Spanking and anal at photoshoot with a guy I just met

Well, dear readers, this sexytime post does not feature Roland! But it still deserves its place in my Diary, because it is an experience I’m having while selling virginity, and we did talk about this blog and Roland. He even offered to make a website for me so I could auction off my virginity for a much higher price. I turned him down because a) I wouldn’t necessarily get more – Rosie Reid only got £400 more than me and the girls who got loads, such as Natalie Dylan, have never been verified to have sold it; b) I have a verbal contract with Roland, c) I prefer it to be someone I like and d) it’s harder to vet bidders online and I want to be safe. And of course e) – I want a kinky person.

I’m sure that this blog post will convince you all that I do ‘put my money where my mouth is’ – in other words, that I am indeed a slut.

It certainly convinces me, because I never saw myself as doing something like this. I guess you don’t know who you are until the opportunity presents itself. A few short years ago, I would’ve despised a girl for doing this and said she was a slut, a tart. But I changed shortly after going to university because I saw no point in judging people and comparing peoples’ sex lives to other peoples’ sex lives, especially when I realised I couldn’t draw up a slut table (ie is being married to 5 men less bad than cohabiting with 5 men just because she’s married? Or even worse? Is 2 one night stands in a month better or worse than 3 in 5 weeks? If it’s with someone you know is that better than with a stranger? Having 3 casual boyfriends in 6 months better or worse than 1 one night stand?) There are no answers to these questions – at least, none that aren’t debatable and controversial and probably case-specific.

The guy has requested to be called Donny on this blog, which he will read because he thinks it’s interesting.

I don’t know what Roland’s reaction to this will be, if he sees this post.

I was waiting outside the Festival Theatre, Southbridge, Edinburgh. This was on Saturday. Donny was going to pick me up to do a photoshoot. It was a mostly fashion shoot with some lingerie and artistic nude. He was taking me to his home, which I’d agreed to because I’d seen his portfolio and knew that other models had worked with him, so he was a real photographer and not a serial killer posing as a photographer. Heh.

Anyway, Donny picked me up. He had black hair – my fave hair colour on a man – good looking, maybe late twenties (I found out later he’s 30). He drove us to his flat in a fairly affluent area of Edinburgh. Donny told me he’s a computer guy although his degree was in something totally different.

In his house, he started taking fashion shots, and a couple of implied nude shots, and I changed several times. They were all fashion poses. Donny seemed very happy with how good the photos were. He said I have a natural talent for modelling and that I photograph very well, both of which is exactly what Roland said. So god knows why I hardly ever photograph well in ordinary pics. Then, after about 45 minutes he took a few implied nude shots and told me to look shocked and like I was screaming “Nooo” and covering up. He said I did this really well. It made me giggle though, and I said it was just like my fantasies and it was weird.

He said he needed a break cos his arm was tired, and I drank the Lucozade he’d bought me at the corner shop before arriving at his flat. He went into the kitchen to smoke. Then Donny asked me what my fantasies were and I told him, very briefly – spanking, government torture, rape, etc. He wanted to know how long I’d had them, I told him they arrived fully developed when I was 9 years old. I asked if he ever had any fantasies. Donny said he had to think about it for a bit, because I’m so open-minded that he thinks nothing will shock me but he wants to shock me. Then he came back out of the kitchen and told me about a dream of going into a van full of naked ladies in it when he was 7 which made him really happy, and backl then he “didn’t even know what naked ladies were for”. Sounded like a mobile brothel (like a mobile library) to me!

 

 

Leniency to female sex offenders harms feminism

WHAT HAPPENED

A couple of days ago, Claire Roundhill, a woman who knowingly had sex with a 15 year old and his overage brother – and supplied them with cannabis as well as sending them explicit images of herself – was spared jail: http://www.parentdish.co.uk/2012/10/10/mum-of-three-had-affairs-with-brothers-aged-15-and-17-and-became-pregnant/

She was given a 9-month prison sentence, suspended for two years, and will be on the Sex Offender’s Register for 10 years.

For a man in this situation, the defence that he didn’t know the girl was under 16 is not valid; he must have good reason to believe she was over 16. And this woman admitted to knowing the boy was underage the second time she had sex with him.

The astonishingly lenient sentence may or may not set a precedent for Forrest, though in my estimation his crime was worse as he was in a position of trust and he took Stammers abroad without her parents’ consent. But at least he loves her, instead of using the child for sex like Roundhill did.

WHY IT IS HARMFUL TO BOYS

Sentences like this hurt boys. All children deserve protection – EQUAL protection. We cannot discriminate on gender any more than we can discriminate on race or religion. Yet some commenters on the story seem to think that boys are so slutty that they cannot be abused as they’d go with anyone, or that a boy would enjoy being sexually abused. This issue is quite obvious, and I won’t dissect it here, except to quote the article on the effect Roundhill’s predating had on the boy:

The 15-year-old boy said Roundill bombarded him with hundreds of text messages and photographs every day. He said: “She would be in sexy outfits or topless. I now know she took advantage of me. I just want to put it behind me.” …there has been a victim personal statement from the boy which says he wants to put all this behind him and he is relieved that he does not have to give evidence in this case.”

The father of the two teenage boys, who cannot be named for legal reasons, has said Roundhill’s sentence was too lenient.

He said: “If it had been the other way around and this was a man having sex with a 15-year-old girl, he would have been locked up, without a shadow of a doubt. But, because she is a woman, she has walked free. She took advantage of both my sons. When my elder son dumped her, she targeted the younger. She planned it. I hope she now realises exactly what she has done. If she had gone to prison, I would have been happy but she has just got a slap on the wrist. We are disappointed. This doesn’t send out a message. Before this, he was a lovely boy and now it has changed him. He has gone off the rails. He has been in trouble with the police and this has never happened before. It was disgusting what she did. She has taken advantage of my family. If we had known what was going on, we would have put a stop to it straight away.”

Indeed, the court accepted the excuse that she was having a troubling time and a bad marriage – as if that somehow excuses child abuse!

The reporting of this case is full of the sexism that used to – and still does – categorise tabloid reports of women being raped. The headline uses the word “affair” instead of “child abuse” and the facts that the abuser is married, is a parent and that the victim had an older sibling who lawfully had sex with the abuser is totally irrelevant.

 

IT HARMS WOMEN AND FEMINISM

So far, so obvious – especially to parents of young boys. But let’s go on to the less obvious stuff, about how leniency towards female sex offenders, far from granting women superiority, actually harms feminism and women in general.

Firstly, women are harmed because female relatives, friends and carers of boys are harmed. How would a mother of 15 year old twins feel, knowing the female twin was protected but that the male twin was not protected? How does the mother of the boy in the article feel now that she has to live with the knowledge that her son was abused and violated, perhaps running all the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘if-onlys’ daily through her mind? Constantly wishing she’d realised what was going on, or talked to her son more about women and sex so he wouldn’t fall for her lies and promises, or had been there to protect her son. Similar thoughts might be racing through the minds of the boy’s older sister (if he has one) or his aunts.

