Surprise!

Wow.

I just saw a client to whom I was very attracted.



I think I would have done that for free.

Big Black Dick

How's that for a sensationalistic subject line? I promise it's related (central, even!) to today's tale.

So, how predictable is it that after receiving unexpected comments from other bloggers, I am inspired/encouraged to post more stories? I suppose I've always been an attention craver. And also an exhibitionist who gets a little thrill out of the knowledge that complete strangers know some intimate details of her life.

This past weekend, I had an appointment with a gentleman I'll call BigBlackDick (or BBD, for short). You'll see why in a second.

On Sunday,BBD posted an ad on craigslist requesting the company of a lady who would pee on him and also do some light humiliation. No problem, I thought, and wrote him a response. BBD wrote back quickly and asked if I could meet him in a hotel room about 45 minutes from my house wearing stilettos and no stockings. I like bare legs, he explained. Considering for a few seconds the nice chunk of change I'd be earning, I consented and primped for a few minutes before dashing out of the door. BBD called me on my way there to tell me the hotel room number and his voice was inflected with a deep, rich Southern accent. I asked him to buy me a big bottle of water and he asked me to call when I arrived at the hotel so that he could direct me to the room.

When I arrived at the hotel, I put my car in park, threw the flip flops I had been wearing into the passenger seat, and removed my favorite pair of beautiful black stilettos from a bag. Just as the left shoe slipped over my heel, his car came into sight. He gave me a little wave and I put my car in drive to follow him. We pulled around the back of the hotel and parked in adjoining spaces. BBD stepped out of the car and appeared to be in his late 50s or early 60s, a slight white man with graying hair, khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He looked like he'd rather be driving a Titleist.

I followed him and he opened the door to a slightly sleazy hotel room with two double beds. We said an official hello and I kissed him on the cheek. I found the stack of money already laid out on a table and stuck it in my bag of sex goodies. He immediately began taking off his clothes, so I smiled and followed suit. I should take an aside here and mention that I was slightly nervous about this meeting because I've never done any sort of humiliation play before. I've been the recipient of it, so I had at least an idea of what was supposed to be coming out of my mouth, but I wasn't completely sure of how to start off.

Luckily, BBD didn't expect trash talking right off the bat. He was laying on the bed, naked, and motioned for me to come over to him. I did, positioning myself next to him on the bed and he requested the left breast to suck on. I let him for a minute and then ordered him to scoot down on the bed so I could sit on his face. He did. For a few minutes, I rode his face, making moans I hoped weren't too ostentatiously fake and feeling lucky that I didn't yet have to call him a pussy faggot or anything like that. I did, however, interject and made him tell me just how good I tasted and just how much I loved having my pussy eaten.

After I tired of that, I suggested that I piss on him. Like my previous engagements, I had expected that we would go to the bathroom, but BBD had laid a thin white hotel room towel down on the ground and ordered me to squat over him there and aim for his mouth. I have to say that I was feeling bad for the cleaning staff that would have to clean up the mess, but I complied. I crouched over him and was able to relax my bladder almost immediately (hurrah!). As I had been downing lots of liquid, there was a lot of piss. He drank every single drop, only choking once on the quantity, and not even a bit of liquid reached the towel. I was impressed!

BBD asked if he could "clean me up" by going down on me again and I consented. After a few minutes of that, I told him that I was going to fuck his ass and prepare for it by using my hands first. I snapped on a latex glove, poured on some lube, and went to town. BBD had a disgustingly large skin tag (the size of a gumdrop) on his ass that I prayed was not a genital wart. I stuck one finger in and then two, asking BBD whether he preferred an in and out motion or a wiggling motion with my fingers staying inside. He indicated the former. BBD began to tell me about all of the anonymous cocks he had sucked and how much anonymous cum he had swallowed. He encouraged me to talk dirty to him, so I began to talk about just how much I wanted to take him to a back alley and watch him suck off a gaggle of huge anonymous cocks, how I would like to take him to a porn store booth and wait there, exposed and hard, until a random man found him and fed him a piece of his sausage, and how I would like to take him to the bathroom and force him to get fucked up the ass by strangers. After every lewd suggestion I made, BBD would mutter "mmmhmm" or "yep" as an affirmative in an incredibly matter-of-fact way, just like someone might respond absentmindedly if you asked them if they had had a good day that day.

After I made up several stories about all the cocks and cum I was going to make him swallow, BBD began to ask me if I knew any "built black men" with huge cocks that he could suck off. I said that I did and told him all about how I was going to bring my friends over and make him suck Big Black Dick (hence, his nickname) to his heart's content. We continued like this for several minutes and I began to feel nervous about my ability to come up with some new and grandiose fantasy that would appeal to him. Of course, in retrospect, I realize that people who want you to talk dirty to them don't necessarily need to hear something new to get off. What they want is slight variations on their most favorite and cherished fantasy, which in his case, was the idea of the Big Black Dick.

Several times during the ass-fucking/dirty talking, BBD requested that I spit in his mouth. I wasn't sure whether he wanted plain old fashioned spittle or a little loogie (sp?) mixed in, but the former was easier to conjure so that's what I gave him.

