?”
The text message exchange was short and succinct, but it got the point across.
“Yes. Are you free?”
“4 U, yes.”
So I called Chase. She could tell in my voice I was in a playful mood, and she reacted to that. “You wanna come over here and do me, don’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes, but the feeling is mutual, so why don’t you show up around 11 or so? Will that work?”
“Yes, ma’am, it will. I’ll see you then.”
I spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about what might happen, and masturbated twice before I even left the apartment.
When I arrived at her house, I rang the doorbell. “Come on in.” As I walked through the door, I threw my purse down, pulled the sweatshirt over my head, and dropped my sweatpants before I even shut the door behind me, standing there as naked as the day I was born.
“Oh, dear god.” Chase came walking over to me, stripping out of her clothes as well. Our faces met and we spent several minutes tongue fucking each others’ mouths, sucking each others’ tongues, biting each others lips, pulling each others’ hair, and exploring each others’ bodies with our hands and fingers. Chase ran her fingers down my tummy. When they got between my legs, she stuck her middle finger in my cunt and pulled it out. She looked at it, admiring the sheen in which it was now encased. “You slut.” She moved it up to my mouth with a look that told me what I was expected to do next. I took it into my mouth, sucking it and teasing it with my tongue like I would had it been her cock. She grabbed my hand and we headed back to her bedroom, where we spent an untold amount of time just exploring each others’ erotic spaces, physically and spiritually.
At one point, as I ran my tongue from her neck down to the valley between her tits, I couldn’t help but notice that she tasted sweet. Literally. I vaguely recalled this from our past encounters, but it struck me as unique that she had such a sweet taste about her, not the somewhat salty taste that everyone else I’ve put my tongue on has exuded. Maybe she’s addicted to sugar and that comes through her skin, I don’t know. She certainly doesn’t have a body that would suggest an addiction to sweets, though.
After we’d spent several minutes lavishing some oral attention on a variety of each others’ body parts, Chase got up and walked over to the chest of drawers where she kept her collection of sex toys. She pulled out her strap-on and began putting it on. My heart began to race as I realized I was about to be penetrated in one orifice or another. She then walked into another room and came back with a bottle of what appeared to be Eros.
As I watched her pour the lube out into her hand and masturbate the cock to apply it, I could see in her eyes that she was looking forward to what she was about to do. She’d picked up the silicone lube rather than the Astroglide. I hoped that I knew what this meant. Silicone is the lube of choice for rough or prolonged anal penetration. It has much greater staying power than the water-based lubes, and her choice suggested to me that she was intent on providing me with a little bit of anal entertainment tonight. “I know how much you love being fucked in the ass, so I thought I’d have a little bit of fun with that, if you don’t mind. I’m not even going to touch your cunt.” All I could do was laugh. She wiped her hands off and slapped me on the side of my hip. “Turn over, bitch.”
I did as I was told, climbing up onto my hands and knees and presenting my ass to her. She slapped my ass hard with an open hand, and then bent down and slid her tongue slowly up the crack of my ass, stopping at the little starfish, teasing it with little probing thrusts. When she was finished, she moved up and positioned her cock at the entrance to my back passage and began pushing in. I relaxed and pushed out on my asshole to allow her to enter me a little easier.
The huge intruder made it through the first door just fine, but encountered some resistance at the second one. She moved back and forth, pushing a bit harder each time, and finally it burst through. I let out an audible “Oh, god” as the cock sank into my asshole. That little twinge of pain when it pushes through that second ring always flips a switch in me that causes little chill bumps to rise up on my skin, even to this day. I don’t know what it is about anal penetration that causes me to get such a rise, but I’ve never complained about it - it’s been that way since the first time I took a cock in my butt.
Chase began thrusting slowly, going a little deeper with each penetration, training my ass to take it’s length. After a couple of minutes of work, she could bury the entire eight inches into me. I slowly slid down to where I was resting on my stomach on a pillow I’d placed beneath me, with her on top of me - her hips not resting on mine but hovering above my ass, slowly, deliberately pushing the cock into me and withdrawing it in succession. She was going tremendously slow to heighten the intensity of that erotic pain that you feel when you have something that large penetrating you. She, too, enjoys anal sex and has that experience to know exactly what I am feeling when she does this, so I know she’s enjoying fucking me this way. I could hear myself grunting and moaning with each little push, each little thrust. I wish I had thought to record it - the audio of myself being fucked anally would be hot, I think.
