kissing, the memory, and the aftermath

Another dirty and decidedly deleterious post in the eyes of the right from surgeon today.

It’s a diary day, por supesto.

To begin.

I’d like to talk about kissing. I enjoy kissing. Even with clients, when they have an aesthetic I can manage. I have often been told I’m a great kisser, which means nothing, but that I am a chameleon, a basset hound, and can judge taste and type with my lips. I am interested in the myriad of expressions one can find in a kiss. But I have one question. Why lead with the tongue? It happens far too often. Who really thinks it’s sexy to come at someone tongue first? Is it that the tongue represents the cock, and you feel called to demonstrate your manhood by emulating your erection with your tongue? It’s not hot. No, really. It’s not.

Second.

Yesterday, I have this call. Someone I’ve seen once before, who I cannot remember. I remember his voice, vaguely, but his name is common, and his words are nondescript. I am occasionally put in a position where I do not recall the type of session I had with someone. I remember them, perhaps, but not their proclivities. Which puts me on the spot. “Would you like to have a massage today? or…?” He responds with a, “yes, last time you gave me a massage, it was great!” Not enough details. Did I fuck this man, trample this man, tie this man up, tantric massage? Or what? I can’t figure it out. I hint, I suggest, I insinuate. Nothing. No clues, no answers, and then he arrives at my door.

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Dirty Doctors, double entendres, and the moral left

I feel such urgency when reading this blog. Things that must be said, in order to sleep. But I have a few quick additions to this already fiery volley…I was reading Kitten’s post about how people just assume that clients are predators, and many things rang true. I often find myself defensive, and fiercely protective of my clients when I am talking to a non-worker about sex work. It is only because in my heart I equate the judgment of THEM with a judgment of ME. Which only makes sense. I cannot berate my clients, but simultaneously want support. Tricks and Hos have to be mutually supportive, but like women, we are all too often pitted against each other. We are thrown to the wolves, with nothing to feed them but each other.

I dig many of my clients. I dislike just as many more. But ultimately, that shouldn’t matter. It’s a job. Is it the business of the ringmaster whether or not the lion tamer likes all the lions? No. It is the business of the ringmaster to make sure that no lions or trainers get hurt, and the audience is happy, and the money keeps flowing, and people keep throwing those peanut shells on the ground.

The Fundichristianright is on the offensive here, and as with many issues, they do a very good job at getting us to aim at each other. There are several overlapping arguments. Classic Polysci 101 stuff. Moral, Ethical, Secular, Legislative, and Economic debates. This is the same issue that has been coming up for ages, and when related to fundamentalism, hotly debated in the post 9-11 world. We are confused as to the parameters of government, corporation, and religion. What rights does the government have to dictate our behaviour? What are the grounds for determining what is acceptable behaviour within the social contract, and what is not? What happens when someone breaks this social contract? Are we a punishment based society? Or equal consequences? Who controls the code of ethics? How far does freedom of speech really go? Do we believe in heresy anymore? And where does the free-market come into all of this? Is the all mighty dollar the most holy of all?

I think it is. If this weren’t a bazillion dollar industry, nobody would give a fuck. Or not a bazillion dollars worth of a fuck.

I have no guilt about what I do. I am not a recovering catholic. I am not shaking off the shackles of original sin. I am not compelled to self-flagellation, other than for purely transcendent reasons. Wink. I am however, a deeply religious person. And my religion does not prevent my participation in something that I believe is well and fine with my gods. I have examined thoroughly the personal and compounded effects of my participation in sex work, and while I have my criticisms, I do believe that what I do is ultimately good.

Clients lie all the time. To us, to their partners, to their jobs, children, etc. But people lie all the time, and I do not believe in the sanctity of monogamy. I do believe in the sanctity of honesty, but all I can do is encourage my clients to gradually move toward a more honest approach to their own sexual needs. To gradually shed their repression, and help their partners to do the same. I often see couples, and it makes me happy that this trend is increasing.

The economic argument is interesting, and less addressed than other bits. I do not believe that capitalism is the best form of economic distribution. So I build and maintain the shadow economy. I am grateful for the immense privilege that the money I have made from sex work has afforded me. z

The secular/legislative piece of the argument is simple in my mind. I do not believe that you can legislate human perfection. But I do believe that you can teach social responsibility and autonomy. Therefore, sex in exchange for compensation should be the choice of the individuals involved. THE INDIVIDUALS. Not their pimps or partners or partriarchs. Child-labor, trafficking, etc = BAD. This choice should be an informed choice. Sex work is labor. And like any other labor, the same rights should apply. Right to organize, right to protection under the law, right to practice.

thinking of you,

Surgeon

San Francisco Sex Workers’ Convergence, Insomnia, and the fog

Everytime I travel I hate leaving home.  I ask myself why I make these decisions, why I commit myself to things that I won’t even quite understand until I get there, and then I get there.  And it’s amazing.  As is San Francisco.  Is it possible to so deeply miss a place I’ve never called home?  Cities.  Sf. New Orleans.  NY.  San Cristobal.  Places that I crave.  Would it be different if I lived here?  Certainly.  But now, the chance encounters, the processes, the people all surprise me.  Only in San Francisco can these things happen.  Only in SF can I post an ad on craigslist, and have forty valuable replies in 10 minutes.  Only in SF can I do a gallery show, and get the audience naked.  Only in SF is being a queer sex worker POC tattooed single mama not only accepted, but common.

