Well, it’s been a while since I wrote in the ol’ diary.
That’s because I’ve been a busy girl about town. Escorting has taken off practically where I left it over ten years ago. It seems to be the same four top hotels in London, same type of clients. I’m even wearing some of the same dresses lol.
I can’t say I’ve exactly had fun doing it though. Not the kind of fun I used to have. It’s just work, done in the privacy of a hotel, mostly after a nice dinner or lunch. I suppose being ten years older, I am living a different lifestyle. I don’t drink much anymore, I don’t indulge in curious substances (well, not that much. I definitely don’t go to the sort of parties I used to) and the sex has been normal straight stuff.
But there is the possibility to spice things up. One Gent wants to try swinging (as he so quaintly terms it).
I’m a little excited about this. I haven’t done it for ages. I’ve been with this gent about 4 times now and we’ve discussed what sort of people I like, so I’m hoping this couple he has for me to meet will be to my liking. But, at the end of the day I’ll be ‘looked after properly’ like any good Gent would do for his Lady, so it doesn’t really matter who I’m fucking and what they look like. Just as long as they’re bathed and mind their P’s & Q’s.
So it will be my first encounter with another couple for, ooh, approximately 11 years, 6 months and 3 days. Most of the couples I’ve been with were professionals (by that I don’t mean professional sex workers, I mean they didn’t work at Tesco), mostly older than me (that was before I grew this old, so I bloody hope they are now younger than me. Granny fanny, not my bag) and all were my kind of sexy.
So, yes, I’m looking forward to this leading to other things. But my main concern is; will the Gent handle my enthusiasm? You see, I do love sex with more than one person. The more the merrier actually, especially if I’m the centre of attention.
I once had a client take me to a private party in Paris. We were having a nosy around when three handsome men and a gorgeous girl turned up. I was instantly attracted and I‘d say the feeling was mutual because they pounced on me. Soon it was just me, the girl and the three men. Totally unprofessional on my part, but hell, the combination of attraction, chemistry and pure passion is something that doesn’t happen too often in life with one person, let alone three. The excitement was thrilling. Maybe it was their broken English in a French accent, maybe it was the wine, maybe it was because all of them were so damn hot they got me instantly wet as soon as I saw them.
My poor client. I looked up and he was just watching, crestfallen. Like a fan at a football match who‘s team is getting a good kicking. I pretended not to notice. When I looked again he was gone.
I had to follow him, and it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve done; to pull myself away as some man I have visually fallen in love with is giving me the sort of pleasure I still wank over to this day. I can still feel his hands on my body, and his girlfriends soft mouth whispereing when we kissed.
I found my client was at the bar, licking his wounds. He soon perked up when I told him I did it because I thought he wanted to watch, and they did nothing for me. All lies of course.
We left the party after a few more drinks. All I wanted to do was dump him and return to my new found Friends of Fun, but I couldn’t. We did the deed at the hotel, quick and easy, but it was an all night booking so I couldn’t leave and return to the party. Boo hoo.
I hope my new Gent understand what he is getting himself in for when he takes me 'swinging'.
Saturday 14 November 2009
Wednesday 14 October 2009
Drawing The Line At Client Stroking... Or Trying To.
As I get older I realise some things are beyond trying. Take my old Sugar Daddy from way back. He was a selfish obstinate old bugger twenty years ago, and we had different opinions about such delicate subjects like racism, sexism, religion, all the important stuff. But when you are subject to being cut off from an allowance, it tends to make you keep inside things that you really want let out. I had to be tactful and demure and above all, ladylike.
To say I bit my tongue many times would be an understatement. Plus, come on, he was then a seventy year old man. Who feels good about arguing with a seventy year old man? I’d feel like a bully.
I had lunch with him just the other day. I had forgotten just how hard it was to spend time with him. He talks twaddle about how hard it is financially now. (He’s been saying that for twenty years) How expensive everything is (ditto) He asks questions, then ignores the response, saying “Yes, yes” as he nods his head, then looks around and doesn’t even pretend to be interested.
A least I pretend to be interested in his mundane stories.
He is ninety now. Oh sorry, Ninety-One as he kept telling me. “I don’t look it though because I dye my hair” he said proudly with a lowering of the head to reveal a well coiffured Bobby Charlton. I could still see his scalp through it though.
That enough was to make the couple at the next table snigger quietly. I don’t know what they were laughing at, they hadn’t heard his “Have you seen the size of the sex of an elephant? It’s huge!” statement plucked out of nowhere, and usually said when you are least expecting something like that to enter the conversation.
After hair compliments and general chit chat about everything and nothing, he suddenly announces how he heard about Stephen Gatelys death. How this old man even knew who Mr Gately was is beyond my ken.
“He was gay, you know” he says with a sad nod of the head.
Oh god, here we go I thought. And I wasn’t wrong.
“Tch, these gays, you know-”
“It wasn’t being gay that killed him!” I cut in, louder than intended.
I could see the lady at the next table nudge her partner with her eyes.
“Well, you know, they get into drugs, they are so promiscuous…” continued Mr SD.
“That’s a very outdated stereotypical image you have” I told him firmly. I wasn’t going to stand for this!
“Yes, yes, you are right my dear. It’s typical of them” he agreed.
This made the lady at the next table cough delicately and give me such a subtle wink that I thought I might have imagined it, had the corners of her mouth not been slightly curved upwards.
It was then I realised it was worthless to challenge him. Never mind the Sugar Daddy/Sugar Babe thing. Even for normal life, this should be left to lie. He is an obviously now quite deaf, ninety-one year old man who had been racist, sexist, and intolerant of those different from him his whole life. A conversation with me over scones in a Mayfair tea room wasn’t going to change his opinion; it was only going to Piss Me Off.
Our only hope is that when he leaves this Earth and he returns in another life, it’s as a person who has learnt something while he has been away.
This was confirmed by the lady on the next table shrugging her shoulders and lifting her eyebrows, as she quietly said “It’s not worth it”.
And the deaf old bugger didn’t even hear her. If he had, he probably would have thought she was complimenting his brand of shampoo.
To say I bit my tongue many times would be an understatement. Plus, come on, he was then a seventy year old man. Who feels good about arguing with a seventy year old man? I’d feel like a bully.
I had lunch with him just the other day. I had forgotten just how hard it was to spend time with him. He talks twaddle about how hard it is financially now. (He’s been saying that for twenty years) How expensive everything is (ditto) He asks questions, then ignores the response, saying “Yes, yes” as he nods his head, then looks around and doesn’t even pretend to be interested.
A least I pretend to be interested in his mundane stories.
He is ninety now. Oh sorry, Ninety-One as he kept telling me. “I don’t look it though because I dye my hair” he said proudly with a lowering of the head to reveal a well coiffured Bobby Charlton. I could still see his scalp through it though.
That enough was to make the couple at the next table snigger quietly. I don’t know what they were laughing at, they hadn’t heard his “Have you seen the size of the sex of an elephant? It’s huge!” statement plucked out of nowhere, and usually said when you are least expecting something like that to enter the conversation.
After hair compliments and general chit chat about everything and nothing, he suddenly announces how he heard about Stephen Gatelys death. How this old man even knew who Mr Gately was is beyond my ken.
“He was gay, you know” he says with a sad nod of the head.
Oh god, here we go I thought. And I wasn’t wrong.
“Tch, these gays, you know-”
“It wasn’t being gay that killed him!” I cut in, louder than intended.
I could see the lady at the next table nudge her partner with her eyes.
“Well, you know, they get into drugs, they are so promiscuous…” continued Mr SD.
“That’s a very outdated stereotypical image you have” I told him firmly. I wasn’t going to stand for this!
“Yes, yes, you are right my dear. It’s typical of them” he agreed.
This made the lady at the next table cough delicately and give me such a subtle wink that I thought I might have imagined it, had the corners of her mouth not been slightly curved upwards.
It was then I realised it was worthless to challenge him. Never mind the Sugar Daddy/Sugar Babe thing. Even for normal life, this should be left to lie. He is an obviously now quite deaf, ninety-one year old man who had been racist, sexist, and intolerant of those different from him his whole life. A conversation with me over scones in a Mayfair tea room wasn’t going to change his opinion; it was only going to Piss Me Off.
Our only hope is that when he leaves this Earth and he returns in another life, it’s as a person who has learnt something while he has been away.
This was confirmed by the lady on the next table shrugging her shoulders and lifting her eyebrows, as she quietly said “It’s not worth it”.
And the deaf old bugger didn’t even hear her. If he had, he probably would have thought she was complimenting his brand of shampoo.
Monday 24 August 2009
The Re-whorification Of Me...
The Rewhoreification of me is coming along in leaps and bounds. I have a good feeling about it. I am looking forward to the next six months and the changes it will bring in my life, both professionally and personally.
I am looking forward to being single and able to go out to dinner with a Gent and not fret inwardly about when I should be getting home.
The good news is the BF is back on night shift, so going out and meeting these men will be easier, both physically and mentally.
We have discussed and agreed upon it, and he knows it’s going to happen, but that doesn’t make me feel less guilty when I am preparing myself to go out to meet-and sleep-with other men. I do have a heart, I know it’s hard on him, but it needs to be done.
