I am leaving you for a little bit. For a few weeks, I think. Not longer, I hope. I won't be able to respond to any emails either. No, not even from you.
Don't be sad. You can read through all of the old posts... sometimes you miss important details the first time around, you know.
So, your computer screen better be splattered and blurry when I get back.
Seriously.
I am not kidding.
Go. Get busy.
6.12.2006
car
Here is a funny side effect of these last few months. Since I have been keeping myself in a state of just-about-to-cum-ness so much of the time, I think I must send out some kind of signal that I am not aware of, or not doing consciously.
Yesterday, I saw the ex-husband of a friend of mine, on a street in Brooklyn. He is a poet, very dark and introspective, and much older than I am. He must be in his fifties, greying hair, a little paunch. Ok, I have a thing for older, not necessarily stunning men. My friend calls it a dirty old man fetish. Not so far from the truth, I think.
I called out to him - he was getting in his car - and walked over to say hello. I haven't seen him in at least three years. The last time was at his now ex-wife's birthday party. I remember hugging him when I said hello. He had held me just a little to long. I hadn't forgotten that.
There was a lot of traffic in the road, so he gestured for me to get in on the passenger's side. I slid into the seat next to him, and we spent the next twenty minutes just catching up. It was really good to see him... such a funny, smart, odd man.
I was starting to turn the conversation towards the type of things you say right before you say goodbye - it was great to run into you, stay in touch, etc. - when he looked at me and said, you look really good. Then he asked, how is it that you always look the same, as if you never get older? I feel so old.
I felt bad for him. He had had a lot of health problems in the last few years. I said that I must have good genes. He said he felt tired much of the time, that he wanted to go out, socialize more, but he never felt like he had the energy. I want to start dating again, he said. Mostly, I just miss the intimacy. Being close to someone...
He was looking at me, and I sort of nodded and babbled a little bit about how hard it was to meet and keep friends in New York, and had he tried match.com, and now that the weather was getting nicer, maybe it would be easier, etc.
Yeah, he sighed. The funny thing is that I never really felt like being intimate when I was married, but now that I am free of that, it's like I am exploding out of myself.
At that point, I could feel my pussy starting to go crazy. Serious wetness. My face was flushing, and I just looked down.
You probaby knew this was coming, he went on, but do you remember the last time I saw you and you hugged me hello?
Dying, now. I could not look over to see if he was aroused because I knew that would be it for me.
Well, I thought about that for a long time. To be honest, it really turned me on.
At this point, I was over the edge. To the other side, that other place you go to when all of the blood leaves your head and goes south. I looked at him and asked (I know, huge surprise, my big theme...), Did you ever masturbate while thinking of it?
Now he was laughing. I can NOT believe you just asked that. But, DAMN, obviously I love that you asked that, as you can see.
He was rock hard. I had a mission now.
Yes, he said, I did. Many times.
Would you show me what you did? I asked.
The rest is fairly predictable. I was out of my mind. There were people walking down the street every once an awhile, so the fun part was keeping our upper bodies fairly neutral. Or as neutral as possible.
He was really shy in the beginning, and kept laughing and saying that he couldn't believe he was doing this, that I was too young for him, etc. I would tell him to keep going, and he would say ok, and start stroking himself a little again. At one point, I asked him if I could touch myself, and he said, please do.
So I did.
Again, an interesting situation. I couldn't really take everything off since people walking by on the passenger side could see in, so I just unzipped my jeans and slid a few fingers - and SLIDE is the operative word - down into my pussy. I couldn't even really touch myself, because the sight of him, eyes glazed, staring at my crotch, his hand speeding up a little now, got me much to turned on. One touch and I would have exploded.
At some point, he stopped laughing and got serious. He started asking me questions about what I liked to do in bed. He said he loved it when a woman took his balls entirely into their mouth. I, of course, love doing that. He really started pumping his cock when I mentioned that. I told him how I would love to stick my finger in his asshole while he jerked himself, and that almost sent him over the edge. His cock was drooling pretty heavily by this time. He slowed down.
