Sad cock woes (Ask Audacia 6)

September 30, 2005

Okay, so I�m trying to get back on track with this Ask Audacia business after a long-ass break from it over the summer, as it seems that its something folks are interested in. So, without further ado�

I think I am starting to become a bit dysfunctional sexually as I get older. It takes me forever to masturbate. I tried reading some urology info on-line to see about the dysfunction, but it was really beyond me. I�m interested in using a cock ring to make it through to the end, but I hadn�t figured out a good climatic ending to my fantasy yet. I have talked with my family doctor, but he wasn�t especially helpful. Any insights into not losing what I have left sexually?

If some spam I got this morning is to be believed - “pills will make your life better.” Too bad that’s total bunk; for the moment, stay as far away from medicinal solutions to your problems. Over-prescribing for a huge variety of ailments, perceived and real, is a major problem in this country, so make sure you�ve fully explored your options and given some solid and deep thought to the concept of �dysfunction� before you make a leap in that direction. That said, to dig a little deeper into what you�re after, I want to point out a couple of the phrases you used: “I think I am starting to become a bit dysfunctional sexually. It takes me forever to masturbate.” “Any insights into not losing what I have left sexually?”

I think you need to slightly restructure the way you’re thinking about your sexuality - I know, easier said than done. Sexuality and sexual response change over a lifetime - you aren’t physically or emotionally the same guy you were in your 20s, so why expect all your parts to operate the same as they did when you were younger? You could use this change to explore different ways of getting and giving pleasure. I’m not poo-pooing your desire to have orgasms, because orgasms are awesome, but try not to think of your sexuality as something finite that you can lose and be dysfunctional in. Thinking bad thoughts about your sexual abilities usually only makes it worse, so - stop that! Again, easier said than done, I know. I do believe that there is a certain point at which sexual function could be considered �dysfunctional,� but I also firmly believe that the range of what�s �normal� is pretty expansive.

Problems with sexual function often stem from stress (including stress about sexual performance), crappy diet and lack of exercise. So, if you haven’t been motivated before to eat well and exercise, do it for your dick! Also, you may have heard all kinds of good things about a woman’s pubococcygeus (PC) muscles - well, men have them too, and they are vital to the health and well being of your pelvic area. To locate them, try stopping the stream of pee while you’re urinating. You can also use these muscles to make your cock bounce up and down when you have an erection (which when done to the beat of a song, is a very amusing party trick, in my opinion). Repeat that squeeze as often as you remember to � these are Kegel exercises. Better muscle tone and control will make for better and stronger orgasms, and are also useful for men who think they come too quickly (though that�s not your particular problem).

Also, start experimenting with different ways to pleasure yourself that don’t necessarily require an erection but might cause one - play with your balls more, start exploring your prostate. The cock is a wonderful thing, but it�s not the only thing on your body that can give you pleasure (and make you come).

As far as the cock rings go - cock rings can be great for firming up an erection, but they are meant to prolong hard-ons, so if you’re worried about taking forever to come, a cock ring might not be the best solution. Generally it�s a bad idea to leave a cock ring on for longer than 30 minutes. It’s designed to cut off circulation a tad, which in small doses is a good thing, but can quickly become a bad thing. For beginning cock ring experimentations, I recommend something that is easier to get out of � there�s nothing more panic inducing than having your cock and balls squeezed too tightly and not being able to get out of it. I really like this one from Babeland, it�s plenty sexy and has snaps to get out of quickly.

I know none of this is a quick fix like pills, but hopefully its enough creative fuel to help you get started on thinking about different ways to pleasure yourself and get more and different things from your relationship with your cock.

Posted by Dacia at 12:35 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Sex work semantics

September 29, 2005

Okay, so I know sometimes (most of the time) I�m vague about what exactly I�m up to in terms of the sex work I have done. It�s a bit of a legal issue, so I know I�m being deliberately obtuse, I�m not trying to be evasive about the whole thing. If you go back a year in the archives, you�ll hearken back to a time when I was more anonymous in blogland and less careful as a sex worker, and you can read all about my professional mischief. I haven�t written much in that vein in a while partly because of the aforementioned deliberate obtuseness, but also partly because after the initial excitement of being a sex worker, it really does just become a job, with some daily monotony to it. I know that the tales of sex workers are interesting and titillating because it�s so far outside of most people�s experience, but honestly sometimes I�d try to write about it and it would just bore me.

But what about this phrase �sex work�? Is that just my nifty little linguistic wiggle, a way to avoid saying that I�m a whore?

In issue 2 of $pread magazine, we started a recurring piece called �On the Street,� wherein we stop passers-by in New York and ask them a question. We started out the column with the question �What does the phrase �sex work� mean to you?� I�m not going to give away all the juicy answers, but suffice to say that most responders linked the phrase sex work directly to prostitution. (And psst psst, issue 3 is about to come out, its prettier and cooler than ever, and includes an interview with Tracy Quan as well as a feature article on periods and porn by one of my favorite indie webwhores, Trixie, plus lots more awesome).

I define sex work as “the pre-agreed upon exchange of money or goods for erotic energy.” So, this could include porn performers, phone sex operators, prostitutes, and many other kinds of workers. As a kind of secondary definition, I would say that a good way to judge whether or not you are part of the sex industry is the way you describe what you do for a living - if that description isn’t always 100% true to life or is vague, you might be a sex worker. For instance, when I did PR for a porn company, depending on the people I was with, sometimes I’d say that I worked for “an independent film company” and when I was doing more naked stuff, I would often say I was doing �freelance� work - technically true, but you see my point. Unfortunately, sex work is usually met with varying degrees of scorn and disapproval, so it�s a tough thing to be out about.

More and more politically aware sex workers are beginning to use the phrase � but it�s a tough one to deal with. If you�re a whore, no doubt it sounds better to use the phrase �sex worker,� but if you�re a stripper or work the counter in a porn shop, use of the phrase may make people assume that you have sex for money. There are all kinds of hierarchies built into the industry, and though I do think �sex work� is in many ways a more general and democratic term, it still has some connotations that not all people in the industry are eager to link themselves with.

But what difference does language make? A critique of the use of the phrase �sex work� is that the edge is taken off; it�s a phrase meant to be more palatable, politically viable. There are plenty of sex workers who reclaim derogatory phrases and use them at themselves, which I think is pretty badass. �Sex work� is most useful in the labor sense � it expresses plainly that sex work is work, even if it is illegal or otherwise illegitimate in many places. That�s one of the big challenges of the sex workers rights movement � legitimizing sex work as work that many women and men do, under a huge variety of circumstances (good and bad) all over the world.

