“That’s It. Suck my Cock, Bitch.”
October 17, 2008
Bad words, bad words, bad words. Whatcha gonna do?
Dirty talk has always been one of the mainstays of my bedroom experience. Even when I lost my virginity at 14 I’d beg my boyfriend to “fuck me” or tell him that I wanted to “suck [his] cock.” I’m not even sure where I’d come up with that since I hadn’t spent a lot of time watching porn at that point in my life. I’ve never been shy about using dirty words, though, and it wasn’t uncommon at all for me to get in trouble at home for using words like shit, dammit, and even the occasional fuck. Yes, I’ve always been a potty mouth.
There were some words that I didn’t use, of course. Growing up, if my boyfriend had called me a slut in bed, I would’ve freaked, largely because of the context within which I understood the word at that point in my life. That was the word every middle schooler used to describe bad girls. And, as I’m sure you all realize, I wasn’t a bad girl. 
In some forums I used to hang out in, I’d even chastise people for using that word, even in “positive” terms. It wasn’t until I was in my late teens when I began to understand the complexity of sexuality in greater detail and really got a lot freer with my own sexual expression that I embraced words like that as something that could add excitement to a sexual encounter and could see the power behind such words. I can even, quite literally, identify the specific point at which my opinion changed with respect to the word slut - when I read a book called The Ethical Slut. That book literally changed my outlook on the concept of slutdom. Nowadays, I only have a negative reaction to the word when someone uses it as a pejorative attack against someone (invariably a female, of course, along with cunt, bitch, and whore).
I think dirty talk during sex elevates and increases the intensity of the encounter. I know some women don’t like it, for any number of reasons, all of which are valid in their eyes and that’s perfectly fine. As Tiffany said in her comment on my blowbang post, some things just aren’t in a woman’s present paradigm. They may see the use of words like slut, bitch, cunt, and other words we typically see and hear publicly used as pejoratives as an attack against them or against femininity, and the use of those words during sex just isn’t in their present paradigm. I can understand that perspective having been there myself at one point.
Even within the context of this discussion, the word cunt is somewhat different. I used to hate that word for what it often represented - a degrading reference to a woman by referring to her as her vagina, as if the vagina itself or being in possession of one was inherently a negative or dirty thing. I literally had a visceral reaction to it when someone used it (even “positively”), and have been known to openly, vociferously criticize someone for using it against another person.
One of my online friends changed my mind about that word, too, though. And now I almost always use it when I am writing, and will use it in the bedroom from time to time under the right set of circumstances. I still do not use the word to refer to another woman, even someone who I absolutely detest (nor do I use the word slut in that manner, btw).
Nina has also embraced the word cunt as well (quite eloquently, really), and in fact, asserts that using the word “pussy” in writing erotica sounds, well, funny. I am inclined to agree with her about that - fuck my pussy just doesn’t carry the erotic impact that fuck my cunt does. The former sounds almost adolescent when used in erotic writing. I wonder if my senior high English teacher would’ve shared my appreciation for that nuance had I used the two words when I was in 12th grade? 
In vocal conversations, though, with a client for example, I rarely use the word cunt in the initial stages of our getting acquainted. The word has that much power – it will startle someone if it is dropped into a conversation too early. You can drop the word slut into a conversation and no one will bat an eye, but the word cunt will stop traffic immediately. You have to use it at just the right moment. And even when I do use the word, it’s used within a specific context. I don’t refer to my naughty bits as my cunt unless I want you to penetrate me. You can eat my pussy, for example, but I want you to fuck my cunt.
In the majority of cases my clients will ask me if it is okay to use dirty talk before they haul off and start calling me a slut. Of course I tell them it is – I prefer it, actually. It lets me know that they’re really enjoying what we’re doing – they’re getting into it on a “porn” level. I can get much more into a blowjob if I have a guy grab my hair and tell me to suck his cock, especially if he adds “bitch,” “slut,” or any other euphemism after it. If a client grabs a handful of hair and says, “That’s it. Suck my cock, bitch,” I’ll definitely get more into what I am doing. Not having someone use dirty language is roughly akin to not making any noise at all and that is one of my biggest pet peeves in the bedroom. I want some feedback, some interaction, some indicator that what I am doing is working (other than the presumptive mouthful of cum).
