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The post where I tell you how I wank

As I prepare to go in a new direction (re finding/vetting clients) in this journey of mine, (and yes it is my journey, the only thing I have that is created by me, for me) it is time for some reflections. -Nah, screw it; let’s cut the excuses; I want to tell you how I masturbate. Just because. Because it turns me on; and that has always been reason enough for me to do anything.

I do it with gloves. You know those rubbery, slightly rough gardening gloves? Yeah, I do it with those. I’ve tried it with washing-up gloves – I prefer them pink – but they aren’t textured enough to produce enough sensation.

I get my gloves from Poundstretcher’s. I walk around looking at the gloves, and then I rub them lightly on my face to test the texture. My face is much more sensitive than my fingertips to texture. Some gloves are too harsh and some too smooth. (Though I had this great pair of smooth red gloves back in 2011; I think they worked because they were thick. They were a ride and a half, and I kept them for 2 or 3 months until my OCD-like tendencies got the better of me – no matter how much I wash my gloves, I can’t keep them for long without feeling like they’re dirty.) Then, after a while, I’ll buy the gloves. The pair I have now are purple. I’ve also tried wanking with face cloths of a texture that’s neither too smooth or too rough, but they’re just an emergency measure for when I’ve thrown out gloves without having bought a new pair. Back in ’10 I had a fab green pair, and I ‘used up’ one and threw it out before cutting the fingers off the other one and just wearing each finger as a sort of finger-cover. So the glove lasted much longer than usual. Not all gloves can fit snugly on your finger like that, not slipping but remaining faithfully bound to your skin as you bend, flick and manoeuvre. The green gloves had that. I bought them 3 times. I prefer gloves to be pink because that way I can pretend it’s, well, a cock. Or a finger.

When I wank, I do it on all fours. Roland once filmed me doing it. I once did lie on my back and do it, and it was successful; I used cream and a rough towel that time. But usually I get into the same position I’ve used since I was nine, my head resting on the bed. After a while I’ll let my thighs sink onto my calves. Wjen I was nine I didn’t masturbate; what I did was rub and stroke my bottom as I fantasised about boys being spanked, burned with fire, burnt with hot iron, caned, whipped, forced to wear nappies or girls’ pants. They were put in prams and dressed like babies. They were dressed as girls, or tortured by the cruel Authority and its Wardens. They were put in spanking machines or had hot forks stuck into their dicks and twisted in front of crowds. They wet and pooed their pants in public and were spanked for it. They were put in spanking machines and torture machines.

These days, my boys (aged 15-25 instead of 9-17 like when I was nine) also get publically gang-raped and filmed, given enemas and sodomised with all kinds of stuff. I’m a bit artistically inclined and created this blog’s logo and my ‘K’ Twitter avi. So it follows that I’m creative with my boys.

I do have girls. It started at nine but I quickly lost interest in my mousy-haired Alice’s spankings. At 17, though, Alice returned as the 14-year-old sister of my oft-spanked 18-year-old Alex and later on the redheaded 16-year-old  American Jilly moved in. Her devious friend, the black-haired Nadine, turned up later. So did Chastity White, unwilling heroine of The Seven Days, my fantasy based on The Ring movie. Roland is the hero of that fantasy (and subsequently the name given to my original client). If any of you ever leafed through my 5 notebooks in which all my wanking writing is kept, you’d be amazed that it took me until Lynne to figure out I am a bit bi. (Though I did wonder about it last year and I have said I’m not totally straight.) I  thought that what I was doing was roleplaying that I as one of these girls, though God knows how I justified all the F/F spanking scenes. (My favourite pairing is M/M, then F/M).