While I was trash talking, I had managed to get three fingers into BBD's ass and caressed his balls with my other hand. I decided that he was probably ready for my big (and coincidentally, black) rubber dick, so I went to the bathroom and put it on. Unfortunately, I hadn't worn my harness in awhile, so it was slightly small on my hips. The dick was also much too large to fit in the right way, so I had to turn it upside down, balls up. I came out of the bathroom feeling a bit ridiculous and BBD pointed out to me that my dick was upside down. I apologized and ordered him to suck my dick, which he did quite eagerly, stroking his own penis while his mouth enveloped mine. After a few minutes of that, I slipped on a condom and some lube and got between his legs. We tried for several minutes to get it in, but the cock was just too big. It seems that BBD's ass can't really handle a Big Black Dick after all.

BBD didn't care and asked me to begin jerking him off with my hand, which I did. After about 30 seconds of more Big Black Dick talk and penis stroking, BBD asked me to take the cum in my mouth and spit it back into his. Considering all of the anonymous cock I had heard about just minutes before, I politely declined. That's ok, he said, catch it in your hand and feed it to me, then, he asked. Not 15 seconds later, he erupted halfway in my hand and the rest on his hairy stomach. I moved my hand up to his mouth and he shook his head to refuse it. I guess the idea of his cum in his own mouth didn't seem that appealing post-orgasm after all.

I excused myself to the bathroom to clean up and washed my hands for several minutes under scalding hot tap water. I have no intention of accidentally contracting an unfortunate STD via dirty hands. I came out of the bathroom and BBD was still laying on the bed. He asked me if I had always been dominant and I lied and told him yes. (It seems that sex work is helping me to improve upon my piss-poor lying on the spot skills.) He asked me how long I had been doing this and I told him over 7 months, on and off. You should be careful, he warned, there are lots of perverts...I mean, crazies...out there.

Thanks, BBD. I'll try and heed that advice.

Lusty goes to Scot-land

The nice thing about having an audience that, like h, is continuously approaching zero (I know my calculus, bitches) is that I don't feel so guilty about being neglectful posting regularly, unlike in my main journal where less than daily posting is highly abnormal.

I think I need to change the title of this journal to "the anonymous tales of a part-time sex worker" instead of occasional, since this has become a much more regular gig for me than it was even just a month ago. I've been spending nearly every free night trolling craigslist for lucrative jobs with more or less success. There are a lot of fucking flaky men out there, but about 1 out of every 10 ads answered yields a job. This means that I now have my own tiny arsenal of stories in the reservoir just waiting to be translated into blog-speak for your lascivious work shirking purposes.

As such, I present to you the story of Scot.

Of Scottish birth (hence the moniker), Scot now lives in the continental U.S. and works nights for the government. He placed an ad on craigslist seeking a sugar baby to dominate and despite my hesitations due to my previous sour experience with a so-called sugar daddy wannabe, I emailed him. He pleaded with me for a daytime appointment and I refused on the grounds that I work days and that I don't get paid time off (the first is true, the latter is not). However, he begged and pleaded some more, offering me more money as an incentive. And, just having received a large surprise bill in the mail for car taxes, I took the morning off and consented.

Scot was a very persistent and eager fellow, asking me very personal questions about what I had done before sexually and revealing to me some of the more...interesting parts of his own sexual past. Among those experiences were things like having been a participant in large orgies and a witness to "pony shows." I had no intention of dabbling into such adventurous and morally questionable territory, but I did concede to let him bring a third party to our encounter. He had pleaded for me to fuck him and his large-dicked friend, but I refused. He reluctantly conceded and promised to bring a really pretty girl with "model looks," one whose pussy he was incredibly eager for me to taste.

Two days later, I checked into the hotel just before noon and drove to the room to get ready. I put on the outfit he had requested: thigh highs, sexy underwear, push-up bra and stilettos. I laid my motley crew of dildos, lube, condoms and gloves out onto the nightstand and called him to let him know that I was ready. He said he'd be there in 5 minutes. (As an aside, I have to admit here that having talked to him briefly on the phone the day beforehand, I was slightly turned on. His accent was quite sexy and my body is also naturally turned on by the idea of subbing, regardless of for whom I am doing it.) He knocked on the door and I opened it to the bright mid-day sun, cracking it even wider to find a not un-handsome man in his early 40s, a shaved head, steely blue eyes and a day or two's worth of stubble. Scot closed the door and immediately ordered my to remove my breasts from my bra. I pulled each on out and he began to play with them roughly, alternately sucking and pinching. He ordered me onto the bed so that I could play with my biggest dildo.

Scot had told me beforehand that he wanted me to fuck myself with the dildo without taking my underwear off, pushing the crotch aside so I could move the large piece of rubber in and out. For awhile, he watched me ramming the dildo into myself, telling me that I was a good little slut and a great sugar baby. He told me not to touch him yet and leaned over for a "kiss" which consisted of him wiggling his slimy pointy cigarette-y tongue over mine. I don't know if the Scots say it like this over there, but that "kiss" was bloody gross. Finally, he bent over to jiggle my breasts (And when I say jiggle, I mean he did exactly that. Strange, huh?) and began to fuck me himself with the dildo. Every few seconds, he'd yank it out of my pussy and make me lick the juices off with my mouth. He attempted to put both my vibrator and dildo inside of me at the same time, but his impatient ass wasn't about to fit both of those in just like that, even with the spit he kept showering on my pussy (what is it with straight men who think that spit is a good substitute for lube?). After tiring of the dildo, he stuck a few fingers in me with gusto and fucked me like that for a few minutes. He asked me if I had ever been fisted and I nodded yes. Scot yanked on a glove and stuck his hand into me roughly. It hurt slightly, but I have had bigger hands inside me before, so it wasn't unbearable.

