Blue Balled by YouTube

Like the rest of the planet, I am obsessed with YouTube. I wish I could be more "original", but unfortunately I spend too much free time watching Australian comedy, Max Fleischer cartoons, and 80s public service announcements. When I curiously typed in sensual massage, I got mostly crap. This one is "roll your eyes" funny instead of "rolling with laughter" funny.

This one is just creepy...

Usually YouTube leaves me satisfied, but it's lacking in Rub&Tug humor. I need to get a video camera...

Better left undiscovered.

I've always been a fan of unusual scientific stories. For years I've had a subscription to Nat'l Geographic and Discover magazine. As a child I thought I was going to be a scientific illustrator and I had bookshelves of aquariums and cages of newts, lizards, toads, rats, a wolf spider (w/ egg!), and hermit crabs. At that time I was very popular with the boys for the opposite reason I am now. I never hoarded the creatures - I was always too sympathetic and let them go in a creek near my house. But one species that has always sent shivers down my spine is FISH. I'm not sure why, but they always show up in my nightmares and keep me from spending time in lakes and beaches. So the other day I read this article and I could not close the page fast enough! That monstrosity was burned into brain and that night I had my reoccurring "fish dream" where a fish swims out of a lake and I have to do whatever I can to get it back in even though I'm disgusted (sort of like the scene from Pee Wee's Big Adventure where he reluctantly saves the snakes from the burning pet shop).

On that note: here's something that can send me running from a room. Does anyone know a good psychoanalyst?

This wasn't in my job description...

I started out my career in the sex industry as a mistress in a dungeon (or dinge-eon). I stayed for a few months, but it just wasn't my cup of tea, and frankly, there's not enough money in it. I thought I left that life behind... a new page... a new chapter. As a bodyrub girl, I get quite a few men who either ask me before a session or right in the middle of a session if I would care to beat their ass or crush their balls. I never bring up that I had experience in that work and usually decline by saying it's "not on the menu". But every once in awhile I indulge them. I do this either because they're annoying me and I feel they need a good whack or my inner domme sneaks out and I go into my specialty: the sympathetic, but tough-lovin' nanny.

By the way, I chose the photo above because she looks a lot like me. Except, I'm thinner and not so Cheresque. Oh, never mind.

Hippie Blood Runs Thick

I was raised by hippies. Looking back on my childhood, I can sometimes point to this relation when it comes to my resilience to the rub & tug "ick" factor. I'm not saying I am a product of hippies - in fact, my siblings took the opposite route by being virginal, Republican Christians. I also opposed their tastes by being a little goth/punk, but realized the hippie was in my soul.

Although I was a child of the 80s, my memories are of my mother housecleaning in the nude, yoga parties, Dead concerts, our VW van with curtains, R. Crumb comics, growing weed in the backyard, crystal healing, organic snacks... What helped formulate my becoming a woman were the new age tantra/sex/massage books my mother seemed to have a library of. I would secretly study the illustrations of hairy bohemians in blissfully complicated positions - their expressions radiating a glow from their third eye. For me, sex seemed like an impossibly complicated mating dance used for the goal of world peace and magical powers. In high school I discovered what sex really was: clumsy, messy, and mostly hilarious.

When I became a bodyrub girl, I pulled out a lot of my counterculture upbringing to create an air of mysticism. I use tantra and yoga moves along with a hypnotising tone of voice, and the clients are mesmerised by it. Sometimes I feel like a fraud since I'm actually an atheist who likes it rough, but maybe it's good I'm keeping the hope of Hippie Utopia alive.

For the man who has everything.

So I just got an email from a woman in Long Island who wanted to buy her husband a surprise bodyrub for his birthday. I had to let her know that I don't travel to that area, but I don't think I would have been comfortable with that type of situation.

You may be thinking, "what a cool wife!" But I don't think that's the desire of men. I have a sense that married men get off on the idea that they are doing something behind their wife's back. Sure, they tell me their wife doesn't give them special attention, she's lost her shape, they no longer have sex... But I feel that these are the same men who wouldn't be seeing me if they were single. They feel that if they were single, they could have me - and that freedom frightens them. It is the fantasy of being caught "with their pants down" and the barriers between is that makes the experience truly sexy.

Here's an example in my own life: I rent porn with my husband, buy it for him as gifts, have no negative feelings if he wanks off when I'm not around, but if I'm "sleeping" he'll watch it "secretly" and deny it later. Hilarious (and adorable)!

Remember the movie American Beauty? The film surrounds Kevin Spacey's obsession with teenager Mena Suvari. His entire world unravels with a fantastical quest to possess the girl by digressing into a younger self. Yet as soon as she makes herself available to him, the illusion of perfection comes apart and he's paralyzed by this realization. In the real world, I think he would have had sex with her, just as my obsessed clients would have sex with me if I invited it. The mirage of satisfaction would quickly realize itself later. Then his obsession would just manifest itself in another hopeless passion.


Obsessional does not necessarily mean sexual obsession, not even obsession for this, or for that in particular; to be an obsessional means to find oneself caught in a mechanism, in a trap increasingly demanding and endless. Jacques Lacan

Migraine Day

My little uninvited guest came by this afternoon. I was rough housing with my dog when I started to feel dizzy. Then came the aura, or a flashing spiky strobe vision in my left eye. When the aura appears in the left eye, the migraine will be on the right. This is my warning sign to take an Imitrex, close the shades, put on an eye mask, turn off the radio, and get into bed with a pillow over my head. The aura will end and I feel like I'm sinking for about a half hour. Then comes the ice chisels to my head and the vomiting. The pain is not only in my skull, but my entire being. Smells, light, and sound become highly intense and cause extreme agony.

Eight hours later: feeling better, but beat up.

10 Things I Hate About You

Yesterday work was very busy, but very exasperating. Trust me, I love the money and most of my clients are fab, but here's a quick list of things about a client that make me eager to get home and shower in scalding hot water. No random order.

1. Your breath reeks. I don't care if you just smoked a cigarette or had a cup of coffee. I'm talking about the repugnant kind that is rooted in a lifetime of non-flossing and bad health. These are usually the types of me who want to... (see next item)

2. You try to lick me. Unexpectedly you sit up and attempt to lick anything you can with you foul, sloppy white tongue. You protest, " I wanna turn you on!" This is why you also complain that you can't meet anyone.

3. You complain about your wife. Listen sweetie. I see your wedding ring and you don't have to feel guilty or explain your self to me. I don't care. I'm probably thinking about pizza.

4. You ask what I REALLY do or what I aspire to be. It seems like a friendly question, but every single man asks me this in an attempt to get to "know me". It's not your business and I feel it's patronizing. Do you ask your garbage man what he really wants to be? ps: I usually just give you a vague lie anyway.

5. You have a small piece of toilet paper stuck in your ass. I won't want to get very close to you and I'll be dreadfully fixated on it the entire session. Check yo'self!

6. You want to give me a massage. Gosh, no one's offered that before! Keep your stealthy probing fingers to yourself. Now get your chubby ass back on the table.

7. You play 20 questions in order to guess my age. "So when did you graduate college?" "Do you remember that TV show?" "You probably weren't born when that song came out, right?" So, what year did you move here?"

8. You don't cut your toenails. You're wearing a thousand dollar Italian suit, but your feet look like this. No foot massage for you mister.

9. You go on and on about wishing you could meet a girl like me. You realize your paying me, right?

10. You want so much more and don't even offer to pay for it. You know I don't offer extras - especially since I said "no" when you asked me eight times. Do you beg the waiter for dessert after a meal? If I were the type gave extras, you will have to offer money for the honey.