I’ve never allowed myself to orgasm, or should I say to complete an orgasm. I get to the stage where it’s like there’s electricity rippling through me and the contractions become powerful, then I stop. This keeps me in a near-constant state of sexual frustration, which focuses my mind. I was originally saving it for my first time and I must shamefully admit that I felt that it wasn’t ‘real’ masturbation if I didn’t orgasm. I did feel guilty about wanking when I started aged 19, whacking myself off to a fantasy of committing murder. I must also admit that I never wanked over She Who I Loved, i.e. Lynne, because it was disrespectful…despite the number of pics of her that must be available via Google Images. Well, I couldn’t even stalk her online or search for pics, so it’s no wonder I couldn’t flick myself off to her photos. Who I have wanked to include a neighbour, a school friend and, at age 13, a fantasy (though I didn’t masturbate then) of a female pupil who I despised.

It’s been incredibly freeing to sit at a bus stop or in a cafe and allow myself to think ‘that girl is hot’ instead of pulling back the thought as I used to BL (Before Lynne). I allow myself these thoughts now because I understand that I can’t deny who I am, and my bisexuality can’t be suppressed; I spent so long denying it only to have it revenge itself on me by condemning me to have serious (non lust-based) feelings for Lynne, instead of someone who’d be receptive and who I could have fun sexytimes with. Back when I stopped pulling the thoughts, I still fancied Lynne and believed she was probably ignoring me (which she may or may not have been – it’s hard to tell, because I avoided her for a while). So I thought that if I’m in love (which I believed I was) with someone who is very annoyed about it, why not allow myself to have much healthier, lustful thoughts that make me happy instead of sad? The Lynne thing also taught me the futility of ignoring my bisexual thoughts. They’ll come and get you in the end.

Re her, I’ve looked into blocking all IP addresses from her region but you can only do that with countries, so I’m stuck. I can’t figure out all this PHP stuff anyway. And I’d really only block her from seeing the Lynne Post and not the entire blog, because she’ll probably figure out it’s her if she reads it. I’m just worried she’ll be annoyed that I’ve written about her without her permission, especially since I’m writing about something which pissed her off so much. Though it’s not like she hasn’t done the same thing. I don’t want her to know my private thoughts about her, though granted they were Disney-esque and Puritan in the extreme (except that I would’ve wanted her to spank me).

I love wanking to comics, cartoons and anime art of boys getting spanked or crying after a spanking. Ditto pissing or shitting themselves. Girls also work for me, too. I had a flash drive with 6 massive Word files of all these pics and I used to have loads of such files on my old laptop so I could scroll down while I was having a wank. Once, I left my flash drive at the uni library and someone found it, located my CV to find out who I was and texted me that she’d handed it in to Lost Property. I’ll always wonder if she found the porn. It was a good thing that happened, or I might keep my CV and backups of this blog and individual blog posts on the same flash drive now. I think if you’re a sex blogger or blog about sex work, it’s safer to have two flash drives for your different identities. Or your normal and secret life, whichever you’d choose to call it. My laptop has all my stuff, so I password-protect some files in case it gets stolen. Lochlan’s laptop got stolen. I’ll wipe the hard drive if I ever sell it (which I won’t; it wasn’t a very expensive one, so it wouldn’t fetch much).

I’ve also wanked to porn videos of people shitting or peeing themselves, but never to bloodplay, knifeplay, torture or scat/watersports videos. That’s a bitty too far for me. I am an innocent young virgin, remember?

 

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“I didn’t know prostitution could be this hard”

This is the bit that is hard to write, but I want this to be an honest record of my adventure, so I will reveal my weaknesses also. And I don’t want to spin a story about how this is all glamorous and raunchy fun; it isn’t, you gotta earn that money. It isn’t as fun as you think it’s going to be. I think it must be hard for ‘real’ sex workers who don’t always get to chose their clients (though some, like my friend Lochlan’s friends, do.) I’m not trying to create arbitrary distinctions by saying I’m not a ‘real’ sex worker. The reason I’m saying I’m not is because sex workers’ coalitions and unions such as COYOTE, PLAN or their International Trade Union (which is open to sales assistants in sex shops, lap dancers, porn scriptwriters and others who aren’t usually classified as sex workers) would probably not accept someone doing it as a one-off to a single individual as a sex worker. And nor would most people generally. However, I do feel like a whore with him, because I want to feel like a whore and so I do. And because I’m fully aware that he’s not my boyfriend. And that I am not attracted to him at all. That I wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t paying me. And not for less than 3k, perhaps 2k if he lost a couple pounds before we did it. So yes, I do feel like a prostitute. I feel like I want to give him his money’s worth 😀

