Fapping is Crucial to Sexual Autonomy

My partner and I have discussed several times about how we each had previous partners who would not “allow” us to masturbate freely. I know we aren’t the only ones. Very frequently in pop culture, the wife or girlfriend will forbid a man from enjoying himself by watching pornography and pleasuring himself. Of course the woman’s sexual enjoyment of herself is not a factor in these scenarios – duh.

When I was in a previous relationship, my partner would literally get jealous if my vibrator had appeared to have been used. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Yet at the same time if I turned down sex he would spend hours and hours masturbating the night away in front of porn that would even make me cringe. Yet, I couldn’t spend 5 minutes blasting my clit with the hitachi. And that’s really all I got because masturbation was not “allowed” because how dare I enjoy sexual pleasure that did not involve him? Inevitably this resulted in me cracking under the pressure, childishly acting out, and fuck other guys in front of him while making him watch..

Same with my partner. His ex forbade him from watching porn and demanded he not masturbate whatsoever. She considered it comparable to cheating. He was only allowed to feel sexual pleasure when it provided something for her ego or validated her. And, ultimately he would just spend hours masturbating in his shop pretending to get work done.

People need to fap.

I’m curious how many others experience this. As a society somehow we are trained to believe that one person is supposed to be our everything. Not only is this an impossibly tall order for that person, but it is a concept that takes away any room for growth or self-discovery.

Masturbation is important. It is self-love. It is self-care. Taking that away from someone is abuse.

I don’t say that word to make anyone feel bad. I use the word “abuse” because that is what it is! Trying to limit or control someone in order to soothe your own insecurities is abusive behavior. I have been guilty of it plenty! It requires acknowledgement of the behavior and a conscious decision to change. I decided I am not going to be jealous, so I am not jealous – most of the time. And when I am, I manage it because it is MY feeling.

I encourage you to take a second look at your “rules” for your relationships and ask “does my rule limit my partner’s well-being?” And on the other end, I encourage you to not accommodate this request in any circumstance. It is unrealistic and unmanageable and toxic. Setting a hard limit can be a great way to open a dialogue – but stand firm! If masturbation is a priority to you, make it non-negotiable. If your partner is good for you, they will listen to why.

Now keep in mind that this is situational not an overall rule. Works if we are talking about masturbation (has literally no harm on anyone). Does not apply to an addiction to Korean rub-n-tugs or drunken late-night bathroom sex (these things do effect your partner). Everything in moderation, but everyone does deserve some margin of sexual exploration.

Instead, talk with each other about the IMPORTANCE of masturbation. And no, not mutual masturbation. You need that time for yourself, to explore your own body, and feel your own pleasure without entertaining another individual. It can only help you come together as individuals knowing more about what you want to feel so you can have great sex as a couple.

In my house, we say we are gonna go take some time to ourselves and would like privacy. It is as simple as that. It does not threaten anyone or take away from our sexual relationship. In fact, it provides additional security that we are looking out for each other in that way.

Please consider what I say and lets all give each other some fap room, k?  Share your methods of handling relationships/family and masturbation in the comments.

I laughed with the man who raped me.

It wasn’t until just before the two year anniversary of the attack that I just started coping with this. First year I got drunk, I drowned it out. The next I busied myself with procreation. It wasn’t until I was of course sober, and then no longer pregnant, that I realized I’m in an incredible amount of pain. Being numb for one year and then just understandably uncomfortable for the next really distracted from the fact that I was still wounded.

I have 7 revision histories on this. I’m posting this again with some edits for two reasons:

One is that the media and others have misconstrued and twisted my words to make me seem like just another crazy whore that has manipulated a privileged white man into committing heinous acts because the difference between consensual BDSM sex or paid sex and coming into my home and beating and raping me is far too difficult for his wealthy white brain to understand.

The other is that my original manifesto was still quite guarded although I was trying to use this public forum to heal and be vulnerable. Of course I was guarded with good reason, because every word I say is tracked and twisted.

In two days I will go to the trial and defend myself far harder than he has to. I have to defend the fact that I am a sex worker. That I am a slut. That I openly welcome sex. I will have to defend the fact that even still, I don’t want sex from a man whom I had a restraining order against, and who created a fake identity and disguise over weeks to gain entry into my home, bind me, gag me, and beat me in order to get to it.

I have to defend that on February 12th, 2015, I didn’t want sex from Nathan Nissenbaum. I didn’t even want to see him. I did everything I was supposed to to keep him from me.

He played out one of his sick revenge fantasies but this time in real life. He had told me in the past how he fantasized about kidnapping his ex girlfriend (who also publicly accused him of abuse) and beating her in a BDSM-esque scene, but obviously against her will. He described a scene of tying her up in a barn and using a leather strap against her until she couldn’t scream anymore. I still stayed with him after hearing this. He had a way of manipulating the darkest things to sound normal or tantalizing.

He snatched me out of a 5-year (another abusive) relationship promising to be my salvation. To be the real man I always sexually craved. He promised to make a good girl out of me, and give me a space to be vulnerable. And I was.

He had done things to me in our relationship that I can never see myself interested in. He would somehow convince me that I really wanted it… He said I wanted to be tied up in my basement… he said I wanted to be bolted into a wooden platform, with a gag in my mouth, being whipped and bruised and beaten bloody until I couldn’t breathe and then at that point have ice water poured on me to revitalize me. Hell, he even convinced a friend to sit by and photograph it and had me tell him I needed it. He said it was kinky. He said it was bdsm. It was abuse.