I have two bookings for this week, both dinners first, which is really the sort of work I am looking for in the long term, although I don't rule out the Quick Shag in a Hotel though. It’s handy, quick, and clean and it’s always good to know I have my back to fall back on, repetitively, should I need to.
It’s just so nice to be going out and about to decent restaurants, all dressed up after being such a hermit for ten years. I can't deny it, I'm loving it.
The BF working nights is also good for the Phone Sex job!
The calls are of better quality. By that I mean louder, more intense. If the caller is straight and just want to hear a girl moaning, and “scream like I’m fucking you really hard and you love it” then I am able to provide that service.
I can’t do this when the BF is home. I know him. Me simulating sex, (loud, slutty sex at that) is going to turn him on and I don’t want that, which is why I always work in the other room and tend to keep it down a bit.
I’m not going to go into detail about it on here, this isn’t a blog about my personal life, and I don’t feel comfortable talking about the BF too much because, well… to sum it up, I’m not in love with him and never have been. I don’t think he knows about this blog, if he does, I’d be really pissed off that he knew and didn’t discuss it with me because I bloody would if the tables were turned.
But the last thing I want is to get him horny then have to turn him down. That’s just rubbing his nose in it.
So, the BF working nights gives me the opportunity to earn more money. I can also walk around the whole of the house as I take the calls- or at least in between calls- and tidy up, polish, iron, do any number of godawful boring household chores that we all need to do.
I can yell louder, or be meaner, to the subs too. Oh, they do like that. And I can do my housework while I talk, just to let them know how insignificant they are to their mistress’s life. They like that too.
I can also enjoy the odd call or two. It does happen. Like M from Up North somewhere. What a deep, sexy voice he has, and he says the things I would want to hear were he calling me for my pleasure. So fucking sexy he is. I can never resist playing with myself when he is online. Hmm, but enjoying my callers sometimes, that’s a whole other post…
I am looking forward to being single and able to go out to dinner with a Gent and not fret inwardly about when I should be getting home.
The good news is the BF is back on night shift, so going out and meeting these men will be easier, both physically and mentally.
We have discussed and agreed upon it, and he knows it’s going to happen, but that doesn’t make me feel less guilty when I am preparing myself to go out to meet-and sleep-with other men. I do have a heart, I know it’s hard on him, but it needs to be done.
I have two bookings for this week, both dinners first, which is really the sort of work I am looking for in the long term, although I don't rule out the Quick Shag in a Hotel though. It’s handy, quick, and clean and it’s always good to know I have my back to fall back on, repetitively, should I need to.
It’s just so nice to be going out and about to decent restaurants, all dressed up after being such a hermit for ten years. I can't deny it, I'm loving it.
The BF working nights is also good for the Phone Sex job!
The calls are of better quality. By that I mean louder, more intense. If the caller is straight and just want to hear a girl moaning, and “scream like I’m fucking you really hard and you love it” then I am able to provide that service.
I can’t do this when the BF is home. I know him. Me simulating sex, (loud, slutty sex at that) is going to turn him on and I don’t want that, which is why I always work in the other room and tend to keep it down a bit.
I’m not going to go into detail about it on here, this isn’t a blog about my personal life, and I don’t feel comfortable talking about the BF too much because, well… to sum it up, I’m not in love with him and never have been. I don’t think he knows about this blog, if he does, I’d be really pissed off that he knew and didn’t discuss it with me because I bloody would if the tables were turned.
But the last thing I want is to get him horny then have to turn him down. That’s just rubbing his nose in it.
So, the BF working nights gives me the opportunity to earn more money. I can also walk around the whole of the house as I take the calls- or at least in between calls- and tidy up, polish, iron, do any number of godawful boring household chores that we all need to do.
I can yell louder, or be meaner, to the subs too. Oh, they do like that. And I can do my housework while I talk, just to let them know how insignificant they are to their mistress’s life. They like that too.
I can also enjoy the odd call or two. It does happen. Like M from Up North somewhere. What a deep, sexy voice he has, and he says the things I would want to hear were he calling me for my pleasure. So fucking sexy he is. I can never resist playing with myself when he is online. Hmm, but enjoying my callers sometimes, that’s a whole other post…
Monday 17 August 2009
Whoring is good for the soul..
Well, the deed has been done. I am now officially a whore. Again.
I met up with the bloke who I had lunch with (not the old, old dude) He is now officially my Sugar Daddy. Yeah! Deep down I still class him as a client though, just as I class myself as a whore for going with him. To me it's no different, just more fun.
We spent the afternoon holed up in a hotel, guzzling champagne. Turns out he’s quite dominant, which is ok. I like that, but it doesn’t mean I rule out the possibility of me bending him over and fucking his arse with a strap on. I think he’d like that too. For obvious reasons I can't give any info about him, I would never be so indiscreet, but I will say it's always the ones in top public jobs, or well known in their field, that are the kinkiest, isnt it lol. And the more fun, IME.
My arse was a bit red after, as it hasn’t been slapped for a long time. (terrible shame, that!) Thank god for Aloe Vera gel. Feels soo good and soothing.
He went back to work and I lazed in the tub, sobered up with a few coffees and rang a few friends. I resisted swiping the white bath robe as I forgot to ask if he minded, and as I'm going to see him again I figured it wasn’t wise to presume he would be ok with me taking it.
There’s always next time. They make great gifts (just unpick any logos they have and bobs your uncle)
We are planning another meeting soon, and have swapped a few texts and emails. I like this. When I was working before (over 12 years ago now!) texts and emails weren't common yet. It's so easy to keep in touch and give the GFE they are looking for, without all the clingyness they fear and hope to avoid. Perfect.
I've also seen another client. Same stuff, afternoon in a hotel. Central London, nice hotel, decent gent. This one was just your Common Garden Variety businessman looking for a bit of fun. Not SD material, just a one off, possibly becoming a regular, we'll see. But no shopping trips or travelling, methinks. He's just not that rich.
I have other men to meet. I have a reliable source introducing me to these types of clients. Clients that I meet regularly and get to travel with, shop with etc. From their word of mouth the client list grows as well. If they are good, then mostly you find their friends are good too. Mostly. There’s always the odd Fuckwit that a pain, but that’s life.
I am also meeting a lady who can set up short term clients for me, in London. Hopefully she is as reliable and respectable as she sounds. She caters for the more mature lady, and doesn’t advertise so once again it’s through word of mouth.
I think it’s a good indication, if something is successful without advertising. Fingers crossed that will go well.
You know what’s the best thing though? The way I feel sexy again. I haven’t felt sexy for ages, I mean a good few years. Sad but true. I can’t really go into detail why, as it’s not fair on a certain someone, but lets just say I feel like me again; flirty, sexy, horny, and confident. Bags of confidence.
Not just because some client shagged me enthusiastically, but because of the response I got all day from different people. From the young man in the street that whistled and said “hey sexy lady”, to the old dude on the train who said “you’re gorgeous”. Even my friend’s 12yo daughter said “you look so pretty. I’ve never seen you look so pretty” when I popped in to visit them before I went home.
This wasn’t because I am stunning or beautiful, because I’m not, but I was oozing confidence and smiling and just generally feeling sexy. And it showed.
Whoring must be good for the soul. My soul, anyway.
I met up with the bloke who I had lunch with (not the old, old dude) He is now officially my Sugar Daddy. Yeah! Deep down I still class him as a client though, just as I class myself as a whore for going with him. To me it's no different, just more fun.
We spent the afternoon holed up in a hotel, guzzling champagne. Turns out he’s quite dominant, which is ok. I like that, but it doesn’t mean I rule out the possibility of me bending him over and fucking his arse with a strap on. I think he’d like that too. For obvious reasons I can't give any info about him, I would never be so indiscreet, but I will say it's always the ones in top public jobs, or well known in their field, that are the kinkiest, isnt it lol. And the more fun, IME.
My arse was a bit red after, as it hasn’t been slapped for a long time. (terrible shame, that!) Thank god for Aloe Vera gel. Feels soo good and soothing.
He went back to work and I lazed in the tub, sobered up with a few coffees and rang a few friends. I resisted swiping the white bath robe as I forgot to ask if he minded, and as I'm going to see him again I figured it wasn’t wise to presume he would be ok with me taking it.
There’s always next time. They make great gifts (just unpick any logos they have and bobs your uncle)
We are planning another meeting soon, and have swapped a few texts and emails. I like this. When I was working before (over 12 years ago now!) texts and emails weren't common yet. It's so easy to keep in touch and give the GFE they are looking for, without all the clingyness they fear and hope to avoid. Perfect.
I've also seen another client. Same stuff, afternoon in a hotel. Central London, nice hotel, decent gent. This one was just your Common Garden Variety businessman looking for a bit of fun. Not SD material, just a one off, possibly becoming a regular, we'll see. But no shopping trips or travelling, methinks. He's just not that rich.
I have other men to meet. I have a reliable source introducing me to these types of clients. Clients that I meet regularly and get to travel with, shop with etc. From their word of mouth the client list grows as well. If they are good, then mostly you find their friends are good too. Mostly. There’s always the odd Fuckwit that a pain, but that’s life.
