In the light of Mr B’s recent unfortunate experience I must confess that part of my being a fluffy cunt is that I fully expect girls to be crap at comms. Maybe it makes the experience more like real life. Or maybe it’s because, in my two years’ punting, I’m inured to playing the waiting game. It may well be that I have self-esteem issues. Or maybe I just mistrust efficient people. Earlier this year I got so pissed off with a UKP star that, like Mr Brightside, I wrote her a Dear John email saying that despite her blandishments re: me being special etc etc there was so wide a gap between word and deed that it was surely best for us to go our separate ways. This provoked an interesting twitter exchange and my wounded pride was duly salved. But, you know, having a little spat with a WG only makes the gfe illusion all the more lifelike.
It was a bit hard for me, like Mr. B, to see Katie posting gorgeous pix of herself when she hadn’t replied to my “thank you for an amazing time” text. But then she did, so all was ok. More than. But I understand and respect Mr B’s frustration. After you’ve had an amazing time with a girl, she’s cum several times, so have you, it’s been fucking great…how can you not want some kind of confirmation that this was more than a normal fuck n chuck? And for this confirmation to take the form of reliable comms? It’s (I assume) a problem for the best girls: they’re present with you. In Katie’s case (as her post in Mr B’s thread makes clear) she’s a natural submissive, and so is wired to give pleasure. But this is also a job, and how do you balance your own sexuality with the demands of offering a service and those of the Real World? I think doing that would be a huge challenge, and so, like I say, I’m prepared to cut WGs a huge amount of slack. No doubt this is because I’m hugely disorganised myself and therefore deeply mistrust people who are too well-organised. I’m with Bob (Dylan) on this: “I accept chaos – I’m not sure if it accepts me.”
Having said all this, Katie’s comms with me were great. I was on the train to Bristol when I saw on twitter that she’d cancelled her week’s bookings due to family circumstances. So I texted her to check that all was ok, and received an enthusiastic “looking forward to it” text. But that felt formulaic to me so I texted again to ask if she was really sure. She answered to say that she really wasn’t sure: why didn’t we meet up, drink and chat and see what happened? If nothing did it’d be a social evening, no charge. I was fine with that. Last thing I wanted to have was sex with someone who wasn’t really up for it, and I’d met Katie before and we’d had a great time – not just sexually. A free night with a beautiful young woman, setting the world to rights and getting pleasantly pissed – that’d be great. Also, as we were starting an hour late, owing to the family circumstances – if anything did happen, it’d cost £200 less than the agreed overnight price. Fine.
So I’m sitting in the bar, eeking out the beer. Accepting chaos, maybe. Then get the call to go up.
I’d asked Katie to wear schoolgirl gear but, given that the intercourse we were going to have may well have been only conversational, she’s dressed only in a gold top and leather trousers. Tight leather trousers, mind. She’s exceptionally lovely.
We talk, sitting cross-legged on her sofa. We don’t know if we’re actually going to fuck or not, and, as I say, that’s about as close to gfe as it’s possible to get. First date! I have my baggage, she hers. We tip it out, chew it over.
There’s some friendly touching. Her breasts seem welcomingly touchable. And so therefore touched. But, you know, we’re talking. I play her some deeply unerotic Unthanks. She likes, but.
I’m hovering between sensitivity and something else. Skimming through my ipod. Then find this, and the guitar kicks in, we both know this isn’t going to be a free session:
External Link/Members OnlyThen it’s clear we’re going for chaos.
[Review proper starts here]
Problem is, you can’t really do justice to Little Katie without mentioning stuff that makes you sound like a fluffiest bag of pillowstuff in the Land of Eiderdown. Because the salient points are:
1. When she stands at her wall-size window (Californianesque) in the early morning sunlight, naked, about to draw the blinds so you can both get back to sleep, having only had 3 hours of the stuff, looking out over just-woken Bristol, you are both hard and soft. You don’t know whether to ask her to sit on your face so you can breakfast on her perfect bottom or write a sonnet-sequence about a gorgeous, naked girl looking out over the city. I opted for the first option in this universe, but in another one I’m still knocking out the fourteen-liners.