Some clients do have some issues using that kind of language with me, though. It’s interesting in many ways because you always hear that the “kind of guy” who’d use a hooker is a low-life who doesn’t care for the women he “uses,” and has no respect for them. You’d expect them not to care or put much thought into whether or not it would bother me. I find this to be the diametric opposite of my reality. Almost every one of my clients has been very respectful, kind, considerate and concerned about what I want and how I want to do things. I’ve yet to have one speak to me negatively or use one of the “dirty” words without some kind of permission, either tacitly or explicitly given. (My experience is hardly anomalous, by the way.)
When I am being fucked, I’ll talk to the guy as well, telling him to fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me with that cock, and so forth. Or, if he’s in the other hole, fuck my ass, fuck my asshole, fuck my shithole, depending on how nasty we’re getting. It is, of course, possible to overdo it I believe. I like to think I’ve struck a reasonable balance. For example, sometimes it is enough to tell a guy to just to penetrate me. But I have seen a couple of pornos where the girl tells the guy to “fuck my dirty fuckhole.” WTF?
There is one word in the dirty dictionary that has a unique aspect to it, though. I’ve had a couple of guys, when they’re talking to me come close to using the word “whore.” They invariably catch themselves, as if, “Oh, wait, you really are a whore. Does that make it a “bad” word here? Is it acceptable to use that in this context?” I let them know I am fine with it if it makes the fantasy work for them. If it gets them off to call me a dirty little whore during sex, then so be it. The irony of using the word that way during our encounter is not lost on me, though.
I do play the slut role well, though, in my opinion. That’s actually one of my selling points, in fact. I know a lot of providers don’t or won’t go there – they have to keep what they do separate from being called a slut or a whore. And, again, I very much respect their right to feel that way and construct their business persona in any way they see fit. I think many providers walk a fine emotional line between this line of work and their self esteem and seeing themselves debased through the use of that kind of language would push them over that edge. And of course, as above, many of them just don’t like the words to begin with. But, as I see it, it makes the verbiage more powerful if you back the words up with action.
When I am working on arranging a non-bedroom date with someone, I’ll ask if they want me to play the slut in public, dressing and acting a bit more provocatively, or if he wants to be more refined, dressing and acting more conservatively. In the bedroom, of course, it’s a different story - I have yet to ask anyone to ask me to be more conservative in the heat of full-bore sex. In fact, that’s why a lot of clients come see me to begin with - their wives/girlfriends aren’t slutty enough during sex. If more women understood the Madonna-Whore dichotomy and applied it, I’d probably have less work.
What about when we’re in public, when I am with a client to accompany him to a meeting or a group function of some kind? Well, again, I am there to be his companion, so how he treats me or introduces me to his friends is up to him. If we encounter friends of his and he introduces me, “This is my whore, Alexa,” or, “This is my slut, Alexa” then I am okay with that. Again, I know most providers would probably freak out if their client did that, but also again, my client is paying me to be his for the evening, and there may be situations where that is perfectly appropriate (an erotica party, for example). Maybe that doesn’t sound professional, I don’t know. I’ve always been introduced as a “friend” or a “date” so far, and haven’t yet encountered that. Quite honestly, I’m not sure how I am going to react if someone introduces me to a room full of people that way.
My every other morning client, Rick, likes to refer to me as his dirty little cocksucker. My cunt gets wet every time I hear that - the bad girl in me tells me that is how I am supposed to react. I guess that is one reason I enjoy seeing him on a recurring basis, and I know that is one reason why he enjoys paying me for our time together. He’s told me if he called his wife a slut in the bedroom, she’d probably divorce him in an instant.
You want to cause a guy to cream almost instantly, look him in the eyes when he’s fucking you and tell him you want him to fuck your ass with that huge cock of his. “I want you in my ass.” “Stick in my ass.” “I want you to fuck me in the ass.” I swear Rick’s cock gets harder when I reach around and pull my butt cheeks apart and tell him to stick his cock in my ass. I had one client literally cum before he could get it in my butt - he’d never had anal sex with his wife and he was so stimulated at the thought of fucking me in the ass that he went into overload based in no small part on me telling him how much I wanted his cock deep in my rectum. We made up for it shortly thereafter, though.
