Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Sex Work as a Career

So I've discovered the coolest thing. I went along to a feminist, alternative, kinda punk, SF Mission district-esque strip show. And they had a booth for the Sex Worker Union in my area. Our own union. I was too scared to approach so Bell went and grabbed the forms and newsletters and magazines for me. I read through them all, eyes bulging. It seems like so much fun.

The union hosts dinners, and talks and get togethers. It's all very above board. They have an arts troupe that perform and education classes you can do - like how to be a sex worker for someone with a disability.

Bell thought the best thing was you could join as a supporter only. $25 and you get the title "Honorary Whore". She looked at me with a glint in her eye, "Yes, but what's the process if I ever want to upgrade to the real membership?"

Hmmm..maybe I'm starting to corrupt my friends.

The even better news about this union? I went to their web site and have these great career paths. Paid jobs helping out sex workers in third world countries. Activism work. Legal work. Admin work. Overseas postings to government funded projects. Some of it work from home, and designed to fit in with sex work. Actually, all of the jobs have as a pre-requisite that you have experience as a sex worker!!!

I'm going to join and maybe start sussing out some of the things I can get involved in. Who knows but long term maybe I could use all of my realjob experience, with my sex work street cred and land one of those great career jobs?

The Rash

Yay..it seems to be clearing. I reckon antibiotics helped. Now to pinpoint what I'm sensitive too - but lots of you other curvy gals have given me suggestions so I'm following them now!

So that means I'm ready to lay on my back again. Yippee!

New Blog Alert

I've started a new blog about a different part of my life - if you've emailed me in the past I may have already given you the heads up with the location of the new blog, but if I missed you, and you're curious then drop me a line to forloversofcurves@gmail.com.

Never fear, this blog will still continue! I may just be splitting my writing time between the two blogs...and you'd don't need to follow the other one unless you have too much time on your hands.

Oh, I should drop the false modesty. I'd love it if you read along...

Monday, March 23, 2009

Who knew I had readers!

I must say I was quite in awe of the number of gossip gals (I think it was all gals) who emailed me. It was great to hear from you all!

So now you know my news and we can move on..except..well we won't be moving fast LOL.

Just this morning I woke up and was like, "Hmm...I'm in the mood for some sexing." But my new rules are restrictive even to me!

I've taken some of your advice from the comments, and my new rules are:

1) No incalls. It's a bitch really. If they can't host then what? I have found a brothel that rents rooms to gals per call and expects nothing else but that seems a bit of overkill. A nice hotel would be better - but I'm not setting it up given the number of flakes!
2) Higher rates.
3) Less chatty/texty/emaily with regulars. My filth phone has been silent almost a week now!
4) Standards. Raise them.

So now that's all in place. No business as of yet. Which is good really...cause although I'm slightly in the mood I have this strange rash on my body so look like I have bubonic plague. Three doctors - three different guesses. The first guess made my blood boil. Took one look at me being a bigger gal and said it was some sort of sweat rash from rubbing thighs etc. I tried to explain it wasn't appearing when I did exercise but was just given an over the counter cream.

Second doc says insect bites. I'm a bit worried about what type of insect can crawl between my arms and thighs and bite away and then disappear.

Third doc say something called folliculitis and gave me drugs for it. It's kinda helping but I still look struck with the pox.

So hopefully I look less infectous soon and then I'll relauch a round of ads based around my new rules and see what turns up...

Monday, March 16, 2009

Just Amazing

So I've got some mind-blowing news. But I don't really want to blog about it. If you're a complete gossip like myself then feel free to email me at forloversofcurves@gmail.com and I will tell you off the interwebs!

In other news - I'm moving house for non-call-girl related reasons so I'm taking the opportunity to stop doing incalls - I think that was part of the boundary issue. Already the clients are whining. If they are too cheap to pay for a hotel room or figure out how to host then I will just lose them as clients. I don't mind.

Whore's Revenge

Oh I am naughty. Dr Spermies (#13) was pushing to see me and I wasn't really in the mood as per my last blog, I've just been kinda chilling out and reconsidering things. I also had a cold so knew I shouldn't pass on my plague. But he kept wanting to see me so in the end I did - cold virus and all. I just thought he deserved it - it won't kill him but will remind him every day of me while he sneezes.