Secondly, and here is the more complex bit: When female sex offending is not taken seriously and male minors can’t get justice, it perpetuates the view that only women can be hurt by sex while men – even boys – always enjoy sex or are at least immune to emotional pain from sex. So we start to see women as vulnerable and in need of protecting. We monitor daughters’ sex lives more than sons’, ‘for their own good’. Males are seen as sexually aggressive and females as sexually passive – great conditions for the sexual double standard, paternalism and male control of female sexuality to flourish. If sex is seen as dangerous to women then confusion or derision will be directed against women who do enjoy and seek sex. If sex as seen as harmful to teenage girls and young women then it justifies parental control over daughters’ sexuality.

The message of this case is that only teenage girls’ innocence (or virginity) is valued enough to be protected. Boys’ innocence is worthless (or nonexistent)? This might actually harm girls even more than boys, as this sort of thinking is full of that antifeminist social conservatism which buoys up slutshaming and the sexual double standard.

Thirdly, and this is the controversial bit: In a way, it is a good thing for women to be seen as sex predators. (To be SEEN AS, not to actually DO child abuse. I AM NOT ADVOCATING THAT WOMEN MOLEST CHILDREN IN THE NAME OF FEMINISM. And I’m talking about women who are guilty of being sex predators being seen for what they are, not innocent women being seen as sex predators.) It is a good thing because when we accept that women are sexx predators, we can offer support and counselling to their victims. Men will be more confident about reporting sexual assaults by women and recieving support from rape centres. It will no longer be acceptable to joke about men being raped, as if somehow they’re incapable of feeling as bad as women, as if somehow they can’t be violated because they’re sluts anyway, so who cares? It’s not as if dignity and bodily integrity could actually mean something to anyone with a penis, right?

Also, when we accept that women can and do commit sex crimes, the double standard will crumble to dust. The double standard is based on a conservative view of female passivity, chastity and asexuality – women want love, marriage and children while men want sex. The acceptance of the existence of female sex offending will prove that this is nonsense – anyone can be sexually aggressive, romantic, or chaste and it’s got nothing to do with either gender or biological sex.

With the fall of the double standard, stigma against lone mothers, “sluts” and (female) sex workers would also start to lift.

The culture of telling women how not to get raped, holding women responsible for rape (victim blaming) and paternalism would also fall once men realise they could become the victim of rape by a woman. And if men fear rape by women, they might be happier to accept that rape is real (step forward Todd Akin) and not oppose abortion in such cases – after all, would men really want to pay child support towards a child concieved by rape? (Claire Roundhill got pregnant, by the way. She had an abortion. But if she hadn’t and it was the 15 year old’s baby, he would be paying child support as soon as he turns 16 or gets a full-time job.)

In conclusion, this sentence was very unjust, unfair and insulting to the 15 year old victim and his family. It may set a worrying precedent about how male children are protected from exploitation and abuse. The comments below it seem to mean that male victims of female sex offenders can expect to be ridiculed and shamed as “wimps” for showing distress, or at best have their abuse dismissed as “a great experience”. Angry parents seeking justice can expect to be ridiculed as overprotective and restricting their child’s sex life. And female sex offenders will be propositioned, praised, or shamed as “slut” instead of “sex offender” – (the second one is the WORSE title, people!). The victims and their families suffer with little of the sympathy, understanding or support given to female victims – all because the kid is the wrong gender. And feminism suffers alongside them, as the message given is “Only females’ innocence is important enough for the law to protect”.

 

Long description of a blowjob – you know you want to read it!

Roland came back and I was all, “That was quick”. I slipped onto the floor, the heat from the fire warming my skin. I’m going to skip to the part where Roland had his thing out, which of course put me in a state of lust instantly, so that I couldn’t think properly. I really had the urge to bite it, hard, near the tip, to feel my eye-tooth go into the little hole at the end.

I reached for the sauce and squeezed a drop onto my index finger and licked it off. It was good; strawberries and cream. It would do. I squeezed it liberally all over his cock, and then used the cream as well before realising it’d have a lot of calories. But I reasoned it was OK, as I’m skinny. (Not commercial/advert skinny, I mean skinny for a normal healthy person). Roland said, “That can be your dinner.” And yeah, I was hungry just looking at it. I hadn’t had dinner, or snack. Neither had he, we’d been too busy spanking. I mean, it’d been 7 or 8 by the time we’d even started the spanking. The cream looked very appetizing and I didn’t even feel like it was a blowjob because all I could see was cream. I squirted some more sauce on top.

I leaned my head forward, and with the tip of my tongue scooped up some cream. It was warm but tasted really nice – it hadn’t gone off from not being refrigerated. I scooped out a deeper trench, still not touching dick. I carried on like this for a couple more licks, then I took the whole thing in my mouth.

It was quite big relative to my mouth and I couldn’t breathe very well, but at the same time it was easy to lick because I instinctively wanted to lick it, and licking prevented drooling. So I experimented with techniques, doing quick, little laps and hard flicks with my tongue, the aroma of vanilla all around me, the warmth of the fire on my skin. Then I intersperesed some longer reaches up the underside of his thing, and  rolled my tongue over it, then quick flicks right acroos the tip. It was lots of fun, and I knew I was doing it right because Roland sighed happily and he said I was doing good. He seemed surprised about how good I was.

I tried shooting my tongue out just below my top teeth, then tried to take more of it in my mouth.Then, unable to resist the urge any longer, I bit it, and Roland moved, and I took my mouth off and said “sorry” and he said, “No it’s okay, you can bite,” so I commened licking and biting, on the tip, shaft and towards the middle of the shaft. Most of the cream and sauce was gone now but his cock was still flavoured with it so it was still tasting great. After some more biting, licking and changing of rythms – and Roland moaning and saying it was good – I took my mouth off again and said “Pull my hair.” I knew this was not smart as my hair breaks easily, but I wanted it. Roland grabbed my hair but not hard, and I went back to my mouth excercises. After a few minutes of this, during which I asked him to pull my hair harder, Roland started thrusting into my mouth which was totally amazing! It made me REALLY want to lick and bite! He was thrusting his thing into my face, I felt totally debased, like I was being forced to do it! I was pushing myself onto his cock, and after a bit I gagged and drew back, afraid I would be sick but I wasn’t, it was just my gag reflex. Obviously I can’t do deep throat.

“Are you hating this?” asked Roland, looking into my eyes.

I told him no, it was just a gag reflex. About five seconds later, the reflex had subsided and I squirted more sauce on and went back to sucking dick. And so it went on for another 15 minutes or so.