He asked if my nipples were very sensitive. I told him they were, but that one of the things I loved most was having them pinched really hard while I rubbed my clit or got fucked. When I get close to cumming, I even liked them bitten or twisted. He asked me to do that to myself a little right then. To pinch my nipples.
He was working hard by then. Whispering, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, pinch your little nipples... I told him to jerk it harder. Harder. Now stop... watch me finger my pussy. Watch me lick my fingers. Watch me slide my fingers back inside me. Now jerk that cock again, faster, faster, that's it, faster.
We came together, his cock twitching hard, cum spurting all over the steering wheel. I could feel the walls of my cunt contracting for almost a full minute, my underwear sopping wet, my nipples red and raw.
The poor guy, though, he was REALLY awkward and embarrassed after he came. He kept apologizing, trying to wipe the cum off the wheel with a paper napkin. I kept saying how much I loved that. He would just laugh a little.
Finally, I just said, ok, well, THANKS! Nice running into you! And laughed. I leaned over and sort of gave him a hug, and he did hug me back, which almost surprised me. Do you want my phone number? No, he said, better not.
Ok, I said, and opened the door. Hope the rest of your day is really... relaxed! He said that he was sure it would be. I closed the door and kept walking down the street.
How much do I love that this happened? A lot. I love it a lot. But, as I might have mentioned, I have no idea how long I can keep this up, this constant state of arousal. I don't think I would have pushed things with him to that point if I hadn't already been wet and hot...
Anyway, at the very least, this will make for some great reading for me later, during... um... dryer spells...
Yesterday, I saw the ex-husband of a friend of mine, on a street in Brooklyn. He is a poet, very dark and introspective, and much older than I am. He must be in his fifties, greying hair, a little paunch. Ok, I have a thing for older, not necessarily stunning men. My friend calls it a dirty old man fetish. Not so far from the truth, I think.
I called out to him - he was getting in his car - and walked over to say hello. I haven't seen him in at least three years. The last time was at his now ex-wife's birthday party. I remember hugging him when I said hello. He had held me just a little to long. I hadn't forgotten that.
There was a lot of traffic in the road, so he gestured for me to get in on the passenger's side. I slid into the seat next to him, and we spent the next twenty minutes just catching up. It was really good to see him... such a funny, smart, odd man.
I was starting to turn the conversation towards the type of things you say right before you say goodbye - it was great to run into you, stay in touch, etc. - when he looked at me and said, you look really good. Then he asked, how is it that you always look the same, as if you never get older? I feel so old.
I felt bad for him. He had had a lot of health problems in the last few years. I said that I must have good genes. He said he felt tired much of the time, that he wanted to go out, socialize more, but he never felt like he had the energy. I want to start dating again, he said. Mostly, I just miss the intimacy. Being close to someone...
He was looking at me, and I sort of nodded and babbled a little bit about how hard it was to meet and keep friends in New York, and had he tried match.com, and now that the weather was getting nicer, maybe it would be easier, etc.
Yeah, he sighed. The funny thing is that I never really felt like being intimate when I was married, but now that I am free of that, it's like I am exploding out of myself.
At that point, I could feel my pussy starting to go crazy. Serious wetness. My face was flushing, and I just looked down.
You probaby knew this was coming, he went on, but do you remember the last time I saw you and you hugged me hello?
Dying, now. I could not look over to see if he was aroused because I knew that would be it for me.
Well, I thought about that for a long time. To be honest, it really turned me on.
At this point, I was over the edge. To the other side, that other place you go to when all of the blood leaves your head and goes south. I looked at him and asked (I know, huge surprise, my big theme...), Did you ever masturbate while thinking of it?
Now he was laughing. I can NOT believe you just asked that. But, DAMN, obviously I love that you asked that, as you can see.
He was rock hard. I had a mission now.
Yes, he said, I did. Many times.