I am also meeting a lady who can set up short term clients for me, in London. Hopefully she is as reliable and respectable as she sounds. She caters for the more mature lady, and doesn’t advertise so once again it’s through word of mouth.
I think it’s a good indication, if something is successful without advertising. Fingers crossed that will go well.
You know what’s the best thing though? The way I feel sexy again. I haven’t felt sexy for ages, I mean a good few years. Sad but true. I can’t really go into detail why, as it’s not fair on a certain someone, but lets just say I feel like me again; flirty, sexy, horny, and confident. Bags of confidence.
Not just because some client shagged me enthusiastically, but because of the response I got all day from different people. From the young man in the street that whistled and said “hey sexy lady”, to the old dude on the train who said “you’re gorgeous”. Even my friend’s 12yo daughter said “you look so pretty. I’ve never seen you look so pretty” when I popped in to visit them before I went home.
This wasn’t because I am stunning or beautiful, because I’m not, but I was oozing confidence and smiling and just generally feeling sexy. And it showed.
Whoring must be good for the soul. My soul, anyway.
Sunday 9 August 2009
Screening The Gents...
Things are coming along nicely on the returning to work front. I had lunch with a lovely Gent last week. We chatted about our arrangement and it seems we both understand what we expect from each other. So now I’m looking forward to afternoons indulging in debauchery in a top hotel in W1, regular holidays in the sun and of course those lovely little gifts…
I met with another possible client last night. He was 70+. We went to the theatre and dinner afterwards. It was okay. Just okay. I think he will be a useful contact, more of a Sugar Daddy type than a client. But I’m not sure how I feel about that, with this one.
SD's are great, I want as many as poss! But maybe not this one.
When I was just a sprightly 24 years old, I had a SD who was 71. (actually, I had a few but that’s another story…) I still see him once or twice a year to stay in touch, but now he’s 90ish, so it’s just a quiet, respectful afternoon tea in Mayfair, reminiscing old times.
Back then, he may have been 71, but he was young with it. He dressed well, he strode out smartly with me on his arm, smiling and laughing, like a younger man. He didn’t seem 71.
Yes, it was so obvious I was with him for the money, but I didn’t really care what other people thought. I was having fun, going to health farms, posh hotels in the Cote d’Azur and being thoroughly spoilt. Everyone was doing it. All older men had a young sexy lady at their side, and nothing’s changed there, we all know that.
But now, being a respectful 43 myself, I was kinda hoping that this time around I would feel less like an obvious gold digging whore, because I would be with men of around 50- 60 or so. People would never quite know for sure, would they.
I knew how old this Old Gent was before I met him, but I was hoping he would appear a little younger. IBut it just didnt feel right being with him. I wouldn’t mind shagging this new Old Gent as a client, in private, but to go out and about with him, as he shuffles along in his Mr Magoo specs trying to cop a feel is just, well, embarrassing, I don’t care how rich he is.
He wants me to accompany him to Paris. Maybe I’ll go there with him, but I don’t think I want to go out and about with him in London. I might see somebody I know…
More men to meet next week!
I met with another possible client last night. He was 70+. We went to the theatre and dinner afterwards. It was okay. Just okay. I think he will be a useful contact, more of a Sugar Daddy type than a client. But I’m not sure how I feel about that, with this one.
SD's are great, I want as many as poss! But maybe not this one.
When I was just a sprightly 24 years old, I had a SD who was 71. (actually, I had a few but that’s another story…) I still see him once or twice a year to stay in touch, but now he’s 90ish, so it’s just a quiet, respectful afternoon tea in Mayfair, reminiscing old times.
Back then, he may have been 71, but he was young with it. He dressed well, he strode out smartly with me on his arm, smiling and laughing, like a younger man. He didn’t seem 71.
Yes, it was so obvious I was with him for the money, but I didn’t really care what other people thought. I was having fun, going to health farms, posh hotels in the Cote d’Azur and being thoroughly spoilt. Everyone was doing it. All older men had a young sexy lady at their side, and nothing’s changed there, we all know that.
But now, being a respectful 43 myself, I was kinda hoping that this time around I would feel less like an obvious gold digging whore, because I would be with men of around 50- 60 or so. People would never quite know for sure, would they.
I knew how old this Old Gent was before I met him, but I was hoping he would appear a little younger. IBut it just didnt feel right being with him. I wouldn’t mind shagging this new Old Gent as a client, in private, but to go out and about with him, as he shuffles along in his Mr Magoo specs trying to cop a feel is just, well, embarrassing, I don’t care how rich he is.
He wants me to accompany him to Paris. Maybe I’ll go there with him, but I don’t think I want to go out and about with him in London. I might see somebody I know…
More men to meet next week!
Saturday 25 July 2009
The Real Mentalists...
It’s late. I’m on the phone line again, taking calls. I haven’t been particularly receptive for the ol’ phone sex lately. The Dom calls are okay, but good grief, I’m getting fucked off with the dicks who call on the other groups. Where have all the sexy men gone lately? I seem to have acquired a lot of regulars, almost all of who (whom?) I dislike.
Up until a couple of months ago there was always the odd caller here and there, who would do it for me. It didn’t happen every night. This job for me is primarily about making money. If I was having phone sex for fun, I’d be participating in quality calls. I wouldn’t be doing 200 boring repetitive calls every bloody night, would I?
So anyway, the this sexy caller would have a combination of things would get me going; the sound of his voice, the things he would say, vocal mannerisms that in my mind I could convert to an image of physical presence that I find attractive.
Quite often he’d only start the process and I’d run with it, dreaming up my own little scenario after he had long gone, with the images of past encounters running through my mind adding to the excitement.
The occasional sexy caller aside, most were just run of the mill, and that’s okay. It’s my job, even if it’s boring.
But lately the non-Dom calls have been more monotonous and repetitive that usual, to the point I find myself being sarcastic rather than sexy.
This is not a good way to make money!
But I can’t help it. What’s wrong with these fuckwits? Lately it seems to be antagonistic, argumentative wankers who have no clue how to hold a conversation on any level whatsoever, be it sexual or just about the weather. For fucks sake!
They ask for a description, so I give them one and they say they don’t believe me. This is usually followed by accusations of being in a call centre, and general disbelief at anything I say. I have found though that the best way to make money and keep them on the line is to argue with them. If I try to appease them, or be a Stepford Wife type, they hang up. It seems they are looking for an argument. Is there a market for this type of thing, I am wondering.
But I suppose arguing releases tension and I am a Scorpio, so I can stand my ground very well, to the point of being viciously honest.
It’s just annoying sometimes.
It’s the callers with lack of communication skills that are making me want to bang my head repeatedly on the desktop. They don’t listen, they don’t have any manners. They interrupt all the time, not making sense. It’s very draining trying to keep up and humour them.
Example? Here’s one;
Me: I’d like to lick your cock all over like a lollypop , big long licks, then use it like a lipstick to give myself pre-cum flavoured lip gloss, mmmm (etc etc) then I want to-
Caller; (interrupting) Tell me what you’d do to my cock if you were here.
Me; Okay darling (I thought I was you fucking dickshit). I’d like to lick your cock all over like a lollipop… (and here I repeat what I have just said)
Caller; (moaning) Yeah baby that’s it.
As if I was saying something different! That’s just plain mental.
Up until a couple of months ago there was always the odd caller here and there, who would do it for me. It didn’t happen every night. This job for me is primarily about making money. If I was having phone sex for fun, I’d be participating in quality calls. I wouldn’t be doing 200 boring repetitive calls every bloody night, would I?
So anyway, the this sexy caller would have a combination of things would get me going; the sound of his voice, the things he would say, vocal mannerisms that in my mind I could convert to an image of physical presence that I find attractive.
Quite often he’d only start the process and I’d run with it, dreaming up my own little scenario after he had long gone, with the images of past encounters running through my mind adding to the excitement.
The occasional sexy caller aside, most were just run of the mill, and that’s okay. It’s my job, even if it’s boring.
But lately the non-Dom calls have been more monotonous and repetitive that usual, to the point I find myself being sarcastic rather than sexy.
This is not a good way to make money!
But I can’t help it. What’s wrong with these fuckwits? Lately it seems to be antagonistic, argumentative wankers who have no clue how to hold a conversation on any level whatsoever, be it sexual or just about the weather. For fucks sake!
They ask for a description, so I give them one and they say they don’t believe me. This is usually followed by accusations of being in a call centre, and general disbelief at anything I say. I have found though that the best way to make money and keep them on the line is to argue with them. If I try to appease them, or be a Stepford Wife type, they hang up. It seems they are looking for an argument. Is there a market for this type of thing, I am wondering.
But I suppose arguing releases tension and I am a Scorpio, so I can stand my ground very well, to the point of being viciously honest.
It’s just annoying sometimes.
It’s the callers with lack of communication skills that are making me want to bang my head repeatedly on the desktop. They don’t listen, they don’t have any manners. They interrupt all the time, not making sense. It’s very draining trying to keep up and humour them.
Example? Here’s one;
Me: I’d like to lick your cock all over like a lollypop , big long licks, then use it like a lipstick to give myself pre-cum flavoured lip gloss, mmmm (etc etc) then I want to-
Caller; (interrupting) Tell me what you’d do to my cock if you were here.