(Another aside: what I've described above might sound awful to you, and in hindsight, I can totally see that, but I was also slightly turned on by just how dominant and rough he was. I'm a kinky little thing, mind you.)

Throughout these interactions, Scot would periodically call up the other girl and ask her where she was. He was very very impatient and I told him so. During the final call, he bragged to her that he had a whole fist in me and urged her to hurry up. Finally, Girlie #2 showed up and my oh my she was not my type. She was tall, very thin with smallish breasts, a brunette and only mildly cute. I like brunettes, but much prefer chubby girls and immediately felt uncomfortable with her presence, especially when she gave a look that combined in belief and disgust when she saw that his whole fist was inside of me.

Immediately, Scot withdrew his hand and ordered me to eat her pussy. I moved down on the bed and she unzipped his jeans and began to suck him to hardness. Scot made me tell him over and over how much I loved eating her out and I had to lie. I don't mind going down on a girl, but I didn't feel so eager about her particular vagina. He then ordered me to suck his dick and then move back down to her pussy. We continued in this vein for a few minutes until he told me to lie on the bed while she jerked him off on my face. I was quite surprised as I hadn't expected as such, but I closed my mouth and eyes just before his hot sticky cum dribbled over my mouth and down the side of my face.

Scot handed me a towel and we all got dressed. He handed us both cash, confirming my suspicions that Girlie was also a sex worker and they both left. I cleaned myself up and tidied the room, pleased to have a large chunk of cash in my wallet to deposit into the bank immediately before my shopaholic ass could spend it.

I returned to work, running into my boss in the hallway just as she was just about to leave the office for the day. She caught me off-guard and I probably jerked my head up and opened my eyes wide just before I bid her both hello and goodbye. In the moment, before my brain was able to take over my thoughts, I was utterly convinced that she knew exactly how I had spent my time off.

A quick (belated) update

I've been severely negligent in updating this blog. I apologize, cupcakes! It's not for the lack of topics to update about, I promise. It's because I've been busy busy and haven't had the desired time to write.

Business has been booming, relatively speaking, for the last two weeks. I've spent countless hours online trying to recruit new clients and had 3 appointments with 2 different clients, which, for me, is very busy. The money has been great, too, though it goes fast.

DJ has been nowhere to be found this last week, which is sad, since I really wanted to see him again. He's a really nice guy and very into me, so we both have a good time when I come over. I'm assuming that he's just away saving his pennies and trying not to assume worse of him.

My newest client, Scot (named as such because he's Scottish), is a kinky mf-er. For a straight man, anyway. I want to do a whole separate entry about him and the very...interesting experience I had with him last week, but I will tell you now that it was my first time subbing professionally. I'll probably do it again, but not without lingering reservation.

Anyway, I think the porn I'm downloading is ready, so I'm off to give myself a treat before bed. Buenos noches!

More thoughts on boundary setting

As I negotiate my way further and further into the world of sex for gain, I am the recipient of constant lessons on boundary setting. I think that those of us who were raised as women are continuously bombarded with mixed messages about boundary setting, which often leads to poor skills with the practice as an adult. Can you blame us?

I am no exception. On many an occasion, I have made a definitive statement either to myself or to a larger audience, only to back down later when, for some reason, I began to doubt myself. Sometimes this is a positive thing. Getting your boundaries pushed in good ways can be challenging and rewarding experiences that I think we should all try. Bad boundary pushing, however, is a big no no.

I've found that in this line of work, clients are always trying to push my boundaries. Always. Either they want to see me for cheaper, they want more for less, they want to do something I feel sketchy about, and the list goes on. Whenever I accept a job, I have to be extremely clear with the both of us about what my own personal rules and stipulations will be. An outsider might look at what I've just wrote and tell me to dump all those asshole clients who participate in such behaviors and to only take on ones that respect my every wishes, but I am going to make a controversial statement and say that I don't think all of these guys are inherently bad. After all, don't we all want the most for our money? Who can blame a guy for trying to live out his sexual fantasies for as little as possible?

So this has been a lesson in firm, but gentle boundary setting. It's kind of like the way you might talk to an unruly child. Make sure you know that they are not bad people, but that what they've done is wrong and firmly tell them to not do it again. I did it just a few minutes ago, in fact. A client I'm seeing tomorrow really wants to have a threesome with another guy. I told him I'd do it, but not during our first meeting. I feel very set in this decision. He kept on trying to push me and finally I stopped playing Miss Coy and told him in no uncertain terms that no, it would not happen tomorrow and thank you for respecting my boundaries. He wrote back, apologetic, and told me that he would not bring his friend after all. No hurt feelings and no misunderstanding about where I stood.

So, in a way, dealing with pushy dudes has been really great for me. I have begun to feel more self-assured in my non-sex work life and more confident that I do, in fact, have the right to live my life on my own damn terms.

Oops

His wife caught him.

Trying not to let the dollar signs in my eyes blind me

More developments on potential Sugar Daddy #2, J.

We talked on email all evening and as I sent him more and more pictures of me (snapshots, professional shots, sexy, tame -- a fetish of sorts for him, I believe), he asked very tentatively if I would be open to the possibility of a sexual relationship. I'll make it worth your while, he wrote. For the custom shot I plan to do tonight with a friend, J has promised a undisclosed amount of money to be handed to me in a plain envelope on our lunch date this Monday.

This morning we talked over IM and he jerked himself off while I sent him a flood of pictures from my archive and told him what I do with other women. It turns out that he's a closet bisexual and loves the idea of me being with butch women. Interesting!

