Professional Manic Pixie Dream Girl Seeks Job Satisfaction

In my history, I have learned that every time I am passionate about something, it leads to being burnt out…I’m terrified that my only monetizable asset is my ability to be a motherfucking hologram, but instead of being a rad Tupac I’m the Manic Pixie Dream Girl for sad middle aged white men with too much money.  

This is an asset that depreciates with age and weight fluctuation, and doesn’t really utilize any qualities that I truly find valuable (that was not a tits and ass reference, but those are also applicable).  I have learned that working three jobs, or putting everything I have into one particular position that I feel strongly about, and it all leads to having zero life at all or major depressive episodes while still barely making rent (if that!).

-Me, to friends, in a recent email

Who knew that being a MPDG could be a professional choice?

Some of my best connections with clients have revolved around their total idealization of me.  The dynamic actually mimics several ill-advised relationships I had several years ago, and when I first made the connection that some of my better paying clients fall into that category, I celebrated.  If I’m going to be someone’s MPDG, I would like to be paid for it!

The downside, though, is that the other side of my professional life is stagnant at best, and I’m not sure how to get out of it.

The demoralization that accompanies:

• applying to approximately one bazillion jobs and still getting nowhere
• working a ridiculous amount of hours for a paltry paycheck
• being mocked in an interview for a cashier position for being “overqualified” while still not being nearly qualified enough for anything in the industries I have experience in

is wearing me thin.

It makes me wonder if this is the only thing I can do well.

The circumstances of my life are causing me to reconsider a notion that I have held consistently true: that sex work was a choice for me.

I started doing sex work on a lark, but it was a desperate lark.  I was miserable at my old job, had applied for a ton of “legitimate” jobs and gotten nowhere (I SENSE A PATTERN HERE), and needed something to get out of the awful funk I was in.

Being a dominatrix turned out to be fun, and opened a world of new things for me.  I don’t regret the decision in the slightest.  Not all of the clients fit the description from that email above; some of them are incredibly kind, wonderful people, and I’ve enjoyed my interactions with them. The struggle is that I feel like my options are significantly limited beyond that.  It seems like it is the only profession I could possibly have that will actually provide some financial stability without making me miserable.

I know that the voice within me that thinks all of this is pathetic is largely fed by the stigma against sex workers and what it supposedly means to be one.  Acknowledging that voice at all makes me feel like a traitor to myself and my community.  A part of me would just like to know that there are more options that are available to me (realistically speaking).  I want to know that there are options that don’t rely on my tits (I mean, listen, they are fantastic, but they aren’t going to stay that way forever).

My recent band-aid for that has been to take on a ton of new projects and teach myself a million new things.  I have cooked a ton of new recipes lately, experimenting with food in a way that I haven’t before (and hey, it’s all been generally healthy!).  I am trying to write more, although I’m struggling with inspiration at the moment.  I taught myself a new knitting stitch.  I have made about a dozen projects from Pinterest, ranging from a map lampshade to a wine cork bulletin board.  I have taken up embroidery, and I have started learning code from Codecademy.  The list of things goes on and on.  I’m mostly trying to keep my hands busy.

How typical for one part of my life to be a wreck while the rest remains pretty damn fantastic.

Obviously…right?

I cannot be the only sex worker that feels stuck like this.  Am I?

personal growth (and/or “sticking my gaze so far into my navel that my eyelashes are linty”)

This was the weekend of SUPERGRUMP.

The ever-dreaded Insidious Menstrual Cramps* came to visit, in addition to generally still fighting off being sick and addressing lingering remnants of burnt out feelings.  Despite falling asleep on a couch in a public place today (yes, seriously), I am still somehow awake and functioning.

That’s me.

 I received my paycheck from my “legitimate” job, which is usually a much anticipated moment in any working person’s life, but all of my joyous PAYDAY! feelings are usually transformed into disillusionment and frustration when I realize that the amount is merely taunting me for being SO FUCKING POOR.