I never liked pain before him. I don’t like it now.

Everything between us was cosmic and fiery. Until, one day he threw a wooden stool at my head after choking me while I fought to get away. He left a welt on my head, a concussion, and me and in and out of consciousness for a day while my friends looked after my daughter. He said it was a fluke. That night, he beat the shit out of me because he was scared of me, he says. He was scared being 200+lbs versus my 115. See, I am emotional. I was upset he locked my dog outside for hours. My basic emotional reaction upset him so badly that he HAD to throw me on the bed and repeatedly hit me in the face before throwing my little body across the room and pinning me down by my neck threatening to kill me then and there. But yeah, its because he was “scared” he says. It was such a surprising fluke.

I stayed with him. I stayed with the abuse.

My friends abandoned me. Everyone in my life abandoned me by the time my black eye healed. Our local-celebrity love drama just got too real, and I was dumb enough to stay. So everyone left me alone with him because I was an idiot.

Once I finally gave him the boot for good, he was relentless. Hundreds of texts, emails, calls per day for weeks, maybe months on end. To me, my family, my boyfriend, my daughters teacher, he called her school trying to “out” me by sending my adult work. I could not escape him. He was flooding my whole life. He was around every turn.

He once even told my fiance that he will rape me any time he wants, because he owns me. He was convinced I was his submissive still… for life.

I moved, I got a restraining order, blocked him, I did everything I was supposed to. It didn’t fucking matter. He still fucked my life up. Yeah, he won.

Here’s an edited version of what I wrote, just the day after his final attack. Now that I’m ready to just show my wounds so I can heal, and also because I need to prepare myself for the questioning to come:

I woke up, after a long night sitting in the detective’s office telling the same story again and again. To doctors, nurses, detectives, officers, and of course the state’s attorney.

I’ll spare the details but my ex-monster also did some great footwork for himself. For him, however, the goal was not moving on. He spent the time concocting a evil-mastermind-like plan to gain access to my home and have his dramatic final goodbye. It was good, it must have taken weeks. Details large and small – even growing a beard and changing his appearance to ensure a smooth entry into my safe space. This took some time.

The plan was executed (in part) yesterday morning. I was held captive in my home for 4 hours total. For me, I had no real concept of time during this. It seemed like 10 minutes and at the same time seemed like 10 days. At first I was terrified, hysterical and unable to breathe – partially from the presence of a gun and the tape, leather mask, and blows to the head and partially because of my god damn asthma. I cursed myself for not quitting smoking before this. I went totally numb for a short time.

(Thinking back I remember how I really didn’t think of much. I was certain I was going to die. I knew after a bit that his gun was fake, but I thought he’d kill me anyway. I would like to think it’s like the movies where you beg about your kids. It wasn’t. I just went on auto-pilot. Maybe its because I knew there was very little way to reason with him. I knew him well.)

I watched him dig through my things, packing my stuff – makeup, jewelry, clothes, lingerie, sex toys. I had no idea what was happening. When I first realized it was him through the disguise, he told me that if I continued to struggle we’d have a “murder-suicide instead of a suicide.” I thought he meant me for some reason. I really thought he was going to make it seem like I killed myself – he was too full of himself to commit suicide. But that didn’t add up either.

He packed a few big bags while I was bound on the bed, quiet and still shocked. He asked me where my money was, he ransacked my lock box of valuables, he asked about my engagement ring and I lied and told him I didn’t have it.

I was scared but some sort of acceptance came over me. It was some mix of shock, fear, sadness, and just something that I can’t even name. Just natural instinct. I couldn’t let myself be taken from this world right now. I originally wanted to look away. I thought to myself to just close my eyes and let it be over with. I was certain at that point that I would be tortured severely and decided that I needed to just close my eyes and leave my body. However, I found myself looking into his eyes firmly and directly. I kept them there for the next few hours. I saw the peek of weakness hiding far behind the mask of a monster and I locked onto it with my hurt until it slowly unfolded. This same bullshit that got me into that messy relationship ultimately saved me. My ability to see the humanity in a total monster.

(Nowadays, I really don’t know if Nathan has any humanity at all anymore, or if he ever did. Maybe I imagined it. I feel like such a sucker. I just so badly want for people to be good. He played me.)

Maybe at another time in another platform I’ll recount the details, but at this point it’s not necessary. The thing that matters is that originally this person’s plan was to hold me captive for days, with a gun, over valentine’s day to strip that of my loved ones, before forcing me to hold him while he took his own life. He planned to dress me up, punish me, lecture me, and cut and mutilate my face so I could no longer work in the adult industry. I know all of this because once he started to lose his strength, we laughed together about how he bit off more than he could chew.

Yes I laughed with him. Is it because I felt ok? Fuck no. I laughed with him after he told me his plan to mutilate me while raping and beating me for days while I was kept from my loved ones, forced to call and message them saying I was just freaking out about my recent engagement. I was so horrified that if my body could feel anything at that point I would have likely vomited everywhere.

But I chuckled with him. I laughed. Why? Well because how can you not? Here I am, front-and-center leading role in a fear-mongering Lifetime Original Movie or Cosmopolitan article. Such is life, right? Also because the laughter made me real. It made me human. It made him human too. Not that I could even see it at that point, but somewhere within that evil-infested body there once was a little boy, a human little boy, that was not consumed by illness or evil. Laughter is the only thing that could have connected us as humans.

