a rather weighty issue

When I'm with a new client, or a new lover, or if I'm just having a self-concious sort of day, I get a bit nervous stripping down. I make sure my panties are smoothed over my belly in a way that disguises the way it curves to my pubic hair. I am pleased and flattered when I see how hard they are, or how wet, and their enjoyment of my flesh in turn gets me turned on.

It likely doesn't help my insecurity that most of the people I play with are average to slender, and incredibly hot in that they-turn-heads-when-they-walk-down-the-street sort of way. I sleep with arm candy, and it still comes to a surprise to me when they want me, though I of course disguise that with arrogance because there's nothing as trite as the girl who doesn't like her body. Anyway, I wouldn't say I don't like it- I do, we go through a lot together, it and I, and I have few complaints- I think I feel uncertain of it, more, unsure that it's up to par. But the fact that, time and time again, I can flirt hard with someone I like and they flirt back really empowers and invigorates me. That's possibly one of the things I like best about the UK. The dandies and riot grrls I like are within reach in a way they feel unattainable in the States. There, I'm just fat- here, I'm luscious.

I was reading Girl with a One Track Mind, and she said something I really liked:

"And likewise, I hope, one day, to meet someone who wants me just the way I am – a clumsy, awkward, dork – and, who, when he knows I am hungry, will offer, “Sushi or my cock, darling?” and take pleasure from me enjoying either."

I can only point, and nod my agreement. And I have to say, while sex work in the States sometimes was amazing and sometimes made me feel really shit about myself (like the calls I'd get about being a fat cow and how could I expect to work looking like I did... gee, thanks) working here in the UK is really where I've come into my own. I feel sexy in a way I never felt sure of before. I feel comfortable in my skin. And while I still go into the habit of adjusting my panties to hide my belly a bit, I no longer shy away from the mirror. Remind me, again, why this is degrading..?

tease

Sex. When we're taught about sex, in school, we're taught all the medically filthy things it can be, and taught about the heteronormative sexual act of penile-vaginal intercourse as if it's the be-all end-all of sexual expression. And I keep hearing this idea like it's so freakin' important. Like the money shot.

"You don't touch me, you don't let me touch you", he says, and why? Because my hands didn't stray below the belt. Making out, hard, against a wall, my hands on his throat, that is sex for me, that is more intimate and special than fingers in my cunt. But how like a man to expect that because genitals weren't involved it wasn't sex enough (apologies to G and Syph and other men in the world for whom I know this isn't the case, but it seems a common misconception).

And to expect that if you're turned on you MUST have release or it's all pointless. Or that if you're turned on it's MY responsibility to get you off, without you saying or doing anything to ask for what you want. You know what that is? Work. Except without pay.

Guess what? I'm going to blow you all away. One moment.

Anything we do sexually, I will very likely wank about later that day. Whether I have an orgasm or not, then, matters a bit less, or what sort of orgasm, or how intense, because guess what? I have my Hitachi. I don't need you to get me off to enjoy the play we do together.

Wait, let me make sure y'all got that:

****I don't need you to get me off to enjoy the play we do together.****

Granted, with that said, I do want to get off sometimes... but it's not "sex" that will do that for me, really. There's more to sex than sex, I say.

Having a penis or a hand in my cunt isn't overly sexual for me, anymore. Neither is someones tongue against my clit. These things are mundane, boring intimacies offered up at an hourly rate. That's just an act, devoid of sensuality unless the person doing it and I have a chemistry. What makes it a turn on is the little intimacies around it- the hand on my throat, the reddened ass, the squirting, the welts on his skin or the bruises on mine. The things that are special to my lovers, things only for them.

You know what's crazy? Often my clients don't care about ejaculating. And those who do prefer a hand job to anything else. In a way that excites me, because it suggests an understanding that other ways of getting off are just as good, and you don't have to stick things with your genitalia because it's there. Being in the queer scene, too, has taught me from very early that sex is a lot more about intention than it is about squidgy bits.

