Why Did I Even Bother?

Why Did I Even Bother?

I started dating(I lasted a few weeks), why the hell did I do that? What a disaster! My gf were giving me lessons how to behave. Some of the things I was informed to do and not do.

1. Don’t talk too much about myself, ask questions about the man, and make him feel important!

Seriously? Is the average male this insecure? Wait, this sounds like work, why would I want to engage and encourage this foolishness for free?

2. Don’t dress up too much, they will think you are high maintenance.

WTF!? Really! News flash! I am fucking high maintenance! Yes, I am and you know what else, I am really good with this. If he wants a blow up doll, he should go get one.

3. If you do have a BF, make him feel useful around he house.

Jesus Christ almighty, how the hell do women tolerate having men around? They are worse than children.

Oh, my god! How the hell do civvie women go on dates? Please tell me, what are your secrets? I can’t manage to feint interest for longer than 20 mins. The conversation about their non existent lives, them trying to impress me with what they think is their prowess!? Jesus, or the ones who can’t seem to manage to match their clothing! Talk about useless! Or are my standards that high!? Surely not?

Then there was this point when I realised I had to pretend to enjoy bad sex for fucking FREE! That was as Malcolm Gladwell said, the tipping point. Oh hell no! I am not going to shag for free, badly! So I axed that budding relationship and am once again, single, happy, and have the big bed all to myself. Am I selfish? Yes I am! And as well as being high maintenance, I am so ok with this.

Domination by Numbers

Domination by Numbers

There seems to be some confusion. Let me explain. I am a professional Dominatrix, surprise! And as such, I do take gleeful delight in doing the most horrific things to clients for extortionate amounts of money. All with their consent of course. At the end of the day it is a game for them, and free therapy for me. Fuck anger management courses, kicking the holy shit out of some snivelling cretin works wonders for me. I do have to say I delight in inflicting unspeakable punishments on my subs. I have a dark side and I am good with it.

But of late there seems to be some confusion developing; along the lines of which, I have subs expecting to have sex with me! WTF! Am I to understand, I am to whip you, spit on you, pee on you, tie you up and basically trample all over you like a mattress, and then have sex with you? Only in fucking Ireland can you get this maggoty amalgamation of co-joined services.

I mean sweet Jesus, at the best of times, I need to mentally pull of some serious acrobatics to muster up the fake delight I need to get through a normal booking, then to have to switch mind sets mid lash is more mental acrobatics than I am willing to muster. That and the fuckers are all expecting this for the same rate as a GFE! Or my favourite is can they have half hour GFE, and half hour DOM! Do I look stupid the you?

This stupidness is a result of the recession. And the bargain hunting mindset, as in they want as much for the paltry pittance they can just afford. So, people who normally wouldn’t even give a Dom session a though are now wanting the whole singing and dancing light show, to feel they have gotten their money’s worth! Wrong female! What have I done, I have packed away my dom equipment and can’t be asked! Seriously, please! My advice now when some idiot has the nerve to broach the subject is this: Go home and get humiliated for free, I am sure you wife takes equally as much delight as I do in telling you what a useless cunt you are.

Time and Companionship

Time and Companionship

This is generally the disclaimer that is tattooed to the front of most websites that have anything to do with escorting. We are in essence telling clients that anything else that happens between two consenting adults is a bonus, and to some point some people seem to take this far too literally, and end up believing that there are emotions involved because more is taking place than just time and companionship. Sighs!

For some ladies, this is is taken to mean, get sucked, fucked and piss off. I can subscribe to this school of thought, but considering what I charge I go one tiny step further. My clients are paying me to give a fuck. Literally, to give a fuck if they come. Simples. Now how much they pay me is directly proportional to how much of a fuck I will give. So in essence they are paying not for my time and companionship, but for me to be willing to get them from point a to point b. Now, just because I give a fuck, doesn’t mean I will allow the situation to be taken advantage of, no no no no! Seriously, I am an escort not a fucking miracle worker. I can only do so much. Nerves can play a part in the lack of reaction, but even the most nervous man can over come this with the right technique.