Posted by Dacia at 12:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Moving right along

September 27, 2005

After a lot of careful thought, I think I�m pretty well decided that I�m going to quit being a sex worker in some of the ways that I have been over the past year and change. I�m still going to be modeling (probably more so than before), but I�m going to stop doing private sessions. Once upon a time I had plenty of sexual energy to spare on clients, and my energies were regenerated time and time again by the experiences I was having, I feel a little sapped for energy, a little resentful of what I�m giving in sessions, and most of all that the money just isn�t worth it.

Being a sex worker has been an overwhelmingly positive experience, has really opened my eyes in many ways � and has helped me make bank over the past year with a very minimal time commitment. I�ve always been advised to quit as soon as I start to hate men � and that hasn�t exactly happened, but I�ve begun to resent my clients� desires and feel increasingly possessive of my sexuality and my body. I just� don�t really feel like sharing in the context of a provider/client relationship these days.

I mentioned a few posts back that the imbalance of sexual things in my life has made it tough for me to be a good sex worker. I have enough energy to either be a great sex worker or be a great sex partner � but there suddenly isn�t enough room for both. I think I may be starting to build a new home for my sexual perversions, and sex work is getting in the way time and energy wise.

Of course, it remains to be seen whether I can maintain �retirement� or whatever � it�s probably not going to be a clean break. In many ways, sex work is pretty addictive � the hours, the piles of cash money, the control over my body and those of others. It�s really difficult to see my days in terms of hour-long sessions, and to constantly think � hmm, could I get paid for what I�m doing right now? From peeing to eating to squeezing my nipples, I�m always wondering about how much that�s worth. But since I�ve been there, it�s hard to turn away from it, to think about the eventuality of having to work with clothes on, maybe in an environment where I have to get along with people instead of just telling them to fuck off.

Posted by Dacia at 12:06 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Time

September 25, 2005

I�m not really one for memes, but the trip to DC this weekend got me thinking about the marching on of time, so I decided to give this one a whirl.

10 years ago: I had just started the 10th grade, which was one of the toughest of my teen years. I was heavily in the throes of my eating disorder and lived on 250 calories a day; it was during that school year that I hit my lowest weight ever, at 116 pounds (I weigh in mid-140 range today). I had also started cutting; the scars of that unhealthy obsession faintly persist on my forearms today. I was dating a drug dealer who hit me on a number of occasions (I bear a small scar near my left eye from one of his punches) and supplied unfettered access to all the drugs I wanted. I was very much sexually compulsive and pretty much fucked anyone who was interested in me.

5 years ago: It was my second year in New York and I was a junior in college. I�d just gotten an internship with Akashic Books and was reading a lot of manuscripts. I first heard Q and Not U in their office in Brooklyn. James and I had been dating for two years. We broke up briefly in October but got back together a few weeks later. I lived in the East Village, wore a leather jacket with leopard print fabric shown on the back and covered in buttons and studs. My hair was buzzed and variously green, purple, red, orange and blue.

1 year ago: Here�s a snapshot of the end of September last year. I was still going strong with Dirck, had just met Gracie, and was just about to have my first MMF threesome with Seth and Dirck. I had just started my master�s degree and was going through the final meltdown with my roommate and best friend of several years (who was also my roommate 5 years ago).

Yesterday: Drove back to NYC from DC with James, laughing our asses off. Went out with Moira to the Continental for the punk rock, the drinking of whiskey and the hanging out with a sexy man. Had hot sex too awesome and intense to even write about.

Today: Continuation of the hot sex from last night. Grocery shopping with my upstairs neighbors. A nap to make up for a night of little sleep and lots of sex. $pread Magazine editorial meeting.

Damn. Who the fuck knows what things will look like 1, 5, 10 years from now.

Posted by Dacia at 07:41 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Music preferences (Ask Audacia 5)

September 23, 2005

From the Ask Audacia mailbag: What type of music do you listen to? Any specific artists you could recommend? Do you like different tunes for sex work versus personal “work?”

This is a pretty perfect moment to answer this question, since this morning I�m heading to DC to see Q and Not U, one of my favorite bands of the last five years, play their farewell show. Worth a road trip, and I�m sure the drive will bring back memories of driving to DC and back in one day to see Fugazi play when I was a teenager, playing the �that guy is going to the show� game at rest stops and in traffic. When I was younger, I listened almost exclusively to punk (with a little bit of goth and industrial thrown in), and though I�ve grown soft in my old age I do still listen to a lot of the same stuff. The pile of cds nearest to my stereo includes the Cure, Screeching Weasel, Fugazi, the Pixies, Sonic Youth, Q and Not U, Brainiac, the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Cranes, PJ Harvey, the Boucing Souls, Stereo Total, Anti-Flag, Bad Religion, Tom Waits, Elliot Smith, the Descendents, Voodoo Glow Skulls, Gorillaz, My Bloody Valentine� you get the idea. I also listen to jazz on occasions when my family (all serious jazz heads) tries to brainwash me.

I�ve made a whole bunch of hour-long mixes for my sex work sessions, but I�ve steadfastly refused to play music that is simply calm and easy to stomach � because I�m a brat like that; its one of the things my clients like about me. I listed my music tastes on my professional website, and often my regulars bring me mix cds to add to my repertoire, and sometimes I make mixes for them too. Occasionally I let a client convince me to put my iPod on shuffle during a session, as long as he�s well aware that we might jump from Chick Corea to Throbbing Gristle to Moussorgsky to the Beastie Boys. Here�s one of my favorite work mixes, which is basically to my taste without the really loud stuff:
�St. Ides Heaven�/Elliot Smith/Elliot Smith
�Bring My Car I Feel to Smash It�/The Sea and Cake/The Sea and Cake
�Sunset City�/The Magnetic Fields/The Charm of the Highway Strip
�Everywhere�/Cranes/Forever
�Puppies�/Underworld/Pearl�s Girl
�Sugar Hiccup�/Cocteau Twins/Head Over Heels
�avrl 14�/Aphex Twin/Drukqs - Disk One
�Silence is the Question�/The Bad Plus/These Are The Vistas
�Sunset Soon Forgotten�/Iron & Wine/Our Endless Numbers
�Infatuation�/The Rapture/Echoes
�Tema Amores Perros�/Gustavo Santaolalla/Amores Perros Disk One
�Only You�/Portishead/NYC Live
�Pyramid Song�/Radiohead/Amnesiac
�The State I Am In�/Belle & Sebastian/Tigermilk
�On Noble�/Tortoise/Tortoise
�Before I Sleep�/Mazzy Star/She Hangs Brightly

And with that, I�m off to say goodbye to Q and Not U.

Posted by Dacia at 06:12 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

The company of sexy strangers

September 22, 2005

For me (and I suspect for lots of people), there is a fine line between taking care of myself emotionally and becoming a paranoid hermit. This week I realized that the former was becoming an excuse for the latter. Not good. So, what in the world could be a reintroduction to the world of being social? That�s right � a threesome!

