Hercules and The Wagoner

I have failed you, dear readers, but moreover, I have failed myself, for I had lost the courage to blog.

I never realized just how much courage it takes to fully open up and tell my stories to the world, but it requires much more than I realized.  My paralysis was so prolific that I'd even stopped writing for myself.  The more I knew I needed to write, the more I clammed up; I barely even journaled.  It was as if I had been blindly walking a tight rope across a ravine for ages, never thinking anything of it and then I suddenly looked down and completely froze.  Last year, I even took a creative non-fiction course to try to get some traction around my book chapters, but I barely participated!  To make it worse, the class was being led by one of my favorite and most respected authors, yet I couldn't put one letter in front of the other.  Such a coward.  I was so afraid of my stories being read out of context, without proper representation or explanation from me.  I was afraid of being misunderstood, of being judged, perhaps even pitied, in some cases, that I became completely frozen with fear.

The worst part of all of this was that I didn't even realize I was being cowardly!  I went through the standard "too busy, no time" blahbitty blah blah horseshit horseshit excuse excuse, but it wasn't until I read this essay by the very same favorite teacher/author that everything came together and punched me in the gut: Essay-A Kick in the Butt from Melissa Febos.  I realized I was my own worst enemy, my own hinderance, by lying to myself about why I wasn't writing.  I saw that I had never and will never be able to control the flow of information; I've never been able to give context to my stories or explanation for my actions because sometimes blogs are single snippets, read only once by one person and never again and never in order.

So there it was.  The big, hairy, ugly truth that I'd been dodging for months, maybe years: I had become a turtle, hiding in my shell, a complete chicken.  And what's even worse is that I'd become something I never ever even knew I had in me--risk-adverse!  I suddenly was giving a shit about what people thought of me?!  Of my choices, of my life?!  How did this happen?!  Talk about a shame spiral.

Since then, I've been weaving my way through my many fears, the semi-unknown, somewhat unactualized.  All this gut work should translate to real words on the page so that now, hopefully, I will have even more of myself to share with you, if I can muster up the courage to do so authentically.  Vulnerability is no joke; it takes a shitload of courage.

The other primary factors at play have been multiple career changes and, most importantly, the relationships I've been navigating around, two of which have been the most metamorphic in my adult life.  In my 20's, I had so many opportunities to meet and date a cornucopia of individuals, many of whom, I am grateful to say, are still in my life in varying capacities, but two very special people from these past few years have changed my mind, my heart and permeated my soul in unique and profound ways, some of which I will share with you.

Hanging on my mirror is this reminder for me, a quote by e. e. cummings: "It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are," and this is what I am learning to do, and in doing so, I know I will be even more authentic here, to all of you, for better or for worse.

jn

Put Out or Pay Up

Something I’m always reading about, researching and exploring is Sex Work, and not just the idea of Sex Work (which is to say some sort of something in the sex industry, involving turning people on and getting them off), but the actual ‘doing’ of the Work.

I have a deeply held philosophy that is really very unpopular: I actually believe that everyone pays for sex in some form or fashion.  Most adults have gone through the motions of dating, and, in doing so, have purchased (at minimum) drinks, meals, entertainment, travel, personal items, etc. for the privilege of spending time with someone.  In most cases, one party is always paying for more than the other, perhaps due to cultural reasons, preferences, or general laziness, and it's usually men paying for the company of a woman. The only downside to this is that regardless of how much money a man spends on a woman in the dating arena, there is rarely the guarantee of sexual payoff.  However, when it comes to Sex Work, the exchange is always inevitable, and when something is inevitable and pre-negotiated, there are no unanswered questions or gray areas, which means less room for any confusion and disappointment all around (tragically, UNlike dating).  And, like porn, we expect to pay something for it, but when we can it find it for free, it's an extra bonus.

Now, I am a big proponent of conventional dating, I’m just not a proponent of fiscal inequality.  I love going on dates, but I just can’t stand the feeling like they are running a tab.  And maybe I am a total cynic, but I believe that guys get to a point where they either stop paying or start to resent paying if they aren’t getting their needs met in return. (Tragically, ladies, you may never know this happens because they stop calling you before they get to this place.)  Perhaps this is just my personal fear, but I believe there comes a dollar amount where I feel like I have to either put out or pay up, and I detest even the thought of this.  When it comes to my current dating life, I very rarely put out in the first three months (contrary to the dating habits of my 20’s), so I work very hard to contribute to a more reasonable financial balance until we really get to know one another.

There is, however, an exception to this rule, and that is Sex Work, or Sex(ual Satisfaction) for Cash Money. To me, the idea of being paid, not just for sex, but to fulfill and inhabit someone’s fantasies gets me crazy wet. I can’t help it.  Part of me simply craves new experiences, and the other parts of me relish turning people on and getting them off in incredibly satisfying ways.  When you are hired for Sex Work, you are hired to do a job, just like any other type of employment, and I take that wanton charge very seriously.  Although, I know I take it a bit far at times since I’d (generally) rather get hot and nasty with a partner talking dirty while stuffing hundreds in my stockings than the one that takes me to dinner and makes friendly conversation in hopes of a handjob, although, to be honest, may I have both, please?  In the same person?  That’d be ideal.

I have absolutely no problem with traditional gender roles, in fact, should I ever grow up and get married, I’m very happy to play the submissive wife role to a man or a more dominant wife role to a woman, depending on their needs, but when it comes to men, the only way I feel really comfortable being ‘kept’ is by being their absolute female fantasy.  I can’t imagine ever not working or financially contributing to my household, but I absolutely would consider it if I were with a strong alpha male that wanted a wife at home to keep the household and knew exactly what he wanted from her everyday: somedays a 1940’s vision, others a sultry vixen, or a dominatrix, or a complete linen ‘n’ lace submissive that shoves a giant dildo up his ass.  Any and all of it works for me.  Otherwise, I’m afraid, I’m just about the equal-pay-for-equal-work kind of relationship, which generally turns fewer people on, but is much more practical.

Until I find that, though, I have a lot of excellent outfits and accoutrements for these various roles, so hit me up if you know what you want and aren’t afraid to pay for it, preferably combined with detailed instructions, a plane ticket, and the promise of a proper spanking...but, then again, this is about your fantasy, isn't it?