Outside the bedroom, in my personal life, I don’t want (and won’t tolerate) my partner talking to me like that, or referring to me using those words. Unless, of course, it is foreplay or a prelude to us having sex. Then it is acceptable. I dislike people who refer to women (well, anyone, actually) in general as sluts, whores, bitches, cunts, etc. And as I alluded to above, I am not averse to calling someone out for using those words in a pejorative manner. If I come across someone wearing the “Sarah Palin is a Cunt” t-shirt, for example, I’ll literally rip it off their body. I can’t stand Palin and don’t care for what she represents, but she doesn’t deserve to be treated in that manner.
Anyway, now you know how I feel about bad words. If your 14 year old daughter is running around the house yelling “fuck” at the top of her lungs, you should probably keep in mind that she, too, may have one of these blogs at some point in the future. 
Alexa’s Update # 12
October 8, 2008
Hey, folks.
Please forgive the relative dearth of posts lately. There’s this little thing called school that is kicking my ass. I can see now why they want you taking half the course load you do in undergrad in graduate school. *So* much reading, writing, and project work. Wow. Fortunately, the subject matter is near and dear to my heart, so the reading is something I can concentrate on and actually learn from it, unlike a lot of the shit I had to read in undergrad.
Anyway, I can’t promise that things will get hot and heavy here any time soon. In addition to school, my clients are keeping me quite busy. One of my clients took me to hear the San Francisco Symphony the other day, knowing of my fondness for orchestral concerts. They played a lot of Bernstein music, and it was an afternoon concert. So I got all dolled up, we went to the concert, went back to his place and fucked, then went out to eat at a nice restaurant, and went back and fucked some more. A very nice date indeed.
Another client thanked me recently for improving his marriage and his sex life with his wife, as odd as that sounds. Apparently he’s been married for over 20 years to a woman who grew up in rather conservative conditions and they’ve pretty much had good old vanilla sex for all these years. No anal, no CIM, no spanking, no…not much of anything other than some basic oral followed by missionary and doggy sex. He came to me so that he could “experiment” and “play” and enjoy sex once again. Anyway, somehow this has drastically improved his sex life with his wife and they’ve become a lot closer emotionally. I’ve also taught him a few things to try on her in bed, so maybe that helped a bit.
One of my clients is taking me to see the big air show this weekend, assuming the weather cooperates. The Blue Angels are scheduled to perform. They’ll do, I guess. My dad was in the Air Force, so I have a personal predilection for the Thunderbirds. Either way, the pilots doing those maneuvers at such an incredible speed is just an awesome spectacle to watch. I am very much looking forward to it.
I had a guy contact me about entertaining him and his girfriend for a threesome. It would’ve been my first professional threesome. As a part of my screening process I always spend time talking or e-mailing with clients before I agree to see them, just to get an idea of how the chemistry might work and whatnot. After talking or writing with someone for a while, you get a sense of who they really are, and I have the luxury of being able to pick and choose clients that way.
Anyway, after I talked with this guy for a bit, I just came to the conclusion that he is just not the kind of client I want to see. I really can’t put my finger on it, but it has always been my personal policy to not see anyone I don’t connect with. So I explained that I just didn’t have a warm and fuzzy feeling with it, and politely explained that I couldn’t see him. He asked me to reconsider a couple of times, but I still declined.
A few minutes later, his girlfriend sent me an e-mail asking me to reconsider. He’d shown my photos to her and she apparently *really* liked my look, so she was disappointed that I was turning them down. She sent me the e-mail from her work account, so I began a conversation with her. And during that conversation I could tell that she really likes women - she once dated a woman for over a year.
So, I’ve been talking with her over the past few days and am working on getting her to see me without him. Our conversations have been very sexual and very sensual. She’s been with another woman and is very in touch with her own sexuality, so allowing her mind to work from my words is a lot of fun. They’ve been together for a year, though, and she’s pretty adamant at this point about not playing without him. But she really enjoys the sensuality of another woman, so I am going to see how far I can take it. She’s also a photographer and loves to shoot female nudes. Should be interesting, no? Maybe I’ll pose for her. I’d love to go in for a simple nude shoot and start masturbating for her as she begins taking the photographs, looking at her through her camera lens. I’ll let you guys know what happens, if indeed anything comes of it.
