A Note From The Writer

Welcome to the archived blog posts (when I was a wee blogger, wet behind the ears and not aware of spell check and various other gramatical structures!) I have kept the writings unedited or reworked as I am in the process of doing a massive rewrite of my entire life, many posts I have yet to publish and this blog was merely writing practise for the massive job of sorting out my emotions whilst retelling the story as cuttingly real and dramatic as the real memory was.. some of the posts contained are raw, streaming emotion.. many posts although painful to write, had a tremendously cathartic effect - cheaper than therapy one would say. I welcome new and old readers to keep in touch via my author email (sensualexplorersatHotmaildotcom) if you have any questions or wish to share the feelings and emotions raised by my work.
I will announce the publish date and title whenever it happens and I have been clean now for three years. It is possible.
But it is never easy. It's a lifelong journey, I will always be an addict, but I must stay one step ahead of myself and protect all that can be ruined in the eternal struggle to be
at ease once again, comfortable in this skin.
Thank you for being a part of my story.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

In the Company Of Stangers

Hello lovelies !

Omgosh. I have just been weblogging safari and I am totally humbled.
The talent is extraordinary. Welcome to any new visitors, hope I don't dissapoint.
I think I might find out how to add a link bar so everyone can discover the talent.
Somehow though, I suspect I am the last one to catch on !

Ha ! Latebloomers, flatchested and pimpled that's me !

*Little bit later*

I'm so nervous to tell my escort stories, some of them are SO *searches for a word* Bad!
(That was so not it) I have NEVER spoken about it. Fancy That !
Ok well seeing I have some new visitors to celebrate I will tell one little bit.

The NappyMan

Knock. Knock. A soft tapping at the door. I knew it was him. Clients either knock uncertain or way too loud.

I answer the door after a few tasteful minutes and saw Mr. Nappy looking decidedly sheepish. His hulking figure taking up the entire doorway.
Mr Nappy was a weightlifter with a tanned broad frame and peroxide permed hair. A cross between Hulk Hogan & Jenna Jemmison. Definitely not my type. I usher him inside impatiently. I make sure no one saw him enter, as he would be one of many visitors that day.

I also wanted to get people in and out as soon as I could, not only out of sheer embarrassment that I would entertain such weird looking people, but it was harder for them to leave then. Once they where inside I would smooth talk them out of at least a hundred dollars or so. It was like taking candy from a baby. I was the baby though.

I eyed Mr Nappie's plastic bag suspiciously. I always found, the ones who prepared for their fantasy, quite anxious and frustated with any lapse in the fantasy.
Every prop, meticulously chosen, every movement carefully planned. Normally, they would bring a sports bag. This would contain whips, restraints, some porn, any special props (in Mr Nappies case he bought wet wipes, rattle and pacifier) and a fresh change of clothes and their wallet (of course)
I have a bent sense of humor and through all the pain of being a junkie and humiliation of what I had to do - in order to support my habit, sometimes a fantasy world was a release for me too.
So thats how I ended up doing play acting . I do not claim to be a professional mistress!

Now I know there are Mistresses that do this for a living and do it well. I, myself have been known to enjoy the submissive pleasures of servitude. But, I never claim to know what I was doing, I was a spank- by- the-seat of my pants kinda girl. I always believe , if you dont know what your doing, be brave and pretend you do - no one can tell the difference.

I remember, as I was trying to slip this sheet-like nappy over this grown man's hulking ass, I started to laugh hysterically at the mental picture in my head. He started to sigh and wish he picked a better mummy. Oh well! I smacked him and popped the pacifier in his mouth. Too easy. He did build the belief of the role play, by going "goo-goo gah -gah" every five seconds; I mean he was old enough to be my father!

It was always easier to explain to The Ex that it wasn't sex. It was just some dude with a fetish to put pegs on his willy or watch me pee my pants ( few a few hundred dollars). It wasn't as demoralising - was it ? And hey, we would stop using and I could go back to Uni , everything would be OK - just wait and see.

Even though it had been two years "waiting and seeing since" we had sex. This no longer worried me. We clung to each other all through the night. In three years we spent not one night apart. But we always woke to the nightmare. Like most couples we had little soothing rituals to help us sleep. The Ex would stroke my hair until I would finally fall asleep, sore and emotional. In this, I knew I was loved. In this, I knew I wasn’t alone. I would rub his back gently, and tell him how lucky we where to have each other. We knew each other implicitly. The only time a junkie feels normal is when he or she is sleeping, the rest of the time they are doing something towards getting high. Every breathing moment was seemingly affected. Except those moments. Those ones before you drift off to slumber land. When you hear the soft, dreamy voice of your loved one. Dreaming out aloud, of a time where needles wouldn’t play a part, when couples can be normal couples again and dreams of university, family and friends.

Laying down on top of him , we would stare at the glow star speckled ceiling.
I could feel tears slide down my cheek, and felt the spreading patches of wet on The Ex's shirt and all I could make out was deep muted reassurances for us, my head resting upon his beating, determined heart, as mine broke to a thousand pieces.

1 comment:

Biek said...

... speechless ... very brave to share this HG. Indeed must be strange putting it down in front of virtually the whole world. Hmm, on second thought brave is the understatement of this century ...