Why do I give a fuck? Because, even though I can’t stand most men, think that they are cretins, and pointless fucks serving no purpose other than to clutter up my precious space, I have principles. Shocking, I know! A ho with a moral compass, a sense of fair play. Yup! A saint waiting to be canonised. Genuflect and leave offerings, preferably of the paper variety, with the queen’s face on them. ;D
But seriously, I get paid a decent amount of money to provide a service, and I would like to think I do that to the best of my ability. Well at least my clients seem to think I do, they keep coming back. It can’t possibly be because I am such a ray of sunshine, naaaaa.

Love, My Ass!

Love, My Ass!

There is nothing that will ruin a perfectly good ho, like falling in love. I have seen it so many times. Falling in love just ruins your ability to think clearly, make decisions and function normally. Not to mention it is sickeningly nauseating being around two people in love. I have fallen in love several times, and I have to say I just couldn’t wait for the phase to pass, it made functioning difficult, if not down right impossible. It is as if my rational self was locked away in a totally sound proof room with super thick windows, screaming its head off, with people passing by looking in and seeing the scene as normal.

Also, everyone around you just coos and congratulates you on how wonderful it is to find someone, and blah, blah. You, wouldn’t congratulate someone for running naked down the street? You would say it was craziness, so why doesn’t society see falling in love in the same light? It is a blinding form of temporary insanity that in condoned by society as something normal. People in love shouldn’t be allowed to walk around; they should be locked in a room until they recover their senses.

I too have given up my job to be with the man I love, that lasted about 18 months when I just couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion something was definitely not right, more on that later.

Anyway, Cupcake was also traveling and working in Ireland, and one day contacted me as she and her touring partner had a bit of a falling out. So, I met with her, took her under my wing so to speak, and showed her how I did things, which was of course different to how her former partner did them, in that I was quite happy to show her how to do them for herself. It wasn’t interesting for me to have control of information or tips. I helped her buy a new computer, and we toured together for a bit, and then the silly cow decided to give it up for her man. Oh FFS! Typical man, couldn’t handle a strong woman, so systematically fucked with her head until she decided it was best to let this idiot move in with her and her child in another city where he didn’t speak the language and basically had no job! I told her what I thought, and basically she doesn’t say much to me because she knows how I feel about her fucking up her perfectly good life for a pointless piece of dick.

I just don’t understand what prompts some women to destroy their perfectly formed lives for a man? I have reached a point where I am quite happy with my own company, so happy with it in fact, that I am loathed to waste time spending it with people I don’t like unless I am being monetarily compensated in a serious way.

Which is why I don’t live with any one of my gentlemen, they are in different countries. The thought of returning from a tour to a man in my space fills me with a suffocating sensation. I have for a period of time been dealing with demands, desires, moods, perversions, and smells of men, the last thing I want is one of those male, needy, eternal genitalia baring creatures around me. I want to reconnect with the children, with the cat, with myself; I want to walk around in my PJ’s all day if I choose, unshaven and smelly.

When on tour I will immerse myself in the job, I am on call 24hours a day; I will wake from a deep sleep in the middle of the night and answer the phone, why? Because I am there to work, when I work I make money. Let’s be honest the only reason any working girl is in Ireland isn’t because we love the Irish, the pubs, the food, the weather, it is because in terms of a client base, they pay well, they are consistent, they are quick and there are lots of them. Just as the Polish deserted the country when the recession hit and the jobs started to be cut, so would the WG’s flee, if the client base stared to disappear? We are there simply because even in the middle of a recession the average Irish Punter is paying well above the odds for his pleasure, and we will keep being there as long as they keep paying.