So I did the responsible thing and spent way too much money at the bookstore.  Consider it my personal form of consumerist therapy.  I am not sorry.

Today was the final day of San Francisco Sex Information‘s fall 2012 training.  I’m on the extended track, so I will be returning in the spring for several days to complete the training in full and receive my certification.  Even though I will be returning, I was sad to say goodbye to both fellow classmates and the much admired SFSI training staff, many of whom I won’t see in the spring.

Like Catalyst Con, SFSI reminded me that it is okay to live in the sex nerd bubble for a bit and replenish my emotional preserves.  Whenever I am feeling disillusioned, I need to return to those people who remind me why pursuing activism and sex education is so important.

This training also served as the catalyst for an epiphany that hit me on the way home this evening.  The last rap (class session) of the day was spent with an exercise sort of summing up what SFSI’s agenda is, and what the training staff hoped we would walk away with from the training.  We also went around the room and talked about what had changed for us over the course of the training.

At the time, I mentioned the above point: I need to remember that self-care can include returning to my generally like-minded community.  I spend a lot of my life and time out of the bubble, and I should utilize that resource to the best of my abilities when I need it (as well as offer it to others within the community when they are having similar issues).

On the way home, though, I realized that I was far more sad to leave the training than I anticipated.  I had struggled through the training; I thought the primary emotion on the last day would be relief.  It wasn’t the curriculum, nor the folks there that left me feeling like I was failing and frustrated.  I realized it was due to a pervasive attitude that I tend to have toward most classroom settings in general (especially when there is One Big Project and/or Test).

It’s a sort of counterintuitive (but absolutely not unique) response to perfectionism that is a lovely way to undermine any possibility of perceived legitimate failure or rejection.

The theory:

If I simply ignore that This Big Thing is happening and pretend that I Don’t Care (other substitutes for this in the past have included: This Sucks Anyway; Everyone is Stupid But Me; I Never Promised to Live Up to Your Expectations; Why Do I Leave My House?), then obviously, I’m not the one that failed.

It does not matter whether that means that I flake last minute or simply don’t prepare; either way, it ensures that my failure was calculated and therefore not a statement on my actual capabilities.  It’s the less offensive statement on how I am an arrogant asshole.  Obviously, that’s much better.

This has been a common theme throughout my academic life.  This was never improved by the fact that I skated through school with relative ease; other than in math, I tended to get excellent grades with barely any effort whatsoever.  My parents were repeatedly told by infuriated educators, “She knows the material, but won’t do the work.  She is bright, but she just doesn’t care.”  

Then, those same educators would give me solid grades because even though I refused to do the stupid worksheets or whatever senseless busywork that I determined I was Too Important For (Holy Batman’s asshole!, who invented me?  What a little monstrosity!), they knew that I could demonstrate an understanding of whatever was taught.

This has happened up until my last stint in community college.  Two years ago.

I had started to repeat some of this process with SFSI, especially as the brief presentation we had to do loomed in the immediate future.  Rather than fucking off, though, I did the research.  I met with my presentation partner and kept communication open, trying to find out the best way to do well at it.  I kept getting up every morning to go in, despite feeling sick, gross, and uninspired.  Once I got there, I would always be happy that I showed up and satisfied to be absorbing so much good information, but the process of getting there started to feel unjustifiably difficult.

Despite having over a decade’s worth of public speaking experience, my hands visibly shook through the entirety of that presentation.

Finally, I get it.  I decided to try at failing, and not on my own terms.

I’ve been bold in ways that were instructive at the time, but often held back when I really needed to go forth with gusto.

It’s the end of the year.  While I don’t believe resolutions should be yearly, this is perhaps a perfect time to start changing this huge thing that, in retrospect, has clearly guided much of my behavior in the past.  It hasn’t been for the better.

I am embarrassed it took me this long to grasp that this was such an enormous issue for me, but that’s ok.

