grandmother's advice

last night, at a big fancy dinner, my grandmother leaned over to me and said, "what you need is a rich older man and a younger woman."

background later. needless to say, i am shocked!

ignorant sluts

I am super pissed off. This post will be a doozy. You have been warned.

I am so frustrated with ignorant sluts. Ignorant sluts are the folks in the multiple partner sex party scenes who believe the little "d/d free" mention in their ad or post means shit. Ignorant sluts are those who reject partners who voluntarily disclose their sti status, while not inquiring the sti status of any other partners. Ignorant sluts pretend that their "safer sex practices" (putting on the condom eventually, although not necessarily at first penetration; unprotected blowjobs; etc) have kept them risk free and unexposed to any possible infection. Ignorant sluts think that since they "got tested" and nothing came back positive, they're clean.

But the most annoying thing about ignorant sluts is that these are very intelligent people. And they are my friends.

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The scenario

My friend Jefferson has been throwing sex parties for almost a year. I used to go back in the day, but lately life has gotten in the way. Many mutual friends and fucks make their way to his parties. It's one big happy incestuous family.

So, my friend of the blogosphere, Nadia, recently wrangled an invite to an upcoming evening. Nadia is super smart, wonderful, and educated about sexual health. She also has herpes. Her personal value system leads her to disclose her status to all potential sex partners, with positive and negative results. Nadia sends Jefferson an email:

I have a question for you, oh dear sex party host.... what is the protocol when someone attending has a minor std? I have herpes and I've always been good about informed consent of my partners and I'm not sure how to handle this situation. I only get outbreaks about once a year at this point, so most of the time I'm probably not contagious, but of course I can't ever guarantee that at a particular moment I'm not. So far I've never given it to anyone just by using condoms for intercourse.... but of course I'd like to keep that record going! I have no problem with people using barriers for oral sex or whatever, they can do what they need to feel comfortable.

Of course, should I suddenly get an outbreak around the time of the party I won't attend, but if everything's normal - I have no idea what to do.... ack. With herpes being so prevalent (20-25% of the population estimated to have it and 90% estimated to have oral herpes anyway which can be transmitted via oral sex to the genitals) I do hope this isn't a major deal but I want people to make the decision for themselves.... despite my fears of rejection. Some people see it as no big deal, others freak.... oy.

She's one smart cookie. Jefferson forwards to me with a request for advice. I say that since the risk of transmission between outbreaks is minimal (not to mention the same as folks who are asymptomatic carriers or folks between bouts of cold sores), let her come. He responds:

Thank you for lending your mind to this issue!

I will let her come. My feeling is that in the interest of informed consent, she should tell people about her STI before playing with them--which will likely cut out most potential partners.

Given what you say about the very low risk of transmission, is that asking too much?

Now, disclosure and informed consent are two push-button issues for me. I feel (and frequently verbalize) that people need to take responsibility for their own sexual health. Educate yourself to the risks, find a level of risk you're comfortable with, and stick to it. Don't assume anyone's status (unless you're assuming they have every infection under the sun). Don't assume your partner will disclose (or disclose honestly, even when asked). Don't assume your disclosure will prompt reciprocation. Don't assume your partner knows his/her/hir status. Don't assume your own status.

Additionally, you are responsible for your level of risk, including your level of information. If you are not asking questions, you do not have the right to know (although the information may be offered, it is a privilege). Informed consent is not so much about shared information between partners, but rather the knowledge level of each individual partner. I feel the same way about herpes or hpv as I do about hiv.

Someone who wants to bottom bareback (without a condom, that's what the "bb" means on all those acronyms, bbbj, bbfs, etc) knows they are placing themselves at risk for a variety of infections, including hiv (the big daddy of sexually transmitted infections, the one everyone is worried about, and the one that is easiest to prevent transmission of). They are responsible to inquire as to their partner's status, and have the right to request details of most recent test date and risk activities in the window period prior and since. I believe that an hiv positive person can top without a condom without volunteering their status, if their status has not been inquired (I'm not saying they should or shouldn't, but that's their choice; although they are legally obligated in certain states). An individual is only responsible for their own informed consent and sexual health.

Now, this does not mean I believe people should knowingly endanger their partners. Answer honestly to the best of your abilities. But it is impossible to ever really know all the details of your infection status (see testing section below).

So, Jefferson's reply got me a little razzed. I wrote back:
my feeling on the matter is if a person isn't asking everyone they go up to at the party if they have an sti, then their partners are not responsible for the silent person's sexual health. i believe she is not obligated to tell anyone (even you). this is only emphasized by the low risk of transmission. she thinks differently and will probably disclose (or at least has already begun to disclose by outing herself to you).

the fact that she is aware of her status and gets screened regularly and knows her body, she's probably putting herself at greater risk by fucking all your guests who may only occasionally get tested, if at all, without inquiring their status (assumes anyone else will also disclose).

would you allow a person to attend your party if they were hiv positive? would it matter if it was a woman or a man? how do you know no one with hiv has attended already? have you inquired as to the last time your guests were tested and listed the various stis one can be tested for (cause many you have to ask specifically, especially for boys)?

plus, i know its cliche and simultaneously melodramatic and under-estimating, but everyone has herpes and hpv in one strain or another. i have had cancor sores along my gum lines since i was an itty bitty child. this is a strain of herpes. one that could potentially be passed to a partner even with an unwrapped blowjob if i happened to have one in my cheek that i didn't think about. if you have ever had a cancor sore or a cold sore, you also have herpes. and you are just as likely to pass it on to your guests as nadia.

He ponders and replies (don't you love posts with email chains):
Very good points. I think in this case, Nadia is guided by her own ethics to inform people, which sets my mind at ease somewhat. I just feel a little burdened by my responsibilities as host.

And you are right: while we do tell everyone that is a "d/d free" group, we don't ask for evidence of recent testing. That may be unrealistic, given that we are not closed to new members. I don't lose sleep, though, because I watch closely, and everyone plays safe, if not by the most rigid guidelines (ie unprotected oral sex).

Under no conditions would I knowingly permit an HIV positive person to attend. Just as I wouldn't attend a poz party.

At this point, steam began coming from my ears. So I left my computer for the night, watched the sandlot with Dacia, slept, did work for the office, went to the dyke knitting circle, wrote my take-home Spanish test, and realized I was still pissed off about this. At that point, the blogging etiquette kicked in. I sent little heads-up emails to Jefferson and Nadia, inquired requested pseudonyms, and prepped them. (Jefferson, sweetie. I still love you. I am just very frustrated right now. Nadia, darling. You are a saint and a martyr. Not fun, but very admirable). Then I started writing what has become this eight page essay, until two in the morning last night. I completed and edited it this morning. Now, posted for your viewing pleasure.

So, here comes the meat and potatoes (yes, there's more).

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the facts

Sexually transmitted infections ("stis", formerly known and occasionally referred to as sexually transmitted diseases or stds) are a part of a sexually active lifestyle. If you are having sex (including oral sex) you are potentially exposing yourself to a variety of infections. All of these infections can be treated, and many can be cured. However, most of these infections also carry a social stigma.

the stats

HPV: Studies suggest that three quarters of the adult American population has been infected with HPV. Similar to herpes, HPV can not be tested for without symptoms present (including cervical dysplasia that the individual may not be aware of). Consequently, most people with HPV do not know they have it.

Herpes: Over 45 million Americans have the strain of herpes called HSV-2. Furthermore, up to 80 percent of Americans have the strain of herpes associated with cold sores and cancor sores. Previously HIV-1 was synonymous with "oral herpes". However, HSV-1 can be transmitted to the genitals via oral sex. Consequently, "oral herpes" and "genital herpes" no longer differentiates between HSV-1 and HSV-2 but refers to the area of outbreaks. Finally, it is estimated that four out of five people with herpes do not know that they have it.

Chlamydia: According to plannedparenthood.org, three million American women and men become infected with chlamydia every year. Chlamydia is:
four times as common as gonorrhea
more than 30 times as common as syphilis
most common among women and men under 25
For every person with herpes, there are six with chlamydia.
Also, Chlamydia infections are asymptomatic (don't present any pus or painful urination or other fun side effects of an infection) for 75 percent of women and 50 percent of men with Chlamydia. It can lead to infertility and crippling arthiritis if undiagnosed and untreated.

HIV: More than 40,000 men and women contract HIV each year. It is estimated that one third of people with HIV do not know they have it.

This is a very condensed list of the "top three" infections and everybody's favorite, HIV. The point being: many people have sexually transmitted infections AND many people do not know that they have sexually transmitted infections.

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"d/d free" my ass

I hate the phrase "d/d free" almost as much as I hate the term "abstinence". They are both open to interpretation and no two people define them in the same manner. And they both provide a false sense of security. I know some of you are out their scratching your heads (or your asses), saying "d/d free, huh?" To define, "d/d free" is web/personals slang for "drug and disease free". The fact that some of you don't know what it means illustrates point one: never assume someone knows what the fuck you're talking about, especially when speaking in acronyms.

Now, breaking it down. What exactly is "drug free"? Or even more basic, what qualifies as a "'drug"? Pot, Viagra, ridalyn, adderal, alcohol, tobacco, poppers, meth, ecstasy, coke, uppers, downers, xanax, heroin… At this particular series of parties, there is open alcohol, tobacco, pot, and ecstasy use, not to mention the occasional person who wanders in already having popped a pill or done a line. At other "d/d free" parties, I have seen poppers and Viagra passed between guests like a hor'dors (I have no idea how to spell this word, sorry). Where is the proverbial line drawn that divides the "social drugs" from the "real drugs" implied in "d/d free"?

So, if "drug free" isn't enforced, how can one assume that the "disease free" portion will be adhered to?