I know it was bad behaviour - but he also did one of the most shocking bits of bad behaviour I've seen. His wife called in the middle of our session (he'd told me his was single at first too mind you!) and the way he talked to her was simply horrid. She was wondering why he was late coming home from his business meeting and he tried to manipulate the call to say he'd *always* said 8pm and not 6pm and he'd promised to call her and she's was confused and he couldn't talk now but would call later. Somewhat protesting the wife was sorta pushed off the phone call.

Then he turned to me and grinned at his deception. "Stupid woman", he said.

Gawed. Some of the guys are true bastards. Not all of them, but that was one of the first time in this experiment I wanted to take the woman's side and tell him what a fuckwit he was. I hope she doesn't get my cold - as I said, the last time we'd seen each other he'd mentioned his single life.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Dear Dr Phil...

I'm having an issue. Totally self-inflicted, but unexpected. I think due to a recent drop in my standards, plus actually fucking purely for cash and not enjoyment, plus going too far with the GFE stuff...I'm starting to hate most men. I can't stand the idea of sex with them anymore.

I'm just feeling worn out. With my whole commitment to a great GFE I'd allowed a few of the guys to text me. So I've been having these crazy sex talk texts on and off - and basically pretending I am what they want me to be - a lover they can talk too who just so happens to be totally into what they are into sexually. I shouldn't have started it. I'm going about my life and I find a message pops up from Dr Spermies "So you totally love it when I rub my cock on your clit right..."

Vomit. I don't. I pretend I do. You buy my pretence. And now take it too far. Texting me, wanting to drink wine with me, wanting to kiss and stroke me like a real lover. Blurgh. But how do I say, "Either book in or bugger off" when I was the one who fucked the boundaries first?

I check my emails and they are on email too. Asking things. Trying to beg and wheddle and negotiate and argue and get cheaper rates and wanting to know more about me and questioning, questioning, questioning. Really most clients at the moment are like a bunch of horrid school boys all wanting a piece of me and I'm finding it harder not to ground them all for lack of emotional maturity.

My gorgeous, friendly, nice guys seem to have dropped off at present. Maybe they've got true love somewhere. Maybe they did the right thing - used me as a service, treated me professionally and then left me alone.

I'm going to have to backtrack. Get some personal space back. Stop replying to the text and the emails and up my rates to remind them of what I am. A part time lover. An escort. Nothing more.

I think it's all coming to a head now too cause it's almost been a year since I last "made love" to someone I loved, and who loved me. For the first six months it was all casual sex, and then it was the whoring experiment. And now I find myself wondering whether relationships were really that bad, and maybe I don't want to be single, and maybe I only want to sleep with people who want to stroke my back, kiss me good morning and bring me a coffee in bed.

Oh no. I wanna go back to being the sex machine with no emotions. The Terminator of Call-Girls. Fuck and Go. Nooooo...what is going on Dr Phil??

Friday, March 6, 2009

Client #15

So it must be Grandpa Week. Or maybe just pension week. I got an offer I thought was a joke a few days ago. An insane amount of money to spend the night with a business man travelling. Twelve hours was the deal. 7pm - 7 am so I could get up and go to my dayjob. It did strike me in some way as working 24 hours straight but I was up for it.

The hotel was in a suburban area, very nice for the area. He'd booked a corner suite with spa and king size bed. He was mid to late fifties, but didn't look it. He was really nervous. But keen. He basically wanted to see me enjoy myself. Spa, order wine, room service, eat with him and laugh in our pyjamas. Lovely. He had some stupid opinions that made me choke on my room service, and I realised how hard twelve hours may be.

But it turned out he was also amazingly educated on the history of prostitution and the way they were respected in other cultures. Then he went into stories about his life - a loveless arranged marriage that was breaking down, issues with sex drummed into him by his culture, work pressures, aging issues. It was fascinating talking to him about these things and he's probably the first client to treat me as royalty. Like I should be worshiped for the services I provide.

His culture also made him really, really love BBW gals. He pinched my rolls, lifted my breasts. I felt like a prized heifer being admired at market. He said things like "You are perfect, not an inch of fat on you." Um, sure. All 215 pounds and no fat?! What was I then? According to him, "Stunningly plump", and "should never be allowed on the street alone for all the attention I'd get from men."

He bathed me in the spa, which sounds a little creepy but he was giggling and stroking me, loving the feeling of my curves. At then he said in awe, "Oh, where's that belly button? I'll have to lift your stomach to find it to clean."