The problem is that because J is married, he can't host any of the proposed trysts. I am very wary about hosting at my place for many obvious and other not-so-obvious reasons, but we'll try to figure it out. He told me that he didn't want to meet at a hotel because he thinks it's creepy, but then he proposed that we go to a glory hole. Um, what?!? How does one find a hotel with (relatively) clean sheets, towels and a sink creepy but not an effin' glory hole where I'd be kneeling in some dude's sperm? We'll see.

Like I was with John, I am trying to be very wary of J and his intentions. I will say, however, that he is a LOT less creepy and demanding than John ever was. He seems genuinely interested in me and more than willing to pay me, regardless of what we do or do not do.

I'll be going away this weekend, so I can't promise any posts, but I definitely intend to write about my lunch date with J on Monday. Wish me luck, darlings!

Seems too good to be true...

Right now, as I type this, I am emailing back and forth with a man who -- get this -- is interested in giving me around $500 a month or more in exchange for virtually nothing! He isn't particularly interested in a sexual encounter and only wants to meet once a month. We have a lunch date on Monday.

The text of the ad he placed:

Progressive Political Woman: Let me Subsidize You - m4w - 44

Hi, I'm a relatively well-heeled executive who makes money doing PR and advocacy work for the "bad" guys. I'd like to give some of that money to a bright, engaging progressive woman to help her fight the good fight. This is serious. Email me if you are interested in exploring it. I am open to how to do this, but I want to do it! Thank you, J

A-fucking-mazing. My first assignment is to take a picture of myself topless, but wearing jeans and glasses, hair down and barefoot. For this, he will pay me handsomely.

I promise to keep you all updated.

And sometimes the work is rewarding

Let’s all shout a collective Hurrah! for one of my most positive sex work experiences to date.

Urged on by the very low two digit number showing on my bank account, I trolled for dates last night. I corresponded with a few gentlemen (including another piss-hound, imagine that) and at about quarter to 10:00, I saw an ad looking for a woman with big breasts. Since I fit that bill quite nicely, I responded and got an immediate reply. We wrote back and forth a few times and he called me to relay his address. Though I knew I’d be out several hours past my bedtime, the price we had negotiated was far too tantalizing to turn down.

I drove to his place, and was greeted at the door by a friendly looking man in his early 30s, bald, black, a little chubby with a huge grin (we’ll call him DJ). We hugged and I kissed him on the cheek. He told me that I was far more beautiful than my pictures. I may have blushed a little bit.

After I made the call to my safe person to let her know I was there, I sat on the bed while he finished up some things in the other room. He walked in, the deep red terrycloth robe he was wearing cinched tightly around his waist. DJ asked how long I could stay and reminded him that we had talked about an hour long session. Fully expecting him to disrobe and get to the naughty business immediately, I was quite surprised when he flopped onto the bed, belly down, and said “So, Lusty, tell me about the beautiful woman that has just walked into my room.” I made some silly joke and told him a few carefully chosen things about me. Now, even just writing that line, I kind of cringe. It sounds ridiculously pat, doesn’t it? But I don’t know…something about his mannerism made me believe that he was truly interested in getting to know me. Or at least he was really good at faking it. Of course, I wasn’t about to spill my life story (or my real name), but I was more than willing to wile the time away with some chat.

And so we did, for about 20 minutes before he took up my offer for a massage. We talked a bit more as I massaged his chest and back, conspicuously avoiding his semi-hard cock for the moment. After a bit of that, DJ said that he wanted to spend the extra money so that he could kiss me (something not a part of my normal shtick, but something I offered to him in exchange for more money). We kissed and it wasn’t bad. Not just that he wasn't a bad kisser, but also that I wasn’t grossed out. Not turned on, mind you, but it didn’t feel so odd after all having a stranger’s mouth on mine.

DJ was very very into me. And he told me so many times. A few times, I tried to compliment what I could (you have a nice cock, you smell nice, you’re very kind, etc.) but mostly, I just thanked him. After a bit of teasing interspersed with some talk, DJ exclaimed, “I don’t even care about the sex anymore, Lusty! You’re just such a cool person who I want to talk to more!” It was very sweet. We fucked for maybe 4 minutes before he came while fucking me from behind. “We have to do this again.” I agreed.

After several more minutes of chatting, I got dressed and he walked me out, wearing his red robe once again. This morning, he emailed me a note of enthusiastic thanks and asked if we could meet again soon. Maybe even tonight, he proposed. I smiled. Absolutely.

I think I may have found my first regular.

It's in the details

Anyone out there with the time and tech savvy up for making a Lusty banner? I like bright colors (especially pinks, reds, and aquas) and would prefer a PG or PG-13 image.

I can thank you by writing a blog entry on the topic of your choice!

Pissed

Sometimes I wonder if being a friendly person, or at least being someone able to put up a relatively convincing front of interest, attracts a certain type of person to me.

I'm being gentle.

On Saturday, I spent a fruitless afternoon trying to solicit some work through the internet, only to get my hopes for a quick, well-paying job dashed by the countless fucking flakes trolling craigslist's erotic services. Everyone wants something for nothing, everyone wants to know how they can get the most for the least, and that's me included. And I, the worst haggler, the most awkward seller-upper probably in existence, have a hard time trying to be diplomatic about telling dudes that they better pony up lest I take my wares elsewhere.