 

 

Cornered

I thought he would pick me up and carry me downstairs into the front room, but instead he came over to me and said that if I didn’t want to do it I could just say the safeword and we could just go into the livingroom and nothing would happen. His voice was calm and measured, like it always is. Roland has quite a pleasant voice. He also talks softly and sometimes slowly, traits I find irritating in others, but not in him. Mostly because he uses tone and expressions to give his words much more power than if he was talking loud or fast.He came closer to me and asked if I wanted to do it. Was I sure? Did I want to say the safeword, or did I want to do it? The insinuation that I couldn’t of course spurred me to tell him that I would.

“Is this something that you want?” he asked.

I thought, of course not, why would anyone even think of doing something so disgusting and unhygienic anyway, if it wasn’t for online porn? (I’ve never been diagnosed with OCD, but I am told I exhibit such tendencies).  Can you imagine how germy it would be, probably millions of bacteria and molecules of piss would be in your mouth. Honestly I think it’s revolting, though maybe not as bad as drinking piss or eating shit. But I love money so much, and I wanted to be debased and to experience what it’s like. So I said, “Yeah, I want to.”

We were talking for a bit, and I said that if I’d hidden in the bathroom he wouldn’t have found me.

“Well no, because we’ve thought of that, you see,” he said, showing how the lock could be opened from outside.

I asked why we couldn’t use a flavoured condom. He said he didn’t like them but “You can demand I wash my balls first” which I think is an amusing line/quote, so I’ve stuck it in this post. Then I followed him downstairs.

He made me sit on his lap to get the answers out of me. I was feeling sore and didn’t want to be spanked any more, so I was glad about this. Roland asked me for my favourite colour, the age at which I first masturbated, and the first time or have I ever had an orgasm; I gave him these answers instantly. He laughed and said it was no fun. Then he tried to think of two more things to ask me. I said it was fine and I’d give him a blowjob without the five questions/answers.

“You’re sure?” he said.

I was. I was tired of playing games; I wanted action.

I was lying on the sofa. Roland popped off to shower – not that I’d have cared all that much if he didn’t, because I had the sauce so all I would taste would be that. He was gone a disappointingly short time.

 

In Roland’s house

Roland annoys me so much by constantly insinuating I’ll believe I’m in love with him. I still like him though. Sometimes when he’s less ugly, he’s halfway to being cute. And he’s so funny. I admire his independent thought, and how he doesn’t blindly go along with whatever the media or government or society bleat in his ear. He is very interesting.

He’s strong, which is another irritating thing about him; I’ve always taken my strength for granted. I was always in the top three strongest, tallest and smartest kids in the class all through school until about fifth year when the boys suddenly grew taller and got muscles. (And sometimes I actually was the strongest in the class). But Roland can move me really easily, even though I’m heavy for my height/figure. I can still arm-wrestle boys and win, though, so maybe he couldn’t beat me at that. Anyway it’s really irritating that I can’t force him onto the floor and pin him there.

In the studio, we were trying to get the handcuffs on each other; he was lying on the floor and I was sitting on him. I was using my legs and feet to push his arms down but after a few minutes of us wrestling on the floor, he finally got one of my wrists in a cuff. I quickly got it off, but I couldn’t cuff him and after a bit he cuffed my hand again, and later put the other cuff on me.  He was pleased, I could tell. Grinning like a perverted millionaire who’d just handcuffed a naked prostitute.Then he pushed me off him and I rolled onto the floor, my hands cuffed in front of me. I tried to chet and jump back on him but even that attempt ended in failure.

Afterwards we were talking about stuff and I asked him why he’d said he was 42 in reply to my Gumtree ad, when he was 4 years older, and why he’d said “I am 42 and professional but I have an interest in spanking” as if you couldn’t be professional and a spanko. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said or why he’d lied.

I found out that he’d guessed I came to the photoshoot to trial him! He guessed that after I said “ask me why I came here” as he was interrogating and spanking me after the photoshoot. How could he guess?! I could’ve just come for the spanking!! He said that, after he’d spanked me and he was saying that would I want to be spanked for money in his office or a hotel, he could tell that I wanted to but I just wanted the right price. He could tell that, he said, because “I thought you would be shocked. I thought you would say no. You said ‘maybe’, so I thought, ‘she wants to but she wants the right price.’ Your body language didn’t say no. You didn’t even seem surprised. I knew you were smart. So I thought ‘this is a smart girl, she wants a good price’.”

I was totally surprised. “How did you know I was smart? Because I had a degree?”

“Well- yeah.” He giggled. “And I knew from talking to you that you were well-read, so I thought, a well-read educated girl, she wants a good price.”

I couldn’t believe this. Usually others can’t see through my machinations.

“So, you knew I was going to ask you if you wanted to buy virginity!” I said.

“Well, no; not virginity, but I expected to hear from you later naming your price.”

Anyway, we left the studio and he told me what would’ve happened if I’d said my student debts were 12k on the drive – i.e. the same result or actually worse (it’s in the post called ‘studio bondage’).  Wegot to Roland’s house and what it is is a four-bedroom house with a big living room and kitchen, 2 bathrooms and a garage. It’s cosy, nicely decorated with a hint of the exotic – none of that modern or minimalist crap – so I liked it there. It’s not got much furniture in it. There wasn’t a swimming pool like I thought there would be and the TV was just a 42 inch, which was disappointing because ours is a 37 inch so although his is bigger, it’s not a lot bigger than ours. I had thought it would be a 50 incher or maybe cover an entire wall. I had thought he lived in a mansion. I had the printout of one of his bank statements showing over 1.6 million in my bag so I knew he was telling the truth that he was a millionaire. Roland had said, in response to me asking if his house was really big on the drive there, that it was big but not too big and just enough space that was needed, but I still had thouht it might be huge because everyone knows that rich people do not have the same definitions as everybody else. However, Ro is self-made/new money so obviously he’d be a lot more normal because he was once normal.

We were in the kitchen and I said I’d imagined his wife’s name to be Magda, for some weird reason (I thought he’d got a parcel but it was for his wife) and he said “Like Mary Magdalene” a reference I didn’t get till a minute later (his wife had been a gogo dancer and sex worker when he met her as a student).

There were kiddies’ pics all over, drawn by “Magda”‘s child’s kids (she was a lone mother when he met her) and I said “It’s a shame you don’t have a son my age; or I could do you a family deal.”

He burst out laughing. “A family deal?!”

“Yeah, then you could get a discount.”

He thought it was really funny.

He fixed me coffee – it was really good- and showed me this email on his laptop that he hadn’t seen for 12 years but he had accidentally seen just before he picked me up in Buccleuch Place – a huge coincidence, he said.He’d told me about it on the drive over; it was his interpretation of the dichotomy (in its art/literature context); an interpretation that did away with the duality of virgin and whore and introduced a third aspect.   Roland said in the email that the dichotomy is something he thought about, and divides it up into three strands, (virgin, whore and another one I can’t remember but I think it was the curious/adventurous dignified woman) not two (virgin and whore). In the email, he claimed this is his personal interpretation.I wish I could remember all of it and copy it here, but with reference to the dichotomy, I think one of the most powerful lines is a throwaway one – “I’ve been married to a dancer for […] years, amd therein lies a story” – according to the dichotomy, non-virgins (in present times, adventurous women, women who don’t want relationships/just need sex, and sex workers) are not marriage material and no man would want to marry them.  This was interesting to read but I was far more interested in the upcoming (Borat accent) SEXYTIIIIMMMEEE!!

