Half-Nekkid: Topless and Thinking
(Fucking long-assed personal sex work entry; if you just want the heart of the post and the boobies, scroll to the quote and the pic at the bottom.)
It’s been almost a year since I started phone sex as a part-time gig to get me through college. I needed a job, and it was tech support or phone sex. Easy decision, right? If I want people screaming in my ear, I want them screaming in pleasure.
I was at a weird point in my life, trying to figure out where to go, considering politics, tech, ordination, the Navy… Phone sex didn’t seem like much more than a strange detour at the time. I’m a very lusty girl, climbing-the-walls horny to the point of distraction. I’m always thinking about sex even when I have no intention of having any – it just endlessly fascinates me, always has. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I liked the job, even though I was phone sexing in secret around my roommates’ schedules. I liked servicing men around the world on demand, I loved playing along with them on the phone, and I needed the orgasms three times a day, the constant marination in sexual energy that sex work provided. I’d come home from classes, go up to my room, turn on my phone and spend an hour with my fingers jammed up my cunt, flexing and curling in deep, a pervert the match of me breathing in my ear in tandem with my moans, and I’d end the evening sweaty and dripping and utterly worn out. I felt fucking great.
I’ve always been the world’s flakiest, most indecisive person. I can’t commit to anything – a deity (I’m Pagan), a gender (bi), a D/s role (switch), a major… it’s ridiculous. I’m greedy and I want a taste of everything.
I was in a 7-year long monogamous relationship when I started my phone sex gig.
I’m poly, always have been.
And I wasn’t getting any.
…
That is the sound of my head hitting a wall for 7 years straight.
I found work that suited me, work I was good at. He’d come home and I’d be on my knees whipping my back uttering sacreligious prayers to a religion I haven’t followed in 10 years, and crying, and smiling, and laughing while my thumb stroked over my clit. He’d get freaked out and leave the room.
It was everything that clashed about us amplified. I ended it, but that’s not important.
I have this drive inside me to seek out intensity, to find the weirdest fucking experiences and crawl right up inside them and experience joy in them. I don’t play around with cynicism. I’m sarcastic, I’m pessimistic, but I want passion in my life more than I want comfort or stagnation. Being overwhelmed with feelings, with rich electric energy… that’s what I need out of life.
I think too much, all day long, all night long. I can’t sleep because my brain keeps going all the time. Overanalysis, ranting, symbolism, sheer useless crap. When I work I want to shut the chatter off and use instinct.
I was looking for work that meant something, that filled an actual need. I needed to know I wasn’t doing something imaginary that would vanish without the internet. I love history and traditions (even when I break them with glee) and wanted a connection to something older than myself.
Like the oldest profession! Yeah. There ya go.
All right. So I’m doing phone sex, I’m loving it, I’m… not getting any sex outside of work and my own hands for months on end. Very sane way to live, when the thing that makes sex and talking both more interesting with someone else is the fact that it’s just not an interesting conversation with yourself. There are no surprises, there’s nothing new. I’m a pervert, I’m a kinky freaky bastard who has some bizarre sick fantasies, so I take those calls from other people. It doesn’t bother me.
I take those calls almost exclusively.
It only bothers me a little.
I go out and the shy professor types who gravitate towards me when they think I look 16, the ones who have that hidden dominant streak, start to creep me out. I was never a fearful gal before. Frankly I’m crazy and a good shot… nobody bothers me.
But this is after almost a year of hardcore humiliation almost uninterrupted by vanilla sex calls. I think of them cornering me and telling me things involving pee that I’m not allowed to talk about on the phone and really don’t want to think about before dinner, of them looking at me or at other girls and thinking of assrape with little lube and no mercy, of beatings and men with no concept of how to hit a masochist and make them beg for more. I’m scared and sickened and reluctantly turned on by things that never did it for me before.
The fear and the queasiness are new, very new. My sadistic streak has taken a darker turn and I’ve found the submissive streak this painslut masochist never had before.
I think some non-work sex would clear my head, but I’m afraid of scaring somebody off.
Vanilla sexuality took some twists. Power dynamics are sexier and they’re in everything. Feet and legs and clothes and nylon and saying yes and no are so much more interesting than they ever were before. My love for sexual torture with no implements other than some bondage and my own body (or someone else’s) is sharpened, refined. I love being the victim and the initiator.
I want to make them think “Yes” and then say “No,” I want to make them beg, because I hate it love it when it’s done to me. I want to give and to receive and take this into my sex work.
I’m out there now, physically, my image and my face, and it doesn’t freak me out now. I’m comfortable with it and the explicit compliments make me smile. Strangers orgasm looking at my panty-clad ass and thinking about giving me a spanking and I enjoy this and I give compliments by coming hard to pictures and words I think are worth it, my little orgiastic tribute, or blessing, or anointing with holy cum-nectar.
Heh. Holy cum-nectar. I said cum!
I still laugh when I say cum. (Heehee. Cum!) Now instead of having sex with myself and a lover or strangers online I have sex with everyone, and with you specifically, one at a time, with the door locked and your wrists or mine bound together and tied to the headboard.
The people are amazing. Work still makes me smile. I thought if I got on this path I’d wind up getting more into the sexual spiritual side of things but I’ve tried to use porn and sex work to distance myself from the otherworld and that was, well, pretty retarded of me. It’s not going away anymore than I can ignore the cars on the highway by sticking my fingers in my ears and singing, “Lalalala, I can’t HEAR YOU!” while I’m driving. I might wind up going off the road and into a field where I don’t see any cars any more but that doesn’t mean I succeeded, it just means I’m a freaking moron.
So, sex is a magical experience. It’s all kinds of goodness. It relaxes us, turns us on and makes us smile and connect or disconnect and I do this for a living? That is still pretty cool.
This is the most personal entry I’ll ever write on this blog. I probably won’t do this here ever again, but it needed to be done after the semi-absence, and I’m not going to regret doing it. I’m totally in the mood to write a ton of erotic flashfic tonight so I’ll flip a coin and decide if I’m giving or receiving the erotic torture in tonight’s scene, but there will be a tonight’s scene, and I’m not changing the focus of this blog: I’m launching back into it with a fucking stiletto-heeled, topless vengeance.
Before you embark on any path ask the question: Does this path have a heart? If the answer is no, you will know it, and then you must choose another path. The trouble is nobody asks the question; and when a man finally realizes that he has taken a path without a heart, the path is ready to kill him. At that point very few men can stop to deliberate, and leave the path. A path without a heart is never enjoyable. You have to work hard even to take it. On the other hand, a path with heart is easy; it does not make you work at liking it.
I have told you that to choose a path you must be free from fear and ambition. The desire to learn is not ambition. It is our lot as men to want to know.
The path without a heart will turn against men and destroy them. It does not take much to die, and to seek death is to seek nothing.
-The Teachings of Don Juan, Carlos Castaneda