Ok, so that�s a little simplistic, I know, but I was feeling like getting back into the world of connecting with people. Plus I was horny and it�s been too damn long since I�ve had some group action, so it was time to turn to my dear and long lost friend, Craigslist. Not counting the houseboy incident, it�s been almost an entire year since I availed myself of casual encounters. Well then.

If I can�t have my own intimacy, I can masturbate to (ahem, I mean appreciate) other people�s. There�s something intensely cool about being let into a couple�s intimate spaces. By which I mean, orifices � but seriously folks, the space of their relationship (jeez, I�m not filthy-minded all the time). It�s really cool to see the way two people who are involved treat each other, play with each other, look at each other, all that stuff. Tony Comstock does a great job of capturing this sort of intimacy on film, and the performers seem to open up and invite the viewer in � but I like it better live.

I met Nick and Diane at a rather dark bar downtown, where we drank Jameson and did the getting to know you bit, including the requisite conversation with other CLers � how long have you been CL-ing it, what are your dirty CL stories, and then a little more philosophical stuff about the nature of meeting people primarily because of their words. After a while we did a bit of a check-in with each other, and decided to head to Brooklyn and Nick�s place. We flirted and giggled on the train, tumbled into the apartment, got ourselves some ice water and had a sit on the couch. My favorite part (you know, other than the actual fucking) of this kind of situation is that moment when things shift from chatting and sitting closely and light brushes of fingers over legs into full on makeout mode, groping, clasps coming undone, shedding of clothes.

Our mouths and hands wandered, getting used to the bodies in question. I wound my hands into Diane�s long soft hair and enjoyed the soft touch of her lips, sharply and pleasantly surprised when she sucked my lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it. Her teeth held onto my lip for that extra second required to cause that little bit of panicky adrenaline, willsheletgo. Oh. Yes. Back for more. We stripped off our clothes and threw them around the living room (fun at the moment, less fun at 2 am when trying to get dressed and not knowing where my glasses ended up), and headed for the bedroom.

You know what�s awesome about being the odd girl out in a threesome? I get to be the center of attention, hence not really �out� at all. Diane and Nick all but pounced on me, devouring tits, stomach, pussy, ass. I closed my eyes and didn�t even try to discern whose hands were doing what, I just gave myself into it. Diane began to explore my pussy with her fingers and tongue, and then Nick wanted a piece of me too: �There�s plenty of pussy for everyone,� I told him, and he sunk a few fingers into me. I could feel their fingers intertwining inside me, such a cute way to hold hands, and Nick told me they had three fingers each in me. I felt full, but the thought of them sharing my pussy like that made my innards pulse with horny glee, and I opened up to one more finger from each of them, for a total of eight. Guessing how many fingers I�ve got inside me is way better than the �how many fingers am I holding up?� visual game.

�What do you like to have done to those beautiful tits of yours?� Nick asked. Without even needing to think, I said, �I like them squeezed and slapped � the tits, not the nipples.� And � well � with four hands, both of my tits can be squeezed and slapped at the same time. Diane gripped my tits and squeezed them together so they were extra firm and extra sensitive, and Nick began to slap them, gently at first and then harder, so they were rosy red and stinging a bit. I was flushed, hot and bothered, skin a-tingle. I pulled Diane�s mouth into mine as Nick returned his hand to my pussy, roughly this time.

My cunt wetly opened to his touch, but then he stepped it up a notch and suddenly a million bad things were running through my head and I felt my body go a little tense. I asked him to ease up on me and he did, keeping a steady, deep but soft thrust until I asked for more. But the bad things clicked in again � frustrating. I was hyper away of my labia, of the friction and wetness and the hard movements of his hands. I wanted to let go, meet the thrusts of his hand with my own hip thrusts, but I couldn�t. As his thrusts got harder, I could only imagine seeing his hand pulling back covered in my blood. I couldn�t let go, I couldn�t come. I had to stop for the moment. I grabbed his wrist and twisted away from him. I knew he wanted to make me come, but I just� couldn�t at the moment.

But the great thing about a threesome is that we could shift the focus away from me quickly and easily. We rolled Diane onto her stomach, and Nick stationed himself at her head to feed her his cock. I knelt between her legs, complimented her rather finely shaped round little ass, and promptly buried my face in it. I let my fingers roam over her thighs and around her shapely pubic mound, grazing but not making full contact with her vulva. She squirmed beneath me and moaned into Nick�s cock. I spat on her already wet pussy for effect and sank four fingers into her. �You have to do her really hard,� Nick advised me. �And when she comes, there will be a lot of it.� This, I realized, was not a wiggle of the fingers and wrist affair, this was elbow-as-piston manual labor. I began to plunge most of my hand into her, and felt her vagina twitch in a lovely and unique way � her insides puffed out, almost making a hollow cavity, and then became pillowy as her muscles contracted around my hand. I thrust my hand harder, then faster and harder, swirling my fingers around her g-spot for effect. I felt the orgasm building up in her, nearing release. When she came, she exploded, spraying female ejaculate everywhere, splashing all over my legs and chest. It was a spectacular and immense gush, and I fucked her right through it, ushering more and more bursts of come out of her; a puddle built up on the bed. She made motions for me to stop, and I flopped down on the bed next to her, where our mouths found each other again.

Nick returned to the business of my girl business, curving his fingers just so to hit my g-spot, no doubt seeking the buttons to push to unleash the flood. But no flood came, even though he was doing it exactly right. I got wetter and my pussy got happier, but the flood just wasn�t there. I definitely had girlcome envy of Diane�s free-flowing situation, but my ability to ejaculate seems to have evaporated since my accident in June (its not just last night, believe me). I coaxed Nick to ease up on his thrusts and not be so desperate to impress my g-spot, and I began to let go a little bit more. One of his fingers swirled on the bud of my asshole and then slipped gently inside; this little bit of double penetration sent me into a cautious but warm orgasm, my pussy pulsing around his fingers, the heat rising in my face and chest.

As I recuperated, Nick mounted Diane from behind, and I pulled her hair for him. I pulled her hair steadily so that when he thrust fully into her and pushed her body forward, she�d be held back by the hair-pulling. Worked like a charm. After a few minutes of slow, hard thrusts, he pulled out and shot a nice load of come all over her back, almost doubling over with the pleasurable effort.

We rolled around a bit more until Nick was ready to go again, and I fetched my condoms and lube, rolled a condom onto him, got on my back and tucked my knees to my chest. I let myself fall into the rhythm of the fuck, and was finally able to let go more than I�d been able to do with fingers in my pussy. My cunt pulsing orgasm squeezed Nick into an orgasm of his own, my muscles went slack and I just rode it out. Nice. Much nicer than fearing the possibilities of rough but well-intentioned hands.

