Legitimately Pissed Off

By now I am sure most of the internet is aware of the revoltingly ignorant comment about rape made by US congressman Todd Akin.
If you're NOT aware of what he said here is the quote:

“It seems to me, from what I understand from doctors, [pregnancy from rape] is really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."

Yes, that's right. REAL rape doesn't lead to pregnancy. So if you get pregnant from an encounter, obviously it wasn't "legitimate" and so you should shut the hell up and not ruin some poor blokes life with the accusation. How DARE you!

Yeah, @AngryAussie and I thought that was a bit of a FUCKING STUPID THING TO SAY so we made a video of it...

Enjoy

The Then and Now of Sex Shops

Originally posted in The Australian Sex Party Blog on Thursday, 11 August 2011 

ONE of the most embarrassing moments of my life (apart from that time I wet my pants at Suzanne Bs 8th birthday party) was the first time I ever went to buy a vibrator. Back in those days - you know, the good ol' days of the early 90s - there were very few options. You could mail order from the back of a magazine or do the sneaky venture past the dirty curtain into the seedy sex shop.

Being about sixteen I had two problems. One, I didn't have a credit card to buy out of a magazine (and was too scared to get something delivered to my house where I might have to explain the package to my parents) and two, I was under eighteen so, even though I was legally able to have sex, it was illegal for me to go into a sex shop and buy a toy. Talk about frustrating!

It also didn't help that this was, as I said, the early 90s and sex shops were hidden away in bleak industrial areas, usually unable to reach by bus. In my case it was Fyshwick in Canberra, home of brothels, fireworks and porn, so you'd think it would be easy. No such luck.

If you're familiar with Canberra in the early 90s, you'll know that the public transport system was (and from what I hear still is) lacking in many things. Like buses taking you anywhere you needed to go on a direct route.

Finally, after months of thinking about it I decided to bite the bullet and go. So, under the guise of spending Saturday with a friend, I left the house early and began my adventure.

First there was a bus to my local interchange, then a bus to the city and then a bus out to Fyshwick. It took almost two hours, but I was finally there.

I got off the bus but all I could see were  furniture shops, carpet shops and hardware shops. Nothing that looked like a sex shop at all. Great. I wandered around aimlessly, not wanting to go too far and wind up lost and unable to get home.

I was about to give up when, in a small cluster of shops I saw a “XXX” sign. Sucking up every ounce of courage I had I pushed open the door and went inside.

It took me all of about 30 seconds to realise this wasn't the shop for me. Leather masks hung from the walls, huge dildos in the shape of fists and arms sat on the shelves, and the videos all had titles like “There's a Bear in There” and “Bob's Big Balls”. There wasn't a single picture of a woman  and everything had the words “Hard” and “Strong” and “Man” written on it.

“Um, can I help you?” A big guy in a leather vest had come out from the back and was looking at me curiously.

“I think I'm in the wrong shop,” I said, turning bright red and wishing the floor would open up and swallow me.

The guy smiled kindly. “Go round the corner, about three shops up. I think that one will work better for you.”

Muttering my thanks and hurrying out the door, I followed his directions and ended up outside a small shop that proclaimed it sold porn and fireworks. Again, I breathed in all my insecurities and walked through the door.

It was very similar to the first shop, although instead of leather masks hanging from the walls there were blow-up dolls, the fist and arm dildos were replaced with vibrators shaped like penises and all the posters were of fake-boobed women in the throes of passion.

A fat guy (think Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons) looked up from behind the counter and silently eyed me up and down, making me feel even more uncomfortable than I had in the gay shop.  After he'd sufficiently checked me out he went back to his book and ignored me.

I stood awkwardly in the middle of the shop looking around me at all the things on the shelves. I had no idea where to start. Porn-shop-guy did nothing to help and, to be honest, I really didn't want to talk to him. The thought of asking him his advice on which toy would be best made me feel a bit creepy and so, empty-handed and feeling like my day had been a total waste, I left the shop and headed back to the bus stop.