This rant comes about as I spent last night at this party called Walpurgis Night, done by the Last Tuesday Society. It was amazing, loads of lovely dressed up folks, fantastic music that worked me up and got me going, little projects to do that kept my mind active and perky and just a milieu that was really playful and exciting. I had an amazing time, it was a great night out with E really. It felt like I had arrived. It was the sort of place I always wished I went to growing up, and now I'm there and it feels amazing. Going to a similar feeling event tonight- steampunkishly delicious White Mischief, which I'm very excited about and planned my flight around so I could go!

Anyway, about last night, I just got caught up in the energy and got, well, feisty. It helps that I had recent playtime with G and I still bear the bruises from as-yet-unnamed boy (who I think will have to be the new, improved TB for multiple reasons, so there you go). I also had a lovely goodbye session with my favourite client, which was nice and chill, so when I went out I had a good energy base to feel playful and sexy.

Thing is, while I'm perfectly happy to go out, make out, do a little impromptu breath play and go home to snuggle in that energy, E felt like I was being a tease. I hate feeling like I have to not only put out but initiate that when I just want to fool around. When we were teens, fooling around was good enough for months, even years. What happened to that fascination with sensation and tantalizing yourself? When did that become not enough? In the world of safer sex, I've learned to eroticize a lot of things that don't involve fluid exchange. Is that rare?

It suggests a problem with sexuality in general and people's expectations from it. And actually, one main person I should thank for that different understanding is Syph, since our play was erotic in a different way from that, in a more intriguing way, and in a way I hadn't done before. So thanks for introducing me to that idea again. :)

I don't know. It reminds me of the button I saw- "I'm not a tease- teases make promises they don't keep. I'm a flirt- I make no promises at all!" That pretty much sums it up. I love flirting, and the people I can flirt with safely without pressure for it to be more are the people I end up pouncing for play, because I feel like I can be comfortable. Maybe that's unfair, but hey, I'm still learning the weirdness of boundaries when you play for pay too.

bright side

With the stress and confusion going on in my life, it's important to clarify that some things ARE going well, and that, in spite of the ups and downs, I am genuinely happy, or at least content, most of the time.

I consider myself quite lucky in some, even many respects. When I needed a place to stay before my stint catsitting, help was there for me both from my favourite client and Syph (who took time off an incredibly hectic schedule to help me). That was a huge stressor for me, and having it now relieved is, well, relieving in every sense. I feel like I can take a deep breath again. E was very helpful with getting the majority of my things to Essex at his new pub, where I have a room I can decorate and take refuge in. The as-yet unnamed boy and I got to play DDR and racing games, eat ice cream in Leicester Square and come back to the flat for toe-curling play. I got my overnight scene with G, complete with feline frolicks and some nice bruising (no tears yet, though he promises we'll keep trying... what'm I in for?) Flu has been lovely as well, popping by and keeping me company in the wee hours and keeping me motivated and not desperate. Mo's picking me up from the airport, even, so when I go back I'm delivered straight into the arms of someone I care about.

As for going out, I've been lucky there too. Syph and I went to TG last night, which was absolutely amazing. I've slagged off TG in the past as too stand-and-model S/m, and it is, but when that's why you're going that can be hella rad. And it was last night! So many gorgeous outfits and even more gorgeous people, including this sexy Polish boy that I keep running into, making out with, and never following up with. Which is kind of what makes it fun, really- there's that possibility, but it's drawn out now over maybe a year? and I only see him at parties. I met a lovely bespectacled girl in latex and a hot French boy... even got their details. It may've been the friendliest TG I've been to yet, and I loved it.

I got to check out the place I'm catsitting and it's lovely. The woman I'm doing it for is fantastic, really fun and interesting and I hope to get to know her better upon my return. And the cats! 3 fuzzy darlings that make me happy, as I miss being around kitties.