�I�m sorry I�m so inhibited, I got my pussy torn a few months ago and things aren�t quite the same� makes for horrible pillow talk that makes people recoil in sympathetic agony, so I kept my trap shut. I haven�t come up against mental walls in the actual experience of partnered sex since I started having sex again post-injury, maybe partly because I�ve been with Seth, who I know and trust, and we�ve been avoiding anything heavy-handed. Maybe part of it was disappointment and frustration at my body not working the way it used to, not coming the way I expect it to, not able to get me where I want to go as quickly or via the same routes.

At home, I took out my hand mirror and parted my labia to look at the small, white crescent of a scar on my right inner labia. I�m positive that no one else could even notice it, even perhaps if I pointed it out, but I know its there, symbol of the changed terrain of my sex life. I hate the damage, I hate that I am not as secure and free sexually as I was three months ago. But though I feel annoyed, I don�t really feel emotionally worn out from it, I feel like I want to fight this thing full force, with confidence and care, but also with a heightened level of boldness and bravery. I want to fight with fucking. Maybe my ability to squirt is gone, maybe my orgasms will just be really different going forward, but I�m at a point where I think it�s useful to push my limits and push through to the other side. And if it takes another bunch of threesomes to get there, so be it (tough therapy program, eh?)

Posted by Dacia at 01:04 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Outside the box*

September 20, 2005

The number one thing I love about sexuality is its ability to be fluid and ever-changing. Me and my desires, we�re on a life-long journey together. Sometimes I don�t know where I am or where I�m going, but I take comfort in knowing that even if there isn�t a new sex act under the sun, there�s plenty of stuff for me to try on for size.

It�s not just about having a checklist of stuff I�d like to try, however. It�s more about developing a playstyle and set of fulfillable desires that can carry me to new heights (or depths). You see, sometimes I am guilty of having a very teenage-boy focus on partnered sex: put tab a into slot b and hump away! Often I�m just not that interested in the whole foreplay business, especially cunnilingus � I really want to make with the fucking.

But since the unsettling genital injury at the beginning of the summer and the onset of my xxxtreme singleness, I�ve begun to ponder a different side of my sexuality. Ok ok, in some ways that�s code for �excessive masturbation.� But in addition to that, I�ve been thinking a lot about different approaches to my sexuality, some of which are non-genital, or at least not primarily genital.

I�ve never really been one for BDSM-type play, mostly because I just don�t really imagine the whole top-bottom, dom-sub dynamic fitting into my life or me fitting into the dichotomy in any way. It�s possible that I haven�t discovered or gotten in touch with the parts of myself that would be into that, but it�s also pretty likely that I�m just not built for dichotomies, even in playspace.

However, there are things traditionally associated with BDSM that I�d like to try out � mostly sensation play, a little play piercing, maybe some electrical play, and who knows what else. I�m interested in the experience of the body, pushing my physical limits to get somewhere else, move beyond the experience, to the other side, living through it. When I got tattooed a few years ago, I really loved the experience, the getting through it, being there and feeling what I was feeling, even though in many ways the feeling itself kinda sucked. A lot of this isn�t directly erotic, which is probably a pretty important distinction to make, but it shares the physicality of the eroticism I so enjoy, so they seemed linked to me.

The catch is that I don�t really feel like I�m all set to go out into the world seeking those particular experiences as experiences. While there are things that I�d like to incorporate into my life, who I do them with is pretty damned important, probably even more so than the acts themselves.

*Wow, a title with an obvious pun AND a buzz phrase. What will I think of next?

Posted by Dacia at 02:33 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

The moon calls cha-ching

September 17, 2005

A full moon over a weekend? What a perfect opportunity to seriously make bank. I often plan my sex working activities around the full moon, as it�s always the time when people are clamoring for my womanly attentions. I was planning on making the best of the full moon this month, as it�s been since June since I�ve really done that. I haven�t made such an effort in my sex working biz (except modeling) since I�ve been back from Europe � this weekend was marked to be my grand return. Upon waking this morning, I realized that I just really don�t wanna, and not just in that lazy �work is hard� kinda way � its something else.

Sex work is, in many people�s estimation, kind of a weird thing to do. It�s something I�ve very much enjoyed for the time I�ve done it, but being away from the joys of getting naked for money over the summer reminded me that there is also a certain charm to keeping my clothes on. These days, I�m recognizing my limits. It�s not so much a moral thing; I don�t feel bad about myself for getting naked for strangers or for �selling� my body. It�s more about energy than anything else.

I can�t sell what I can�t even produce for myself � good sexual energy. In some ways, I know this is a vicious cycle � if I don�t use up sexual energy, I won�t be able to create more of it. At the same time, however, I don�t really want to set to the task of creating sexual energy for sale, because even though I�m guaranteed something in return, I feel drained afterwards.

I�m learning a lot about balance and what I need to keep it � and realizing that when I had a balanced sexual life, I really took it for granted. Once upon a time, I had two committed relationships, a few casual partners, sex parties with friends twice a month, and a number of sex work clients. But when cracks began to form, it became apparent that it�s difficult for me to live that life without all the elements in place. I quickly realized that sex parties and the more casual side of sex felt not so great when I didn�t have my loves to go home to. Nowadays, sex work without a full personal sex life and without a support system is really unappealing.

One thing that has sort of surprised me though is that I�ve only been feeling the �I don�t wanna� feelings about sessions with clients; I�m enjoying modeling immensely. Modeling used to be my least favorite form of sex work, because it was just me � but now I�m liking it a lot for precisely that reason. Because I don�t have the �distractions� in my life of lots of people draining (or replenishing) my sexual and emotional energies, I�ve felt like I�m really able to channel and explore my sexuality and my body (often but not always different things) in modeling. A little unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. Perhaps I�m ushering in a new era of exhibitionist explorations. Is that what all this solo-ness is doing to me?

Posted by Dacia at 01:25 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Foucault after midnight

September 14, 2005

My days are bracketed - begun and ended - with my fingers buried in the sticky slick sweetness of my own vulva. It’s like touching base, coming home. Its not like wishing someone was here with me; its guttural moans for the sake of the vibrations in my throat and chest, writhing on my sheets, coming and not having to concern myself with anyone else. Home. Comfort. Alone.

Its past midnight and my pants are off on the street, my garter straps digging into my thighs, I’m glad I wore platforms to combat the cobblestones. Some bleary eyed bar patrons and democractic primary election drunkards shuffle past, ignoring the camera and the legs in front of it. Cabs screech to a halt as I flash the camera beneath a street light. We laugh almost hysterically and make sarcastic comments at passers-by almost before they finish expressing their incredulity. I love the feel of the September air on my breasts; I’m not seething with libidinous anything, I’m enjoying being in my flesh, happy to flaunt conventions like “wear clothes when on the streets of New York.”