Me; Okay darling (I thought I was you fucking dickshit). I’d like to lick your cock all over like a lollipop… (and here I repeat what I have just said)
Caller; (moaning) Yeah baby that’s it.
As if I was saying something different! That’s just plain mental.
Wednesday 22 July 2009
Shiny Nails & Straw-Free Hair...
Short and sweet post. Feeling a bit blurgh.
Things are progressing. Nails are shiny, feet are smooth.
Over the past month my skin has been loofahed, moisturised and moisturised some more. I’ve been sunbathing, spray tanning and even had a couple of sun-beds.
I’ve been to the dentist, & dental hygienist, and started to use whitening toothpaste once a day.
I’ve had facials, (in the beauty sense of the word, not had a cum-mask) been plucked, exfoliated, used Youthful Essence (not bad actually) and my top lip has been waxed (the lady was very kind and said she didn’t think it really needed doing, so that made me feel better. Until she ripped the wax off. Maybe it was a ploy to distract me?)
I’ve been running, working out and I’ve cut out all snacks in between meals. My body is toning up nicely and I'm feeling healthy.
My bikini line is now as I say it is on the phone to my callers; smooth between the legs with a silky triangle of hair at the front.
I’ve shaken out the proverbial moths from my designer clothes and have them either ready to wash, or to hang out on the line to freshen.
I have three pairs of new shoes. Subtle, sparkly dinner types shoes, with a heel strap, a pair of black patent leather, high ones, and the very high sexy red satin ones.
New lace top stockings, in both black and natural.
New black lace knickers to match the new black bra I got a while ago.
It feels nice to feel ladylike and sexy again, after all this time of wearing wellies and mud.
I'm keen to get started now. I have appointments booked for next week in London.
The anticipation of starting work is building. I can hardly wait.
Things are progressing. Nails are shiny, feet are smooth.
Over the past month my skin has been loofahed, moisturised and moisturised some more. I’ve been sunbathing, spray tanning and even had a couple of sun-beds.
I’ve been to the dentist, & dental hygienist, and started to use whitening toothpaste once a day.
I’ve had facials, (in the beauty sense of the word, not had a cum-mask) been plucked, exfoliated, used Youthful Essence (not bad actually) and my top lip has been waxed (the lady was very kind and said she didn’t think it really needed doing, so that made me feel better. Until she ripped the wax off. Maybe it was a ploy to distract me?)
I’ve been running, working out and I’ve cut out all snacks in between meals. My body is toning up nicely and I'm feeling healthy.
My bikini line is now as I say it is on the phone to my callers; smooth between the legs with a silky triangle of hair at the front.
I’ve shaken out the proverbial moths from my designer clothes and have them either ready to wash, or to hang out on the line to freshen.
I have three pairs of new shoes. Subtle, sparkly dinner types shoes, with a heel strap, a pair of black patent leather, high ones, and the very high sexy red satin ones.
New lace top stockings, in both black and natural.
New black lace knickers to match the new black bra I got a while ago.
It feels nice to feel ladylike and sexy again, after all this time of wearing wellies and mud.
I'm keen to get started now. I have appointments booked for next week in London.
The anticipation of starting work is building. I can hardly wait.
Thursday 16 July 2009
And So The Prep Begins...
I'm staying at my sisters house for a few days. When I return I shall be preparing myself for my return to escort work and Sugar Daddy Buttering. I've two appointments set up for the following week, at restaurants in the West End. I am so looking forward to this! I've missed this for the last ten years but haven't done anything about it because of the BF, but now it's been discussed there is nothing to stop me.
It's not just the money- even though that is the initial reason for rekindling my past career choice. I wouldn't be shagging old blokes if there was no money involved, or at least some good shopping spree where I can buy stuff. Stuff I want to keep and stuff I want to sell of course.
Well, actually, I say I wouldn't be shagging old blokes, but I ain't no spring chook myself, so Silver Foxes may well be all I can get pretty soon.
Anyway, as I've probably said a thousand times, it's the excitement I crave. My life has been so fucking boring the last ten years. Yes, yes, elements of it I have loved and wouldn't change for anything, but the thrill of dressing up nice & sexy, dining at great restaurants, and being in control of the situation, makes me feel sexysexysexy.
LATER...
Back home. Don't feel so sexy right now. I haven't jogged for about five days, nor worked out, so feeling like a blimp, all bloated and lazy. Roll on tomorrow, I shall go for a lovely run.
Time to beautify my feet I think. I saw a pair of gorgeous shoes last week. I shall buy them on Monday. They are deserving of feet with scarlet nails only.
It's not just the money- even though that is the initial reason for rekindling my past career choice. I wouldn't be shagging old blokes if there was no money involved, or at least some good shopping spree where I can buy stuff. Stuff I want to keep and stuff I want to sell of course.
Well, actually, I say I wouldn't be shagging old blokes, but I ain't no spring chook myself, so Silver Foxes may well be all I can get pretty soon.
Anyway, as I've probably said a thousand times, it's the excitement I crave. My life has been so fucking boring the last ten years. Yes, yes, elements of it I have loved and wouldn't change for anything, but the thrill of dressing up nice & sexy, dining at great restaurants, and being in control of the situation, makes me feel sexysexysexy.
LATER...
Back home. Don't feel so sexy right now. I haven't jogged for about five days, nor worked out, so feeling like a blimp, all bloated and lazy. Roll on tomorrow, I shall go for a lovely run.
Time to beautify my feet I think. I saw a pair of gorgeous shoes last week. I shall buy them on Monday. They are deserving of feet with scarlet nails only.
Saturday 11 July 2009
Inspired By Strangers...
As you know, I joined Twitter. I've been jumping from person to person, reading their blogs or websites. It started off as just research to catch up on the sex industry after being out of it for ten years, (I don't feel that being tucked away here like a hermit qualifies as being anything but on the peripheral) but now I... find myself tuning in to see what the people I'm following are doing. Crazy eh, people I don't even know. Seems a bit freaky actually but it's quite motivating seeing people lead productive lives.
I've been working from home for so long, with just odd jobs here and there. Not really been around inspirational people since I worked at the recording studio.
It's nice. It's motivating, just what I need.
I've been working from home for so long, with just odd jobs here and there. Not really been around inspirational people since I worked at the recording studio.
It's nice. It's motivating, just what I need.
Wednesday 8 July 2009
Bedtime Stories for Big Girls
I have just writtent this, as a bit of practice. Hope you like. Bit rough around the edges but if I start tweaking I'll be here all bloody day.
1990
The gritty details were organised by Tina, an older hostess at a Champagne club in the West End of London which I had started working at that night. I was to receive £90 for my sins.
“Ninety pounds” I thought, trying to concentrate on what Tina was saying. “Ninety bloody pounds. That’s about two hundred and sixty NZ dollars. Yeehar!"
I was only used to doing it for about 80 or 100 NZ dollars. Well, fuck me, I thought. Then I laughed out loud because that was exactly what was going to happen! Things do seem funnier when you’re drunk, don’t they.
“Are you listening?” demanded Tina “Get the money first, it’s very important!”
“I know, I know. I’ve done this before you know, just not in London”
Being practically straight off the plane from New Zealand, I thought £90 was a fair sum. What a fool!
After an evening of sipping & tipping fine champagne I felt slightly giddy. “Too much sipping and not enough tipping” Tina scolded in my ear, as I giggled thanks and goodbye. I was soon to learn that the real problem wasn’t too much champagne, but not enough cocaine.
However, drunk as I was, I was nowhere near as drunk as my client and that’s they way you want it to be.
Back at his flat, it all happened-or rather didn’t happen- in a matter of minutes, and my first ever client in England fell into what can only be described as a drunken coma, confirmed by a good poke in the ribs with minimal reaction.
I looked at him, lying naked, his withdrawn, limp dick looking more like a cartoon piggy’s snout than anything remotely phallic. Was it something I said, I wondered?
Another sharp poke in the ribs got the response I wanted. Absolutely nothing, not even a grunt of discomfort. Rising off the bed, I stripped off my stockings and lacy underwear in a most undesirable, unprofessional fashion and stuffed them into a large handbag which also contained my jeans, a tee shirt and a pair of clean, cotton knickers. I slung the bag over my shoulder and disappeared into the bathroom. Sex or no sex, I had worked up a sweat at the club, dancing to all the eighties hits, with his clammy hands touching my bare shoulders and that was enough for me to want to scrub down
The en suite had a fantastic shower, and for a bloke that lived alone, his towels were remarkably soft and smelt of summer fresh fabric softener. Probably courtesy of his cleaner no doubt, as he seemed to have a few bob.
As I was drying off I checked my reflection closely for signs of guilt of my latest transgression (I always tried to check) but saw none, so I rolled up one of the smaller towels and stuffed it in my bag and checked again. Nope, still nothing, so I took a new-looking flannel and two bars of wrapped soap. I was moving into a flat and needed all the help I could get to set myself up. Right down, in fact, to a bottle of vodka, a purple paisley shirt (it was much nicer than it sounds, honestly) and two pairs of white sports socks, brand new. (He had about fifty pairs!). Oh, and enough of his marijuana to last about a week, seeing as he had a huge bag of it.
