Saying it all. . .

I’ve been feeling for a while that something was missing. Like I’m not fulfilled and in fact am a bit drained. And I chalked this up to the giving I do. Even when my work partner Katy joins me in my sessions, I am giving so much energy. And so I thought that what was missing was the thrill of the seduction. Well, that and the deep dicking that so many of my clients are no longer able to manage. I thought what was missing was the sheer joy of having someone pursue and woo me. Of having sex just for the pure joy of having sex.

So, I figured it was only a matter of time before I was heading home from the concert with the handsome guitar player from the band. He looked like a young and scruffy Sinatra. And something about his classic tattoos and fedora set my mind to sizzling. He was just the kind of guy I used to seek out back in my simple slut days. Fun, uncomplicated, witty.

 
We had been flirting through the whole evening; had established the parameters of a no-strings evening of entertainment. It seemed a perfect conversation and situation. And he was charming in a shy, artistic way that told me he would be a wonderous lover.

We sat on my couch and drank whiskey and chatted about my record collection before moving into the bedroom. And I will say that he does start out with a bang. He was on me in mere moments scratching my neck and breasts with his 2 day growth of beard. With eager hands, we stripped each other’s clothing off and were on the bed, writhing and licking, in no time. I was primed by all the flirting, so I was hot and wet and ready to go. We went through six condoms and at least as many positions without any successful climax for either of us. I gave him a map to my body with each of my particular favorite tourist destinations marked with a big red X, and I played tour guide as well. He just wouldn’t take direction, nor would he let me lead. 
 

Finally, in utter frustration and irritation, both spiritual and physical (that stubble was much less charming when he kept insisting on eating my pussy), I pushed him onto his back and rode him. I wasn’t going to let his stubbornness deny me my orgasm. And I will say that he was encouraging at that point. Holding my hips and cheering me on as I brought myself off.

1. Ever heard of a Pillow Queen? A Pillow Queen is a girl, usually in her early 20’s, who is just so beautifully built and fair of face that she has never been taught anything about sexuality. Strange, I know, but there is an alarming number of young girls who are just so pretty that men just want to fuck them. And they are so excited to get to do so that they leap on her like a rabid dog and do their thing. So these girls believe that all they have to do to be great in bed is to lie still and look pretty. I’ve met plenty and am actually related to a couple. I once believed this to be a primarily feminine problem. I have now met my equivalent in the male realm. The Rock Star. I imagine he’s got girls in every town he plays just waiting for him to come back. He is not judged by his appearance, as the ladies are, but by his status. He’s got the cool required to provide him with pussy. Sadly, like the Pillow Queen, he has never had to take the time to learn to be a good listener or a good lover. He just has to bang away for as long as he can and rest on the Rock Star Reputation. Good to know it’s not just us girls who develop these heartbreaking sexual blocks. 

2. It is possible for beard stubble to actually remove skin from a woman’s most tender areas. It will hurt for days so you had better be sure there are some pretty damn amazing memories to make it worth it.

3. I now know that it isn’t the pure physical satisfaction of my past that I long for, but the specific attentions of my man. I miss the way he seduces me every day with his little comments and the “lucky guy” look that occasionally sneaks over his face. I miss the passionate way he fucks me and the smoldering way he makes love to me. And though I’ve been treated to some spectacular sexual experiences in the recent past, each event was shadowed by the fact that he could not be here to share in my discoveries.  

 
 
4. I used to wonder at the number of ladies in my profession who are involved in a relationship. I never thought there could be so many men and women willing to accept our line of work for their partner. I am lucky enough to have found one in my man. But I haven’t seen him since January.  And I’m starting to think that it is vital for a sex worker to be involved with someone who knows all about their work and is proud of the service they offer. Because what we do is so emotionally, physically and spiritually draining. The kind of reminders we need can’t be found in a one-night-stand. We need to be reminded of what it feels like to focus on ourselves for a bit. We need to be laughed with and befriended and cuddled by someone who has heard us fart. (hehehe…you’re so silly…but such a good way of explaining yourself and the level of comfort we have) We need someone who will let us stop being the Perfect Girlfriend and just let us be who we are. And still love us just the same.

I miss you, lover. Counting the days.  aww…you just made me melt…

You would think in my line of work, I would have seen and done it all. And I will say that even I am amazed at some of the things I’ve tried. But it still catches me by surprise when someone requests something I’ve never done before.

Back when I was a newbie, I received an email.

“Do you do foot jobs?”

That was all it said. Now, in my line of work, this is the ultimate in rudeness. Though there is no question that I am going to do unladylike things, it is expected that I will be approached respectfully and professionally. I was offended. And at that point I put foot fetishes into the same realm as ear licking.  It doesn’t really do anything for me, but if it turns you on, I’m on it.

I mentioned the email to my mentor and best friend, Robert. He said he knew the man and also knew that he was very inexperienced and timid and had been mistreated by the one girl he had seen.