For him - another compliment on my abundance. Now, I may work hard at fat acceptance and all of that self-esteem stuff, but I was mortified at that comment. Eek.

Luckily pushing my boobs towards a man's mouth always makes him shut up, then I steered us onto the bed for a massage. Yes, he almost fell asleep. He rolled over, asked me to masturbate for him and watched me. Then wanted some oral sex..but couldn't really get it up. We put some porn on, but no joy. In the end he asked for a hand job and we were done.

It was really only twenty mins maybe of sexing. A few hours of conversation, bathing and eating. And then lights out at 10pm.

I felt so guilty for taking such an obscene amount of money. Then the snoring started. Holy fuck. It was worse than SplenDaddy. He was kinda embarrassed by it so would try and stop himself by jerking or kicking a leg. So all night it was SNORE. Kick. Silence. Just when I'd start to relax then into the silence - SNORT. SNORE.Kick. Silence. REPEAT.

I got no sleep. At 6.30am he asked me if I'd had a peaceful night. I lied and said yes. He told me I could head off early if I liked and I was out of there!

Fistfuls of cash. Me sitting in a car park at dawn stuffing it into an overnight bag. Heading to my day job with all of the other commuters. Surreal.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Client # 14 (Fucking Grandpa)

Oh dear me. I threw away my standards for a good paying two hour booking. Cause the money was going to cover more than half my bill. Not only would this guy not have been shaggable with the four beers or less rule, I could have drunk a whole slab (24 beers) and still not have gone there.

It was like a challenge I decided to accept. Truth, Dare, or Physical Challenge. I was kinda curious to see how I would cope.

He was late fifties. With a porn star mustache that probably looked good in his first decade of work. In 1961. He treated me like a sex worker. I was there to please him and be his play thing. He wanted to shower with me and simply turned for me to soap him up. No words. Just kinda "Get to it." Very Mad Men. I was his little lady/whore.

Naked - he looked fine. He felt like a woman really. His body soft and having lost muscle tone. It was kinda nice as long as I didn't think of Samantha in Sex in the City when she shagged the old dude, and saw the saggy bum. I did not look at all in the bum-ular region.

On the plus side he was awesome at oral sex. Massive orgasm. On the funny side, he fell asleep at one point, suddenly, and just like Abe Simpson. And he got leg cramps. We had to call time out. And he shook when he supported his body weight. Awwwww.

Gramps still had some bad habits that life hadn't beaten out of him. The dreaded hand on the back of the head trying to force deep throating. Fuck I hate that. And he couldn't kiss. It was horrid.

First, he smoked the same brand of tobacco as my father. And as he opened his mouth and leaned it I was transported back to the caravans of my youth. Bad, bad visual. Do not want to think of my father in this situation. Ewww.

Anyhow cause of his facial hair, kissing him was quite like muff-diving. Except that this tongue came out of his face-muff to maul and slober on me. Smelling of my father.

I really did just "Lay back and think of England" as they say.

What I want to know is how he can get so good at going down, and not learn to kiss along the way? So many men are like that. Maybe cause kissing is about intimacy and they don't want to excel at that?? What type of women marry these men and spend their whole lives coping with the bad kissing?

Also..like Dr Spermies (Client #13) he was obsessed with rubbing his dick on my clit. For almost an hour. Now I think I would enjoy extended versions of this just as much if I got myself two slices of week-old, slimy ham, lubed it up and held them out for him to rub betwixt. It simply does nothing for me.

He roared like a animal when he came. I was very impressed. Best cum noise I've heard yet. Surprised he didn't beat his chest in triumph. In his day he would have been the alpha male head of the baboon troop I'm sure. Once were warriors. Ha.

Ah well, at least he didn't say "Back in my day" - and he did appear to have his own teeth.

No regrets from me.

Show me the money

I admit...this past few days I've been fucking for the cash. It hasn't been about my sexual needs. Or about an erotic adventure or fun stories.

I got a massive bill and it was either going to chew up almost a weeks salary from realjob or it was going to eat into my savings. Then I realised I have a third option. Fuck to pay the bill. I didn't have to, but it seemed like a good idea to be able to pay the bill in cash without touching reallife. A nice benefit of my hobby for once.

That's how I came to um, "Fuck Grandpa".