His wallet, that was stuffed with cash, I left untouched, as I am not a thief, just a homemaker. To throw him off track about the rest of the stuff, I left a note by the wallet telling him to be more careful about the girls he brought home as I could have taken anything! Although, I did admit to taking some weed, as most potheads don’t mind about stuff like that when they have as much of it as he had. So long as you’re honest!
I glanced in the hallway mirror on my way, and saw an innocent face grinning back, free from guilt. I wondered, could there be a portrait of me tucked up in some dusty attic somewhere, my features a twisted, contorted, dribbling grimace? I should be so lucky. I knew even then my looks wouldn’t last forever, so I’d better make the most of it, romp in the hay while the sun was shining.
I decided to walk a little before catching a cab to my sisters flat in Putney. It was about 4.30am and the sun was rising above the rows of terraced roofs, teasing them with a glimmer of another hot and hazy day.
I had absolutely no idea where I was in London, but I think it was close to Putney as it didn’t take long to get home, and the driver had no complaints about going south of the river.
Although he did tell me I could pay the fare by blow job, (did he know I was a whore or did he try it on with every girl he picked up at that time in the morning?) which I gracefully declined. After all, I had ninety of your finest English pounds. I was rich!
1990
The gritty details were organised by Tina, an older hostess at a Champagne club in the West End of London which I had started working at that night. I was to receive £90 for my sins.
“Ninety pounds” I thought, trying to concentrate on what Tina was saying. “Ninety bloody pounds. That’s about two hundred and sixty NZ dollars. Yeehar!"
I was only used to doing it for about 80 or 100 NZ dollars. Well, fuck me, I thought. Then I laughed out loud because that was exactly what was going to happen! Things do seem funnier when you’re drunk, don’t they.
“Are you listening?” demanded Tina “Get the money first, it’s very important!”
“I know, I know. I’ve done this before you know, just not in London”
Being practically straight off the plane from New Zealand, I thought £90 was a fair sum. What a fool!
After an evening of sipping & tipping fine champagne I felt slightly giddy. “Too much sipping and not enough tipping” Tina scolded in my ear, as I giggled thanks and goodbye. I was soon to learn that the real problem wasn’t too much champagne, but not enough cocaine.
However, drunk as I was, I was nowhere near as drunk as my client and that’s they way you want it to be.
Back at his flat, it all happened-or rather didn’t happen- in a matter of minutes, and my first ever client in England fell into what can only be described as a drunken coma, confirmed by a good poke in the ribs with minimal reaction.
I looked at him, lying naked, his withdrawn, limp dick looking more like a cartoon piggy’s snout than anything remotely phallic. Was it something I said, I wondered?
Another sharp poke in the ribs got the response I wanted. Absolutely nothing, not even a grunt of discomfort. Rising off the bed, I stripped off my stockings and lacy underwear in a most undesirable, unprofessional fashion and stuffed them into a large handbag which also contained my jeans, a tee shirt and a pair of clean, cotton knickers. I slung the bag over my shoulder and disappeared into the bathroom. Sex or no sex, I had worked up a sweat at the club, dancing to all the eighties hits, with his clammy hands touching my bare shoulders and that was enough for me to want to scrub down
The en suite had a fantastic shower, and for a bloke that lived alone, his towels were remarkably soft and smelt of summer fresh fabric softener. Probably courtesy of his cleaner no doubt, as he seemed to have a few bob.
As I was drying off I checked my reflection closely for signs of guilt of my latest transgression (I always tried to check) but saw none, so I rolled up one of the smaller towels and stuffed it in my bag and checked again. Nope, still nothing, so I took a new-looking flannel and two bars of wrapped soap. I was moving into a flat and needed all the help I could get to set myself up. Right down, in fact, to a bottle of vodka, a purple paisley shirt (it was much nicer than it sounds, honestly) and two pairs of white sports socks, brand new. (He had about fifty pairs!). Oh, and enough of his marijuana to last about a week, seeing as he had a huge bag of it.
His wallet, that was stuffed with cash, I left untouched, as I am not a thief, just a homemaker. To throw him off track about the rest of the stuff, I left a note by the wallet telling him to be more careful about the girls he brought home as I could have taken anything! Although, I did admit to taking some weed, as most potheads don’t mind about stuff like that when they have as much of it as he had. So long as you’re honest!
I glanced in the hallway mirror on my way, and saw an innocent face grinning back, free from guilt. I wondered, could there be a portrait of me tucked up in some dusty attic somewhere, my features a twisted, contorted, dribbling grimace? I should be so lucky. I knew even then my looks wouldn’t last forever, so I’d better make the most of it, romp in the hay while the sun was shining.
I decided to walk a little before catching a cab to my sisters flat in Putney. It was about 4.30am and the sun was rising above the rows of terraced roofs, teasing them with a glimmer of another hot and hazy day.
I had absolutely no idea where I was in London, but I think it was close to Putney as it didn’t take long to get home, and the driver had no complaints about going south of the river.
Although he did tell me I could pay the fare by blow job, (did he know I was a whore or did he try it on with every girl he picked up at that time in the morning?) which I gracefully declined. After all, I had ninety of your finest English pounds. I was rich!
Who's The Boss Now, eh...
Feeling rather blue lately. I know what needs to be done to save me. I need to write write write but I'm finding it hard to find the time. I feel so tired. This chatline work is disrupting my sleeping patterns so much. Actually, cancel that, no it's not. It's the other stuff I have to do that is disrupting my schedule.
Fucked if I want to go down and clean the frigging landlady's filthy house twice a week, but at the mo its part of the deal with my rent. That sucks. If i didnt have to get up to do that, I could work late, have a decent lie in, then get up refreshed and do a few hours on the book.
As it is now, I try to write the book while on the phone, but it really is pointless. However, it does have it's benefits being constantly interrupted. I get pissed off and really let rip at the subs. They love it.
Lunchtime seems to be the busiest time for domination calls. Most of them are sitting at their desk at work, wanting to hand over the controls to a strong woman. Just his way of finding an inner equilibrium, I suppose. Then he goes and fucks up that balance by belittling the PA or the office runner. Makes him feel like a man again after he's visualised himself bent over his desk with his bosses dick in his mouth.
Oh I love that one lol. They go silent for a few seconds when I say it, they even try to say no, but I am the Mistress... hahahahahahahahhhhaaaaaaaaaaa
Fucked if I want to go down and clean the frigging landlady's filthy house twice a week, but at the mo its part of the deal with my rent. That sucks. If i didnt have to get up to do that, I could work late, have a decent lie in, then get up refreshed and do a few hours on the book.
As it is now, I try to write the book while on the phone, but it really is pointless. However, it does have it's benefits being constantly interrupted. I get pissed off and really let rip at the subs. They love it.
Lunchtime seems to be the busiest time for domination calls. Most of them are sitting at their desk at work, wanting to hand over the controls to a strong woman. Just his way of finding an inner equilibrium, I suppose. Then he goes and fucks up that balance by belittling the PA or the office runner. Makes him feel like a man again after he's visualised himself bent over his desk with his bosses dick in his mouth.
Oh I love that one lol. They go silent for a few seconds when I say it, they even try to say no, but I am the Mistress... hahahahahahahahhhhaaaaaaaaaaa
Monday 6 July 2009
Just a Quickie...
I want to be young again. I took some pics today, of myself, just for fun. The rot has well and truely set in.
I've never been particularly photogenic, the nose always looks a bit phallic, the teeth seem to look quite crooked, even tho they hardly are. Now I'm older my face looks longer. Longer! What the hell is that all about then? It's not long skin, it's the whole face.
But on moving film I look good. graceful. Where the hell I get grace from I'm unsure, but there I look, all elegant and flowing. Thank goodness I have something going for me.
Based on the pics and how crap I look, I doubt if I'll be able to join a decent agency. OMG I'll have to join one that specialises in Mature Ladies.
Getting old sucks.
I've never been particularly photogenic, the nose always looks a bit phallic, the teeth seem to look quite crooked, even tho they hardly are. Now I'm older my face looks longer. Longer! What the hell is that all about then? It's not long skin, it's the whole face.
But on moving film I look good. graceful. Where the hell I get grace from I'm unsure, but there I look, all elegant and flowing. Thank goodness I have something going for me.
Based on the pics and how crap I look, I doubt if I'll be able to join a decent agency. OMG I'll have to join one that specialises in Mature Ladies.
Getting old sucks.
Friday 3 July 2009
ARSEHOLE...
I've been working on the chatline, talking to some northern git who was a bit of a dick, but not too bad.
I put up with his inane ramblings for nearly half an hour. Then he told me that his dog bit him and for 'punishment' he had tied him in the bathroom, so short that he could only stand or sit, for 48 hours.
I couldn't hold my tongue.
What a fucking thick piece of shit he is. He said "but he bit me" I said something like "well, no surprise, if that's how you treat him, you idiot"
Does he really think he will get an animals trust if he treats him in such way. I told him to go to dog training and learn how to do it properly, and that I didn't want to talk to such a piece of shit like him and slammed the phone down. I'd like to string him up by his neck so he has to stand for 48 hours.