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"getting tested"

Can we ever really know our sexually transmitted infection status? Only in two situations. The first involves having a history absent of all sexual behavior, including kissing (even with parents and family members) and assumes the mother was not infected at the time of birth. The second is having every known sexually transmitted infection actively presenting itself and its symptoms. But what about getting tested?

First, you are not automatically tested for anything, even at your yearly physical. If you ask to "be tested" for stis (sexually transmitted infections, in case I haven't defined that earlier), chances are you will be swabbed for gonorrhea and Chlamydia, and have blood taken for syphilis and maybe hepatitis, if you have a good health care provider. You must specifically request to be tested for hiv (this is a legal issue as a positive test is reported to the DOH in most states and all AIDS diagnoses are reported to the CDC). But what about HPV and herpes? Well, chicks can have a pap smear to check for cervical lesions caused by some strains of hpv (see my "hpv and me" post for more info), and if you can find a health care provider with the equipment and the savvy, anyone can have an anal pap. But you can only be tested for the hpv strains that cause genital warts when warts are present. Similarly, you can only be tested for herpes when lesions are present (although there is a blood test now available, it is hard to find access to and is more often used for typing herpes as hsv1 or hsv2 for purposes of treatment than original diagnosis due to cost efficacy issues).

Additionally, several sexually transmitted infections have "window periods". This is the time between initial infection to the point that one tests positive. During this period, one can transmit the infection to partners but would receive negative test results. The most notable window period is the three months for hiv. Moral of the story? You can not assumed that because you have been tested you are free of sexually transmitted infections.

Furthermore, asking, "have you been tested?" is not specific enough to garner any worthwhile information. One must ask, "when were you last tested?" "what were you tested for?" (if they answer "everything" quiz them, "gonorrhea, Chlamydia, hiv, syphilis, herpes [throw that in there to trip them up], hepatitis, etc?") "did you engage in risk activities in the three months prior to testing?" "have you engaged in any risk activities since being tested?" And, ultimately, what do the answers mean? I find it easier to assume that everyone has everything, and protect myself according to my own levels of comfortable risk. Which brings us to our next point.

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"safER sex"

Remember "safe sex"? That phrase that helped America get its groove back post 1980's hiv-induced panic. You know, wear a condom and everything will be fine. Well, as George Bush and his buddies like to remind us, "the only safe sex is no sex". I think this may be the sole point Georgie boy and I agree upon. Sex is not safe. It is a series of risks. Personal, emotional, and physical. The physical risks include the risk of infection. Consequently, the sex savvy cohort may have notices a recent shift in vernacular.

In the past few years, "safe sex" has grown up and become "safer sex". Safer sex is more than using a rubber. The term encompasses a plethora of risk-reduction behaviors. From withdrawal to latex-encased-elbow-rubbing, the spectrum of safer sex is infinite and shifting. For example, condoms coupled with withdrawal are highly effective for reducing the risk of transmission of hiv and preventing pregnancy, however doesn't offer shit for an open herpes sore outside the condom with direct skin-to-skin contact at every ball-to-ass-smack.

For a comprehensive list of which activities put you at risk for what, check out http://www.dph.sf.ca.us/sfcityclinic/stdbasics/stdchart.asp. My only criticism of the chart is the combination of the strains of hpv linked to warts and the other twenty some odd strains, including those that can lead to cervical dysplasia. Lesson, wearing condoms for all penetrative vaginal and anal intercourse does not insulate the group from infection.

Furthermore, suggesting that closing the party to new members would serve to eliminate the risk of infection is naïve at best. Although limiting the number of immediate partners could somewhat reduce the risk, it is hardly an effective means of prevention. A sex party group is not insular. Most people who attend sex parties, also have multiple partners outside of that particular event. Think of it as the cast for a porn flick. How does hiv occasionally make it's way into one of the most heavily tested populations on the planet? Via risk activities with outside partners. Even by closing the guest list, there will still be risk.

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The frustration

It is so frustrating when people that I know and care about, whom I have spoken with and answered questions and handed brochures and references for years, can still fail to internalize the information. If Jefferson is still thinking like this after three years of me, how can I expect to impact anyone in a single workshop or class. Argh!

office party

ah, the office holiday party.

last night, the office rendezoused at a swanky midtown bar/restaurant to drink, eat, and boogie down (the last part was especially humorous). i set my limit at three baileys due to previous party experiences.

at the office summer party, on a little "cruise" around manhattan, the had the gaul to offer a cash bar. i solved this dilemma by tucking my roommate's flask between my garter belt and the top of my stockings. my coworker's partner (they have been together since they were fifteen, they are the cutest dyke couple i know) took turns nipping our diet cokes. when the boat docked, we headed over to henrietta hudson's for more drinking. the had to cab me to the train.

but the christmas party the year before takes the cake. it was held in the office penthouse (not acceptable), although there was an open bar. so i drank lots and lots of baileys in the holiday spirit. and i started feeling randy. we were playing the who in the office do you find fuckable game, and laughing at our lack of selection. so, i stumbled down the stairs to my desk to make a booty call. and another call. then post a craigslist ad. at which point my friend of a decade and former three-time boyfriend, and occasional fuck, gave me a call. i was lamenting my predicament and he offered his cock. my nipples perked (the slut's equivalent to a lightbulb going on).

i checked travelocity and discovered a flight leaving to detroit in a little under two hours. i walked out of the office, flagged a cab, and entered laguardia. now, you can't book a flight online that close to take off. so i approached the ticket sales counter. i welled up the tears and improvised a story of my uncle having a heart attack and is in the hospital and we don't know if he'll be okay. i kept up this facade through the personal search and onto the plane (bad bad karma, i know, but he isn't dead yet and his heart is ticking strong).

on the plane, i take inventory. i'm in a full length vintage hippy dress. i need underwear, a pair of pants, a toothbrush, various other necessities. however, i do have my zippy vibrator. i slip over the old couple next to me, offering me grapes and crackers from their cooler, into the lavatory. once there, i twist the base of my zippy onto high and tuck it snug between my lips, hood, and panties. then i stroll back to my seat. thank god zippies are so quiet and airplanes are so loud. i put my headphones on and fake a nap as i clench my pc muscles through fantasy after fantasy and a series of satisfying orgasms. when i've had enough, i make sure the airline blanket covers my lap up to my tits. i reach down and lift my skirt to discreetly remove the zippy. i suck it clean with my face to the window and drop it back in my bag, dozing sweetly for the rest of the flight.

once in detroit, my pal is there. we head to meijers for panties and sweat pants. then we stop by a little caesar's for a five dollar pizza. and a video store for porn (little runaways, so hot hot hot). in the red jeep where i almost lost my virginity (damn cops), there is groping and sucking and all sorts of hands as we rush back to his apartment. in the door, to the room, down the condom, on the cock, good times.

after or third round, i'm already beginning to get sore. i regret that i don't have any lube with me. he questions the concept, saying i'm more than wet enough. i explain the wonders of lube. like a good boy he picks some up on his way home from work in the morning. so there was a weekend of sex in a far off city, where i left my pink lace panties dangling from the kitchen lighting fixture, all due to the holiday office party.

mommy making love (or fucking if you prefer)

to clarify an earlier post (and thank you to everyone who responded), my mother has not handed over her diary of sexual exploits (although, if she had, i would read it voraciously). my mother asserted her prudery throughout my youth ("jane marie... *gasp and shaking head in bewilderment*). she never had sex before marriage, never did drugs, obeyed her parents and felt horribly guilty whenever she crossed an established line. bullshit! talking with my aunt, my mother rode a statue of a bull in the middle of a fountain central to her college campus, naked and on acid her sophomore year (and at the time, she had already been dating my dad for two years as they met at 18 and married at 21 so don't write off your mom's possible adventures, michael).

but my favorite cracking of the mask came during a week we spent together in europe tagging along on one of my father's business trips. i had just turned 18 and was heading off to new york in the fall. they decided i needed to learn to drink (as i was going to college). so they (or just my mom on the many evenings my dad had business dinners/meetings/etc) would take me bar hopping each night, having me sample three to five different drinks, in search of one i actually liked (i disliked the taste and abhorred the smell of alcohol). what usually happened, though, was i would order drinks, take a sip, decided i didn't like it, and pass it on to my mom (who had also ordered drinks of her own).

one night in brussels, she and i went to dinner at a fancy restaurant she and my father referred to as "the lobster man". we ordered a bottle of wine with dinner. i didn't like it. she drank the whole bottle. in less than two hours. when the check had come, i began the task of weaving her back through the cobbled streets to our hotel. at one stumble, she leaned against me and spoke this sage wisdom:

"janie, you know what you need to do? you need to go to new york. find a guy. preferably somewhere NEAR your age. and you need to just screw around."

needless to say, i have since taken that advice to heart, although ignoring the gender and age requirements.

back to the memoirs. the other morning, while knitting on the subway, defrosting from the cold, i came to the realization that this is most likely my last winter in new york. the end of a rather intense chapter. one that i do not want to loose to alzheimers or prudery. for new years, i want to compile memoirs of the last five years (stories of the blackout, anthrax, subway stalkers, sex parties, sept 11, living on $8/week, sex museums and sex ed). i have whispered my desire for a digital camera to santa (not for dirty pictures or anything...) so could use it to photograph important landmarks and people. then print out and bind five copies or something for kid, grandkid, and privileged nieces and nephews. this would include juicy bits of my sexual exploits, including prostitution, as it has made a substantial contribution to my new york experience.

so, to rephrase the question, if i was your mommy, would you want to know?

woo hoo!

my cervix is normal! (happy dance)

and i just completed my graduation audit and as long as i pass history (64 on the final is all i need) i graduate in january (although commencement isn't until june).

finally, i will be a slut with a pretty pink cervix and a degree. i think this warrants a whore-ray.

a question

if your mother were to present you with a journal/diary/memoir of her life and exploits as an early twenty-something (all the sex, drugs, parties, lovers, and everything else she was able to get away with) would you read it? would you want to know?

you can comment, email (the_educated_slut@yahoo.com), courier pigeon, what have you. i appreciate your response.

threesome

*found a disk. at work. still no time to type extensively. miss you all*

So, in light of recent cervix adventures (still have not received my results), as well as the humongous amounts of stress I’m carrying between work and school, I haven’t been feeling my sexiest. So when an invitation to a threesome (actually, foursome if you want to be technical) was extended, I shrugged it off. I hear some folks screaming and clawing at their eyes at the thought of voluntarily passing up such an opportunity (an acquaintance once lamented that he would miss his own father’s funeral for a chance of a threesome), it’s honestly nothing special.