There’s no better time to start changing than right now.

*This is totally a thing.

does this mean i’m back?

Helloooooo out there!

It has been a long while since I have written here, or much at all.  Even Tumblr has turned into purely queued updates filled with minor commentary on things that catch my eye.

I’ve been on hiatus from sex work for three months now, and I’m working to get back into taking sessions.  I had some terrible experiences as a professional sub/switch at that place, and while my own experiences were, strangely enough, not compelling enough to make me consider leaving, the violent assault of a coworker (and the lack of appropriate response to it from the headmistress) did the trick.

I had been considering taking my business independent for awhile.  I was sick of being in a position that forced me to take clients that treated me like shit, of being forced to advertise myself in a way that felt incongruent with my domme persona (and thus myself), and of doing the excess work that comes with working in an established house without the guarantee of making money.  When I finally recognized the risk to my safety, and to the safety of the women I care about, I was officially done.  I couldn’t go back.

I had been afforded some minor fall back plan: I scored a part time job at a local non-profit.  I had some sort of consistent income that allowed me to justify leaving, even though it’s not nearly enough money for me to survive on.  I left.

Shortly after that, I went to the incredible Catalyst Con.  I intended to write about it and detail what I loved about it so, but simply didn’t have the time.  My “part time job” turned into twelve hour days, in addition to my freelance job (that ended up breaking our contract and leaving me in a pinch) and the SFSI training.  Oh, and moving from one apartment to another.  Eesh.

Prior to Catalyst Con, I was feeling so disillusioned.  I had considered leaving the sex industry as a whole; after all, what kind of “career” is sex work?  I was so sick of the negative, weird conversations I would have with people when they asked what I was doing for a living.

I was so burnt out on the drama surrounding my romantic relationship (see: that time my partner’s ex lost her shit when she found this very blog!).  I was sick of the lack of safety and the lack of legality and of the disconnect I felt from people within my community in general.

Then, Catalyst happened.

Catalyst Con was absolutely rejuvenating.  Being around such intelligent people who shared similar values and who didn’t treat me like some sort of freak was comforting.  I barely slept the whole weekend, but it was totally worth it.  I highly encourage you to come to Catalyst Con East in March, especially if you are a sex worker and want to know that you can function in a space where your voice is heard and respected.  I value so many of the connections I made there, and I hope that I can continue to turn many of them into more than cursory interactions from the Sex Industry Bubble.

After that, the madness in my schedule continued up until the first week of November, when I went off to Arizona to watch one of my older brothers get hitched.  Things have finally started to calm down since I returned, which meant (of course) that I got sick.  I have spent an inordinate amount of time becoming especially crafty.  I’m learning to embroider (thanks to Scarlet Tentacle for that!), I have been knitting up a storm, and I’m working on a bevy of other DIY projects in addition to still unpacking the new place.  I have been making loads of fantastic foods for myself and my partner, and feeling fortunate for all the goodness that exists in my world.

In short: Life has been pretty boring, and I have absolutely loved it.  Reveled in it, even.

I have felt very quiet as of late, and I haven’t been able to suss out the source of that.  I have been consumed with enriching my home and my interpersonal relationships, and that hasn’t left the mental space required for sharing.

I’m returning to sex work within the next month or so.  When I received my paycheck after working an excessive amount of hours in the first half of October, I realized that sex work is, in fact, the best bang for my buck (har har har).  Plus, I am good at what I do, I enjoy many aspects of it (especially the part where I don’t have to work myself to the bone to pay my rent), and it is a wonderful supplement to any other job I have.

Back down the rabbit hole.  Maybe that means I’ll have more to say here in the future.

Where have I been?

If you haven’t seen on Twitter, I managed to score a weekly column with the incredible Playpen Report.

