Sabrina in Stockings smartass switch sex worker

On Yahoo between phone & cam calls, and I get an IM from one of yesterday’s orgasm permission line callers:

Sabrina Morgan: Am I right in guessing that this is XX from the other day? The ID is similar
caller n: Yep.
caller n: I may have try your cam line tonight.
Sabrina Morgan: Oh, does that mean I get to hear you beg so sweetly again tonight? Yum.
caller n: It might.
caller n: I’m glad you enjoyed it.
caller n: Actually, right now I think I’d be begging to pee, not cum.
Sabrina Morgan: ha! well, we all have needs… do what you must, I’ve got some emails to sort through

caller n: Wow, okay.
caller n: I didn’t expect to get permission.

(I do orgasm control and denial, I don’t mess with anything involving the bladder, but this made me laugh.)

Over at my (no longer dormant) other blog Full Frontal Politics, I’ve recently been spotlighting instances of unexpected support for sex workers on both popular career blog Brazen Careerist and top webcomic Something Positive.

Ladies (and gents, and everyone in between) - if we keep talking, our words will be heard and eventually repeated. The dialogue will be re-framed. And, mind by mind, people will gradually see sex workers as humans doing a job, not as members of some untouchable caste.

Hell, it worked for the Republicans…

My domme-blogging hero Bitchy Jones brings up an excellent question:

“How submissive is it really to pay another person to throw up for your kinky indulgence?”

And see, that’s exactly why pros are around: often, it’s not. There are thousands of kinky men - masochists, fetishists, humiliation aficionados - who can pretend to be submissive in exactly the ways they want to be, to someone they’re paying to give them only the domination they can handle.

In a pro role our preferences conveniently match up with theirs and we’ll push their boundaries only up to the point they want them pushed. It’s the dominant equivalent of an American Eclectic chain restaurant; we’ll change up the menu in exactly the sort of safe ways you’ve come to expect, nothing too risqué, nothing that really requires much trust or taking chances.

We don’t ask for surrender, simply obedience. If our will conflicts with his it won’t be in any heavy way.

Outside the pro role - off duty - I have no patience for bottoms who just can’t admit they’re not submissive. I am one myself. Beat me, whip me, toy with me - oh yes - but try to order me around outside of a play situation and I don’t take to it well at all (sorry darling).

It’s the difference between surrendering to the senses and surrendering to another’s will. Not all bottoming is submission - and that’s okay. But damn, don’t tell me you’re a submissive and then not… actually… submit. It’s incredibly frustrating. Makes me grit my teeth.

I get along just fine with my boys who are upfront with me that they’re still coming to terms with their submission, still fighting it. I always enjoy the trip. It’s different every time. It’s the ones who tell me they’re service submissives, ‘oh I’ll fulfill Your every whim, Mistress,’ the ones into discipline, management, and control… the ones who ask for Real Submission™, and then get all pissy if you move in a direction that’s just not their favorite. (An aside: This doesn’t describe any of my repeat guys. I’m disgustingly fortunate.)

This was something I ran into a lot when I started getting into phone domination, because I was coming to it from a real-time dominant girlfriend style relationship. I didn’t understand why my boys over the phone didn’t react, didn’t bend in the same way my willing victim had until I realized that they fantasized about being submissive.

Before I ran into this directly, I never understood how pro dommes could consider themselves dominant in the “lifestyle” sense. They were paid to fulfill client fantasies. It didn’t compute.

Once I tried it for myself it became clear to me that phone domme was a completely different mindset: service domination. These men have fantasies they may have no interest in living out long-term face to face. They may be afraid to try them; they may simply be between partners, or with partners who don’t share their kinks. They might crave a safe outlet that won’t actively threaten the relationship. Or - like many of my guys - they might have had real-time dominant girlfriends or wives in the past and realized that can get intense, fucked up, and scary, but that they still crave intense, fucked up, and scary things.

These things get them off hard but they aren’t what these men want or need in their daily lives. I scratch their itch (and, also, conveniently, mine). I accept those limitations I wouldn’t accept in my personal life, as an off-the-clock dominant woman. Within their range of interests I have a lot of room to work some magic.

