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You Probably Think This Post Is About You: A Guide to Unwanted Emails

Having a blog about working in the sex industry often results in all kinds of emails. There are precious nuggets from wonderful like-minded people with whom you otherwise wouldn’t have had the chance to connect, people whose comments and emails make you feel less alone in the world. There are the cool fans who anonymously buy out-of-print books and ice cream makers from your Amazon wish list. Next come well-meaning grad students, photojournalists and documentarians, and other bloggers looking for free content and traffic. There is also no shortage of helpless wannabe sex workers and men who aspire to see sex workers seeking advice because they have nowhere else to turn (can’t/won’t use Google).

And then there is a special breed of men who write fan mail to sex worker bloggers. Receiving one of these emails is like getting a compliment wrapped in an insult stuffed inside a cry for help and sprinkled with emoticons. Though their authors may think themselves unique grains of sand, the emails have such striking similarities that they can be broken into (not mutually exclusive) archetypes that any sex worker with a blog knows all too well. Men of the Internet, do you see yourself in here? If so, think before you hit send; self-deprecation and double-entendres do not a witty email make. You’re not just shouting into the darkness. You’re writing to a human being who has feelings, problems of her own, and limited free time. She also has the capability to make her blog private, so just express yourself with an ice cream maker or consider LiveJournal. (Fun game: where do you think Richard Connelly belongs?)

Sex Workers Are Tired of Your Literal Shit

(Via Flickr user Bjorn Soderqvist)
(Via Flickr user Bjorn Soderqvist)

I worked as a nanny, and in a daycare. (Twice! I worked in daycare twice!) Once, one of the Pre-K kids’ parents gave their five-year-old a laxative, no, I don’t know what they were thinking either, and I was called to remove the giant column of shit that ensued from the toilet. There was nothing else for it but to put on industrial size gloves and reach in and manually remove it.

So believe me when I tell you that I’ve dealt with a lot of literal shit in my day.

I dealt with it and moved on. And I thought that entering this new phase of my life as a hooker I would be leaving poverty and, with it, all the gross, sad things we deal with resentfully to stave off poverty behind. Like shit!

So you know the one thing I was not expecting to have to deal with as an adult, a very intelligent and charming and attractive paid companion for other adults?

Shit.

And yet, the amount of times I have ended up dealing with shit—left on sheets, left on fingers, left caked on ass hairs—well, I’m sure you get the idea. 

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!

Sincerely,
SMS (Save My Sanity) 

Same Bat Time: The Regulars Round Table, Part Two

amarilynsorry

You can find the first part of this round table here.

Has anyone had a regular whom they legitimately could not stand? The kind of guy that just wouldn’t go away? Maybe his personality was foul, or maybe he was living in a fantasy world with you? What are some defense mechanisms for coping that with sort of regular?

Leigh:  This can take a couple of forms for me: I’ve had regulars who are really good clients, in the sense of being well-behaved and pleasant, but whose fetishes I’ve found really emotionally draining or just plain gross to accommodate. Then there are the “why on earth do you keep booking me?” guys who will make appointments really consistently, but complain the whole time, appearing generally unhappy with their experience. The professionalism-nerd in me finds the latter much harder to deal with. I can be extra gentle with myself around seeing Mr. Creepy-Fantasies, and tell myself that I’m providing a life-improving service, but guys in the second group are both annoying to spend time with, and leave me feeling like I’m lousy at what I do, which is much more of a blow. If I had to pick a worst-instance, there was a guy who was actually a house-regular at the dungeon where I first started working who probably takes the cake. To start with, he smelled rank. He wore the same the clothing all the time, and it smelled like he didn’t take his trousers off when he had to piss either. But he came in two or three times a week the entire time I was working there, and while he’d go through phases where he’d focus on one woman, and see her once or twice a week, he was remarkably un-picky in whom he saw overall. On top of this, he also didn’t openly have a fetish. You’d ask him what he wanted to do and he’d say “I dunno,” and nothing you tried seemed to get more or less of a rise out of him. And boy, did we try everything, from cross dressing to diapers to floggings to role play to rope bondage. (I don’t think anyone ever tried foot worship, because, well, you wouldn’t even put your feet on him, seriously.) My pet theory was that he wasn’t a submissive at all, that he was actually a top who got off on making women uncomfortable or humiliating them, and his noxious odor was the tool of choice.