(This is the part that I must clarify for several reasons. I did not laugh because it was ok. I laughed because no matter what, I knew Nathan could connect that way. In this moment, I did not want to connect with him. I wanted to hide and disappear. I found it in myself to laugh, because it was the only thing that could make him break his focus on hurting me. I laughed against my will just like he fucked me against my will, just so i could survive. If you can try to manipulate that into making this all seem “OK” then you can literally eat shit and die)

From the moment I found chance to laugh with him – he did not physically attack me again. I got him to slowly un-tape my body. He cried into the side of my face between attempts at carefully removing the duct tape from my “pretty hair”. Suddenly, after laughing, this person who had intended to mutilate my face with razor blades, was crying about pulling out some of my beautiful hair that I am so proud of.

I was able to reason with him, give his weakness a safe place to let go of his psychotic imagined power. I explained to him that his plan wasn’t going to work, it had to end here, today. I asked him if there was any chance of just leaving and getting help – I even begged him although truly I wanted the worst for him in this moment. He said he planned this out so he couldn’t turn back, and he would have to kill himself. I said it all just needed to end now, that his plan wouldn’t work if we tried to leave.

(I said “we”. At this point, I needed him to think we were in this together. We were not in this together. I just didn’t want to be beaten anymore.)

After awhile switching back and forth between pacing panic and crying into my chest, he picked up the razor blades out of the bag he packed, walked toward the bathroom and stopped and turned around and with a tired face and defeated hand motion, signaled for me to come to the bathroom with him.

I stood up dizzy, feeling somewhere between sad and scared that doesn’t have a name and joined him. He talked to me for awhile and asked me some questions, but during this whole thing some of my memory went missing about the tiniest mundane things. He was too tired to demand anything at this point and understood. He at one point told me that he knew it wasn’t possible at this point but what he really wanted was for me to just say we could be together. I gave him a knowing look and shook my head saying very clearly “No, that isn’t a way out of this at this point.” I offered to get him a final glass of whiskey for his departure and went to the next room as he monitored me. When I did I was able to observe where my dog and shoes were – the only things I really needed at this point.

I came back and gave it to him. We both laughed again as he choked on the whiskey a bit. We also laughed about the fact that from roughly 10 minutes into this ordeal I recognized that the gun was probably just a fake. He eventually got into the tub and had me sit next to him while he attempted to slaughter his arms which wasn’t going well. He had a much harder time hurting himself and let out a scream when he split the skin on his arm wide open. I started crying and asked him if I could be outside of the bathroom and he allowed it.

(My crying was real. Even after all of this, and honestly just hoping he would lose consciousness so I could leave, I just didn’t want to watch him bleed and scream like that)

Once I was in an entirely separate room from him with him otherwise preoccupied, then that real fear came back. I texted my fiance – an action I thought I was never going to be able to do again and once I set the phone back down, I felt reality again. I remember my senses igniting, the numb went away. My heart started pounding in my chest. I waited a moment and it dawned on me that I can’t wait for a better chance. Amazingly, he turned the shower on and I realized this would drown out the sound of me opening the bedroom door. I got up so quickly that the droplets of water may not even have hit his body yet. I opened my bedroom door quietly and grabbed my dog by the collar, slipped my boots on and opened the front door to the outside world I didn’t even think to see again.

(It was like a fucking movie. The bedroom had been dark with just a small shaded window. I saw springtime rays of sun peeking through big Bucktown trees. I never thought I’d see that again. Looking back, I see now that this was a rebirth into something so complicated. I was forever changed)

After a long afternoon at the hospital going through a process more rape-y than the previous 4 hours and all night at the police station, I sat at home and ate and drank whiskey and laughed. I laughed at the hospital too, which made the doctors very confused.

Then I woke up this afternoon and laughed. I don’t ignore the sadness and I talk about it openly. But without laughter I have nothing. Let me be clear – this situation isn’t just funny. What happened to me is real and the amount that my attacker is not only dangerous and scary, but also ill and suffering is very serious. But life is a crazy fucking place, and it could have been so much worse.

I’m not going to let this take me down like he wanted. I’m not going to grieve about what could have been but wasn’t. I only have some bumps and bruises and that seems like a sweet deal considering what was planned for me. I’m going to take some advil, drink some whiskey and invite over everyone close to me, and tell some really awkward jokes about the events of yesterday. I’m going to celebrate life and laugh at it’s fragility because escaping it in sorrow in my bed is not going to make it any less delicate.


I left the original ending although it is naive and guarded. I do laugh. I cope. I find a way. Laughter helps me to not sink into a terrible dark place in my head that has already been dug out by childhood trauma. Laughter brings the light in. That is the reason I laughed that day.

However, It wasn’t until a few months ago that the gravity of all of this started to sink in.

Nathan Nissenbaum is a monster. He has beaten and raped me, and allegedly several other women who trusted him.

He changed my life forever. He took away my safety and sense of self. Most days I’m scared to go outside alone, I don’t like strange people to look at me anymore, I question whether any client is actually him. Some days I laugh and I feel strong. Some days I hate myself and I don’t even know who I am.

I never thought I was the “type” to be abused. I hope for no one to feel like that. It isn’t me and I’m still learning that. These monsters can get to anyone.

