Thursday, January 17, 2008

I Wanted to Fuck Like a Man

I became a "working girl" because an odd confluence of events in my life.

First, my fiance left me, quite abruptly, for a stripper. I was, of course, traumatized. I needed to get my mind off him, and entering a series of forbidden encounters with relatively anonymous men seemed like the only thing immersing enough to do the job. It was perhaps a way to punish him (he knew what I was doing, and felt awful about it), and was also a strange way to remain attached to him. When I started, I'd find an aspect of the men I was seeing that reminded me of him, and focus on it completely. Essentially, I wanted to fuck like a man, but as a woman, I needed an extra constraint so as not to become emotionally involved, particularly so in my delicate state.

Additionally, I was fascinated by the stripper he'd left me for. We'd had lunch. By Western Beauty Standards, she was much less beautiful than I (although her body was pretty fucking fantastic). But there was this certain way that she was sexual: she felt powerful, in control, confidant, like she knew every crevice of her sexual being. She was, quite obviously, a professional. I was an amateur then. I didn't know a thing. I wanted to be a professional too.

My background played a part as well, no doubt. I come from a very wealthy family, and most of the women in my family married, at least in a large part, for the money. I felt pressure to, and yet rebellious at the idea. This seemed the perfect compromise: I'd shatter the rescue fantasy and sell the pieces on the open market.

And, I think what was most important of all is that a good friend of mine had started dating a high-class Manhattan call girl. It normalized the endeavor for me: knowing someone else, not so different than myself, was partaking and enjoying partaking.

My experience: I loved it. I loved every second of it.

My only moments of guilt come from the risk of someday my activities becoming public in a way that would harm my legitimate career that I've worked very hard for and greatly enjoy. Also, I fear that my someday-husband might not be able to tolerate my sordid past. But those are anxieties produced by societies' view of the endeavor.

I did worry about disease too. But I was always safe, and really wasn't all that promiscuous: I did very high-end work, and usually only had about four clients at a time, all in long-term relationships. I would get tested frequently, and never caught a thing. By this point, I think the risk of disease is serious, but inflated: it's probably safer to be a call girl than have a one-night stand. In the industry, there's an economic imperative compelling safe behavior whereas off the clock I think things quite often get sloppy (if my girlfriend's stories are representative).

I did break up one marriage during my time, which I will forever regret (I had been being unprofessional), but I know that I saved at least four marriages, and strengthened many more.

For me, it was just incredible: I met men and woman that I adore and will be lifelong friends; I had lots of exciting sex and interesting conversations; I traveled everywhere; I put myself through graduate school without debt while buying all the expensive lingerie I pleased. Mainly, I just learned a lot about myself: I learned what I really wanted in a relationship; I learned how to set boundaries; I learned to be seductive; I learned how to care less and love more. Most importantly, I learned what type of sex I liked. I learned to have mind-blowing sex almost all the time, with anyone -- turns out it's a skill, not a matter of chemistry. Previously, I thought I'd had good sex, but I was wrong; I didn't have much to compare it too, and I didn't even have a clue about how fantastic sex can be. I learned how to please men, and I learned how to please myself.

Of course, I now know that my ex-fiance was all wrong for me, and I dodged a bullet there. I also have a strange equanimity about my future ability to have a happy marriage. Well, it will be difficult to find someone compatible -- I'm an odd mix of completely conservative and wildly wanton -- but once I do I feel that I have a copious amount of knowledge about the psychic dynamics of imperfect marriages and all the skill needed to avoid one.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

I Was on the Stage

When I was 21, I got a part-time job flinging packages around at UPS, and after a few months, found myself in the best shape of my life. I started looking at myself in the mirror and thinking I was almost hot enough to be a stripper.

My only experience with strip clubs had been a couple of very upscale clubs with good lighting and fresh-faced girls and very strictly enforced "no touching" policies. They were terribly exciting and sexy, and I loved them. I am an introverted tomboy with short hair and no rhythm who never did learn how to put on makeup; I didn't end up in one of those clubs. I tried out at a lot of different clubs, and I ended up in a seedy place in East St. Louis where a "private dance" meant the girl sat on your lap and humped you for four minutes.

