New Year’s Eve

New Year’s Eve was a very liberating experience this year. Chris and I attended a party at the home of my Tantric teacher (he wasn’t yet my teacher at the time). The gatherings at Pierre’s house are always lively, involving dance, interesting conversations, laughter, and group meditation. 

 Chris and I branched off into separate parts of the house, she talked with a couple of the women at the party, leaving me free to mingle. This was where I met Josh, who would become my lover. We were sitting on one of the couches together and the bong was going around. We started talking, and things quickly went from friendly to flirtatious. 

 “Do you and Chris play with others?” He asked. 

 “Yes,” I said. “And you’re really sexy.”

 We kissed a bit on the couch. There was serious chemistry. 

 At this point, he started to whisper in my ear. “Do you like to be pinned down?”

 “Yes,” I said. My body became charged with greater sexual energy. He was strong, masculine, but gentle. I felt like I could trust him, which made things between us all the more erotic. 

 “I want to pin you to the bed and make you come over and over, until you ask me to stop,” he whispered. When he said that, a charge of energy passed through my body and I almost came right there. 

 I managed to say something semi-coherent about how great that sounded. 

 Soon after, one of the women in the group requested a group meditation. So Pierre, who had already had a bit to drink, called us all to sit in a circle for a guided meditation. It was a comical experience punctuated by a lot of ‘Oh, crap, I’m stoned, I don’t remember which part comes next’s and ‘oh, crap, this was a secret teaching I am not supposed to share yet. Don’t tell anyone’s. After the meditation, I was even more fired up.

 I spent time during the evening cuddling with Chris, Pierre, and Josh. After the meditation, the floor opened up for people to come up and share erotic dance. One woman blew our minds with a beautiful burlesque chair dance. Then Pierre got up and announced his intention to give someone a lap dance. Chris suggested that he give me the dance. 

 “Ok!” I said, marching to the centre of the room and sitting in the chair. 

 “Ok, hold on, I just need to find a thong,” he said. 

 He came back wearing nothing but a thong. I had never had a lap-dance before, and he was very liberal with his affection throughout the dance. I responded by giving him a few well-intentioned slaps on his very shapely backside. 

The party concluded with a group dance, which became ecstatic very quickly. I was kissing Josh, Chris, Pierre, and the sexual energy was building. Chris was kissing another woman, and I remember being struck by how beautiful it was to see them together. I started having orgasms right there on the floor, openly and vocally, while fully clothed. 

 It was that time of the month, but had it been any other time, I would have dragged Josh into one of the bedrooms and had my way with him right then and there. 

 After the dance, when I was about to leave, I approached Josh in the kitchen. “I’d like to continue this sometime,” I said, and asked for his number. He gave me his number and we kissed. With him, there was such passion, such intensity. Pierre came up behind me and started kissing the back of my neck, which is one of my intense erotic spots. “I’ve always wanted a man-harem,” I quipped, and they both laughed. “A man harem, huh?” Said Pierre. “Very nice.”

 I was struck by how liberating it felt to be in a group where I could be sexually expressive with a few people at a time without it being seen as destructive or hurtful, or causing conflict. In fact, it seemed to bring the group closer and be a bonding experience. I enjoyed it immensely. 

We All Have Secrets

As an escort, I am given a good look into people’s secret lives and secret selves. It is something that I am very grateful for, and, as a writer, it is really cool to be able to see such a variety of lives.

After leaving the coke-head client on Friday, I was sent to a private apartment. The booking girl called me and gave me a head’s up. “This call is a special request. He is an adult baby.”

For a moment, I panicked. Fucking boys in the ass, tying them up and putting clothespins on their balls, beating them and calling them names and dressing them in women’s clothes I could handle. I had no idea what to do with a baby.

“I, I don’t have any supplies for that sort of thing…”

“You don’t need anything.”

“Ok. I’ll figure it out,” I said, laughing nervously. Graham dropped me off at the building. I went up and buzzed and went up to the room. I was greeted by a young, slender, attractive man in his early twenties. He was shirtless and had a pair of plaid pajama bottoms on. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jade.”

“I’m Brandon,” he said, and shook my hand. I asked him how his night was going, and we made some general small talk while I took off my boots and jacket. His apartment was a bit messy, disorganized, but not dirty. Kind of like my place on an off-week. He had a microphone in the corner, and a piano. It was much like the set up of an old boyfriend’s place, a composer of electronic music. The memory of our long friendship that was ruined by a two-week fling during which he violated my boundaries sexually and betrayed my trust, passed briefly through my mind. Funny, now, I mostly remembered the good times, before we had sex. The friendship that could not recover.