Moron- drag yourself into the 21st century and stop being such a medieval wanker. Tosser.
I put up with his inane ramblings for nearly half an hour. Then he told me that his dog bit him and for 'punishment' he had tied him in the bathroom, so short that he could only stand or sit, for 48 hours.
I couldn't hold my tongue.
What a fucking thick piece of shit he is. He said "but he bit me" I said something like "well, no surprise, if that's how you treat him, you idiot"
Does he really think he will get an animals trust if he treats him in such way. I told him to go to dog training and learn how to do it properly, and that I didn't want to talk to such a piece of shit like him and slammed the phone down. I'd like to string him up by his neck so he has to stand for 48 hours.
Moron- drag yourself into the 21st century and stop being such a medieval wanker. Tosser.
Monday 29 June 2009
Tan That Hide...
Beaut day today eh! Finally my legs started to catch a little colour. I took a few experimental photo's to see how my body looked. I was pleasantly suprised, so there is hope after all.
I'm catching up with one of my old Sugar Daddies. I still see him every year, but as I have had a boyfriend for the last ten years, I thought going away on sun kissed holidays with the SD was a tad impolite.
However, now said BF understands that I intend to go back to work asap, going away with SD to Cannes would be acceptable.
Wahoo!
I started running yesterday. The keep fit vid was not pushing me hard enough so now I just do the warm up and warm down exercises.
I'm comtemplating putting on a pic of now and a pic in a month to see the difference. With face and all identifying marks hidden of course!
I'm catching up with one of my old Sugar Daddies. I still see him every year, but as I have had a boyfriend for the last ten years, I thought going away on sun kissed holidays with the SD was a tad impolite.
However, now said BF understands that I intend to go back to work asap, going away with SD to Cannes would be acceptable.
Wahoo!
I started running yesterday. The keep fit vid was not pushing me hard enough so now I just do the warm up and warm down exercises.
I'm comtemplating putting on a pic of now and a pic in a month to see the difference. With face and all identifying marks hidden of course!
Saturday 27 June 2009
W1...
Roll on the summer sun. I need to get a decent tan if I'm going to be adored and worshipped. Okay, maybe just humped, but still, you can only have milky white skin if you have young, cellulite free thighs.
Working out is going well, I can feel my body changing as the weeks go by. Good Ol' Elle Macphereson! It's her fantastic body sculpting tape from the nineties. Yep, I said the nineties. Yep, I said tape. Thank god I still have a video player!
I'm logged on to the phones as I type. Not many domination calls so far. Probably to early for the sissy sluts. They need to get pissed before they can admit to me, let alone themselves, that they like dick. And I don't mean Dick Van Dyke. Or do I? As I write it, I see the words 'dick' and 'dyke' side by side. Maybe the man is a little darker than we all give him credit for, the Ol' Silver Fox!
Oh how funny, theres a caller on line now wanting to be my sissy slut...
And another. We're good to go, good to go!
My sister just called me from London. She used to live there too, once upon a time. I havent lived there for over ten years, and I do love living here, but I visit London and I get that old pang. Is that just a pang of nostalgia and a yen for the return of my well-spent youth?
I loved living in Soho, absolutely loved it. I stayed in a 'friends' (aka client) small flat in Brewer St for about two years. To say it was an exciting time would be an understatement.
I would only go back to living in London if I could live smack bang in the centre. W1 all the way!
Working out is going well, I can feel my body changing as the weeks go by. Good Ol' Elle Macphereson! It's her fantastic body sculpting tape from the nineties. Yep, I said the nineties. Yep, I said tape. Thank god I still have a video player!
I'm logged on to the phones as I type. Not many domination calls so far. Probably to early for the sissy sluts. They need to get pissed before they can admit to me, let alone themselves, that they like dick. And I don't mean Dick Van Dyke. Or do I? As I write it, I see the words 'dick' and 'dyke' side by side. Maybe the man is a little darker than we all give him credit for, the Ol' Silver Fox!
Oh how funny, theres a caller on line now wanting to be my sissy slut...
And another. We're good to go, good to go!
My sister just called me from London. She used to live there too, once upon a time. I havent lived there for over ten years, and I do love living here, but I visit London and I get that old pang. Is that just a pang of nostalgia and a yen for the return of my well-spent youth?
I loved living in Soho, absolutely loved it. I stayed in a 'friends' (aka client) small flat in Brewer St for about two years. To say it was an exciting time would be an understatement.
I would only go back to living in London if I could live smack bang in the centre. W1 all the way!
Friday 26 June 2009
Back to Back Pure Class...
Friends have been bugging me to join Twitter. So I did. Then, thankfully, I realised before I contacted aforementioned friends that I was using an alias and had a link to this rude blog! Now the reaction to that could have been interesting!
Michael Jackson is all over the TV tonight of course. Poor Farrah got sidelined. I'm watching BET right now, they are having a MJ marathon. It's great to see his music back to back, especially the lesser played vids.
Funny how some people come onto this Earth and make barely an impact, while others have a presence that just cannot be contained.
Michael Jackson is all over the TV tonight of course. Poor Farrah got sidelined. I'm watching BET right now, they are having a MJ marathon. It's great to see his music back to back, especially the lesser played vids.
Funny how some people come onto this Earth and make barely an impact, while others have a presence that just cannot be contained.
Thursday 25 June 2009
Same Shit, Different Bloke...
This domination chat line stuff can be hard going. It's very repetitive.
It's going okay, but it feels a bit mundane. I've had to dig out my domination info and think of some original abuse to shout at them, something they've not heard before. Right now its the usual key words; 'Pathetic, Maggot Dick, Wimp, My Bitch, and many more. If anyone can give me some suggestions, please email me them!
I also have to think of different situations. They are looking for humiliation, mostly in front of friends (mine).
Okay, I'm typing out ideas as I think of them here, as I have just had some ideas float into my head.
When they ask to be humiliated in front of my friends, I can tell them it will be in front of their friends too. It's only fair.
I can also bring a gorgeous famous person into it, with paparazzi clicking away as the gorgeous actress laughs at the man with the small dick. The photo's will circulate throughout the world for years to come and everyone will know was a sorry little shit he is for the next fifty years.
Epitaph will read; "He made the whole world laugh"
Oh- I just had a caller who I had the pleasure of hanging up on. love that. Occasionaly, a sub calls and tries to get the better of a dom. Mostly, when they do that, they are looking for punishment for being naughty etc, but occasionally a twat just wants to be a twat and 'play mind games' .
Oh how I hate that expression. It's like some idiot thinks he is so intelligent that he can outwit another person by making stupid remarks. Nothing clever about it, a child cn do it by copyig everything you say.
So, this guy started to refuse to do the things I ordered him to do, so I told him I woul dismiss him if he did not follow my rules, and he became petulant and childish, so I hung up.
Actually, he just called back putting on a silly voice, pretending to be posh. OMG, don't these dickheads have anything better to do!
So busy. I put the phone down and it rings almost immediately. Must go, must concentrate.
XX
Oh, just saw on the news Michael Jackson has died. Not too sure how I feel about that.
The internet connection keeps failing which is unusual. I wonder if it's cos the world is logging on to chat about it.
No matter how I feel about MJ, I hope he's in a place where he can find peace.
It's going okay, but it feels a bit mundane. I've had to dig out my domination info and think of some original abuse to shout at them, something they've not heard before. Right now its the usual key words; 'Pathetic, Maggot Dick, Wimp, My Bitch, and many more. If anyone can give me some suggestions, please email me them!
I also have to think of different situations. They are looking for humiliation, mostly in front of friends (mine).
Okay, I'm typing out ideas as I think of them here, as I have just had some ideas float into my head.
When they ask to be humiliated in front of my friends, I can tell them it will be in front of their friends too. It's only fair.
I can also bring a gorgeous famous person into it, with paparazzi clicking away as the gorgeous actress laughs at the man with the small dick. The photo's will circulate throughout the world for years to come and everyone will know was a sorry little shit he is for the next fifty years.
Epitaph will read; "He made the whole world laugh"
Oh- I just had a caller who I had the pleasure of hanging up on. love that. Occasionaly, a sub calls and tries to get the better of a dom. Mostly, when they do that, they are looking for punishment for being naughty etc, but occasionally a twat just wants to be a twat and 'play mind games' .
Oh how I hate that expression. It's like some idiot thinks he is so intelligent that he can outwit another person by making stupid remarks. Nothing clever about it, a child cn do it by copyig everything you say.
So, this guy started to refuse to do the things I ordered him to do, so I told him I woul dismiss him if he did not follow my rules, and he became petulant and childish, so I hung up.
Actually, he just called back putting on a silly voice, pretending to be posh. OMG, don't these dickheads have anything better to do!
So busy. I put the phone down and it rings almost immediately. Must go, must concentrate.
XX
Oh, just saw on the news Michael Jackson has died. Not too sure how I feel about that.
The internet connection keeps failing which is unusual. I wonder if it's cos the world is logging on to chat about it.
No matter how I feel about MJ, I hope he's in a place where he can find peace.
Tuesday 23 June 2009
Summers Central Heating Is On On On...
This is almost sacrilege. I’m sitting on the sun lounger, drenched in heat, cooled by the occasional breeze. Nature is doing its best for me to enjoy this beautiful afternoon.