Roland did some work stuff with the speakers on full blast with some of my favourite songs. They were the best computer speakers I ever heard; it was a very real – and loud- sound. It was a nice kitchen, too. He said he’d take me to the hotel later on and I relaxed, because I guessed I wouldn’t have to give him a blowjob until hours later in a different place, so I’d worry about it then.

Then he took me into the livingroom to spank me.

 

Let them eat cream

I just played an RPG http://spankingadventures.webeden.co.uk, a ‘choose your own spanking story’ set in a mystical mansion outside of time where you start as a slave with the possibility of progressing to Mistress; the ultimate goal is to become Supreme Mistress, but it could be GAME OVER any time. It is a very detailed, long and varied RPG; it took me over 2 hours to get this far and I read very fast (so far I’ve reached Mistress level).

I really want to stay as Mistress in that mansion, until the end of time.

But I could not forsake my Egyptian palace for it, and my responsibilties there.

 

Now, back to the actual stuff that really happened:

Roland was lying on the floor of the studio for some reason and I was sitting on top of him, naked except for the purity ring, bangles and maybe a necklace. I don’t know how this happened – maybe he was lying next to me and I just clambered on him? I think I said that he couldn’t get up with me sitting on him. Anyway, he had clothes on which continued to irritate me, but I was equally afraid that if I took them off he would be all wobbly rolls of fat, undulating and bobbing slickly under his skin.

We were talking about some stuff and I began to thrust in a rolling sort of motion, first sitting and then with my weight equal on all four limbs; at first I was gentle, then harder and squeezing my thighs as each thrust was completed. I imagined that he was mine, to torture and to dominate at my pleasure.

“If we were in my palace right now, I could torture you,” I said. This amused him, but I can’t remember what he said.

I blindfolded him. Then I jumped off him to get the whipped cream, climbed back on and squirted the cream in his face, giggling, and then in his mouth, forcing him to eat it. “That’s for being a millionaire,” I said, rocking now, “I don’t like rich people.”

A little while later, being puzzled why he wasn’t getting hard, I asked “Why isn’t this working?”

“Because I know that’s your kink,” he replied, still eating the massive wads of cream, “And I’m not going to let you have it. And I don’t have much of a submissive side.”

“Wait – you can control it? All men can?”

“Yes, except in very few situations,” he said.

“I can’t – at all. I wonder why – but I guess women are just more sexual. We’re multiorgasmic.”

“Well, yes,” Roland said in a very educated tone, like there wasn’t a naked hooker dry-humping him on the floor of a studio, “I think that’s it.”

“But in some situations it would work, like how you can control yourself not to come but sometimes you couldn’t control that.”

“Yeah.”

“So if I wanted to, I could tie you down and do this and rape you and force you to impregnate me.”

He chuckled. I was moving backwards and forwards this whole time and it was having no effect. “Well, no, because of something called the pill.”

“Yeah, but if I wanted to get pregnant. I could force you.”

“Well, yes,” he admitted, still swallowing Kalika-cream, “you could.”

I licked the cream off his face.

 

Then he drove me to his house. On the way out of his studio and on the drive, I found out that he wasn’t disappointed that I would’ve done it for less, because he  wouldn’t have wanted me that many times if it had been for less (and neither would I; I hadn’t envisioned 8 times at all till he said it at the restaurant.)

I also found out that if I’d said my student debts were 12k he’d just want to see me more, so it would’ve been the same, as we might do more than 8 times anyway – well, actually, it would’ve been less as he’d have wanted 15 times for 12k so it wouldn’t be a k a time. So, I’m really happy about that! It was important for me to know that. I don’t think Roland realised it was important for me to know that.

He can’t grasp how much I love money.

As we neared his house, I knew which one it was, and I was correct. Sometimes I’m just slightly psychic like that. Well, actually, it’s not psychicness, but sensing certain feelings and the air.

 

 

 

 

Adult cartoons: conservative agenda?

South Park. Family Guy. The Simpsons. They’re ultra-liberal, filled with swear-words, innuendos and sometimes sexually explicit comments. A show like Family Guy, which has the word “penis” in half its episodes and utilises phrases like “your penis would shoot right off your body”, “my daughter’s womb is not a wildfire for you to douse with your adolescent seed” and show scenes of rape, sex addiction, kinky sex, and puppy-babies concieved by bestiality is not usually thought of as furthering the agenda of the religious right. But it does. Don’t get me wrong, Family Guy is my favourite thing on TV, IloveitIloveitIloveitIloveitIloveit. All these cartoons work against the right-wing agenda and mock it in many ways. But here is how it, and other adult cartoons, do further that agenda:

In The Simpsons, Family Guy and American Dad, the mothers are all housewives with no friends.

In all the above shows as well as the Cleveland Show, the focus is on a male character

The father is irresponsible, lazy and doesn’t do housework – especially Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin. The boys – especially Bart Simpson, Eric Cartman and Rallo Tubbs- cause chaos (which is not seen as deviant), while the girls are quiet (especially Lisa Simpson and Meg Griffin) or only cause ‘trouble’ to their parents by parental fear of their sexuality (Roberta Tubbs and Meg Griffin) or political views (Hayley Smith). In contrast, the mothers care for the kids and do not pull crazy stunts of their own – an exception is Family Guy’s Lois, but her stunts (kleptomania, revealing that she was in a porn film) pale in comparison to Peter’s.

In the first episode of The Cleveland Show, the mother is depicted as unable to control her children after becoming a lone mother. Only Cleveland, acting as a father figure, can restore discipline.

This ‘discipline’ includes controlling 15 year old Roberta’s sexuality by physically intimidating her boyfriend. This patriarchal control is juxtaposed with Cleveland’s freedom to have sex with Roberta’s mother at the very moment that Roberta’s sexuality is subject to his control

In contrast, Roberta’s 5 year old brother is encouraged by Cleveland to be sexual. Cleveland teaches him to invent a reason for having to peek up girls’ skirts, a behaviour which resulted in him being expelled in the first place.

Cleveland’s assertion that the kids “need some fathering” – mothering being inadequate

Robert’s absence supposedly caused the kids to misbehave; however, as a drunk who is disinterested in his children, how could he have disciplined them when he lacks discipline himself? The message is that even a drunk dad can parent better than a working, caring, sober mom.

Roberta is portrayed as accepting her boyfriend’s decision to take her home early/not have sex. Cleveland is controlling her through her boyfriend, and likewise her boyfriend is able to control her sexuality.