Check out some of the recent updates:

• My introductory post
• Musings of a Mistress: Misguided Expectations
• Musings of a Mistress: Kinky Love
• Musings of a Mistress: Stepping Out of the Box

I plan to still update here, but a lot of my domme thoughts are being reserved for column writings!

You can also find me over on About.Me, and of course, Tumblr, which is less BDSM oriented, but definitely has some kinky bits and pieces.  Also, sometimes bewbs.  Also, random life updates.  Go forth!

 

the crafting of sexual identities (follow up post)

As I mentioned in my last post, I got the opportunity to participate in Dead Cow Girl‘s The Other Women series, which collects stories that detail the development of womens’ sexual identities.  My contribution was a two part series of vignettes, and in case you missed them, you can catch up here (part one, titled “THEN”) and here (part two, titled “NOW”).  I truly recommend checking out all of the posts in the series (or hell, you ladies out there: participate!); women’s stories are often brushed aside, especially when it comes to sex, and I love that DCG is offering a space for ladies to do just that.

When I wrote those vignettes, I was attempting to present the situations without concrete value judgments.  In the context of the guest posts, it felt important for me to present the realities without putting too much of my own straightforward, analytical perspective into it, especially since that all came in retrospect.  I didn’t want to spin on it too much; I wanted the stories to be experienced the way that I lived them, without the full benefit of retrospect.  And yet, still, there are unanswered questions.  How much do those experiences have to do with being queer, or being kinky?  How have those affected my ability to be a sex worker?  Those things could have existed within me without those experiences, but how is one to know the depth of an experience’s impact?

Guest Post over at Dead Cow Girl!

The following January, it snowed in the valley for the first time in over ten years.  I am never entirely sure what constitutes a miracle.  I have never been sure of what love is supposed to look like.

-An excerpt from Dead Cow Girl’s The Other Women: THEN & NOW, Part I

The incredibly awesome Dead Cow Girl let me do a guest blog as a part of her The Other Women series, which is about women and their stories detailing their sexual development and identity.

In advance, I’m going to warn you: it’s not all sunshine and roses. Consider this your trigger warning for sexual assault/rape.

Here’s part one.  Make sure you check back for part two, too!

 

yum.

original sources: click and click

Wankertastic.

when it comes down to it, i am not much of a crier.  i can definitely be sentimental, and sometimes i will get weepy over art (including music, theatre, etc.), but i would say it’s fairly rare.  if i do cry, i tend to save it for my own private time.  there are friends who have known me for ten plus years, and i know that they can count the number of times they’ve seen me cry on less than one hand’s worth of fingers.  (note: this is all relevant backstory.)

one of the places our house advertises is redbook.  for those of you that don’t know: redbook is a website where sex workers advertise their services.  they also have message boards (which i don’t recommend reading–so much vitriol and disrespect!), and other ways for providers to network with clients.  on the BDSM advertisement space, there are a lot of escorts who branch out into domme/sub work, and offer full service experiences.  as i’ve mentioned before, i work in a space that doesn’t offer sex.  we don’t do handjobs.  we don’t do blowjobs.  my, ahem, holes are all off limits.  it’s simply not something we do.*  advertising in the same space as some domme escort ladies is (hopefully obviously) that we will also provide the same services, even if we explicitly state that we do not.  i, personally, do not even get completely nude (golden showers excepted); i keep my panties ON.

today, i had a session with a gentleman who found me through redbook.  when we were negotiating, he mentioned something about “massages”, and i reiterated that we do not perform any kind of sex.  he was interested in body worship (for those who don’t know what that is, there’s the internet), and a golden shower.  it was going to be a short session, only half an hour.  since he had booked with fairly little notice, i started chugging down water once i started getting ready.  (the ability to do this kind of work is really not as glamorous behind the scenes as you might assume.)  after i stepped out of our negotiation to put my cash aside, i definitely had some lingering reservations.  i had a feeling he would be a wanker of sorts, and oh boy! my instincts were spot on.

