Good on paper but…

Many kisses to the Masseuse for her words on this-the fact that we have feelings.

I was walking in the grocery last week, with a friend. We were discussing the economy and what people will/won’t do as they find their bills increasing but their monies are not keeping pace.

He, unlike me, is a straight-across-the-board hustler. Men and women, as long as they can pay.  He indulges when he needs to, as far as I know.

He mentioned that a few of his ‘friends’ were experiencing economic woes.  Furthermore, they wanted to talk about said woes and still get a bit of intimacy. Eyebrows lifted in mild horror, my response was that he must be kind but only see them in the nude when things are better, and I placed my overpriced  organic bread in my cart and strolled along.

In return,  he cocked an eyebrow and asked if I had heard any stressful stories. I reminded him that most of my men are in Europe and they are not hurting  all with finances.   As a matter of fact, I do not even make sexual friends with a man who is not liquid enough to weather the ups and downs of a normal budget year.

I then asked him a question that I had been meaning to for a while: how does he deal with  picking up a ma, who may be willing but not so sexy? God knows, some of the hottest men on the planet are gay or bi. But then some of the others-horrors to behold.

He laughed and said as long as the guy can pay, he can have a date.  ( This buddy has chided me for not only my quickness at discarding a man but at my stubbornness to relax my standards.)

We shopped and made like comments about the life we imagined of the woman in the mink, the Mom with the 2 kids and the very young girl decked out in expensive designer gear.   We saw a cute older couple and a trophy wife, just throwing the highest priced of very item category in her cart, while making travel arrangements on her cell.

He then asked me how I am able to have enough patience to be a girlfriend versus just being a good old fashioned call girl. I told him that I still need to like a guy, no matter how much money he has to share. I will not be treated like a cow in the killing chute, waiting for the bolt in my head, just because a man pays some bills.

Later in the checkout, we spoke about the handsome gentlemen paying his his shiny Amex (business, gold) and how things we like cost money, but time is the most costly thing of all.

Over dinner, we shared a few stories about the past and how people are pretty predictable. Likes, dislikes, triggers, buttons, all are easily found and pushed.

In particular, we discussed how men want a fantasy, an image, an certain attitude, because they have kicked out some money.

Just as we are supposed to care, we also expect consideration in return. As a real human being, I am not a doll that comes to life when Mr. Sugardaddy shows up.  Nor is my friend always hard and ready for hot plunging action, any hour of day or night.

We are strong some days, fragile others. Some days we want to talk, others-just strip and get to it.

Our lovers feel that way, too. They want to be heard, hugged, kissed, understood,and nurtured, as well as fucked and satisfied.

I undertand  what our lovers want but in truth, everyone has distractions.

Even sexy sugarbabies and raunchy rentboys.

Men can be odd when they think about money and women.

Some are just generous to all, some only give to the ’special girl’. Others put their wives on a tight budget.

I walk a thin line: they need to know I like them and their money.  It is not easy to do.

There are men that I will not bother with, no matter what they seek to give me. Money is not my only motivation.

There are men who are so seductive to me, that I give them a discount.

I won’t give out a freebie, however.

5 in the morning, I have just gotten to sleep maybe 4 hours earlier.

Phone starts buzzing, here comes Mr. Love Me. “Are you up? Can you get on IM, please?  The texts come in a flurry, like snowflakes.

No, you fucker, I am not up. Yawning, I verbalize the thought. He can’t hear me but I feel better.

But I do want some things taken care of, so I have to make a perfunctory effort at wakefulness.

Then the phone rings. It is a buddy, she has to see a guy in a short while before she goes to work and he has erectile problems. No, he can’t just cuddle. He has to try to fuck, although it is often a losing battle. She is tired of him futilely pawing and pumping. However, she needs him, so pawed and partially pumped she will be.

She needs to ask me why he can’t just hold hands. I could only answer that he needs physical touch and that as a proud member of the ever-burgeoning Viagra Nation, he was going to get it. Either she could smile and be kind until he was done, or let him go on to another woman.

Pretty simple as words; not so easy to execute in reality.

When I get done with her, I tell my hopeful lover that I can’t stay coherent for but so long. He went to bed about 10p.m. I wasn’t even close to home at that time.

As much as I fought it, I began to drift. I dreamed we were talking, when I should have been texting.

Oh boy. What a bad girl I am…

I got my first email from a man who says he appreciates my honesty and that if more women were like me, the world be a better place.I have found that he is must be joking, for if more women were like me, then the human race would grind to a halt.

Most men often do not like literate, educated smart-ass women to be attached to permanently. I do not see it.