I switch from heels to chuck taylors, now heading back to Brooklyn. I dig out Foucault’s History of Sexuality, bury my nose in it for the umpteenth time, smile to myself at the notes I scrawled in the margains when I first read this book at 19, laden with Marxist analyses and the desire for something new, something beyond what the world was offering me. I’ve got my notebook open next to the text - not the school notebook, not the “lists o bullshit” one either, not the one with loose interpretations of my schedule, a fresh journal, my captain’s log, my -what- eighth this year. I’m off and running, hand too slow, brain too scattered. Foucault, Foucault, you arrogant fuckwit, writing circles around so many, me chasing footnotes and trying to crack the code, thinking of real fucking and the “task of telling everything concerning sex.”

It’s the sexuality and the theory in my head I’m thinking of as I open my apartment door, the clock on the stove telling me its three a.m. as I pour myself some soy milk. I revisit what its like to get out of that cage as I shed my clothes and flop into bed, pawing through my pile of porn - tonight it’ll be she-males receiving foot jobs that rockets me into orbit. The theory evaporates and I don’t care about sexual politics or condoms in porn, I’m coming.

Sleep and reprise, wake myself with an orgasm, alarms are for people with places to be. It’s back to another day in my head - Emily Dickinson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, I’m in my underwear in my cozy chair, eating chocolate pudding (there’s a documentary-worthy moment, a girl and her brain - very compelling, haha).

A spark of jealousy rises as I read Madeline’s latest - I remember the feeling of being surrounded by my loves, late night phones calls to report on steamy adventures with others, roomsful of steamy flesh, the tastes of different lovers on me, the sights of different bodies burned into the image center of my brain. It subsides as I think about sharing my time and energies, sacrificing anything, putting up with bullshit, personalities - you know, the things of human interaction, the things I’ve shirked for now.

I realize that I haven’t yet spoken out loud to anyone today, if I didn’t have class, would I even notice the silence?

It doesn’t quite feel like absence, but I read the swirling words and worlds of my blogging cohorts and wonder if I’m letting things slip by me and if that’s a bad thing. I’m resting maybe, saving my energies or something, not connecting, not even trying really. But happy in my head, in my bed alone, words on the screen, words on the page.

Posted by Dacia at 04:00 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

To the moon

September 12, 2005

In a recent correspondence with a reader about where I�m at and what I�m up to, he commented:

In my opinion, the silent pink elephant in your blog has always been, and continues to be the question: “where are you going?”

That IS the question isn�t it? But really, where are we all going? Ok, I won�t wax philosophical and avoid the question. But the truth is: I don�t know!

It�s funny, because I�ve always been The Girl With the Plan. Well, guess what? I don�t really have much of a plan right now beyond the completion of my thesis and master�s degree. And you know what? It isn�t a bad thing.

I know I�m precocious in many ways, but in many ways I�m also a 25 year old kid. In the last year or so I�ve finally given that kid some room to breathe and I�ve started to cut myself some slack. Perhaps it�s a bit short-sighted to do things because they are interesting and strike my fancy, but I�ve been pushing myself to be a much more experiential person, which is working out okay.

At the same time, I am building something. The reason its okay to not know what precisely that is that I don�t see life as having a pinnacle �This is It� kind of moment. I�m planning on a long series of lovely and challenging times. So, I don�t know what I�m going to be when I grow up, but it�ll probably be kinda interesting. 10 years from now? 5 years from now? One year from now? I don�t know. I do know that who I am and what I�m doing now is a crucial part of who I�ll become. You�ll just have to stick around if you want answers.

Posted by Dacia at 11:26 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Taking sides

September 11, 2005

On Thursday night, I had the good fortune to run into a girl I�d had a threesome with once upon a time. You know how it is � go to erotic art opening, run into past lover, have luck remembering her name as well as the name of her partner (damn, I�m good). She�s a few years younger than me, and was just starting to enter the sexual discovery phase when I last saw her (naked). I wasn�t especially surprised to learn that she�s now a stripper � ah, sex work, a third wave feminist merit badge. We went out to drinks, and she started talking about the club she works in and her interactions with and opinions of her customers.

She talked about her clients, who she referred to as generally being �creepy� and �older,� code words for �other� � not of her world. I definitely identify with this in many ways � clients often want a taste of the wild life a sex worker leads, the look and feel of young flesh is a dude-magnet in general, and especially if you have funny hair, tattoos or piercings the fantasies abound. But I felt her making another othering leap as she stereotyped her customers � she saw them as men out there, men who are not her boyfriend/brother/friend/father.

This is a challenging thing to wrap one�s head around, because when working in the sex industry, it�s nice to be able to step out of it. But to assume that men one is close to do not engage in the client role in the sex industry is probably a little na�ve. I�m not saying that every man is knee deep in sex-for-hire or porn watching or whatever, but many are. It�s a tough thing. If I were to date a man who denied partaking in these indulgences from time to time, I�d probably be skeptical. At the same time, I can see how it would be nice and comforting to see a boyfriend as not one of those guys, as a good guy, not a creepy one.

But clients don�t spend all their time identifying and acting as clients; nor do sex workers spend all their time as sex workers (this is, incidentally, why the concept of sex workers as a risk group for STIs is full of holes). This creates a whole strange flow of sexual meanings and doings; the line between the two is drawn so that there are so many more than two ways to be.

Posted by Dacia at 11:43 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

Walking virgin

September 09, 2005

Doing my daily rounds of sites that are linking to me and saying things about me today, I discovered that a Spanish site, Greenshines.com had a bit to say about me this week. My command of Spanish is minimal but proficient enough to get the gist of what was being said. The write-up itself was nice, but then I clicked on “comentarios” and whoa nelly.

Though my Spanish reading-comprehension skills might suck, it didn’t seem like the commenters were bashing my writing (probably they didn’t read much of it, being in English and all) but they had plenty to say about my visage, namely that I’m pale, fat and ugly and should wear a bag over my head.

The best part is when the commenters try to figure out what the significance of “Waking Vixen” is, misread “waking” as “walking” (like some of my linkers do, ahem) and conclude that the name of my website in Spanish would be “Caminado Virgen” - Walking Virgin. Awesome.

At dinner with friends tonight, I excitedly told them all about the hate-fest. One of them looked a little horrified at my glee, and then said that stuff like this is why she could never do what I do - being skewered and criticized for the way I look sounded pretty awful to her. It is kind of awful - but its way more hilarious than awful.