I’m learning that I don’t have to laugh. I’m not ok and that’s ok. Life is fucked up and I will continue to try to find the things to laugh about.

Defining the Subtle Boundaries of Consensual Prostitution

We all know that if sex workers were given fair and reasonable rights, we’d be seen more broadly as people providing a service than “criminals.” Perhaps we will live in a day when it ISN’T ok to rape a woman selling sex. Even then, if a girl can dream, the average John would be required to not only pass safety processes upheld by the law, but also conduct upheld by society. I think most people reading this can agree on these concepts.

As far off as that may seem, it doesn’t mean we can’t start demanding this safety and appropriate conduct from the gentlemen who patron our services. The first step is to acknowledge the wide, yet often ignored, gap between prostitution and rape.

Prostitution is the practice of engaging in sexual activity with another person for payment. There is an implied awareness and willingness on the part of the person engaging in sex. If we are speaking of a person who is not aware or willing, that clearly falls into categories of human trafficking or rape. In the case of prostitution, the consensual transaction is between the service provider and the client.

However, not all sex workers have the know-how to set crucial boundaries to make this transaction safe (again – thanks to many of them operating in hiding instead of regulated establishments). So when a client dangles a carrot after she has said “no,” there is an oh-so-subtle moment when a normal transaction starts to become non-consensual.

I am a reasonable person, as I expect both my client and escort readers to be. I am aware of what constitutes rape. By definition, rape is when a person uses force or threat to engage in sexual activities with another. Emotionally, this spectrum is wider. Even still, the spectrum is wider when we consider this sex epidemic you may have heard of – rape culture.

“Why do we keep referencing rape culture? What is rape and what is rape culture? Why do I care? What does it have to do with me?” Yes, many questions that generally upstanding clients may have. Yet many others may not even think twice because they have cash in-hand which they believe buys them a ticket to pound-town with any woman on the market. I encourage all types to heed this message.

Let’s imagine a scenario for a moment… Keep in mind that in order for a client to ever walk through an escort’s door, she has to say “yes” to his request. She must consent to the appointment. Be sure to drop any shred of a notion that a sex worker is obligated to take any client. Escorts can consent or refuse to consent. Below is another example of when an escort can answer “yes” or “no”.

Client: “Do you provide _____?” (perfectly reasonable question prior to a transaction).

Escort: “No, I’m sorry, I don’t offer that.” (a clear answer of ‘no”).

Client: “I’ll pay $200 more.” (Initiation of power).

The morality downfall starts with the obvious fact that the client can easily find an escort that provides the specific activity that he is looking for. A popular example may be a request for anal. When the client requests anal, he gets a clear answer that the escort is NOT willing to provide that service with her body. The client then tries to override her desires for her own body by presenting more money. This is often followed by strategies of guilting, shaming, and complaining.

As a side note to clients: I do understand that many men make this mistake innocently and less directly. An innocent “nudge” can quickly skew your perspective on what is acceptable after it becomes habitual. In the world of intimate transactions, delicate and extreme are not far between.

So in this example, he wants to see this girl and he really wants anal – what’s the big deal, right? Lets look at the details of what makes this person tick. He wants what he wants. He wants girl “A” off the escort listings, not girl “B” or “C” who happen to offer anal. He wants the one he wants. He also wants anal sex. He doesn’t want just vaginal sex with this particular provider. He doesn’t want to take advantage of her unique specialties. He wants his dick in a butt. The one she is in possession of.

All annoyance of entitlement aside, let’s look at something more concerning: he does not care if she wants to do this or not. In fact, it is of such little concern to him, that he believes his disposable leisure money is of more value than the boundaries she has set. It means he can easily ignore her discomfort (emotionally or physically) if it means getting off in the way he likes.

Sure many women charge more for certain activities. They will offer that upcharge. That is something they have previously decided they are comfortable doing if the financial benefit is there. In the case we are speaking of, the woman said ‘“no.”

A man who does not recognize the importance of a person saying “no” to a sexual activity is already on the rape spectrum. If he believes bribery makes it ok, he does not have respect for another human’s flesh. He does not care if that person is comfortable. He wants to take what he wants and is willing to push for it regardless of how it may affect the other person’s comfort. He is taking advantage of a person in a vulnerable position.

This rings especially true when you consider that many sex workers are in tough positions. They want to reduce their number of clients and therefore reduce their risk. So an extra $200 in exchange to forgo hard limits seem ok on a rough day.

In this moment the failure to recognize the humanity in a sex worker spreads like a disease. The sex worker herself remembers how society reminds her regularly that she is skin for sale, not a service. It’s not about her skill, it’s about her willingness to be “bought” wholly. Once you are paid for sex, your body is owned.

THIS. IS. SO. WRONG. Not in any other service do we walk in expecting to own someone for an hour. We don’t expect our wait staff at a restaurant to brush our hair. We don’t ask a personal trainer to feed us grapes while we lounge by the pool. We don’t tell our hairdressers to pop our back pimples while they are at it. A sex worker provides a service. This is a service indeed, but one that is of sexual nature under their terms and skill set. This is a service that REQUIRES physical and emotional consent as with any intimate service. You don’t purchase sex workers rights, and for a higher price, you can’t purchase the right to say “no”.

The thought makes me look again toward the word “rape” and what it means. Rape is when one person uses “force” to engage in sexual activity with another. What is considered “force”? Is it physical violence? Is it blackmail? Coercion? Bribery? On a legal level, things can get really picked apart. But we aren’t operating within the legal realm anyway, are we? Let’s speak on a moral level.