As I passed back by the gay shop the guy was sitting outside having a cigarette.

“How'd you go, love?” he asked?

I shook my head. “Crap.” I said.

He looked at me sympathetically. “What exactly are you after?”

“I don't know,” I said. “That's the problem. Probably just a vibrator.” The fact that this guy was speaking to me kindly, and was obviously gay, made me feel a lot more comfortable talking to him.

“Come on,” he said, stubbing out his smoke. “Let's see if I can help you.”

And so I went into the gay porn shop with its “Devastator Butt Plugs” and its “Piss In Boots” videos and started looking at vibrators with a Bear named Brent.

He showed me how to test the buzz against my nose to see how strong it was, he talked to me about the differences between all the toys and even gave me safe sex advice about condoms and dams. When I finally left I had a brand new buzzy toy (a bright blue penis-shaped thing) and a bag of free batteries, condoms and lube. The best part was that I'd felt comfortable buying it. I hadn't felt sleazed on or treated like some sort of deviant freak. Just real advice and great service. If only all the sex shops had this kind of thing!

In the following years I went into quite a few different places and pretty much always encountered the same thing as that second shop. Sleazy and/or uninterested men working behind the counter, no real advice and everything set up to look like the inside of a porn set. Great if you're a bloke, sure, but not so great for females, especially for the timid or inexperienced. And, with the toys always looking like big penises it wasn't much fun for lesbians or women who didn't want to have a big plastic cock rubbing against them!

But fast forward almost twenty years and I am pleased to say that things have definitely changed! Finally sex shops are being set up in a much more female-friendly way. Nearly every single one I've gone into in the last five or so years (and trust me, that's a lot) is tastefully designed. There are no half naked orgasmic women on the walls, there are nearly always women working behind the counter and no longer are all vibrators shaped like cocks! There are dolphins and penguins and worms and seals in a myriad of different colours, as well as hundreds of non-creature female-centric designs, made especially to cater for a woman's body. There are costumes in packages showing women of all shapes and sizes wearing them, porn made specifically for women, and there is always someone friendly and non-confronting to give advice.

In fact, even with the invent of the internet and the availability of millions of websites selling toys, I will always recommend to a first-time buyer to go into a shop first (which are also now in way more accessible areas) and talk to the girl behind the counter. That one-on-one advice really is invaluable to get you on your way to buzzing bliss! These shops are doing wonderful things for women's self esteem (and not to mention their sex lives) by making them feel comfortable about their desires to masturbate, watch pornography, explore their sexuality and enjoy sex. So, ladies, if you haven't stepped inside a shop because you're worried about having a similar experience to my first time, don't panic! You'll be pleasantly surprised and I guarantee your body will thank you for it!

On a little side note I would like to say that I went back and saw Brent many times after that  day and, in a funny twist of events, I even ended up working in the gay shop with him... But that's another story...

Naked Noodles and Other Stories

Like I’ve said before - and will probably say again - everyone has fantasies and fetishes, and everyone’s idea of what is sexy or a turn on is different. Some of them I totally understand and share myself, others I can see why it’s a turn on but they personally do nothing for me, and then there are the ones that either gross me out a bit or completely mystify me.

I’ve encountered so many different fantasies and fetishes since I started working - indulging in (and enjoying) quite a few - and it’s rare that I ever come across something that I haven’t at least heard of. In saying that, though, there are so many variations and different aspects to sexual fantasy that each one is as individual as the person who desires it.

Some are more of the visual sort; watching porn, dressing up, putting on a show, mirrors and things like that.

Like I remember I used to see this guy, Dan, who loved watching me play with a vibrator. Of course, that isn’t a rare request at all, but Dan was the first person I’d ever met that wanted to watch me do it on the kitchen table while he made pasta. Always pasta. I never found out why.

There are fantasies about specific body parts like toes, arses, belly buttons and nipples – One guy I met would come by getting me to squeeze on his earlobes as he fucked me, another loved me to tickle his feet with my hair.