The Girl Friend Experience

Dear god how this term is bandied about. I have clients calling up saying things like, “I am looking for the GFE.” I sometimes feel like telling them, “I have my period, my back aches, how about you rub it for me and fix us a cup-pa whilst you are at it, oh and don’t forget to leave the money on the night stand on your way out. I am going to have a nap. How is that for your fucking Girl Friend Experience?! ”

What they really mean is they don’t want to feel like they have just paid for it. They want me to coo over their less than impressive manhoods, and pretend I have climaxed numerous times in great succession, because I am a wanton, brazen whore, who can’t get enough of mens cocks. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Their delicate egos can’t deal with the fact that I would much prefer that they dropped the money through the letter box and pissed off. I mean it isn’t like they aren’t used to this treatment already, it is how their wives behaves towards them now, isn’t it? She has the children, she has the name, the house(s), the car(s) the husband is really superfluous, pointless even. I think most married women would be quite happy if their husbands moved to the nearest leper colony on another planet. I mean seriously, less laundry to do, less cleaning up, and certainly less micro management and social engineering, oh and lets not forget his mother! That alone should put them off having him around. It is a total win-win situation all around.

When it comes to sex in my personal life I can take it or leave it. If I don’t have it I won’t start to break out in hives, nor will I pick fights for the hell of it. I will just grab one of my trusty pink turbo vibrators and have at it. Done, dusted, sorted. No fuss no muss, no messy clothes to clean up in the morning, no awkward conversations to have, no breakfast to make, no funky smells but my own. Brilliant!

This may or may not come as a surprise, but I really don’t like having men around me unless there is a specific need for them to be there. I find they clutter up my well organized space, and continually get underfoot in a way like nothing else.

That, and I generally find most men to be far too needy for my taste. They need feeding, clothing, cared for, sex, toiletries arranged, things mislaid found, and a host of other things I find tedious and time consuming. Who is going to do these things for me? So although I love my significant others, I prefer it that they live in other towns, cities and even countries if the truth be told. It makes for a bit more effort on my part, but when I see them finally I a genuinely happy to spend a limited amount of my precious time with them. Then I hop on a train, or plane, and disappear from their lives.

I will probably end up raising prized pure breed dogs. Crufts here I come.

Up Close And Personal

Up Close And Personal

There are lots of other stories out there in the murky world of escorting. There are some who have been abused and are suffering traumatic life events even after the fact, in fact many years after the fact. They are hurt, angry, and for the most part in need of some serious therapy. No one really gets to see these women, because they hide in plain sight and keep their secrets to themselves. Tragic to be completely honest. Our stories like so many others are individual as the woman telling them. This is MY story about my experience working in the sex industry. I wasn’t Belle Du Jour (ok once in a while, I would have a generous, well paying client, who really splashed out for it), and I wasn’t trafficked, pimped, beaten, sold, or coerced into doing this either. Good luck trying to get me to work for a pimp. I would have him bringing me his money.

At the end of the day it was my personal choice, why because I could make damn good money with it, and unlike most I treat it like a business. Are the clients always nice? No, but to be honest, I am not dating the man, or to be honest interested in dealing with him on any deeper level, I am just providing a service. I couldn’t care less if he smiles or doesn’t, I don’t care if he engages in conversation with me, as long as he behaves. One step out of line and his ass will be out on his ear without a service, and on occasion a smack behind the head for behaving like an idiot. I don’t need validation from him or anyone else. I probably won’t see him ever again, and if I did, I would ignore him and cross to the other side of the street. He is a punter, and not really worthy of any further interaction.

Harsh, yes it is indeed harsh. I am running a business that involves me getting into some personal intimate situations with needy men. The last thing I need to throw into the mix is even the slightest possibility that this person so much as has a chance to go any further with me. Jaysus, I would be inundated with calls, texts, visits. Irish men are emotionally needy as well as immature. The have the emotional attention span of a distracted kitten, incapable of having any deeper meaningful relationship with a woman. This is one of the reasons I think for the frustration of Irish woman; and the reason Irish men like hookers.

They don’t have to pretend to relate to anything other than their dicks. Punting is the perfect vehicle for them. Except they do hate to pay for it. The average encounter:

Client comes in, grunts hi, partially throws money into my hands, strips off, lays down, gets hard, condom on, cock sucked, fucked, hops off, clothing on, hasty goodbye, and gone! This is in all honesty the average encounter. At first when I started I though it was me, then I realized it was them. The entire culture is peppered with emotionally stunted and sexually dysfunctional individuals who don’t really want to relate to anyone, can’t relate to anyone, or don’t even think this deeply. It was shocking.