Got into Oakland on Saturday, went straight to the gallery for the opening show “Asian Prostitute Sensitivity Training”  with Mariko Passion.  Amazing.  Parked in front of the gallery and realized, right across the street are a leather shop, a thrift store, and Indian restaurant, and a photo printer.  What else does a ho on the go need?  Not much.

Last nights show was so good.  Mariko and I, we pulled it all off.  In spite of chaos, she’s the same kind of artist I am.  You got tricks up your sleeve, and you’ll use them when neccessary.  It was good.  I did reverse lap dances and stripped the audience.  I caned a willing slaveboy, just for kicks.  I read a piece, and had the best time in ages.  Thank you, San Francisco.  The “We, Asian Sex Workers” show is stunning.  It’s one of those conversations I didn’t even know I needed to have, but has become so essential to my experience here.

I want to be closer to the bay.  California…vessel of my need and imagination.

Today, lead an Anti-Racism/Anti-Oppression training for SWOP sex workers and allies.  So much work needs to be done in this community.  We have so many complicated identitites, and so many things that need to be laid out on the table.  It was such a different experience than trainings I’ve been a part of in the past.  It is a markedly different perspective that we have, a markedly different rhetoric that we espouse.

Here’s a question:  What is choice when it comes to sex workers protecting themselves?  When you have survived certain encounters, had certain experiences, and developed prejudices against certain demographics based on those encounters…how can we address the experience of race on such a visceral level, how can we confront oppression in intimate relations?  How can we change the dynamic of sex workers forced to make decisions about who they see, and who they do not based on a quick phone conversation, leaning your head in the car window, an email, in which your gut instinct is all you have, in which it can be a matter of life or death?  Decisions where every detail matters?  How do we dismantle racism when it comes to sex, intimacy, eroticism, and arousal?  What is different about this discussion, versus community, organizing, institutions?  Where do we begin?

Thinking of you,
Surgeon

piss, pantyhose, and sweet stuff

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

dissociation, divination, and the booty duty

There is a vicious cycle, a debate, between sex worker and anti-porn feminists about the culture of ‘use’ and ‘abuse.’ I’d like to address this debate from a completely different perspective than it is usually discussed, at least in my experience. I’d like to discuss ‘use’ from the perspective of a western woman of color, and also a faith perspective.

Firstly, there is a tendency, I believe in many segments of society to avoid pain at any cost. We live in a culture firmly and completely afraid of pain, death, and dying. We are so privileged that we have lost much of our visceral connection to the experience of pain. Look at the way in which we drug women in labor, as though their pain were ‘uncivilized.’ It is the quiet hush of polite society, and we relegate our paroxysms of ecstacy and pain into sterilized hospital rooms, bedrooms, and the underground. Drugs, gambling, religious trances, and sex. We flirt with these things, desperate for the unity that these experiences offer.

This is the world that those of us in the sex industry inhabit, and if we are to survive within it, we learn to understand our role in it. This necrophobic culture needs us to hold this place.

Make no mistake. There is a healthy and healing way to do sex work.

As a woman of color, as most women, most people of color, most queers, differently abled folks, etc have experienced, we are not born into a world free of pain. Use and abuses of power are around us all the time.

Doing sex work can be many things. It can be a compulsion, an addiction, a healing process. It can be pleasant, emotional, profoundly life changing. Each experience is unique, and each whore is unique. There are some people perfectly suited to do this work with love, and without dissociation, or the abandonment of the self. I believe that I am one of those people. But we are NOT ABLE to create a culture of education, of colletive knowledge about how to protect yourself spiritually and emotionally in this work. We are forced into anonymity and amnesia.

Spiritual development in my belief system is a process of experiencing the world, faith, and the tools to process what occurs. Pain, death and dying are all a part of this. We must create a framework to process pain and abuse. Most women experience it at some point in their lives regardless of whether they choose to do sex work or not.

Prostitution is not inherently harmful. It can be the most beautiful, healing, divine, present, and prayerful way to live a life. Or it can be harmful, confusing, debilitating. But prostitution is only part of a much larger discussion, and the more we shy away from sex, from paroxysms of ecstacy and pain, from blood, the cunt, and the body, the more we create a culture in which sex workers are abused, and in which prostitution becomes shameful and compulsive. Sex is a natural human expression.

The sex industry fills a void.

Prohibition does not engender abstinence.

The sacred is not always painless, deathless, or clean.

thinking of you,

Surgeon

Posted by: surgeonscofflaw