Here’s a small list of ways men can “force” a sex worker – or any other person – into sexual activity after they have clearly said “no”:

  • Bribery: Offering more money, gifts, or other promises.
  • Shaming: Passive or even directly derogatory remarks about being a “whore”  and selling one’s body.
  • Comparing: Claiming that “other girls” do it
  • Whining/complaining: Complaining about the service once it is happening and acting unsatisfied or frustrated.
  • Passive Pressure: “God, I would really love to put it in without a condom, it’s too bad.” and other remarks usually made repeatedly.
  • Not asking: Never asking and instead “going for it” (i.e. Removing a condom, penetrating without asking, cumming in mouth without warning).

Ask yourself, ‘What type of person would get off after getting what they want as the result of any of these behaviors? How can someone ejaculate knowing they have pushed a person into sex by any means?” Ponder what this person could be capable of if hormones were high, alcohol was involved, or any other circumstance where inhibitions are lower. How far is the jump between any of these things and sex by physical force or threat? Sex for money is not an open door. Force is still force. Rape is still rape.

Keep your reality in check. Find someone who suits your needs. Respect the people you pay for a service by honoring their bodies and their rights.

Your Mom Got Fucked


I was inspired to write this after being very disappointed that one of my once-favorite sites succumbed to spreading more Buzzfeed-type opinion articles that are not backed by science, but is instead fodder for millennials to justify their completely self-absorbed directionless lives with fake science. This one in particular; having kids ruins your sex life. Fucking breeders…

I found several articles with plenty more self-absorbed, too-intelligent-to-have-kids, I-was-not-having-kids-before-it-was-cool, millennial hipster clickbait.

In other words: “WAH having kids is so passé because then I can’t do WHAT I WANT – WHEN I WANT without thinking of effecting anyone else ever!” Don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of things I’ve been doing since before they were cool. But then I grew up and recognized true spiritual purpose and quality of life and started caring more for others than trying to force them to care about me.

The problem with most of these articles that are dished out by Huff Post, Gawker, and equally credible pathologists, is that they are designed to cater to what this generation wants to hear. These studies show that there is a pretty equal uprising of positive feelings and negative feelings. As with anything – parenthood has its good with the bad. The general millennial response: meh, it evens out so why do the work?

There are many social issues that are to be considered in this unfortunately common, but not scientifically unanimous information. They almost all are rooted in slut-shaming and misogyny, no matter how much these same hipsters waive their political cocks in protest of such topics.

That being said – I’m NOT insinuating that if you don’t procreate then you’re a waste of life. If you don’t want kids – don’t have them. You are no less valuable without kids, but you are no more valuable. I think no one should be forced to have children they don’t want. Own it and wear it proud. Don’t reinforce our damaged sexual culture in order to validate your position by displaying parents, particularly women, as ruined people with less capability in this world.

This is not an argument for procreation. It is an argument to see child-rearing as an opportunity to mend a damaged sexual culture versus shaming parents and children into an anti-sexual trap.


Lets talk about why our dysfunctional social culture ruins your sex life. Children, motherhood, parenthood, do not ruin your sex life – they ARE your sex life.

Socially, we are taught to lead certain lives as parents. These new lives that parents are pressured into are void of sexual adult behavior. Some how it is impossible in our society to fathom an adult life, parallel to your life with your children. Being a good parent is somehow measured by how much your deprive and torture yourself in the way Jesus intended. You’re a great mother  – if your jeans are at least one size too big and your zipper measures 10+ inches… but only if you’re not wearing makeup and you have a nice, respectable, bob cut to your hair. You must be pure and miserable.

And even as progressive as much of our hop generation is, a full rejection of parental lifestyle is just simply reinforcing this type of anti-sex parenthood.

From the second you become pregnant, when most women have flat bellies and, in turn, will still get fucked by their partners, they usually don’t want to because they feel terribly ill. Their partners become insecure and then this is perpetuated once the illness subsides and the belly grows and their male partners have a big alarm go off in their head saying:


Because it is scientific fact… that sex and childbirth are on opposite ends of the universe, right?

Then this insecurity infests the relationship at rapid speeds on both ends because the woman will likely sense her partners distance or be told outright he is scared of his dick being near the baby. For the record – Vagina and uterus – totally different places. Your cock is not that powerful. Somehow you men will penetrate a rectum without worrying of stomach acid burning your cock, but a dick in a vagina somehow means the baby is just gonna grab hold of your weenie.

So then, as a woman, you find yourself in a maternity store trying to find clothing to suit your hot new bod. There you are told yet again that you are a mom – YOU DON’T HAVE SEX! Your cleavage is fully covered, your curves completely draped, and God forbid any fabric would cling to you.

Then you spend pregnancy being told not to have a few glasses of wine, don’t get into a warm bath with your partner, don’t get massaged by anyone unless it’s a prenatal massage specialist who knows your body better than you do, because clearly all of these things will cause your baby to come flying out of your uterus and immediately die.

So therefore, as a pregnant woman, don’t do anything that can relax your hard-working mind and body into a place that it is ready to receive the sex it so desperately craves.

Then after you’ve spent 9 months crying in lieu of sex because you’re wearing a tent and can’t mellow your body in any way, you give birth – which is a shaming and humiliating experience of its own.

