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.

A New Read: With an Appropriate HUMP DAY Theme

In my quest to ever evolve around notions encompassing the erotic (nymphobrainia), I have just started reading a non-fiction work, Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality, co-authored by Christopher Ryan, PhD and Cacilda Jethá, MD (a married couple, no less, 2010). In 2011 the book was rereleased with a new subtitle: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships, which does seem to more accurately capture the heart of the book. The work itself attacks notions of monogamy and mainstream sexual ideals head-on, taking an evolutionary approach that is truly refreshing. Kate Daily from Newsweek wrote:

This book takes a swing at pretty much every big idea on human nature: that poverty is an inevitable consequence of life on earth, that mankind is by nature brutish, and, most important, that humans evolved to be monogamous. … [Sex at Dawn] sets out to destroy almost each and every notion of the discipline, turning the field on its head and taking down a few big names in science in the process. … Funny, witty, and light … the book is a scandal in the best sense, one that will have you reading the best parts aloud and reassessing your ideas about humanity’s basic urges well after the book is done.

For me, the introduction certainly rang true:

Deep conflicts rage at the heart of our modern sexuality…The campaign to obscure the true nature of our species’ sexuality leaves half of our marriages collapsing under an unstoppable tide of sexual frustration, libido killing boredom, impulsive betrayal, dysfunction, confusion, and shame. Serial monogamy stretches before (and behind) many of us like an archipelago failure…And how many of the couples how manage to stay together do so by resigning themselves to sacrificing their eroticism on the alter of life’s irreplaceable joys: family, stability, companionship, and emotional, if not sexual, intimacy? Are those who innocently aspire to these joys cursed by nature to preside over the slow strangulation of their partner’s libido? (p. 11-12)

Expect to hear more about the dualities that this read instigates…and clarifies, and of course I welcome your feedback along the way .

xxx, c.

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

ONE of my many little book vignettes…xxx c

WE are FAMILY!

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

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

A thank you to writers…of stories and novels:

So many cold, lonely nights…books have filled with fantasy, entertainment, learning…I owe not a small amount of my happiness to…the written word. xxx c

I enjoy my literature….more, in the buff!

Dragonfly in Amber: A definition of the PERFECT imbalance of REAL LOVE…

I have been considering what makes LOVE…LONG LASTING…what makes an ENDURING LOVE…

And happened upon a passage while reading “Dragonfly in Amber” by Diana Gabaldon:

The novel is a historical drama set in 18th Century France. Anyway, I came to this passage and was compelled to reflect on my own relationship. Particularly, it asked me to consider the dialectic that we all accept when we REALLY love another person…that imbalance that we navigate between extreme and at times untamable sexual passion, and true tenderness and nurturance…and I realized that this paradox is what truly marks a love…a love worth the effort and time it takes to cultivate and understand that balance:

 ’I always thought it would be a simple matter to lie wi’ a woman,’ he said softly. ‘and yet…I want to fall on my face at your feet and worship you’—he dropped the towel and reached out, taking me by the shoulders—‘and still i want to force ye to your knees before me, and hold ye there wi’ my hands tangled in your hair, and you mouth at my service…and i want both things at the same time.’ He ran his hands up under my hair and gripped my face between them hard.

reading this passage represented a true and rare moment of clarity…I am so thankful to literature…for opening my mind AND my heart…xxx c

All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!’ This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.

J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan (via libraryland)