In fact, I have quite a history of threesomes. Granted, when giving dual handjobs behind the dj stand at modern rock café when I was thirteen, I did not classify my actions as a threesome, but in retrospect I think it would more than qualify.

My first formal invitation into a threesome occurred during my sophomore year of highschool . At this time I was in a phase of born-again abstinence. I had recently had the epiphany that I was using my serial monogamy as an emotional crutch during my intense depression. Part of my quest for independence was declaring a moratorium upon dating. The result being that I dated three or four guys a year (a great reduction from my two or three a month I had previously average).

So, in this time of celibacy, I met a girl in the locker room. She was scrawny and blond and a little white trash for our preppy public school. She wore autographed NASCAR shirts and bike shorts with high tops and streaks of color in her waist length hair. She was also far from a virgin. Madly in love with her sometimes twenty eight sometimes thirty two year old boyfriend and furious with her mother, her life represented the drama I’d left behind. At one point in the semester, a preppy bitch called her a dyke while we were changing after jogging. “Bitch, I’m bi” she snapped back. There was a gasp and a few snide remarks and everyone subtly moved away from her. I gave her a smile, and said, “That’s cool.” And that was that.

A month or two later her boyfriend’s birthday rolled around. As the bell rang for the next class and the locker room cleared out, she pulled me aside. “Hey, my boyfriend and I were thinking you might want to join us on a date.” I felt my ears burn. I didn’t know how to react. Historically, I had rarely turned down a sexual invitation. To be desired was a compliment requiring the polite response of acceptance (I was a regular Heloise). But I knew this was a step I wasn’t prepared to take. So I said, “thanks, but I don’t swing that way” (an expression I’d overheard my grandmother enquiring of my mother, “does Janie swing both ways?”). “that’s cool” she echoed my earlier sentiment. And that was that, Or so I thought.

Then, prom night, I was approached by a very good friend from the class above mine. He had been somewhat of a mentor and support for me. We had participated in several theatre productions together, and I was friends with his younger brothers. He and his girlfriend, who was in my class, had been together (in an on again off again kind of way) as long as I had known him. Towards the end of the year, she and I had begun to hang out more often and it became apparent she needed a social escape outside of him. So, at prom, this guy approaches me (in my black vinyl floor length gown and grandmother’s pearls, cause I was classy like that). “So, S__ and I are trying some new things, spicing it up, you know. We have thought about this and talked about this a lot. We both like you as a friend and both have a bit of a crush on you. We were wondering if you would be interested in getting together with us sometime this summer, before we lose you to new york. We thought it might be something you could be into, or at least not judge us for the invitation.” I was flustered, but told him I’d think about it. I hadn’t slipped away with my sailor yet, plus, I liked them (I knew I didn’t want to lose my virginity to anyone I had affection for, a risk of becoming emotionally dependent and compromising the progress I had made). The result of the invitation was me making out with his girlfriend on several occasions, never with him present (I was beginning to “question my sexuality”).

So, when did I finally do it?!? Freshman year, a bottle of tequila, a carton of orange juice, a smaller bottle of gin, two male friends, and radiohead’s kid a on repeat. There were all sorts of mutual groping and spanking and drinking. I fucked them both at different points in the evening. Although they were found of each other, and would stroke one another, or kiss a shoulder or back, there wasn’t much boy on boy.

Two summers later, I picked up a lovely woman at the Sunshine theatre during a late Sunday evening show of Y Tu Mama Tambien. A week later, she met another woman at a queer ivy league mixer. The three of us hung out for pride. Then the first lady went out of town on business. The second and I went to fire island for the fourth of july, where I sucked her tits until she came on the beach at two in the afternoon. Later she returned the favor in the sunken forest, until three gay boys stumbled upon us (“oh, snap!”). So, one evening the three of us, and a friend, got dressed up in fetish gear (my first time in a corset) and strolled to a queer fetish part at remote lounge. Afterwards we stumbled into the big bed of the loft I was subletting from a professor. We were too exhausted for any fun that night, but with the morning sun came snuggling, which lead to cuddling, which lead to stroking, which lead to making out, which lead to no holds bar three way lesbian action (oh, yeah, baby). Actually, it was more like a rotating two on one (You got her tits, I’ll cover her cunt. Okay, now, switch!).

Since that point, I have been a birthday surprise (on multiple occasions), the initiator of endeavors between individuals I was dating/fucking, the guide to swinging parties and clubs, the hostess of orgies, the fairy godmother of the threesome wish your “heart” makes, and an all around group sex pro. So how can I turn down an opportunity for hot group sex? Nyah, I’d rather make chicken and dumplings and read Tom Robbins.

sob story

so they are taking my computer back to reinstall the network card and the motherboard.
i am sad.

and i have all these great posts about fuckbuddies and threesomes and dating other sex people already typed out in word, but no access. and i'm in the middle of finals. and i have a shitload of office work i was planning on doing from home in queens instead of midtown on sunday.

and i still haven't heard about my cervix.

fuck me.

conflict resolution

i wrote a long post in class last night.
but when i got home, my computer and my internet got into a fight and are no longer speaking to each other. i was trying to mediate until one thirty, but then i figured i should give them a chance to cool off.
so tonight i will bring in an outside counselor. hopefully we'll be one happy family in the morning.

hpv and me

Cervical cancer? So does that mean you have hpv?
Yes, I have a strain (one of 30 some transmitted sexually, although there are over a hundred in all) of hpv (human papilloma virus). Current research shows 99.976…% of cervical cancer is linked to two or three types of hpv. Other strains cause things like plantar and genital warts.

Does this mean you have warts?
Nope. No warts for me. That’s a different type of hpv.

So you have an sti, but you have sex all the time? Have you no ethics?
Although condoms are not effective in preventing many strains of hpv that are transmitted via external skin to skin contact, especially those that cause genital warts (often in areas a condom does not cover). However, contemporary research shows condoms to be very effective in reducing the risk of transmission of the strains of hpv linked to cervical abnormalities.

But condoms obviously didn’t work for you. You have one of the craziest safer sex regimes I’ve ever heard of (condoms for sucking cock? Come on…)
First, in defense of my safer sex regime: I use condoms to suck cock because fellatio puts the dick at risk for gonorrhea, herpes, and syphilis, and puts the mouth at risk for those, plus wart-hpvs, Chlamydia, and hiv. I know this, so cock goes in my mouth and these stats pop in my head (one of the hazards of being an educated slut). Additionally, I’ve had major canker sores my whole life (thanks, dad) that could easily act as expressways for infection. No thank you.

In terms of condoms working for me, I was not always this educated. I grew up in Texas under the Bush as governor administration with abstinence only sex ed. I learned that sex equals pregnancy and if you have sex before you’re married, you will die of AIDS (and so will the baby). So despite being a horny little slut, I kept up with the “everything but” routine for almost seven years. Just after my 18th birthday (you can do the math for the age of my first blow job), I managed to end up in a motel room with a “friend” who was entering the coast guard reserves in the morning (so fucking cheesy, I know). Couldn’t buy condoms because 1) I’m the girl, duh and 2) condoms = premeditation and I had signed one of those virginity pledge thingies (both of which are horrible reasons, I know). Result, the ever-popular fallback of withdrawal and a significant chunk of time convinced I was pregnant (alright, a month) and HIV + (almost two years). And then there was that fun date rape incident my freshman year, unprotected vaginal and anal sex (my first time for that one), and that month I was going crazy on birth control fucking my gay boyfriend (another long story) raw because we’d both finally been tested. So, yes, I have my history of risk behavior. More than ample latex- and polyurethane-free moments for the hpv to lurk into my system.

Now you pay for your dirty whoring.
Although it is pretty impossible to know who one “receives” hpv (or herpes) from, I am almost positive it was from one of the above-mentioned “recreational” sexual endeavors, not a professional engagement. Furthermore, it is estimated over 80% of the sexually active population has some form of sexually transmitted hpv. They can’t all be whores (although if they were, we could start a movement).

So, does everyone with hpv die of cervical cancer?
Hardly. Most people with hpv never know they have it. Those who are lucky enough to have the types of hpv linked to cervical cancer may develop cervical dysplasias, but they usually go away on their own in under two years. As long as you catch it and monitor it, you can usually manage to avoid a death sentence.

80%!?! Fuck. How can I know if I have hpv?
Get a PAP smear. If it comes out abnormal, get a colposcopy. Although, just because your pap is cool doesn’t mean you don’t have hpv, you just don’t have an active symptomatic infection. Lucky you.

What about boys and other folks with penises (peni?)?
Anyone can get an anal pap, although it can be a challenge to find a doc to provide one. In terms of tests for penis, there isn’t really one available. If you have oodles of cash and a cooperative health care provider, you may be able to finagle a blood test, but unless it is for the specific strains of hpv you’re concerned about, it’s not much use. So you go on with your happy dicks, and let the cervixes and rectums rot away.

