Stepping out onto St. Charles Avenue from the streetcar that had carried me from Canal Street back to the Lower Garden, my phone beeped. Teetering with one foot on that last step and one foot on the ground I remembered that one doesn’t want to fall face first into either the other track or worse. So, I depart the car carefully and cross the street before I pull my phone out of my purse. Once I reach Prytania I decide that the anticipation is too much. I run through my mental list of who would have the opportunity to play at short notice and when I can’t wait any longer, I open my email. It is a message from a client who has been with me on and off since my first year hooking. Not one to miss a call or notification from a prospect I respond immediately. Once in a while he will send me a cheerful “hello” and “it’s been a long time” greeting. I will admit that although I’ll giddy when he reaches out I’m also a little miffed that it takes him this long to circle back. I know he sees other providers. Occasionally I’ll stumble upon a review he’s written about some fortunate soul who just had a little of his good loving. I hope she at least had sense to enjoy him. We’re close in age and his warm smile and sweet disposition takes me back. Being with him just a few moments and I’m reminded that he looks like a cross between Rob Lowe and a young George Clooney. He’s handsome, but I’m not sure he realizes just how much. He’s one of my favorite clients wrapped into one smooth talking Northshore guy. We share commonalities like respect and gentleness for others by virtue of our upbringings and by being from the same place. A session is almost a trip back home where the conversations are easy and his gentlemanly vibe makes me feel so very secure. I like the way he smells. Whatever soap or body wash he uses sort of lingers in his pores, hair and especially behind his ears. I like the way he caresses me and buries his face on the right side of my head when he’s on top purposefully piercing me deep inside. He is interested in my pleasure. Mercifully! I call him Mr. Wonderful, but I’ll never let him know. When another provider needs a reference on him I tell her “Oh yes. Mr. Wonderful! All I can say is prepare to be worshiped.” Our chemistry is real and we both talk about it as we fuck. As those of you who read my blog know, I’m always thinking. So, as he nips my neck with his lips and caresses the side of my body with his magical fingers I wonder if this routine we share is just his kink. I wonder if when meets a new woman and makes her feel like she’s the only one in the world is simply what he brings to the table. Maybe, if she’s smart she will feel lucky that he chose her and this is an opportunity to share a real sexual experience. He’s like a great Craigslist hookup before the world stopped turning. His reward is that I appreciate him as a client making the visit something that can be enjoyable for both of us. This is how it goes. He walks into my door all smiles and light. Sometimes I play light 80’s and 90’s music from my Spotify account to set the mood. As he puts his arms around me I know that I am in for something more than a quick pop. He always says “I don’t know why I wait so long to come back.” I brush it off and say “I’m always around for you.” However, I agree with him. Why doesn’t he come back more often? Half way through our sex as he’s kissing me and inhaling my special scents he’ll sigh out loud and tell me “I could just fuck you all day.” Once I’ve set his motor into drive he proceeds to take off as I decompress and exhale. I like to drift away at this point and imagine all sort of escapades and sexual adventures I have had to keep me juiced. With him I always go for a romantic evening walking around the Quarter hand in hand, kissing each other like we’re the only two people on this Earth. Then our kissing becomes more passionate and in unison we glide over to a deep and most likely filthy, doorway so we can grope and devour each other without being noticed in the twilight of the evening. On the other hand, if someone does notice us who cares? Remembering then that I’ve taken a trip to pound town in the same setting once with an ex husband, I giggle to myself because performing in front of a strangers can be quite a thrill. Mr. Wonderful is now devouring my entire left breast with his mouth and that snaps me back to reality. He suckles and slurps as I slip back to my passionate fantasy. As we pull at each other’s clothing I imagine his hand brushing my skirt aside and sliding up my thigh to the moistness that’s ready and waiting only for him. In the distance I hear the riverboat calliope turn out some jolly old tune from a time when women were softer and men were more brutish, the roles were defined and there was no question on yours. The misty fog is rolling down our alley as the crescent moon greets a sleepy New Orleans readying for bed. All these earthly distractions and his hungry mouth on mine gives me the vapors. As he opens his eyes and realizes I’m on the verge of swooning he takes a breath from kissing and says “are you wet?” I take his hand in mine and gently place it underneath my skirt into my panties so he can feel just how much. Some men walk into my door and it’s like a switch is flipped inside and I am instantly wet. Sleeping with strange men for sport is not just fucking. Slipping a cock into your mouth for the third time in a day is actual work, but I love what I do so it’s no trouble. Mostly I feel like a whore is an impulse buy. Men have a window of time in the course of their day to misbehave. You have to be ready. He cums deeply. I shudder with him as his pulsing gently recedes and he rests on top of me besotted with pleasure. The reason he came back last week was because he had just discovered my blog. Through my storytelling I was able to reach him again by putting my thoughts into his mind and making him hard for me all over again. I love being able to infiltrate a mind with the words I write. What power! What exhilaration! When he told me that my stories turned him on I began to think of all of the potential clients who have seen my writing. I love when my client’s tell me “I felt like I was there in the story with you.” Feedback like this is worth it’s weight in gold. It means that all of my hard work has paid off and will continue to bear fruit because I simply put forth the effort, stayed consistent and made it happen. Also, the little rewards like Mr. Wonderful keep coming back. With me still wrapped around him we are finally silent and take in the moment. He sighs and rubs his face into my cheek, ears and hair. Inhaling deeply he offers one last deep kiss to me. I can tell he’s happy by the time we finish our hour long affair. He rolls off of my bed like a man who’s got to be somewhere, but really just doesn’t wanna go. He dresses, but he never spends a lot of time in the bathroom cleaning up. I like that he will leave smelling like our sex. We walk to the door. I smile and look into his eyes generously. Hugging me and thanking me he says “I won’t take so long to come back.” I catch my breath and bite my tongue from saying “I’m always wet for you.” No point in repeating something he already knows.
Sweet Lula
Safe in the flower bed that had been created just for her, she napped. Dosing on and off was now her day. She had been more lively about a year ago, but napping was all she could handle these days. She reserved her movement for mealtimes and whenever her mistress would come and sit with her. Her world was that back yard. Always had been since she arrived back in 2006. Her owner who lived next door was a young man who had brought her from Brookhaven, MS. He let her be outside like she wanted and she adopted what was to become my yard long before I arrived. Being an outdoor cat was all she knew. Just a black, long haired girl with soulful yellow eyes which didn’t see as well as they once did she sat patiently while I admired her. Bluebird was testing her on the corner of the shed. She looked deeply through him and followed as he made flight to another backyard. Being a smaller cat and a female she knew her limitations. This is one of the ways we bonded. On occasion a gentleman would sit with me in the back yard. If she liked him she’d come up to him and take some pets. This was only if it suited her or maybe she was bored. I always think it’s because she could tell he was a good one and that made me feel even better about him. I’ve always felt like animals and children will tell you what you need to know about someone if you pay attention. Quiet and dainty. She was the kind of cat that let you get to know her as long as she could keep her wildness and you understood. When we first met it was 2013 right after I had moved here. She appeared on the porch, stuck her head through the iron wrought banister and spoke to me as I watered plants. “Good morning to you.” I said. I started drinking my afternoon coffee there and she’d join me for company and to watch the tourists who oohed and aahed over her as she mewed back, stretched her legs and sunned herself. She was quite a little ham when I think about it now. This memory of her always makes me laugh. She looked back at me as to say, “they must not have cats in Cleveland.” Making fun of tourists became our routine and that’s how we became friends. I think it’s fair to say I fell in love with her pretty quickly. The cats who have spent time with me have just shown up. My relationships with cats have been akin to falling in love. If you wait long enough the right cat will find you. Her voice was feminine and she talked back when I’d ask her about her day and did she see a lizard and so forth. However, our friendship was sealed when I brought home a rotisserie chicken one afternoon. I opened the door off the kitchen and she banged the screen with her claws until I opened up for her. Once I started feeding her house food she was mine. Our codependent relationship was happy and balanced. I let her be who she wanted to be and didn’t try to influence her to become a house cat or my emotional support. I hate when people make their animals their therapist. Summer’s and winter’s can be hard here in the Lower Garden. She was a woolly girl with thick fur which looked completely black, but if you saw it in certain light you’d notice amber highlights. I would encourage her to come in more and she’d try sometimes, eat the treats I made special for her and enjoy a back rub on her silky frame. Then! Instantly! And for no particular reason, she’d quickly make her way to the door off the kitchen and meow. It was either the stalking hour or maybe another realm calling her. I’d imagine that she’d step outside, unzip a small section of the atmosphere and disappear into a cat never land complete with endless cat treats, butterflies to chase and catnip bushes for her to rest beneath. I loved making her comfortable and I know I spoiled her a little. I had so much admiration and respect for this little cat who had survived the mean streets of New Orleans, rogue creatures who came into the yard and other cats who were bigger. She did this by simply staying put on her on turf. She never came out onto the sidewalk or crossed the street. She knew innately what she could handle and what was beyond her. I saw her once leap from the front porch, eyes ablaze with fury and fangs bared because a possum was in her yard. She chased him into the gardenia bush and gave him his marching orders howling and yowling as he fled. My son saw it all and was mightily impressed with her ferocity and determination. He had a better look than I did and said that the possum was twice her size. So that was the way it went for years. Mornings in the back patio became our norm complete with me sitting near her while she ate her breakfast and I sipping my tea. We’d chat back and forth about the weather and I’d stroke her with a wire tipped brush as she gently pushed her head into my calves. It was like I’ve always known her and I can only ponder on what she thought of me. I think it was positive and she seemed genuine and loving. What a rare and special gift she was giving me. I never took it for granted. Any love you receive on this earth is worth pausing for and animals can be some of the most generous if you remain open to them. It’s hard to think of her now and not tear up. We met in her later years and this year should would have turned eighteen. Her last week was traumatic to say the least. She hadn’t been eating much and I tired all types of foods to coax her, but she wasn’t able to get much down. I knew things were changing for her and ultimately for me. I was losing my friend. Then on a Thursday morning she came straight into the door when I opened it to offer her breakfast. She ran past me and up the stairs. That was not a good sign. I followed her and she placed herself onto the small couch in the living room. For the next three days I attempted to feed her and ask her what I could do to help. She wasn’t eating or drinking and I was getting worried. I read that sometimes when a cat won’t eat offering baby food proteins like lamb and chicken may help until a cat gets back on her feed. She was too weak to stand and I began feeding her by spoon and giving her drops of water in an old medicine dropper. She responded well and would finish most of a jar of the food. Once she had a little food in her she would stand and attempt to jump off the couch, but would tumble onto her side. Then she would wander around the room and stare into a corner for what seemed a long time. The following Thursday I couldn’t find her. I looked everywhere in the house and that evening around dinnertime I heard a small thud behind a curio in the dining room. She was coming out of her spot and wasn’t herself. I picked her up and laid her onto a soft chair. She kept trying to stand, but she wasn’t able. Finally I said “you can’t get up angel and there’s no where to go if you could.” With that she fell into my hands and surrendered. I put her onto the couch so that she could lay flat and comfortably while I waited for the inevitable. I watched her tail mostly because she was silent and her eyes were closed. Her tail often had been my cue on her mood at any given time. It was thick and muscular and was always moving. Hour by hour it slowed down to almost nothing. Around midnight as I sat and stroked her, kissed her and told her all was well and she was safe her tail stopped moving. It simply felt like a feather in my hand and all that life it once had vanished into the ether along with her sweet spirit. She was gone. I scooped her up and held her close to my chest one more time. I had never expected to feel so much love for her. I really hope she knew she was loved and cherished for being the sweet and giving soul that is so rare in this world. Each morning I look at the little wooden box on my dining room mantle. I’m reminded that while it holds her ashes she’s really not there. While it is a small comfort to view what is left of her on a daily basis there’s a gaping hole in my heart and I miss her more and more. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of something out of the side of my eye and for a moment I think of her tail swishing past me. Wishful thinking, but it comforts me for a moment. I have memories and her brush and a little tuft of her fur in a satin bag that was given to me by the kind people her handled her after she passed. A homeless guy that I help sometimes told me when I said that my cat had died “I know where I could find you a kitten.” I laughed and told him “I’m not ready to love anything yet.” Maybe the right cat will find me again some sweet day.