Would you show me what you did? I asked.
The rest is fairly predictable. I was out of my mind. There were people walking down the street every once an awhile, so the fun part was keeping our upper bodies fairly neutral. Or as neutral as possible.
He was really shy in the beginning, and kept laughing and saying that he couldn't believe he was doing this, that I was too young for him, etc. I would tell him to keep going, and he would say ok, and start stroking himself a little again. At one point, I asked him if I could touch myself, and he said, please do.
So I did.
Again, an interesting situation. I couldn't really take everything off since people walking by on the passenger side could see in, so I just unzipped my jeans and slid a few fingers - and SLIDE is the operative word - down into my pussy. I couldn't even really touch myself, because the sight of him, eyes glazed, staring at my crotch, his hand speeding up a little now, got me much to turned on. One touch and I would have exploded.
At some point, he stopped laughing and got serious. He started asking me questions about what I liked to do in bed. He said he loved it when a woman took his balls entirely into their mouth. I, of course, love doing that. He really started pumping his cock when I mentioned that. I told him how I would love to stick my finger in his asshole while he jerked himself, and that almost sent him over the edge. His cock was drooling pretty heavily by this time. He slowed down.
He asked if my nipples were very sensitive. I told him they were, but that one of the things I loved most was having them pinched really hard while I rubbed my clit or got fucked. When I get close to cumming, I even liked them bitten or twisted. He asked me to do that to myself a little right then. To pinch my nipples.
He was working hard by then. Whispering, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, pinch your little nipples... I told him to jerk it harder. Harder. Now stop... watch me finger my pussy. Watch me lick my fingers. Watch me slide my fingers back inside me. Now jerk that cock again, faster, faster, that's it, faster.
We came together, his cock twitching hard, cum spurting all over the steering wheel. I could feel the walls of my cunt contracting for almost a full minute, my underwear sopping wet, my nipples red and raw.
The poor guy, though, he was REALLY awkward and embarrassed after he came. He kept apologizing, trying to wipe the cum off the wheel with a paper napkin. I kept saying how much I loved that. He would just laugh a little.
Finally, I just said, ok, well, THANKS! Nice running into you! And laughed. I leaned over and sort of gave him a hug, and he did hug me back, which almost surprised me. Do you want my phone number? No, he said, better not.
Ok, I said, and opened the door. Hope the rest of your day is really... relaxed! He said that he was sure it would be. I closed the door and kept walking down the street.
How much do I love that this happened? A lot. I love it a lot. But, as I might have mentioned, I have no idea how long I can keep this up, this constant state of arousal. I don't think I would have pushed things with him to that point if I hadn't already been wet and hot...
Anyway, at the very least, this will make for some great reading for me later, during... um... dryer spells...
6.09.2006
in a state
I don't know how much longer I can keep this experiment going, but it has been an interesting ride. In a sense, though, I am still looking. I want a kind of ongoing "thing" with a few people - but so many factors have to be right. I really hate the idea of starting up some kind of operation - talking to strangers, idiots, people I don't really connect to or who don't turn me on. I don't want to fake anything. In fact, as I have said, I have never, and will never, fake anything.
But I am, as you might have noticed, fabulously ambivalent about taking money directly. I have preferred other kinds of gifts or exchanges because it seems more fun, more creative and specific to that relationship. But I have admitted that some kind of exchange is necessary - it keeps the point of the interaction very clear. Which is important. And more than that, there is the reality of the fact that this takes a truly stupid amount of time. And if I don't get something for my time, I should grab another consulting job to fill these hours instead.
It is true that some people prefer the simplicity of cash. That is fine - but only if they are really ok with it - prefer it even. Otherwise it ruins what I love about the interactions. Though you will be interested to know that I have not accepted any cash yet during the span of this little experiment. I have, as you know, received many wonderful, wonderful gifts, however. I am, in fact, wearing one right now. And you know that man has cum so many times in the last week, his cock is numb.