I'm stressed because I'm leaving, and whenever I leave the UK I don't want to leave regretting I didn't do this or that. I know that Syph and E will be there when I get back, in some capacity... I hope G will be, and as-yet-unnamed boy, but trying to take our interactions at face value and not get too invested, just in case. I keep telling myself that when I get back things will be more solid and I'll be able to take more time. I'm trying not to rush- Syph's made me aware of how quickly the passions in my life flare and fade, and that I need to slow down, something I think I'll find easier when I get back.

Deep breaths, and looking at the bright side. I'm not alone in the world, even though I may feel lonely sometimes. I'm loved, even if I'm not getting the sex I crave recreationally. And I'm cared for. Definitely. And I will sleep, cradled in that knowledge, which is comforting, always.

she's lost control again

Sometimes, I'm afraid people see behind the veneer. The pretty sugarcoating that I liberally paint across my surface, that makes me look so lovely from a distance, in the window, if you don't look too close. I'm a wax fruit, tempting but faked, constructed to make you desire me.

I don't know, always, where the line is between what's truly Kitty, who *I* actually am, and this persona that I maintain. I maintain it, in variations, for my family, my friends, and my lovers, as much as my clients if not more so. I have more to lose when those close to me see beneath the surface. Something a client does may strike a nerve, sure, might shatter the surface, but if they don't like what they see, they just won't book again and that will be that.

But the problem is, I'm terrible at maintaining that put-togetherness. Anyone who knows me knows I'm generally a person-shaped mass of stress, sadness, idealism and uncertainty. I love hard, and fast, and too much, and I cry with as much passion as I kiss, and about as often. My emotions tumble over each other, not altogether random but not controlled, either. I put myself under a lot of pressure to try to maintain adult behaviour, and scold myself soundly when that breaks down. But it always breaks. Part of me is glad, even, that it happens, because then the stress of pretending is over. Exposed as a broken human, I feel less worried about what will happen if I fall apart, which leads to me falling apart less often.

I don't live a normal life. In many ways, I never have. My parents are Pagan, so I wasn't brought up with the potential squeamishness of organized patriarchial religion. I've never had to really come out of a closet with them, because the closet never really felt closed. I didn't really go to high school, and I've only held a 9-5 job for about a month and a half. My friends have been geeks, Goths, genderfuckers and sexual deviants of every type. I didn't go to the standard prom/school dance, I went to the big queer prom at the town hall, and danced dirty with gay boys. My report card almost always said that I was gifted, if only I applied myself.

I'm still working out what my gift is, and how to apply myself to it. I'd like to think that sex work, and the various intimacies and people skills contained within, is just that venue, but sometimes I wonder if I'm meant for something more mundane, and I'm just being spoiled. Maybe I'm crazy in thinking I can make a difference. Maybe I need to buckle down and be just another in the crowd. Could I even do that? I don't know.

It may sound terribly pretentious to say, but I'm envious of those who are mostly content within the day to day. I can appreciate the simplicity, sometimes... a sunny park picnic here, a quiet walk at night after the rain's fallen there. But generally I want whimsy, sparkle, extravegance. I want to dress up and be whirled away to parties in black cabs with stunning escorts. I want to sit in cocktail bars reading forgotten novellas from forgotten times. I want to explore overgrown graveyards and abandoned buildings. I want the wild unknown and the terribly glamourous.

burnout

I think, along with sex worker burnout, I'm suffering kink, poly, and femme burnout.

Or maybe it's just a generalized burnout.

I remember in one of my favourite Marilyn Monroe flicks, "Some Like it Hot", Marilyn is explaining to Jack Lemmon how easily she falls for saxophone players. She gives the cutest little pout, and says how she feels like a tube of toothpaste, all squeezed out. But knowing that, knowing that these guys will do the same thing, time and again, doesn't stop her for going for them anyway.

That's how I feel, at the moment.