For some people there needs to be pain and/or control involved; hot wax, fingernails, bondage and discipline, and other people get off on adrenaline and risk – fucking in public, taboo partners (like your wife’s sister, or your daughters piano teacher) and other elicit affairs.

Laura and Max, a couple I once saw, had an appetite for make-up sex. You know, the passion-filled and anger-fuelled fuck you have after an argument. But, because they hardly ever fought for real, they would have these pretend bust-ups about trivial things – the toilet seat being left up, what to watch on TV etc – and sometimes, usually when on holiday, they would have these loud, melodramatic arguments in public full of accusations of betrayal, name calling and lots of crying and flouncing off, before heading back to the hotel for crazy, hardcore make-up sex. In the booking I had with them, Laura “caught” Max and me in the act, resulting in a huge “fight” and some very hot threesome sex. I must admit it felt very strange, sitting naked in the bed while these two went off at each other. It was quite full on. If I hadn't known it was all an act I would have been terrified! She really laid into him!

I have to admit, though, some of them can make me laugh more than anything, and I there have even been a few times when I’ve felt downright silly. Like this guy I (privately) nicknamed Dick Chasey because whenever I’d go to see him the job always started with us getting naked and me chasing him around his house trying to catch him by his dick. Harmless, yes. Embarrassing, very. I don't like to run at the best of times, let alone naked with my boobs bouncing around and my butt all wobbly. But he loved it and I really did enjoy satisfying his itch. Which was always proof to me I was in the right job.

I honestly think, when it comes right down to it, if it’s not hurting anyone (unless of course that’s the fantasy) then there really isn’t anything wrong with a little naked pasta making. Noodle anyone?

No Bang For Your Buck

It’s almost inevitable that a Buck’s party will end up at a strip club, it’s like an unwritten law, but Paul wanted something different for his best mate, Brian, something kind of extravagant.

The receptionist at the agency told me that this guy wanted something a bit left of centre and wanted to know if he could speak to me directly as it was a bit long-winded. Always up for a new experience and curious as to what left of centre could mean, I got his number and gave him a call.

In that first phone call he was a little bit evasive. Not in a bad or sneaky way, I could just tell he wasn't to comfortable trying to ask me all the questions he wanted to over the phone, so he asked if we could meet up before the night in question so that he could explain his idea to me properly.

About a week before the job was going to happen I went along to a small cafe in the city to meet him. He was a really good looking, young guy. Probably in his mid twenties. He looked very professional in an expensive suit and was very well spoken and polite. He told me that his mate, Brian, was going to be the last of their group to be married and, for the last hoo-hah, Paul and their other friends had decided to organise a show Brian would never forget; a live sex show, performed by me and a male escort, Sam, who worked for the same agency as me. I thought it sounded like fun and agreed to do the job. Sam had already been briefed by the receptionists at the office about it but, as our paths had never crossed before, we arranged a time to meet before the job so we could plan out the what's and where's and all the details.

The basic idea was this: Sam was going to be Paul’s “cousin”, and a last minute addition to the party. He was going to join them on their night out, and then later, they were all going to come back to the office where most of them worked where they would meet me. I was going to be the “stripper”, hired for the night to perform my routine but, as a twist during the show, I’d pick a member of the group to have sex with in front of the rest… Sam. Easy! And not only that, it sounded like fun too!

Sam and I instantly warmed to each other. He was funny, smart and really, really cute with dark, wavy hair, big brown eyes and a gorgeous body. He seemed as excited about the night as me, and it really did seem to be the perfect job. The guys were friendly, the venue spectacular (a top floor office in a tall city skyscraper), and the money was also going to be amazing. Team that with the fact that Sam was a total hottie with a great personality to boot, and I was sure nothing could possibly go wrong.