She was straddling me, fucking my ass, as she bent down and started biting me on the neck and in that sensitive spot formed by the back ridge of my collarbone between my neck and the apex of my shoulder. I wanted to reach down and masturbate myself, but I was enjoying the little pre-orgasmic spasms I was having in my crotch at the moment, and didn’t want it to end. I’ve never had an unassisted orgasm from anal penetration, but it does occasionally come close, and this was one of those situations.
Having that long, thick cock pushing slowly, deeply into the cavern of my rectum, followed by the slow withdrawal, resulting in an empty, hollow feeling, only to be replaced again by the refilling of it - almost as if it were pushing the seismic precursors into my abdomen until they reached the point where they could be contained no longer. There are no words to describe that feeling, really. I literally felt as if my my soul were being penetrated; the waves were pulsing all the way up into the base of my skull. When it was combined with the adrenaline shots I was receiving from the hard bites she was inflicting on my neck and shoulders, my entire body was being wracked with tension - a tension that was begging to be released.
She splayed herself out on top of me, reaching out and interlacing her fingers with mine, and used her hips as a fulcrum to fuck my ass without moving the rest of her body. I used her weight on my hips to my advantage, moving with her undulations, pushing my cunt into the pillow, using it to masturbate myself. It wasn’t like using my fingers, rapidly teasing my clit. That would rapidly get me off. This was a slow, luxurious, languishing build up of orgasmic energy. It literally took several minutes to build up to the point of release, while Chase continued to slowly fuck me anally. As your PC muscles begin to contract in the midst of an orgasm, your asshole starts contract with them, and when it has something to grab a hold of - something that prevents it from closing against itself - the strain heightens the intensity of the parallel contractions. This heightens the orgasm even more, and is one reason why I have some of my most intense orgasms during anal penetration. Chase knows this, and is using it to her (my?) advantage.
The two sets of competing, yet contiguous sets of movements combined to give me one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had. I don’t know how loud I was, but I was so very grateful that we were not doing this in my apartment. Someone would’ve called 9-1-1 thinking I was dying, I am sure. My entire body felt like it was one huge wave, crashing over and over and over again against a rock, releasing a tremendous amount of energy with each splash.
I laid there for several moments, enjoying the post-orgasmic waves coursing through my body, and then reached up to wipe the tears from my eyes. There are times when I cum so hard that I tear up. I don’t know why that is - the release of pent up energy produces a sympathetic response in my tear ducts, apparently. It didn’t faze Chase, though. She reached up and wiped the tear trail from my nose, and then kissed me softly on the lips. As she did, she began moving her hips a bit more so that the cock buried in my ass would dislodge and she could pull out. If there were ever a more vacant feeling than what you experience when something that large is removed from your rectum, I don’t know what it would be. Your asshole continues to pulse in time with those little post-orgasmic contractions that are still going on in the floor of your pelvis as your orgasm winds down, and as you squeeze it shut, it magnifies those remaining hints of what has just transpired.
We spent the next three hours, wrapped in each other’s sex, rising and falling through several more waves of orgasmic ecstasy. At some point, I don’t recall what time it was, we fell asleep next to each other. I awoke shortly after 3AM and kissed Chase awake. “I need to get going, sweet face. Thank you for seeing me tonight.”
She looked up at me. “You are so much fun to fuck. You are just so in touch with your own inner sexual spirit. I didn’t think there was anyone else like that out there.” She squeezed my hand. “Feel free to come by any time.”
I went and used the bathroom, washed my face and then walked out into her foyer, put my clothes back on and drove home, where I took a quick shower and headed off to bed, my body still reeling from the orgasms I’d had just a short time earlier.
Cutting to the Chase
August 1, 2008
A couple of Sunday nights ago I got a wild hair and decided to go clubbing again. And, of course, I went back to the one place I was fairly comfortable I could find a bit of entertainment.
I walked in and meandered about for a few minutes. A couple of women dancing together invited me to dance with them, so I did. Within a few minutes of my joining them on the floor, we all three started making out. Even after some hot and heavy dancing, though, I just didn’t feel any real chemistry with them, so I bowed out and told them I was going to get a drink.
As I headed up to the bar, I saw her out of the corner of my eye, dancing with another woman just ten feet from me. She hadn’t seen me yet, and I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for this kind of situation. Do I just walk up and cut in? Do I pretend to ignore her and hope that she doesn’t see me? I didn’t like that option, since I would love to have her again. I decided just to order a drink and stand there and wait for her to see me. So I got my drink and watched her dance.