I've been trying to get some playtime with G, the one person I play with who's particularly Dominant. Unfortunately, each time we try to make plans, they've had to be moved and/or cancelled, generally pretty last minute, due to his work. Often, I'm up, and excited, and packed for play when I get the text. I'm trying hard to be understanding, to practice loving kindess and compassion... but deep down, I feel unimportant, hurt, and guilty for caring so much. I mean, G and I have no real agreement. We get together sometimes, and it's fun, right? I guess I thought we clicked so well kinkwise that I considered my submissive needs taken care of... but it's an uneven situation, as I don't, I guess, offer him anything he doesn't have elsewhere. And, ultimately, I don't know what to do or think when he says how he'll make it up to me... esp as this playdate was partially making up for one Friday that also had to be cancelled last minute. Who's to say it won't happen again, and who am I to feel upset about it? I mean, everyone has to pay rent, right?

Argh.

This ties totally in to my prior post about "He's Not That Into You". This is where the insecurity gets triggered. Is it just about work, or is it easy to shunt me aside? And how do I say "this hurts my feelings, and my trust", without it making our playdates into more than they are?

Relationships are shit.

I guess it especially gets under my skin after everything with Sh. I feel trapped around how to behave- on the one hand, I only have, what, 20 days left? Just under 3 weeks. I don't feel like I've got time for people who don't have time for me. But then, on the other hand, I really LIKE G and know that the temptation to sabotage is a stupid one to indulge. And, as S and E pointed out, maybe these people aren't getting too close as I am about to leave again, and so they're focusing on what will be there for them when I'm gone, the stuff that's consistant. At the moment, I'm not.

I guess it's particularly poignant as, for work, I get paid to take care of other people's needs, and to smile and charm my way through it. And with my friends, I feel, as usual, torn between emotional honesty and feeling like they're too distant to care, and I shouldn't trouble them with my bullshit. So I try to ask for things within their ability to give, and yet... there's quite a bit missing. Maybe I need a primary after all, like E said. Maybe I should be like the rest of the population- be monogamous and cheat. Hell, maybe what I really need is a sex worker.

It's not like I haven't had fun. I went to a fetish club Sat with H and had a pretty good time, even though at first I felt kind of apprehensive. And I went to a fun fair with her and a new friend, who asked to be dubbed Influenza. That was really awesome too. I am trying to get myself out of this funk- as I type I'm off to see E at the new pub, for example- but I still feel shitty. I feel like most of my time and energy is spent being the good little femme and taking care of others, or being the mature poly person and pretending that it's all cool, I can take care of myself, I don't need other people. But I kinda do. I want to get taken care of myself for a little while. I just don't have anyone to ask, so I scrape the bottom of the barrel of my psyche to try to hold onto what little I have left... and then I have another appointment, and bit my bit, it all gets taken away.

I just don't want to have to be on top of everything for a day. Or even 4 hours.

everything I learned about femme I learned from drag queens

I reflect a lot on femme, vs femininity and in its own right. What is femme, how is femme reflected, where do I pick up my femme cues, etc.

Drag queens and tranny hookers are my femme role models. Whether their hair is perfectly coiffed, makeup exquisite, or they look like something the alley cats dragged in after a rainy night, they are always over-the-top femme. The best thing I ever heard a drag queen say is sniff haughtily, "Pass? Honey, I STEAMROLL." They're unapologetic about their sexuality, their crudeness, or their love of glitter and glam. They will bat their eyelashes and play nice or fight dirty with equal gusto. They stomp all over grassy lawns in stiletto heels. And they don't take shit from anybody- the cops, the straights, johns, lovers, ANYBODY.

I fucking love that.

In a world where being feminine is supposedly about seeming sweet and passive while being secretively manipulative, drag queens and tranny hookers buck the trend. They pick and choose what they like about femininity and discard what they have no use for. They're loud, and brash, and they'll call you on your shit.

I think I end up empathizing with trans people because, as a fat girl, I had my own body dysmorphia. I felt, and still feel, like I have this wistful longing to have the style of a skinnier girl. I used to cut my breasts and thighs, which seemed too large, too meaty to be sexy. I fluctuated between starving myself and binging. I felt like I was born into the wrong body, that I would be happy with myself had I only been a little less curvy and a lot less fat. My inner picture of myself was vastly different from the reality, and looking into the mirror tended towards being an unpleasant shock. The trans people I've known felt much the same.