We’re not in a bitchy mood…
My cervix hurts so fuck off. Actually, it’s better today, but I have to wait two weeks for biopsy results (argh…). Until then, I am accepting CVs and resumes for potential sperm donors.

Joan Cussack Naked!

Lately I have been getting quite a few joan cussack search hits. Nice to know something came of the working girl anticlimax. The fun part is, many of these searches are for naked joan cussack pictures. Now, I would be interested in a little cussack seductress action. So if any of your searchers, or loyal readers, have some pretty pics to offer, email them already! I aim to please.

the rest of my life

I spent the week of thanksgiving in Tennessee and North Carolina, cruising in my rental car and hauling rocks around a mountain ridge. I feel so different when I’m in that region, better really. My tension dissipates, I breathe easier (despite allergies), and I stop thinking as much (in a good way). My accent returns and the make-up never makes an appearance. I chow down on starches and green beans (and sonic tator tots, oh yeah). And I think about the future. And how I fit.

I’m currently in the waiting room of my GYN (the beauty of my new laptop), waiting for a follow-up colposcopy. I had an abnormal pap back in july, and my first colposcopy confirmed the mild intraepithelial lesions (pre-cancerous fun!). itty bitty and resolved with a punch biopsy. But, being the sexual health research freak that I am, I consumed mass quantities of data and treatment modules. And I looked at dozens of gross pictures. Why? So if the colposcopy was performed with a video screen, as many offices offer, I could have a point of reference (well at least my cervix doesn’t look like THAT). In my research I learned of the cone biopsy. A cone biopsy removes a cone shape chunk from the center of your cervix. Gets rid of a nice hunk of any problems brewing, no more cancer, good stuff. But the repercussions are a little daunting. If you have a cone biopsy and later decide to carry a pregnancy to term, you may need to have your cervix sewn shut and be confined to bed rest for six months. Not cool.

So, I have developed a plan of action, to be implemented depending upon the results of today’s follow-up colposcopy. If everything is pink and normal and happy, I will continue having pap smears every six months, and go on with the baby around 30 plan. But if everything is not pretty, we go to plan b. Plan b (not to be confused with the progestin only emergency contraception pills) involves completing grad school in 1.5-2 years (not obscene) and then having the kid. When I’m 25-ish. Maybe in Houston, if my folks have moved back, so I can have an established support network for the first few years.

Eventually I want to end up in the smokies/blue ridge area (highway 64 between Chattanooga and the okoee mountains, baby). Have a one story two to three bedroom house with a chain link fence, dog, pottery wheel, and kid, and teach sex ed at local junior highs, high schools, community colleges, and senior centers (and even churches if they’ll have an agnostic tattooed bisexual single mom). That’s the ten year plan, but the turkey-baster tot may pop along a little sooner than anticipated. Eep.

Until then, I think I may need to get a dog this spring. I’ll be out of school and working 25 hours (plus additional work from home) so I could swing the necessary walking schedule. I have always thought having a dog in the city is mean, but I would be rescuing a city-doomed pooch from the local shelter and after a few months of bonding, whisk the bitch away to the land of weekend camping trips and evenings at the bay area duck pond.

adios adult friend finder

i officially closed my account today. after a 20 day trial, they provided zero clientele, including filtered messages. no love for aff.

so, i'm investigating alternative advertising for the new year. i don't know how i feel about the review sites, and i'm not invested enough to dole out a chunk of change at this point. i would like to renew efforts on the collective, but have to post personal business first if i ever want to get that off the ground.

i own a web page in addition to the eventual collective site (where i'm http://www.eroticalternative.com/MeetJane.html, misspellings and all). i could set it up for whoring, but wanted it to be for sex writing and activism and stuff, not that it couldn't be both. i just don't want to book dates and workshops through the same site.

it's just that time of reassessment again.

messenger

i'm still trying to figure it out. if i accidentally dismiss your invite or don't respond immediately, please don't think i'm blowing you off. i just accidentally closed a message when i meant to open it. so, i'm sorry. please try again.
jane
aim "educated jane"
yahoo "the_educated_slut"

a clarification of terms

for anyone who feels like instant messaging me, a definition:

i am a whore. i mean this quite literally. i am not a "corporate whore" or "retail whore" or one of those "we're all selling ourselves for the man so really aren't we all whores deep down inside?" whores. no, i am a good old fashioned whore, otherwise known as a prostitute.

i have sex for money. granted, legally, my clients (aka johns or tricks) are paying for my time, my expertise, my consulting fees. but when it comes down to it, it's all about the the cash and my pussy.

so why don't i call myself a prostitute or an escort to rid folks of confusion? because i like the word whore. it sounds good to say. it feels good to type. and it fits me better. prostitution refers to the act, but whore refers to an identity. plus, escorts work for agencies (kinda like how alcoholics go to meetings).

so the next time someone im's me and acts all shocked and appalled when they realize that i'm not using "whore" euphemistically, they have been sufficiently warned.

the date

was delightful.

i didn't freak out or run away or turn into a sex obsessed nerd (well, no more than usual). i actually had a lovely time. and judging by our next day emails, as well as the discreet mention in her blog, so did she.

first there was a little confusion about where we would meet up. we established sushi near the theatre, but i was thinking third ave and she was thinking first. plus i got held up at work. so i ended up in a cab headed downtown, pressing redial, trying to figure out where exactly we were meeting ten minutes after i was supposed to be there. a great start.

as i mentioned in my post yesterday, i had gotten dressed up. i was wearing my vintage cindy brady bright orange dress with pointy collar, orange fishnets, and my trusty payless pumps with white tubing that i wear to all my conferences. hair was still up with my stick from work and i was wearing a scarf around it.

but she looked beautiful. she had these black lacey fishnets and burgundy and green famous designer shoes with chunk curved heels (i know i should know the guy's name but i'm not a sex and the city type of girl so fashion goes over my head). her skirt was lime green and layered and wispy and her black shirt had silver seems around the edges of the low neckline revealing hints of her pink bra (that i couldn't help glimpsing at from time to time throughout the evening). she also had this little beaded necklace, very unassuming, that sparkled like crazy in the candlelight at the sushi place (i kept getting distracted by it and then looking down to her tits, couldn't help myself). femme on femme, yeah baby.

we got an upstairs table by the window in the sushi joint on third. after some nervous small talk, bathroom escapes, knocking of menus from the table, and giggling, we both began to relax. we walked over to ps 122 to see julie atlas muz's "i am the moon and you are the man in me". my date is mad networked so had gotten us comps (i was a "plus one", how cool is that?!?) naked performance art, hurrah! but truly, it was fantastic and breathtaking and wonderful and just a little arousing at times but sobering at others. i heartily recommend.

afterwords we talked about getting dessert, but then she lead me to the train. i was a little confused and dissappointed, but oh well. my sack was bigger than her purses, but she was carrying three (the plural was not a typo back there). so in terms of baggage, we are well matched. i was holding her jacket and bottle of diet coke for her when we reached her stop and she got off. i asked if she wanted her coke and had to follow her off so she didn't loose her things to the closing train doors. i wasn't sure if this was intentional or planned or if i was forcing myself back to her place. so i was treading lightly.

we went back to her place for cupcakes where her toilet promptly overflowed. so we went to a local bar, the painted lady, super cool, with working plumbing for a nightcap (we didn't call it a nightcap, but in retrospect i wish we had, very doris day/ rock hudson). among the naked ladies she had another diet coke and i nursed a beer. we talked about our mutual love of blankets (i revealed my infant heat-rash caused by being a blanket burrito baby born into the texas june), coming out to our families regarding our sex jobs (her grandfather googled her), and our mutual identity of little old ladies posing as sexpots.

gradually the conversation was staggered by making out. we let my hair down to act as a shade. when we took off our glasses the first time (i love that moment) she had to pause and process the fact that i suddenly looked fifteen. but she got over it. at one point i shifted to put my arm around her and knocked over both our empty glasses (great for discretion). bonus: we are both giggling dorks.

as it drifted past midnight she started to yawn. she was embarrassed and apologetic expressing her exhaustion. i didn't mind as we had already made a second date for bingo. we walked back to the subway/her apartment and lingered for a moment. it was sweet and delightful and lovely.

so i had a good first date. and we're planning a second. and even though i didn't sleep with her on the first date (against my moral code of fuck them immediately or don't fuck them at all), there is definitely hot sex potential. can you believe it?

working girl

is NOT a movie about whoring.
who knew? and why didn't they tell me?
at least joan cussack is still hot, even with big hair.

i have a date!

with a pretty pretty girl.
i'm wearing a pretty dress and pretty orange fishnets.
and i shaved my legs and everything (although the bush remains intact as it is a professional investment, but she's knows about the whoring so i hope she'll understand).
and i'm okay with it being a "date". not freaking out. actually excited. whoa!

more detailed update later (probably tomorrow). love.

im adventures

so, now that i have both yahoo (the_educated_slut) and aol (educated jane) im accounts, i'm getting some interesting random "hello"s. i have enjoyed speaking to several fellow bloggers and blog readers. however, this evening i received an im from a stranger who had picked my email from a biswingers group i attended many moons ago.