“I’ve never done this before,” I said. “But I am really open-minded and creative, and willing to learn. Why don’t we sit down and talk for a minute about what you’d like to do. Then we can settle up the business and get to the fun.”

“Ok. So basically, I don’t want anything sexual. I just want to be treated like I’m a lot younger.”

“Ok, I can do that.”

After we’d settled my fee, he excused himself for a moment. There was a blanket lying on the living room floor, which I finally connected in my mind to the play when he returned wearing nothing but a big diaper with a pacifier in his mouth. He crawled around, and I talked to him in baby talk, telling him what a sweet little boy he was and kissing him on the top of the head. I felt pretty out of my element. Anyone who knows me knows that, although I adore children when they belong to somebody else, I have never had much in the way of maternal urges. In fact, I have never once changed a diaper in my life. And, while two of my former lovers have expressed an interest in this type of play, I was never able to completely get on board and experiment with it before. I think the main reason for this is that I have always wanted to be independent, and the idea of ever having been a baby and needing help with diapers is a humiliating thought that I’d rather avoid at all cost. The idea of someone wanting to return to that sort of helpless dependence is alien to me.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he whined in a baby voice.

“Ok, sweetie,” I said, adopting my best soothing-mama voice. “Do you need mama to change your diaper?”

He nodded.

“Did you go pee?”

“Yeah.”

I laid him down on his back and rummaged through his gym bag. It was full of diapers, wet wipes, and baby powder. “I have to wear three at a time,” He said in his grown-up voice. “Ok,” I said.

I took off the diaper, talking in soothing baby-talk the whole time. Did I mention I hate baby-talk? Well, I do. I was very grateful that he only peed in his diaper. I think I would have demanded a higher price for my time if it involved poop.

I cleaned him up with the wet wipes, wiping his ass, cleaning around his cock and balls. I started to put on the diaper when he stopped me. “You forgot the baby powder.”

“Oh, sorry sweetie. I’m new at this.” I powdered his nether regions and started applying the diapers. When I was done, he crawled around for a while with a big grin on his face. Then I hugged him and sang him a lullaby.

“Can I sit in your lap?” He asked.

“Of course you can, sweetie.” I went and sat down on the couch. He came over and sat, like a gentleman, with the bulk of his weight on a pillow next to me, creating the illusion of sitting in my lap. “You’re so pretty,” he said, still in his baby voice.

“Thanks sweetie.” I got him a bottle filled with water at his request, and held it up to his mouth.

“Guess how old I am,” he said when he was finished with the bottle.

Oh shit, I thought. I don’t know a damn thing about babies. How old are they when they start to crawl and talk? But still shit and piss in diapers? How should I know? Having a functional uterus does not make me a bloody expert on childcare and child development, ok! A seasoned mafioso would probably know more about babies than I do!

“I dunno. One?”

He smiled and nodded. “I mean for real.”

“Oh,” I laughed. “22?”

“24.”

“Cool.”

“Do you think I’m a freak for being into this stuff?”

“No,” I said, and I meant every word. “I mean, it’s an unusual interest, but you’re hardly the only person to be into this sort of play. You’re not hurting anyone by exploring this kink. And besides, everyone is into something. I like watching men dress up in ladies lingerie and parade around for me, so I guess I must be a bit of a freak too.”

He got up. “I dressed in drag for my acting class! I’ll show you a picture!”

He came back with his phone and started showing my photos from his class. We talked a bit about acting. He told me about his school, his family, and I told him about my brief time in an improv theatre troupe.

“I always preferred to play the bad guys,” I said. “Because I spend my life being nice to people, and sometimes it’s so liberating to just be like ‘fuck you, bitches!'”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that.”

Eventually, the subject went back to his baby fetish.

“How long have you been into this stuff?” I asked.

“As long as I can remember,” he said. “But I don’t talk about it.”

“That must be hard. You know, there are other people out there who are interested in this. You’re a sweet guy, and good looking and smart. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone compatible. It might be harder than if you were just into regular sex, but it’s far from impossible.”

“Yeah, regular sex has never interested me,” he said. “I just really like being treated like I’m younger.”

“What is the appeal of that? Is it comfort, or freedom to let go?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Have you ever gone on Fetlife? I know there are people on there who are into this as well.”