I didn't make very good money there; I only stayed for about 3 weeks before deciding that the job would destroy me if I kept at it. I was too shy to really approach the customers, and I was terrified of diseases I might catch if a customer came while I was grinding on his lap, so I mostly only made money when I was on the stage. I think I made about $300 on my best night ever, but most nights were $100 or less. $300 is damn good money for one night's work, though--I can see why so many of the girls kept at it.

My worst night ever was the one I got robbed without even knowing it. The private dance booths had little shelves where the dancers would put their purses, so I put mine up there and started doing my thing. This was about halfway through the night; I'd made almost $100, including the $20 this guy had just given me. After a minute of grinding and gyrating, he stood up, with me still wrapped around him. I was kind of confused by it, but this was maybe my third private dance ever, so I just went with it, and let him push me up against the wall. He kept shifting; I assumed he was trying to get more friction or something. By the end of the song, he'd sat back down, and I finished up with a kiss on his cheek and a "thank you," then took my purse and led him out of the booth. He left a few minutes later. It wasn't until after my next rotation up on stage, when I opened up my purse to put my tips in, that I realized what he'd been doing. My purse was empty. I went home that night with less than $40 for a 10 hour shift.

I guess it was just one of many clues that I wasn't meant for that job. I've long since lost my 21-year-old figure, but I still keep thinking that maybe, someday, I could start working out again and try to get a job at the kind of club I wanted to work at in the first place.

Monday, January 14, 2008

I Am 26

I am 26. I'm a grad student in New York. Internet men pay to spank me.

If I don't maintain certain grades, I lose my scholarship, and at the beginning of the semester I was flipping my shit about this one class, insisting I was going to fail and whatnot. I was wondering how I was going to pull three or six thousand dollars out of my ass, depending on how bad I did, and my friend said, "It's too bad you don't live upstate, because my friend Mary has a dude that pays her a fuckton of money to just spank her. No sex." So I had to figure that if Mary can find a dude like this upstate, there HAS to be people like this in NYC I can find. And I have a high tolerance for pain and a passing interest in spanking, so it was on.

I didn't even have to post on CL. In the erotic services section, there were even men that posted stating they were looking for that and would pay for it. So kind of on a whim (with a lot of encouragement from my friend that gave me the idea) I went into Manhattan to meet a southern banker who was in NYC for business. We agreed on half an hour but he seemed nervous and rushed me out after about 25 minutes. I really think he was suddenly feeling guilty about what he just did or I could be making that up because of whatever stereotypes I have in my head about clean-cut married guys from the south.

It's weird though, and I'm not sure if this happens with other types of sex workers... But when he emailed me again to say he'd be back in NYC and wanted to meet again, he was concerned about how HE did. He wanted to know if he spanked too hard, how things were for me, what else I like, what he could do better, etc. I was thinking, "Seriously? You're paying me $360 and YOU want to make sure I am happy?" I really do wonder if that is common, so I hope you get letters from other girls.

Since I don't have sex with these guys, I have convinced myself that it isn't really "sex work" and I am not really a sex worker, but I kind of know that's bullshit. Oh, and of course I ended up getting an A in that class I was so worried about in the first place. But I will probably keep doing this, because getting spanked for money is kind of more of a turn-on than getting spanked in my personal life. In my personal life it always seems so contrived and scripted and set up, and I have a hard time playing along. But a bunch of money is a powerful motivator for me to play along, and it's kind of a thrill.

One problem I have is that I bruise REALLY easily, so after I meet someone for this, I end up with a purple ass for like a week. Which is annoying because it prevents me from having sex during that time, since there's only 2 people that know I do this, and there is no way I am explaining to someone I am about to have sex with that, oh, my ass is all bruised today because a man with several umlauts on his name gave me "the strap".

I know it's dangerous, and I'm not gonna pretend like I'm safe because I only pick "trustworthy" people to meet. You never really know, and no matter how careful I am, there's still a nonzero chance that I'll end up stuffed in a garbage can in Brooklyn and some dude will find me 3 days later when he's walking his dog. Or something.