Bywater Booty Call
Once upon a time I met a chef, went back to his place in the Bywater and fucked his brains out. I wasn’t living here at the time. We met online and I wanted the adventure of coming to New Orleans to see one guy and squeezing another into my greedy pussy in the same visit. I was already going to be in town for another date so I thought it might be fun to work in another cock. The relationship, if you could call it a relationship with the man in my story Polyamory Isn’t for the Faint of Heart was waning and I liked the idea of having this secret fuck before I saw him. He was going to spend most of our date talking with or about his number one anyway. Or, we’d talk about how she felt about her writing or her breakfast or how she is thinking about Pilates instead of yoga being more fulfilling for her and so on. So, as a mature woman in the throws of my hormonal peak, I thought it only fair that I get a little something for myself to make our time together tolerable. Revenge sex is best served chilled. Or, in this case, lukewarm. Lukewarm was how I was feeling about him and I was tired of his angst, his young girlfriend’s bewilderment at life in general, and his neediness. He wasn’t going to have a moment of clarity and I had accepted it. Also, I liked the challenge of fitting both men into this trip and the thrill of pulling it off with grace. A successful weekend in New Orleans with intrigue and suspense was something I could feast on for weeks. The adventure and the risk of heading into what was still a sketchy neighborhood as the Bywater was tantalizing. Chef seemed like a nice guy and offered to cook for me as well. So, I arrived in New Orleans with high hopes for a good trip and maybe some mind blowing sex. Not to mention, I wanted to soak in my city of dreams before I had to head back up yonder to Mississippi and tow the line. My time there was ending and I knew if I had to live there much longer I was going to burst into flames. I packed my little bag the day of and took the City of New Orleans from Jackson to the Crescent City with a spring in my step and a song in my heart. I was going to make the most of this gritty city and nothing was going to stop me. I was to meet the chef at his restaurant, see how it goes and decide whether he was “sponge worthy” to borrow a phrase. The train was on time. From the station I took a streetcar to my vacation rental in River Bend near Claiborne. I ditched my bag, changed into something pretty and got back onto the streetcar to head down to the Quarter. Crossing Canal I headed north on Chartres and as I walked I breathed in the smells of the river, garbage, the occasional puff of weed, sewage, fried food, beer and urine. I took a deep breath and exclaimed out loud “what a relief!” I was due at Sylvain for 8:00 pm and didn’t want to be late. I texted that I was near and he texted back that he was making my dinner. It’s not often in my life that men have cooked for me. You can imagine the brownie points he was chalking up by being so considerate and thoughtful. So, I entered the restaurant and told the hostess that I was looking for the chef. She told me that she was expecting me and sat me down at a cozy little table by the front windows. I watched the people walking on the street outside and waited for my date to come out and say hello. When he appeared from the back of the place he greeted me with a hug and a smile. He said, “you’re so pretty.” We both sat down and a waiter brought our first course. It was fried cauliflower with a delicate plum sauce. I was ravenous. Chef told me that this was all mine because he had been tasting all evening and wasn’t particularly hungry. I devoured it without hesitation. I already liked him and he was one of those types that likes to care for others. He likes to feed people and it must have soothed his soul. He seemed like a giver. However, I rarely fall for the givers. I want the guy who will give me the worst possible time and wonder why he isn’t more selfless. The second and third courses came and went. He told me about growing up in the city and where he went to high school and why he became a chef and what his momma’s maiden name was. I loved hearing about it all. He was a slice of New Orleans that was rare and true. He even had the accent. He was about six feet three with long legs and long black hair. Somewhere in his blood line there must have been some French and some American Indian, but I could only speculate. I wasn’t really attracted to him sexually, but the food he made was sensual and I decided based on this fact alone that he was worth blowing back at his place. He told me he had moved there recently because of the gays in town. You see, whenever a neighborhood is impoverished and gays with money and style start buying up the properties and renovating then that area is on an upswing. So, he figured he’d move in there and see how it evolves. He also told me that this restaurant was haunted and one time when he was prepping in the kitchen a knife flew across the room for no particular reason. No one was there but him and he just stood stunned for several minutes before continuing his work. Another employee had been walking in as the knife went flying, but turned and walked back out when he saw what was happening. They had been warned that weird things happen sometimes so they weren’t especially surprised. When I finished my dessert he said to give him a few minutes and we’d be on our way. As we left his haunted eatery and stepped out into the cool October night I noticed St. Louis Cathedral straight ahead. I said “let’s walk to the church.” We made our way towards Jackson Square surrounded by tourists and the locals looking to hustle them for their shoes, leftovers from dinner and anything else they could take. It was a beautiful night and I had a full belly and a whole weekend to misbehave. As we stood in front of the cathedral I remember him taking my hand when a rowdy group of drunk tourists came rushing in front of us. I guess I wasn’t looking because gazing at the church and the grounds at Jackson Square brought back a flood of memories like buying tiny bags of ground corn to feed the pigeons in the Square when I was a kid and going inside the Cathedral to light a candle. I’ve always been kind of a damsel in distress when I’m out in public. I’m easily over stimulated and will momentarily get stuck. He received points for paying attention and guiding me through the sea of people and lights and the memories that were silently overwhelming me, but he couldn’t possibly know. We strolled north from the Square and made our way through the dark streets toward Esplanade and beyond the Marigny. As we walked we stopped along to the way to people watch and take in the beautiful moon. This was a neighborhood I haven’t been to before. As we stepped onto Dumaine Street he said “it’s not much farther.” I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked around me. It was fairly empty and the people milling around seemed fairly scary. We made it to his front step and he unlocked the door. Let’s just say that it was an older home in need of a remodel and a maid. I forgave him for being a bachelor and probably the kind of guy who doesn’t entertain much as he’s always at work. He offered me a seat on his cluttered couch while clearing a space for me. “Do you want a beer?” He asked while smiling. I said “why not?” He brought a bottle of Bud over and sat beside me. We chatted a while and I began to loosen up. I realized he was authentic and I was in let’s just say “capable” hands. Those said hands gently touched my chin and he leaned in for a kiss which was soft and not pushy. You know what they say about that first kiss? It tells you everything you need to know about someone. This kiss was telling me I was about to get posted. I looked down and he was already growing for me. It was one of the biggest I had seen at that point in my life. He pulled me towards him, pulled me onto my feet and turned me around to face the couch. He started taking off my clothes with those great, big capable hands and I surrendered. He pulled my dress over my head and I watched it drop onto the floor. He pushed his pelvis and hips forward into my back and hips and ass. His hands were everywhere. He turned me around and pulled my bra down over my tummy and began sucking like he knew how I liked my breasts to be sucked. He took my hand and put it on top of his pants so I could feel him. It was then I realized I might not be able to accommodate him entirely. I unbuttoned his pants and he pulled his shirt off over his head. Where it fell I didn’t see. His penis came flying out his pants when I unzipped them with what could be best described as a boing! I sat down on the couch again and began sucking him. I was really juiced now and my pussy was hot and throbbing. He groaned quietly and let me savor him for a few minutes. As I sucked I noticed that old smell that homes like his have. It must have been built in the 20’s or 30’s. It seemed sturdy and the walls were pretty thick. I didn’t hear anything but us and the occasional car that drove by. It was after eleven so things were getting quiet outside. He took a handful of my hair and began fucking my mouth with those capable hands like I was his slave and my duty was to suck him to completion. He leaned down and pulled my head up towards his mouth in one smooth movement. He kissed me again with his mouth closed like a lover who kisses his girl as he’s leaving, but comes back for just one more. Then he lifted me to my feet and guided me to the edge of the couch, bent me over and began eating me from behind. His tongue was lapping me up from ass to the front of my dripping pussy. Then he fucked me with that tongue maybe in an effort to help me relax because a man knows when he has a big cock. If he wants to fuck he has to make sure a woman has had enough time to expand. I opened like a flower for him. As he slid into me it almost felt like the first time where there’s a little pain back towards the cervix, but you don’t really mind. A few hours passed and by the time he had sated his lust I was no longer coherent. His cum was in me and running down my legs. I think some was even in my hair as he came more than once. I felt so used and I loved it. He asked me if I wanted to clean up and stay with him for the night. I hobbled over towards the bathroom and turned on the light. I turned the light off. I couldn’t use this bathroom. I turned to him and gently said, “I really need to go, but I appreciate your offer. I’m renting a place in the River Bend and I have an early start. Thank you for a wonderful time.” He smiled and gave me a kiss on my forehead as I stood in his kitchen and used paper towels to clean up. I was dreaming about the hot shower I would take once I got back Uptown. He’s a good guy. He’s just not for me. So, this is merely a “booty call” and nothing more. He was kind and generous and I remember him and our experience fondly. That’s all it has to be. When my cab pulled up he stood in the doorway and asked “wasn’t our sex good?” I kissed him on the cheek and told him he was maybe the best sex I’d had in a long time. He grinned like a little boy as I stepped down on to the street and got into the car. When the sun came up I woke up sore, but thrilled. I had pulled it off. Later that morning my poly mess of a guy came to pick me up. I was outside waiting for him with my bag because we were going to be staying elsewhere that night. He rushed up to me and twirled me around in his enthusiastic and usual greeting. He was always like that. It was great in the beginning and the sex was perfection. Then, swiftly he’d turn away and get lost in a conversation with his confused millennial girlfriend or the women who contacted him on OK Cupid. Maybe he couldn’t handle the intimacy and he had even told me as much in some of our conversations. I made him have to think and that was hard for someone who couldn’t commit to the entire date before having to engage with another. As he smiled down into my face he asked “did you enjoy your night?” I gave him the sweetest eyes and expression I could manage and purred “I had a great night.” He blushed.
