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Dear Tits and Sass: Breaking Up With a Regular Client Edition

Image via Sassyology
Image via Sassyology

Dear Tits and Sass,

I need help breaking up with a long time client. He is a very sweet guy and if I were to describe our dates (lots of time out in public: dinners, shows, etc.) it would sound like a pretty cushy gig. The problem is that I find being physical with him deeply, deeply repulsive. Not like I’m so hot for my other clients, but it’s a real challenge with this guy. I regularly find myself closing my eyes and trying to breathe without letting *any* expression cross my face—forget about me faking pleasure, I’m merely hoping to not betray my urge to run. Let me stress that he is not abusive or demanding, and he doesn’t hurt me.

I feel like he’s usually aware that I’m hating every second we’re naked together, but he’s so taken with me he lets it slide. The last time we did an overnight together, I dreamed about screaming at him that he was horrible and I never wanted to see him again. He’s not horrible, but I can’t talk my body out of feeling completely miserable during sex with him. We’ve known each other for over a year now, seen each other for long dates at least 15 times, and I have no idea how to break it off. I can’t pretend I’m retiring, and I don’t want to take down the overnight option from my website. (Seeing him for a short period of time won’t really help anyway; I’ve tried, and it still sucks.) But I’ve got to do something because in the days in advance of seeing him, I start feeling really sad and panicked. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to see him anymore, no matter how much money is at stake. Please help!

SMS (Save My Sanity) 

I Pretend I’m Horny, You Pretend You’re A Dog: Performing Consent In The Club

(Image via Comically Vintage)
(Image via Comically Vintage)

There was a post going around the stripper tumblrsphere about what is probably one of the most common lap dance rejections of all time:

“I would love to but I just don’t think I could control myself.”

It’s the perfect way for customers to say no; phrased as a compliment (of sorts), it expresses interest and desire, encouraging the dancer to continue her attempts to sell and thus give the customer more attention without him committing to anything. They usually deliver this excuse with a cute smile, like it’s a joke.

I recognize that they are trying to be charming—even trying to compliment me on my attractiveness!—but it’s so hard to bite my tongue and not ask, “In what world is having less self control than my chihuahua something you want to admit to?” If I’m having a good enough night and don’t need the money or energy, if I really can’t stop myself from beginning a profitless (literally and figuratively!) interaction, I’ll try to answer in a way that highlights what a stupid, embarrassing, insulting and creepy thing that is to say.

“Oh, you’re an adult, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I mean you’ve gotten this far in life!”

“No, no, you’re too hot, I wouldn’t be able to help myself.” This response is accompanied by a sad, regretful face. It is my fault that my sex appeal will make them lose control.

“Really? You have less self control than my dog?”

“Men are dogs.” Another sad, regretful face.

MTV’s True Life Confirms that Sugarbabydom is a Hassle

The popularity of the sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship in the media is a bit of a recession phenomenon. It’s a grey-area of sex work lite that women with no experience in the sex industry can dip their toes into before they realize that if something sounds too good to be true, it is. The odds of finding an asexual millionaire benefactor are not good, but that won’t stop those with student loans or retail addictions from signing up on sites like Seeking Arrangement, Sugar Daddy For Me, Whats Your Price, and the like. MTV’s True Life follows twenty-one year-olds GG and Olivia, and twenty-two year-old Steve on their quests for financial dependence. Despite silly narration like, “They’re willing to ignore their hearts for the Benjamins,” I thought this was an accurate portrayal of what happens when young laypeople make an attempt at dancing the tango of conflicting interests.

Can You Trust Your Sex Worker?

This Tracy Emin piece is in USB's art collection. Does that make you want to laugh or cry?

In a recent survey about trustworthy professions, Australians ranked sex workers at number 40 of 45, which means we beat out journalists and real estate agents but not bankers(34) or lawyers (33.) I sort of expected myself to be outraged  by this, but for once, I didn’t think it was a matter of stigma unfairly steering people’s opinions.

It’s bad—really, really bad—if these respondents meant that they wouldn’t trust sex workers who say they’ve been assaulted, or wouldn’t trust sex workers who were testifying in a criminal trial. But I don’t think that’s what they meant at all. The survey was presented in way that inspired client vs. professional thinking, and professionals in all service industries have a vested interest in keeping their clients happy. That often manifests in the form of little white lies.

Sweatpants Boner Man, Widemouth Bass Man, and Other People Not to Be at the Strip Club

Paul Carr has been writing a series of reports from Las Vegas for the Huffington Post with his sobriety as the hook—what’s it like to be in Vegas sober, etc. His guide for part of the trip has been Ruth Fowler, fellow sober person, former stripper and author of the memoir No Man’s Land. For the fourth installment of Carr’s report, they met up with Daisy Delfina and GCupBitch to record a hilarious video that, in the best possible way, sounds exactly like strippers ranting at a diner after work.

I’ve sat at the rack at a truck stop titty bar with Ruth, worked with G on opposite ends of the continent, and shared a dinner table with Daisy. They are charming and bright women and the perfect ambassadors to bring the term “sweatpants boner man” into the wider lexicon. Here’s the original Stripper Web thread where the term was coined. To the best of my knowledge, adult film performer and feature dancer Ginger Lee was the first one to use the phrase. Now it can be known that Sweatpants Boner Man is the new Raincoat Charlie.