To me, the intruiging, educated, one-of-a-kind Ro is, sadly, in possession of a body that is repulsive, though he is tall and has most of his own hair. I just think he’s fat even though he’s only a little chubby or just normal weight even…and he is uglier than I go for (just a little above average in looks) and very old (40-ish? I can’t tell).

I wish he had dark floppy or spiky hair and was slim, with a face that isn’t slightly fat. Though I have to say, in his defence, that he doesn’t have wrinkles. Actually, why do men (including my Ro) have grey hair? IT’S CALLED HAIR DYE!! USE IT!! He says he was blonde before he went past his sell-by date, and there is a lot of blonde on his head. It’s very short. I like something to tug and tug hard and make him squeal. Ro dresses okay but he doesn’t have a good dress sense. I think he’d look good in a leather or denim jacket over a shirt and dark chinos or slacks, but I’m not being paid to give style advice, I’m being paid to fuck. I’d be much better at giving style advice. I frequently have to give it anyway because my friends treat me as a style guru.

I like him. I want to spend time with him, a whole day. But it’s his personality I feel drawn to, the way he sees this little world of ours, the bright flashes of what passes for thought behind his eyes. No, he is smart, and more educated than me. He is so interesting and unique. If only I could stand to touch him.

I miss him right now, and I want to hug him. I look forward to seeing him! Even if he’s repulsive I’m genuinely happy around him.

I just realised, he must be really tall. Because I’m 5 6″ and I don’t come up to his shoulders. He might be taller even than Lochlan, who’s 6 2″, because I come up to Lochlan’s shoulders or even above his shoulders.

Anyway, that was a big digression.

So we’re in the office. Roland made me sit on his lap. Then he says “I want you to masturbate me.” I’m thinking about how that sounds more posh than ‘wank’ or the American term ‘handjob’ but mostly I was thinking how I didn’t want to do it. He said that if I can’t do this, how am I going to be able to lose my virginity? Did I really want to go through with this? I thought how sex would actually be easier, so there’d be no problem with that, and it would be easier if we did it right now than wanking him right now. I told him so, and he said that if we had sex right now then it wouldn’t be art and hence not worth as much. I didn’t understand why I didn’t want to do it, as the only thing I’d told him I wouldn’t do was blowjobs or large brands/scars or anything that damages my hair.

Roland wasn’t annoyed at me being a faulty product like I’d have thought; even when I said I would do it, he just kept talking to me gently and stroking my arm or back, saying if the girl didn’t want to then it wasn’t much fun for the guy either, and that I had to be sure I really wanted to do this. He said selling yourself is a very interesting goal but you are always free to change your mind, and that isn’t a failure, it’s a good thing because it’s responsible and means you know what’s best for you. He also said you shouldn’t push yourself too hard and do something you later regret. “You don’t have to prove anything to me or to yourself,” he said, “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to, no matter how many deals are made along the way.”

I said “I can, I can do it now” and he said it’s not about being able to, it’s about being willing and happy to. I said I was, and he said I wasn’t, I was just doing it for the money. We were talking with me on his lap and after a bit I said I’ll do it right now. He initially thought I meant sex, and said it wouldn’t be worth it, but I said, “What you said, just now…I’ll do it.”

He made me stand up and then patted my butt and suddenly I was turned on, and I wanted to, like my bum was a big squashy ‘on’ button. I said now I could because he’d smacked me, and that it would work if the lights weren’t so bright. He dimmed or switched off the lights and made the room less cold (I feel the cold more than most people).