“No. I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared that my friends will find out.”

“Yeah, that is scary. Fetlife is anonymous, and you don’t have to post any identifying photos, but I do understand that it is scary.”

“Could you rub my tummy?” He asked in his child voice.

“Of course, sweetie.” I stood up and let him sprawl out on the couch. I rubbed his tummy. “I have a tummy ache,” he whined.

“Poor baby.”

“I have a lot of bad habits,” he said in his grown-up voice.

“Oh yeah?”

“I drink too much. I do cocaine. I drank a lot tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s hard on the system,” I said. I got up and filled his bottle with water. “Here, drink this, it’ll help.”

He drank, and the water did seem to help. When I sensed he was in better spirits, I started tickling his tummy. “Coochy coo,” and he giggled like a little boy.

“Would you tuck me in?” he asked.

“Of course, sweetie.” I tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. Then I said goodnight and went back outside to meet the driver.

All in all, the experience was pleasant. I felt honoured that I had been trusted with such a secret and vulnerable part of another human being, even if the experience was a bit outside of my comfort zone. I hoped that my insight and suggestions helped him to be a bit more comfortable with who he is and what turns him on.

All in a Night’s Work

On Friday night, I was tired. I was up working until 8 in the morning. After getting a couple hours of sleep, I had to wake up again and go to the nonprofit society where I volunteer on Fridays. I spent the afternoon helping this lovely man and his elderly father compose a letter to the local media dealing with their recent experiences of police brutality. After that, I had a fantastic dinner with my friends Alec and Drew. We went for sushi and then stopped for coffee. I had my usual espresso, which was sorely needed.

I went home and had another nap. I woke up around 10.30 when the agency called me and asked if I was available to do a call. Kylee, an escort I work with, had requested me as her duo partner. We had worked together before (by worked together I do mean sex) and we are comfortable together. She requested me the first time because she knows that I really enjoy sex with women, and she, like me, hates working with girls who just do it for the money.

So, I grabbed a quick shower, put on some makeup and a sexy little black dress, some stockings and garters and my newest boots, stashed my dildoes and strap on harness in my new and extremely roomy purse, and I was off to meet the driver. I get along with all the drivers, but Graham and I have the most laughs. He has told me that he likes driving me because I’m always polite, always sober, and I don’t make him wait for half an hour outside my house when he comes to get me. He’s a pothead in his early fifties with a thing for Ancient Aliens and conspiracy theories. As we drove downtown, we chatted about the night, how busy it had been, etc. “Kylee has been there for half an hour,” he said. “I honestly don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“Well,” I said. “Last time I did a duo call with Kylee, the client’s sister barged in and wanted to watch the three of us go at it.”

Graham laughed. “Yes, I recall you mentioning that.”

“So it can’t be much worse than that.”

He dropped me off at one of the luxury hotels. It was actually the hotel where I had experienced my first threesome, when a very wealthy couple hired me for the evening two months into my career as an escort. I called the office and let them know that I was in the lobby. The client would meet me there. I smiled at the concierge. “I’m just waiting for a friend,” I said.

After a few minutes, Kylee came to get me. She had a bank card in her hand. She was a beautiful blond nineteen year old. “I have to withdraw some money for this guy,” she said. “He’s so fucked up, oh my god.”

I remembered a lawyer client in the suburbs who was always high on coke and getting us to make bank machine runs for him. I had seen him a couple of times. He was always too high to get an erection, but loved to watch porn and go on and on about his fantasies while two women performed lesbian sex lite in his bed and took turns sucking his limp dick.

“I think I know the client!” I said.

We went to the ATM and withdrew $500.

We went back to the room and sure enough, it was the client I thought it was. I pretended to be happy to see him, even though he is far from my favorite. He paid me for an hour and we got right to it. Kylee and I took turns sucking his dick. I went down on Kylee and fingered her for a while. He would get up and do a line every five minutes. And, true to form, he had porn on the big screen. He had a fetish for cumshots, which is something I honestly don’t understand. It’s jizz. Get over it.

“Do you think she likes having cum all over her face?”

“Oh yeah, she loves it.”

“Would you let me do that to you?”

“Yeah, baby, gimme your big load.”

Kylee and I took turns indulging his verbal fantasies.

“Are your moms hot?” He asked. He would always ask about the hot sister, or the hot mom.