I Burn For You 🔥
She stole a quick peek at his eyes as he scrolled through the pictures on his phone. “I want you to see my last provider. We had a relationship for years. Then she moved away. I’m looking for a new main squeeze. You remind me of her a little bit.” He proudly announced this to her as he found his former tart’s picture and handed her his phone. “What an odd thing to do.” She said quietly to herself. “Am I supposed to be turned on now?” Thoughtfully smiling and agreeing with him that his ex was indeed a pretty woman, she nodded her approval. “We have spent a lot of our time talking about you and your life, your ex and so forth. Am I to mirror what you want to see and hear back to you?” Thinking this to herself she sipped her old fashioned and looked at the busty Texas gal grinning in the pic. Once she got a good look she decided that if there was a resemblance she didn’t see it. This woman was anatomically challenged due to a boob job that seemed to be more than she needed. She was also very tall compared to her lowly 5’3 inch frame. Not to mention, his former flame’s style of dress was flashier than hers. For a provider she still adhered to the rules of dress she was raised on. “Less is more.” She heard her mother’s voice whisper softly as she continued to look at his eyes. She noticed as he looked at the pics on his phone he smiled at this woman who had ended their relationship for some reason. He was obviously remembering some sweet moment they had shared in their sorted past as lovers. That’s when he endeared himself to her. It took about five minutes and the picture of the ex for her to size him up. He seemed pleasant enough and wasn’t cheap. The ex was holding flowers and gifts he’d given her over the years. That’s a good sign. Seated in one of the better restaurants in town and looking across from him she noticed how confident he seemed. First meetings, in her opinion were part fiction and part mystery. The most important thing to remember is that if it seems too good to be true it usually is too good to be true. Also, take everything with a grain of salt. This might be a fantasy of his. Some men don’t announce their true intentions with you and somehow you give them what they want simply by paying attention. However, his motives seemed skewed. He looked up from his phone, licked his bottom lip and gazed at the demure woman before him like a delicious dessert he was eager to devour. She finished her drink and sighed deeply. Dinner came and went. Chit chat was now limited and she was ready to move on with the rest of the date or whatever the afternoon would bring. She looked at him and studied his face as he asked her “would you like to go back to my hotel room?” She wasn’t entirely comfortable with him, but there was a compulsion that urged her on. “Maybe he’ll be fun. He likes southern girls and he’s in pretty good shape.” She said this to comfort herself and prepare for what was to come next. She felt like she didn’t have a choice. Maybe it was lust. Or, just something beyond her. So many ways to say no. Yes is weak, but this is what I do. Another thought crossed her mind. “I really don’t want to go back to his hotel room.” This surprised her because she was usually up for the sport of unfamiliar sex with no strings attached. However, he seemed interested in her in a way that she wanted to run from and pursue in equal amounts. It wasn’t ego on her part that took his hand when he offered it and walked with him to his car. It was more of a curiosity to see what he would say next. She gathered herself for the ride to the hotel and gave a silent warning. “Don’t get lost in this whatever it may be.” “Just stay until you feel ready to leave and then go home.” After all, she owed him nothing. And nothing was exactly what she was preparing to give him. She knew he was comparing her to the last one and this realization sort of took the wind out of her sails. He was merely a little boy and his eyes were kind. She knew that she had nothing to fear. But it always puts a damper on the fun and the spontaneity of a session when the client compares you to his ex wife or former lover. Once, before the pandemic, when the world was still turning and she was rolling in the clients, she met a man who told her she looked like a little red haired girl he had loved in the third grade. It had been a happy meeting and the good part was that he didn’t tell her why he had chosen her until she was walking him to the door. However, a session always belongs to the client he can talk about whomever he wants to. All she has to do is listen. “Sit quiet as a dove and let him work it out.” Admonishing herself for being judge mental she noticed a raggedy looking woman on the side of the street running after a very angry and very skinny man. “Oh! Things could be very different for you if you had gone down her path. There by the grace of God go I.” Whispering a prayer for the woman and secretly counting her blessings, she quickly turned back to her date and was grateful for what she had done right in her life. When they arrived a valet met him at his car door. Another opened her side and helped her out. Her date told them both “be careful with my baby.” They laughed and said “we’re going to take it to Memphis tonight.” This gave them all a good chuckle and he offered his arm and took her inside the hotel. Once they entered his hotel room she was taken by how beautiful it was and she felt that it was chosen especially to impress her. Maybe he was aiming to give an illusion of himself which she wasn’t sure she fully understood. However, an impression was made and when he moved in behind her and began slipping her dress off of her shoulders all fears and assumptions faded. “Good hands.” She assured herself as this man’s hands now cupped her soft and engorged breasts. Once aroused her breasts and pussy plump up for proper sexual satisfaction. He smelled so good. Not cologne or aftershave, but just him. Clean and easy. It’s so satisfying when the chemicals are right. His lips nipped the nape of her neck almost too forcefully, but not enough for her to complain. She arched her neck so that he could continue priming her for what she hoped would be several hours of quality play. Everything felt right. The dress was a memory now and he pulled his shirt off and tossed it on the floor. She unbuckled his pants in a hasty dance over towards the bed. She wanted him on top of her as soon as possible. No more worry or stress. Just let this happen. When she moaned or gasped he mimicked her and moaned his own lust out loud. “How interesting.” She thought. “He isn’t afraid to be himself during sex.” So many men have come and gone that it was refreshing to find one that really enjoys the whole of the sex act. Noise making included. Now on top of her his fingers stroked her face and he buried his tongue deep inside her mouth. Glancing behind her, she spied a lovely cream envelope with “Jilly” handwritten on the front standing upright on the nightstand. “Well…that was dumb! You should have asked for it! What are you doing dummy?” She admonished herself for not being in control and making sure the money was handed to her when they walked into his room. He had already given her part for coming to dinner first. This must be the other half. “Come on!” She said to herself. While she managed for the moment to clear her head and pay closer attention, his hands were moving down her hips, thighs and as he parted her legs and placed himself on top of her juicy mound she opened her eyes. “Okay. Let him play a little and then suggest a condom.” She decided she’d let him know if things became too hot too handle.” His manner was purposeful and somewhat commanding. He was sure of himself and that is a lot to deal with in a situation such as this. She figured, he wasn’t going to want to wear a condom and how to make him would be the challenge. Some men want to push a lady as far as she will let him go. Some men push too far and you have what could basically be the same thing as “date rape.” It’s a very fine line between what is proper even if you are a woman like me who is in the business of pleasuring strange men for money. Like I’ve said before “I’m a gambling man” and I feel like I draw the right men to me with my advertising and pick the ones that I feel with treat me the way I want to be treated. Then there’s this guy. Brash. Capable. Oblivious. “He doesn’t really need me. I’m sure he can get whomever he chooses. He’s not overly handsome, but he’s very sexy and stands straight and tall. Also, he makes me feel dainty and delicate. Of course I’d like to bare back him. He’s a player. I guess he recognized himself in me and wanted to see how good it could be.” These thoughts were foremost in her mind as he began rubbing her now sticky clit with his uncovered cock. She allowed herself this tasty moment. She grind ed her hips as he made circles with the tip of his cock. His tongue firmly planted in her throat now, she began to feel a shock of electricity that originates in her core. It’s what she would call “almost sex.” It wasn’t actually coitus and there wasn’t any penetration. She assumed this heavy petting was a prelude to the banging that was eminent. It brought her back to a time where heavy petting or pleasing yourself was all you had.