I did at least score some potential jobs for this week. Of the three or four guys I chatted with that afternoon, all of them (I repeat, ALL of them) wanted me to pee on them. One of them, in addition to delighting in the occasional golden shower, also wanted to pee on me. A pissing switch, you might call him. Let's rent a hotel room and piss and fuck the afternoon away!, he proposed.

Not that I particularly mind earning money by unloading my bladder's contents. As far as actual work goes, once you get past the taboo of it, it's not that bad. Because really, who am to give a shit (har-dee-har) if some random dude enjoys drinking my pee? The lines that I don't want people to cross, however, have slowly been inching backwards. I declared in a recent post that I would not ever shit on someone. And I won't. That won't change. But one of my clients wants me to watch him jerk off. That's easy enough. The easiest of all jobs, in my very unprofessional opinion. But then (isn't there always a but?) he emailed to ask whether or not I minded if he shat in his pants while he masturbated. Sigh. I guess not. Will he pay me extra for having to endure the stench? Probably not, but such are the compromises one makes when one is dead broke.

Lusty reviews celebrity sex tapes

As is the case with most of popular culture, I'm about two years late in finally viewing the Paris Hilton sex tape. I had heard all of the major details from Paris-obsessed friends of mine including the one about the infamous cell phone pick-up, which I haven't yet seen because I'm watching it as I type (oh how I love computers for enabling my love of multitasking). But I'm not impressed yet.

The things that do not surprise me thusfar are: her continual boredom with the whole affair (and nothing wilts my girl hard-on faster than one or more disinterested parties in a sex act), the way her naked body looks like an adolescent girls's, and the size of her companion's penis. I had heard many talk about how big it was, but c'mon people! It's just long, and we all know that though the vagina has a very finite depth, its capacity for width expansion is quite astounding. To borrow Michael Kors's famous phrase: "I am underwhelmed." One thing that has me clutching my pearls, however, is the conclusion I have come to that they are not using a condom. Maybe it's the poor lighting, but I nearly had a heart attack when I saw his bratwurst spearing her shaved hoo-hoo sans casing! Call me old-fashioned, but WHAT ARE THE KIDS DOING TO THEMSELVES NOWADAYS?!!?

I also got myself a bootlegged copy of the Pam and Tommy porn tape (natch), and that one was a little more entertaining, though shorter. In the throes of newlywedhood, there is obvious interest and attraction between the two of them. It's actually kind of cute that Pam is all shy about her husband taking pussy shots with the video camera, though sad if you think about it a little more. I mean, if one of this popular culture's most well-known sex icons is ashamed of her vagina, what does that say? I will say, however, that Pam gives a much better blowjob than Paris. Again, Paris seems bored and gets distracted easily (which really seems to be her life's M.O.) when she's going down on the guy she's with. Pam seems to get into the fucking bit more than does Paris, and Tommy's not as much of an ass as is Paris's boy toy. I mean, what the hell is up with that persistent Show me your pussy! business? Obnoxious, is what it is.

In general, I'm not a big celebrity fan (hence me taking 2+ years to get around to downloading the videos). In fact, I haven't been one since the sixth grade, when I literally covered my bedroom wall with posters of my teenybopper crush. But I feel clued in after having seen these and am having that slightly smug sensation I always get when I finally see some bit of zeitgeist and am able to sneer/jeer/cheer/queer like the rest of the country has been doing for a long ass time before me.

Isms and the Industry

So I lied. While reading one of my favorite blogs, a little glowing light popped on in my head, and I decided to hop over here to share some of my thoughts with you. The internet is glutted with sex and sex worker blogs (did you know that the internet is 83% porn?), but I've been realizing that my perspective is unique and important for two important reasons: 1. I am not white, 2. I am not straight. Because these two parts of my identity are vital to how I interact with and experience the sex trade industry, I thought I'd delve a bit.

Race Matters
I am going to disclose something about myself to you, my trusted readers. I am biracial. There is a huge niche market for non-white people in the sex trade industry, but I can't always take advantage of that fact because my specific race isn't always obvious at first. In fact, I am often mistaken for white. To some, it's obvious that I'm not, but unless I ask someone directly, I can't usually read how a person is reading me. But even if I were to make myself more phenotypically non-white, I think I would feel ill playing on those stereotypes to gather new business. Even when I bill myself as "exotic," I begin to feel the bile rise. But, if you know anything about desire, you probably know that people's tastes are usually very specific. In fact, most of the sex industry markets itself and is dependent upon stereotypes that are not considered acceptable to repeat in polite society (anymore). It's so strange, because I am usually able to reconcile my feminism with my sex work, but I'd feel like some sort of "traitor" if I was forced to play up my race or racial ambiguity for johns.

Queering the Sex Trade
There are many brilliant queer sex workers who write. Michelle Tea, Annie Sprinkle and Scarlot Harlot are the names of a very few, but to my knowledge, none of them have public blogs (probably because they don't need to; they're published authors!). However, the large majority of e-famous sex worker blogs I've read feature heterosexual women. Sure, most of them dabble in girl-on-girl, but I pretty much only sleep with biological men for money (though I've known to make exception on occasion). A friend of mine recently asked me how this affects my sex work. Very much, is my answer. I'm not sure how straight sex workers do it, but being able to make that very distinct separation between my sex life at home and at work is vital for my emotional well-being. I never thought that high school would prepare me for anything useful, but it seems that sleeping with men to whom I have no emotional interest in or attachment to was great preparation for avoiding the large majority of emotional messiness that I imagine could plague some in this industry. I also feel extremely grateful, because there seems to be a rich and supportive network of queer-identified sex workers out there in the world. I usually see them every year at dyke marches and pride parades, holding their fierce signs high, receiving cheers and whistles from the crowd of progressive queers who support them.