after my initial inquiry as to who he was and what was his story "john, 40, single" (very articulate this one), he ricocheted the questions. not wanting to bother with bullshit but at the same time recognizing a potential client, i said i was 22, a student, a sex educator, and a whore. which lead to this clever banter:
brillig3: r u practicing what u teach?
the_educated_slut: i get paid for both
brillig3: hmmm
brillig3: paid for sex?
the_educated_slut: yes sir, i believe that's the definition of a whore
brillig3: so a slut is the same as a whore?
the_educated_slut: no
the_educated_slut: a slut is someone proud of their sexual agency
the_educated_slut: a whore is someone who utilizes their sexuality in a system of mutual exchange
the_educated_slut: for example sex for money or sex for a job
brillig3: i thought someone who got paid for sex is a prostitute
the_educated_slut: a prostitute is one type of a whore
brillig3: oic
brillig3: so u do sex for a job?
the_educated_slut: one of several
brillig3: or sex for money
brillig3: ?
the_educated_slut: by "sex for a job" i meant someone who has sex with someone in exchange for employment, ex. casting couch
the_educated_slut: i do not engage in this type of whoring
the_educated_slut: i do have sex for money and also lead personal educational workshops with a great deal of intimacy
the_educated_slut: and i do some fetish work
brillig3: so its mostly for couples?
the_educated_slut: but i have legit jobs too
the_educated_slut: no, primarily for men
the_educated_slut: although often the goal is to benefit their female (or male) partners
brillig3: ok
the_educated_slut: anyways, got to go

so, the boy is intrigued, has added me to his list. i think as long as i can restrict him to tastes but no satisfying bites i may be able to wrangle some cash money out of the situation. could be an interesting new venue. especially since aff certainly seems a bust.

not sleeping

so it is five am.
i am exhausted, but not asleep.
i do not know why.

i was able to sleep late today, but that is not entirely unheard of for a sunday, although it has been a few weeks. when i get the chance i sleep until my eyes gradually open on their own (today it was around 4). i then accomplish things around the house and neighborhood, do some homework, make lists for the week, and go back to sleep around midnight.

i went through the routine today. curled in bed just after midnight. had amadeus on softly and saturated myself in phoebe glockner's diary of a teenage girl (i love her love her love her). and then, amadeus is over, it's almost four, and i'm halfway through the book.

so i take a bath, hair up so i don't get too cold, candle balanced on my left tit to read by. soak until the water loses warmth and my toes look like peanut shells.

now i'm back in bed. i have begun my fall back regimen of royal tenenbaums and book (no offense to royal tenenbaums, i love the film, in fact, because i have watched it so often i find it very soothing, and not just because angelica houston is the perfect woman and danny glover has a satin voice).

if i were really committed i would switch from phoebe to school texts (the harlem reader this week). sure to fall deep asleep. but i have to be at work around nine anyway, which means getting on the subway at eight, and waking up around seven. what's the point?

aside from the fact that i have class until ten tonight, and then should really do my laundry. but everyday this week is booked from 8am to 11pm roundtrip. i'm looking forward to relaxing in the mountains in north carolina over thanksgiving. the last time i was there, it really helped me get back into the rhythm (my ceramics and fire spinning showed dramatic improvement upon my return). until then, i turn back to phoebe and the tenenbaums.

ah, memories

this is why i no longer do casual encounters aka nsa sex for free.

i was cleaning out an email account (i have seven or eight now that i still check/use semi-regularly) and i came across this winner of a invitation. before i give you the endearing text, let me provide a little background.

i met this charming fellow via cl casual encounters. looking for free toys. he bought me a pink rotating jelly penis with a baby vibrating dick (most likely intended for anal penetration, but without a flare, so even with the cord, no dice for my ass). the toy itself wasn't horrible, and even though i've found rotating pussy toys to be more of a conceptual turn-on than physically functional, it worked great in my ass.

so, we started meeting semi-regularly (or at least trying to). we agreed to meet up for a rush hour subway jerk-off session. i waited at the end of the c-train for 45 minutes, no show. a day later came a deeply apologetic email. okay, maybe i'll give him a second chance.

next date involved a walk through central park and fucking on a rock in the spring time budding trees, not enough leaves to truly block the view but provided a little shading. he asked if he could fuck me in the ass and i had to say no, because a woman with a stroller and a toddler was 15 feet away (and that's just wrong).

we had a quickie in his apartment one time (he had an interesting roommate situation) and the condom came off. this lead to my emergency contraception nightmare (note: ec is a wonderful godsend. just be sure to take plan b. preven, which will not be available much longer and may already be off the market, is combined hormone and made me puke for 18 hours, during which i was groped on the subway while throwing up (there's an entry about it somewhere in the archives, don't feel like finding it now). bitch didn't even offer to split the cost.

we set up another park day on an evening that my parents are coming in town. just a quickie/stroll through central park as i walk over to their hotel. and he doesn't show, again.

the final straw. we set up a date for him to come over. i was going to top him. had this great scene lined up. cleaned the apartment. made sure roommate would be out. boiled my toys. cut a new blindfold and bought some new rope for binding purposes. and he doesn't show up. doesn't answer his phone. nothing. nada. we had been setting this up for a week.

so the man was cut. obviously. however, over the next year, i would get occasional desperate emails, none of which received a response. here is my favorite that i just came across:
"flake comes a'calling"
"I know that you haven't responded to my last few emails, and rightfully so. I just thought I'd try again, as I'm at work and going crazy. I'm desperate for a good, hard quick fuck, and I know that although you may not think of saying yes right away, I may be able to pique your curiosity with the thought of an ass fuck. I've been a dick, and i know that. But do you really want to turn down a good fuck in the ass over personality conflict? i don't think so. I don't even know if you get these emails, but I had to try again tonight. I need it so badly - some pussy eating and ass fucking. It's 6:05p, and I have tons to do tonight. With that, I thought perhaps you may be interested in a cock break. There's a hotel on 14th and 10th, or didn't you say there's one on 30th and 10th or something? Say yes, please?"

endearing, yes?
god, to think i fucked him for free.

celebration

so an old regular just called and booked a date for next saturday. nice to have that off my mind.
he also inquired about phone dates. cool with me, but i don't know what to charge. i would rather a flat rate than a minute-by-minute thing. any suggestions? our hourly dates run $250. he's an oral submissive into shower play. thanks for the input.

now, all i have to worry about is getting my rag in time. it's already two weeks late. not prego or anything, just erratic. but could be bothersome when booking an oral date.

this one's a quickie.

identity maintenance

i have learned not to force myself to fuck in defense of my identity. as a slut, i celebrate my sexual autonomy, which includes my right not to have sex.

however, my whore identity is threatened by the current drought of tricks. it's not (just) the money (i'm surviving, although the spare change would be nice). my sex worker identity is still infantile (only a year and a half) compared to my slut identity, which is almost eleven. my whore identity requires greater support.

i know conceptually that my whore identity is not inherent upon the whoring itself but rather my experience and ability to utilize sex as a tool of education and profit. however, it still needs the foundation of regular tricks.

i feel like a writer with writers block or an artist in an empty studio. frustrated and impotent.

a whore without a trick

i need to turn a trick goddammit!

why is whoring so hard?

you grow up with the cautionary tale of the prostitute. it is an inevitable fate for those who do not behave like a lady, cross their legs, wear a bra, or eat their vegetables. prostitution is something you must actively work to avoid. it is made to sound like a girl is walking around, distracted, looking at the clouds, & whoops! she falls into the canyon of prostitution.

but it is not a canyon so much as the sea floor. you have to work to maintain your grip on the bottom. otherwise the saltwater floats you back up to the surface.

*disclaimer, this rant is not representative of all, or even most, sex workers. please do not apply as a generalization as it is merely a reflection of my very personal experiences, as well as those of select close friends and acquaintances.

bisexual sluts

today i taught a sexual diversity workshop at a college out in coney island. i had spoken for the group last spring and they liked me enough to bring me back for an encore.

today was a great class with wonderful discussion. we debated the expectations/consequences of being out or closeted in an overtly homophobic environment in terms of visibility and personal safety. we also explored tactics for campus advocacy.

however, one of the highlights of the discussion for me was started by a question during the opening go-arounds (questions were anonymous via a "snowball fight"). "why are bisexual women assumed to be promiscuous?" another chica speaks out, "and why do lesbians hate us?" to diffuse the tension i cracked about how lesbians hate 'em but straight men love 'em so it balances out, right? we talked about some of the assumptions and stereotypes surrounding many sexual identities, including straight men (although not everyone bought my assertion that straight men get shit too, sometimes because they're straight men).

but the distinction between sexual orientation and sexual behavior was cemented during the human sexuality model exercise (crowd is broken in to five groups, each group is assigned a term to define, give examples, and teach to the class, terms include: biological sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, sexual behavior, and sexual identity). smart crowd. good questions. great discussion.

anyway, i just got a voicemail from a hot butch lesbian from the class. she thanked me because my words changed her perspective on bisexual women. maybe now she'll consider dating me.

the moral of the story: i'm not a slut because i'm bisexual. and i'm not bisexual because i'm a slut. i'm a slut because i like to fuck. and i'm bisexual because i like to fuck people regardless (or occasionally because of, see last night's post) their gender identity. bi slut pride, baby.

new comp perks

so, i no longer have to deal with firewalls, which means two very exciting things:

1) AIM. "educated jane" feel free to say hello.