The trees are whooshing, the pheasants are clucking, the wheat in the field next door is rustling.
And I’m here in the midle of it all, ordering pathetic sissy sluts to drop to their knees and suck a big dick.
They are loving it today, out in droves, they are.
It’s very busy- it must be the heat. It’s taken me nearly an hour to write this much because of their constant interruptions. But at least I am earning good money, and I’m getting a tan at the same time.
I am also working on dialogue and plot of my book, by longhand. I tried to actually write, on the pc, but it’s too hard to build up the momentum, let alone maintain it, with all these interruptions, so I'm just jotting down ideas of who I want to say what.
This weeks goals are to write in this blog every day, and to do a couple of pages of my book, at least.
I want to log on and take calls as much as possible, as I want to see what my maximum earning potential is.
Its been a long time since I had no job but the telephone sex. About six months after I started being a telephone whore, I began to ride horses again, and worked in various stables etc. Then I took a pub job or two, and I’ve also done some cleaning. The telephone job became a part time earner.
Now I’ve joined the domination lines, the calls are pouring in, so I have taken the week off pub and cleaning jobs, and I have no other commitment, just to see what I can earn.
I cant seem to find any decent escort agencies in Hertfordshire (except the one I wanted to join) so I may be stuck with sitting at home, logging on.
Not too bad really, esp as I have discovered that I can get a phone signal round the side of the house, where I have privacy and no one can hear me. I can lay in the sun, tend my garden or sit and write (or think up plots and conversation)
I’m taking a quick break to finish this page, then I shall put some tanning lotion on my back and lay on my front and balance the tan.
I know, I know, I hear all the warnings too, but you know, I am sick of being pasty white, or fake tan orange.
I want to be bronze again!
The only problem with working outside on the laptop is I cant see the blimmin curser so I have to use the keys.
What a hardship, eh!
Hope you are all having a good day in the sun. If not- have a nice summer evening and eat out.
xx
The trees are whooshing, the pheasants are clucking, the wheat in the field next door is rustling.
And I’m here in the midle of it all, ordering pathetic sissy sluts to drop to their knees and suck a big dick.
They are loving it today, out in droves, they are.
It’s very busy- it must be the heat. It’s taken me nearly an hour to write this much because of their constant interruptions. But at least I am earning good money, and I’m getting a tan at the same time.
I am also working on dialogue and plot of my book, by longhand. I tried to actually write, on the pc, but it’s too hard to build up the momentum, let alone maintain it, with all these interruptions, so I'm just jotting down ideas of who I want to say what.
This weeks goals are to write in this blog every day, and to do a couple of pages of my book, at least.
I want to log on and take calls as much as possible, as I want to see what my maximum earning potential is.
Its been a long time since I had no job but the telephone sex. About six months after I started being a telephone whore, I began to ride horses again, and worked in various stables etc. Then I took a pub job or two, and I’ve also done some cleaning. The telephone job became a part time earner.
Now I’ve joined the domination lines, the calls are pouring in, so I have taken the week off pub and cleaning jobs, and I have no other commitment, just to see what I can earn.
I cant seem to find any decent escort agencies in Hertfordshire (except the one I wanted to join) so I may be stuck with sitting at home, logging on.
Not too bad really, esp as I have discovered that I can get a phone signal round the side of the house, where I have privacy and no one can hear me. I can lay in the sun, tend my garden or sit and write (or think up plots and conversation)
I’m taking a quick break to finish this page, then I shall put some tanning lotion on my back and lay on my front and balance the tan.
I know, I know, I hear all the warnings too, but you know, I am sick of being pasty white, or fake tan orange.
I want to be bronze again!
The only problem with working outside on the laptop is I cant see the blimmin curser so I have to use the keys.
What a hardship, eh!
Hope you are all having a good day in the sun. If not- have a nice summer evening and eat out.
xx
Monday 22 June 2009
Didn't Your Mother Teach You Any Manners?...
Honestly, the way most blokes talk on the 'phone is gobsmacking. They wouldn't dare talk like that to a real life lady. Maybe only on a Night of Hot Sex, because that falls into the realms of having porn type sex and both getting into it. But to be as nasty as they are on the lines? I doubt it.
There are a few who I allow to talk to me in a demeaning way, because I know they are fulfilling a fantasy. They introduce themselves beforehand. They have manners, social skills and intelligence above that of a sulky teenager who watches too much porn and smokes too much dope. Afterwards they laugh and say "that was good, eh!". They are polite. They say goodbye before they go.
But for the others it's different. It defines them. They are rude from the second they speak to the second they go.
Everything is 'shove' and 'stick up'. It involves all four fingers, their or my whole hand, massive dildo's, slapping. It's all so brutal. It's because it gives them complete anonimity. They can be how they truely want to be. It's so anti social, the fuckers.
I like being on the Mature line. I tell them 'Listen to me, no body shoves or sticks anything up me. I'm an older woman and I know what I want, and I want things to slide and glide before the jungle fucking starts"
Most of them snap right out of their vicious frame of mind and remember their manners. They still have a good call and get their rocks off and plenty come back for more.
And those that choose to hang up because they want to abuse me, well they can just piss off and call a sub.
Dickheads. You are what you eat.
There are a few who I allow to talk to me in a demeaning way, because I know they are fulfilling a fantasy. They introduce themselves beforehand. They have manners, social skills and intelligence above that of a sulky teenager who watches too much porn and smokes too much dope. Afterwards they laugh and say "that was good, eh!". They are polite. They say goodbye before they go.
But for the others it's different. It defines them. They are rude from the second they speak to the second they go.
Everything is 'shove' and 'stick up'. It involves all four fingers, their or my whole hand, massive dildo's, slapping. It's all so brutal. It's because it gives them complete anonimity. They can be how they truely want to be. It's so anti social, the fuckers.
I like being on the Mature line. I tell them 'Listen to me, no body shoves or sticks anything up me. I'm an older woman and I know what I want, and I want things to slide and glide before the jungle fucking starts"
Most of them snap right out of their vicious frame of mind and remember their manners. They still have a good call and get their rocks off and plenty come back for more.
And those that choose to hang up because they want to abuse me, well they can just piss off and call a sub.
Dickheads. You are what you eat.
Saturday 20 June 2009
My Tea Is Cold...
Oh good grief another talker. I truely have hardly said a word! I think he is one of those social misfits actually. He seems unaware that he's constantly talking, mainly about rubbish, thinking he is enlightening me about life and technology. Dickhead.
Oh god he's still babbling 32 minutes later.
Now 38 mins later.
Still talking...
My tea is cold. Arsehole.
I just hung up on him. Not supposed to but we had been talking for 40 mins, and the system is supposed to cut out after 30something mins, so I always get suspicious that its a hacker.
Got to go and make another tea now.
Oh god he's still babbling 32 minutes later.
Now 38 mins later.
Still talking...
My tea is cold. Arsehole.
I just hung up on him. Not supposed to but we had been talking for 40 mins, and the system is supposed to cut out after 30something mins, so I always get suspicious that its a hacker.
Got to go and make another tea now.
Friday 19 June 2009
Regular as cockwork...
Oh good grief, this regular won't stop calling me. He is always pretty drunk, so much so that sometimes he can hardly talk. He's a bit of a cockney wanker, so his slurred words are bridged by his weakly pronounced 'R's, and embraced by 'vers' instead of 'thers'.
His sense of the complimentary runs with 'good girl' (I'm a woman for Crissakes, a woman!) and 'right slut (well, I can't really complain about that one, it is a sex chat line after all).
He's got a bit of money, I know as he's been calling a while now and we've talked (or rather he has) about lifestyle etc and what he has done and does now.
Funny tho, he lives Oop North. I though all cockney's who made a bit of money moved out of the East End and went to live in Essex.
His calls are such low energy ones, and they can be hard to do, especially at 4.09am, as I start to zone out and think of more interesting stuff like the fluff in my belly button and whether there is a little creature in there who might yell 'HOO!' and let his civilisation be heard.
Still, a drunk cockney wanker droning on and on is all money in the bank, eh. God knows I need it right now.
I got rejected by the escort agency- they said I was too similar to two other girls in my area and being a small but elite agency, it's their policy not to hire girls that would be in direct competition with each other. Surely though, if they have two girls like me they have contradicted themselves? I didnt like to say so, tho. Nobody likes a smartarse.
I hope that was the real excuse and it isnt because I am an aging, ugly old hag. They did ask if they could keep my info for future vacancies, but were they just humouring me, I wonder?
So, I've had to look at other options.
Now this is a bummer as the original agency was close, and classy, and I felt I could trust them. Now I have to wade through speel from other agencies to try to determine which ones are going to be the most suitable.
I have discovered a 'Gents club' which is about an hour and a half's drive away. TBH it would probably suit me best for the present time. I want quick money the easiest way possible (but I do have certain standards, so it must decent and not some dingy cathouse with knock down prices.)
This cockney bloke is back on the line again- fourth time tonight. I can't even understand what he is saying. I'm hardly talking, just moaning and the occasional 'Oh God, yeah' to cover up the gentle sound of keyboard tapping.