Typically you have a room full of masked sterilized strangers demanding you have your baby under their professional rules instead of by the instinct of your body. They keep you draped and covered, they hide your shame – your pussy and breasts and blood. They whisk away your baby to properly hide his shame, and gift -wrap him neatly, penis tucked away under blankets, then set him on your clothed chest once he has been inspected to be welcomed into society.

Then you attempt to breastfeed… Your breasts – the beautiful, bountiful pleasure jugs that every boyfriend has enjoyed… watching them bounce healthily while he blows his load, now are suddenly an object of shame. HIDE YOUR BREASTS – THEY’RE FOR YOUR BABY – IN PRIVATE.


Your breasts suddenly offend everyone around you. You are forced to hide them with nursing bras, nursing tops, and nursing blankets, all equally humiliating and sterile articles of clothing. COVER YOUR BREASTS – STRAP THEM IN – those are not for physical attractiveness anymore!

But even with all of the covering, you are likely to be shamed into a little plastic-coated easily-sanitized nursing room near the mall lockers where no one really goes. That is – IF you’re lucky. Otherwise you may opt to hide in the handicap accessible bathroom stall, before facing the shame of publicly feeding your baby with your non-sexual shameful breast.


You’re not a breastfeeding, life-giving, fluid, wet, juicy, sexual creature. You get into that bathroom stall! That bathroom stall where people with physical disabilities have enough room to defecate safely. Here, where you, you once-sexual whore, now find that same toilet stall enough room to FEED YOUR CHILD… safely.

You clean up, cover up, wipe up any evidence of your fluid breast from your baby’s face. Now hope to not leak through your nursing pad because anyone having to acknowledge your breast leaking would be just as mortifying for them as if you were to blatantly taking a chunky wet farty shit in your own pants.

Now, recover from that anxiety of your poor baby being hungry and not understanding why she couldn’t have the breast, and avoiding any bathroom surfaces riddled with poop particles, while a baby desperately tries to get enough milk out of you to at least make it to the comfort of your own home where YOU SHOULD HAVE FUCKING STAYED LIKE A PROPER MOTHER!!! What were you  thinking coming out with such a small baby?! Oh, recover from that, then return to your social engagement…

Where everyone knows, and some clearly can’t help but glance at your baby and your breasts… knowing what you just did… with your… your… BREASTS!!!

Head home for the day, try to get your baby to sleep after that rollercoaster of tension. Peel off your Burlap Sack Couture; spring collection outfit and wash the spilled milk off your body. This liquid gold that is such a gift – that you had to spend all day hiding.

Try to convince your man who can not mentally separate you and baby that you are the same confident sexual being that you once were. Because if any sense of insecurity comes along – that alarm goes off again.


Now he doesn’t understand your body. Because he, too, has been taught poorly. You were pregnant, you’re fragile, you are helpless, you can’t do all of the same things, be careful of bothering the baby, forget this woman who is now just a baby vessel. Its for her own good. Its for the good of the baby. STERILE – GENTLE – CLEAN – DRY – SOFT – CLEAN – CLEAN – CLEAN!!!!

Listen, you stupid, stupid people….

My children exist because I FUCK. I can blast a child out of THIS HERE PUSSY! And I can still take a BIG FAT COCK.

My breasts may leak, my skin may be loose, my vagina forever changed. But these parts that you and your cock were created with – THIS HERE PUSSY – will also do the work of pulling out your next ejaculate without skipping a beat.

This same pussy that you love to fuck, is just like a pussy that put you on this planet.

This wet dripping cunt… is the same wet, dripping cunt that was so sloppy wet and soaked – your children slid right out of it.

These same big, fat, titties that you’ve sucked on while your dick was rocked back and forth to climax, are the same big, fat titties that will nourish and love your child… then put that fucking kid to sleep and go right back to wanting to fuck your brains out.

So stop teaching your wives, friends, baby’s mamas, mothers, sisters, daughters, and strangers that their body is ruined once they’ve birthed our children. Stop telling them they can’t fuck, they’re pure, they’re shameful.

She, who you shame, has given us the amazing gift of LIFE – and all because she is a filthy wet beast that got fucked.

Your Sex Cleanup Bucket: Products for Cleanup Before and After Sex

So over the years I’ve developed many ways to have the raunchiest and exploratory sex I possibly can, and still keep a nice home and body.

Now these clean-sex tips are not the typical ways to practice sex safely. If you’re reading this, I’m hoping you’ve already figured that out. These are ways to keep your messy, unique sex life discreet and cleanly!

1: Witch Hazel Wipes

These things are a great multi-purpose item. Preparation H sells them as a hemorrhoid soothing remedy but you can find them also sold as “medicated wipes”. Do not let this turn you off, they are good for use everywhere – not just your butt. You can also get them in to-go single use wet-nappy type of packaging which I also recommend for nights you may end up hooking up by surprise, or just in case of basically anything.

They are great before sex for wiping down your nether-regions. They have a light, natural aroma that doesn’t hang around versus a perfume-y vaginal wipe. They clean efficiently and are natural and safe for both places of entry downstairs. They are great for men too. If you’re planning to hook up on your lunch break mid-summer while already wearing a suit for half of the day, please do not let your partner unzip your pants to a swamp. Axe body spray also does not count as clean, and may be worse than sweaty balls, so just take that off the list right now.