2) porn. something i've been missing out on for far too long. please email me any suggested sites. free (as i'm not in the position to invest), kinky, creative, and personality are big plusses. check out dacia's pirate hat spread on www.citykittie.com or the collection on retroraunch.com for ideas on my general tastes. fake boobs and unlubed butt play are automatic disqualifications.

professional threesome potential

although adult friend finder has been a bust over all, i have had one interesting proposal. one gentleman would like to get together with myself and a transwoman (of course, he refers to her as a she-male or tranny). now, this combines several of my favorite fantasies.

first, gender fucking. i have so much respect for transgender people, not only for the shit they survive but for the degree of introspection required to challenge and assert one's identity. but aside from the admiration, i also think they're fucking hot! i heart trannyboys and trannygrrls, intersex, transexuals, fluid and alternative gender fuckers, crossdressers, drag kings and queens, transgender persons of bi-gender, poly-gender, multi-gender, and non-gender identity. transfolk with alternative expressions of clothing, hair, attitude, body, and mind. pre-op, post-op, no-op, i admire them and want to bang 'em.

second, two cocks and one little ole me. i have had my share of group sex. i have been preoccupied with multiple cocks on many an occasion. however, i have ever had the privilege of a cock in my cunt and a cock in my ass. it's on my to-do list. maybe i'll ask santa. i have played with toys and partners and combinations to approximate the experience, but there's something about the head trip of it that makes me want to do "the real thing" (i hate this term when applied to any sexual act because it applies some sex is not "real" or "valid" but that's another rant).

top it off with getting paid generously for the experience, and you have one hot and dripping jane. my vibe is still warm from my ponderings.

what's a whore to do?

work sucks.
not just sex work, all work.
profound, i know.

today, my boss made me cry. he wasn't intentionally being an asshole, but there's this huge rift between him and the manager of another department and i'm stuck straddling the divide. he's pulling on me so hard that whenever he snaps and just let's go, i topple backwards. today i tried to talk with him about it and he had a snap. and i cried.

i cried professionally, out of view, in the bathroom with my panty hose around my ankles, holding my breath whenever someone came in to pee. and i washed my face with cold water so the red faded before walking back to my cubicle where i reapplied my eyeliner and some powder to fade the flaming blush. i then took a xanax and did some filing work until i could think straight again.

later, after i was back under control, i went to speak with a counselor in hr. informally. confidentially. she gave wonderful advice and helped renew my faith that i can handle this. i am coming into the office early tomorrow to have a conversation about the whole raging power dynamic with his supervisor (who i consider a rolemodel and all around cool lady and who gets a kick out of whatever t-shirt, button, fishnet, or boot i happen to be wearing). it will get better. really it will. even though it has been going on for six months and i've kept on saying, it will get better, and it hasn't.

i think about quitting and doing whoring full time until i get another job. but that wouldn't work for several reasons. first, one of the reasons i adore whoring is because it is a choice. i do not need to turn a trick tonight, this week, this month if i don't want to. whoring is strictly supplemental income, not my primary source of fiscal support. additionally, business has been super slow and super frustrating (see november 2nd for an example). i think i'd go crazy before i made rent. finally, full-time whoring requires an investment (financial, emotional, and physical) i am not prepared to make at this time. so no full time whoring for now.

on the bright side the collective is beginning to slowly take shape. check out the beginning FAQ sheet and mission statement at http://www.eroticalternative.com/services.html. if you would like to make a donation or join the group, please email me at jane@eroticalternative.com.

a (voluntary) return to texas (?!?)

One night at the last conference I attended, I was drinking (as is requisite for these events) with a professor, a respected academic, and a third man I did not know. Somewhere near the fourth or fifth round, mystery man mentions public health. I zone in, "are you in public health?" It often seems that all of this sexuality research group is made of psychologists and psychiatrists, a fellow public health enthusiast is hard to come by. Mystery man politely concedes, that yes, he teaches in a public health program.

Before I could question further, respected academic interrupts, "Dear, do you mean to tell me you do not realize who you are sitting next to?!? This is M___ R__, the number one force in sexual public health in the country, if not the world. He heads the country’s top public health grad program, and is receiving the Kinsey award in the morning."

"He’s not wearing his name tag," I smoothly joked in my defense.

That night, I was able to discuss the grad program in question in significant detail with MR. He encouraged me to apply. The program sounded ideal, except for the location. The program was housed at (duh, duh, duh!!!) — University of Texas, Houston.

Now, I spent 15 of 18 years in the greater Houston area, and I hated every moment of it. When looking at colleges for undergraduate, one of my primary standards was "anywhere but texas or michigan". Now, after five years in new york, I found myself considering volunatrily returning to the dreaded land.

I laughed at the irony and figured the program would probably be found flawed after a little research. Only it wasn’t. I researched. I visited. I talked with professors. I talked with other sexuality professionals. I talked with folks who had gone through the program. I even visited the campus when I was in Houston for my friend’s wedding. It really seems ideal.

Then, yesterday during the awards luncheon, I discreetly left the banquet hall for the bathroom. I was surprised to find MR also in the hall. I complimented him on his wonderful jacket. He returned the compliment on my loud vintage cindy brady dress. Walking to the bathroom, I reintroduced myself. I wasn’t halfway through my name before he interrupted with "Dear, I remember you quite well." Cool...

I informed him I was currently working on my application for his program. He told me to email him when I submitted it, promising to personally usher it through the admissions process. And then, he volunteered to be my mentor. I almost jumped up and down with giggles. Instead, I thanked him enthusiastically, as we entered our respective powder rooms.

So, it looks as if, come next, I may very well return to that dreaded land of mosquitos, humidity, and killer traffic, of my own volition. I never would have believed it, but sometimes life surprises you.

pizza dough (dough = $, get it? har har...)

Sex at a sexuality conference. Doesn’t happen as often as most assume. In fact, of the six sexuality conferences I had attended prior to this week, I had only gotten laid once. Fortunately, my average is approving.

We were hanging around the hotel bar, about ten of us, two undergrads (my roommate and I), a handful of grad students and post-docs, a couple of tenure trackers, and two established researchers, all enjoying a competitive game of "skanky ho". "Skanky ho" is similar to the "I’ve never" drinking game, only drinking for every past act is not necessary (thank goodness, as most of us were already plastered and the drinks were overpriced). Every puts a hand in the circle. You go around the circle, each person stating an act they have never done [ex. "I have never had sex with more than four people at the same time" (I lost a finger), "I have never had sex with someone who was married to someone else" (another one down), "I have never had sex on an airplane (my finger starts to waver) with a partner (saved...)"].

After a few rounds, it is established that my fellow undergraduate and I are by far the reigning skanky ho’s. Many jokes are made about those damn 22-year-olds thinking they’ve invented sex or something. The attractive older gentleman next to me, smiles bashfully and remaraks that he never realized he was such a prude. My cranks start turning. Unfortunately, the interior bar is closing, so we relocate to the hot tub.

One room brings out a bottle of vodka and half a juice box of cranberry juice. We’re drinking pale pink cocktails in the 100+ water. We recruit some new players from the real estate convention also at the hotel and the games continue. Attractive older gentleman subtlely swims over next to me. As everyone puts their hands out in the center for the next round, he presses against my ass. I return the pressure and give him a coy glance.

Soon it is well after one am and between the heat, the vodka, and the many earlier drinks, I’m beginning to worry about making the 8am plenary. I suggest we order a pizza. Get a few takers and saunter over to the exterior bar (at this point closing down). The bar tender gets me a yellow pages and offers his cell phone, as well as guidance for my drunken ordering. So kind.

The pizza ordered, I realize that I have no cash in my swimsuit or towel or flip flops (all I had with me out at the pool. I collect some money from fellow order-ees and then begin to walk back towards my room. Attractive older gentleman, who had abandoned the hot tub for a poolside chair asks where I’m going. I say to my room for pizza money. He offers to lend me a twenty as his room is cheaper and I can pay him back in the morning. Smirking, I accept his generous offer.

Back in his room, he locates his cash and hands me the twenty. I tuck it above my right tit as I am pocketless. There is an awkward pause. I step towards him. He puts his arm around my waist, his hand grazing my ass. I return the gesture with a frontal grope of his rapidly hardening cock. We begin making out.

I’m having a little difficulty remaining standing for our increasingly athletic ravishings (either he or the booze was sweeping me off my feet). I push him over to the bed and lay him down. I straddle him in my still-damp swim suit. I can see his erect nipples through his shirt and feel his generous cock in my groin. I remove his clothes so that I can have easier access.

The man has a beautiful cock. I giggle as I stroke it. "So, as sex researchers, can I assume you have a condom available." He says he does but he’s not ready to "go that far yet". I pout that, as an educator, I am too aware of the risks, and he has such a pretty cock that I would love to suck it, with a condom. "They’re over there" he eagerly volunteers.

As I suck his cock he fingers my soaking twat. I involuntarily buck. I know what I want at this point. Holding both his arms above his head with one hand, I shift my swim suit to provide access, and settle comfortably onto his cock. As I begin rocking I pleasantly discover that his gentle curve perfectly hits my g-spot. I hold him down as I ride his cock, fucking him so that his body shifts with my every thrust. If we had been further up on the bed, he would have quite a bump from the head board. Occasionally I offer my left tit (my right still being occupied with the pizza money) to his eager lips. He groans that I’m going to make him come. I laugh as I remind him that the pizza will be delivered soon so that’s probably for the best.

The man has one of the most convulsive orgasms I have ever seen from a boy. I have to balance my desire to continue bucking him and maternally comforting him as he loses control. He finally sighs and sags. After a brief pause, he makes sure to hold the base of the condom as I lift myself from his cock.

I adjust my swimsuit and kiss him gently, as I skip off to receive the pizza. As I’m leaving, he remarks that he now has one more finger to lose, having paid for sex. I laugh as I let him know that $20 is by far the cheapest I have ever gone.

Back at the hot tub, my gaggle of gay boy friends discreetly questioned my extended absence. I smile coyly. Fellow undergrad corners me and demands to know who. At this point I realize I have no idea as to attractive older gentleman’s name as he had not been wearing his name tag. We find this delightfully humorous.

The pizza arrives. As three of us are devouring it (several other pieces having walked away), attractive older gentleman comes back by, now dressed. He smiles discreetly and makes some polite conversation with the group. Our third, being drunk, naive, and cheerful, quickly introduces himself. Attractive older gentleman shakes hands, "I’m Bob." I exchange glances with fellow undergrad. He mouths "Bob?" to me. I shrug. We both burst out laughing.