I am working on two posts of interest. One is the post I’ve been promising on the 10-man blowbang I was involved with a few weeks ago. This post will not really be an erotic writing about the encounter in the same spirit as what you’re used to seeing from me, but rather a reflection on how I felt and what I experienced as all of those men fucked my face and ejaculated on me.
The second one is a piece about the use of dirty words in the bedroom and in other places. I love talking dirty (even when I am not in bed, as most of my friends would quickly confirm for you), and the use of naughty language both in bed and as a prelude to what goes on in bed is just another one of those things that has always held considerable eroticism for me. So I hope you’ll enjoy my take on that as well.
I also will be putting a quick, diary-type entry that chronicles my seduction of another girl a couple of years ago. She was the 18-year old sister of a friend, and was just way too irresistible for me to ignore. It took all of a week, and was my quickest seduction of another female (prior to my moving to SF). I’m leaving the writing just as I put it down originally, though I’ll clean up the formatting a bit. I originally wrote it as it was happening in short spurts (diary style) and had intended to go back and flesh it out as a full story, but just never got around to it. There’s also the story about my experience with two sorority girls at the Christiana Hilton Hotel near Wilmington, Delaware, that needs to be put up for your entertainment. Your favorite little whore has had quite a range of experiences with women.
What else is going on?
Not much really. Like I said, school is keeping me busy. I’ve also been watching the debates on TV, and keeping up with the Twitter traffic about the candidates. Some of that stuff is just funny as hell. And I have to say, for the life of me I don’t see how ANYONE can rationally explain a decision to vote for that old condescending fuck McCain and his little Barbie VP partner. Good grief, if I have to hear her utter the word “maverick” one more fucking time, I’ll scratch my own eyeballs out. Having said that, Tina Fey’s impression of her just makes me laugh my ass off.
We’re under a fire weather watch (or something like that) here in the Bay Area tomorrow evening through Saturday. It is getting that time of year where the (real) fire season is upon the state. I’ve switched hurricanes for conflagrations and earthquakes! w00t!
Anyway, stay tuned for the upcoming posts. I know I’ve slowed down a bit, but I’m sure you guys don’t want me failing my classes. Do you? 
Entrepreneur, Defined
September 18, 2008
Taking a cue from the SexHobbyist…
Misspelling notwithstanding.
Beginnings
September 16, 2008
I often get asked how I got started in this line of work, usually by clients, but occasionally by someone with simply an interest in the type of work I do. My path here followed one that is not uncommon with a lot of women in this business, but it had some unique “inputs” along the way.
Like many other escorts, my entry into prostitution followed a trajectory that arced through stripping. But it wasn’t a direct path – I didn’t enter prostitution simply to make more money than I could make as a dancer like many women do. In fact, the fact that I was a stripper is fairly coincidental to my work as an escort, rather than correlative or causative. My entry into stripping was a complex and winding story that started several years ago when we were in high school, believe it or not. So, let’s go there for a few minutes.
While seniors in high school, Nikki and I had to do a book report for English, just like every other student on the planet does from time to time. By this point in our lives, she and I had no fears about flaunting our sexuality - we both knew we had “it,” and weren’t afraid to push the envelope when the occasion permitted. We weren’t the school sluts or anything but we knew how to work what we had to our advantage, shall we say.
Largely out of fun, and in all honesty to push some buttons, we selected a book entitled “Ivy League Stripper,” by a lady named Heidi Mattson, to use as the subject of our report. The book chronicles Heidi’s decision to start stripping to pay for college at Brown University, for those of you who’ve not heard of it. It is actually a very well written insight into Ms. Mattson’s decision to start dancing and its consequences and ramifications for her school life and her personal life.
Of course, our teacher was initially aghast at our selection, but when we showed her that it was not the lascivious, wanton fuck story that she expected, she agreed to let us use it if we agreed to address the character development issues Heidi faced. To this day, I’m still surprised by our teacher’s decision to allow its use (and the year after that, they began requiring pre-approval for the books, btw). We read the book, wrote our report and presented it to the class. I still remember the look on our classmates’ eyes when Nikki announced the title of the book.