After sex, they safely remove residual lube or whatever other messes you’ve happened to make. For women, if you have sex frequently it’s great for regular maintenance to pee right after sex to prevent UTI’s, so while you’re at it use a witch hazel wipe to make sure you don’t have any sticky lube hanging around to throw your pH levels off. Use it on your tukus if you’ve engaged in anal sex as well. If you have any residual irritation there might be some tingling, but the witch hazel will soothe and cleanse you to heal faster. The wipes are quicker and more intimate than an immediate after-sex shower so you can had back for some snugs or round two.

2: wet ones

These are not best for use on your naughty bits but are great to have bedside. If you’re switching from different sexual activities or partners during sex, you can definitely get a little messy, but this can sometimes increase the risk of STI’s. Nothing wrong with wiping down your hands, or face, or… wherever… as needed when in it for the long-haul.

3. soilove

I actually discovered this product on someone else’s column quite some time ago but I forget where, otherwise I would credit them because this is a life-saver!

If you’re all-around indulgent, you probably are like me and prioritize your sheets’ thread count almost as much as sex. Nothing is worse than having inhibition-free sex, maybe while you or your partner is menstruating or just while getting crazy with the slippery soft silicone lube. Either way, whatever mess you get on your sheets, Soilove will get out. After my fantastic, soft, cotton duvet cover was covered in spots from regularly spilling lube all over it, I found this and it solved all of my problems. I don’t even bother laying a towel down now.

4. Arnica Oil

If you like to get a little rough during sex, arnica oil will cure what ails you. Follow up any slapping, bonding, spanking, and biting with a light massage with arnica oil right away. (Also a great aftercare activity for all of you service-tops out there!)

Arnica oil will get rid of surface bruising and any soreness or discomfort that you don’t want lingering around too long after the fun. In my personal experience, this will not get rid of deep bruises from very thuddy beatings, but it will speed up the healing. Any surface bruises or broken capillaries will vanish very quickly.

5. rubbing alcohol

For your body, if you get into any types of body paints, markers, or other sex goo that just wont go away, just use a cotton ball and some rubbing alcohol. I once devastated a slave who had to go to the doctor when I wrote on him in permanent marker. I wonder if he figured out he could use rubbing alcohol to get it off…

Also it is fantastic for sex toys. Be sure to wipe off the outside of silicone bottles to prevent them from getting residue on toys and damaging them. You can also use rubbing alcohol to clean and sterilize many toys safely now that high-grade silicone, metal, and glass are popular choices. Don’t waste money on special sex-toy cleaning fluid. You likely have rubbing alcohol and water in your home already.

6: Enemas

I push enemas non-stop! (Pun intended). No, butt seriously… (ok, I’m done). Enemas are really great for your health to begin with for many reasons but also help maintain a healthy butt for healthy butt sex – another topic I regularly endorse.

The link in the title shows a bag enema which is meant for a little more of a deep clean. For a quick rinse, you can get pre-lubed, pre-filled disposable enemas at the drugstore.

7: no douches

This is something that I do not recommend. If you happen to have a vagina, you may have the compulsion to douche when having frequent sex. It seems to make sense to clean yourself out, but you are doing your vagina a disservice. Your vagina can handle sex, it produces it’s own fluids to do so that are pH balanced and also doesn’t mind semen (if you are with a tested monogamous partner)!

However, douching – unless instructed for a specific reason by a doctor – can really do some damage and send you in the opposite direction of clean-feeling and instead to yeasty bread-factories and fishy smells between your legs. If that happens, it does not mean you aren’t doing it enough. That is your vagina telling you to leave the work up to nature. After sex, just shower and use a mild soap to keep yourself fresh.


All of that being said, don’t ever over-do it. Great things to bring to bed are health and confidence – getting too meticulous can destroy that. Keep things dirty as you see fit, but help maintain your discretion with these handy cleanup tools.

Screening for Escorts & Sugar Babies

When you are trusting your safety to a strange man, you must collect as much data as possible. Here is a rough example of the screening form I use, with commentary, to illustrate what you may want to gather from your potential date. Remember – sugar daddies do not mean less danger. In fact, some men choose that route to find the more naive.

* marks REQUIRED information! That means no exceptions!

*Full legal name- no aliases!

Always require a full legal name – and check ID. If someone can not trust you with this information, you probably shouldn’t trust them. When a visitor is hesitant, explain that you are both taking risks and mutual trust is absolutely required. If you do not have a real name and something goes wrong – there is nothing you can do to help yourself.



ALL contact information is needed. You must be able to connect this person’s information to make sure they have a real identity and presence.


*Resident City & State

If they are visiting, figure out where they are from. It will help in your screening. Often men that are traveling have more opportunity to indulge, but make sure you have some back-story.



Again, all contact information for screening. google voice is not acceptable. Some men will have a separate line for their hobby, so this can be brushed aside IF they can provide the rest of the information.

Date of Birth/Age

This is more for your own preference. In my experience, I really only have great experiences with visitors between 30-55. Everyone has their own preference. But in any case it’s good to know who you are meeting.


*Employment Information

*Company Name


*Company Website (or) LinkedIn

YES! All of this. You do not need to contact their work but they should have some sort of proof that they have a job that makes them a person on the map. This also allows for you to likely find a photo of them online to ensure identity. This is information that anyone trustworthy should be willing to share.


*Preferred Method of Contact / Safe Time to Contact

You want to not only protect the discretion that is so important to your visitor but you want to show them that you care. This is part of your job if you are in an escort or SB position. Otherwise- no gain. You MUST protect your visitor’s privacy for them and yourself.


