All the World’s a Stage, You Just Have to…OPEN UP!

“This bed is your stage,” Rochester had said. “From such a stage you could do anything.”

“Do you not understand? what power there is in that mouth, these sumptuous tits, that tight cunny of yours?”

“Power to do what?”

“Almost anything. now you can give a man a quick ride that leaves him happy or a night of play that tires him. but there is more to learn. you can give a man pleasure, not just in his body but in his mind, his soul, that you become a drug. So that he will crave you. So that his bullocks will ache and give him no peace until his prick is once more the master of that smooth warmth. And I can train you, pretty pet. Do you want that?”

“Yes my lord.”

“Good. On your knees. No, off the bed. for this is your god, and you must worship it.”

(She is instructed in fellatio.)

“Do you love my cock?”

Nell found that she did.

“Do you worship it, my arbor vitae, my tree of life?”

Yes, that, too.

“And do you wish for holy communion?”

…Nell did wish for it.

“Then you shall have it.” Rochester came deep in her throat…

-From, “The Darling Strumpet: A Novel of Nell Gwynn, Who Captured the Heart of England and King Charles II” by Gillian Bagwell (set in 17th Century London).

There is an indescribable quality to the experience of The Lover who turned-you-out, who taught you the value of control through worship and the immeasurable pleasure derived from pushing your erotic prowess to unimaginable limits.

It is…

The lover who invites you to perform…for him, for her, for them.

The lover who shows you how to be open…completely.

When I refer to OPENNESS, I am not (simply) referring to pleasure, I also mean the deeper, dirty, nastier emotions:

humiliation

fear

anger

jealousy

gluttony

and then…from those depths…it is the lover who lifts you up…who raises you to ecstasy, previously unimaginable.

I believe that it is only through that level of honesty that we derive true satisfaction…of an unbound nature, freedom.

Not an easy experience.

Not a pretty one

(true experiences rarely are).

Yet, it is THE ONE you need to become The Star…Not in someone else’s performance though.

The lover only sets the stage, the show is all yours.

Now, are you ready for your close-up?

Indeed, I think you are.

xxx c.

(image by Shutterbugboudoir.com for Pastease.com )

Why I AM (Unapologetically) a Whore

She’s now the darling strumpet of the crowd,

Forgets her state, and talks to them aloud,

Lay by her greatness and descents to prate

With those ‘bove whom she rais’d by wond’rous

Fate.

From “A Panegyrick Upon Nelly”

Anonymous, 1681

I recently started, and have nearly finished, reading, The Darling Strumpet: A Novel of Nell Gwynn, Who Captured the Heart of England and Kind Charles II, by Gillian Bagwell (2011), a historical fact-based fiction novel, set in 17^th century London. It’s the true story of an oyster-seller, turned child-prostitute, turned stage actress, and in her final metamorphosis…arguably, the century’s most famous courtesan.

I am consuming this book (at a rapid pace), which caused a moment of self-reflection.

Give me the true story of a whore…made good (as in this work), or not (I am thinking of Emma Donogue’s touchingly raw, Slammerskin), and I am engrossed, mesmerized, and slightly aroused from…beginning to end.

Why?

Undoubtedly there have been times in my life where I felt like a whore. Not in the sense of being sexually promiscuous, rather I felt like a prostitute…being paid for intimacy—not necessarily sex, although these situations were always of a sexual nature.

A few times, when I was younger, I was paid to do a photo shoot (erotic) while a man paid to either watched or be included. Very often these involved nudity and touching, and sometimes the man would masturbate himself…or not. I was in school and needed the money, and thought, “It’s not like I’m having sex with them!”

But the feeling afterward, suggested something disparate…

SHAME.

Then (and now) I fought against that feeling of shame, which is why I never stopped repeating these interludes, again and again…over the course of my adult life…

At sex parties, as a hostess.

Working in the dungeon, as a dominatrix.

Even when I didn’t “need the money”…the desire compelled me to continue.

I enjoyed it.

I ENJOY IT.

A natural performer, an easy tease, and born hostess…I get-off, giving myself to another purely for pleasure.

I am a true prostitute.

A WHORE.

Setting the obvious socio-political differences between myself and someone who earns their living from prostitution aside, pleasing others for money adds to the emotional impact of the experience.

The understanding that my pay is contingent upon my performance…drives me.