You are sure to hear more from me regarding these subjects in the future, but I'm also inviting my readers to share their stories of how race, sexuality, class, gender variance, etc. have colored their involvement in the sex trade. We aren't all size 2 fake-titted bottle blondes out here, and I want to know what that means for you.

Location, location, location

Mr. Pee wants to meet again. This much is obvious from all the crazed emails I read yesterday.

The problem is that he can't host anymore. For whatever reason, he must no longer be housesitting at the townhouse. I also am very unwilling to give him the address of my place. Just the thought of a guy who gets frantic with lust knowing where I sleep at night is enough to make me shudder. *Shudder*

A very smart friend of mine suggested I pee on him in the woods, but I have to sheepishly admit that don't know of any forests near me. As you might have gathered, I am no outdoorsy type. Nope. I'm a bonafide priss (albeit a down-to-earth one) who prefers her air bug-free and her temperatures modulated. So, while this idea is still under consideration, I am also wary of it because it means going into some sort of deserted wooded area with a relative stranger. Once again, *shudder*. At this time, I'm open to any and all suggestions from you, my darling readers. Besides a hotel room that one of us has to pay for, where would be a good, mostly or completely private place for us to meet?

Another prospect has thrown itself my way, but it also requires some maneuvering. A new guy, we'll call him Mr. Cum, wants me to watch him jerk off and then have me watch him eat his sperm. The pay isn't panty-wetting, but Mr. Cum claims that he is very quick. The catch is that he can only meet during weekdays, which is when I work. However, considering how cash-strapped I am and considering the fact that I need a little extra money for a trip I'm taking next weekend, I might just have to take a long lunch hour at work and rush over to meet him.

One final note before I leave you to engulf myself in the blog worlds of others, I have to say that I was quite disappointed when I finally got around to reading Washingtonienne's blog. Too short and not enough dirty details, in my opinion. Also, though I've listed "thinly-veiled autobiographies" in my blogspot interests section, hers does not appear to be up my alley, which I'm admitting can be a bit of a lit snob at times. Hey, at least it gives me hope about one day being a published author of my own.

Pee Pee Platter, Part III

Mr. Pee has this fairly irritating habit of emailing me several times in the course of an evening, always frantic, always begging me to do ridiculous things to/with him. Ok, perhaps I shouldn't judge. I'm sure there are many people out there just aching to point their fingers at me, calling what I do in bed ridiculous, so I should refrain.

Anyway, an example from an email Mr. Pee sent me last night after I didn't respond right away to his request to meet:

Date: Thu, 7 Jul 2005 16:47:32
From: [Mr. Pee]
Subject: Re: are u there
To: [Lusty]

i guess tongiht is bad....but im up for ANYTHING im soooo serious...if you have friends, clients that want to watch...np..if you want to shit on me...np I want you to use me like the piss, shit whore that I am..them tell me to pay for it..even behind a building..in a bathroom..where ever..i dont care..i just want to be your piss and shit slave

Date: Thu, 7 Jul 2005 16:51:21
From: [Mr. Pee]
Subject: Re: are u there
To: [Lusty]

ill be on tonight...ill email you a yes or no if you have something set up...im soo ready for you again...you say it, ill do it so dont worry about that..im up for anything..anyplace whatever..as long as you shit and piss on me...

Several of my immediate observations:

1. I warned you before about his grammar and spelling. 2. Notice how the emails are only three (3) minutes apart. 3. I should tell you that there were five more emails from him, three in between the two I posted above and two more afterwards with single question marks as the sole content. 4. Woah there! Woah, Mr. Pee! Your name is Mr. PEE for a reason, not Mr. PissNShit! I haven't broken the news to him yet that there will be no shitting during our dates, which I'm sure will sadden him greatly. I will do a number of things to fatten my wallet, but unloading the contents of my breakfast will never be one of them.*

Anyway, so I promised you, my readers, that I would tell you about my second and thusfar last meeting with Mr. Pee (though judging from the urgency of last night's email, I'd wager a guess that it won't be our final meeting).

I arrived at the same townhouse directly after work, and instead of leading me to the small bathroom in the living room, Mr. Pee led me up several flights of stairs to a giant master bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. I bet this'd be fun to take a leisurely bath in, I remember thinking before he stripped naked and climbed in. And again, I took my clothes off while he looked at me intently, his surprisingly large cock already erect (surprising because I suppose I usually expect awkward men to have small penises, not from experience, mind you, but from some strange stereotype I've apparently created in my head). I stepped into the tub and squatted in a reverse cowgirl position so that he could get to my pussy. It took some agile maneuvering, but I was finally able to place myself so that I wasn't stepping on him but so that I still had a modicum of comfort in the position I had contorted myself into.