In one episode, Roberta is almost forced by peer pressure and a TV camera to flash her breasts, along with many other girls, but her stepbrother saves her by pretending to be a girl and flashing his chest. This implies that it is not good to flash your breasts for a TV show and that women are exploited in the adult entertainment industry. Roberta was portrayed as a victim with no agency who had to be saved by a younger male relative. The fate of flashing was portrayed as dire.

 

In Family Guy, Peter is pathologically possessive of his daughter Meg when she dates a trainee doctor – even stalking them in disguise- and attempts to shoot him when Meg is pregnant.

In the current season, both Peter and Lois stop Meg having sex with Glenn Quagmire even though she’s already 18. Meg is portrayed as accepting this.

While Glenn and Herbert are sex predators and Peter frequently uses very sexual language, the female characters are not permitted such expression. Even when Lois is revealed to have starred in a porn film, the revelation leads to her becoming a social pariah which is the main content of the episode. However, when male characters commit rape, cheat, repeatedly attempt child molestation, commit bestiality, abduct people for sex, etc, they suffer no consequences and their actions remain secret. These actions constitute very small portions of the episodes, in contrast to Lois’ porn movie, Lois’ sexy photo, Loretta’s affair, Meg’s boyfriend/subsequent pregnancy, Bonnie’s affair or Peter’s boss Angela sexually harassing him. The mens’ actions are not portrayed as problematic or deviant. They seem to happen as a result of the mens’ libido. However, the womens’ actions are problematized by the community and the family. Their actions seem to come from problems: lack of money (Lois making the porno), unhappy marriage (Loretta and Bonnie having affairs, Lois kissing Meg’s boyfriend) being naive and/or used (Jillian-Brian, Meg-Quagmire and Cheryl Teags-Brian) and being suicidal (Angela). The men suffer no consequences for their actions except Quagmire’s friends being annoyed with him when he is caught spying on Lois, and Lois being annoyed with him for trying to sleep with Meg. By contrast the women get publically shamed on TV (Lois’ porn film), lose public office (Lois’ photo), are discovered cheating (Loretta and Bonnie), have a pregnancy scare, a forced marriage, then lose their boyfriend (Meg) go to prison for harbouring a fugitive (Meg) accidentally make out with their brother (Meg) get dumped, get obssessed, perform a kidnap and get told to wait for the right man by Quagmire, a pervert – double standard much?(Meg), attempt suicide when attraction is unreciprocated (Angela).

When Lois briefly becomes a lone mother in the episode ‘Big man on the hippocampus’, the family’s income drops ridiculously low.

In South Park, being a slut is linked to being stupid and spoiled, and in a slut contest the male slut (Mr Slave) wins over the female slut (Paris Hilton). It is not suggested that Mr Slave is stupid or spoiled. The girls of South Park then immediately stop being sluts.

The only lone mother portrayed is Eric Cartman’s mother, and her son is completely out of control. She is also portrayed as promiscuos and as not knowing who Eric’s father is.

 

 

 

 

 

Slutty dreams

Ah, ‘slut’. The perfect word. I am a slut. What kind of disgusting slut would sell her body? And not only agree to such a thing, persuaded by a much older company director, but actually go to a nude modelling shoot to see if this is the right man to sell her virginity to. It’s absolutely disgusting. Dirty. Sordid. Unseemly. Naughty. Bad girl. Obscene. Licentious. Libidinous. Perverted.

I hope by the end of it I feel used and dirty. I tried to cry when I ran away from Roland and he cornered me, demanding that I could either give him a blowjob now or do it “with a sore bottom” [back in a sec]

Right, where was I? Oh, yes. I wanted to cry, but I cannot cry at will, something that I regret. I can act very well and can lie very well, but I cannot cry, though I can fake crying and people will believe it. (Then Roland was all like, ‘If you don’t want to then we don’t have to’ which left me feeling insulted; what gave him the idea I couldn’t do it?? Except that I attempted to run away from him, then later did run upstairs where he cornered me). Then he was all like, ‘Are you really sure?’ about six times in different words. Why didn’t he just stab my bum with the knife and carry me downstairs, take the knife out, put it to my throat and tell me to get sucking? (Note: this is not a serious rhetorical question, unlike in 50 shades where Ana wakes up in a hotel and is all ‘Why didn’t Christian rape me while I was unconscious?’)

Anyway, the point of this post is that the other night I had a dream…a song to sing. I was in a student flat while a stunning boy one or two years older than me, with black, floppy hair (which I like) had sex with me. He knew I was a virgin. It hurt a bit but went on for a long time and was great. After that we drank coffee and agreed not to see each other again because we had fulfilled our agreement. Then I woke up in bed, realizing that I’d been dreaming about last night, took a morning-after pill, checked the time, realized I should’ve taken it before, wondered if I should go get emergency contraception, and went back to sleep.

Then I REALLY woke up and after a few minutes of worrying about this and deciding to go to the doctor for emergency contraception, I realised it’d been a dream.

I think the dream was showing me/was my brain showing me what would’ve happened if I hadn’t sold my virginity. That I could’ve had my dream man as a hookup but not been paid. My brain was idealizing the encounter – dream boy, no commitments. However, it seems that my subconcious thinks that unplanned pregnancy or stress would have resulted from it. I wonder if my subconcious was telling me why I must not annoy Roland – “Even if you found your dream man, you would be unhappy because you lost the opportunity to sell yourself”. -As Freud would say. He does oversimplify things and read sex into absolutely everything. However, in my case it’s warranted as the dream was about sex. And my dream was telling me that Roland is the opposite; someone I find deeply unattractive, but with whom I would apparently not get pregnant (for some reason). Or was the dream telling me that pregnancy from a student would only bring anxiety, whereas pregancy from Roland (if carried to term) would bring lots of money (child support)?

Possible meanings of the dream:

If I have sex I risk unplanned pregnancy

Sex with someone other than Roland is risky/Roland is safe

You can have a dream boy and stress, or Roland and money

You should get pregnant by Roland to get child support

At all costs avoid getting pregnant

There are so many methods of contraception that you won’t get pregnant

Losing your virginity will result in anxiety

You should break the deal and lose virginity to someone your age

If you don’t sell yourself to Roland, you will be stressed

Do not be a virgin when you have vaginal sex with Roland

Get pregnant by a good-looking man so your baby will look good, then tell Roland he is the daddy

If you don’t love Roland, as he claims, you shouldn’t have sex with him

The deal is a bad idea – you should hook up once and no more

 

 

 

 

 

 

…And that’s a post!

The top three search engine terms that brought people to this sordid blog today were:

When does Ana get spanked with a belt in 50 shades

Sell virginity 2012

I want to have sex with my boss but he’s way older than me

 

What is the world coming to and where on Earth is Nadine Dorries when you need her? Please take away our freedom and stop us from fornicating!!