I don’t take calls outside my personal kinky interests; although I love to try new things, I won’t mess with kinks I’m just not interested in. It’s just a personal preference. I switch - always have; when I’m in a mostly dominant role real-time, I tend to sub on the phones, and vice versa. It’s a funny way to balance my urges but it works for me. My lover isn’t submissive or masochistic, but I still kink hard for men in pain, men begging, whimpering, pleading. Oh, and crying. It turns me on to hear a man cry. I’m almost ashamed to say that but it’s true… as long as I caused the tears.

Whatever submissive streak I may have is satisfied with serving a sexual need, and my switchy sadistic dominant side loves having all sorts of interesting submissive, masochistic, and/or kinky men to talk to, explore with, play with… toy with? Yes.

That was completely Sabrina going off on a tangent. The rest of her entry is dead-on hilarious and you must read it - that’s an order.

I’m back from my trip out of town. Did you miss me last weekend?

Sorry… I was busy getting my tease on. You guys make it too easy sometimes and I just can’t resist taking full advantage. A little flirting and men become physically, mentally, and financially weak.

Nowhere was this more evident than at the strip club. The South is known for ladies with big smiles and long tanned legs… women who know how to work a man. The real show wasn’t the gyration on the couches but in the subtleties: the blonde with the knee-high black boots who moved like a snake, the vixen who dragged her chestnut hair over Mr. Aging Jock’s torso, knelt, and smiled up at him so sweetly before taking his money. Hands at his sides - no touching. These men were paying for nothing but a well-executed tease, knowing they wouldn’t be allowed to place their hands on one inch of tanned skin, knowing the only satisfaction they’d get would be at their own hands, hours later, thinking back on the way she’d moved as she straddled his thighs.

It was inspiring.

I’ve talked about strip clubs before with one of my favorite callers and he was quick to admit that the highlight of his experience was the dynamic of the tease, that undercurrent of control. She had it; he didn’t. Money did not equal power, except in that he was surrendering both. He knew he wasn’t supposed to come; if he came it would probably be prematurely. And she would know, and laugh.

I’ll be back on the phones tonight. Lap dance anyone?

“Do you like to deny different people for different reasons?”

“Yes. I like denying you because you’re a Mac person.”

-from a conversation with a very special caller on my philosophy of tease and denial

I went and got a full time - well, it was supposed to be part time - mainstream job so that I’d have something legit to answer when people asked me “So what do you do?”

It’s funny, because I was trying to avoid having the “Yes, I tell strange men how to stroke it over the phone” conversation with some new friends. Instead I’m finding I get very strange looks from my peers when I introduce myself as… a salesperson.

Go figure.

So this girl on Salon.com was asking whether or not she should do fetish videos. And the other vagaries of her letter aside, I found myself thinking (again - you do this constantly as a sex workaholic) about the social ramifications of my sex work. (My bank account is telling me I need to spend less time thinking and more time phone boning. My logic is telling me if I’d written this 24 hours ago I could’ve made the deadline for the next Black Heart Magazine.)

I wrote her a response, and it got me thinking:

This is high-intensity work; don’t be mistaken. If you’d shy away from nursing, counseling, or police work then you might want to think again. Sex work is rewarding, and not only financially, but it is demanding. It’s emotionally draining, financially uncertain, socially unacceptable, and very hard to explain to your friends, family, and significant others. Don’t fall into it if your heart’s not in it. It won’t be worth it for you.

If the money’s the only reward for you then it won’t be enough to compensate. If money’s not the only reward for you then all those hurdles might not be enough to hold you back.

(Read the rest of my response here.)

For me, the rewards outweigh the issues. There are issues; I can’t deny that. It’s hard to deny that if I asked 20 strangers about my job, 15 of them would assume I’d been abused.

My mother was abused. That’s why she’s a consultant.

My sister was abused. That’s why she’s a college student.

My best friend from high school was abused. That’s why she’s an editor.

I’d say a third of the women in my straight workplace have been abused - that I know of. I don’t know what the numbers are for sex work, but the numbers for mainstream are pretty staggering.