Again, Mr. Pee lapped away eagerly and almost immediately, I began to relax my bladder so that I could piss all over his face. Suddenly, I felt Mr. Pee's tongue dart to my asshole (my first clue!) and I jerked away. I don't like that! I said. He apologized several times and I told him not to worry about it. Sitting here right now, I'm wondering why I let Mr. Licky do that but not Mr. Pee. Perhaps I sensed subconsciously that letting him lick my asshole would lead to him wanting the more nefarious things he begged for in the emails above. But really, I have no idea. I just know that in the moment, I really didn't want him to do that. Anyway, for several minutes, I strained myself, attempting to relax to muscles, but to no end; nothing was coming out, no matter how hard I tried. So, after a respectable time had lapsed (I didn't feel right about trying to piss right away, since he expressedly wanted to go down on me before the peeing), I reversed my position and squatted like I might if I were going behind the bushes. The pee began to flow and I watched Mr. Pee stroke his dick furiously. I've always been fascinated with how people look when they touch themselves, and I had a prime vantage point with which to view him. Suddenly, I remembered that I was curious about whether or not he swallowed my pee. I looked down. To my surprise, Mr. Pee was swallowing as much of my piss as he could stomach, spitting the rest out like he was a professional wine taster.

He didn't come right away like last time, but stroked his dick for about 20 seconds before squirting on his stomach. We both left the bathtub, him dressing quickly and me wiping myself off before putting my clothes on. As I dressed, he dropped the folded money onto the bathroom counter and I noticed a wedding picture of the people who I'm guessing normally occupy the house. There they were, smiling in their dress and tux, oblivious in the photo to the fact that years later, their family friend/brother/housesitter would be hiring me, a part-time hooker, to let her bladder loose in their roomy jacuzzi tub.



*And I promise that I'm not judging any of you who may do that sort of thing for business or pleasure, though I do have one question: how do you not get cholera?

Pee Pee Platter, Part II

I do most of my john-hunting through craigslist. I look for ads of men seeking women who I think might be interested in someone like me and send them a sort of form letter, altering keywords based on what they ask for, hoping that they will respond and that, eventually, we will set something up. I have hesitated putting an ad up of my own on craigslist for a couple of reasons. 1. I am lazy, and would hate to sift through the many many responses I might get. 2. I am paranoid, and don't want the cops to collect my picture (yes, they actually do this) or email me in hopes of entrapping and eventually arresting me. I probably get less business this way, but at least I have the illusion of security, and don't have to make checking my sex work email a full-time job, ya know?

Anyway, I met Mr. Pee through craigslist. He (you guessed it) wanted a woman to pee on him. No sex, just a long hot golden shower. Easy, right? Though Mr. Pee had very limited skills in the grammar and spelling department, I was able to work out a time and meeting place fairly quickly after I had answered his ad.

After work, I drove over to his place and found the four story townhouse where he was staying. He mentioned quickly that he was house sitting for someone else, which seemed like poor etiquette to me. I think I'd be pretty angry if I found out that my house sitter was paying someone to piss all over them in my expensive digs. Anyway, Mr. Pee was nice enough, if a bit awkward (and thank god for the awkward men, as they are the bread and butter of the sex industry!). He was probably in his early 40s, tall and thin and pasty with greying brown hair and scant facial hair, like an eager adolescent boy might have. He was wearing dark grey sweat pants and a grey t-shirt, which he quickly removed. I also removed my clothes and he made a nice comment about my body.

The main room was adjacent to a small bathroom, where he had laid out a towel on the floor. He laid on the towel and asked me to squat over him. In our email correspondence, he had requested that he go down on me for a few minutes before I was to pee on him, unannounced. So, that he did, licking eagerly at my nether parts while I tried to relax my bladder muscles. Since I had been drinking a lot of liquids and diuretics that day in preparation, I had to pee very badly and assumed that it would be easy. However, in that unfamiliar position and with his tongue baring down on my clit, I wasn't able to pee. Have you ever been under a lot of pressure to relax a muscle? No? Well, let me tell you how difficult that is. My instinct was to try and push out, but when that muscle is clenched, the pee ain't going nowhere, Mister. I apologized to Mr. Pee, who was still below me, going at it eagerly, and he said quite graciously, "You can come if you want." I snorted and stated that that probably wouldn't happen. He asked why and after a pause, I answered him. "For a lot of reasons."

For at least ten minutes more, I tried desperately to unclench my muscles and pee, but the most I got out was a small squirt. Finally, I crouched higher, squatting between the toilet and the wall so that I was in a semi-familiar peeing stance. I had figured out that my bladder was very well-trained to only pee when I was in a certain position, and that it wasn't about to change that just because I wanted it to.

Finally, the pee began to flow, spilling all over his face, neck and chest. I wanted desperately to see whether or not he was drinking it, but I also didn't want to do anything that would disturb my urine stream. He exclaimed many times, encouraging me to give him more, if I could. He began to stroke his hard (and quite large) dick, squirting a small amount of come on his stomach as the last few drops of piss fell from my urethra.

After I finished, he pulled on his t-shirt without cleaning off his face and offered me a fresh towel. I wiped myself off as best I could and quickly got dressed. Being an awkward sort of man, Mr. Pee didn't attempt to make small talk after we were done. I thanked him, gave him a quick hug (trying to avoid getting wet with any residue that might have been left on him) and drove off, still elated that I had an extra wad of cash to use as I wished.

I've seen Mr. Pee once more (story forthcoming), and since then, I haven't been able to use the bathroom without feeling that, both literally and figuratively, I'm flushing liquid gold down the toilet.

Pee Pee Platter, Part I

Back in the days before my own personal sexual kinkification, I used to make lots of jokes with my high school friends about "bizarre" and, at the time, seemingly hilarious sex acts like salad tossing and golden showers. To us, these were the craziest of crazy things that we thought people might do, and as such, we turned our discomfort into humor. Of course, as karma dictates, since I had made fun of them, I was bound to brush up against (so to speak) these pastimes in my own life.