Now, I know you don’t know me, so I’m going to tell you something about myself here. This man was yearning for his particular turn-on so badly that he was willing to take a second chance at finding a girl, despite a horrible first experience. That touched me. I hate to see someone in need. And it also made me want to redeem the art a bit.  Seeing a professional should be a wonderful experience. And it should be respectful, kind and caring at the very least. I didn’t want him to base his understanding of this business on that one girl.

So, over months of time we talked online and made ourselves comfortable and developed an understanding of what he was looking for and also of what I could offer. I admitted that I had no idea what a footjob was. Admitted that I had never been interested in feet during sex. But also enthusiastically agreed to letting him teach me a bit about it.

So, flash forward to the day when we’ve finally managed to work around his severely erratic schedule. And he’s running late, so this won’t even be a full hour appointment. But we’ve built it up in our heads for so long that it just has to happen. I’m driving to the hotel. And I’m stressed. I took special care in dressing. . .toes painted a lovely raspberry shade, just the right amount of cleavage, skirt just short enough and heels just high enough to accentuate the feet and legs. I know I’m looking good. But it’s the first truly warm day of the year and my feet are sweating. He has mentioned sucking my toes and my feet are sweating. Ugh. Adding to my stress is the image I have of foot fetishes.  While everything we’ve discussed seems pretty straightforward and easy to do, I can’t help feeling that there must be more to it.  There must be something that makes it hot. But I can’t imagine what that might be. So, my feet are sweating, my appointment is rushed, and I’m prepared to simply tolerate something that does nothing for me.  Not the most ideal of circumstances.

I arrive at the hotel, and a handsome young man is waiting for me. His youth puts me at ease, and my nurturing instincts come out. He’s just so cute I want to take care of him. Upstairs in the room, I quickly slip away to the bathroom and wash my feet. 

After some cordialities and chatting, he takes my foot in his hands and compliments my polish. It’s a new dynamic for me. . .suddenly I’m the student, and shy in that role. I’m not sure what to expect, but I’m willing to let him lead.  But the feeling of uncertainty doesn’t sit well with me. I reclaim my foot and stand to strip off my blouse and skirt to display my lacy white bra and panties.  And I manage to distract him from what I consider my least attractive feature for long enough to get his clothes off. But when we climb onto the bed together, I know I can’t put it off any longer. 

I’m leaning against the pillows and he kneels at my feet and gently takes them into his hands again. And I can tell he’s worried that he will upset or offend me. And again, I feel that nurturing feeling that makes me want to give the little boy with the teartracks on his face a cookie. I wiggle my toes just a bit in his hands by way of encouragement. I made him chuckle, which broke the tension for us both. With a new air of excitement, he focused on my feet. At first he just massaged them and laid gentle kisses along the tops and insteps. And it felt so fluttery and light. . .almost reverent.  He ran his tongue along the backs of my toes to end at my big toe with a sucking kiss. . .and my world. . .and my puss exploded. 

I came to this appointment expecting to tolerate having my toes sucked. When I mentioned this to my girlfriend she said “Well, duh, Lola! There’s a direct link between your toes and your pussy”.  And I have to say that I just never thought about it. Feet were always just a way to get around. 

Most feet are ticklish to the touch. And that is one of the things that makes this so delicious. There is that undercurrent of tickle when someone is sucking and licking your toes. But it adds only one very subtle flavor to the experience. He ran his tongue between my toes, sucked each little piggie in sucession, then nibbled the balls of my feet. And with each new sensation I felt a corresponding pulse and tingle in my pussy.  I could almost feel the texture of his tongue rasping over my labia as he licked the creases between my toes. It wasn’t long before I was writhing and moaning. I must have had that wide-eyed surprised look on my face, because he asked if I liked it. And if it shocked me that I did. And I answered yes to each question between panting breaths.  In his passion, he continued to lick one of my feet while placing the other on his swollen cock. My mind had tried in the past to conjur images of how I could love a cock with my foot without hurting the man involved. Feet can seem so clumbsy and awkward. But I was so inspired that I think instinct just took over. And a formerly odd appendage became a perfect object of pleasure. His cock fit perfectly between my two biggest toes. And the arch of a foot can be made to perfectly cup and cuddle his package.  It may sound silly or strange, but one properly motivated tootsie can do an awful lot to stroke and excite a man. 

It was later that same day that a girlfriend of mine took me for my first pedicure. I’m sitting in the wonderful massaging chair, talking with my girl about men and life and the universe as a lovely petite Vietnamese woman is massaging my feet and legs. And I realize that I have done a serious disservice to feet. While they may be a champion way of getting around, they are so much more than that. An undiscovered country of sensations and pleasures that I never dreamed existed.

So, let’s all raise our glasses to my ignorance and misconception. To appreciating the beauty in even the most mundane of things.  And to a whole new fascination with sexy strappy sandals.

Kisses
Lola