 

Mama I’m in love with a pervert

Mama I’m in love with a criminal. And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical. (it’s physical). This song by Britney Spears was playing in an arty clothing shop in Glasgow as I was spending my prostitution earnings. I’m playing it right now. The rest of the lyrics after this are: Mama please don’t cry, I will be alright/and all reason aside, I just can’t deny, I love that guy./He’s a rebel with a tainted heart/And even I am just a tart.

Roland thinks that I think I love him, so if I did my song (to the same tune of Criminal) would be:

Mama I’m in love with a pervert now.

And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical. (It’s physical).

Mama please don’t judge him cos he treats me right,

And I got all the fucking that I need all night. (all night long).

He’s got a corporate facade but a pervert’s core

And he’s the perfect mate for me, a whore.

Mama please don’t sigh, he’s not my only man

Your daughter’s proud to be a slut and she has ten.

Mama please don’t cry, he got millions

I’ll love him till I meet a guy with billions (with billions)

He’s a pervert but an educated one

And furthermore the sex is really fun.

Mama, he’s the one I have to marry

If I really want that red Ferrari!

 

Mama please don’t cry, your baby’ll be alright

As long as she can fuck three hours a night. (Three hours a night)

And Roland is my soulmate, I can tell

By his balance sheet and his car as well

Mama he’s polyamorous like me

And he holds the key for me, to set me free.

He’s a dirty old man with no qualms

But he’s giving me 8000 pounds

See, he’s of financial benefit to me

And also I’m learning how to fuck for free.

He’s a professional who loves his art,

And I’m a kinky bitch without a heart.

 

Mama I’m in love with a pervert now,

And this type of love isn’t spiritual; it’s professional

I’m a prostitute who likes electric drills

So, if I lived my fantasies, I’d kill.

What I want to do to him is criminal

And my self-control at best is miminal (it’s minimal)

Mama, my dreams are the devil’s art

But rape and torture are dear to my heart.

Mama please don’t cry, I won’t set him on fire

All laws aside, I can’t deny, wanna rape that guy.

The Government can’t torture me in Britain,

This is a situation that’s not worth living,

But worse still, if I use electricity

On him without consent, they’d imprison me.

 

Mama, Roland’s fucking a criminal

He doesn’t know my sex drive is so powerful

Mama I’m scared I’m gonna lose control

And end up in jail, cos you know, I’m a ho.

Mama do you know where to get a taser?

It’d be cool if I could find a laser

He’s a fucking pervert, a predator

But an educated fucking pervert, so that’s better.

Mama, I’m in love with a pervert now,

I’m a pure virgin with my innocence in tow

Mama, do you think he’s too much for me?

If he loves me back, I might get that Ferrari.

 

“(Probably) No” means “Yes”

This was the most confusing answer to a question I’d ever recieved in my life. It was an impossible answer. I wondered if Roland meant that he’d only hit the one million mark a couple of hours ago but he’d spent some change since then so now it might be £5 less than a million or whatever.

“How can it be ‘probably not’?”

(Pause, think) “Because I don’t think that everything added up would come to a million…probably not…but it depends, because I’m worth much more than a million.”

This didn’t make any sense. It was making my brain itch. I was thinking, shit, I should’ve waited till later to get him tied up and just torture it out of him, it’d be easier and I’d get a straight answer.

“But it’s either yes or no,” I whined.

“The question is: Does it matter?” he said.

I thought, Of course it does, it’s a landmark goal for most people! A never to be fulfilled dream! Haven’t you ever watched Only Fools and Horses?

I said, truthfully, “Because it’s been my goal to fuck a millionaire and I want to know if I’m fulfilling two goals at once!”

He looked at me and goes, “Oh. Well, probably not.”

“Can’t you just stick your card in a machine and then you would know?”

“Well, how do you know you’re a millionaire?” he asked.

“When you look at your account and it has at least a million.” [Or if, like me, you have several accounts, you add them all together.]

Roland explained that since he has 50% of the shares in Luxor he has over 2m which he can use to buy stuff even though it’s not actually in his account; like me, he explained, I get paid from Luxor. So altogether he’d have about 3m he can actually use although most of it isn’t under his own name. And he can sell the shares for 2m at any time, or dissolve the company and get the 2m. He used to have more money but he put a lot of it into the company. And he can transfer it between the company’s account and his personal account.

“So, does that count?” he asked.

“Yeah. It counts. Because you can use it to buy stuff and you can put it in your account anyway.”

He laughed. “Because that suits your particular fantasy better.”

We had to go back to the car for his phone in case his colleagues called. I said he was naughty for illegally using Luxor’s funds to pay me. He countered that it was not illegal because using the company’s money just had to be “in the course of a business” (I still remembered the wording from Commercial Law as he said it) “and,” he said, “you, my dear, are a business.” And laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

“Probably not.”

He parks and we talk about stuff and I say, “Have you ever had sex in the backseat?” There doesn’t appear to be enough space, and  I point this out to him. He laughs. I swear, he laughs all the time, just like me. I wonder if the entire world is just all a big game to him, like it is to me. Maybe he thinks video games can’t offer the thrills and heightened emotions that real life can. That adrenalin is a toy. That’s what life is to me. Only kink and the Case could ever summon the adrenalin.

He says, “No, but I’ve done it in the front…because the front seats can do this…” there is a slight hum and the seat basically becomes a slightly raised bed.

“Cooool,” I say as the seat returns to normal.

“We should do it after you take my virginity. Drive somewhere remote and do it.”

This makes him laugh again for some reason. The fact that he has clothes on irritates me. I want to see him naked. He looks good lying down, though. Vulnerable. I think off ripping his clothes off but I think the windscreen isn’t tinted enough for that. And he might not like that. I know that as a hooker you should go with what the punter wants.

(I really want to bite Roland’s cock right now as I am typing this. Crunch. Just bit my thumb instead. Ow. It hurt. Maybe that’s how he felt when I did that? And why I couldn’t bite as hard as I wanted because I knew it would hurt him. Actually, I suppose it would feel worse to him cos of sensitivity.)

Roland’s Blackberry rings and he talks about business stuff into it while the person on the other end is completely unaware that he’s sitting in a car with a prostitute, about to feed her so she’ll have enough energy to be debased later on. Naughty. Roland then moves the car forward while using a handheld phone, which is illegal. Doubly naughty. Roland does illegal things all the time (by which I mean extremely trivial traffic ‘offences’) which is really hot for some reason. (Although when other people do it, it isn’t hot, because they’re students and not professionals like Roland who are supposed to obey the law.)

We get out of the car and walk over a bridge and he tells me his company is being sued over a patent and it’ll take over a million to bring the case to court and all this stuff. Intellectual property law is not my forte. He needs Leanne for this. So this conversation is going waaaaaayyyy over my head. Also, we didn’t learn how much it takes for a company to bring a case to court. I can sort of tell Roland doesn’t like lawyers.