Ah, yes. Good times. Smirk.

luck is like orgasms

My boss refuses to participate in the conference raffle. He admits that his only superstition regards gambling and other games of chance. He believes that each person is allotted a finite amount of luck.

In support of this theory his reveals the only time he participated in, involved a four year old neighbor, a failing theatre, and a frozen turkey. The young girl could not understand why he could give her money, but could not buy any tickets. He finally gave in. On the same day that his theatre was evicted, he won a rather large frozen turkey.

"I think, luck is like orgasms," I countered. You have a limitless supply, but you often hesitate to surrender, in hopes of a bigger one showing up. And when you think you have had the best of your life and it’s all downhill from here, a better one eventually makes its way around. Additionally, although you can take certain actions to increase your probability, inevitably, a portion remains left up to chance.

"legitimate" sex work

So I’m at the Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality (SSSS) conference in Orlando, networking with sex professionals in the research and science fields as opposed to sex work. Some interesting dynamics have presented themselves. Some of the stigmas you would assume to be null in a theoretically open-minded and educated atmosphere such as this, unfortunately continue to assert themselves.

The most apparent is the hierarchy of legitimate versus illicit sex work (defined as any job concerned with sexuality). There was a workshop for students and young professionals featuring several senior SSSS members. All three were primarily therapists, although two had academic teaching experiences, and one had roots in social work as opposed to psych. I find this reflects much of the organization, which is 80% psych people, and then 20% for the rest of us.

When asked how they deal with the stereotypes associated with the sex professions, their response was bonding at SSSS and similar conferences, but living somewhat closeted in other environments ("Oh, I’m a therapist"). Now, I understand wanting to avoid the assumptions, not to mention endless questions; however, visibility is a crucial step to relieving stigma. We must challenge assumptions by providing positive and confident examples.

Furthermore, we must challenge the stigmas and heirachies within our communities. I asked how one would go about framing "alternative" sex-related work when applying for positions that may or may not be directly sexual in nature. The example I provided was I felt fairly innocuous, writing a sexual health column for a porn site. However, the immediate response of the panel was, "Why would you want to tell someone you wrote for a porn magazine?!?" I found myself attacked and defending this theoretical scenario, much tamer than many of my life experiences.

Additionally, the theme of the conference was politics and sex research, very timely. There was talk of the spring’s NIH "sex list". I was shocked to hear many sex researchers challenging the validity of some of the work of other researchers on the list and present at the conference. I can understand the competitive nature of grants, especially government grants, but isn’t it healthier to assert the strengths of your own research as opposed to attacking others’? I’m just so sick of this shit, especially since the election.

Goddammit!

election night strategy

southern comfort
xanax
but i'm a cheerleader

works well to keep me pseudo-sane the night before
not so conducive to showing up for work or school the day after

so depressed
i haven't been able to post much of anything on my pretty new computer
i have something like six drafts going at this point, though
maybe i'll polish everything on my trip to orlando (tomorrow through sunday)

love and the sentiment "everything will all be okay" (regardless of whether or not i believe it quite yet")

flakers

Frustration.

So today I stayed home to vote and set up the new computer. $1600. Since I didn’t have to be in the office, or go to school, I figured it was an ideal time to arrange for a trick or two.

I posted this ad:

no more bush (for me) - w4m 22 (you must host)

in honor of election day, i'm giving the girl a trim. she's been growing out long and free since june, but summer days are over. the most generous voter chooses her new do and provides his styling expertise. curvy, red-headed college student. discretion is a must. place your vote with your donation to the campaign. this afternoon/evening only. thank you


The response was very positive. Although there were your typical cut and paste craigslist cruisers, there were several genuine inquiries. The proposed donations ranged from $50 to $700. So, I started at the top and began negotiating.

Mr. $700 seemed like a good thing, and not just bc of the cash. But when it came down to scheduling, he wanted me to meet him at the hilton in midtown in ten minutes (um, yeah, I was home in queens). When I proposed we meet at 3:30, he said he thought it would be too late to take advantage of their "secret" short-stay. Furthermore, he refused to give me his number or offer to call mine. He wanted me to sit in the hotel bar, in a skirt with no panties, so he could get a peek before taking me up to his room. Potentially a good time. But he wouldn’t talk to me before I showed up to some random bar without panties and sat around flashing god knows who until he may or may not approach me, so I had to decline.

We then had a Bush enthusiast who offered $200 to see her full and an additional $200 to help with the grooming. Great. Except it turned out he couldn’t host and wasn’t available tonight. As I’m working and have class tomorrow, and leave for the conference early Thursday, that just wouldn’t work.

I negotiated with a $300 bid, as well as two $250s. One couldn’t host. One couldn’t provide a number because he was staying in a friend’s apartment while he was visiting town from Boston. One booked the date, but then cancelled when he was shocked that he’d have to stay at work for a load-in (um, if you’re a production assistanct, you know when your show is loading in, goddam flaker).

On the plus side, I didn’t actually show up for any dates. On the pissed side, I had $1900 in dates cancel on me today (the cost of my computer and then some). Fucking craigslist.

computer update

will be delivered today according to the tracking. it's coming! it's coming!

expect extensive updates soon as i have been drafting in the subways but very limited comp time.

frustration

so my computer is not shipping until Nov 2nd because they don't provide accidental breakage insurance in new york so stalled my order for 48 hours and now there is no way i'll receive it before flying to orlando for a conference next thursday (i had so much work i was going to get done with my new wireless card, i was anticipating my increased efficiency in the shower this morning, no joke). so now this. blah.

i was thinking of posting for a recreational partner as an out sex worker. now i don't know if i have the energy to deal with that today. so frustrating. plus there's the issue of being bisexual and dyke-identified (why won't lesbians play with bi girls?). and being into bisexual boys but not wanting guys in general to react to my bisexuality with the "can i watch?!?" standard (when i turn around and say the exact same for their boy on boy adventures).

i also want to institute some distinct boundaries between clients and recreation, so i don't want any new hook-up to be a potential client wasted. however, i can not stand the "oh, well i would NEVER pay for sex/could NEVER do sex work" reactions of "understanding" boys and girls.

frustrating and mind boggling. argh.

in the business of pleasure

it has come to my attention that lately my life is lacking in recreational sex, especially of the deliciously kinky variety. this became clear for me at the screening of "Alice in Footland" at anthology on saturday.

although a foot fetish film clearly shot by a non-foot-fetishist, there was some very real foot play going on. one foot worshiper was particularly accomplished in his ability to deepthroat while a second gentleman treated each toe as a delicate clit niblet. i realized i haven't had a kick ass foot job in over a year (discounting the time i fucked dacia with my shoe, but that was more about her fantasy and the pretty pictures than my toes getting attention).

so now that i'm craving a good wholesome foot job, i am faced with a dilemma. my first impulse is to post for a paid foot-worship session (money+pleasure=good times). but i realize that i've been getting a little absorbed in the sex-for-money scene and haven't been having nearly enough sex-for-me. so, do i go back to the old casual encounters route? do i hit up a fetish party in hopes of finding a good foot slave?

at the after party for alice i got quite thoroughly drunk courtesy of the open bar. part of my logic (aside from "free booze = good") was that it would be easier for me to fool around with an unpaid partner with a little liquor in me. i know this is fucked up. i also knew that i hadn't shaved my legs of armpits and had been wearing my boots all day (not necessarily a bad thing for foot fans, but not great for moments of self-doubt), so was unlikely to follow-through on any overtures.

i'm trying to figure out if i'm horny because i'm turned on or if i'm horny because i feel like i need to be (to confirm my identity and have a happy healthy sex life outside of the professional). i know better than to force myself into anything sexually (several bad situations of obligated fucking have taught me not to ignore my body's resistance). but at the same time, i know i'm exhausted and lazy and unlikely to pursue any sex without the monetary incentive right now.

i feel somewhat hypocritical for my little rant to kinky librarian about the separation of whoring and recreational sex in terms of business and pleasure because i most often enjoy my tricks (even if i don't come during the trick, i'll usually jerk off to the idea of the session later).

i had two very intense sexual dreams last night. in the first i was "auditioning" for a pimp, a system i don't advocate for at all. he and his assistant took me around to a variety of seedy motels, mostly single or dual level with full picture windows and ratty curtains, if any curtains at all. i was wearing a torn and stained slip and uncomfortably high heels. they made me go to the office of each hotel and get us a room (with my hair mused beyond belief from each previous adventure). i had to pay for the room with my own cash. i would then fuck both of them in the room with the window open and little kids running out to the motel pool with floaties on their arms. it was horrible and objectifying and so hot that i woke up and jerked off with my favorite dong and super intense severin butt plug as well as my trusty hitachi.

the second dream involved a form of sexual martial combat where the dueling parties executed very violent fucking kung-fu-ish moves (i know next to nothing about martial arts so really couldn't place if the moves were kung fu or karate or tai chi or calpoiera). large curved wooden swords were used to spank and smack and were deep throated and fucked. although there were two private rehearsal matches, the big event involved all the combatants staggered around an arena (with full audience of course). two were called at a time to fight. it was amazingly beautiful and rough and bloody. it caused me to sleep through my alarm.

finally, i bought a computer last night from dell. it should arrive by the end of the week. there will then be a great increase in the amount of traffic from little ole me.

vote for me

It's a vote. Which pic makes a better user icon for this educated slut?




book

or

corset?

business

oh so very busy these days.

school is going full steam, with three tests between last monday and next. i have also been throwing bowls and mugs like nobody's business. if anyone would like a "slut" or "whore" mug (or any other phrase as long as you hit me while the clay is still wet) drop a line to the_educated_slut@yahoo.com. they make lovely christmas gifts.