Companion Reference #1 / Companion Reference #2

Of course there will be newbies – and get ALL info from those gentlemen. However, many of these men have had at least some experience. For SB’s, any references are helpful, but always make sure they are real – ask if they have a profile you can see or try to google it. For escorts,. the general rule is that a reference over 2 years old is invalid. Most men should easily have 2 or at least one reference within the last year. I do not like taking references over a year old. Always look up the reference to ensure that she is a reputable and REAL provider.


Verification Service/Verification Service ID

Gather any and all verification information. Many men who approach this correctly will have one of the following: preferred411.com (P411), roomservice2000.com (RS2K), Date-Check.com. It is not uncommon to not have this type of third-party verification, in which case do not bend on collecting all other information.


*Additional Information (Interests, Physical Stats, Outfit Requests, etc

This is more for personal interest so you can engage your visitor properly in a way that appeals to him by knowing a bit about him before he comes. That being said, it also allows an opportunity for you to assess the visitor’s openness and friendliness or attitude. A phone call subsequent to receiving this information is also beneficial for that same reason. You can get a very good feel for people in these ways, and remember that you are not obligated to see anyone! ALWAYS TRUST YOUR GUT!


additionally – important!!!!

ALWAYS run people through verifyhim.com. This is an incredible service for all types of sex workers. It is the most advanced database I have experienced in my many years in the industry. It provides phone lookups, data collects, and also allows for any women to make reports on men whether good or bad. It is also very exclusive and women must be verified to join so you can rest assured that the information you receive is accurate.

I recommend this site to ANYONE whether sex-worker or a woman who enjoys casual sexual adventures.

Click the banner to visit the site.


Determining True Political Threats…

Anyone on the internet can bitch about something at any given time. HELL – look at me go! However, it doesn’t mean you should.

Today we are going to go ahead an address misguided anger masked as feminism… and I’ll try to keep it short.

What triggered my thought on this topic that I consistently rant about when in conversation around gender and other politics, was this article I read trying to bash American Apparel.

Read it here and follow along

I’ll use this as an example although this article really does not make a strong stance. However, it does call attention to unworthy battles being fought.

I also will preface this with saying that I am an avid American Apparel fan. I should be getting paid because I wear their clothing so frequently. Overpriced cotton essentials that are quality made and lack the blood and tears of tiny little Asian children in the stitching. Win.

I will also say that in this article, I am not considering the quality of person the CEO is – that is an entirely different issue to hash out. I’ve heard my own stories. However, that is an argument that stands on its own, and does not need the guise of how we “represent women in media”.

Advertising in America

Let’s just go ahead and start with an unbiased topic. Great to have integrity. Yes. It would be a magical place if every small business that tried to operate by being 100% politically correct would succeed. But they don’t. That is something that we will never stop contending with in our country, even if we can raise awareness (but even better if we can raise awareness properly).

Sexiness is enjoyable. Ultimately, the clothing store has to sell clothing. They sell sexy clothing to sexy adults who want to feel sexy.

Many folks who value the integrity of American Apparel’s U.S. based production, or simply just their adorable fucking sundresses, also happen to be attracted to sex. What the fuck is wrong with that? Nothing.

You’re not saving women by inhibiting the amount of sexiness we partake in on the daily. You’re working against them.

Which brings me to my next point…

The Models

Alright, here is an example of exploiting women: shipping a young girl from overseas with the agreement that she will tug cock in a massage parlor to make a living and maintain protection from being deported.

Not an example of exploiting women: a woman who is pleased enough with her appearance to pursue a career where she can create images that appeal to a public and benefit the sales of a company.

And yes, another example is getting models high or drunk, making promises with positions of power, and sleeping with them – but that is not about the advertising. This article is about the way women model.

These women choose to work in this field. So, you are going to sit behind your computer screen wondering if you can lose your belly fat before your friends want to head to the beach this summer and criticize women who are comfortable showing their bodies as a profession? Then mask your criticism of other women as “saving” them.


In fact, you are hindering the sexual acceptance of women as NOT objects. Instead of inadvertently (maybe) shaming these models by suggesting that they are simply victims instead of empowered women in control of their bodies, maybe you should be doing some inward looking toward acceptance. You are stating that a woman portrayed sexually inherently equals object and/or victim.

The Article

This isn’t too extreme but it certainly illustrates the idiocy of what I would call “faux feminism.” Unfortunately many radical “feminists” seem to get so wrapped up in their own beliefs that they are not thinking openly and instead are easily discredited. Then the rest of all feminists are grouped in with the like, left with palms planted on faces.

You can’t simply stomp your feet out of personal preferences and expect real change for women.

This article in particular sounds like a ridiculous gossip column instead of sticking to the point. Sure, you may get reads and support because you are striking the chord of frustration that many women share. However, do you think that this will even remotely sink in with the people who need it most? Or do you think maybe the way this is written can be easily written off as the words of “another angry lesbian”?

Without suggesting a change in your passions, perhaps a more effective approach is warranted – one that doesn’t throw fellow women under the bus and effectively exploit them as well as the next misogynist.


If it is about equality, then shall we remove our heads from our asses and think of people, particularly all women, as a whole rather than just oneself?

Otherwise, your not doing your femme friends a favor by diminishing their autonomy and sexuality as a sign of distress.