I have noticed a number of women with successful marriages (still there, not divorced) and most of them are not the sharpest knives in the drawer, or they have mastered the ability to not let what they think pop out of their mouths.

I am not a child of the sexual revolution (free love??!! how utterly gross) but I am a artistic person. I was taught to be myself, which is good for making money, raising vegetables and navigating through the airport, but not for relationships.

Trust me on this. If I had the ability to be pretend and keep a straight face, I would be gathering my wolfhounds on my country estate. Paid for by my husband, of course.

I can tell a lie, don’t get me wrong.

I just can’t live one for very long.

As I have told you, Dear Reader, I am not a hooker. I just act like one. There is quite a difference between being and doing.

That is about to change. Because I drawing the line in the sand. More on that in a sec.

Although to me, any exchange of money between a man and a woman is a form of trade, there are gradations. Some are legal (wives); others are illicit (that hot stripper who went all the way in the private room at the Club). Other float in the gray area where I exist-the girlfriend/mistress/sweet party girl zone.

Being in that zone means I get the fun stuff and the nice treatment. Even after it is over, I still hold a fond place in his heart and we can hang out or get a drink. I can call for advice or a friendly referral to a good doc or lawyer. You know, that kind of good stuff.

The beauty of this zone is that you get what you want without the man being all pissy or angry. But the ugly part is that at some point, it stops being fun. Either he is ready to move on or move in. Yuck to both.

Being that I tend to like the powerful type of guy, I have noticed that the new models coming out of the factory are getting kinkier and kinkier. I like to play a bit but I don’t have a closet of fetish gear.

So… it has come that I have to define not only what I want, but also how much I will give and take.

I have always been a spoiled princess. But if I have to don leather, latex, rubber or some other material such as those, I need to charge. By the minute and per the act.

No sex, just domination for those who want to slide into the kinky side of things. I have a bias; I can’t seriously date a man that I have spanked, pissed on, defile or called an ass-licking whore. That just is not turn-on.

Recently, I found my cherry popper. He is a banker who has some “special needs”.  Like to be ridden like a horse, and to be told how nasty he is, as I let him beg to sniff my ass.

I am strapping on my boots but my knees are shaky. I have not walked on this side of the street; I have only passed by.

 I will wing it until I know exactly what I am doing. Fingers crossed.

Before you think I am just delusional, that I am a hooker with aspirations (or delusions), let me explain.

Men are the ones who make the labels, but we women are the ones who wear them, willingly or not. It is still a world that is run mostly by men.

I luckily had a dad that explained to m that men value certain behaviors. It is up to me how I chose to adapt to those expectations.

In demanding that a man do more for me that stick his cock in me, I have slid over into naughty girl territory. Fun place to be, actually.

As I am not a wife, I do not have a legal and natural right to expect a man to do for me just because we have sex. I just demand that he does, as sex has a cost. Of the many tings that are free, in my estimation, sex isn’t. Love is but not sex.

And even if I love a man, I still expect things.

However, men have not treated me in the way that they treat hookers, escorts, strippers and street walkers. Only because in their heads, I am not a hooker.

But other men have not been so kind, they have been offended that I want some of what they value the most-money. I do not fool with them, obviously.

I often wish that men would be more careful of the feelings of women who are sex workers, as no matter what, they are human beings who deserve to be treated with respect.

Some women are fine, educated and well groomed, so they can command a high price for their favors. Some are clever and charismatic, as a result they can keep a man panting and running. Some are pushed by desperation into dealing with men in this fashion, so they are not as adept at getting the best price.

I do not make the mistake in thinking that women who do not expect a man to give them money, think of me as anything but an undercover hooker. I would even argue that the crackhead on the dark street corner can’t see any difference between herself and me.

In truth, what is the difference? Besides the fact that I do not have to be bothered, that I can survive on my regular job, that I don’t have factors that drive me to sex work. I am not any better or worse than “those girls”

I am just an average girl, not super gorgeous or a model, by any means.  What I do have is than enough brains and enough realism to understand that I can pretend to be in love and have sex. Or I can have sex and get real, not pretend things.

I believe that most women are bargaining for something. I prefer to honestly bargain for cash and gifts.

As much as I like gifts, I can’t pay bills with a $20.00 tube of hand cream or yet another bottle of perfume.

I could hand him the bill, but that does not work for me. It is too yucky. I do not look in his wallet; I take him at his word about what he has.

It seems to be hard to express to some guys that I just like cash. When they give it to me, I tingle with joy. I am sometimes more impressed with money to buy groceries than an elaborate and pricey dinner. I liked to be cared for, not just receive things that benefit him He had to eat anyway, so I make good company. Whereas to make sure I have the goodies I like no matter where he is, is different.