I’ve found with tricky regulars, especially as an independent, there’s lots of ways to make them more manageable—whether internally, by scheduling them when you’ll have time to decompress, or when you really need the money, so it feels like an extra-solid accomplishment, or externally, by over time finding ways to defuse their irritating foibles. But I think the biggest single thing that makes it workable is that it’s a really clearly defined time limit: I only have to suck it up for an hour or two, and then I’m done until the next booking. The fact that I know exactly what I’m making and how long it’ll take is a big part of making it sustainable for me. I imagine that I’d have a much harder time working in a club or camming, for that reason, since the hustling gets done while you’re meeting the client, rather than beforehand. This ties right back in to why I focus so much on cultivating regulars in the first place: predictability is a big bonus that’s worth a lot of tradeoffs to me personally. I find not knowing what my week looks like much more stressful than the pushiest, grossest regular.

Caty: ​When I encountered this—”baby I LOVE YOU”, that is—when I was much younger, I used to just take the easy way out and agree to keep seeing them, say, every night for a week, until they ran out of money to see me. I guess I was lucky enough—well, in this sense—to live somewhere where most clients’ incomes just can’t take seeing me several times a week. ​Callous, maybe, but it worked efficiently enough.

Otherwise, often just dropping the pretense of giving a shit will do wonders. That way, you don’t put the besotted client in a Romeo and Juliet situation by blacklisting, making them feel like they have to win you over again and possibly having them turn violent stalker in the process. Rather, they just don’t want to see you anymore because you’re not the girl they thought you were!

Josephine: I wish there were an easy strategy to adhere to. I’ve tried to to pawn them off on younger, more patient dancers. If that didn’t work, there were only two semi-effective methods that did: drinking copiously OR bluntly setting clear boundaries: “I appreciate your generosity, but I hope you know not to expect anything in return.”

Ephemeral: Is it sad that there were quite a few I couldn’t stand? I don’t think I’ve ever had a regular that didn’t get irritating at some point. I will say there is one guy that’s such a headache simply because he is a huge pain to talk to. He’s not rude, or clingy, but he re-defines “bored to death.” The only sex he can stay erect and ejaculate from is very carefully done oral to a small penis suffocating underneath the fat fold of a pudgy lower gut. Yes, it’s as agonizing as it sounds. Throughout this process he is eerily silent. He’s a very awkward kisser and his lips are continuously chapped. Figuring out what he wants in the first place has been a series of trial and error because he seems remarkably indifferent and/or uninterested in everything I do. After I perform the world’s least sexy blowjob, we’re left with 2/3 of the 90 minute booking to talk, or cuddle…except he does neither. He has a gruff, cynical opinion on every conversation topic under the sun. He actively hates, or tastelessly makes fun of everything, including himself and his own life. It leads to a painfully dull interaction, that feels depressing even after he leaves…ugh! When I was too fed up with it, I sat on top of his belly and said these words to him very clearly: “Despite everything else, you’re fucking ME right now, and that’s awesome, so cheer the fuck up.” Now we just talk about me, which is easy, because even with all the cynicism in the world he can’t deny that yes, I AM awesome.

Sweat Pants Boner Man Speaks: A Tits and Sass Exclusive

Frost and Nixon. Cronkite and Thatcher. Amanpour and Arafat. O’Reilly and Obama. Today, Tits and Sass brings you what will certainly be remembered as another essential interview in the history of journalism. We all have met him. Every single one of us has been touched in a very special way by this storied individual. Who hasn’t wondered: What’s his side of the story? Now we’ll know. This is our exclusive interview with Sweat Pants Boner Man.