Another, more mundane reason for some kind of exchange? Why should I pick one person over another when there are so many? Obviously, I pick people primarily based on how hot they make me, how much I enjoy interacting with them, etc. Because if this is not fun for me, then there really is no point. But beyond that, I need some other criteria.
So, the bottom line: I am hot so much of the time that I want to do this as much as I can - but in order to do that, there needs to be some kind of exchange or I will need to do something else with the time.
I actually did set up a phone number. Yes, I know. Talk about direct payment. But I am not going to post it here... yet. I only want to give it to people who really want to do things that way. The benefits? Clear, simple, hot and sweet cumming. My attention, my full attention, on you, on your full, heavy balls, your twitching cock. All the time you want to ask me anything, make me do or say anything, make me tell you to do things, or to go with you wherever you want. I will only talk when I am in the mood to actually cum with you.
But for now, I want to get to know you by chatting with you first. Maybe watching you on cam using skpe. (Watching, if you have not noticed, is one of my favorite things.) Maybe more, if you are lucky. Or if I am lucky. But, of course, it may be a while before I get to you this way. Because of the above, and because I am working so much, lately. And not this kind of working!
See, I just want you to know that simply typing the words "talking you through it" above made me wet! What am I going to do with myself now! The thought of telling you to jerk your stiff cock for me has put me in a state.
Please. Help me out. ;)
But I am, as you might have noticed, fabulously ambivalent about taking money directly. I have preferred other kinds of gifts or exchanges because it seems more fun, more creative and specific to that relationship. But I have admitted that some kind of exchange is necessary - it keeps the point of the interaction very clear. Which is important. And more than that, there is the reality of the fact that this takes a truly stupid amount of time. And if I don't get something for my time, I should grab another consulting job to fill these hours instead.
It is true that some people prefer the simplicity of cash. That is fine - but only if they are really ok with it - prefer it even. Otherwise it ruins what I love about the interactions. Though you will be interested to know that I have not accepted any cash yet during the span of this little experiment. I have, as you know, received many wonderful, wonderful gifts, however. I am, in fact, wearing one right now. And you know that man has cum so many times in the last week, his cock is numb.
Another, more mundane reason for some kind of exchange? Why should I pick one person over another when there are so many? Obviously, I pick people primarily based on how hot they make me, how much I enjoy interacting with them, etc. Because if this is not fun for me, then there really is no point. But beyond that, I need some other criteria.
So, the bottom line: I am hot so much of the time that I want to do this as much as I can - but in order to do that, there needs to be some kind of exchange or I will need to do something else with the time.
I actually did set up a phone number. Yes, I know. Talk about direct payment. But I am not going to post it here... yet. I only want to give it to people who really want to do things that way. The benefits? Clear, simple, hot and sweet cumming. My attention, my full attention, on you, on your full, heavy balls, your twitching cock. All the time you want to ask me anything, make me do or say anything, make me tell you to do things, or to go with you wherever you want. I will only talk when I am in the mood to actually cum with you.
But for now, I want to get to know you by chatting with you first. Maybe watching you on cam using skpe. (Watching, if you have not noticed, is one of my favorite things.) Maybe more, if you are lucky. Or if I am lucky. But, of course, it may be a while before I get to you this way. Because of the above, and because I am working so much, lately. And not this kind of working!
See, I just want you to know that simply typing the words "talking you through it" above made me wet! What am I going to do with myself now! The thought of telling you to jerk your stiff cock for me has put me in a state.
