From the Desk of a PSO

Do I look Different? A photo from my first session as a professional Dominant!

Recently I was on call with a client and he wanted to know what I thought about his partner. He’s turned on that she’s dated extensively prior to meeting him, and has more experience than he does. He enjoys when she “plays the whore” in the bedroom. I asked him what he meant by that, and he said he likes how wild and verbal she can be. Obviously I think she sounds wonderful, but our conversation led me to muse on a few related topics.

Hand in hand with diverse experiences comes an ability to articulate thoughts and feelings on the subject more easily. Practice makes perfect. In our society, which socializes people to strive for longterm monogamy, acquiring sexual experience and feeling free to own your experiences is less commonly a topic of conversation. To speak of one’s sexual feelings and desires openly, to call a spade a spade while it’s happening in the bedroom [kitchen, or on the office floor], is a sexy practice indeed. For one to name what is happening in the moment — what is actually turning oneself and one’s partner(s) on, rather than gratuitously enacting the missionary style of sex we’re taught we’re supposed to enjoy — is a gift of affirmation.

To discover the sexual activities that please us as individuals, and for those desires to be be accepted is a powerful acknowledgement of self, of pleasure, and of a carnal reality which can be cared for without shame. It is a form of seeing and accepting another person deeply when one is able to name your turn-ons without judgement or imply wrongfulness.

So I ask this question today in reference to my client’s comment: What is a Whore (appropriately referred to as a Sex Worker)? My answer is: a Sex Worker* is a person (historically, and most commonly a woman) who is committed to deeper understanding of carnal knowledge. It is the world’s oldest profession, and one which will never (and should never) go away. Like any profession it deserves compensation. Unlike many professions it should come with hazard pay and protection by the state (rather than against it).

To “know” someone infers a level of established intimacy. It also means having shared a sexual experience with them. I do not think this is a strange double entendre. Sharing one’s sexuality is sharing oneself at the most primal and basic level there is. Consensual sexual intimacy allows our animal self space to emerge, and the lizard brain to take over. We have opportunity to shed the skin of intellectual humanity, and the pleasure of our desires may emerge and dance freely. We find ourselves looking through the eyes of love, lust, desire, caring, and vulnerability during these moments. Our vulnerable selves exposed, allows another to truly “know” who we are.

When people who I do not know approach me for sexual or sensual connection because they are attracted to how free and well versed I am in expressing my experiences with various sexual and sensual pursuits, or how articulate I can be within the subjects of desire, it is not because they are interested in pleasing me. It’s because they are interested in setting their own selves free, and they see in me the potential to experience something they themselves desire to unlock. I am a professional sex worker because I am open to, non-judging of, and excited to support other people’s journeys and needs in the sensual and sexual realms within the boundaries of my comfort and safety. It is a job. That sex work is my profession does not mean I’m not passionate about what I am doing, but make no mistake — I am doing the session for my client. A therapist does not turn around and unload their personal crisis’ on their clients, nor does a sex worker make a session about what they themselves wholly wish for within an intimate relationship. I may experience pleasure, just as any person who loves their job or practicing a skill effectively should. Just like your friend who happens to be a chef is not be expected to cook dinner every time you hang out, nor should I be expected to plan ahead and prepare myself to fulfill someone else’s desires simply because they request my audience and appreciate (or are turned on by) my photos, art, articulations, free spirit, and writing. Outside of my personal intimate relationships I require payment for my time and attention in these matters. As I should. Does a session feel like love? Yes, I would say some of the most successful connections can hold that feeling for the allotted time we spend together. A session has clear boundaries though: a price, a time limit, and a pre-negotiation about what activities are on and off limits.

I think it’s wonderful that the man I was speaking with and helping — both erotically and emotionally (as he paid me by the minute) — has a partner who helps him feel alive, turned on, excited, openly desirous, and sexually satisfied. He mentioned they were having trouble and that she told him to start seeing other people. I hope he finds methods to further support her needs, as she may not be around forever to cater to his desires. It is not a woman’s (nor a sex worker’s) job to fix or perfectly entertain anyone sexually. Sex workers do not owe you their trade skills, their passion, years of research, experiences, or fought-for freedoms garnered from a lifetime journey into and through sexual, sensual, and often violent taboos. Cherish your local sex workers. Fight for decriminalization of their long-standing vocations. Patronize them (and tip). Treat them like the wonderful and wise resources they are. Sex workers allow themselves, and so their clients, to be deeply and vulnerably cared for and known.

*The terms “whore” and “prostitute” are regarded as derogatory slurs. They are only appropriately used by full-service sex workers in reclamation of their history of misuse, violence, and abuse. The general terms, “sex worker” or “full-service sex worker”, and other words which more specifically describe the type of sex work being referred to (escort, porn star, pro Dom(me), stripper, etc.) are the appropriate ways to refer to the people in these industries.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support, or email me for other options. Thanks.

Conversations with Depression

Photo by RADskillZ Photography 2013

I am shrinking and I don’t know what to do. The malaise is strong and I fear I won’t ever get back up. Moments pass and I feel stuck in the mud of forever. It’s moments like these that I know I’m unimportant. Lowly. Covered in dirt without the excitement of being dirty. Destined for a lonely and meaningless death.