I had no way of knowing at the time that Nikki was heavily impacted by the book, and was so enthralled by the sheer visual imagery she imagined as she read the story that she decided then that she wanted to be a stripper some day. We knew each other *very* well by this point (and I mean that in the carnal sense), and she never said the first word about it until two weeks before she turned 18. And she only told me then because she had decided to go to a local club in the city we were living in at the time (Nashville) to audition to be a dancer. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. At any rate, she auditioned, was offered a job and began dancing on her 18th birthday (in January, while she was still in high school, no less). I celebrated my 18th by getting a tattoo on my back and one of my nipples pierced!
As time wore on, I could see that she really enjoyed what she was doing. As I watched her practice her moves in our dorm one night, I was captivated by how sensually she could move her body – it just seemed so…fluidly erotic. I, on the other hand, couldn’t dance for shit.
In a conversation with my sister one night, I explained to her about Nikki and the dancing, and my desire to be able to move like that. She let on that she knew of a studio in LA (where she was living while attending UCLA) that offered pole dancing and other erotic movement classes – she’d seen it on Oprah of all places. It was operated by an actress named Sheila Kelley - her studio was the S-Factor Studio. At this point, pole dancing classes were new, and to the best of my knowledge weren’t offered anywhere outside of LA.
I visited my sister every summer in late July, and this one was no different, so it seemed as though with this visit I could kill two birds with one stone. When I arrived, I signed up for one of the classes, and literally learned how to work a pole in a week. One of the instructors spent some quality time with me after hours showing me some interesting tricks, and I eventually got the hang of it. I never knew a pole could be so sensual; I found that being on the pole appealed to the exhibitionist in me, even if no one was watching.
A week later I returned home, not having told Nikki that I’d been to the dance class, preferring instead to spring it on her as a surprise at some point. Over the next couple of months, as I watched, I began to wonder more and more what it would be like to actually get up on stage and dance in front of a crowd. Nikki had been trying to get me to come see her dance ever since she started, and I finally caved in - curiosity got the better of me. I went and was flabbergasted at what I saw. The absolute beauty of the female form gliding across the stage, climbing and descending the poles was breathtaking. I was, quite literally, stunned at what I saw and the reaction of the crowd to the dancers. I really didn’t even bother to think about the socio-political ramifications of stripping at this point, even though I was acutely aware of them, largely because I just didn’t care.
When we talked about my experience after we got home that night, she suggested that I was come dance at their weekly amateur night. I was like, “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that” initially, but the more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became.
I was fighting an internal battle, one largely imposed upon me by our society. I was raised in a quasi-naturist family. We went to nudist resorts, nude beaches and the like as a family. I was raised in an environment where there was no shame in being naked around others. So it wasn’t that I had to get over the thoughts about being naked in front of a crowd, but rather the stigma that society places on strippers that was giving me pause. Even though Nikki was working as a dancer, and we were best friends, I still had this idea in the back of my head that strippers were drug-addicted degenerates who couldn’t find anything better to do with their lives. My trip to the club had gone some ways toward abating that, but it is hard to get what you’ve heard all these years out of your head (I still wrestle with that with respect to prostitution as well, I might add).
After two weeks of thinking, and making tentative decisions to go, and then backing out (and practicing to Brittany’s “Toxic” while Nikki was at work), I *finally* worked up the courage to give it a shot. So, I borrowed an outfit Nik used and went with her to the club that night. I was incredibly nervous, but excited at the same time. I was wondering how much of the pole work I’d learned at S-Factor I had retained!!!
I sat in the audience and watched for the first hour or so. Nikki took the stage for her first set, and surprised me by trying to get me to come up on stage with her. The crowd, of course, egged her on, and with all of that enticement, I couldn’t exactly refuse. So I got up on stage and she danced around me as I stood there for a few minutes wondering what the fuck I should do. She started peeling my shirt off, much to the crowd’s delight, and I started dancing with her a little bit. That was about as far as it got, though she planted a huge kiss on me as her music ended. I was astounded at the reaction of the people in the club as well. Everyone seemed to have gotten big kick out of it all.
When it came time for the competition, I was third in line. After my name was called and everyone saw that it was the same girl that had been up there before, they went nuts. I got up and the DJ cued up Toxic and let her rip, I started moving as best as I could. I don’t think I looked at anyone in the crowd the entire time - quite honestly, I was dancing like a deer in the headlights. I honestly don’t even recall if I did the routine I’d worked out or if I just flailed about like an injured seal. I know at the end of it, I was naked with the exception of a tiny little g-string.