Please. Help me out. ;)
6.07.2006
transcript
(i am typing this, listening to someone talk to me on the phone. he doesn't, i think, know i am typing...)
mmmm. i want to, i want to cum for you. ohhh. uhhhh. i want to fuck your... your little hole and then pull it out, jerk your head back, and cum in your mouth. you little... oh you're a slut. you fucking little slut. you like it don't you. you, i think you pretend you don't but you like my hard cock shoving its way into your wet pussy, pushing all the way inside, your pussy so wet, so wet, pulling out and then driving it back in, harder than you think you can take. you like that? mmmmm. i am jerking my shaft for you you little bitch slut. you bitch... you fucking bitch.... mmm. you like my cock? i want you to watch me fuck your little, your little cunt hole? oh god i want to cum for you i am going to cum all over your tits you little bitch. i'm going to roll you over and fuck your mouth, your... lips and your mouth... shoving it in your fucking mouth, you slut, you like that you dirty little girl. you suck that you little girl. come on, suck my fat cock, come on, suck that cock you bitch... unnnh... uhh... yeah... like that... suck it bitch...uhhh.... uhhh.... uhhh. pinch those titties hard... uhhh... uhhh... uhhh... you little cunt... you like that... you like that, bitch? I'm going to fuck your ass now... your tight little asshole. you have such a tight little asshole... i'm going to rip it open and shoot my load in your ass... uhhhh... tight little ass... fucking you so fucking hard... uhhh uhhh uhhh you dirty cunt i'm going to shoot my load in your tight ass... uhhh uhh uhh uHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH OOOOOOOHHH OHHHHH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..................
(!)
mmmm. i want to, i want to cum for you. ohhh. uhhhh. i want to fuck your... your little hole and then pull it out, jerk your head back, and cum in your mouth. you little... oh you're a slut. you fucking little slut. you like it don't you. you, i think you pretend you don't but you like my hard cock shoving its way into your wet pussy, pushing all the way inside, your pussy so wet, so wet, pulling out and then driving it back in, harder than you think you can take. you like that? mmmmm. i am jerking my shaft for you you little bitch slut. you bitch... you fucking bitch.... mmm. you like my cock? i want you to watch me fuck your little, your little cunt hole? oh god i want to cum for you i am going to cum all over your tits you little bitch. i'm going to roll you over and fuck your mouth, your... lips and your mouth... shoving it in your fucking mouth, you slut, you like that you dirty little girl. you suck that you little girl. come on, suck my fat cock, come on, suck that cock you bitch... unnnh... uhh... yeah... like that... suck it bitch...uhhh.... uhhh.... uhhh. pinch those titties hard... uhhh... uhhh... uhhh... you little cunt... you like that... you like that, bitch? I'm going to fuck your ass now... your tight little asshole. you have such a tight little asshole... i'm going to rip it open and shoot my load in your ass... uhhhh... tight little ass... fucking you so fucking hard... uhhh uhhh uhhh you dirty cunt i'm going to shoot my load in your tight ass... uhhh uhh uhh uHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH OOOOOOOHHH OHHHHH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..................
(!)
6.05.2006
wish you were here
I was thinking about you today. Wondering, as always, if you ever masturbate while thinking of me? Do you talk to me in your head while you do it, or even, if no one is around, out loud?
I imagine you sitting at work, your mind wandering, then wandering still further, trying to picture what I look like, my breasts, my neck, my lips. You think of me, somewhere out there, probably, at this very moment, staring out the window, shifting in my seat.
Do you let your hand wander down for a minute, brushing your cock lightly, the outline just starting to be visible, your balls starting to tense? Maybe you even squeeze it a little - a sudden rush - until you catch yourself and try to get your mind back to what you were doing.
But you are still, unmistakeably, hard. And getting harder. And it is not going away.
(I am fingering myself now, thinking of your cock, straining against your pants so that if you were to stand up, I could see it.)
So you think, what the hell, and you check out some porn on the internet, or, when no one is around, you watch a quick clip of some girl, her face covered in cum, some guy shoving his cock down her throat while another guy fucks her in the ass. You are fully hard now - aching. You want to fuck so badly.
(I am tracing my wet clit with my finger, licking it off, typing some more.)
You are getting desperate, looking around, trying to think of how you are going to relieve the pressure. In your head, I am kneeling at your feet, begging you to jerk off for me, bending over and spreading my ass so you can see my wet pussy, rubbing my clit for you, bringing myself just to the edge of cumming, then stopping, pinching my hard nipples and telling you to stroke your cock.