Of those 20, two would assume I’m a nympho.

Sex work, for me, is a sexual outlet. I’ll admit it. I’ve had to come to terms with the idea that I can either have my every last little sexual whim sated, or I can date someone I find fascinating in and out of bed rather than merely keep a stable of exhausted human dildos. I’ll take quality over quantity any day.

(Not that my current human dildo doesn’t blow my mind make me come like a fiend sate my sexual whims. I think my archives will attest to that. But he does require food, sunlight, and sleep from time to time. Which works out - if I had free access to his cock I’d never get anything done.)

I have to do something with this excess energy, so I use it against the perverts of this world. This keeps me out of trouble, keeps my sweetie in nice dinners, and keeps the perverts happy. It’s a win-win.

Of the remaining three individuals, two would think I’m going to Hell and one would think I’m awesome.

Three of these 20 would, after knowing me for a while, decide it’s just a job, albeit a weird one, and they don’t really care so long as I’m fine.

Good for them.

Seen any new porn trailers lately? Not this new:

The buxom, brainy, bespectacled spectacle known around these parts as Audacia Ray has posted a sneak peek of her upcoming directorial debut, “The Bi Apple.” She’s sharing it with her blog readers first (beating Fleshbot to the punch).

“…remember the porno movie I wrote, produced and directed this summer? Well, its slated to hit the shelves in a mere two months, on February 6, 2007. “The Bi Apple” is 90 minutes of porn with some jazzy and sex nerdy dialogue thrown in for good measure, plus 40 minutes of behind the scenes footage, in which you’ll get to see the cast and crew eat cupcakes, tell shit stories, gossip about the history of alt porn, talk about where to hang Jesus (the Last Supper is present in the bisexual threesome, thanks to the set dressing genius of Bella Vendetta), and sweat and snack a lot.” -from wakingvixen.com

Check her movie trailer out while you can; it’s hosted on Photobucket and might be yanked down at any time.

Right now in light of Sera’s post on sex work and relationships I’m thankful that I’m alive in such an interesting time… we’re breaking down boundaries, the lines regarding sex and public life are shifting, and morality is changing in all kinds of interesting ways.

I’m glad that I can - for now - write and read beautiful, horrible fiction about base urges and bad things, that the thought-crime of obscenity isn’t yet aggressively enforced. I’d much rather read a lurid fictional torture account and take my mind off the evergreen sexualized shock value of the real ones. I’m relieved I can still legally (and gleefully) fornicate but not necessarily procreate. I’m happy and honored to have such smart, warm, interesting, sexy, funny clients, fellow sex bloggers, adult industry friends, and readers. I’m glad I can make a living doing what I enjoy.

Most of all I’m grateful that I’m about to sit down to Thanksigiving dinner with family and friends who know I’m a phone sex operator (et cetera) and either don’t care or like me anyway.

I’ll be toasting acceptance in Thanksgiving 2006.

I hope you all have a very happy Thanksgiving (or Thursday for those of you not in the U.S.). Cheers.

Most of you know one of my favorite kinks is tease and denial/orgasm control/directed masturbation. There’s nothing more fun than hearing a man - or woman - pleading to come.

I’ve got a new Niteflirt line set up now just for quickie tease and denial calls: it’s an orgasm permission line. You call up, I decide whether or not you get to come and maybe tell you how to finish off… Sound fun?

Write the extension down (1-800-TO-FLIRT, extension 01781456) and keep it with you. I’ve got extended availability on this line for all you guys that just can’t help but start without me.

Girls, you can play too if you wanna. It’s fun.

New Niteflirt callers get 3 free minutes. New callers to me get to find out why my previous callers said all these kind things.

For even more shameless self-promotion, visit my MySpace page (myspace.com/sabrinamorgan). There is no music, there are no glitter graphics, and I’ve shown excellent restraint in keeping my harem of younger men jailbait-free. (It’s harder than it looks. Give a gal some credit…)

Mia asks:

So, I suppose the question should be asked: Because I take my clothing off for a living, am I worthy of being respected? Am I allowed that much? Or is it right for me to be disrespected because I show myself in provocative photos?