The crowd seemed to really enjoy it though. I did manage to do two pole tricks (which, looking back now, seem terribly simplistic), whereas only one other girl had even attempted to do any. When they announced the results, I was the winner of the $500 prize, and the manager offered me a job. I looked over at Nikki and she was like, “Please, please say yes.” So, I accepted, thinking that if/when I got to the point where I didn’t like what I was doing I could certainly quit.
That was in September of 2004, and Nikki and I continued to dance for the next few months at this one club. In the spring of 2005, after one of our vacation trips to Fort Lauderdale, we came to the decision to move to southern Florida. We’d been down there numerous times, and from my personal research, the work environment for dancers was much more, shall we say, robust – more clubs, more money, better working conditions, etc. So we quit school (both of us were going to MTSU at the time and both majoring in business administration), packed up all of our shit, and moved to Fort Lauderdale. When we got there, we went through the process of transferring to the University of Miami, I changed my major to Psychology, and finished out my degree. And I might add, I did so without incurring any debt, which is impressive considering UM is a private university.
And then, of course, I decided to make the move to San Francisco.
“So She Dances”
September 15, 2008
I absolutely adore Josh Groban - his voice is so strong and masculine, yet sensual. 
I will dance to this song at my wedding, whenever and to whomever that might be:
A waltz when she walks in the room
She pulls back the hair from her face
She turns to the window to sway in the moonlight
Even her shadow has grace
A waltz for the girl out of reach
She lifts her hands up to the sky
She moves with the music
The song is her lover
The melody’s making her cry
So she dances
In and out of the crowd like a glance
This romance is
From afar calling me silently
A waltz for the chance I should take
But how will I know where to start?
She’s spinning between constellations and dreams
Her rhythm is my beating heart
So she dances
In and out of the crowd like a glance
This romance is
From afar calling me silently
I can’t keep on watching forever
I give up this view just to tell her
When I close my eyes I can see
The spotlights are bright on you and me
We’ve got the floor
And you’re in my arms
How could I ask for more?
So she dances
In and out of the crowd like a glance
This romance is
From afar calling me silently
I can’t keep on watching forever
And I’m givin’ up this view just to tell her
Watch Me Watch You Watch Me
September 11, 2008
In a post I made several weeks ago about sense-sational sex, I mentioned that sex was always a sensual experience for me. There are several aspects to that, as I alluded to in that article, but there’s one in particular that I really enjoying playing with.
I’ve taken a good 30 or so women into their first lesbian experiences, and one of the things I like to do when I get ready to go down on a woman that first time - her first time - is to make her watch me do it. Think about that for a minute.
Many women (and many men, as well, for that matter) will lie back and close their eyes when you’re performing oral on them. Generally what they’re doing is dissociating themselves from the experience - they’re visualizing themselves being fucked as if they were a third party in the room. There are a variety of psychological reasons behind this, but that is beyond what I want to focus on in this article.
By forcing them to watch me, they connect what they’re feeling with the immediacy of the act itself, and with the person performing the act. When you watch my tongue move toward your clit (or your cock), there’s a tiny, almost imperceptible fraction of a second where your brain knows something is coming. That brief snippet of anticipation is the spiritual equivalent of skin hunger - your mind craves what is coming and in anticipation of it, your brain, your cunt, literally begs for it to happen. I’ve even known the hair to stand on its end and chill bumps to rise up on some women when I’ve hesitated for a second of two before making contact, the reaction is that powerful.
When that contact is made, and you see me looking into your eyes, it provides a direct connection between your brain and what you’re feeling in your cunt or your cock. So rather than visualizing yourself as someone being performed upon, you put yourself in the more immediate position of being in that moment, in a continuous, (hopefully) positive feedback loop with your partner. And to me, that is what sex should be about (even casual and paid sex).
That eye contact also allows me to read the person I am fucking. I can tell by watching the reaction in your eyes (as well as sensing your breathing and body movements) if what I am doing is “working” for you or not, and can adjust my technique accordingly. That skill is one thing that makes me a great fellatrix/cunnilinguist in my opinion. When women ask me about how to give good head to a guy, I’ll tell them one of the most important things you can do to make it much more erotic for him is to look into his eyes when you’re fucking his cock with your mouth. Eye contact works magic, for all genders.