I was thinking why am I doing this, and on remembering the 1k deposit I did feel a drive to do it, but it was also difficult to motivate myself to do it for 1k. I thought, ‘this is crazy, you can do this for 1k, of course you can, it doesn’t mean anything.’ But I couldn’t, not properly so I knew I’d have to detatch myself to do it well. It was so weird how this simple thing had been made into a big deal in my head, I felt frightened and like I was consenting to sexual assault, which doesn’t make sense logically or legally, but that’s how it felt to me. I didn’t know prostitution could be this hard.

Then I did it, detatching myself just as he pulled it out. He wasn’t as big as Matt, the only other guy I ever wanked off, which is odd because Matt wasn’t as tall or broad-shouldered as Roland. But it’s possible Matt was already semi-hard, so maybe that’s untrue. Anyway it’s not as if it matters, because the bigger they are, the less they grow when they get stiff so the end result is the same. And anything more than 5 inches is a waste because only the first third of the vagina has feeling. I enjoyed wanking off Matt.

In my detatched state, I thought of how it happened with Matt:

Matt is peeing in a bush in the early hours of his 19th birthday. It is around 2am. We are walking home after clubbing with friends to celebrate his birthday. We live in the same street. I am also 19. I’m looking at him surreptitiously even though I know this is wrong cos of privacy. We are both drunk. I think he is delicious.

“I’m not looking,” I lie as he catches me. I cannot control my movements when drunk so I didn’t turn away fast enough.

“You can look if you want”.

I look, then I stand right next to him and look. Then I step back a bit and look.

Matt shakes it and I touch it, it looks stupid.

We walk on a few steps. He still has it out as I’m admiring it.

“Can I touch it?”

He nods and I touch it for much longer, feeling it and sliding my hand up and down. It swells.

“Do you like it?”

I giggle. “It feels…rubbery.”

I wank him for a little while,  he tells me how to do it better and he says I’m really good, then I stop because I know we’re both drunk. I wonder if I will regret this in the morning. I can barely walk, anyway – I’ve been holding Matt’s arm before he went for a pee just so I didn’t fall over. And I’m wearing flats.

“Do you want to do more to it?”

“No…I’m sorry…it’s like, we’re both drunk…I don’t know if this is a good idea. Sorry.”

He doesn’t mind, just does it himself. We walk along talking while he’s wanking, it’s hilarious. I ask him does he think I’m a slut for snogging these two strangers and spanking that guy in the club. He laughs, “You’re a slut – I’m the one that’s walking along wanking!” We laugh, and although I’m embarassed at my changing my mind, Matt thinks its smart since we are both pretty steamin. We snog and my hands are all over his butt and we fall onto the grass. I am moaning as our tongues intertwine. Then we get up. We walk along with him wanking though it’s smaller now, and we hug for a long time then walk up beside his house.

“If you want to do anything more, say now. It’s okay. I’ve shagged someone up against the side of my house before.” I would if I wasn’t so drunk I’m having trouble balancing in flats. I snog him again and we part ways.

Of course, the next morning I regret not fucking him.

After that, I pretend Roland is Jay, Leanne’s friend and my acquaintance, who I’ve wanted for over a year, then Amir, the smartest guy in one of my classes who’s very cute and from Lebanon so he has a lovely accent. Then Kane, the guy who dumped me for not wanting the white picket fence. (He hadn’t dumped me yet). I use the baby oil. Roland says I’m really good and he can’t believe I’m that inexperienced. “I have a talent for this,” I tell him. Matt was surprised at my skills too.

I’m wondering why am I doing this and I know I don’t want to. Usually if I don’t want to do something then I don’t do it. But then I remember the £1,000 deposit and suddenly I want to, I want that £1,000 and I un-detach myself. I tell him a story about a girl called Chastity who was abstinent and got raped by Roland (I’ll post it here) and another story I forgot what it is (maybe I was detached while telling it). I was loking into his eyes the whole time, letting the inflections and nuances of my voice and expression fuel the eroticness of the stories. It went on for 15-20 minutes and I started to like it. Then he made me lie on the sofa so he could spurt on me. I lay facedown and he was above me; I felt contented and slightly excited.

 

 

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