As a young pubescent she spent hours in her room listening to her Police albums and staring back at Sting as he and his bottle blonde band mates leered back. She watched their videos and bought their albums. Sting made her tingle to her core. He made her think thoughts and do things she was sure would buy her a front row seat at the ninth gate of Hell. With that intense gaze and angelic voice, not to mention the hauntingly beautiful lyrics, what young girl could resist? Silly little girl! Her mother once told her that teen dream, Dion, made her “weak in the knees.” Lots of hormones raging and masturbation kept you chaste. Sometimes she remembered how acute the shock of her fingers entering her burgeoning vagina felt as she made play love in her mind to her favorite rock god. “It’s never going to be that new again.” She knew in her heart. Teenage girls should be locked up until they turn thirty. However, Sting’s lyrics made her pull out a dictionary so she could fully understand his seduction.
“In peace we sleep entwined
And your love flows through me
Though an ocean soothes my head
I burn for you.”
Snapping back to reality she felt something very wet between her thighs. “Did he cum?” She reached between their legs and he was still being a good boy. He was simply grinding on top of her furry muff. She was sloppy wet. She was so wet she didn’t even realize that it had happened. “Golly.” She whispered, as his mouth crashed down hard upon her parted lips. He was now on his knees, hands wrapped around her bottom and his mouth was now in her folds. When a woman is this turned on the first lick from your lover’s tongue is magical. “I may actually cum if he keeps this up.” She hoped. He continued licking her pussy and made deep moans and whimpers which heightened his and her pleasure. She reached her hand forward and grasped his cock in her hand. “I want to suck you!” She gasped. He moved forward on his knees, turned her around so that her head was beneath him and put his cock into her mouth backwards. She gulped him down as far as her mouth and throat would allow. “Hold on baby. I might blow if you keep that up!” He moaned. He then spun around to face her in a missionary pose. “Let’s put on a condom so that I can fuck you properly.” He said. She froze. She hadn’t taken them out of her bag like she would have usually done upon entering the room. He sort of overtook her when they first entered his room and she didn’t do anything right. “Let me get my bag,” she said. As she slipped off the bed and onto the floor, stumbling towards her crumpled purse which was lying near the door she giggled because didn’t remember dropping it. She picked through her collection of prophylactics and found her favorite brand. Walking back towards the bed she noticed that his cock was still hard, but eager to wrap her lips around him just once before he blew she asked, “do you mind?” He obliged her by pushing her onto her knees as he stood up in front of her. As she smelled his musky sack and sucked his balls he groaned out loud. He grasped a handful of her hair and fed his cock in and out of her doll like mouth. As he grew harder and harder she noticed the electric tingly shocks were back and now her pelvis was aching. She needed to fuck him now. Sensing that she was ready he pulled her up to him and kissed her deeply. Then he pushed her down onto the side of the bed, hoisted her legs up to him, peeled the wrapper off of the selected Trojan and buried his organ deep inside her womb. “This is the sweetest pussy!” He breathed as he thrust into her again and again. Her head was swimming. Now her moaning had become guttural and like him she opened her mouth and let each spasm force one scream after another from so deep inside of her she literally was losing consciousness. When she released he followed with his orgasm. He yelled his pleasure with eyes wide open into her face. She was certain that other rooms could hear them now. No matter. He was touching her soul and had actually made contact with who she was. It was positively spiritual. He pulled out of her roughly, flopped onto the other side of the bed panting and pulling himself together. “Jesus H. Christ! You are a firecracker little lady!” He said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. She said “I haven’t been fucked like that in a good while.” It was a good thing he was her last client of the day because after that she was worthless. Giggling now. She asked him “do you have another one in you?” He stopped panting and said “I think that was it. If I cum that hard again I might die.” She noticed that she really liked lying in his arms and decided to stay put and see what he says next. It’s her nature to want to up and leave once the client is sated, but there’s no hurry today. He sat up on the edge of the bed and asked her if she needed a ride home. She said she had a way. “Pity.” She said silently. She was hoping they could do it again to see if she could pull that second one out of him. It was not to be. He was now heading towards the bathroom. She stood up and started gathering her things, looking for panties and shoes. The light coming in through the hotel room was golden. She had been in this room nearly three hours and the sun was going down. Smiling to nobody she realized they had successfully departed. He came towards her and cupped her face in his hands. Gently kissing her mouth, nose and neck he told her that he really appreciated her. She blushed as she kissed him back and replied “it was my pleasure.” She dressed and left “walking on the moon.”
The Art of the Gangbang
How do I describe what a gang bang does for me personally? If I’m honest I think I can say that the act is misogynistic at worst and therapeutic at best. Also, it can be a little like rough housing with other kids, but with penetration. I thought long and hard on what to tell you. I said to myself, do I embellish the story with examples of male domination and talk of pussy and cock just so the pervs are titillated? Or, do I give a bold account of what really happened during the encounter?” After all, it was my gang bang and this is my story. Truthfully I feel a touch of regret because now I see what I could have done better. I’m equally impressed that I could pull one off after a year of constant change, despair and personal and physical setbacks. I was very encouraged by the turnout as well. The men who showed up were in need of a release and an escape. As you know, life hasn’t been as satisfying as it once was.
Every woman’s thought about it at one point her life. However, to actually dig down and find the fortitude of mind to seek out a group of men who would be more than happy to oblige you is what separates the women from the girls. I am such a woman. Having sex with man after man seems crazy in some ways. Then again, this lifestyle is like the air that I breathe. I know. I spend days befuddled by who I am and what I thought I’d be. However, it’s then that I think of the cottage industry I’ve created and how well I’ve managed to keep it rolling in spite of a raging pandemic in my beloved city and the loss of tourist dollars. As strange as it may seem, a gang bang is an opportunity to reset yourself and focus as the moment takes you away. I have been busy working on content for Only Fans and I recently had one filmed.
For the setting I chose one of my favorite hotels in town. For the video I was trying to paint a picture of New Orleans as she is right now, paired with a “devil may care” attitude. To make my point I feel it must take place in a unique and iconic setting. I decided on a Mardi Gras theme and had masks for the gentlemen who came to my door. This was part of the show and to give them anonymity. There’s always a rush of musk and uneasiness when a group of men gather naked for the first time. Think about that last sentence for a moment. Let it sink in. Have you ever smelled another man’s musk while waiting your turn, naked and eager, to dive into a wanton and willing woman? Standing before them I begin to notice that they are looking at my breasts and other delicacies as pack of wolves would ogle prey. I’m suddenly seized by a desire to protect myself and assert my control over the situation. I quietly, but ever so methodically look at each of them and convey that I’m in control and there will not be any monkey business.
Most group things start with the initial sizing of each other up and naked guys are no exception. One of the guys, and we’ll call him Shy Guy for this story, shrinks back some once a few of the more Alpha men start undressing. However, he was man enough to seek me out and take the risk in spite of himself. Body shaming has no place in the world of kink if you ask me. Just show up with a good attitude and the rest will fall into place. In every group encounter I’ve participated in there’s always one man who leads the charge. He’s usually a big guy with a big cock who needs to dominate me first so that everyone will understand that he’s Mr. Alpha. Mr. Alpha sometimes directs the scene and tells other men what to do as we film. My Mr. Alpha is just as I’ve described except he’s wearing a long sleeve shirt which takes away from the flesh on flesh, dreamy atmosphere I’m trying to create. Crap! Maybe he has tats to hide. I shrug it off. As I take in his already erect, baby pink cock, I muse on whether men need a leader in a strange and unfamiliar setting like this. I bring myself back to this moment and ever the hostess, I let my guests know I’m glad they’re here and they can feel free to have a good time.
As we begin I go straight for the cocks. I drop to my knees. As the men circle me I feel strangely smaller. I’m not afraid of them and I welcome the challenge to get off as many of them that are ready, willing and able. A short cock belonging to a man who has the cutest little beer gut is thrust into my mouth. I secretly call him Micro Brewery. Micro Brewery is semi hard and I feel like the alcohol is what keeps him soft. I lean into Mr. Alpha’s groin and switch up. Sometimes if one man watches you suck another man’s cock it might help him relax. When I switched again it was to Shy Guy’s half limp, but ready member. I made a little groan, took his cock and shoved it to the back of my throat. There was also a stranger, more earthy kind of man in the room. He had something that seemed unsettled and I’m not quite sure if he was housebroken. He was basically dripping with lust and desire. The dark wavy curls on his head seemed as conflicted and turbulent as the look of pain on his face. As I turned to face his cock he swiftly, and to my surprise, gently placed himself inside my mouth. He began fucking my mouth and with each thrust I felt myself grow wetter and wetter. When I rounded back Micro Brewery he was more than eager to let me suck him again. The visual helped and I was glad he was paying attention. Before I realized what was happening, the earthy, pained looking man, and we’ll call him Wild Thing for this story, is crouched behind me, sticking his cock deep inside me. This guy was hard in a way that felt sort of primal. We squatted and fucked this way for just a few minutes. Holding my balance using the balls of my feet, I was reminded of a scene from the movie “Quest for Fire” in which Rae Dawn Chong plays a prehistoric woman who’s taken prisoner by another tribe. In the movie’s realistic sex scene she squats and fucks another Cro-magnon actor as a another weird and likely mentally challenged actor coos and mimics their sounds and moans. This was quite scandalous for me to see as a young pubescent and like everyone who saw this scene I was turned on. As Wild Man came I listened to his sounds and secretly longed for a round two.