And you see me watching you, too, so it causes you to expose yourself in a way - an exposure of your psyche. There’s an old saying that the eyes are the gateway into the soul, and nothing is more accurate when it comes to sex I believe. The connection made through forced eye contact can be very tenuous initially, or even embarrassing to some people, especially those who are not as open with their sexuality with themselves as others might be. Making them watch me go down on them is my way of forcing them to live their sexuality in that moment and connecting with it, though. You can’t close your eyes and pretend you’re watching yourself, or pretend to be someone else, or pretend that I am someone else. You have to sit there and watch me watch you watch me.
You may ask how I force them to watch me. If you think about the very first time someone went down on you, what would you have done if you’d been there with your legs spread open, your cunt all hot and wet, begging for attention, your partner getting ready to make contact, and your partner just…stopped? Or, if you’re a guy, the first time you got a blow job, what would you have done if you had this huge erection, just waiting to be buried in someone’s mouth, and all of the sudden your partner just …stopped? You’d have been terribly upset, right? I’ve only had two women object when I first told them I wanted them to watch me (though I have had to coax many more into watching), and in both instances I refused to go any further until they acquiesced. I told them, if you’re not going to watch me do it, then I am not going any further. That begging, that hunger I referred to earlier pushes them to the point where they gave in. And watched.
Is that mean? Perhaps on some level you could make that argument, and I suspect they’d have agreed with you initially. But I know, through conversations with many of my partners afterward, the orgasms they had from my oral attention on them those first times were extremely powerful. And I’ve had several tell me later that making them watch me was the hottest thing they’d ever experienced up to that point.
It is music to my ears to have someone say that to me about a sexual experience.
And I guess I should point out that I don’t make them watch me the whole time, just initially. I mean, hell, even I close my eyes when I cum. It’d be hypocritical (and probably fruitless) to try to make someone else keep their eyes open through that!.
Interesting Thought for the Day
September 9, 2008
From a conversation with a friend:
I got myself off in the bathroom a few minutes ago because I was *incredibly* horny and I couldn’t get the dirty thoughts out of my head. I’ve had a couple of the men here hit on me, and hover around me since. I’m wondering if they can subconsciously sense the sexual gratification oozing out of me.
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.
I am a “Commenter of the Week”
September 5, 2008
Boinkology is one of my favorite sites - it is on my “must-read” list every day.
A couple of days ago, they had a post about Bristol Palin’s pregnancy, and asked if it “mattered.”
So what are we to think about the Bristol Palin fiasco? Should the pregnant daughter of a politician really reflect on a politician’s ability to lead? Should we really care one way or another that Bristol Palin got knocked up?
In my opinion, the pregnancy itself doesn’t mean anything to the larger context of the politics of the presidency. However, it does reflect on the types of policies her mother has supported as Governor of the State of Alaska, specifically her support of “abstinence only” indoctrination, and therefore policies she’d likely support as VP.
This ideological bullshit is responsible for a huge number teen pregnancies and STD transmissions throughout this country. Texas is a perfect example of this. Texas is the home of the abstinence only movement, and the biggest purveyor of this indoctrination, yet has the highest teen pregnancy rate in the country. Coincidence? Not so much. They also have one of the highest teen STD transmission rates in the country.
By comparison, California outlawed A/O, and uses comprehensive sex ed. As a result, the teen pregnancy rates in this state have dropped by over 46% in the past fifteen years. California treats sex education like it should be treated, by and large, and it is paying off in this state in a big way.
Every single independent study of A/O programs has shown them to be woefully ineffective for their stated purpose, and every single major medical association rejects abstinence-only as a legitimate form of sex “education.” By supporting and encouraging such indoctrination, Sarah Palin is, largely, responsible for her own daughter’s unintended pregnancy. What an excellent example for a mother.
And, since her daughter is now a very visible example of the failure of this silly ideology, I made the comment on the Boinkology article that:
Bristol is now the official poster child of the failure of the abstinence-only movement. You couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate example.
Someone at Boinkology liked that, so I am a “Commenter of the Week.”
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