Entreé Mr. Licky. He was my first real-time client after the long hiatus from sex work post bath-time with Mort. I met him on (where else?) craigslist, answering his ad claiming that he wanted to pay a woman to lick her pussy. I had been browsing the sexual services section for awhile, and this one seemed easy enough as a gentle entry into the industry. I quickly answered his ad and we began to make arrangements to meet at a hotel room nearby both of us. Mr. Licky had plans the afternoon that we were to meet up, so we negotiated the price for a half hour of kitty chowing and I got ready for our meeting. I had also directed Mr. Licky to the website that I pose for so that he could see more pictures of me before our meeting.

I got dressed, unsure of what to wear, being that the meeting was in the late morning at a hotel room. I settled on some sexy black lingerie with a suggestive, but professional outfit overtop. I parked in the hotel parking lot and called my safe person to let her know that I had arrived. As I passed by the cleaning staff on the way to his room from the lot, they gave me the "I know exactly why you're here" look. I ignored them and began up the stairs.

When he answered the door, we greeted each other with a hug and a cheek kiss. Mr. Licky was an average heighted, white man probably in his early 30s with glasses and sandy blonde hair. He had a slight pudge and was thoroughly average-looking. He mentioned that he had gone to the website and exclaimed that I seemed "too cool" for him. Funny, I thought, because he was the one paying me. But I thanked him anyway and walked into the room. He admitted that it was his first time patronizing a lady-for-pay, but I didn't acknowledge that it was my first time too. I didn't want him to prey on my naïveté.

I asked Mr. Licky if he preferred that I undress myself or if he preferred to undress me and he indicated the former. I removed my clothes, attempting to be sexy, but probably failing, and he complimented me on my choice of lingerie. I removed that too and he ordered me to bend over the bed. Now, before I begin to explain what happened next, I should tell you that as I mentioned earlier, Mr. Licky had requested a girl to go down on in his ad. During the course of our email exchanges, he had mentioned that his girlfriend found oral sex "weird" and didn't like to do it. I understand that some women might be uncomfortable with or embarrassed by their partners going down on them (due to lots of cultural myths about women being "smelly" or bad tasting "down there," etc.), but I couldn't fathom of anyone besides a Mormon or a virgin or a Mormon virgin thinking that it was something that out of the ordinary.

Anyway, so here we are, me bent naked over the bed, and Mr. Licky crouched behind me, getting ready to go for the gold. But, instead of placing his tongue on or in or anywhere near my vagina, he went a little farther north and landed in my asshole. I nearly jumped I was so surprised. It was a good thing that he couldn't see my face, because my eyebrows shot up in an A-HA! expression. So that is why his girlfriend was weirded out, I thought. I myself had never been rimmed, but wasn't opposed to receiving it, if that's what he wanted to give. The sensation was nice, though it did nothing to arouse me in any way. After a few minutes of that, Mr. Licky asked if I would suck him off. We hadn't agreed to that, but I didn't mind. For another two or three minutes, I licked his small, but very hard cock. He moaned in approval and told me again how sexy I was. I smiled and thanked him with my eyes and my tongue. Mr. Licky asked if we could fuck. I paused for a moment and said sweetly, "We can do anything you want, but that's not what we agreed to beforehand. It'll be extra for that." He asked me for a price and rushed to his wallet for the money once he consented to the fee I named.

He came quickly, the condom fattening with liquid. The sex was very short; four minutes at most. I stopped, swinging my leg over his so that I could lie beside him. We made attempt at small talk for a few minutes, me stroking his chest and trying to keep up the feigned interest. Finally, he began to get dressed and I followed suit.

I kissed him on the cheek on my way out and walked quickly to my car with a wide grin on my face. On the way out, the cleaning staff gave me another look of judgment, but I didn't care. I couldn't believe how easy it had been. Mr. Licky was polite, kind, paid what I asked him, and extremely appreciative. I was high on how much money I had earned for such easy work. I was hooked. Thus began my truimphant re-entry into the world of pussy for pay.

Rage

I ended it:

John requested nekkid pictures of me and I said that I didn't have any. It's not the truth, but I am not about to give T&A shots to some dude who could then go sell them on the internet. He then ordered me to take some, and I declined, saying that maybe I would after we met. This is the email I just received with a picture attached of a naked woman:

From: [John]
To: [Lusty]

Let me explain something. This is a picture of someone that I met on friendster as well although we haven't physically met either. She wants to get together with me. Now trying to be objective between creating time for you or her which option should I choose? You can take into account our limited history of hot, then let's go slow, then send me money before we meet, etc. She has simply stayed hot. So what do you think?

From: [Lusty]
To: [John]

Do whatever you want, [John]. I don't care for ultimatums. Perhaps you should go with your new play toy, as it seems you are looking for something for nothing, which I am not apt to give you.

From: [John]
To: [Lusty]

Oh don't get me wrong. She will be costly but she has style and is engaging. Plus she is also bi. And she didn't demand anything before meeting. Insofar as ultimatums, I don't like them either especially when it comes to sending money to someone I haven't met. But I was going to try to arrange a meeting with you and her and see what developed.

From: [Lusty]
To: [John]

No thanks. I have lost any interest in you and your supposed offers. The more we talk, the more I think you are a fake. So I'll just save myself some time and energy and let you go ahead with your new girl.

Good fucking riddance, is all I have to say.