It’s been a full week. But it’s keeping everyone in handkerchiefs so it’s a blessing. I’ve been thinking a lot about all the topics we’ve been discussing here, and having a rush of emotions alongside it.
I have had a very stong emotional reaction to the constant insistence by various parties that what I do cannot be genuinely real, or healing. It has been an underlying current in all the sessions I have had in the last few days, something that has been utterly present in my interactions with my clients, and I want to say a few words about what I have felt and thought during these moments. First, I’ll paint you a protrait of each of the clients I’ve seen in the last three days.
Friday and Sat evening I spent a few hours with a gentleman in the military. He is career, and lives very far away from here, but comes to my city on occasion. He is a lovely, gentle, man of color. I don’t know too much about his background, but he has erectile dysfunction, and focuses much more on giving than recieving because of it. I insisted that he let me work on him, and with the use of some yohimbe salve, made by a good friend of mine, and a lot of communication, he was able to achieve orgasm both nights.
Sunday I spent time with a young man with a chronic disease that makes him have some very peculiar physical characteristics. Some would call them unattractive, but I find them interesting, and beautiful in their own way. He is stuck on a past relationship in which his girlfriend would often have sex with him in a very specific outfit, with her clothes on. He leaves his clothes on, and so do I, and we spend two hours exploring his fetishes of closed toed pumps, and sundresses. We talk about fetish, and I know that we will see each other again, until he gets more comfortable, until he is able to process what he really wants to tell me.
Later Sunday, I saw Roger, a man in his late seventies who has had prostate cancer. He has had his prostate removed, and has a pump installed in his scrotum to get him hard. He’s a lovely, sweet old perv with a thing for golden showers (being pissed on) and nipple tweaking. We had a great time, I pissed on his cock while he masturbated and he told me how much fun he had. He brought me a case of oranges he’d just picked off the tree in his yard.
Monday, I saw a client who I have a very special arrangement with. He is not very well off, so he does work around the house for me, and pays me small amounts when he can. We have a connection deeper than I have ever experienced with a client. But I know very well that attempting a relationship on more conventional terms would not work. Our lives are too different. Taking our connection out of context would kill the beauty of it. Because he is my client, I am able to give him things that I never could in a relationship. I am able to be with him an a purely giving state, for a brief moment in time. This time, we stripped naked, and sat in meditation with each other, and then he wept in my arms for a long, long time. Few words were spoken, they weren’t important. But we leave each other with love and caring, even if we never see each other again.
Shortly thereafter, I met with Jeremy. He is in his mid-forties, and successful in his work life. He is good humoured, funny, and irreverant. He has taken the threat of heart disease seriously, and works out every day. We spend two hours together, as we usually do. I do some serious deep tissue work on his body, reflexology, and shiatsu. He breathes deep, and lets me tell him about the benefits of yoga. He is awakening his male g-spot, allowing me to access sexual energy that he has never been able to access before. He has the most incredible orgasms with me, while I massage his prostate.
Then there’s Brad. Atttractive and tall, in his mid thirties. An attorney from New York who has an armpit, foot, and spit fetish. I work out beforehand, so I’m nice and sweaty and stinky. I smother him with my armpits , ass and feet until he nearly vomits, make him suck all the sweat off my hairy pits. I tie him up with my pantyhose and fuck him with a strap-on, with his legs in the air while I spit all over him. I piss in his mouth and force him to drink it while he gags. He loves it. He says it is the best session he, and maybe anyone, has ever had.
Point is, I am good at what I do. I have studied sexuality in all its forms for many years. I am comfortable with all sorts of fetishes, I am nearly impossible to shock. I am able to state my boundaries, and tell people when they’re being inappropriate, when they need counseling, when they should look elsewhere for sexual gratification. But not only am I afforded no recognition as an expert in my field, I am derided at every turn for being unaware, used, abused, taken advantage of, misguided, or insane.
Tell me, all you detractors, which one of you would sleep with an eighty year old man with a piss fetish for free? Would you truly allow him to explore your body, and enjoy it, if you weren’t getting paid for it? Where will he find a woman to explore his fantasies with, before he dies? He has survived cancer, and many other things…would you deny him sexual affection in his last years here on earth?
My job is not just about sex and fantasy. It is about creating a haven. A sanctuary. I hold a place in the world for disparate and secret desires. Not dysfunctional or abusive desires, just desires that are at odds with the society that we have created.
In a perfect world, I would not be a necessity. Access to sex and sexual healing would not be based on physical appearance, economic success, or youth, but the content of one’s character. But we do not live in a perfect world, and therefore I create the space to make people feel beautiful.
Yes. We should be confronting these constructs of gender, ability, size, etc. But who among you would do it for free? The visceral, but necessary work of fucking for freedom? Until you can truly say that you have grown your sexual attraction beyond the scope of the physical body, cast no stones.
I DO help my clients. I help them understand, process, and address their desire, need, and privilege. I do not let them get away with things based on privilege. I operate with a sliding scale fee. I teach them how to be better people, and they teach me. It is not always great, but it is always useful.
thinking of you,
surgeon
Filed under: Clients, Economics, Feminism, Labor, The Biz, Workers of Color | 18 Comments »
Bound, Not Gagged 