Anyway he keeps talking and it makes me feel sad that he/Luxor will lose a million. We walk on for a bit and eventually I go, “Do you, like, actually have a million?”

He pauses, thinks, then says, “…Probably not.”

 

What I learned last Thursday

1. Men can control whether or not they get an erection, unlike women

2. Men (at least that one) do not get turned on by having a knife jabbed into their cock or by needles or the thought of drills being used on them (pity, that) but hot forks are okay

3. I like sucking dick

4. Millionaires are stupid. Force them to eat cream.

5. I can be tricked into thinking that Roland has the key to my handcuffs when actually they will spring open at the touch of a button and I could’ve got out of them at any time

6. It is rare to enjoy knife play (I thought Roland wouldn’t be surprised about the knife since he’s poly and has probably been banged by more cunts than he can shake his thing at, but he was surprised, which means that most other women he has encountered were not into knife play). So it must be more rare than spanking.

7. Cum and urine come out of the same hole, not two separate ones, which makes absolutely no sense since they are two completely different tubes. (I used to think they came out of the same hole but then I reasoned it must be two different ones.) But it isn’t. That totally blows my mind. I think it’s unhygienic. We need to redesign men.

8. The answer to my experiment ‘What happens if you push a penis up and then drop a small needle down the hole’ is that Roland will not let me conduct  the experiment.

9. BMW’s patented ‘easy-shag’ reclining seat design really works.

10.When a man is actually interested in why and how you got into feminism, and suddenly asks you about it so that you have a brilliant opportunity to actually explain this misunderstood and stereotyped position to them, and raise awareness of issues that mean a lot to you, you will feel stupid trying to explain it while half naked and bent over in a studio while he takes pervy erotic photos of you. You will especially feel stupid trying to explain objectification, rape culture and the feminisation of poverty and have to tell him you’ll tell him later.

 

Rolanding

I came down the steps to Buccleuch Place and Roland’s black BMW convertible was right there. A man who appeared to be him was pacing around next to it and then I did recognise him, though he looked less ugly from this distance. His face (but not hands or neck) was reddish but then it will go back to normal and I don’t know what the scientific explanation is for this. Maybe only Roland can do that, or perhaps it is a rare condition? Or is he doing it deliberately? I’ve noticed he tends to do that when he’s excited which would suggest it is involuntary. Anyway, I came down the steps. I was wearing a cream and navy short dress with a tie under the bust and black tights with black and gold dolly shoes. I had on a gold-coloured choker, a blue and gold bangle and was carrying a small brown and tan handbag and a large leopard-face print bag.

He said he was sorry to have kept me waiting and I said that I’d used the time constructively to buy whipped cream and update my blog. He looked less tall this time but also less fat.He had on a black t-shirt which I like; I like men to wear tight black shirts that show off their muscles. I shoved my bags in the back and got into the car, and he got in and his face was normal colour now which is just really weird, but it doesn’t bother me now, and actually I’ve been told that when I’m unhappy I’m darker and when I’m happy I’m pale, so maybe I can colour-change too. Roland said that anytime he tried to see me lots of things would come up with his company Luxor, but he didn’t want to cancel this time because of my sexual frustration and cos he’d cancelled at the last minute last time. He was grinning at me and I was telling him about the strawberry and cream sauce I got from Ann Summers and he drove out of Buccleuch Place and on into Clerk Street and then forward, heading for Leith.

I said “I think it’s really hot that you fired someone.” And that he’d lost weight (I said it in a positive way) and he said he’d also stopped smoking. (So that explains the yellow teeth, then. I’d thought it was excessive coffee drinking or deficient genes. Though he didn’t need to stop smoking, just get cosmetic dentistry.)

His teeth didn’t bother this time, even though they’re crowded and uneven; maybe I was getting used to them. Roland pointed to a road on the right going slightly uphill. “There’s a brothel there,” he said (he’d mentioned doing a ‘virgin in the whorehouse’ shoot there before we made the deal, and had thought about doing the film/consummation there after we did. It’s a massage parlour).

He said he thought we should consummate it there. Sounded good to me.

We ended up talking about Baudelaire, and Roland recited nearly all of ‘Allegory’ which is quite cool cos I haven’t met anyone else who can accidentally memorise poems except me.

Roland seemed surprised at the way I think about my father (purely in financial terms) and my expression of noninterest in contacting him as no financial gain could be derived from it. His surprise confused me, as I had explained to him what my father is like, and anyone with a father like mine would not think highly of their father. Although, as I told Roland, it pleases me to know he was a political revolutionary who helped overthrow his government like the Arab Spring people and I get my writing skills from him (he’s a professor of English literature). It’s great that I have the DNA of a political revolutionary.

“Did you actually say to him, ‘send me £5,000?” he asked.

“No. I just said I didn’t have enough money to live in accomodation this year so I had to live with my mum. Because at the time, I didn’t know I could get student overdrafts, I just thought an overdraft meant an unplanned overdraft. So I stayed at home instead of getting a flat in Edinburgh [and therefore access to all the hot intelligent boys I could fuck].”

Anyway it wasn’t all about lack of financial incentives, it was about lack of wanting to contact him. I do not waste my time on pointless activities or contact those I despise. It all seemed to surprise Roland for some reason. Maybe Roland knows that under English law my father can disinherit me and he thinks I was nearsighted and stupid for annoying him and thus potentially depriving myself of inheritance when he dies? But I don’t think that was the reason. I don’t understand Ro sometimes. He understands me more than I understand him. But he is a little wary of me, I think. He believes I am capable of anything. That is, of course, entirely true.

Roland has crinkly blue eyes. They are droopy because he’s old, but he’s not old enough to be called a coffin-dodger yet. Still old enough to be practically mummified, though. Actually, that gives me an idea: Should I put him in the next Kemet story as a character who is a friend of Queen Tut? His hair really bothers me, though he has more hair than Prince William. I can’t look at his forehead without wanting to puke, but one day I will touch his hair close to the bit where it is moulting off. I’m not touching the no-hair bit where the pink skin is there instead of hair. Yuck. But maybe he’s okay with it, because he hasn’t had a hair transplant like I was hoping for so it’d be easier for me if he didn’t look so gross. The weird thing is, his hair didn’t bother me that much last time as it does today. I like his voice, though, and the way he looks at me. And, in general, he looked more attractive this time than last time. I felt really happy and relaxed.

Roland stopped suddenly as some people crossed the road and I said “imagine if you ran them over, that would be pretty hot.”

“You have a different sense of humour,” Roland observed. “You joke about suicide, you think me firing employees is hot…”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t find it funny if it really happened,” I clarified (it’s true. It’s why I can’t watch the news, I can only read it.) “Like, if you really did run them over I wouldn’t find it hot. I’m not into necrophilia. We wouldn’t end up fucking in their bloodied intestines.” I paused to let that image sink in. I like the look on Ro’s face when I say certain things. I liked the pause over the phone a few weeks ago when I said, “imagine if I told someone [about our deal] and a journalist got hold of [our story] that would be bad for you.” Deee-lish. But Google “mental torture” and all that comes up is emotional abuse. Come on, guys, this has to be at least as hot as being stamped on by a pair of sweaty feet?? Or eating shit?