Mr. Alpha couldn’t wait any longer and I got the impression he had wanted to be first. He hoists me onto the edge of the bed and enters me forcefully. He’s quite theatrical it turns out and he asks “You’re a good little cum slut, aren’t you?” I reply “of course I am.” What else am I going to say? I’m the best little cum slut East of the Mississippi. Yes Sir! He continues grinding into me, turning me on my side to fuck me sideways and instructing the others to let me suck them. The moment he cums he jumps off of me and spends the next ten minutes in the bathroom cleaning himself. All that dirty talk from such a eager beaver and he muddies up my video with the sounds of the bathroom sink and shower? Still reeling from the two fucking’s I just had, Micro Brewery and Shy Guy corner me on the bed and take turns sticking their cocks into my mouth. I decide to let he, who is fond of the drink, mount me next. Shy guy needs a visual and I need to make sure this video is as long as possible. A gathering of men in a hotel room is a great setting. I make sure I am making the most out of who showed up. A door slams and I realize that Mr. Alpha has left and it’s then that I notice that Wild Man has vanished as well. As I turn back towards my remaining guests I worry that they won’t be able to accomplish what the two who have just left did in twenty seven minutes. Neither is as hard as the others or as sure of themselves. Deciding that this may be a good time to practice my Kegel exercies, I pull a deep and powerful orgasm out of Micro Brewery as he thrusts into me doggie style. Mercifully, he cums and then dresses and leaves. I need to work on Shy Guy now and we decide to let me get on top. The video for this scene is particularly good in spite of all of the distractions. A friend of mine is there for a few reasons as he’s providing light security and is shooting the video. We ask Shy Guy if he’s comfortable with him being so close to us. It’s necessary that my friend shoot close up’s of the good stuff. Shy Guy smiles and says “it’s cool” as my friend leans in with the camera. My pervs on Only Fans want to see his fuzzy cock going in and out of my milfy puss!! Shy Guy lets me ride him for several minutes and I feel like I’m playing peek a boo with his growing cock. I’m lifting my ass up in the air and sliding down his shaft like a real porn actress. I become lost in our movements that I do not realize that he’s already cum. We climb off of the bed and clean up. As we’re saying goodbye Shy Guy says to please keep his number. He wasn’t the guy I thought would leave last.
I close the door and turn to my camera man. He’s laughing because he’s completely bewildered that they have all left. He starts in about “back in my day” and “I didn’t stop fucking until the woman told me to get off of her!” I laugh and think about generational differences between men of my era and the men of today. They don’t linger. It’s interesting. You think they would. Then again, the men my age are the last of the the old boy’s club who were free to harass their secretary all morning, squeeze a waitress’ butt at lunchtime and have a meaningless quickie with a loved starved divorcee at the club after work. No accountability. No shame. If she made a fuss she was a whore anyway and he was a hero for having bagged her in the first place!
Time has changed some things for the better and I tell myself to be grateful for the turnout. I have the footage I need and will post these precious videos in spite of little goofs and my own insecurities as a fledgling porn actress. It’s not easy for me to watch myself on film. No one is a harder judge than oneself. However, subscribers on my Only Fans seem to like what I create and they gobble up even the tamer videos like one of me masturbating with my dildo or a “Get Happy” massage with a client. I am learning how to create the right ingredients for a great porn film. I never dreamed I’d be doing what I always considered cam girl type of work. I have always seen myself as an experience that is to be enjoyed in 3D. Your reward on Only Fans is you get to watch a real New Orleans prostitute hard at work. Just pay $9.99 per month and you can have pay per view Jilly!! If you’d like to see what this gang bang was all about and how I’m hustling in a popular city on the down low, subscribe and see for yourself. I have nothing to hide.
The Country Club
“Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief and shining moment, that was known as Camelot.”
Alan Jay Lerner, Camelot
Once upon a time, not so long ago, in this city there was a place where you could be yourself without the morality police and millennial’s coming of age to judge, tweet and or close it down. I think on it as something akin to a Camelot for gays and swingers and all of the kinky freaks wanting to commune and share their story without blame or shame. I mean. New Orleans is where you’re supposed to be able to let it all hang out. Or, so I thought. For those of you who remember “The Executive Fuck” story and my partner in kink, Sexy Beast, this is where we first flaunted ourselves in public. We were getting to know one another and our relationship was new. I was eager to run and frolic with whomever he found for us to explore sexually. He had had the privilege of living in New Orleans when the few sex clubs in town were still rollicking and full of kindred spirits who enjoyed this type of thing. Now, the last sex club open in town is Collette’s. According to Sexy Beast it was formerly a fun and uninhibited good time full of people who were there to participate wholeheartedly and get it on. I’ve noticed that over the years at this particular club, instead of hot and horny free spirits there are lovely women who prefer wearing sexy clothes and sitting very close to their husband or boyfriend in an attempt to be seen, but not to be touched. No edge. No soul. No fun. If there’s a game in town the opposing pseudo wannabee kinksters are dressed to the nine’s and have an impenetrable force field that outsiders or locals cannot pierce. It’s a click fest. If you get my meaning. Bad music and drunk milfs in hooker boots sliding up and down the stripper pole command your attention because no one is actually fucking. The one’s that are fucking are not necessarily the ones you’d want. I could get laid there, but the cock blocking, attention whores won’t let me near their mates. I still gaze, bat my eyes and I make it known that I’m available. For sport and out of sheer boredom I like making some of these women nervous. I get a little too close to their husbands in the halls and smile at them as we watch their “better half” do her best Springer inspired pole dance. You’re the one, Honey. I’m just a distraction and I don’t want to take him home with me. I just want to chew on his strange and meaty member while you entertain us. Tough crowd. The Country Club, however, was the most fun I have had in this now shuttered city and it was a delight to hang with all of the freaks. It was like Mardi Gras, but naked. The facade is a 1860’s era Center Hall home which is ascetically lovely and unassuming. Located in the Bywater, we usually wound up here at the end of an evening. It’s also a restaurant with a decent menu and a large and comfortable bar inside. The patio area in back was the show. When you walk through the restaurant and bar to the outside, what you see first is a pool and the large Tiki bar. Upbeat music is playing and boobs and cocks are flying. It was so free. Unlike Collette’s and the failed Jasmine’s, where you must bring your own booze, The Country Club provided all the libations you could want without having to bring your cooler. I have always despised a bar or club that didn’t have it’s own. I can just drink at home. This is New Orleans for God’s sake! Everyone and their brother can get a liquor license. So many legal loop holes. It was like a Prince video on this patio. In the large pool naked couples are kissing and getting close with all sorts of characters. In the left back corner is a hot tub where you could share a blunt and warm up for the festivities with a lively group of gays. Look to your left. Is that woman naked and in the bushes being fucked by some stranger? I think she is. Hmm… Move away from the hot tub and head toward the chaise lounges. This is where me and Sexy Beast first did the deed here. I got on top of him and rode him in reverse cowgirl style while men and women gathered and looked on. What power! It was a thrill to say the least. If you wanted to get it on under a Louisiana moon with drink in hand and cock in mouth, the Country Club was always there for you. Sexy Beast would carry me around in the pool attached to his hot and hungry love rod and chat with others. We were like two love bugs in that place. His cock was always inside me. Giggle… Everyone was doing it and it was all under control. Just a fun and happy vibe. Towards the end of its reign this club was slowly, but surely starting to clamp down on anything sexual. Something had changed. The world became more conservative and our youth were coming of age. The security dorks followed you around and discouraged any physical contact in the pool. They frowned on closeness in any form. Sexy Beast, always the rebel, barked back “can I put my arm around her?” I moved to New Orleans to have the fun I was never allowed to have as a teenager. So, being the type of people who do not like being told what to do, especially by overzealous amateurs, we did it anyway. We escaped the pool and went over to a bush. I blew my Beast while looking over my shoulder because I wanted to. You won’t stop me because the youth of our time have no edge and are offended. Maybe they would be happier at a Dave and Buster’s playing skeet ball. It’s like Chuck E Cheese’s for adults. No one will be naked, you can surf Reddit on your IPhone while wearing your Sponge Bob t-shirt. Also, my Beast won’t look at your date like she’s a piece of meat. This still bothers me a great deal. Why should my fun be preempted because the youth are offended and the tourists want to clean up Bourbon Street and everything that makes New Orleans fun? Come on!! On our last visit we were so frustrated by their security detail literally separating married couples and constantly leaning over you in the pool with “too close” and “don’t touch her, Sir,” that we fled into the bathroom. I had been drinking and needed to go to the Ladies Room anyway. I picked a stall and Sexy Beast decided to try one of their newly remodeled showers. As I sat down I heard the bathroom door fly open. One of their Hitler Youth forcefully opened my stall. As I sat there naked on the toilet I said “I usually pee alone, Sweetie.” He muttered something about “I’m just checking” and left the room. What a violation! He didn’t even apologize! Sexy Beast was giggling in the shower and I told him when I finished I was coming to join him. As I slipped out of my stall, looking left and then right, I made sure the coast was clear. I opened the shower door and started fondling my Beast’s always erect and very dependable meat stick. We kissed and groped each other’s goodies. It was fun to try and get away with it without being discovered. In fact, I felt a compulsion to make the most of this. I got on my knees as the warm water flowed over us and took him deep into my mouth. I sucked and sucked with everything in me. I wanted this to be memorable because I somehow knew that this would be our last fuck at the Country Club. Things just weren’t the same and going there had become tiresome and too much of a challenge. I bent over for him to take me from behind. As his slid inside of me I heard the bathroom door open again. As we detached from one another in a one graceful movement, the shower door slammed open and another young man, who I believe took his job way too seriously, told us to get out. We laughed out loud in his face. We knew it was over and that this last shining beacon of kink was kaput. We walked outside being escorted and chided by the security dork for “violating the rules.” I loved that he had made such a scene. I think a few people applauded us as we made our way to our clothing, still waiting for us on a nearby chaise. He even watched us dress ourselves. The absurdity of it all was hilarious to us. With our pride a little battered, but our spirits still up, we wound up at Cafe du Monde to drown our sorrows with hot beignets and cafe au lait. In spite of the humiliation it was still a good night and I remember how much we laughed about it and felt a little sadness because this was one of our favorite places in town. We had really bonded here and their Gestapo tactics couldn’t take that away. Still.. we knew it was over and that stings a little. Not too long after we were publicly dismissed from what had now become a vanilla version of its former self, a young woman claimed she was raped here and the court agreed with her. The Country Club stopped offering the “clothing option” at their pool and changed it’s format forever. It’s funny. This place had started as kind of a haven for gays and those who wanted to express themselves in a semi-controlled setting. Peacefully. Joyfully. Then with just one fateful night it was over. Sexual harassment stories in the news followed as this town was taken down by young women who didn’t like being called “baby” in the workplace and so forth. I’ve been there before. I get it. I’m not saying that these women aren’t telling the truth and in some cases business owners and men in power have been pigs. Forcing a young women to show her body and threatening dismissal if she doesn’t comply is always wrong. Just like the case of fallen superstar Chef John Besh, well…. Manipulating young women into being your personal fantasy is never alright. However, there are other jobs in town. In the case of this rape story I remember what my mama always said, “if you’re looking for trouble you’ll find it” and “don’t put yourself in a compromising position if you’re not prepared for the consequences.” What I dislike most about the entire #Metoo movement is it’s so very, very self serving in that it’s all about “me.” I also think it became trendy and women became emboldened to out their boss and scream rape in instances where I’m not sure it was quite the case. I say trendy because it’s not the news du jour it was about four years ago. What does that mean? Men aren’t sexually harassing women anymore? Or, has the trend simply past? Women walk a fine line when it comes to sex. No doubt. Men have to adjust themselves accordingly and not take advantage. I feel like we have all been punished because of the actions of a few bad men or we are a classroom collectively missing recess because of sexually conflicted and immature women and men. I guess I just miss having fun and my kind of fun is risky. I hope that New Orleans isn’t losing it’s edge. There has to be one place left in this world where we can misbehave.