I think it must be bedtime as this is a pretty unstructured, rambling post about nothing in particualr.
Sorry folks. Maybe I'll edit it tomorrow and add something interesting.
I do wonder though, do the callers ever hear me when I fart?
His sense of the complimentary runs with 'good girl' (I'm a woman for Crissakes, a woman!) and 'right slut (well, I can't really complain about that one, it is a sex chat line after all).
He's got a bit of money, I know as he's been calling a while now and we've talked (or rather he has) about lifestyle etc and what he has done and does now.
Funny tho, he lives Oop North. I though all cockney's who made a bit of money moved out of the East End and went to live in Essex.
His calls are such low energy ones, and they can be hard to do, especially at 4.09am, as I start to zone out and think of more interesting stuff like the fluff in my belly button and whether there is a little creature in there who might yell 'HOO!' and let his civilisation be heard.
Still, a drunk cockney wanker droning on and on is all money in the bank, eh. God knows I need it right now.
I got rejected by the escort agency- they said I was too similar to two other girls in my area and being a small but elite agency, it's their policy not to hire girls that would be in direct competition with each other. Surely though, if they have two girls like me they have contradicted themselves? I didnt like to say so, tho. Nobody likes a smartarse.
I hope that was the real excuse and it isnt because I am an aging, ugly old hag. They did ask if they could keep my info for future vacancies, but were they just humouring me, I wonder?
So, I've had to look at other options.
Now this is a bummer as the original agency was close, and classy, and I felt I could trust them. Now I have to wade through speel from other agencies to try to determine which ones are going to be the most suitable.
I have discovered a 'Gents club' which is about an hour and a half's drive away. TBH it would probably suit me best for the present time. I want quick money the easiest way possible (but I do have certain standards, so it must decent and not some dingy cathouse with knock down prices.)
This cockney bloke is back on the line again- fourth time tonight. I can't even understand what he is saying. I'm hardly talking, just moaning and the occasional 'Oh God, yeah' to cover up the gentle sound of keyboard tapping.
I think it must be bedtime as this is a pretty unstructured, rambling post about nothing in particualr.
Sorry folks. Maybe I'll edit it tomorrow and add something interesting.
I do wonder though, do the callers ever hear me when I fart?
Wednesday 17 June 2009
Stuff of Dreams...
I’ve decided I want to be rich. Really rich, not just well off or comfortable. I've always thought that would be best, but this last month for some reason I've changed my mind.
I mean, really rich. Rich enough to help the charities of my choice properly, for starters.
I’d put a million in the bank for each of them and let them have the interest.
Rich enough to help my friends (and believe it or not, some people who arent my friends. People I think deserve a break, even tho maybe I don't like them. I mean, just cos I don't like them, doesnt mean theyre not nice or good people, does it?)
I want to be rich enough to go on holiday whenever I want. To sun soaked places, hire a boat and have friends come along. I want to have salad on the terrace of a nice restaurant in Monaco, to visit health spas in Italy, spend time in Africa with the elephants at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust ,and with the Born Free Foundation.
I want to wake up in the morning at take the groom a cup of tea and some breakfast and have a horsey chat. I’ll ask her to get two horses ready so we can go for a lovely morning hack. Then if I feel like it, I’ll potter round the yard for the rest of the day and she can have the day off.
I’ve mucked out enough stables in my life to warrant taking it easy and letting someone else do the hard work for a change (for a fab wage of course, no meagre pay at my establishment. Good grooms are hard to find and should be paid extremely well)
I want to have lots of land and open it up for horse riding and walking. I want to have an sanctuary for farm animals that have had a hard life, or saved from one.
Then dinner at the local pub which of course does great food. They have no idea I’m a multi millionaire- it would spoil things- and off home to relax.
I want to buy decent clothes. Ones that last, not crap from cheap shops that fall apart or look tatty after a few washes & wears. I want to pay £50+ for a tee shirt, but know it will still be around and in one piece in twenty years, like a few good ones I still have from the good ol’ days when I had rich boyfriends.
I want a tennis court, a pool, and a home gym. An indoor school to ride in, with a great trainer who will help me understand the art of riding. I want to see shows in the west end and stay at a good hotel.
I want a nice car, a good horsebox and fridge full of healthy yummy food.
I want I want I want. Who doesn’t, eh?
Better get writing that bloody book then, hadn’t I! Cos I aint gonna make millions talking to these wankers.
I mean, really rich. Rich enough to help the charities of my choice properly, for starters.
I’d put a million in the bank for each of them and let them have the interest.
Rich enough to help my friends (and believe it or not, some people who arent my friends. People I think deserve a break, even tho maybe I don't like them. I mean, just cos I don't like them, doesnt mean theyre not nice or good people, does it?)
I want to be rich enough to go on holiday whenever I want. To sun soaked places, hire a boat and have friends come along. I want to have salad on the terrace of a nice restaurant in Monaco, to visit health spas in Italy, spend time in Africa with the elephants at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust ,and with the Born Free Foundation.
I want to wake up in the morning at take the groom a cup of tea and some breakfast and have a horsey chat. I’ll ask her to get two horses ready so we can go for a lovely morning hack. Then if I feel like it, I’ll potter round the yard for the rest of the day and she can have the day off.
I’ve mucked out enough stables in my life to warrant taking it easy and letting someone else do the hard work for a change (for a fab wage of course, no meagre pay at my establishment. Good grooms are hard to find and should be paid extremely well)
I want to have lots of land and open it up for horse riding and walking. I want to have an sanctuary for farm animals that have had a hard life, or saved from one.
Then dinner at the local pub which of course does great food. They have no idea I’m a multi millionaire- it would spoil things- and off home to relax.
I want to buy decent clothes. Ones that last, not crap from cheap shops that fall apart or look tatty after a few washes & wears. I want to pay £50+ for a tee shirt, but know it will still be around and in one piece in twenty years, like a few good ones I still have from the good ol’ days when I had rich boyfriends.
I want a tennis court, a pool, and a home gym. An indoor school to ride in, with a great trainer who will help me understand the art of riding. I want to see shows in the west end and stay at a good hotel.
I want a nice car, a good horsebox and fridge full of healthy yummy food.
I want I want I want. Who doesn’t, eh?
Better get writing that bloody book then, hadn’t I! Cos I aint gonna make millions talking to these wankers.
Thursday 4 June 2009
...and finally
Well yet again it’s been a while. I really have to knuckle down and get into some serious writing of sorts. This is meant to be my daily warm up but I’m lucky if I get to write once a month.
All change tomorrow though! I’ve been making some big life decisions the past couple of months. I need to change a lot of stuff if I am to be anywhere near happy.
I want to be single again. So I will as soon as it is reasonable to do so. To go into the whys and why nots of not doing it immediately would be indiscreet. After all, you never know exactly who is reading.
I want to start ‘work’ again. We/I need money. This is the only way I know how to get us/me out of the total financial shit we are/I am in right now. In the short term that is.
Long term, I need to write. I must get cracking on the book. It’s all in my head and the first chapter is written down, I just need to find the motivation and determination to do it.
I need to get off my fat arse and get fit again. This is the last time I may have at having a decent body before the rot really sets in. I’m 43 now; if I leave it then I’ll be too old and wrinkly to look good. Healthy yes, but desirable? Hot? Hmm, I don’t want to be some young mans fantasy Granny Fanny thank you very much. I’m ok now, but need to firm up and get a tan!
Anyway, on to the blog.
I’ve not worked on the phones a lot lately. This last week I’ve had a cold, (don’t worry, I haven’t been oinking or had the urge to wallow in pools of mud) and before that I have been busy with a couple of other jobs I do. It’s hard to write about other stuff as I worry about revealing too much, so all I can say is I shall attempt to write more often about my work as a Phone Sex Operator or anything remotely connected to it. Or anything else. At all. Just because I feel like it.
All change tomorrow though! I’ve been making some big life decisions the past couple of months. I need to change a lot of stuff if I am to be anywhere near happy.
I want to be single again. So I will as soon as it is reasonable to do so. To go into the whys and why nots of not doing it immediately would be indiscreet. After all, you never know exactly who is reading.
I want to start ‘work’ again. We/I need money. This is the only way I know how to get us/me out of the total financial shit we are/I am in right now. In the short term that is.
Long term, I need to write. I must get cracking on the book. It’s all in my head and the first chapter is written down, I just need to find the motivation and determination to do it.
I need to get off my fat arse and get fit again. This is the last time I may have at having a decent body before the rot really sets in. I’m 43 now; if I leave it then I’ll be too old and wrinkly to look good. Healthy yes, but desirable? Hot? Hmm, I don’t want to be some young mans fantasy Granny Fanny thank you very much. I’m ok now, but need to firm up and get a tan!
Anyway, on to the blog.
I’ve not worked on the phones a lot lately. This last week I’ve had a cold, (don’t worry, I haven’t been oinking or had the urge to wallow in pools of mud) and before that I have been busy with a couple of other jobs I do. It’s hard to write about other stuff as I worry about revealing too much, so all I can say is I shall attempt to write more often about my work as a Phone Sex Operator or anything remotely connected to it. Or anything else. At all. Just because I feel like it.
Friday 8 May 2009
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