Her moves on the dance floor mimicked what she was capable of in the bed – very fluid, very…erotic. And though I wasn’t going to be disappointed if I went home without someone to play with tonight (I was here primarily to let off some energy), I couldn’t lie to myself, my mind was entertaining thoughts of what it’d be like to have her between my legs again. She reminded me of Marina from “The L Word,” though her frame was a bit smaller. She had the same facial structure, same color hair, and even a hint of the same accent when she spoke, though. And she had the same drive to fuck.
Finally, she turned around to allow her partner to grind up against the back of her, and she noticed me. She didn’t miss a beat; she just fixed her eyes on me and continued grinding away with her mirror. I took another couple of sips of my diet Coke, and enjoyed the visual stimulation of watching her and her partner move against each other. I could tell she was getting off with me watching her dance; that grin she has gave it away.
As I got done with my drink, I sat it down and started walking toward the bathroom. I watched her out of the corner of my eye (and she knew I was watching her), and sure enough, she said something to her dance partner and headed back to the bathroom, following me.
I walked in and waited, knowing she’d be coming through the door. When she did, she grabbed me, pushed me against the wall and began kissing me. I kissed back, as she grinded herself on my leg. The other women in the room seemed oblivious to what was going on. That was understandable, though; just about every time I’d come into the bathroom, there was at least one pair of women tongue fucking each others’ mouths, either against the wall, in one of the stalls or even on the counter. And this was only my third time here.
She grabbed my hair and pulled my head to one side, and began kissing her way down my neck. The kissing turned to biting, lightly at first, but then it got serious. “You’re going to make me cum doing that.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to go somewhere again? My place? Yours? The fucking parking lot?”
“If you want, sure.”
I grabbed her hand and pulled her with me as we headed out to the parking lot. As we headed to my car, she caught me off guard, “We need to talk for a minute.”
“About what?”
“I need you to know that I am not looking for a relationship, even a permanent fuck buddy kind of thing. I just got out of one, and I can’t do that right now. I don’t want you to misunderstand my intentions.”
“I’ll be honest with you, I am not looking for anything other than a recreational fuck either. Seriously. I came here just to let some steam off, and here you were. If you’d rather not…”
“No, no, don’t get me wrong. I’ll take you home and rock your world. I just want you to know what I’m about right now, that’s all.”
“Okay. I think we understand each other.” I kissed her. “My name is Alexa, by the way. I was thinking the other night, I have no idea what your name is.”
“My name is Chase. Nice to meet you, Alexa.” She extended her hand out as if to shake my hand. I took it and pulled it down to the the snap of my pants.
“I like the way you think.” Let’s go in my car, to my house. We don’t have to worry about disturbing the neighbors there. I have a feeling we’re going to be…loud.
We drove to her house, located a good fifteen minutes from the club. It was an actual house, too, not a smallish apartment like I had. Not that we needed much room. We just needed some space on the bed, the couch, the floor, or whatever. During the drive over, I had my hand down my pants, masturbating.
She asked, “Can’t you wait?” as she reached over and put her hand over mine, helping me, with only my pants separating us.
“No.”
We didn’t say another word on the way to her house. Each time we stopped at a traffic signal, we just looked at each other, knowing what we’d be doing in just a few short minutes. The sexual tension was excruciatingly palpable. If the car had been able to drive us home on autopilot, I know we’d have been in the back seat fucking the entire way.
We got to her house, walked in the door, and recreated our initial entry into her place much like we did last week at mine, pushing each other against the wall, pushing our tongues down each others’ throats, and allowing our hands to wander along and around the curves that are found only on another woman’s body. I undid her shirt and found her erect nipples with my teeth. She wasn’t wearing a bra tonight, not that her perfectly formed 34Bs remotely needed such a thing. She had taken advantage of my unbuttoned jeans and already had her fingers in my cunt, thrusting in and out like a small cock. The palm of her hand was pushing against my mound, and the pressure on my clit was enough to push me into orgasmic overload. I have trouble standing when I cum – my orgasms are almost always intense, and they just drain me of the ability to maintain anything resembling composure. I got weak and pulled back for a minute. “Let’s go find the bed.”
We headed back to her inner sanctum and found her perfectly made bed. As I finished removing my pants, Chase was biting me on the back of my neck and pinching my nipples tightly with her thumbs and forefingers. It occurred to me that she seems to be the type that can be as rough as I like to have it, so I shared my safeword with her and told her she could do whatever she wanted, as rough as she wanted until I uttered that word.