The Country Club was once a fun time.
Surprised, but in a good way :)
She knew what type of man he was when she first heard his voice on the phone. “He seemed eager in a way that is refreshing,” she mused as he went on about himself and what he was looking for in a companion. The usual trepidation kept her company while he asked questions about donations and her location. She gave him the general area and the block number. She asked him to text her when he parked and she would let him know when to come up onto the porch. He thanked her and let her know that he would be there promptly. He asked if she’d like anything like a bottle of wine or lunch. “I’ll take an iced coffee if you happen to be going to a coffee shop.” He said “you got it, baby.” “Already calling me baby?” She purred. He laughed and when they hung up she gave the kitchen and living areas a quick glance and grabbed a cloth. She never liked clutter and dirty dishes in a sink. Wiping the table and kitchen counters she decided to light a candle in hope of masking the smell of the toast she had for breakfast. She lit a sweet smelling candle a client from Ocean Springs, Mississippi had gifted her months ago. It reminded her of how much she loves the Gulf Coast in the off seasons. Just the idea of driving away from the city for a few days and write, smoke herb and disappear is so very tempting. Although this was a pretty full work day for her she still plotted to at least drive over there and watch the sun go down with iced coffee in hand. Wishful thinking. She knew she would probably not make it today. He clients were calling and that means by the time she was through doling about sweet nothings and making wet dreams come true, she’d be spent and wouldn’t have the energy to drive to another state. When she finished dressing and tidying up her client texted her that he had parked. She told him to meet her at the door. She was wearing panties and a long pink sweater she’d bought on sale during the holidays. When she bought it she remembered thinking that the color was more of flesh tone and it might wind up complimenting her pale and freckled skin. As he came inside she gave him a light kiss on the cheek and welcomed him. He stopped and proudly handed her the iced coffee she had requested and told her “you are very beautiful.” She didn’t feel it today, but thanked him all the same. She took a big sip of her coffee. Nothing like that first wave of coffee, sugar and creamy goodness swirling around in her mouth to get her motor running. Whew! She said “that’s better.” As they started walking into the den she led the way and asked him to follow her as she led him to the back of the house. Walking far enough ahead of her guest so that he could watch her jiggly ass she assessed the situation quietly. Candle is lit. Sexy song playing. House is in order and smells good. The neighbor’s children have already played outside this morning. So, except for the vehicular hum of the bridge noise it’s fairly quiet right now. Okay. The mood is set. He laid an envelope onto the kitchen counter as they made their way. In the bedroom they looked at each other and smiled. She told him to put his clothes on the chair near the dresser. He stopped and asked “can’t I undress you?” She giggled and said “If you’d like to.” He moved toward her and cupping her face into his hands kissed her with just enough tongue to let her know that he knew what he was doing. Golly! Her head swimming and her panties coming off he moved into her space and enveloped her into his arms. He was kissing her like she was the only woman on earth. She completely exhaled and let him suck her tender nipples with his hot mouth. His hands were on her waist, her breasts, her lower back. He wasn’t a small man, but although he wasn’t quite six feet tall, compared to her 5’3 inch frame he seemed larger in this moment. She felt like a kitten being treated with the utmost care. He basically lifted her onto the bed and climbed on top. She began fumbling with shirt buttons, a belt and pushing his shoes off with her feet. “God! I really need it like this.” She was nearly giddy, but did her best to go with the flow and not let on that she needed to be banged like her grandma’s back screen door until she was begging for mercy. Yeah. I’m a sexually frustrated whore. It happens. Back to our story… It’s funny. He isn’t handsome. He isn’t smooth, but he is. He’s your average Joe with really good eyes. She was thinking he would be like he said he was. “I’m a recent divorcee and I’ve never done this sort of thing before.” So, she figured she’d be the dominant one providing patience and guidance and maybe a little kink for this bull who just escaped from the farm. His hands were on her body from top to bottom. He looked into her eyes and gently stroked her hair and molested her handful of pink and puckery goodness like he was holding a pair of eggs. She was being worshipped. Once in great “John” it happens. An audible gasp was released from somewhere deep in the back of her throat as his hand probed her fuzzy little mound. She was so wet for him and the session hasn’t even started. Always a good sign. She grasped his tight ass with her hands as he grinded on top of her. She pulled him in tighter and squeezed his cheeks in an effort to express her appreciation. “Maybe if I pull you into me and suck your tongue into my mouth you’ll fuck me the way I want to be fucked!” She quietly pleaded to no one but herself. She didn’t see this coming. How glorious! Grabbing at his belt line she began peeling his pants off of his muscular hips. He was truly masculine and that is always her kryptonite. She drifted away remembering a threesome she had with a beautiful woman years ago. She was on bottom and the woman was on top of her kissing her gently. The woman was on her knees with her ass up in the air as the man in this memory was slipping his cock into them both. One after the other. His cock was long enough in this scenario and was able to accommodate both of the ladies juicy wet holes. Suddenly she was snapped back into the present with a thud! His pants and belt buckle hit the floor behind him and he was now fully naked and she could feel his throbbing meaty cock between her legs. “Don’t get carried away now,” she advised herself. She moved her pelvis slightly so that his cock was resting on her inner thigh. It’s hard to stop and fumble for a condom, but that’s how this goes. If you don’t take back control you might be in trouble. He obviously understood and positioned himself safely on her thigh as he continued kissing her neck, lips and breasts. It was clear that they were truly turned on and wanted this to be good sex within the boundaries of safety. She reached down in between them and began stroking his hot and eager cock so that he could derive some pleasure in spite of having to hold back. He groaned softly and hoisted her legs up as he dove head first into her clit. With his tongue he began making circles and she felt a jolt of electricity as the sensation moved upward into her tummy where it lingered for a while and then traveled upward into her chest and beyond her frontal lobe. She wasn’t 100% sure it was a full body orgasm, but decided that was what she was going to call it one anyway. He whispered to her “get the condom baby.” Dazed, but certainly not confused, she reached behind her to the dresser for the thinnest condom she could find. She wanted to feel every piece of this hard on that was only for her. She found the proper prophylactic, peeled off the wrapper and placed it placed onto his shaft in one swift movement. She wanted him inside of her as soon as possible. He stuck his tongue down her throat and grabbed the sides of her head with his hands as he slid into her wetness. She made a light gasp and he began drilling her like his life depended on it. Their desire for one another was so sudden and unexpected. He fucked her and fucked her until she simply forgot what she had been carrying around in her mind all day. He flipped her over and mounted her from behind. He pushed his all of his weight into her much smaller body and held her there with his tongue inside her ear. Thrusting himself deeper he grabbed her hair and pulled her head up to his mouth so that he could kiss her and whisper to her that “you have the sweetest pussy” and “this pussy belongs to me.” And with that he screamed his orgasm into her mind, body and soul. He lay on top of her for a minute or two and she felt each pulse of his spent cock as it slowly twitched and became fainter and then was gone. He kissed her cheek and when he got off and made his way to the bathroom she rolled over and collected herself. All she could muster was a quiet “Oh my!” He agreed and they both giggled and quietly gathered their clothes and began to dress. He thanked her for letting him blow off some steam and she gave him a little hug as she wished him well and showed him to the door. As he crossed the threshold he said “I’ll see you again.” She nodded and said “I do hope so.” She closed the door behind him, found the iced coffee he had brought her and took a long sip. She went back into the bedroom and noticed he’d left his tie. She decided it must have been left on purpose because he wasn’t calling her for it. “A souvenir,” she whispered to no one but herself. She hung it proudly on her headboard like it was trophy and finished her drink. At that moment her phone rang. It was time for her next appointment.
My legs are usually in the air most days.