I wouldn’t recommend my life path to most people, but for me, working in the sex industry has been really cathartic as far as improving my self image goes. I give less and less of a shit about the prettiness paradigm; I don’t need to compare myself to the girls in the magazines. I’ll never get my ass and thighs that small - and it no longer matters, because I know for sure that there are people who appreciate my assets. But beyond that, I’m digging my ass and thighs, and that means more than getting other people’s approval for them. But still - whatever you are, there is someone out there who finds that hot. Maybe there’s a market for me with a bag over my head.

Posted by Dacia at 10:25 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

Uncorked

I am, by all accounts, lousy at dirty talk. It confuses me, it stresses me out, and most of all, it makes me think too much in a moment when I�d much rather be losing myself. While fucking, I often feel like my world is folding in on itself � in the best way possible. One of the things I love about sex (other than the coming part) is just that good sex invites me to really let go of myself, brain and body, abandon the little things that hold me together, and rock out.

But somehow, Seth has unleashed the dirty talker within me, and its not distracting or stressful, it�s just hot. He talks dirty like a champ - the first time I met him, I was in awe of his dirty-talking prowess, especially in combination with Jane�s filthy mouth (I was introduced to Seth in a threesome with Jane). But recently � I dunno, I think I�m giving the dude a run for his money.

In the cab back to my place last night after the HR Giger opening at Art@Large (go see it if you�re in New York, its very much worth your time), as we made out a bit between sips of our 40s, I whispered at him, �Damn, you�re so hot,� my hand squeezing his cock a bit for emphasis.

�You think I�m hot?�

�What? Uh� yeah, of course I do,� like his question was insane.

�Well, in the two and a half years we�ve known each other, you�ve never said so.�

�Really? I think it all the time.�

�Thinking it isn�t going to do either of us any good. Tell me what you�re thinking.�

And he�s right. Why hold it in? Me knowing I think he�s hot but not telling him is pretty fucking stupid. What else have I been holding in?

Well, I�ll tell you: dirty thoughts. During sex, my random dirty thoughts usually stay firmly lodged inside my head, getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the moment. I usually don�t like to talk a whole lot, like, �Hey dude, leave me alone, I�m trying to come here.� But that�s radically changed all of a sudden; because keeping it quiet inside is lame.

With Seth, dirty talk has become less stressful � actually, it�s swung totally in the other direction � it�s become freeing. I�ve stopped thinking and started talking about what I�m feeling, doing, and seeing. It�s surprised me by actually connecting me to my body more. Sure, I can talk about the hows of fucking til the cows come home in a non-sexual situation, but to talk about fucking while I�m doing it is a whole new ball game for me.

Posted by Dacia at 02:29 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Commercial sex trepidations

September 07, 2005

Last night I got an interesting email from Gander, of Goose and Gander: So, here’s a question since overthinking is your speciality, as it is mine. My wife, aka Goose, has a friend who’s a stripper and she’s seen her work. Goose thinks she’s extremely hot and a cool person and wants me to go with her to the club and see the friend perform, perhaps even perform for us “in the back.” I have had friends who strip, good friends who stripped through grad school, etc, so the notion isn’t shocking, and my wife and I have a sex life that’s pretty game - but I do not want to go to a strip club and I’m perplexed by my own balking. I tell Goose it’s just not my kink.
But I think part of it is that I am worried that women who strip or do sex work have a very dim view of men and masculinity - that all men are the same, they’re all trying to get a look, or a feel, or get laid. In other words, an attitude that’s not too far different than the men who think women are all the same: they want a relationship, and big dicks, and babies, and a four-bedroom house. I don’t want to be near either of these kinds of people, or support their prejudices. Intellectually - and by reading blogs such as yours - I know the workers in the pleasure trades aren’t so simple, but still….I don’t want to go to a club and be seen as one of those guys, just another hard-on with few hundred bucks to spare. So, here are my questions: Do you see your clients this way? Why or why not? How do you tell if a client respects/likes/cares about you? Or does it matter?

Definitely a really interesting dilemma - and of course not one that I can give the be-all end-all answer to.

In weird ways, sexuality is a kind of free-wheeling behemoth, meaning that what I or other sex workers, or just folks expressing themselves put out into the world in terms of sexual vibes, image, whatever, can be read, interpreted and appropriated in different ways. For instance, I’m starting to get a small following of glasses fetishists - it wasn’t necessarily my intention to cater to them, but I like my glasses and wear them all the time, so I have glasses fetish fans. This is definitely a pretty banal example - but as for another, creepier one: I have what you might call a ‘nice round ass’ which has attracted a small number of men who write what I consider kinda disturbing emails to me about what they’d like to do to my ass, with lots of violent, painful detail. The point is that just as I can’t entirely control who my fans are and how they perceive me, you as a client can’t control how the girls perceive you. Generally, I have fans and clients who really truly get it and are relieved that someone like me exists; likewise, you’ll have girls who really truly get you and can read you right.

To answer your questions more directly - it does matter if a client likes and respects me (for starters, it makes me a better, kinder and more willing worker). I don’t work in a strip club, and since I’m totally independent I screen my clients myself and am able to weed out the ones I don’t get a good vibe from - most sex workers do this if they are concerned about chemistry and delivering a good session. I can tell if a client likes and respects me the same way I can tell if anyone else feels that way about me - he is kind, listens when I talk and is polite about personal space issues. I don’t see my clients solely as walking hard ons with cash to burn, but I would be lying if I didn’t say that I think about the earning potential each client represents. It would be bad business otherwise. It’s important to remember that although a sex worker may enjoy her job, it is a job, and she is there to make money. Although the interaction is different than interactions you might have with other service industry workers (that whole naked thing), it might help you to think about how you interact with, say, someone who cuts your hair. You are paying for a service, but there is no reason why there can’t be a friendly interaction in the midst of it.

I definitely understand that you don’t want to be near the bad things that the sex industry brings out - the gold-digging ladies, the presumptuous guys who think their dick is king - but the truth is that you interact with those people everyday. Those traits are just put into higher relief in a commercial sex setting, partly because the sex industry often allows people to be honest about their desires. Desire is not a pretty thing in all cases, on all people. Very often the sex industry - especially the strip club environment - simplifies sexual longings, at least on the surface. The trick is to find people who enjoy fucking with the norms and expectations, and not to give a shit what other people think.

Posted by Dacia at 12:04 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Web of lies

September 05, 2005

I date men who are liars. And sometimes, I fear that it takes one to know one.

There seems to be a simple solution, to put an end to this pattern: don�t do that. But get close to the matter, and it isn�t so simple. (Nothing. Ever. Is.)