we started the session**, and i could tell he was nervous.  often, with newbies, even if they want someone super domme-y, i will massage their shoulders and talk to them like a normal person before we completely jump into the scene.  i don’t know what the standard protocol is (or if there is even such a thing), but i have found it to be an easy way to calm their frenetic nerves into an energy that can be more manageable to work into the scene.  sex workers are scary, apparently! as he got more comfortable, we started with the body worship.  i had him start massaging my legs, taught him to ask for permission when he wanted to take off my shoes and so on, so forth.  as we continued with the body worship, i began to realize that he kept trying to gradually creep his digits and his mouth closer and closer to my ass crack.  although i corrected him numerous times, i finally had to say to him, “i told you: no sex. you don’t get to touch my asshole, basically.”

this may not seem like a big deal when i write it out like this, but it actually requires a lot of energy to fend someone off this way.  although i have the benefit of being in control of what is taking place, it is still vulnerable to be half naked in a room with a complete stranger.  especially a complete stranger who has the likelihood of being a complete creep.  even with that power, it demands a lot of effort to spend even a brief ten minutes warding off unwanted advances and behaviors.

clearly dejected by this news, his shoulders slumped and he replied, “well, that’s what i’m into.”

i repeated, “that counts as sex, sweetie.  so, sorry, but no go.”

i could tell he was thinking, “damn.  this was a waste of my money.”

we ended up salvaging the session with some goofy sensation play; i put a blindfold on him and made him guess what tools i was using on his body.  i ended up laughing a lot and lightheartedly teasing him (read: i turned on the girlish charm), and then managed to give him a successful golden shower.  he showered, i hugged him goodbye, and walked him out.  although this is hardly any kind of BDSM worth noting, i would call it a potentially disastrous session salvaged.

i still was rather annoyed that the whole exchange took place, but i also think that folks that push boundaries end up triggering me in some way, even if it’s rather small.  while he was showering, a coworker of mine decided this was an appropriate time to approach me about a mistake i made earlier in the day.  while i am happy to be corrected, she ended up yelling at me for what was, i believe, a miscommunication.  while i think i would have floated off of the session okay otherwise, that pushed me over the edge.  after he walked out, i went back into my session room and cry cry cried.

fortunately, the night was salvaged by other sweet coworkers, and i know the miscommunication will get itself worked out.  sometimes, though, this work takes a toll.

*sidenote: although some of us do participate in strap on play, and that could easily be argued to be a form of sex.  point is: we are the fuckers, not the fucked.

**second sidenote: i have, up until this point, avoided being so graphic about session details out of reverence for my clients.  discretion is an incredibly important part of this business, and i respect the vulnerability my clients share with me.  however, i feel that reverence must be reciprocal, and if they cannot respect my boundaries, which are an extension of myself, then i see no reason to keep their confidence.  at least not in terms of the time we spent together (i would never reveal other personal or identifying details.)  and lastly, no, they are not exempt for their misbehavior because i am a sex worker and therefore somehow, this should be expected.  so, here we are.

assault survivors and professional versus personal subbing

let’s get this out in the open: i am a rape survivor.  i have heard the many theories on the sexual assault histories of sex workers (blah blah, unfounded presumptions and accusations of “damaged goods,” etc. etc.), and of course, the many theories on how sexual assault/rape survivors develop connections to BDSM in ways that could seem surprising.  i am not particularly interested in rehashing that discussion that has been had over and over again on these subjects.  in short: if you’re making shitty presumptions about the trauma history of sex workers, you’re an asshole.  if you assume that you must be “fucked up” or otherwise irreparably damaged to be a sex worker or to be interested in BDSM, you’re an asshole.  if you feel like you need to “understand” why sexual assault/rape survivors have a tendency toward certain sexual proclivities, you should consider minding your own goddamn business.  also: you’re an asshole.