I suppose I’m a little stunned. I take off my clothing for a living, and because of that, I’m not worthy of respect. I knew that I had to pay for my profession with my privacy, but I didn’t know it would also cost me respect.

I mean, I’m not saying that you have to take me seriously 100% of the time. I’m not saying you can’t even view me as sexy - I’m flattered that anyone does. But I do think that I’m entitled to at least a trace amount of respect here. My opinions and views shouldn’t be any less valuable just because I have a website where I take my top off.

-In Theory: The Dissection of the Allowance of Respect and Whether Erotica Models are Deserving of Such, DamnJezebel.com

And I left a comment that turned into a post:

It’s just the old Madonna/Whore thing again. We’re told that anyone who’s publicly sexual or in any other way pushes sexual boundaries not only isn’t worthy of respect, and isn’t even a real person, but doesn’t respect theirself. Usually herself. I guess that comes from the “loose women sleep around due to low self esteem and aren’t picky about who they boink” theory but what that has to do with making smut, I don’t know…

I say, if you can’t respect me naked, you can’t respect me clothed and probably never respected me to begin with. My opinions and character don’t change depending on what I’m wearing and whether or not it shows too much cleavage.

I’m tempted to blow it off and say some people are just paleolithic backwards dicks, the kind of people who are so retro they’re also racist and homophobic… but plenty of guys and girls keep on perpetuating this idea, that a woman’s value is in the (perceived, in this case) scarcity of her crotch, not in her mind or as a whole person.

That’s probably one of the least feminist sentiments I can hear someone express, right up there with “Why are you wearing shoes and what are you doing out of the kitchen?” (And that one’s usually a joke.)

This is some of the especially fun stuff sex workers get to deal with when we date. We have to wonder if we’re still good enough to take home to Mom. We have to lie about what we do - or tell a very slanted version of the truth. We have to deal with not only his or her conflicting feelings about whether or not it’s okay for a girlfriend to do this, but our own conflicting feelings about the same. On top of all that whenever you start having sex with somebody or get into any kind of romantic relationship, your mental and emotional boundaries get nudged, and this can affect your sex work boundaries or even interests. (This was true for me: I started off as a sub, got into fetish stuff when I was single, and now that I’m in a relationship again, I’m craving mostly fetish and domme sessions to balance out the bottoming I do “at home.”)

Dating’s easier because you’re coming in as you are, expecting to a degree to be taken as you are. When things get more serious you start to wonder how what you do is going to affect his work, his life, your sex, whether or not you’ve got a future…

If he has some of those old attitutes regarding respect and publicly sexual women you worry he thinks of you as lesser because of what you do - or because you love to do it. I don’t want to change my job. I love my job, even when it’s slow and I’m having to ponder hawking stuff on eBay. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Not even a professional sales job with millionaire potential. Not even something respectable that I could brag to somebody’s mom about.

I couldn’t brag to myself about it. I’d know it was a compromise. Not a compromise between two people; a compromise of myself. And that, to me, would show a lack of self-respect.

It’s impractical but I know no way in hell am I going to go in there and work my ass off doing something I hate just for money. If I’m going to work my ass off it’s going to be figuring out how to be comfortable doing what I love. If that means working part time temporarily at something I’m not crazy about, so be it. But I believe in following your passions.

I might not be the girl you take home to Mom because you’re afraid that I might get excited and talk about whatever X-rated business venture I’ve got up my sleeve. I’ll be the girl sitting there in my pretty lacy panties counting the money I earned with my creativity, my perseverance, and my dirty mind knowing that the little girl who used to dream of owning her own business and living with passion and integrity, even if that meant living alone, would be proud of me.

And yeah - anyone worth having me would be proud of me too.

(They’d get bonus points for helping me brainstorm on marketing.)

That’s the kind of self-respect sex workers supposedly don’t have, isn’t it? The kind that means not compromising who you are and your values for every Tom, Dick, and Mary that come around.

Real friends don’t care if you show your tits on the internet.