But since I am just a spoiled bitch and not an escort or a good old-fashioned hooker, I have to do a bit of maneuvering.

Given that so many American guys seem to have this aversion to the thought of ‘paying for it’, things can get sticky. But, this is not 1985 when he was the star quarterback. Interest rates and the COLA have greatly increased.

I wonder what it would like to just bill a man, in the way his doctor or accountant does, and get paid. I know it is genteel to not speak of money. And I don’t need to talk about it, just to spend it.

He is short and older, balding but sweet. Let’s call him Plum. Yet he seems to bristle when I make a request that doesn’t fit into his agenda.
I like money best, always have. Gifts are great but not unless it is really quirky or great, it is best not to bother.

He likes to buy me things. I only need so many things. There is the problem.

I have tried to compromise but I can only back away so much. I am not a kid; I don’t need to be supervised. He thinks it is romantic to follow me around a store.
But I like to pay bills and do what I wish with my so-called gift. After all, the sweat has dried and he has unleashed his tension.

He approached me with the promise that he wants to take care of me. But he really wants to make sure that I do what he wants with my money.

We just had a falling out, as I asked for more money for the holiday and he dragged his feet. Then he wanted to complain and say that he needed a spot of down time. I told him to go off wherever but leave the cash on his way, as I do not have time for the useless emotional stuff.

He was taken aback and I reminded him that I was only following the script. He was the one who wrote it.

I estimate we only have a few more months left. He can (as he does) talk to a woman on the Net, she will tell him what he wants to hear and then once she too wants his money, he will come back to me. This is an old game.

I knew him when he was just a regular working guy. Now he has some inherited wealth. Great. But my needs have not changed, nor should he deviate from the program

I have made ( I hoped) a rapport with a nice guy, he is involved with film (scriptwriter). I thought we would be able to get along, as friends, but–

It happened. Not only did he reveal that he likes me, but that he has all these inner suppressed desires to be dominated. Not that I care, or will do it.

He lives on the other side of the country, so if I want to beat someone, I can just walk around my neighborhood and find a nice husband I can play with and beat.

Lately, too many guys who should be in the friend zone, where they belong, are bursting free of their boundaries. If I wanted to screw them, I would have by this point.

I won’t bring up money (Scriptie has enough to share but is too damn needy) and another friend is cheap. What am I supposed to do with that? Give out a freebie for old time’s sake?

No.

In fairness, I do not ask one to give more or less than any other guy. There is not much justice in this world, but there is some in my bed.

Women often get caught up in thinking that because they are young(er) or look a certain way they are somehow entitled to certain things. Such as the have a beeline to a man’s wallet because they are 22 or do lots of yoga and are super-buff. Let’s take a minute on both those topics. 

I work on not falling into the former trap of “younger is better” because some men don’t care. A good piece of ass is what they want, be it 20, 30, 40 or 50. As long as it is still a snug fit between the cock and the pussy, okay. It works.

Since I like to be spoiled, the men I date are normally at least 1 decade older. ( I prefer the ones in my age group but they tend to not have the resources yet or are tight-fisted. Or get they real live hookers.) 

Other chicks think that if you look a certain way, it matters. They are partially right. For some men you must be a swimsuit model to get their cash. Others want that stereotypical stripper look. Some want businesswoman by day, randy plaything by night. Other want big-tits, ass, thighs, mouth, Still others want tiny parts.

I have friends who seem to think that since they are not a size 6, they can’t get a man, least not the type who will give gifts and stuff. I can say that I did actually get the type of money I had been dreaming of until I turned 23 and had finally got some hips and ass, with big tits to match. My curvy womanly body attracted a different type of man-the one who wanted to take me out and fuck me as well, not just the ones who wanted to score or show me off. 

I was brought up to believe that if a man is with you, he likes you, don’t quiz him to death about bullshit. My mom told me when I was 15 that “if his dick is hard, he is attracted. The day you need to worry is when he can’t get it up with you anymore”. My Granddaddy said that there is nothing more unattractive than a woman who is always asking a man if she looks good and whining about her weight. I agree with them both. I am not skinny by a long shot.

But I never have any problem with men on that front, only when I don’t curb my tongue and let my smart-ass side emerge. If a man wants what I have to offer physically, then he does what to see, touch and so forth. 

Confidence and willingness, a good attitude and pleasantness, go a long way toward getting what one seeks.  Some guys just want the woman to strip, spread and fuck. For that they will gladly give tributes. All the rest is incidental.