(My clit is so hard now. I am crossing my legs while I type this, squeezing them together over and over, I am moaning a little, talking to you, telling you to jerk that cock off for me.)
Finally, no one is around, and you can make a run for the bathroom. You go into a stall, and pull it out, leaning back against the stall door, desperate to cum. In your mind, I am fucking myself for you with my fingers. I love that you are watching me. I tell you how hard to stroke your cock - how fast I want it. I make you stop for a minute while I turn around, put my hands on the toilet, and ask you to fuck me in the ass.
(I love getting fucked in the ass - it is so tight, so delicious. I want you to grab my hair, pull my head back, and fuck my ass as hard as you can.)
...
...
...
(I am taking long breaks between sentences here. My legs are spread wide. My jeans are on the floor under the desk. If you were here, I would make you watch me without touching yourself for a minute.)
...
...
...
(I'm squeezing my nipples for you. I want to see you jacking that cock hard - cupping your balls - thinking of my ass, thinking of fucking me harder than you ever thought you were allowed to. I want to cum for you so badly.)
...
...
...
And just like that, I am going to stop. I don't want to cum yet. I want to walk around for a little while with no underwear, feeling how wet I am, stopping every once and awhile to rub my hot clit, or to press myself against something hard, or to pinch my nipple while I am pretending to adjust my bra.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Wish you were here.
I imagine you sitting at work, your mind wandering, then wandering still further, trying to picture what I look like, my breasts, my neck, my lips. You think of me, somewhere out there, probably, at this very moment, staring out the window, shifting in my seat.
Do you let your hand wander down for a minute, brushing your cock lightly, the outline just starting to be visible, your balls starting to tense? Maybe you even squeeze it a little - a sudden rush - until you catch yourself and try to get your mind back to what you were doing.
But you are still, unmistakeably, hard. And getting harder. And it is not going away.
(I am fingering myself now, thinking of your cock, straining against your pants so that if you were to stand up, I could see it.)
So you think, what the hell, and you check out some porn on the internet, or, when no one is around, you watch a quick clip of some girl, her face covered in cum, some guy shoving his cock down her throat while another guy fucks her in the ass. You are fully hard now - aching. You want to fuck so badly.
(I am tracing my wet clit with my finger, licking it off, typing some more.)
You are getting desperate, looking around, trying to think of how you are going to relieve the pressure. In your head, I am kneeling at your feet, begging you to jerk off for me, bending over and spreading my ass so you can see my wet pussy, rubbing my clit for you, bringing myself just to the edge of cumming, then stopping, pinching my hard nipples and telling you to stroke your cock.
(My clit is so hard now. I am crossing my legs while I type this, squeezing them together over and over, I am moaning a little, talking to you, telling you to jerk that cock off for me.)
Finally, no one is around, and you can make a run for the bathroom. You go into a stall, and pull it out, leaning back against the stall door, desperate to cum. In your mind, I am fucking myself for you with my fingers. I love that you are watching me. I tell you how hard to stroke your cock - how fast I want it. I make you stop for a minute while I turn around, put my hands on the toilet, and ask you to fuck me in the ass.
(I love getting fucked in the ass - it is so tight, so delicious. I want you to grab my hair, pull my head back, and fuck my ass as hard as you can.)
...
...
...
(I am taking long breaks between sentences here. My legs are spread wide. My jeans are on the floor under the desk. If you were here, I would make you watch me without touching yourself for a minute.)
...
...
...
(I'm squeezing my nipples for you. I want to see you jacking that cock hard - cupping your balls - thinking of my ass, thinking of fucking me harder than you ever thought you were allowed to. I want to cum for you so badly.)
...
...
...
And just like that, I am going to stop. I don't want to cum yet. I want to walk around for a little while with no underwear, feeling how wet I am, stopping every once and awhile to rub my hot clit, or to press myself against something hard, or to pinch my nipple while I am pretending to adjust my bra.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Wish you were here.