I have what you might call a �ferocious libido.� While this may seem to make me a pretty desirable date, it hasn�t actually worked out that way. I have been known to out-horny dudes who pride themselves on having an endless supply of the desire for fucking. But, that issue aside, I try to select partners partly based on their avowed interest in and desire for lots of hot sex. My personal whining about the difficulty in finding a partner with matching libido pales in comparison to the whining that most men can do about this same issue. The horny, kinky dudes generally seem to outnumber their female counterparts. As a result, all of the men I�ve dated who have high libidos have a history of cheating, keeping sexual secrets, and otherwise bending the sexual rules of their relationships. In the conversations I�ve had with various partners about this, they often say it�s because they like variety in sex acts and sex partners, their needs aren�t being met by their partner, or just because they felt like it.

It�s not that I�m all high and mighty above these choices, however. When I was in high school, I was very much a sexual compulsive � I had sex because I could, because of the rush of power from being desired, and because people were available for me to fuck. It didn�t matter if I was in a monogamous-by-default relationship; I did whatever I wanted, with whoever I wanted. In that dark place inside of me, I sometimes wonder if this toe stepping has transmogrified in recent years, but not disappeared. I stayed monogamous to James for the entire four and a half years we were together, but then decided that monogamy was definitely not for me. In subsequent years, I did give my heart to someone, but I made it clear that there was no license to own and control the whereabouts of my pussy in the agreement. But sometimes I think I took it too far in chasing my horny little desires; I wasn�t cheating, but I was being slightly sexually compulsive. I know that there are selfish things in me, things in me that make me not want to compromise my desires for anyone or anything.

I see peculiar, selfish darkness mirrored back at me by many of the partners I’ve had over the past several years. Monogamy is clearly not the course I�m on with any partner, and that much is made clear very early. I don�t want monogamy, I want honesty about who my partner is seeing and fucking. I want to feel able to negotiate reasonable boundaries and have them respected; I want to be able to do the same for someone else in return. It�s not easy � I don�t expect it to be � but I don�t like to be lied to.

But the pattern is so hard to break � I�ve been lied to about my partners� partners probably too much over the last few years. In some cases I�ve been part of a lie I knew about but another partner didn�t, in others I�ve delved into dating someone knowing already that he�s a liar, or has been in the past. It�s ugly stuff, but so far in my experience I haven�t met any high-libido guys who�ve been able to live a life without lies and control themselves within the expectations of monogamy. I don�t want monogamy, just honesty, and I�ve naively believed that that would clear things up, but unfortunately, these lies seem to extend into the relationships I have.

Once, in a conversation with a friend about this issue of cheating and secrecy, she dismissed the whole nuanced discussion with a shrug, �Cheating is my fetish. I like to be secretive. I get off on it.� This seems so viciously selfish and awful. Does shame and secrecy about sex run so deep that it becomes a fetish? Is it that impossible to communicate and negotiate needs and desires honestly with a treasured partner? And perhaps the biggest question is � should I accept that lying is a part of �the game� (ew) or at least part of a pattern that needs a lot of attention in order to be tackled? I�m not in either the business or pleasure of fixing people or taking on people�s problems as my own if I can avoid it, but I�m also well aware that people have their baggage.

Posted by Dacia at 04:54 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack

Just say no to documentaries!

September 04, 2005

This week I got into conversation with a company doing short documentaries about people living outside the sexual mainstream; they were interested in me as a candidate for their show. I ran the initial email correspondence past a few of my friends, and they helped me make a list of questions I should ask. My sense of what is good and useful in the realm of press has been refined over the past year, and I was considering the doc project because it would give me a kind of exposure that my writing doesn�t.

As I talked to one of the producers, I made notes about the things they thought were interesting about me and would like to film: my polyamorous leanings, the group sex, the sex work, the modeling. They were especially keen about following me on a date, filming a sex party, and filming a session with a client.

It�s just not possible. As out as I am about my life, my outness is filtered down to the written page and the spoken story; it cannot be visually represented without horrendous personal hoop-jumping and exposure of the people in my life. It�s not that I�m personally unprepared to be televised and deal with the resulting discoveries of my �secret life� - that I can handle, and I know I will have to confront that reality at some point. I just can�t in good conscience try to talk people into putting themselves out there in the same risky way; especially because it would have returns for me (promotion, etc) and not for them.

I know it would be interesting for some people to have a look into my life, but in a way there�s nothing to look at. The popular conception of sexuality relies too much on the idea that sexuality happens when there is more than one person in the room and their bodies are connecting in some way. But in my last several months, sexuality has increasingly been an internal thing � sometimes a struggle, sometimes a joy � and something that is so pervasive of my life that in some ways it�s difficult (or boring) to capture visually. In order for the doc to be made, I would have to put serious work into staging scenes of sexual intrigue, creating a production of my life � and I just don�t want to. It�s enough of a struggle to write intimately about my life while staying true to the actual lived experiences, but to drag other people into it in a medium where I�m not controlling the final output just doesn�t seem smart.

So for now, there will be no documentaries about me and mine. There are other ways I can be heard, and I�m working on them.

Posted by Dacia at 02:20 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Dildo terrorism

September 03, 2005

After the London bombings and while I was in Amsterdam, I remember getting word that as of late July, packages and bags were subject to search in certain NYC subway stations. If you didn�t want to get searched, you best find other transportation � or a subway station without bag-searching cops. Not a particularly fool proof system.

Yesterday, the bag search finally happened to me. As luck would have it, I was carrying a bag full of dildos, butt plugs, lube, condoms, a strap on harness and spiky high heels. I got pulled aside and the cop asked me to open my (black! suspicious!) bag. I obliged, and the collection of silicone toys was right on top, with a stiletto poking straight up in the air. The cop didn�t even bat an eye, just nodded and waved me through the turnstile. Ah, jaded New York, how I love you.

Posted by Dacia at 12:36 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

The Whys

September 02, 2005

This week after almost two months off, I made a triumphant (?) return to sex work, with a foot fetish session on Tuesday and a three naked photo shoots scattered throughout the week. I had a really excellent conversation with my foot fetish client; it made for a nice welcome-back. Truth be told, I usually have really intriguing conversations with my clients � it�s interesting to learn a bit about the person on the other side of this thing we�re doing.

The client was a total newcomer to the world of being a consumer of erotic services, so he had a lot of questions for me. He was really candid in sharing his thoughts and fantasies, but like a lot of newcomers, he also wanted to know things like �why am I like this?� and �what do your customers normally want?� I never give a straight answer to the second question � partly because there isn�t necessarily a set of behaviors/desires I deem normal and because I want them to feel free to ask for what they want, not what they think I expect.