“Christ, that’s off the chain. I hadn’t thought of a safeword for regular sex before, but I like that idea.” She then gave me a safeword that she’d use as well.
We crawled into her bed, naked, wet with perspiration, and with our hands all over each others’ bodies. I ended up on the bottom, and Chase crawled on top of me, kissing me vigorously, then leaning down and biting my nipples. And in this case, I don’t mean nibbling on them – she bit them. That sent little shockwaves through my body. “Ooh, you like that, don’t you?”
“Fuck, yes. Bite them harder.”
She wasted no time complying, and I moved my hand to my crotch and began masturbating myself as she bit deeply into my nips. I’ve always been a little bit of a pain slut, and I enjoy the rush I get when someone inflicts pain on me while we’re fucking, either through biting, slapping, or spanking. As I rubbed my clit, she moved her focus to the soft meaty flesh of my tits themselves, biting into them hard enough to make me concerned that she’d leave marks. “Don’t leave any marks. That doesn’t fit well with work.”
“Oh, really?”
It occurred to me she’d probably think that I was a stripper, since that’d be about the only common job one would have where the appearance of your naked boobs was of any significant concern. If that bothered her, though, it didn’t show; she went back to chewing on me. Within the space of a couple of minutes, I came, and came hard. I have yet to have a bad orgasm with this woman at all, I thought to myself.
As I came down, we just laid there with her on top of me, her hand playing with my hair. It felt so good to have a warm, sensual body lying on top of me. She had a slightly lavender scent about her, one that I found slightly intoxicating. She began running her hands over my body and then moved up to kiss me. It started out softly, and gradually evolved into an intensely passionate tongue fucking of each others’ mouths again. We playfully bit at each others’ lips, tongues, even the skin of our cheeks. It’s amazing how your breathing sounds when that’s the only noise being made, and you’re engaged in an activity that requires you to modify your its rhythm as you interact with and counter someone kissing you. You intersperse those sounds with the tiny grunts and groans you’re making, those little subtle communications you’re exchanging with your partner…it just becomes so intensely erotic.
After a few minutes of this I rolled her over, climbed on top of her and began kissing my way down the side of her face and her neck. She pulled her hair back to allow me better access. I know how much it turns me on to have someone kiss me behind my ears, so I spent some time focusing some attention there as well. She moaned lightly and I took that as a sign of enjoyment. I continued working my way down her chest, using my tongue to paint her skin with a thin trail of saliva, stopping on the way to lavish some attention on her tits. I would grab her nipples in between my teeth and pull back until they were taut, and then let go. That buildup of pain, followed by the sudden release sends pre-orgasmic sine waves through the body, and her quick little puffs of breath when I let go each time let me know that she was feeling each wave.
As I got closer to her cunt, I could smell the musky scent of her sex. The scent of someone’s pubic area has always turned me on - there’s just something so primal and animalistic about it. The closer I got the more she writhed in anticipation. She had her hands on my head trying to push and pull me into her, but I teased her by moving out from under them and focusing some attention on her thighs, lightly biting the soft tender flesh just a few inches away from her sacred spot, making her wait for me to get around to opening her little flood gate. When my tongue finally made contact with her clit, she let out a deep, guttural moan.
I spent several minutes lavishing a wealth of attention on her special button, her pussy, her thighs, and then made my way to her back entrance. I know she likes anal play as much as I do, so I wanted to use that to my advantage. “Roll over and get on your knees, you little slut.” She complied and I crawled up behind her and began rimming her, and biting her ass. I stuck three fingers into her pussy and probed her tight little asshole with my tongue, fucking it rhythmically in synch with my finger penetrations of her cunt. She reached under herself and began masturbating, and pushing back to meet the force of my penetrations. I stopped for a second and slapped her ass as hard as I could with my open hand, eliciting a loud yelp from her, then went back to lavishing attention on her nether regions. Her orgasm was so intense that she literally hurt my fingers with her contractions.
We spent the next three hours alternating between tongue-fucking every orifice we could find on each others’ bodies in every position conceivable, and just enjoying the touch of another sexual human being. “I really enjoy being with someone who can match my intensity. That is rare in my experience. You really know your way around the erotic spots on a woman’s body.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoy me. I’ll echo your thoughts because I’ve only been with one other woman who is as engaged as you are.”
“Who was that? Anyone I know?” she asked, with a quirky smile on her face.