It’s hard for me to write these minutes, hours, days. Catatonic I lie on my bed “working”… steadily adding to the number of rejections I can get in an hour of saying hello to profiles of people who say they want, when what they truly mean is fantasy poster types I cannot play. Mostly incompatible with androgyny. I can’t throw on fem fantasy robes as easily these days. Suspending disbelief from straight cis ignorance is getting impossible with my handful of charming whiskers… I’m no longer passing.

How do I roll from my pillow into the heartbeat of a club? These limbs are heavy. It seems Universes away to try and grasp the vibrancy of my true dreams, but my visions are beautiful and they cost money. All I want is to be fed clean fruits from the Earth, enough individuals trickling through my parlor to live well, enough left to give back to my communities without struggle, and to do the work I know so well — releasing clients from their private Hells. I just want the opportunity to work and please.

And yes, I want pleasure too. To bask in the difference I make, know the world’s a safer and more beautiful place because of ethics I teach, an alchemy which we, in an hour or two, create. I want to see through their eyes after catharsis. My touch. This space. My rooms of calm and holding dreams most never dare to share, are wanting.

I do not expect a certain outcome, wading into these waters of wonder, but I bring a few post-it-notes as guide:

  • No marking
  • Humiliation please
  • Sensory deprivation and the patterns of twitching on this body
  • Broad smile on a blindfolded face, teeth bared
  • Excitement visible yet vulnerable
  • My fingers feel out each point for pleasure-ridden pain

Cat and mouse, I could bat at you, claws out, all day.

The moments I’m most grateful for have been marked with a head between my cloth covered thighs. “Deep breath in,” I guide, “Exhale. Now repeat”. Heady still, one remembers that scent and texts me about it half a week later.

Another one deeply lets go inside his heart as I cradle him, lips on my nipple, knowing their way to comfort. I collect his legs with my free arm, pulling his body closer and he is so small, so much smaller than me for a minute. Deep primal archetypes are we.

This one radiates Love — actual “in love” chemicals charge the air thick between us — as I push each needle in. His joy is a sensation I feel. His energy matches mine, and we build a solid castle of exchange. Love for love. Medical grade.

But no release today.

No release today.

No release today… no release.

Unlocking the intelligence of hearts and hands comes after Ego slips away… We are children in here, these bodies made of dissolving expectation and mounting tension. There is nothing more in this safe room than play.

So no release today.

No release today… no release.

Climax. Happens beyond the border of our yeses and nos. It is not a steep incline, jagged mountain cliffs drawn on a statistical chart. Climax is stiff in the center and warm soft air all around. The pressure is different. It is coursing, full of the living, there are countless entities pressing in, eternal knowings and also nothing. Endless stars in the sky. We are made of this moment, and to this Universe we give back a measure of pleasure with holy gratitude.

So tonight we climax. But no release.

It’s not my job to be your perfect half, whittled from ancient stories like a fitted lock and key, but to be your cat.

Calming you. Chasing away the bugs and other rats. Batting at you with lowly hiss, hunting, and sharp claws. Kneading you, warming you, guiding you to content within the meter of my purr. We wrestle and cuddle and ride the waves of tension ’till it’s time to ebb completely now. Our time is up.

Art saves me from depression… so do my loving, needy rats.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

Permission

Happy Solstice week! May you find, in these summer months, new games to play. This was a game I offered to a room full of people once…

Women and the queer people in my life are those who have consistently given me the most permission to be curious about what turns me on, and to find what works for me without shame. Stories, suggestions, questions… Above almost everything else, I value these things.

Literally getting permission from my friends and partners has taught me to squirt (female ejaculate), to identify as queer/bi, to identify as trans, to have multiple orgasms, to have stellar threesomes, to try innumerable BDSM and kink related activities… I look forward to what permission I am given next. In the meantime, the stories and words of others have helped me give permission to myself.

She said, “I thought, what if I want to get sexual in that circumstance? No one would have to know. I could try and see for myself how it feels.”

She said, “He dances so well, and is an amazing flirt…”

They said, “I’m seeing X this afternoon for a quickie and then I’m driving to the next state to spend the night with Y, but I think this guy is going to come over for a few minutes in about an hour first.”

She said, “I want you to suck my husband’s cock.”

He said, “I gave head to over 30 strange men sitting under that tree over there one evening.”

He said, “I think Creature deserves some attention now, they’ve been really good to us tonight.”

They said, “I think you can take a little more, you’re doing so well for me. I’m going to hit you one more time, this time much harder.”

She said, “I’ve been working with the energies of Babalon lately. I’m finding it incredibly empowering.”

He said, “You see? You just need more time and to be very relaxed.”

They said, “I think you can orgasm at least one more time. Try it for me.”

The people in my life who listen to the rousing of their own bodies, who notice and consider the stirrings of their own minds, who look outward to others for consenting faces in the crowd and manage negotiation without pressure, the people in my life who know there’s something beyond the script we’re given in TV episodes, or what we learn from friends in the schoolyard, those people have given me access to parts of myself I didn’t even know I was missing. Those people have inspired my longings and the subsequent actions I take. They have lifted me, as I carve new room for possibility within myself.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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~Thank you.

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