Jilly Care
I have a client that likes to come visit me on Sunday afternoons. He’s always prompt and sometimes he’s bearing a pastry from a favorite local bakery. Over the last three years he’s been a constant and steady presence in my solitary world. The first day we met over four years ago, he floated into the room in mid conversation. He talked to me as if we had known each other for years. I liked him immediately. We share a love of arts and entertainment. Running around theaters and meeting stars like Jackie Gleason was part of his childhood. He had family in the business and meeting superstars wasn’t uncommon. He was born into an era of songs with beautiful melodies, childhood friends struck with polio and the television becoming part of the American household. His good Catholic boy raised by an overprotective mother story sounded so familiar to me and it’s then I remembered that I too was raised similarly, but I was washed in the blood, a simple Baptist girl. I love the story he tells me about scoring with a girl he took to a Simon and Garfunkel concert in Central Park. As he tells his tale I notice that his eyes become childlike and all of sudden he’s back in that moment. He gleefully recounts that it was after the concert that they did the deed. I can tell that this was a very important sexual moment in his young life. I love that he shares this with me. He likes to talk of projects he’s working on and one time he brought me a toy train just because he likes trains. We giggled like children as we struggled to put the train track together. Once we figured it out, we attached the boxcars and watched in wonder as the train went round and round on my kitchen counter. His whimsy and zest for life is contagious. Sex with Mr. D has evolved over time from our early days of discovery and learning our bodies sexually to basically “getting it on” like old lovers. Once, he was so inspired by my story “Foxy” that he dug out some boots from the back of his closet and wore them for our appointment. Turned on and intrigued by the way this former client and I fucked each other’s brains out, he wanted to role play. If you haven’t read that one it’s a good time. It’s about a dark and mysterious stranger who wore cowboy boots. Mr. D wanted to switch up our usual playtime activities and do something interesting. So, we started in the kitchen with me braced against the counter and him behind me groping my ass and breasts. When I got onto my knees and took his cock into my mouth he gasped out loud. We were so hot for each other that we hobbled over to the bedroom and let desire take its course. That was, after we got those tight boots off of him. It wasn’t until this year that he discovered this blog. Once he realized I write stories about my adventures as a prostitute, he was hooked. It always turns me on when someone likes my writing. Now he’s one of my biggest cheerleaders. He is the reason I now take it as seriously as I do. Always encouraging and full of good advice, he has also brought me books on metaphysics and how to improve the relationship one has with the conscious and unconscious mind. I’ve learned a great deal about life and the human condition by talking with Mr. D over the years.
Sharing and talking about what’s going in the news, in our own worlds and little truths that are spoken in strict confidence are the meat of our visits. As a man of a certain age, he’s taken very good care of himself. He’s giving and attentive to me and I to him. His cock is always rock hard. Eating pussy is his specialty. Over time he’s listened to tips and advice I’ve given on how to eat a woman out properly. I have very pale and delicate skin. I like a little more tongue than sucking or rubbing with fingers. Got to make mama purr boys! Figure it out. Read a manual. Just make her feel comfortable and she’s all yours. Or, at least she’s yours for the hour. What I like best about his pussy eating prowess is how he makes little noises as he’s licking my clit. I can tell he’s really and very truly in the moment and this is exactly where he wants to be. So, a visit is so much fun and it’s great to catch up and pick up where we left off. I’ve always appreciated his consistency in making appointments with me and following through. It’s the best way to build a good client and provider relationship. I say skip that transitional relationship after your divorce and see women like me. I’m a good place to start. Mr. D is one of my clients that seems more like a friend. He refers to our time as his Jilly “care.” He gave me a Christmas card last Sunday and because he appreciates how I “always make him feel better” he wrote a little poem about it. It goes like this.
“If your life has become hilly, ring for Jilly.
She will twinkle your toes and straighten your hose.
So, let down your hair and treat yourself to some Jilly Care.”
Poem by Mr. D
Oversexed
Being honest with yourself is the first step in healing. I have days when I feel like my job is controlling me rather than me being in control. The how’s and why’s of what I do on a daily basis are as complex as the client’s who keep coming back regularly. It’s good to talk to someone about your perceived addiction and I think about going to a counselor or maybe drop in on a sex addict’s meeting just to not feel alone. The idea of me attending any group always makes me sigh because my mother was a guidance counselor and she always said “we can talk about your feelings til the cows come home, but you still have to get up and go to work the next day.” She’s saying you have to do it yourself. Or, at least that’s what I’ve always hoped this is what she meant. Who knows? I might just learn something. This is me at a sex addicts meeting:
The scene is somber and somewhat boring. A group of people sit in a fellowship hall of a church with masks, six feet apart as the head addict addresses them. Let’s call him Walter for this story. The other addicts in attendance are Joey, Susan, Antonio, Buffy, Mike and Ted.
Walter: Hello all. As you know Bill won’t be with us anymore. He is going away for a while to get better and maybe get a fresh start. After he had the accident he sort of lost his will to live. Let’s hope he gets the help he needs. Who’d like to speak first?
Susan mumbles to Antonio something about Bill being in a retreat or “home” or something. I’m hoping someone will tell me what the accident was that put Bill out of commission. My mind is racing with the possibilities. Sex addiction can lead to accidents? Wow!
Joey rises.
Joey: I’ve had a good week. I didn’t go out to the bars because of Covid and I wanted to practice a little restraint. I mean. I look at Tinder and I swipe right when I see a hot chick, but I’m a little afraid to meet someone with the virus still breaking records. Don’t want to be a super spreader and wind up killing my grandmother. Am I right? Or, am I right?
There’s a light chuckle in the room. Then Ted rises to speak.
Ted: Well.. I won’t beat around the bush. Please pardon the pun. I slept with my ex wife again. I know. I know. I was dropping off the kids and she asked if I’d like some dinner. One thing lead to another and I had her on top the washing machine with the door closed and a sock in her mouth. She keeps looking so good and she’s starved for attention. It feels good to be desired by her again. What can I say?
Susan rises to speak.
Susan: I had a relapse as well. The pool man was at the house Wednesday and he sort of walked in on me sunbathing naked. Now, the kids we’re still at school and I was alone. It’s almost like I felt compelled to do it with him because I was already naked and he’s such a sweet young guy. I think I felt like he deserved it. Oh! Who am I kidding? I needed it, but I’m so ashamed. Darn this Catholic upbringing! They want you to have as many kids as possible, but you can’t feel good about having the sex.
As she sits down she wipes a tear from her eye. I guess she’s lonely and her husband, from what I’m gathering isn’t the most affectionate. It’s mighty hard to be a neglected wife.
Walter: We all know that that’s a big no, no. Ted I can understand where you’re coming from, believe me, I’ve been there, but when a relationship is dead having sex with an ex is just like eating junk food. It fills you temporarily, but doesn’t enhance your relationship as parents and leaves you feeling empty once you head home. Susan try not to feel too bad. You’re only human and we can always start fresh tomorrow. Who hasn’t spoken yet? Jilly? You’ve been quiet. Would you like to speak?
I rise and brace myself for just about anything that could be said or happen once I start talking. I remind myself to breathe in for four seconds and out for eight.
Jilly: Hello. I’m Jilly and I believe I am a sex addict.
Everyone: Hi Jilly.
Jilly: Hi. I’ve never been in therapy or attended any meetings for this before. How do I put this?
I scan the room and see the faces of my fellow pervs. Susan has composed herself now and is rummaging around in her purse. Mike seems like a friendly guy and is paying attention from what I can tell. Ted is chewing on a nail and seems so tense I can feel it ten feet away. He looks like he could use some sexual relief. Nope! Don’t look at the men in here as to whether they’d be a good client or not. Not here! Jesus! I need help. I must look nuts standing in front of them all waiting to be judged.
Walter: Just say what’s on your heart. It’s easy and you’re in a safe place. Just relax.
Mike: You won’t say anything we haven’t heard before. You’re among friends. Go ahead Jilly.
Now isn’t that sweet? Aww. How thoughtful. I decide then and there that Walter and Mike would be good clients because I’m out of control and can’t stop rating men for sport. I’m out of control! For the love of God! Come on Jilly!!!
Jilly: I think this year has shown me many things about myself that I didn’t have time to slow down and realize in past years. I have had a bad year financially and personally. It feels like I’m changing some and I want to be more in control of my emotions and finances. The family thing is tense, but it will handle itself in time. So, for the first time in decades I feel like I’m able to really focus on me.
Walter: Well said Jilly. I think we all can agree that 2020 has given us all some unforeseen challenges. Although that was a lovely intro it doesn’t help us get to know you with such a general assessment of this year. Do you want to keep talking?
I take a big gulp and just let it flow. What have I got to lose? I might pick up a few clients here. No!!!! Stop that! You are here to learn about yourself and not bounce up and down on Walter in his car after the meeting. See what I mean about the job controlling me? I begin.
Jilly: I forgot to mention that sometimes I go to Swinger’s clubs, meet random Tinder guys on the side, have threesomes with fellow workers, take dirty pictures and videos of myself and sell them on Only Fans. Also, I have sex with strange men for money. I’m so efficient at it now it’s almost like I’ve perfected my hustle to an art form.
Ted takes his finger out of his mouth and looks up.
Ted: Are you saying that you’re a prostitute?
I answer him. “Yes. I am a sex provider here in New Orleans.” He looks at me the way men look at me once they recognize that I’m available. Walter shifts in his seat and looks down. Susan gives me a look like “I bet my husband sees women like you.”
Mike, who is sitting in the back quietly adjusts his crossed legs and now rock hard erection. He’s looking at me in the eyes now. I don’t think he truly looked at me properly until I spilled my guts. Also, he’s looking at me like I’m prey. I’ve seen that look before, as I’m sure you can imagine, but it always makes me feel a little on display. Then I think “I wonder if he’ll call me one day.”
Antonio smiles thoughtfully at me and seems like a good soul. I guess he’s conquered his cravings and isn’t turned on by the fact that I’m a great big ole hoe. It’s refreshing to see someone so in control of their addiction.
Joey: That’s okay. It’s cool. I’ve seen some really nice providers before. I mean. I don’t do it all the time and since I started coming to the meetings I’ve totally cut that out.
Walter: Thank you Joey. Now Ted we’re not here to judge.
Ted: I wasn’t judging. She just doesn’t look like she’d be one. I’m surprised. That’s all. She seems so nice and clean.
Joey: Oh wait! I’ve seen your pics online. I remember you! What’s the tag line of yours?
Jilly: “Have a Jilly day.” Joey starts giggling and clapping his hands. He is really excited about this.
Joey: That’s right! I knew you looked familiar when you walked in. I think I’m following you on Instagram too! You’ve got some good reviews.