“I doubt it! Haha! Unless you know my girlfriend.” Chase’s eyebrows rose a bit.
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. I just assumed…”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s in Florida, and we have an open relationship. She doesn’t care if I play around. God help us if the three of us get together.”
She laid her head down on my chest and we rested for a few more minutes. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
“A good fuck does that to me.” I leaned down, tilted her head up with my finger and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“I need a shower. Would you like to join me?”
“Oh, hell, yeah.” She grabbed my hand and led me into her bathroom, where she turned on the water to warm up and then we hopped in. We spent another 45 minutes running our soapy hands across each others’ bodies, kissing, biting, and just playing around with one another. The freedom of the experience was overwhelming to me in many ways, and I found myself mentally making notes about my feelings here vs. what I experience with clients. It is truly different in a great many ways, and I can’t see myself conflating the two worlds any time in the near future. That has been one of my biggest concerns about the work I do.
We finished up our shower, got out and dried our hair. We got dressed and she drove me back to the club to pick up my car. It was almost 4 AM, and even though I was physically exhausted I was on a mental high. I couldn’t quite place my hands on where it was coming from.
She pulled up next to my car and I opened the door to get out. I turned to thank her for a wonderful night, but she had already gotten out and was headed over to my side of the car. She extended a hand to me and helped me out, then pushed me against the car and began kissing me deeply again. She grabbed my hair and forced her tongue into my mouth with the same intensity she had when we were in mid-fuck in her bed.
After a good minute of intense, hands-all-over-each-other passionate kissing, she pulled away. “Thank you for a very hot night, you gorgeous bitch. Give me your cell phone.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out my Blackberry and handed it to her. She entered some numbers and hit the “send” button (after figuring out which key it was! lol). “There’s my number. If you ever need someone to spend some time with, call me. Any time.” She gave me another quick kiss and walked over to get into her car.
“The feeling is definitely mutual. Good night, Chase.”
I drove back to my apartment and crawled into bed and relived the experience in my head in various little vignettes until I passed out and drifted into lala land.
Alexa’s Update # 6
July 28, 2008
Random thoughts and updates for the past week.
First, one thing I *really* miss about having Nikki with me is our sharing of the housecleaning responsibilities. We had this arrangement where she did about half the work, and I did about half. I cleaned the kitchen, dusted and did the glass, and washed the clothes. She’d do the bathrooms, vacuum and take care of the wood floors, and we’d fold up all of our clothes together (I’d do all the fold ups and hangups and she’d do all the towels, sheets, etc.).
Well, this past weekend I cleaned my apartment up for the first time since I got here - the first major clean up, anyway. And I had to do it all myself, including cleaning my shower and toilet! I don’t like that part.
Of course, Nikki’s having to clean a whole house by herself, so I guess I shouldn’t whine. 
I will be going home to see Nikki on the weekend of my birthday, which is August 17. I am *so* looking forward to that. That’s a week or so before school starts, so I don’t have to worry about it interfering with that.
Wednesday is the 30th anniversary of the Cheesecake Factory. They’re offering slices of cheesecake for $1.50 each, the price they were when they first opened (nowadays they’re between $5 and $9 a slice, depending on what you get). Fortunately, there’s one just a few blocks from me here, so I plan to avail myself of their special. Perhaps several of them.
Kelsey has agreed to go out with me to go eat, my treat. 
In my story about Rick, I told you of his request that I be available several mornings each month, and explained that I needed some time to think about it. Well, at this point, I see no reason why I shouldn’t avail myself of the money. I mean, that kind of money for a few minutes worth of work for someone who truly enjoys it would be totally worthwhile. I’ll explain to him that I reserve the right to opt out if I have a long night with another client. I’m sure he’ll accept that condition. More on this after he gets back in town and I’ve had a chance to talk with him about it.
I’m happy to report that Nina is back home and recovering from her appendectomy. She left me a one line message last week stating that her husband was taking her to the emergency room at 5AM, without further explanation (And yes, I’ve spanked her hot little ass for not telling me any more than that! Though, to be honest, I think spanking her is more positive reinforcement than anything else). Her husband was kind enough to let me know what had happened two days later! Anyway, Nina, I’m glad you’re home and recuperating. I’ve missed my quasi-daily doses of Anais Nin channeling. <3
The wildfires in California have largely left the Bay Area alone, but there’s one burning near Yosemite National Park right now that has burnt up several homes and has cut off power to the park. I went to Yosemite for the first time ever when we came here back in January. Gorgeous country. I hope everyone out there stays safe. I know another firefighter was killed here yesterday I believe. He was from Washington state and was down here to help California fight the fires.
