Sex Work Integrity Fetish
(For my 3rd blogaversary I’m publishing select previously private blog entries. Originally drafted in Summer 2007.)
When you’re a sex worker of any stripe, one of the first things people want to know is whether or not you’re “real.” Real pictures, real name, real encounters, real breasts. After a while for a lot of clients that fades away and what takes central importance is a different kind of reality.
They don’t care so much whether or not my stories are real* as whether or not those are my actual fantasies. They want to know if the kind of sex I have or portray at “work” is the kind of sex I have at home.
To that I say: not always.
Anyone with a fetish can relate to how hard it is to find a fellow fetishist, someone who understands and shares your seemingly irrational turn-ons. Any polymorphously perverse kinkster can understand how unlikely it is to find someone who you not only have physical, mental, and emotional chemistry with but who shares every last one of your various kinks and doesn’t want anything on your hard limits list.
Any sex worker, present or prior, will know that sometimes having a tangible difference between the kind of sex you have with your partner or partners and the sexual persona you take on at “work” helps you become and revel in that fantasy without taking any lingering unpleasantness from one side to the other in either direction. Sexuality is a messy business and it helps to have boundaries between public and private life. There is such a thing as being too naked.
I love living authentically, with all my warts and tender underbelly out in the open, but that kind of brutal honesty can be very uncomfortable especially when other people are involved. I respect the others in my life by keeping enough privacy for myself to cover them as well.
There’s a beauty and a glamour in playing pretend and why are any of us in this business if not for the dirty glamour? I write stories because I like to make things up. I fantasize because reality is limiting. I can’t really kidnap my objects of lust. (Legally.) I’m not (always) a stockinged siren of a gun moll out to ensnare the hearts and cocks of men.
But I could be.
And so I fantasize, and I create a persona where my fantasies and those of my fellow fetishists intersect. There, I go and put on a tarted-up version of my own sexual dark side; I slip her on and flash her under my skirt.
This is my private sexuality, the sexuality I had back when I was a virgin, back before I knew what sex was aside from kissing and making babies. I liked power play, pulp adventure, and wearing pretty things.
I love wearing femme-y lingerie and stockings with real garters that snap against my thigh and silky, satiny slips (why don’t they sell more slips? it’s ridiculous special ordering something that used to be so basic). I wish you could all understand how intriguing it was for me when I found out that some men not only got lingerie and nylon like I did, they were more turned on by underwear than nudity and some even wore it themselves.
(And women that wear? Ooh. Yes, please. I’ll take my bisexuality with a side order of high femme.)
I can dress up for myself in private a la Buffalo Bill or I can put on a show and share a little thrill with someone else. This satisfies my fetish for mass sexuality while respecting my actuality of a kinky man who gets me in every last regard except for the way I get turned on when I sneak a little nylon under my dress.
Real? Yeah. I’m real.
…And this is what I want. Come and get it.
Lingerie and Stocking Fetish Phone Sex
(18+, $2.19/min)
*Strangely enough most of mine are. What can I say, it’s good to be a sexual deviant…