I personally think the Irish get married too young, have too many kids and too many pressures place on them at too young an age. And as a result retreat into a protective shell. They are a complex people, who have issues as a whole going back hundreds of years, and if the Irish of old are anything like the current set, they didn’t deal with their issues any better than their modern counterparts do, and as a result what you have is long memories of past wrongs, and no capacity to process it. Ergo, the perfect punting culture.


The Bitch Is Born

Why I love being a Dominatrix. Therapy! And I am just a little bit sadistic. Plain and bloody simple. Now mind you, I am not sadistic in the sense of needing to inflict pain on those who don’t want it. To much work, not interested in converting someone to liking pain. I like those subs who are just teetering on the edge, just needing a wee push. Those who want me to inflict pain on them but not too sure which kind, ahh this is where I excel. Wicked, little seeming innocent things, like a kiss from Mistress. OH, how the sub pays for that pleasure.

Allow me to explain, people in general get on my nerves. Always have, in fact I would come close to saying don’t really fancy my fellow-man that much. The singularly stupid shit people do, leaves me with a firm distaste for spending large quantities of my precious time with anyone of them for longer than is absolutely necessary. This constant stress of having to deal with idiotic people, causes stress. So, when I was first introduced to Dom, I was like ICK! Gosh that is gross! Then I was introduced to corporal punishment, oh sweet mother of god, I took to that like a duck to water. I could get paid to flay the hide off of some sniveling, pathetic, corpulent, submissive accountant!? Sweet Jesus, why didn’t someone tell me about this years ago?

Not to mention, I was allowed to anally de-flower the odd one or two. “Oh, ah, that hurts Mistress.” “Really?! Shut Up, breathe and take it like a man, you pathetic little piece of vermin!” Punctuated by a hip thrust. A moment of epiphany when the sub realizes I have just inserted a rather large object up their ass. A well applied slap, and a slow gyrating movement, and they is my little bitch, whimpering for me not to take it out. How much pleasure he is getting. How he will do anything I tell him. I fucking love my JOB!

I had found a new niche, and I absolutely loved it. It was better than clinical therapy, cheaper than retail therapy, it got the stress I was feeling out and dealt with, I got PAID for the personal growth moment, and the sheer sadistic pleasure of whipping the sweet, white, quivering bottom of some little worm. There should be a law against this much pleasure being derived by one person.

Why I wondered weren’t more people doing Dom? It was easier than having to pretend to worship their sad little cocks just hanging there dribbling pre-cum down their hairy legs. I could with a great deal of honestly tell them how pathetic I though them to be. I could call them names like, worm, dog spittle, shit face, small dicked wonder. I could describe to them in graphic detail just how sad their members were, how useless it was, how pointless it was, and in some cases if the sub was deep into blood play, I could even go so far as to threaten to cut it off, and make tiny little nicks in the penis. I could whip bottoms, I could whip backs, I could stomp on cocks with my heels, I could spit on them, pull hair, and could slap faces! I could bend them over after inflicting some of the worst punishment I could, and after putting on my rather large strap on, I could put them in the most submissive of positions and FUCK THEM up the ass in the name of woman kind!

After slapping them around, spitting on them, fucking them rather none too gently up the nether regions, I would sit on their faces, play with my rather nice vibrating toy, make them lick me, come in their faces, and then pee on them. Get up, send them into the corner where they could finish themselves off if they so chose. I was done with them. My God the power rush was incredible. I would be so suffused with adrenalin after a serious good session. Then the best part of all of this, is when they upon leaving, kiss me feet in thanks. If only all my appointments were like this.

In Ireland, a great deal of my appointments are Dom, these boys love having their bottoms rogered senseless, and their little pink asses whipped. I can only say ‘thank you’ to the Roman Catholic church; what their mothers didn’t fuck up, the church finished off for them. God bless Ireland.