I just got done reading a book called Rent Boys, written by a French sociologist. It’s an academic piece about male sex workers, and I bought it because I’d not really been exposed to any serious research on the guys before. It was very interesting, for a variety of reasons, and was an easy read. I am in the process of writing some about it. There’s also a post on facials coming in the next day or two.
Anyway, I think that is it for the randomness for this week. I have about a dozen new posts I am working on, all of them in different stages of development. I have to be in the right frame of mind to write most of this stuff, though, so you’ll just have to be patient with me until I get them done.
Breakfast Service
July 27, 2008
*phone rings*
*phone rings*
*phone rings*
“Hello,” I intone sleepily, looking over at my clock to see that it is about a quarter to six in the morning. Who in the fuck is calling me this early on a Friday morning?
It was my business phone, and the ring told me it was someone I had seen. I have two ring tones, one that I assign to clients I’ve seen, and the other for anyone else. This way I’ll know when one of my clients calls me, or if it is some random call. I get those from time to time - apparently someone had this number before I got it.
“Alexa?”
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“Hey, this is Rick. Sorry for calling so early, but I thought I’d see if you’re up for making a quick thousand dollars.”
I sit up in my bed, looking over at the clock to confirm the time I thought I saw a few seconds ago. “Wait, what? You mean right now?”
“Yes. Is it too early?”
“Well, you are the first person to ask for one this early, but if you’re willing to pay for the time, then I can get ready and meet you somewhere.”
“You don’t need to get ready. Just throw something on and meet me at my office in about a half hour, say around 6:30. Can you get there?”
“Where is ‘there’?” He tells me where his office is, on the 8th floor of a huge building in the downtown financial district. That is not too far from where I live, though he doesn’t know that. “I can probably get there by 6:30, yeah. Let me put something on and I’ll meet you.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about showering or dressing up or anything. I want you just like you are, and you’ll use a dedicated elevator to get to my office, so no one’s going to see you come into the building.”
Rick is the owner of his own brokerage firm, occupying the entire 8th floor of one of the larger buildings in downtown San Francisco as it turns out. I’d seen him a few nights ago. He’d complimented me on my blow job technique at the conclusion of our time together. Apparently, he really was impressed.
I hopped out of bed and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I threw on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt, sans underwear, picked up my bag and headed to my car. The drive took about 10 minutes. When I arrived at the building I pulled into the parking garage, took the ticket and drove down to the 3rd parking level. I got out and found the elevator, entered the code and headed up. When I walked out into Rick’s office, all I could say was, “Wow! Hey, there. Fabulous office.”
“Thank you. And thank you for coming over. I’ve been fantasizing about this for a week now.”
“Have you now?”
As he walks toward me with an envelope, which I assume contains my fee, I can’t help but notice that it is a corner office, with an incredible view of the city. Or, rather, many of the other buildings around him, since this is only the 8th floor. Regardless, the office is decked out nicely, with mahogany furniture and what appears to be some seriously expensive accent pieces. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Of course.” I walk over to him, unbuckle his belt, and slide his pants and underwear down, then sink to my knees and take his cock into my mouth. He is already partially erect, and when my lips wrap themselves around it, it only takes a few seconds before he’s hard as a rock. I proceed to give him one of my “hands-free” blow jobs. The one cool thing about a hand’s free is that it prolongs the amount of time it takes for him to cum. This results in a much stronger orgasm because it takes it much longer to build up, generally speaking (if you take it to fruition). I could use my hands with my mouth and get him off in rather short order, but it is fun to tease someone and force them to wait for it. And besides, as he said, he likes the way I suck cock.
“God, you are so good at that.”
I lightly bit his cock to acknowledge the compliment, and continued working him into the back of my throat. I eventually got him all the way in, and allowed him to bottom out on my face. Once he realized he was getting into my throat, he began to fuck my mouth. I just stopped my movements and let him thrust at his own pace for a few seconds. I stared up into his eyes and tried to give him that “Oh, god, yes” look to help his arousal factor. I could tell he was enjoying the visual, watching his cock penetrate my face.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck someone bent over my desk. Would you like to try it?” He pulled out of my mouth, and I licked the excess saliva and mucous off his cock. I reached for my bag and pulled out a condom and handed him the package. He opened it up and rolled it onto his cock. While he was doing that, I took my clothes off and walked over to his desk.
