07/12/2017 § Leave a comment
It’s a Wednesday. I wake up in the darkness of pre-6am, practice yoga, go to a quiet eight hour shift in a corporate law firm, work for another two hours which include pissing on a guys face and making him suck another guys dick, practice my aerial hoop routine ready for a performance Saturday night, shoot a photo for the August page of our studios upcoming calendar, come home and hoover my bedroom and eat a banana with almond butter and wonder if meditating will force me to face my constant mild nagging guilt of eating animals and push me into vegetarianism, decide no it probably won’t be enough and possibly nothing ever will, go to sleep.
He wanted me to text him when I entered the hotel so he could leave the door on latch, and I enter to find him restrained to the bed and blindfolded with a cock cage in place. There were two piles of money on the side and I didn’t go near them initially, it wasn’t necessary. Later I said ‘I’m assuming one is for me and one for Ben’ and he said ‘Yes, the larger one is for you’.
It often pays to be a woman, at least to be a relatively attractive woman in England in 2017. I can not deny the advantages. I think my life would look so incredibly different if I’d been born male. I’m not sure if it would be better or worse but I think I would have made so many different choices from birth that my life would be unrecognizable from the one I lead now.
Sometimes when other sex workers are with me and a client, they say things that indicate they enjoy what they do and get genuine pleasure from it. When this happens I always try and look at their face and detect whether this is the truth or a lie. The truth is that probably, like me, everything is somewhere in the middle.
I’ve been looking at recipes for eggnog’s and Tom and Jerry’s and vegetable lasagnas and risottos and I have so many beautiful things to cook and make and when I finally run out of food next week I will do a large shop and get everything I need in. I need to clear out first. I need to use every last scrap.
People are fascinating and you can never predict them. You can never assume. I wore nice underwear for my first meet with J the Nazi and he was disappointed. Not at me, he understood I couldn’t have known, but he likes plain cheap cotton panties.
It seems to be more common than usual lately that male clients want to be controlled in a caring motherly girlfriend type way. I’m glad, the bitch mother/caring mother style suits me best above other dominatrix styles such as being the cold princess or pure giver of pain. They want cuddles and skin contact. Perhaps it’s the month, the loneliness of winter and December and Christmas. We all feel it though I have avoided its sting well with friends, family, John. I am not too lonely at all this Christmas, thanks to the life I have created and a spoonful of pure dumb luck.
04/12/2017 § Leave a comment
Sometimes, I think, I do bad things because I don’t believe I deserve to consider myself a good person.
Tonight, I walked home clutching my plastic bag in my fist, the roads littered with rubbish.
I refuse to be someone who thinks of themselves as not worthy anymore.
It’s embarrassing to tell myself in the mirror ‘I love you’, but the difficulty of it shows its necessity. I can’t look myself in the eye when I say it and when I do, I cry.
Last night I wet the bed. I haven’t done that since I was a very young child and even as a toddler I only did it a few times. The possibility of doing this wasn’t even on my radar, if the day before I’d had to list a hundred unusual things I could do in the night I don’t think it would have made it on there.
I know that even afterwards my bladder was bursting with pain when I moved in the night to the bathroom. I know the pee was long and heavy and clear. It’s not enough of a reason, it’s not like I haven’t desperately needed to urinate before.
Have you ever wet the bed in adulthood completely out of the blue? Do you know why?
I have a friend who has started sleepwalking in her sleep. I am dazed and anxious most of the time this week. I cried uncontrollably last night on the phone to my mother. She didn’t think of it as a big deal and continued to talk to me as if it wasn’t happening at all, which was exactly what I needed and why she is the perfect person to call.
07/11/2017 § Leave a comment
A side effect of that kind of work is that for long chunks of time I am utterly done with being sexy. Presenting myself as sexy and feeling sexy appeals to me a lot less than it used to. I am excited by being my childish self, by scruffy braids and no makeup, by wooley coats and walks outdoors and lipstick free smiles. I am excited by men who value this also, who enjoy non-sexual things and like to cuddle and be friendly.
I dreamt about kiwi fruits, making a white sculpture of a bloated happy pregnant figure, my dad attempting to take his life with a shotgun and nearly succeeding and finding out about his attempt to kill himself during the Halloween party at my house last weekend. My ex-boyfriend knocking on the door to tell me and then driving me back to Nottingham with me in my pyjamas and crying. Halloween make-up swiftly removed.