“My mom is totally hot. And she’s a total nympho like me,” I said, silently apologizing to my mother. It’s just a night’s work. Nothing personal, mamma. Sorry.

“Oh yeah? Does your mom like to suck cock?”

“Yeah, she loves to suck cock.”

“Is she single?”

“No, but what my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

He turned to Kylee. “What about your mom?”

“I walked in on my mom fucking this guy once,” she said. “It was pretty hot.”

“Does your mom like girls?”

“Oh, sure she does.”

“And your mom?”

“I don’t know, she’s pretty experimental,” I said, groaning on the inside.

“So let’s call your mom and ask her to come over.”

“My mom’s out of town,” I said.

“What about your mom?”

“My mom’s out of town too,” said Kylee.

“If you suck on the tip of my cock really hard, it’ll get so hard and then I can fuck you in the ass. Would you let me do it without a condom?”

“We’ve been over this sweetie. I never have sex without a condom. You can rub your cock on my leg without a condom, but anywhere closer to my ass or pussy, you’ll need to wrap it up.”

I always make a point of stating my boundaries up front, on the one in a million chance that he might one day get a hard on in my presence. I am certain that day will never come, but I am always prepared.

We went back out to meet the driver, who took us back to the office to wait for our next call.

Dating While Whoring

If you have read any women’s magazines, you know that there is no shortage of heteronormative relationship advice articles available to women. If you happen to be LGBT/Queer, or a sex worker, however, your perspective is tacitly excluded from the mainstream media. Gay and lesbian magazines exist, although they have not yet become mainstream. Articles aimed at sex workers are practically nonexistent.

In our monogamy-centric heterocentric culture, anyone who falls outside that idealized ‘norm’ is typically portrayed via unflattering stereotypes. The idea of sex workers actually dating and having relationships outside of their work is hardly ever discussed in mainstream media. When it is discussed, the sex worker inevitably gives up her job for love.

When I entered sex work, I had absorbed those messages pretty thoroughly. I was convinced that no one would want me as long as I was an escort, and that I would have to give up my search for love in favour of financial freedom and the time to pursue my art and writing. My friend Drew kept telling me that just because I was now an escort did not mean that I would have to give up on romance and love. I was skeptical. Then I met Chris, who was not only ok with it, but turned on by it. During her visit over Christmas, she described my work as ‘heroic’, which felt really great to hear.

On New Year’s Eve, I met a wonderful man, and I have been seeing him regularly ever since. He met Chris and I at a party at my Tantric teacher’s house. Josh and I have been getting together at least once a week since then to have mind-blowing earth shattering sex that leaves us both blissful and open to the divine. He knew that I was in a relationship with Chris and had no intention of getting in between Chris and I. At first, I thought that we would just be friends with benefits, and the sexual chemistry was so strong that it did not take us long to get to bed.

Now, we are spending more time talking (usually after a couple hours of kinky, sweaty, sacred sex), and I find that we connect on many other levels. I have not fully disclosed to him my work. We had the sexual health talk, and I told him that I often get tested and that I always play safe, but I didn’t mention the part about it being my job. As I feel more bonded to him, and we spend more time together, I would like to tell him what I do.

He came over for dinner last week, and we had a conversation about sex, and about sexual healers. We talked about patriarchy, and how inheritance being passed through the male line led to a culture of controlling women’s sexuality. I mentioned that I’ve been around the block, and that it is dehumanizing to associate my value with my sexual ‘purity’ or lack thereof. He was on the same page with me all the way. I feel almost safe enough to tell him, but I am also lost. I really care for him, and I don’t want him to reject me when he finds out. I take a lot of pride in my work, but it is work that the dominant culture treats with derision at best. I know it will take a strong person to stand by me in what I do. I believe he is strong and confident enough to handle this, but I am scared. I wish I had a guidebook on how to navigate romance while whoring.

The Ebb and Flow of Relationships

Seven months ago, I entered the escort business full time. Seven months ago, I met Chris. Our relationship was intense, and beautiful. It became serious quite quickly. I was completely caught up in the magic of our connection, and it was so refreshing to be with someone who was so supportive of my work. Making love with Chris felt like heaven, like coming home. Being with her helped me to feel grounded in my body and helped me adjust to the challenges of sharing my body with strangers for pay. It was amazing to feel so safe and comfortable and yet so alive and excited with someone.