Paul was right. It was going to be a show his mates would never forget…

The night started out fine. It was around 11 pm when I got to the party and met the guys. They were all very nice, Sam had fitted in well and no-one had doubted the story of him being an out-of-town cousin. We all shared a drink and chatted for a bit and then Paul put on a CD of sexy music and the show began.

On a night where nothing could go wrong, things started to go wrong.

I probably should have thought about it a bit more beforehand, because it's something I know very well about myself: Although I’m one hell of a fuck, I’m not a great dancer. That whole line of being able to tell how good someone is in bed by the way they move on a dance floor is, in my opinion, total bullshit!

So there I was, in front of a group of guys, with slow, sexy music playing on the CD player, trying to move all sensual and snake-like while wearing these ridiculous spike heels that I could hardly walk in, let alone keep a beat with. And it was only then I realised with horror that not only was I supposed to dance in them, I had to undress in them too. All while keeping this seductive dance going! Concentrating hard I sort of wiggled my hips a bit and tried to take off my shirt.

Salome I was not.

I think If I’d unbuttoned it properly it probably would have worked better, and it took me almost a full minute to untangle myself, completely stuffing up my hair, smearing eyeliner down the sleeve and losing my balance a couple of times in the process. But, just as it all seemed lost I managed to regain composure, fling my shirt across the room in a haphazard but totally sexy way and find the beat in the music again.

Relief was short lived. I now know why strippers wear things made with easy-pull-apart velcro sides. As I delicately shimmied out of my skirt one of the stupidly high spike heels got caught in the bottom of it and I stumbled again, falling onto my hands and knees as a heel got caught in my skirt. I cleverly disguised the fall as a sexy move and slipped the offending skirt off the heel. There was a nasty ripping sound as it caught on the hem, but I soldiered on and luckily the guys hadn't seemed to notice.

Feeling awkward and clumsy I got back up, now just in my bra, knickers and stupid shoes and beckoned to Sam, pulling him out of the circle and into the middle with me, telling the boys that this show was going to be a little bit different.

Sam smiled as he let me undress him. It was definitely easier getting his shirt and pants off than it had been getting my own clothes off. I smiled to the boys as I slid down his boxer shorts, and then I knelt down in front of him, licking my lips.

There I encountered the next problem in the “perfect job”. Sam was as soft and limp as cooked spaghetti and no matter what I did I could not get him to grow. I tried everything. Long slow licks, delicate kisses, tender hands and fingers running up his legs. I ran my hands over his chest. I put him (soft and limp) into my mouth (so not a sexy thing, really.) But still nothing. Not even a twitch. It was something I had never encountered before in my life! Sure, there have been guys with beer droop and drug slug and guys with other erection issues, but never had I come across someone so unresponsive to me in every way. When I did sneak a glance up at his face he looked bored.

After about five or so minutes of my futile attempts to get him hard I stood up and whispered in his ear that maybe he could try going down on me. At least then we could give the guys who were paying us a shit-load of money to be there something to watch to give them their money's worth. Sam shook his head, replying that he didn’t really like doing that and maybe we should just give up.

I was pissed off! Not only was I feeling about as sexy as a lump of wood, I was really mad at Sam, who was getting paid the same as me but was putting in absolutely no effort whatsoever to make this job work.

In the end I gave up and apologised to the guys. They were surprisingly fine with it. They laughed and said it had been a great show and a fun experience and that they were all massively turned on by me and my dance routine and would I mind if they called me again for private jobs with them. I said I'd be happy to, and then, after getting dressed back into my ripped skirt, and make-up smeared shirt, left the party and got my driver to drive me back to the office where I told the receptionist everything. Her response totally shocked me, but at the same time explained everything.

“What do you expect?” She laughed. “Sam’s gay! He only ever works with other men! I can’t believe he didn’t tell you that. I guess he thought in a room full of blokes it’d be easy to get hard.”