 

 

 

 

Summary of what happened

We went to a cafe and Roland looked less disgusting and more attractive this time, also less fat.

Roland said I’m a psychopath and a very happy person.

I found out he is a millionaire and he gave me a statement of one of his accounts showing 1.6 million which I’ll upload in redacted form here (in another post) and to Facebook.

We did another photoshoot in his studio involving oral (me recieving), a vibrator and the whipped cream I bought from the student shop while waiting for him to turn up;

At 7pm we went to his house where he spanked me for a long time with different implements (hand, wooden spoon, hairbrush, flogger, paddle, cane) and forced me to give him a blowjob; I tried to run away but he caught me so I had no choice but to use the strawberry and cream flavoured sauce I’d got in case of this worst case scenario. So at least it tasted good.

I tried to use the knife and needles I’d brought but he didn’t trust me to pierce his cock; instead, he did it, trying to draw blood that I could suck (as per my intentions). This was unsuccessful. So I used a firelighter to heat up a fork instead, which was a bit too sucessful.

He caned me and then let me cane him, but only too strokes because he said I did it “very hard” though I would call it mild. But I am more of a domme than a sub.

What happened next? How did he end up ‘abducting’ me to Newcastle at 5:45am the next morning? What other stuff happened and how did we feel about it, what did we say etc? And how did he end up paying me and dropping me off in the small area/town that I live, where I could potentially be seen with him and getting out of his car when I was supposed to be somewhere else? WHAT MADNESS WAS THIS?!!I’d LOVE LOVE LOVE to write it now but I’m tired, and I still hurt from yesterday thanks to him. I can’t even guarantee that the ‘highlights’ I just gave you were the most dramatic, surprising or important bits; so many weird dramatic things happened, like me holding a knife to his neck, or the handcuffs wrestling where I squirted him in the face with the cream and in his mouth so he had to eat it…heh. And learning what would’ve happened if I’d told him my tuition fees were 12k, our plans for taking my virginity, his Chastity theory about me, calling Roland by his fake name for three hours as two models got naked, and a load of other stuff, like lying to our families (and others) about where we were, as well as the other sexual stuff we did. I discovered a lot about myself. I think Roland did, too.

 

 

 

“Good bang for the buck”: the Gentleman’s guide to texting prostitutes

If it wasn’t for the suicide distraction, would I have pushed for a higher amount once he said it’d be a few days to make the film? After all, I was hoping for 5/6k for a day of being with him (plus another couple of days – the “if we could see each other more often” clause). I don’t know. But the deal has been done, and what has been done may not be undone. Forgive my ramblings; I am suffering from Roland withdrawal; sex IS a drug, and I understand sex addiction now…I feel so restless and frustrated. Reading Baudelaire’s poetry makes it excrutiatingly worse, as does eating ice cream, or hearing a sigh, or the wind moving branches, it is as if my entire body is very sensitive. I feel like banging my head on the wall in sheer frustration. When I think of him I pant slightly. I move my hand down my side, over my belly and bottom and imagine it’s his hand. I used to feel my curves as a 12 and 13 year old, delighting in my changing, slim, curved figure, but this is different – my hand doesn’t follow the natural curve of my side, but skitters randomly, feeling and touching. There is no relief from touching other places either, which is odd, as there used to be. Maybe he slipped time-delay viagra into my drink.

I remember sitting across from him and deciding to let him open negotiations; it is easier to control a negotiation if the other party opens it. That chicken was delicious. I just remembered that before we ordered, he said “don’t worry, I’ll get this” and yeah I knew he probably would, but that did have a calming effect on me and I was then able to actually choose what I wanted instead of staring at it in horror looking for the cheapest thing that wouldn’t make me look like a cheapskate. (Because if he had refused to pay me more than 3k I’d have wasted like £30 for nothing).

Roland had booked a hotel for us, but then had to cancel at the last minute. This was over a week ago. I was all psyched up for it. Anyway here are our most recent texts:

Hi, I wish you were here. Do you miss me? I do, because my brain associates you with pleasure and money. And for your personality, of course. It’s not all about the money, just mostly about that. But I chose you for your character. I wish I was Queen Tut, it would be so much fun interrogating my enemies. Teeheehee.

and

Hey r u free on the 11 or 12th? I’m getting really frustrated over here. I thought of going up on the rooftops and screaming “Rolaaaaand! I need sex! Rolaaaaand!” into the depths of the mystic night but then I figured you wouldn’t hear me over the […] mile distance so I wrote you this text instead. [Here, the mating call of the female is expressed in emotive imagery to entice the male and keep a guise of proprietary.]

and

I’m free anytime exept the 5th, 6th and 9th. This is torture (and not the good kind). xx [Notice how humour is used to disguise the desperation of the mating call and titillate the male with thoughts of s/m torture].

Roland: My dear, I would not want you to be tortured in this way. But also I do not wish it to end in a train wreck of fantasy hitting reality. As I said, you have the potential to be dynamite. But if bang there must be…then let there be light! What are you doing next thursday (12th)? [Roland’s talents for taking pictures of naked women in s/m poses photography are alluded to here with the bang/light imagery. The use of the coloqiualism ‘bang’ denotes a cultured man of the world.]

Me: You 😀 We could plan the film’s plot, characters and setting etc. I really want it to be well made, a project with a clear plan and goal, i dont want it to be a train wreck either.

P.S. That bang/light thing actually made me LOL

U want me overnight? [ An example of the delicate, yet eloquent phrasing in this most sensitive of questions, as espoused by a graduate of a prestigious Law school.]

Roland: Yes I would say overnight would be cool. Might as well make you earn your money – I’m sure you’ll give good bang for the buck baby yeah 🙂 . [Notice the use of alliteration to give the sentence better ‘flow’ and emphasise the financial and erotic nature of prostitution. The use of this poetic tool befits a man who graduated from one of the top 2 British universities. Also, in keeping with the fine traditions of his English heritage, a gentlemanly conduct is assumed at all times when texting his ladyfriend.]

Me: Course I will 🙂 And really, Lord [Roland’s surname] that is most unseemly. I happen to be wearing a purity ring that just arrived from the states. And you will have to successfully torture me to get that blowjob – I mean, oral-genital stimulation. [Here, the female’s background in Law affords her the foresight to enjoin the male to exercise the proper restraint in pressing his advantage, in case he may forget himself in the hotel room he has acquired for the sole purpose of degradation, exploitation, and perverse sadomasochistic sex acts which will be filmed. The female knows her virginity will not yet be taken on the 12th, because they have not yet worked out the most entertaining and humiliating way in which to take it.]