“If I recall, from what I’ve seen in the movies, I’m supposed to just wipe all of this shit onto the floor, right?” He laughed a tenuous, nervous laugh that said “Please don’t do that,” so I grinned and gingerly moved some of the stuff on his desk. Then I sat down on the edge of it and began masturbating as he watched. After a few seconds, he walked over and placed his cock at the entrance to my cunt, pushed in and began fucking me. I leaned back on my elbows and raised my legs up. He grabbed my ankles and held them as he thrust deeply into me with increasing force.
After a minute or so, he slowed down. “Turn around.”
I hopped down off the desk, and turned with my back to him and bent over the desk, reaching out to grab the edges of it. He came up behind me, found my entrance, and once again pushed his cock into me. I looked back over my shoulder and could tell he was once again admiring his cock penetrating me. After a few more seconds, he grabbed my hips and began vigorously fucking me again. I could tell his orgasm was approaching, as his grunts became more intense. With just a few more thrusts he came. With each contraction, his hips pushed me into the edge of his desk (and as a result of which I now have some light bruising on my hip bones to show for my work).
When he’d calmed down, he pulled out and walked into what turned out to be a bathroom in an adjoining room. He looked rather silly, actually, walking around with nothing but a shirt and tie on and his cock hanging between his legs. He was gone for a few seconds, and then re-appeared at the door. “Would you like to use the bathroom?”
“Yes, please.” I walked in and closed the door behind me, cleaned up, and then headed back out. He watched me walk back toward my pile of clothes in the middle of the floor.
“You are a stunning woman. Wow. Even at six in the morning.”
I can only offer a weak “Thanks” in return.
“Would you like to make this a recurring thing?”
“You mean, me coming over to your office? Like, every day?”
“Something like that, yeah. I mean, I’m not in town about half the month, but on those mornings when I do come into the office, god it’d be nice to start those days like this.”
I was stunned by the request, and really wasn’t sure what to say. At a thousand dollars a day, for any number of days, it is an offer that would be hard to refuse. “Wow. I’m not sure how to answer that, How many days are we talking, exactly?”
“It would vary from month to month. Sometimes I am here half the days, sometimes I am here perhaps only five or six days in a given month.”
“And you don’t mind chucking out a thousand dollars a day for it?”
“Not for someone as good as you are.”
“Can I think about it and get back to you?”
“Absolutely. I won’t be here next week at all, so take your time. I sure hope you will agree to it, though. I love having your lips wrapped around my cock, and you’re just a fun person to be around to top it all off. I’ve not encountered anyone like you before, professional or otherwise to be honest.”
“Aww, what a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”
I finished getting dressed and collected my bag. Almost as if on cue a phone in an outer office rang. It startled me and I jumped a bit. He just laughed and said not to worry about it; it was probably someone from the east coast who didn’t know that we sleep late on this side of the country. I had to laugh.
“I’ll give it some thought and let you know next week, okay?”
I pushed the button and the elevator opened up. As I left, he was putting his pants back on and recombobulating himself. When I got down to my car, I checked the envelope - the money was all there, plus $10 to cover the cost of parking. I drove home, hopped in the shower and got back in bed. My mind was racing too much to go to sleep, though, so I got back up.
The only real down sides to committing to being available like what he’s asking are that A) I am not a morning person, and B) if an appointment with a client goes well into the morning, which they occasionally do, I have to come home, shower, and then turn around and go right back out when I know I’ll be tired. Of course, it does only take about an hour and a half to drive over, park, go take care of business and get back home.
A thousand dollars a day for what amounts to about 45 minutes worth of work is hard to top, though.
Not only that, but his office is a corner office, with ceiling to floor windows. I’ve always wanted to be pressed naked against a pane glass window and be railed from behind.
Hmm. Decisions, decisions.
I’m Not Going to Tell Them
July 26, 2008
One of the things I have wrestled with as I’ve started this new line of work, as I explained a few days ago, is whether or not to tell my parents what I am doing to make a living. Should I, or shouldn’t I? It is literally possible to construct a variety of valid arguments for a decision in either direction.
I’ve had conversations with several women who work in this industry, and for the vast majority of them, the decision was easy - don’t tell them; my life is my life, not theirs. They don’t need to know. That’s true, obviously, but ignores the basic relationship that many people have with the people who raised them, one that typically includes some measure of honesty. You feel dishonest by not telling them, and to some, that damages or degrades the relationship you have with them.