It wasn't too long after that night that Sam called me to apologise. He even offered to give me the money he made that night. When I refused, he made me promise to at least take half, which I did, and now have some awesome new boots to show for it. And I have also regained my sexiness (and ego) with a few regular bookings with Paul, and other members of the group where I had absolutely no problems getting them to respond in the way I wanted.

So, in the end, I guess we were right. It was a night to remember… I just kind of wish I could forget.

Star Struck

With the fun of my #CelebritiesIHaventRooted Tweets the other day I got quite a few emails etc asking about the ones I had. Now, as a professional I really cannot (and will not ever) reveal that... But I did write a column about it a while ago!
This "celebrity" is a blend of about three people and written in a way that no-one will ever know... Except me. 
Enjoy!

 

When they were giving out self-confidence, I think I must have accidentally stepped into the line twice. I have a lot of it. I don’t get nervous often and I rarely have those I-hate-myself days. To me the expression “lost for words” usually means I’ve been dealt only vowels in Scrabble. I can slot myself into any situation and get along with almost anyone. It definitely helps me at work. The conversation flows and my client’s feel relaxed and at ease. Well, usually...

It was a regular night like any other. I had started work around 9pm and within a couple of minutes I'd been given my first job. It was in the penthouse of an inner city apartment block. I'd visited a client at that building a few months ago so I knew what the place was like and could only imagine how spectacular and ritzy the penthouse would be, considering how nice a second floor place had been.
I travelled up in a beautiful elevator, got to the entrance lobby of the penthouse and rang the bell. The heavy oak doors slid open and the man who had booked me for the next few hours stood silhouetted in the doorway.

He stepped into the light where I could see his face.

“Holy shit!” I said, before realising I’d said it out loud.

Now, as embarrassing and pathetic as I know it is, there really is only one thing in this world that makes me so nervous that either my feet leap into my mouth at every opportunity or I just can’t speak at all, and that is when I meet someone famous. And, worst of all, it doesn’t even have to be someone super-famous like Brad Pitt or Madonna, it has been known to happen when I’m at the pub and the person sitting at the table next to me is the chick from a K-Mart ad.

Yes, I know it is pathetic, I know it is “so high school”, but knowing that doesn’t stop the dribble that seems to flow out of my mouth when I try to speak.

The guy smiled at me. “Hello.”

“Holy shit,” I said again. “You’re the guy from that show!”

He laughed. “Yeah, I am.”

I couldn’t stop myself. “Wow! I was so in love with you when I was younger, I had posters of you all over my bedroom!”

Ignoring the slightly bemused look on his face and the screaming in my brain, ‘Filter! Filter!’ I ploughed on“I even named my pet fish after you!”

I wandered around his living room in a kind of ecstatic haze studying photographs of him with various singers and movie stars. “Oh my god, that's you and Kylie? Holy shit, you know Tom Cruise?”

After a little more “fuckwit” from me, we finally made it into the bedroom and, as he lay me down on the bed and began to kiss and touch me, I thought I was going to faint. It was completely surreal, a fantasy coming to life and, oh wow, it was good! He knew how to touch, how to move, what to say. His hands were soft, yet firm and his body felt amazing next to mine. I have to admit I closed my eyes for a moment and pretended we were in one of his movie scenes. It was even more fantastic than those late night masturbation fantasies I'd had of him as a teenager, because it was real! He was there! I was actually fucking him! Oh my god.

Afterwards, as we lay there entwined in the sheets, I was still unable to stop myself; “If you give me your autograph I absolutely promise never to tell anyone how I got it.”

He turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “Only if you also promise me that the next time I see you, you don’t act like a star-struck groupie, and you don’t name any more pets after me.”

I did see him quite regularly after that and, true to my word, I learnt to treat him (and other celebrities I meet) mostly like normal people. It can be tricky, especially if I am a fan of theirs, but I'm definitely not as ridiculous with it now as I was in the past which is good, for them and for me, and one knows the real story behind the hand signed poster that sits over my dresser.

Well, no one but me and the teddy bear that shares his name. Teddies aren’t pets are they?