I dream my reality or possible realities and so reality and dreams blur together. I dreamt I was making quilts for comfort, I dreamt I had a pussy power tshirt, I dreamt bad things about my new man and good things about my old, I dreamt I was being questioned by a man somewhere about something and it was unpleasant but I don’t remember what it was about.
I dreamt that he’d sucked 46 cocks not 3, that he’d lied but it didn’t matter. I dreamt I had a stack of six pizzas and they were all different and all on their last legs and I had to freeze them quick. I dreamt, again, that my dad had shot himself in the head. And I dreamt many other things besides though I can’t remember what but a friend who slept in my bed with me one night said I muttered all sorts of things quickly, and the only bit she caught was ‘kill them both’ which I said calmly.
Often when I spend the night with John he says I talk in my sleep. Once it was something sexual towards him which makes a lot of sense and is a funny story, once I pointed at the corner of the of the room and said something about there being faces. Who knows what I say when there’s no one around to listen.
24/10/2017 § Leave a comment
This is not the first night this week I’ve laid awake till the early hours in the grip of anxiety. Lungs tight, mind heavy, heart panicked. This won’t be the last.
Life moves on when you least expect it to. I’m standing in an area that normally pulls my heart in all kinds of ways. It’s where I lived my first year away from home, where all kinds of joys and miseries occurred. I feel very little here now, my pain has moved on to other sources. I need alcohol or friends or the right men or alone time with shitty cartoons to soothe it.
My fingernails are bitten down and I feel thoroughly myself in the way you do sometimes when you’re the parts of yourself you dislike but can’t seem to shake.
I miss my best friend but he will never be my best friend again and can you really call someone a best friend who allows you no privacy? Who watches every word you write and move you make against your will? Of course you can, just because a relationship is incredibly unhealthy doesn’t make it false.
I have been weak. I should never have contacted him, I should have recognised the desire for friendship and connection would only hurt him. I should have recognised that I needed to properly let him go.
My heart and head used to fight with equal sized fists. My heart is always on top now and has been for a while, I can make very few decisions with my head these days.
I didn’t expect to have these feelings. I didn’t expect to have any feelings. Every time I see him my feelings grow. I hope, I hope, I hope they are reciprocated.
Leaving uni wasn’t stepping off a cliff, leaving America was.
19/09/2017 § Leave a comment
What comes out my mouth
I hear in my parents voice
And my heart aches
07/09/2017 § Leave a comment
A shotgun house is what they call a Creole house which has a corridor the whole way through with the doors along the corridor. The story goes that a man didn’t approve of her daughters choice of boyfriend, turned up at his house one day and tried to shoot him. The bullet missed and went clean through the house without passing through a thing, before killing a chicken in the backyard. These houses allow a breeze to pass through on hot summer days.
Down south in Louisiana territory, they say to make groceries, or to go make groceries.
It takes the Indians of the Mardi Gras a year to sew their costumes, which can often weigh nearly as much as them and which they wear in the baking New Orleans heat in August.
My favourite thing about Treme houses is their bright colours.
There is a bayou near New Orleans in which a man has built himself a white castle surrounded by swamp.
The definition of Brackish is part salt part fresh water. A French word.
In hurricane land they sometimes build their houses on stilts to avoid flooding.
The best way to warm a sailor gone overboard is with a hot bath. Hot, but not too hot. A blanket and a fire is a bad bad choice.
In Amsterdam and other Dutch areas the houses often have very big windows at the front. This is from when men went away to sea, it was to show the women left alone weren’t up to anything they weren’t supposed to.
Pigs are omnivores which means they eat meat and vegetation.
Spanish moss pillows get bedbugs in them if you dry the Spanish moss in the grass. The trick is to dry them elsewhere or dry them on the grass then drown them in the water then hang them out to dry.
If you use the last method you will make horsehair.
England has small man syndrome and we still think we own half the world. We think we can beat anyone in a fight. We can’t.
When I was high I wrote this as a film idea ‘Doctor pill evil send away spread come back to be healed, more get sicker, come back to be healed’. I also wrote ‘Snake cake’ separately. I do not know what this means.
There was a huge shark eaten by something frighteningly large at its lowest depth. We don’t know what the thing is, we haven’t explored deeper than that yet. whatever it was was at its highest point in the unexplored ocean. We know because we were tracking the shark and it just disappeared.
Somewhere in English countryside there is a big ledger which shows the names and stats of all the men who went into a particular prison over a period of years in the 19th century. The book shows they were all low 5fts and most were 4ft something. Many had grey hair and dull eyes in their early 20s. Most went in for petty thieving. Life was hard back then.
Conkers is a game Americans don’t know.
I am homesick.