6.03.2006
ice cream
You are walking down the street and you pass an ice cream store. Sure, ice cream is not good for you if you eat it all day, but an ice cream now and then is a tasty, pleasurable snack. You walk in the store, pay your money, get your creamy treat and keep walking, licking away as you go. This is an exchange - you give the business owner what they want, and you get what you want. Simple, fast and uncomplicated.
Some men instinctively understand the exchange aspect of what I am offering. They don't want the entirety of me that I would give a friend or a partner. As in the case of the ice cream, they are paying to have someone else do the work and they see the particular value in getting only the creamy treat.
Others get confused. They think, why is this a transaction of some kind when I can get it for free? And they think that they are somehow lowering themselves to offer something in return for what I offer.
To this I say, first, if you can get the creamy treat with no complications for free, why are you talking to me? Go forth and prosper.
Second, what is wrong with offering something in exchange for something you find valuable and that you cannot find, in this particular form, elsewhere? You may even be getting the whole, live, day to day package from someone, but you still want the delicious, fantastical snack on occasion. What, unless this violates the terms of some other arrangement you have made or crosses some uncrossable ethical boundary, is the problem with this?
To be sure, the self-denigrating set who fall into the confused category are not a problem for me, though I feel bad for them as I watch them want something so badly but not let themselves have it. But the problem begins when they either think that they will get something for nothing, or, worse, that it is my fault that everything, especially finger-licking dessert, comes at a price.
So don't do that.
Interestingly, though, more creative exchanges short circuit much of the weirdness. In other words, when people give me things that feel good to give, or that are unique to them, or that make me more exciting for them in some way, then it seems less, well, transaction-like to them. Others, of course, simply prefer things cut and dried - walk in, buy the ice cream, walk out.
And what do I offer? Something a little different. A little smarter, and a lot more real.
I am only open for skyping these days - chat or call (username: curious-grl). But for those who want to move to the next level after that, anything is possible. Though full service is out for the time being. Sorry ;)
Keep in mind though, that what makes me different is that I won't talk to too many people in a short span of time. I never fake anything, so I have to, um, space things out a bit. I am sure you understand.
Some men instinctively understand the exchange aspect of what I am offering. They don't want the entirety of me that I would give a friend or a partner. As in the case of the ice cream, they are paying to have someone else do the work and they see the particular value in getting only the creamy treat.
Others get confused. They think, why is this a transaction of some kind when I can get it for free? And they think that they are somehow lowering themselves to offer something in return for what I offer.
To this I say, first, if you can get the creamy treat with no complications for free, why are you talking to me? Go forth and prosper.
Second, what is wrong with offering something in exchange for something you find valuable and that you cannot find, in this particular form, elsewhere? You may even be getting the whole, live, day to day package from someone, but you still want the delicious, fantastical snack on occasion. What, unless this violates the terms of some other arrangement you have made or crosses some uncrossable ethical boundary, is the problem with this?
To be sure, the self-denigrating set who fall into the confused category are not a problem for me, though I feel bad for them as I watch them want something so badly but not let themselves have it. But the problem begins when they either think that they will get something for nothing, or, worse, that it is my fault that everything, especially finger-licking dessert, comes at a price.
So don't do that.
Interestingly, though, more creative exchanges short circuit much of the weirdness. In other words, when people give me things that feel good to give, or that are unique to them, or that make me more exciting for them in some way, then it seems less, well, transaction-like to them. Others, of course, simply prefer things cut and dried - walk in, buy the ice cream, walk out.
And what do I offer? Something a little different. A little smarter, and a lot more real.
I am only open for skyping these days - chat or call (username: curious-grl). But for those who want to move to the next level after that, anything is possible. Though full service is out for the time being. Sorry ;)
Keep in mind though, that what makes me different is that I won't talk to too many people in a short span of time. I never fake anything, so I have to, um, space things out a bit. I am sure you understand.
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