There are some who do advocate being honest with them. Amanda Brooks, who has written two books on escort work, and whom I admire deeply, is one of those people. In an e-mail conversation we were having on this subject, upon learning that I had planned to wait until I decided if this was something I could do, agreed, and said…
No need to cause them worry right now. Wait and see how it all fits into your life… I think they’ll give you more acceptance than you expect. And over time, as they see you succeed in your own life, they’ll realize sex work is not all the stereotypes they’ve read, especially when it comes to their own daughter. [emphasis mine]
She has an absolutely valid and very cogent point, one that fits in with my position about activism with respect to sex work, in fact. I want to be an example of someone who’s not ashamed of the fact that she works in the sex industry and advocates for openness and acceptance. You can’t do that by hiding the fact that you work in the industry. *sigh*
My original intent was to wait until I got into it to see if this was something I would enjoy and would continue doing. And, thus far, I have enjoyed it immensely, though I am fully cognizant of the fact that there will be bad days/clients at some point in the future. I’m not naive enough to believe it’ll always be positive; nothing in life is.
But, there’s more to it than that, of course.
I’d like to say that I’ve always had a very open, forthright relationship with my parents, but that would be somewhat of an exaggeration. We have been very open with a great many subjects, including sexuality. My parents raised us to appreciate our own bodies, and to understand what sex was, how it fits into how you view your own self, and their views on how they thought sex ought to fit into relationships. And they relied on us to to formulate our own opinions and make our own decisions. I don’t recall ever truly having disappointed my parents.
You can imagine how they might feel if they found out I’d decided to become a prostitute, though. And, to be honest, I never told them I was dancing, either. I think they’d have far less of a problem with me taking my clothes off and gyrating on people than they would with me actually fucking them. Maybe I should tell them now that I was a dancer for three years, even when I was living at home.
Sarah, on her blog, counsels an apparent acquaintance against telling her parents that she’s an escort. In a comment I made there, I had to agree with her. And until I’d read her post, I don’t know that I had come to a final decision in my own mind about whether or not to tell my parents. But Sarah’s lamentation about how one’s parents would react sealed my decision almost instantaneously. She’s right when she states that:
Your parents are not ready for this. They will NEVER be ready for this. It is not something any parent wants their child to come home and tell them. It will destroy everything they have tried to teach you, even if you think they are not so good as parents…
With perhaps a couple of exceptions that I’ve seen on television or in documentaries, no parent wants their child, their daughter, to become a prostitute. My parents are not going to be any different, of that I am 100% confident.
The reality is that this saddens me. Not so much because I think everyone should necessarily welcome the decision to become a hooker, but because, by not telling your parents, you lose one critical support mechanism that would be available to you if something happens. It’s sad that you can’t tell your parents what you do because of that embarrassment, that stigma.
Most parents, of course, would support you if something happened and they found out the hard way (Ashley Dupre’s family was an excellent example of this). But they’re going to have to do that in a parallel with coming to grips with the fact that you are actually a prostitute, plus the fact that you didn’t trust them enough to tell them on the front end.
I know my parents would likely be devastated, though perhaps not to the degree that others might. There’s some history in the family that would cushion (for lack of a better word) the impact of such a discovery (a relative who works in the porn industry). But as I stated here, I leaned toward not telling them to protect them, not me. I don’t care if a friend or some anonymous person knows that I fuck people for a living. It doesn’t bother me. I do try to keep myself largely anonymous, though, to protect myself and my clients from being recognized on the street. I think everyone understands the nature of that dichotomy.
But if my parents know, they’ll have to expend extra effort to avoid bringing up me and my work, or will be forced to lie about what I do when someone asks them what I do when the subject of their children come up. Right now, they just think I am a student, and that’s what they tell everyone. And of course, that is accurate, just not fully so.
So, there you have it. I feel most comfortable not telling them at this point, and that is the decision I have made.
I will tell my sister, though. She lives in Los Angeles, just a few hours down the road, and she’s the closest one to me who could help me if something did happen. And I know she won’t breathe a word of it to mom and dad.
I know many of you who read this are going to support my decision, and I appreciate that. I am curious, though. What would you personally do if your daughter came to you and told you she was planning on becoming a prostitute? It’s one thing for you to support me, but another thing entirely when it involves your daughter, no? Would you prefer that she upfront with you, or would you rather not know? Would you tell your friends or coworkers that your child worked as a prostitute?
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