Now, I know drag queens aren't generally trans. It's about costume, about a show. For me, that's what femme is like- this performance I put on. My style tends to be a little bit overboard- my makeup too obvious (I don't even know how to do natural looking makeup), my patterns loud and often clashing, my cleavage proudly on display. While with drag queens and most tranny hookers, their otherness is part of the appeal, generally as a fat woman, your fat is something to feel ashamed of, to apologize for, not something to flaunt. Being a fat femme, you have to mimic that unapologetic attitude, demand respect, not put up with other people's shit. You have to take that otherness and make it into a feature.

E (who, btw, is mostly out of the doghouse) was the first person I met randomly who immediately recognized my nature and responded to it. For the first time I felt like someone saw me as I wanted to be seen- as a queer femme, not just a female.

At some point, I'm going to write about forced feminization as it pertains to my work, and myself in the workplace. And also, I want to reflect on the experience of femme sexual agency and queer femme sex workers. Yay!

Punters: Call to Arms

One of the questions I get asked a lot is how I think punters can help working girls. In the light of an incredibly misquoted article around sex work's value, and the increasingly alarming laws being considered about the criminalization of clients, I figured now was probably a good time to offer up some suggestions.

-The number one thing, and the most difficult for most people, is speak out. Every time I get asked what sort of men my clients are, there's an assumption, perpetuated by the media, that clients are physically undesireable perverts who, if they weren't seeing sex workers, would be off raping women. This really isn't true in my experience.

Speaking out, anonymously or not, is a way of standing up to be counted, and saying, "hey, guess what, this is the face of punters". I know my clients are generally fantastic men that I enjoy spending time with. At worst, some of them are a bit boring. If every man who bought or considered buying sex work said so, the government would really have to take notice, and the anti-prostitution feminists would be speechless (granted, only for a second). Write a letter to your MP. Write into the paper. Write a blog!

-Donate. There are multiple organizations that would use your support- if you're worried about trafficking, donate to the Poppy Project (which I have some issues with but is, in general, a great idea). If you care about sexual freedom in general, letting consenting adults do what they want behind closed doors (like kink), etc, then the Spanner Trust is a good bet. The International Union of Sex Workers can always use a boost, which leads to my next suggestion:

-Support the Union, or at least educate yourself about it. Some girls don't like it, others are proud members, you'd have to read up to decide for yourself whether you support them or not. You can join as an ally. You can just donate some money. Or, like I said, you can just educate yourself about them, what they offer, how they work, and what they do.

-Respect.
Respect the rates- if we want to change the rules for you, we'll let you know.

Respect "no"- if we don't want to, don't push us... and be glad that we like you enough to give you the intimate knowledge of what we do enjoy, instead of just putting up with it!

Respect that our pleasure is our own. We don't owe it to you- we only agreed to help you meet your pleasures. If we decide to tell you what makes us cum, or what we like, be glad, but don't expect it. For some of us, those sorts of intimacies are left to our lovers.

Respect our time. We know shit happens, but don't make an appointment and break it last minute without expecting us to be suspicious you're a timewaster. It's a professional meeting, ultimately, and we're likely moving around our personal time to accommodate you.

-Offer to pay transit costs, or to provide any special toys or costumes. If you want us to spit champagne in your mouth, bring it with you!

And the number ONE thing you can do...

-Be upfront about what you want.

It's ok if you're not sure what gets you off. But please, let us know what fantasies you have, what you're tried and liked, what you've tried and didn't like!

So, punters- sally forth and make me proud! For Kitty and Cuntry! ;)

"he's not that into you"

This is the title of a self-help book I'm sure you're all familiar with that apparently came about after another fucked up episode of Sex in the City. It's a phrase meant to stick in our heads and make us question every time someone cancels on us, or postpones, or even doesn't call/text as often/quickly as we think they should. I've found myself looking at an empty inbox and thinking, "hmm... is he really not that into me? If he was, wouldn't he make more of an effort?" Like most self-help books, it's a cute little phrase that completely oversimplifies relationships and communication and leads us to over-react in situations where we're likely better served just fucking asking... but it's also, like most such things, based in a bit of truth as well.