The only catch was that two months into our relationship, she moved to another city for school. I was devastated when she left, but we agreed to do long-distance. Soon, the closeness and beauty of our relationship was replaced by the cold glare of computer screens and no cell reception. We tried to keep our connection alive, but I found it very challenging to have a relationship in the absence of touch and regular communication. My needs went unmet and I became very resentful and angry.

A month or so after she left, an old friend got in touch with me. He and his partner were divorcing and he had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He was moving to Vancouver, and, when his housing plans fell through, I agreed to let him stay with me. Big mistake, but it was a lesson I needed to learn.

The next few months were a very trying time for me. Chris had financial problems, and I was helping her as best I could. She later paid me back, but at the time, it was a strain. Jared moved in with me and started his routine of ‘borrowing’ money from me, which I forked over, just like when we were teenagers. I was supporting two people, working constantly, and resenting my work. I was overextended, angry, frustrated, and sad. I was not doing what I needed to do to make sure that my needs were met.

During this time, I grew to resent my work. I hated seeing clients. It’s hard to give of yourself when your well is empty. I felt discouraged, and, although most of my clients were nice people, I did not do what I needed to do to ensure that my work was pleasant. The sex I had with clients became a chore, something uncomfortable and obligatory. I wanted to take a break, but I couldn’t afford it. I couldn’t afford to get a massage, or take myself out for a meal, or anything.

During my visit to Chris over Halloween to help her move again, I broke down and cried. “I feel like I’m taking care of so many people, I have such a heavy weight on me. I need someone to take care of me.”

As the months wore on, the closeness I felt with Chris was replaced by gnawing resentment, anger, and detachment. A few weeks ago, I had the conversation with her about taking a break from things, taking the pressure off. I know it is the right thing for us both – resentment and anger are unhealthy ways to feel as often as I was feeling them – but I am also very sad. I miss the way things were in the beginning. As I learn more of Tantra and Tibetan Buddhism, I become more comfortable with the fact that life is a series of temporary circumstances, and I am working on being less attached to circumstances, and people. To love without expectation of things turning out a certain way is a tall order, one that I can only hope to achieve. Relationships ebb and flow. Right now, I have to trust that Chris is on her path, and to love her without trying to force either of us into a box that doesn’t fit.

It’s Not Always Fun

The last time I worked, it was a challenge. My client was a nice, older man, but unfortunately, also an alcoholic. In the span of two hours, he managed to knock me in the teeth, poke me in the eye, and elbow me in the breast – all by accident, of course. I had to keep reminding myself to have compassion, which is not always easy when you’re in pain.

He did a couple of the things that irritate me during sessions with clients. He was drunk, not just buzzed, but sloppy drunk. He felt bad for hurting me repeatedly, and I was nice about it, but man, that takes all the sexy out of a session. Trust me. Once you poke me in the eye, it’s hard to recover from that. Second, he kept insisting that I should quit escorting and marry him, that he’d look after me and save me from the awful life that I was living. I hate that. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. My life is great. I do what I do, and I enjoy it most of the time. I make pretty good money, I’m independent, I make my own hours. Why would I give that up to be in a monogamous relationship with, and financially dependent on, an alcoholic? I spent most of the session telling him that no, I would not marry him, no, I was not interested in meeting for a date outside of work, and yes, I like my life. I kept reminding him that we were on the clock, and that there were much nicer things we could be doing within that time than him trying to convince me to do something I would never agree to in a million years.

“Will you marry me?”

“No. I’d make a terrible wife. Trust me.”

“Why? Would you cheat on me?”

“Yeah. I’d cheat on you all the time.”

“What if I fucked you all the time?”

“I’d still cheat on you.”

Another thing that pissed me off was that he put up a fight about condom use. He would clumsily swat at my hand and try to climb on top of me without the condom. “Don’t worry about the condom, I’m ok. It doesn’t matter.”

I became quite insistent. “No!” I said in a loud voice. “It matters to me. I NEVER bareback with clients.”

He finally gave up trying to convince me to forego the rubber. Of course, it was a moot point, because he was too drunk to get it up anyway. The second half of the session, we just cuddled and talked. He told me about his wife who died of cancer a few years before, and how his kids are grown up and don’t come to visit anymore. He told me he was lonely and that it helped to have someone close to him, even though he was sad that I was a prostitute. He said he didn’t want to think of me as a prostitute, but rather as a person. I thought, well, prostitutes are people too, but I decided not to get into it. Just take the money and run as soon as the last hour is up. Sometimes that’s what a gal’s gotta do!