It doesn’t make the feeling behind the act any less…rather it intensifies it…you, a stranger, are showing me that you value my time…my skill…my ability to bring you pleasure.

This tension, this agreement, is the reason I love to pay for lap dances in strip clubs…as the client, it secures my “hold” on her…it is power…hers or mine? It’s never clear who truly has the power in these exchanges of sexual gratification, only that this particular dynamic adds to the excitement.

And therein, in that moment of tension, is also where I believe the SHAME resides:

I enjoy this exchange, yet I know it’s wrong…which in turn makes it me wrong for wanting it…and therefore makes it all

SO VERY RIGHT!

It is the oldest profession, is it not?

And its dialectic continues to compel me…

Happy Whoring!

xxx, c.

(image by: Michelle Wild Photography)

For All My Goddesses

“…but there was something else. An intelligence. A knowingness in his eyes. It was as if, when he looked at her, he knew exactly what she was and what she was like. A witch. A goddess. Someone not of this earth but not apart from it either. A woman to be loved and feared and adored.”

(Witches of East End, by Melissa de la Cruz)

Happy Friday to my goddesses, and those of us who love them! xxx c.

Showing My Age

Lately…I have been “feeling my age”…not meaning I feel bad, or done, or “ova” as they say…rather I FEEL it…it feels good…comfortable…it feels like “the right age,” and so it makes sense that I should show it…no?

‘I’m showing my age’ said Anne, looking at herself in the small tarnished mirror in their bedroom at Bognor.

‘Rubbish,’ said Mary, ‘your hair’s as brown as ever.’

‘It’s the skin that gives it away.’

‘Where?’ asked Mary coming closer.

Anne pointed to various soft faint lines on her face and places where her neck looked stretched.

‘That’s only you…what’s the word? What does one say of statues when they’ve gained in charm over the years?’

‘Patina?’ said Anne, amused. ‘Like the yellowing of ivory.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mary. ‘Who wants their masterpiece to look new?’

- Life Mask, Emma Donoghue

xxx

conchita.

(image by Michelle Wild Photography)

A Fragmented Woman, Like Many of Us (Book Review)

Fragments by Richard Schickel is a rare opportunity to see into the unconscious psyche of America’s sex symbol…a collections of notes, doodles, poems, letters…this work attempts to capture Marilyn not as we would have seen her, but as she saw herself…it is amazing. I high recommend it…and images of the actual handwritten scrawls are included…beautifully compelling!…xxx c

I will find you,” he whispered in my ear. “I promise. If I must endure two hundred years of purgatory, two hundred years without you—then that is my punishment, which I have earned for my crimes. For I have lied, and killed, and stolen; betrayed and broken trust. But there is the one thing that shall lie in the balance. When I shall stand before God, I shall have one thing to say, to weigh against the rest.”
His voice dropped, nearly to a whisper, and his arms tightened around me.
“Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.

Dragonfly in Amber, Diana Gabaldon

distilledmedia:

The Killer Inside Me. 

First person account from small town deputy, who moonlights as a serial killer.

Never read a first person style story, at times it feels nearly autobiographical, which is kinda scary. Really dark and intense, recommended to me after reading Raymond Chandler, but Jim Thompson is another level.

(Source: http://distilledmedia.tumblr.com/post/3689674792/the-killer-inside-me-first-person-account-from)

“evil is a completely different creature, Mac. Evil is bad that believes it’s good,”—-reading now & gettin’ into it FAST & HARD!

WE are FAMILY!

“Family isn’t always born; sometimes it’s found.”

-Shadowfever (#5, Fever Series) by Karen Marie Moning

A Love Story With Fire (Book Review)

I just finished Diana Gabaldon’s Firefly in Amber and found it a magnificent study of the human heart, of love, sadness…and that powerful force that draws lovers together…destiny? Desire? Magic?

Through this somewhat supernatural jaunt through 18th century Scotland to modern day this dense novel pulls the reader through tribulation and trial, through life and death, through reunion and separation and yet you never lose the sense that all of these forces are simply cyclical choices thrust upon us by life and answered by our will alone..striving for that….for WHO…makes us whole…and yet the realization comes slowly that with every sense of fulfillment a new barrier arrises…and the cycle continues.

Heartbreakingly touching…this is a novel for those who long to explore both sides of love…

I hope you enjoy it as much as I…xxx c