2. I love making Katie squirt, not just because making a girl squirt is great, but because Katie squirting feels so right. Givers have to give as takers take and Katie is a giver. Somehow, I can do this to her, over and over. I don’t give up on getting her to release and the thing is, I don’t know what my technique is, beyond sortve knowing that if I finger her hard and deep enough it may well happen. But the key thing is not my fingering, but her wanting. A girl has to want to squirt, to squirt. And there’s something about forcing a girl to lie back on the ridge of her sofa while you frig her cunt as hard as you can until she unloads everyfuckingwhere that turns a client into a regular.
3. Great escorts are born, not made. Like great porn stars or great … bakers. You have to want to do it, and you have to love the process, the means by which. You have, therefore, to have a genuine interest in if not passion for:
- Men and
- Their dicks
- What those dicks do and produce
- People being together
- Breaking taboos
- Pleasure and all its knotty issues like
- The relationship of identity to the body
- And so on
Because Katie is exceptional it’s worth thinking about why. In back-to-basics terms she offered the following “services” in our overnight: DFK, CIM, rimming, RO, Deep throat, gagging, cowgirl and reverse cowgirl. Also, for fans of degradation like me, she likes being slapped and spat on. Choked. Anal play is very much going to happen. Two fingers? That’ll do nicely. Lick the two fingers that have been up there? Why I’d be delighted. Spanking? Well it’d be silly not to. Pussy slapping? Oh go on then.
There is also the thrill of doing all of this with a beautiful girl. The sleepy-but-alert girl at the window. So part of the key is the paradox: she’s beautiful, and drooling plentifully over your cock. When she spins a filthy tale about what we’re going to get up to at a sex club, maybe, with another girl, them both licking each others’ arses, mouths wide open for any cock that wants to fill them, with “slut” lipsticked across her forehead, on a leash that I’m holding, she’s smiling at the thought of it, in the sure knowledge that her telling you about it is going to unload your (banana-flavoured, apparently) spunk in her mouth. As of course it does.
I love this, what we’re doing, this now. I love these nows. Whether it’s smoking, or fucking, or me slapping her tits, or sucking them gently, or listening to Richard Hawley or knowing that she’s about to let go, or her smiling, or us talking or her standing naked at the window. What Katie is the best at is being present. You’re in the room with her and it’s the two of you.The two of you being together is a project. The project is not just desire and excitement and pleasure: the project is intensifying the present.
We both need to know what is/was this like? What’s it about? What’s going on? This stuff needs knowing about.
I’m apprehensive because BDSM is, perhaps, about the rage that accompanies desire. What is slapping, I say to myself, if not the desire to inflict pain, and what else could provoke that desire except rage? When we – ok then, when I – slap Katie what, exactly, am I expressing? It’s about power too, of course. I want to have power over her. I want to make her cum. I want to have an effect on her. I want her to know I’m here. I want her to know that I want something. I want her to know that I want.
But what, very exactly, do I want?
Sometimes I feel like Jekyll and Hyde: I read my own reports of sessions I’ve had with Lindsey and other submissive girls, and the previous one with Katie, and I think: who is that guy? But when Richard Hawley starts, and we start to go down in it, I know more and more that I want, and what I want. I want to lick that arsehole. I just want my face in it. So I bend her over to do so. I want to feel her tits. I want that cunt. In my face. Now. I want to smear her cuntjuice over her face. Her squirt’s got to go there too.
So the now is about answering the key question: what do you really, really, really want? Tippy-Toe across the ice, then letting the ice break. Katie’s exceptional because she’s there with you all the way.
I just know she’s an excellent dance teacher. And not just because I’ve seen her with a hula hoop. She proffered it to me, just before I left but I declined. Of course. Too shy. But maybe – maybe – with her help, I’ll get the knack of it. Ish.
We might be in for a long haul, though.
So, in summary: a glorious gfe turning into a pse and a huge amount of drunken kissing, music-listening, chat, hanging loose. I can't think of any significant negative. I even managed to make Katie into a convert to Lucinda Williams. I can't wait to see her again though I know that her family situation is such that that may take a long time. And fluffy as it may sound I believe Katie when she says she needs to be totally present in the room with the guys she sees - she certainly has been with me on both occasions I've seen her - and so I'm more than happy to wait.