When I was considering this blog, I decided to read up a bit on this book as it was a while since I skimmed it(I actually preferred their one "It's called a break-up because it's broken", which as mantras go, is not such a bad one to tell yourself). I ended up reading the review of it on the F-Word, a great blog that my girlthing C referred me to a while back. Some of my personal highlights of the review, which is by Holly Combe:

"Make a woman feel like a super-duper prize and she’ll easily forget her own agency."

Now, I definitely suffer from this. If someone pampers me and compliments me, I'll tend to put up with a lot of bullshit in the hopes it'll happen again. I'd love to say I'm above such flattery, but I'm not. So, point.

"Remember, ladies, it’s all about You, You, You... You’re too busy fast-tracking your way to a commitment and if he can’t get with the programme, you’re moving on!"

I'm also realizing that this fucking book- which I haven't even read in full, mind!- has led me to be suspicious all the time. Does this serve me? Well, to be honest, sometimes, yeah, probably. I expect better communication now. But I also wonder if I'm so tired of feeling like a chump at the hands of people like Sh that I now run the risk of painting other people with the same brush as a form of defensive strategizing. Holly? Thanks for pointing out that decent men do, sometimes, have other things crop up, and it doesn't mean they're dicks.

"...what he’s (the author, Greg Behrendt) really drumming in here is the crux of the books message to women: if you pursue him, he won’t be that into you. You’ll put him off."

Now. Within reason, actually, this is a good strategy. Sorry, Holly, but it's true. You have to play this game a bit carefully, mind, but you can't just be available all the time, and calling/texting/emailing/stalking them in between. That ends up being desperate, creepy, and desperately creepy. It's just as simplistic to say that pursuing a guy will put him off- not per se, but know the difference between pursuit and overwhelming neediness. That's what I'm learning at the moment.

However, that said, if you don't do some pursuing yourself, you'll end up just accepting whatever advances you get- and you might miss out on some amazing people that way. S, G, H, Mo, another boy who I haven't nicknamed for this blog yet- I wouldn't have met them if it wasn't for me messaging them and asking for a meetup, or suggesting we hang out a bit at some event we were both at, or proposing a date. So apparently doing some pursuing yourself is a positive strategy, which Holly does point out with the next statement:

"Two things the book constantly overlooks are that the thrill of the chase is not exclusive to men and the pleasure of being an object of desire is not exclusive to women."

Exactly.

So, then, after perusing the blog, I checked out the Amazon reviews- in spite of some scathing ones that pointed out the logical fallacies put across as Ultimate! Truth! it still manages to get 4 stars. As per usual, the simple answer gets the worm.

One review I particularly appreciated, though, along with the ones from men calling bullshit, was one from this woman:

"I am a woman who tends to be more forward and goes after what she wants. I WILL call a guy and I WILL tell him that I am into him if I am. I have been made to feel by stupid pop psych books that I am "clingy and desperate" if I call a guy who, for all outward appearances, may be reticent. But how can we know if he is "into us" or not unless we ASK outright??"

But wait! Asking?!? That's, like, honest communication! We can't have that! That's too much like directness! That puts all these self-harm books to shame!

Oh, oops, self-help. Sorry. Slip of the fingers. ^_^

But what she says is completely right. I end up feeling like I must sound clingy and/or desperate if I make the move around trying to make plans. And some guys might take it that way. But then, they're probably not the guys for me. I'll be much more clingy and desperate if I hang out sighing next to the telephone.

And people wonder why men go to sex workers? I mean, jesus, it seems like the media and books like this exist to further the intimacy gap between people! No wonder they come to us. It's simpler.

I wonder what Greg's wife thinks about this sort of thing? "Sorry honey, not taking out the trash cause I'm not that into you".