now that we have that out of the way:

at our house, we can be hired as switches or subs.  initially this granted me some anxiety; in my personal sex life, i am far more on the submissive side of the spectrum, but that is within the context of trust and a personal sexual relationship.  obviously, that trust doesn’t exist with a client that i have never met before.   while they may not have that with me either, i am also more likely to be preyed upon than act as a predator.  if we factor in male privilege and the effects of rape culture, and then consider how sex workers are treated, and how they are at a higher risk for violence than other women due to the work being illegal and deeply stigmatized, my reticence makes perfect sense.  i admire those folks who are willing to be professional submissives, especially if they are offering full escort services as well.  yowza.  i haven’t got the salt for it.

even so, i can be hired as a switch or a sub, but i have to tell you that i don’t enjoy being hired as a submissive at all.  i have had numerous sessions that pushed my boundaries, including one that left me in tears, and putting the client on my “do not see” list.  i am not sure if it is from having a background filled with trauma, but i was surprisingly unable to enforce my boundaries during that session as well as i would have liked to.  things were happening so fast, and there was a delay time in which i had to process what was happening, how it made me feel, why i didn’t like it, and then, should i still say something even though this is a client?  how should i say it to the client?  how much more can i tolerate, even though i am starting to feel very uncomfortable, or should i just outright end the session?  i found that even the activities that i typically enjoy lost their flavor, and felt violating.  at the end of the session, there was no real check in or aftercare.  the  client openly told me that he liked to push boundaries to get a “real reaction,” and that he got the most glee when he could tell i was genuinely upset.   he tipped me $40.  i walked him out of the house, went into the office, and cried.

what especially struck me as interesting is that my latest relationship has involved much more kink than the ones prior to it.  there’s lots of choking, slapping, holding me down, throwing me around, and generally bossing me about.  i enjoy subbing, on a personal level, far more than i do domming, and i seem to have found someone who isn’t lifestyle, but isn’t vanilla.  i have trouble explaining what i love about being submissive in my personal sex, but i do think it has some to do with being a rape survivor.  some of it is the re-creation of my traumatic experiences, and processing those feelings in a safe place where i actually have power and control over the dynamic (even from the bottom, the nature of consent and being with a partner who respects my wishes allows that).

i also have known for a long time that i have a tendency to disassociate during sex, which i think is a response to the trauma that i suffered well over ten years ago.  there have been many sexual experiences where perhaps physically, i experienced pleasure, but intellectually, i was on another planet.  i was watching myself fuck them from afar, with no real connection or tethering to what was actually taking place.  i haven’t discussed this much with previous partners; i think it would upset them to know that i was mentally checked out while we were having sex.  as i have gotten older and more sexually experienced, i have started to learn to recognize when it happens, and keeping myself in the moment has gotten easier.  pain and restriction and kink, as a whole, helps me to maintain that disassociation at bay.  the stimulation that comes from a good slap across the face or a yelp-worthy bite is enough to bring me back from leaving my body.  the more that i participate in kinky things, the more that i learn how to integrate what i need to keep me present, as well as what i enjoy for its own sake.

i am sure that the intimacy i find in this is part of why i hesitate to be hired as a submissive.  the delightful cruelty and warm aftercare provided by my current lover is sexually satisfying and emotionally restorative in ways that i cannot entirely explain.  all of it hits something deep inside of me that entirely changes our sexual experience (from my perspective, anyway).  i wish i had more words to explain it.

sexuality is nuanced and complicated.  i enjoy this work for more than sexual gratification.  there’s a strange space where acts offered for the sexual pleasure of others is joyful and satisfying, even if it doesn’t do anything in particular to turn me on, and where acts that are not inherently sexual take on levels of intimacy when shared with a lover.  if we’re going to put labels on it, i suppose you could say i am a professional switch that prefers to be dominant, and a personal life switch that prefers to be submissive.  does that make sense?

just hanging around

i think the new garter belt looks pretty good.  don’t you?