i have been getting presentation requests left and right. high schools, colleges, and women's shelters love my frank, "spunky" repartee, whether the topic is hiv, safer sex, or sexual diversity.

i need to start broaching the topic of suggested donations. i have these weird business ethics in which i have no problem asking for several hundred dollars from a gentleman interested in learning about the g-spot, but if a college group wants a workshop on female sexual response, i do it for free. part of my resistance is my respect for these organizations acknowledging the need for these important workshops. i am grateful for the forum in which to present. i don't want to punish them by asking for some form of reimbursement.

my office job is insane, demanding extra hours but not sure if they can pay the overtime.

i barely have a moment to whore myself. after a long day in the ceramics lab on saturday (13 hours baby) i impulsively posted an ad as a "dirty surly art student". the enthusiastic response continues this morning. however, after posting, i realized that i had neither condoms, not lube, nor other safer sex supplies and just didn't feel like extending the effort. bad business, i know. but i now have a new marketing technique (as-is).

i gave an interview to a livejournal friend on sunday. it was nice to meet a fellow web-based sex worker with a feminist activist consciousness. i really want to get the collective in gear.

my apartment has not had heat until this morning. too late. my head is floating through the severe cold that kept me from work and life yesterday.

i finally hit the dyke knitting circle at bluestockings last sunday. it was wonderful. look for me on the subways knitting a blue and green afghan for my little sister's graduation.

so, rambling and uninspired, but i am still here. pics and adventures coming soon.

sexual identity

i have been invited to give a workshop series for a private university. they want an hiv 101 to train a crew they're about to launch on the subways of nyc doing platform hiv-ed, busking guitar player style. super cool.

however, they also want a "safer sex from a sex worker" workshop (discussing sexual health as well as technique and negotiation skills) for the same group. the day has not been confirmed for this second lecture.

so, do i go as jane or do i go as j...? jane was all ready to jump up as an open whore/sex educator bc that's her identity. but j... is just an academic sexpert (albeit a slutty one). i want to book the first workshop through an ASO i volunteer with to give them some credit and get some supplies but was going to do the second freelance, possibly as a rep of the collective whenever it finally takes off. or i could just do both as jane vincent, the educated slut, and tell my friend (who is the organizational contact) that it's my professional alias (aka ducky doolittle or annie sprinkle).

who the hell am i?

queer bi whore kinky fluid sluts unite!

national coming out day! whore-ray!

since everyone pretty much knows i kiss girls and boys, and that i'm a little loose, and a bit of a perv, this year i will use the day to continue claiming my title of "whore." to do so i will:

1) work on very basic website with fellow whore, kara
2) continue drafting language and ideas for the alternawhore collective
3) take an inventory of my work and see if i have anything i could smack around into a submission-worthy (i wanted to say submitable but it is apparently not a word) piece for the sex workers' art show
4) if for any reason i meet anyone new today, they will know i'm a whore
5) why can't i have a "sex worker" t-shirt?

watch out new york, this sex worker is on the loose.

fun last night

last night, dacia (wakingvixen.blogspot.com) and i took advantage of the room left empty by her deserting roomate and had some fun with her digital camera.

this is my first attempt at posting pictures here. they look small and sideways. but if you click on them, they show up big and correctly oriented (at least they do for me).


dacia and i getting ready


helping dacia into her bustier


a coke-bottle figure



the first tattoo, bella the snake (she's more than 3 years old now)

i love close friends.

honesty in whoring

i'm really getting off on coming out lately. i am a whore. and a proud one at that.

this weekend i was obligated to show an old high school friend around the big city. he was a geek back then, but so was i in the geeky, freaky, theatre, hippy slut sense (just think lunches in the library, thrift store wardrobe, and a black vinyl prom dress). only his social skills haven't exactly blossomed in the four years since.

he is (self-proclaimed) incapable of small talk and as my knowledge of comics is fairly limited to strangers in paradise, hothead paisan, bitchy bitch, and dykes to watch out for, the conversation floundered. i'm sure my stress and exhaustion inhibitied conversational skills didn't exactly help the situation. i was able to pump it for an ample time but i began to fell like i was on a date with a client where the obligation of comfort and entertainment is upon me as a professional. brainstorm!

"so, my friends and i are trying to put together a sex workers collective" and i launched right into the schpeal, which was a good exercise as we're really ironing out mission statements and the basic foundations right now. he blushed and got flustered and managed a "but... huh?" at which point i said, "M..., I'm a whore."

awkward slurp of the lemonade as i examine his reaction. let him process a moment. "so, do you have any questions?" i figure we might as well turn it in to a teaching moment, challenging assumptions, informing the public, busting stereotypes and the like. "no, not really. that's your business." (ba dum dum). we discussed why he was surprised. he had never "thought of me like that." he knew i was "open" sexually, but "not in that way... I mean, you're not that kind of girl." and off went the discourse and dialogue, although it was admittedly more of a monologue.

i feel a little guilty, like i selfishly unloaded this on him to shock him or something. i will admit i did it to challenge his assumptions, as he had made some offensive little comment about a former playboy playmate writing for his magazine, along the implied lines of "who knew someone like that could write". i also will admit i was searching for something to fill the painful gap in conversation.

but i am not ashamed. i am at a point where i don't want any new friends who aren't cool with my sexwork. not in the terms of "as long as it doesn't affect me, i don't care" because that is not enough. i deserve more than that. i want support, godammit. and i'm not wasting my time on endeavors that won't deliver.
-----

rereading in the morning, i realize this post sounds a bit harsh. it was a rant more about a general theme lately than saturday night specifically. overall, i had a nice time and look forward to seeing my friend again. it was just an awkward evening, to be expected four years later.

blood money

on the rag. how do we turn this time of cramps and outbreaks into something positive? why, charge for it of course.

just put up my first post for period play. seeing if there is a generous market.

think i'll post a second ad for bloody panties, but i'm still figuring out the logistics of that one (in terms of money and the hand off). what do you think would be a reasonable charge for this particular service? shipping and handling and/or cab fare to and from the hand off are extra of course.

plus, i use handy dandy instead menstrual cups. think someone would be interested in buying my menstrual fluid (for example, in a baby food jar)?

it's these moments when you feel the least attractive that money can make you smile.

public privacy when the personal is political

As several people have noticed (I appreciate the supportive emails and advice), my sunday client has provided a point by point critique of my analysis of our date. It can be viewed at http://educatedslut.blogspot.com/2004/09/money-for-nothing.html#comments. I have since debated the situation with several close friends, as well as my livejournal support network. I sent him the following email:

Hey, Rob (he signed his response, so i'm assuming using his name is kosher).
I'm posting this to my blog as well, but wanted to let you know through personal email, so it doesn't turn into a public dialog.
Honestly, I was a little creeped out by your response to my blog. I saw it just before I left for texas and have thought about all week. I have realized I am not disturbed by your reading my blog, but I find your comments invasive. I view my blogs as my personal space to share my experiences. If you would like a similar opportunity to share, I suggest starting your own blog. I don't think it is necessary for me to start locking posts, or blocking comments, or even blocking your personal ip address (things suggested to me by some fellow sex workers). However, I would like to request that you limit your comments. Again, you are still welcome to read my blogs (they are in the public forum) but please honor my request.
I hope this doesn't interfere with our professional relationship.
Jane


----
Although there was a defensive email at first, after further discussion and explanation things have smoothed over. I look forward to meeting with this client again. I also took the time to respond to some of his original critiques of my post: he's in quotes, my original post has >'s, and my responses have *s. So complicated.

"I think you summed up our little date pretty well, but you were mistaken about some of the things I was thinking.
> he was a classic talker, looking for permission and validation.
I guess it's a good or neutral thing to be a 'classic talker?' I'll have to see if I can find a description online for that kind of john. "

*A classic talker is someone who appreciates the opportunity to discuss aspects of life, especially sexuality, with another person/woman without feeling guilty, shameful, or judged. It is a complimentary phrase.

"Anyhow, there's a reason I broach the subjects of sexuality and BDSM with any new people cautiously -- I don't enjoy being called a sicko or a pervert. So I come out of the BDSM closet cautiously, and I only reveal things when I think they'll be accepted. The permission I sought was just the conversational permission to discuss these things. There's just not much point in seeking any other kind of permission from anyone, since I'm still going to like what I like."

*Which is the permission I was referring to. I think the value of shared spoken discourse additionally allows one to further explore their personal desires.

> i think he also wanted to "teach" me, but i cut that one short real fast....
"As I recall, my intent was to gauge your actual knowledge and experience vs. your expectations so I would learn who I was dealing with. Of course I would gladly give my thoughts on the pitfalls of sexwork to anyone involved in it who was willing to listen. You made it clear that any insights weren't welcome, so I took a different conversational track. "

*Again, i was just noting that particular awkward moment and how we transitioned from there.

"So aside from the awkwardness that came from these misunderstandings, a good time was had by all, as far as the evening went. "

*Agreed, although i'm not sure there were as many misunderstandings as originally asserted. i think we use slightly different language to express similar sentiment.

And in response to "You might also want to be more careful what you think, or at least post, about people you have only just met. My main beef was that I felt unfairly judged by a near stranger who I felt I had been polite to. That's an unpleasant feeling."
*I didn't feel i was judging you in any way, merely recounting my experience. My post discussed actions, discussions, and my reactions/processes/conjectures. Within the contents of my blog, I am not discussing you. I am discussing my experiences within a context. You are represented by a character, but are not the subject. I'm the subject. me me me!!! (think veruca salt in willy wonka) If I had said, so-and-so is a blah blah blah, then yes, you have a right to speak up. But as you were represented anonymously, there is no way for the description to be traced back to you, and therefore, no need for public defense.

Thank you all again for your love and support. Good night.