The Paid Pussy

We definitely need to stop having sex for the next 36 hours. I absolutely think we must. It’s very good, and I realized my speed with the running has improved up to 12km/h. It must be something your body releases during schtomphing (I like that word. I just learnt it, and it’s a lot less harsh and more fun sounding then something like ‘fucking’), but I think Alice seriously needs a break.

He’s coming down to Sydney with me! I cannot believe it. A holiday together, not bad for a relationship that’s somewhere short of a fortnight. He wants to go because it’s a bloody great photo-op, and I was desperate for a photographer. Isn’t it funny how things work out? We’re going to get our costumes made this weekend. I went to Spotlight to figure out what sort of materials we can use, and realized that people normally do not use latex to make their clothing. The DIY store would actually be a more sensible option. You know, where I can purchase industrial standard latex.

Speaking about things working out, the deal with my photographer is getting better and better. Sometimes I honestly think the less planning your life has, the better. Of course I have a sort-of plan. I know what I like to do, and I will keep on doing that. But I’m not going to believe there are specific channels for which I can develop my art. I don’t think there’s a point, people were never meant to live on much planning anyway. We all have a destination that we should preferably reach eventually, but I think just like how the children of Israel wondered about in the desert and were fed manna on a daily basis (and told not to save any for the next day), there’s no need to really plan for your life. I am spiritual, and I believe God will look after everything. So far, he certainly has. I mean, what other kid who’s just about to move out 1) doesn’t have to worry about paying rent 2) given the opportunity to turn her pad into a money generating machine 3) will be working with professional artists 4) and rooming with the hottest lesbian lit-erotic writer in Singapore.

Now Taz. Ah dear Taz. I met her at the train station, and the moment I saw her today, for some reason, my breath was taken away. And I swear, my loins were on fire. She was so bloody hot thinking about her drives me crazy. She is definitely gay, and that’s a thing seriously lesbian girls have going for them I think. They actively raise desire in other women, especially marginally bi-sexual girls like yours truly. She’s completely woman I swear, I’m not into dykes unless they’re white, tall, skinny and blonde, in which case I might as well just stick with R. I definitely want to stay and work with Taz and I will definitely encourage her to bring back her women. Hey, if you’re going to room with someone, might as well room with someone that’ll inspire you and that you can work with.

I am just about to head of to another ‘blog party’. God-knows what it is, but it sounds cool. This one is a collaboration between Love Airways and the sex blog scene in Singapore I think. You know what, that actually sounds kinda cool. Sex blog scene. A little geeky, but hey, it’s kinda uniquely… Singapore.

I will be in some discussion forum next week. Apparently there will be 4 people on it, the other two are young men in their 20s I think. One of whom has AIDS and the other that has slept with a prostitute. I said something like, so the FD and me are the only normal people? Thinking about it now, I realize that’s actually completely stupid.

Jesus, I mean, people sleep with whores all the time. I’ve had a hooker fuck my dildo (with a condom of course. And I most certainly washed it after. With Dettol some more okay, so no worries.) It wasn’t something I should have done, and I think the whole affair was really kinda depressing. I don’t regret the memories of course, but sleeping with someone you have to pay, or getting paid for sex is altogether a very depressing, very fucked up thing.

Now, having money given to you because the man you sleep with likes you and wants to help you out is another thing. The difference is in the fact that your pussy isn’t the bulk of what he’s paying for. When you have sex, it’s because you want to do something nice for him, and you enjoy it at the same time. Feeling like you have to fuck a guy because he’s giving you cash is one of the best ways to really fuck you up. It developed a terrible attitude towards sex in me anyway, and now that I think about it, mentally I hated sex with a number of the people I fucked. Physically, it still felt alright, but when they wanted to have sex, I’d normally go in my head, ‘not again. Why doesn’t he come already!’.

Richard mentioned lightly that he’d entertained the thought of paying me to sleep with him some nights ago while we cuddled up after more unnecessary schtomphing, and I’d raised one eyebrow like I normally do what I hear some naughty incredulous bullshit.

‘I won’t pay you now of course.’ He said, quite seriously.

‘I wouldn’t let you pay me, for heaven’s sake. That’s so fucked up.’

And it’s terribly fucked up because paying for pussy (as opposed to paying for the time of a particular woman, because that’s always been a done thing. Only sometimes it comes in the form of dinners and movies and tickets to the ballet) really doesn’t do the girls that do it any good.

xoxox