As far as the first question goes, I�ve read accounts of �how I got this way� on a variety of fetish sites � often the writers trace their fetish to experiences in childhood. A good example of this is a leg and stocking fetishist who says that he loves legs and heels because as a small child he was eye-level with his mom�s legs and footwear all the time (does that mean all the Muppet Babies grew up to be leg fetishists?). While I don�t doubt that these stories ring true for the people who tell them, I think they�re a little silly. Who cares where it came from � if your fetish gives you pleasure, rock on with your bad self. Why the need to find out where this thing came from? The sad answer to that is probably that because fetishes are viewed as deviant (and BAD), if you can figure out what happened to make you that way, you can separate the fetish from yourself � you aren�t really a bad person, it�s just that this thing happened.

I know it seems a little crazy for me, the overthinker, to say that some things are best left to exist as they are, but the thing is � some things don�t have a definite meaning. Its a little nature, a little nurture, and a lot of chance that makes people the way they are. I know that�s a no-good explanation for people who feel they need to know why they�re a perv, but I don�t think it�s always useful to live looking backwards, endlessly examining childhood to figure this shit out (though there are definitely other things worth pondering extensively). Go forth, and pervify!

Posted by Dacia at 09:35 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

Dacia vs. The Machine

September 01, 2005

or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Robocock

So in the quest to make my life experience increasingly peculiar, last night I had an, um, encounter with a fucking machine. How, you may ask, would this come about? Well, I was contacted a while ago by a photographer who is interested in the intersection between sexuality and machines� an interesting conversation resulted and the revelation that said photographer is in possession of a fucking machine (you know, one of these things).Was I intrigued? Well, considering that I was already intrigued by his project, yes I certainly was.

So, fast forward to last night, when I filled my suitcase with clothes, shoes and sex toys and made my way to the studio we were shooting in. We started out with some still pics for a bit of warm up and utilized my very red wardrobe and collection of high heels. I was amused to find that it�s becoming much easier to walk in 5 inch stilettos; when I put on my platforms I felt almost like I was wearing sneakers, they were so easy to move around in. Hey, strutting in 5 inch heels is a useful life skill for me.

After a while, the photographer took out the fucking machine for me to admire and ponder. It was basically a metal suitcase like the kind you see carrying millions of dollars in those gangster movies. Except inside of it was the metal that makes the hump possible, and it had a metal pole sticking out of it. It came with a collection of dildos (the icky flesh colored, veiny jelly rubber ones) but I was delighted to find out that my favorite silicone dildo happened to have a hollowed out space perfectly sized for said metal attachment. Well then. We turned the machine on its end so the dildo was pointing skywards, twisted its control on, and watched mesmerized as it pumped at the ceiling. Another twist of the knob and it pumped faster.

The photographer turned to me and said, �So what do you think?�

My eyes still locked on the machine, I responded, �Well, it�s kind of scary. But the noises it makes are less terrifying than I thought they�d be; I thought it would sound more like a jackhammer. Let�s do it.�

He raised his eyebrows at me and said, �You�ll be the first to have a go with it. Other models have been curious about it, but everyone�s been too afraid of it to actually use it.�

Leave it to me to take the machine�s virginity and give it my robot love virginity in exchange.

To warm myself up for the machine, I did a bit of a strip tease with the video camera trained on me, unzipped my dress (hey, I�m a class act, what can I say?), sat down in a comfy chair and began to play with my pussy. I dipped my fingers in my mouth and then smeared the wetness on my freshly shaved labia. By this time I was distracted by the task at hand, so I forgot about being careful with my lipstick and probably fucked it all up, but who cares � I was getting ready to make sweet robot love. I lingered with my fingers pulling at my labia, mixing spit and cunt juices together, rubbing my clit into the awakened state that always makes my piercing jut at an odd angle. I reached beside my chair for my trusty lube and toys and started to use the mini slimline all over my vulva; its hard plastic occasionally chattering over my piercing. I felt my labia plump up and the area just above my pubic bone swell. I pressed down on it and slid the vibe inside me at an angle so that I�d touch my g-spot while also bearing down on it from above. Good, cross-eyed stuff. While keeping the vibe in place with one hand, I reached for my lumina wand with the other. I was ready for some harder g-spot banging. Chatter chatter chatter was the sound of the moment as the slimline collided with my piercing and the lumina wand, and sometimes both at once. I felt my juices start to drip out of me and expand down the insides of my thighs � I was ready for robot love. I tapered off with the vibrator and announced, �I�m ready for it.�

We shuffled things around a bit and tried to figure out the optimal position for machine fuckery. Since the floor was looking none too comfy for laying or kneeling on, we decided that it would be best if I stood over the machine, with it poking me from below. I had to take my fabulous stilettos off for this portion of the evening�s program so that I could balance better. I lubed up my dildo and inserted it before turning the machine on, and then slowly twisted the knob. With a click and a grind, the machine sprung to life, and on its first upward thrust popped out of my pussy. This much I can say � though the machine repetitively thrusts in the exact same way, it is still no easier to keep the cock-pussy connection going than it is with a real live cock. Or maybe I just need more machine-fucking practice.

After getting the hang of the machine for a while, we decided that I should turn around and angle the thing so that I would be getting fucked from behind, though still standing up. We put a stool in front of me for leaning against, and this position worked much better, partly due to the fact that I was no long looking directly at the machine and being fascinated by the hump mechanism (yes, that�s a technical term). I could concentrate more on the solid fucking the thing was administering once I was propped up on my elbows and pointing my ass at machine (and camera). I dropped my left hand down onto my clit and realized that my pussy was a sopping mess (in a good way).

I closed my eyes, listened to the steady hum of the machine behind me, and went to town on my clit. That dildo isn�t my favorite for nothing � its smooth swells rubbed my g-spot in just the right way, and the wide base stretched my cunt wide for a spilt second as the machine penetrated me to the hilt. Though at first I had been too concerned with the mechanics of the operation (and I�ll admit, a little self-conscious about being on camera) to think that I�d be able to make an orgasm happen, it was becoming a reality. I felt myself slip into my head and body a bit more, and I looked down to see my legs violently shaking.

The gears inside the suitcase groaned against my pulsing cunt muscles. It made a bit of a cranking noise and I wondered for a second if my orgasm was going to push the cock out (it didn�t), but then I got lost in the feeling of coming. With a soft sigh, my body began to go slack, and I slowed the machine to a stop. I disengaged, still shaking and a little flushed. The photographer watched me shaking subtly before him for a second, and then asked, �So, how was it?�

�It was� good. Interesting. I was able to get into it more when I wasn�t looking at the shiny metal of the machine.�

So, it wasn�t the most fearsome orgasm ever, and I didn�t go totally nuts about the machine, but I think given some practice and a different position (how about not standing up), my robot love skills could increase exponentially. Now there�s a useful life skill to have.

Posted by Dacia at 08:51 AM | Comments (16) | TrackBack