Relieved that Ted deems me sanitary and Joey is a fan, now I want to just leave. Graceful to a fault, I smile sheepishly at them as they scan me up and down. Ted is not good client material, but Joey will most likely call me in the future and I think he’d be fun. This is just great! I’ve drawn attention to myself and now I feel like I’m more of a freak than these pervs. Why did I come here again?
Walter: That took courage Jilly. We appreciate you opening up and being honest with the group.
I giggle softly and take my seat as Buffy tumbles into the room.
Walter nods thoughtfully to me and then speaks.
Walter: Buffy would you like to take the floor?
Buffy rises and begins to speak.
Buffy: I’m a little late because my roommate has Covid and I have been back home in Boston for the last two weeks, but I can’t go to my apartment because she’s quarantining. So, I’m living with multiple friends as a bed becomes available. I’m so frazzled by all of this I haven’t had time to think about my cravings. She laughs a little and catches Joey’s eye. He’s already grinning. Then he speaks because he’s a perv and cannot help himself.
Joey: I know all about cravings girl! Yes indeed!
Buffy and Joey laughing together over being horny is almost surreal to me. It is then I check out of the meeting and secretly wish I could make an Instagram post out of this entire ordeal. I’m always thinking about how to promote my little dog and pony show. I imagine taking a pic in the back of the room. Maybe I blur the group and take a selfie with me partially in the shot holding up the Sex Addict pamphlet Walter handed me when I came in the door tonight. I’d call it “Jilly’s on the prowl at a sex addict’s meeting somewhere in Nola!” I’d write that I’m here to tackle my sexual demons, maybe pick up a few clients and accept that one should always choose quality over quantity sex. Xoxo!
As Buffy goes on to explain that she’s pansexual I realize that she’s very pretty and seems more at ease than the rest of us. Then I remind myself that she’s in her twenties. Everything is a possibility and you think everything will work out the way you imagined because you think you have so much time. For her being pansexual means she wants to fuck every body. I believe she might have me beat for versatility, but not for quantity. I like girls and all. It just takes a certain kind of woman to turn me on. Mostly I’m all about cock. Don’t know why. Daddy didn’t love me and mama didn’t provide a substitute. I was loved, but I did miss out on all that positive male reinforcement. I’m not complaining, by the way. I decide that the best thing about the meeting was Buffy and I’m glad I made the effort. She helped me remember something I had forgotten. Buffy sits down.
Susan makes her way to the ladies room as Walter asks Antonio if he wants to add anything.
Antonio rises.
Antonio: I did not fall of the wagon this week. I did not even watch porn. I did sneak some of my wife’s used panties and put them in a plastic baggie. I took it to work and every once in a while I pulled them out and smelled them. It’s not easy being celibate when I have such a smoking hot wife. I hope she can hold out for when I’m cured because I’m going hit that so hard when I’m able!
Everyone is laughing now.
As the meeting draws to a close Walter excuses us and we make our way out of the fellowship hall and back out into the world. Mike meets me at my car. I’m not surprised. He is a large figure leaning against my generic compact car. Looking at me like I’m a piece of prime rib he speaks.
Mike: How you doing after that? You did good for your first time. Giggling now, he asks “are you available?”
Seems appropriate that I wind up with a cock in my mouth tonight. Everyone here was horny. I didn’t plan on this happening, but if you throw it out there someone will always bite. Mike gets a gold star for reaching down into his pants, metaphorically finding his balls and asking for what he wants. I think about it for half a second and reply.
Jilly: Sure! Why not?
After everyone drives away we go behind a large live oak that looks older than New Orleans. I drop to my knees and as he takes out his downward leaning cock I begin sucking and fluffing him. He’s already so hard it doesn’t take long. I find relief giving him pleasure. Or, am I just selfish and like the oral “ness” of this sex act? It was rough bearing my soul to strangers. I’m happy for the comfort. Then he turns me around to face the tree. He pulls my pants down and puts his face in my ass. He fingers me for a bit and I turn around and give him a condom. I always have one or two in my purse in case I am away from my Jilly pad and I get an outcall request. He puts on the condom, leans down and grabs my hair and pulls my head back towards his. He kisses me passionately while grinding his cock against my ass and squeezing my tits forcefully, but with a gentle touch. I taste how sweet I am and notice that sex always tastes and smells different in the night air. He takes me from behind. As I brace myself against the trunk I realize I feel better and I wonder how many people through the ages have wound up balling their brains out under this old tree. I’m also a little richer. I don’t just mean richer monetarily, but richer in that I faced a group of similar souls and learned that a meeting won’t fix me. However, I know now it’s a process and everyone is struggling with something. As Mike continues pounding me I notice that I feel a little sorry I cheated on the sex addicts group so soon after the meeting with a fellow member, but I remind myself that I’m a work in progress. Baby steps. Baby steps.
Watching men for sport
I like looking at men and deciding whether they’d be good clients. It’s become a fun hobby for me. It’s very interesting to see what kind of man I’m drawn to. Young men are handsome, but there isn’t as much to read in their faces as in older men. Just like a Playboy centerfold I have “turn ons” and “turn offs.” I don’t care if you have tattoos, a comb over or if you’re wearing an ensemble from 1978. I’m looking for something I can’t describe when I scan a restaurant for those gentlemen with a certain je ne sais quoi. If I see you yelling at a waiter that’s a turn off. I also like watching the faces of the women with the men I’m studying. She’s going to completely give him away if I watch her face long enough. Get my point? More and more I rather watch the faces of older men because they have a confidence that radiates from within. They speak slowly and quietly and make me feel secure. Younger men are in some ways still learning who they are and how to handle themselves in social situations. They can get loud and I know that’s part of their sexuality. Also, it’s part nature and wanting to stand out to potential sexual conquests and possible mates. Just like a peacock. I’m not saying that younger men aren’t mature and confident because I run into the occasional millennial who’s dad put a drink and a cigarette in his hand at age ten and he’s been working ever since. This guy usually takes me in hand and I rest in the passenger seat while he drives. I learn so much about men eavesdropping on their conversations. Walking down the street or watering my plants outside I listen to road crews go back and forth about where they’re going to lay some pipe in our lousy Lower Garden streets. I’ve always appreciated a guy who isn’t afraid to get dirty and I’ve noticed these men seem free working outdoors. They work hard and laugh at the same time. Sometimes I watch an old movie and decide whether young Nicholas Cage would be a better client than middle aged Nicholas Cage. Nick loves women and he’s romantic. He can also be kind of intense. If you don’t remember look up the karaoke videos of him singing “Purple Rain” after his last marriage ended. Divorce is way of life for some people. I’m often a refuge for men after a divorce. These men are wounded even if they wanted the marriage to end. I’ve noticed that they come for only a short while. I provide them comfort and validation until they’re confident enough to dip their toes into the dating world again. A beautiful whore on Twitter, and I forget her name, said “you can have the right client if you demand him.” My Mr. Right is kind and fair. He is open and doesn’t take himself too seriously. He has a sense of humor, enjoys women for what they are rather than what they are not. If you are respectful to others then everything else will fall into place. The clients I have enjoyed the most keep coming back. I find that in some ways I attract what I am. It makes for good chemistry and the sex just keeps getting better. By the way, Nicholas Cage would be a great client at any age. Below is a list of well known men that I believe are worth mentioning.
Ben Franklin - Good client who’d like to set me up for a lot of threesomes and gang bangs. Read up on Ben. He was quite the freak.
Paul Giamatti - One of my favorite actors. He’d be compassionate and might return for a later visit.
Roy Scheider - We’d have a hot and steamy exchange. He’s gone now, but I always thought he was just smoldering.
Hugh Hefner - He would never need me, but if he did he’d be a good client and treat me well. He’d probably invite me to the mansion one day and I’d party like a rock star.
Elvis Presley - I’ve heard that Elvis was a real sweetie in the sheets. I’d listen to him talk about his momma and he might gift me a Cadillac just because he’s that kind of guy.
Edwin Edwards - He’s like J.F. K.. There should be a woman available to him hourly. He’d be prompt and wouldn’t take too long. Over the years I’ve heard tell that some of his conquests received either a television or a fur coat depending on his mood.
Kenneth Starr - Uptight and very hard nut to crack. I cannot see him being open to anything other than the usual. He’d be quick because he’d be busy later indicting someone for something unmentionable.
Sting - Yeah right. In my dreams. However, he’d be a nice one. Once I heard him say when he was asked what being a man is that it has to do with how you treat a woman and the most successful countries are the ones which treat their women well.
Ray Nagin - I get the impression that he’d be quick and easy. Might right off the visit as a “business expense.”
Jon Stewart - Kind and very sensual lover. He’d be a good client, but he’d only come one time and he might feel guilty.
Harry Styles - What a sweetheart! He would be cuddly wuddly and has enough of an edge for his age to keep up with me.
Eddie Van Halen - The creme del la creme of clients. That is, when he was in town. His impish grin and that twinkle in his eye would have me melting like a pat of butter.
John Mayer - He’s been with a lot of beautiful women over the years. I figure if he came to visit he’d be sensual and thoughtful. I’ve never heard any women complain.
Ernest Hemingway - He was fond of the drink and fond of whores. Hopefully he wouldn’t come by intoxicated and I imagine he would use me to work it out on. Not sure if this is the right combination for a good client, but maybe he would help me write my biography.
Mark Meadows - I see him mostly on his phone making back handed agreements with the men of his ilk. He’d probably let me blow him because in his mind it isn’t really sex if I don’t touch her. Later he might get on his hands and knees begging his pastor for forgiveness.
Will Smith - Super cool and totally worth showering for. I always liked Will. He has a sweet light which I think make his eyes look sparkly in his best moments. I wish he’d love himself more and not continue to let Jada hurt him. She’ll never surrender or be satisfied.
Hey boys! Looking for some company?
Blue
I sit quietly and sip tea each morning on my patio outside. Sometimes the cat joins me and we chat about the pretty day and if she enjoyed her breakfast. She’s been my constant companion for nearly six years now. Always dainty and compassionate, she has been more of a comfort to me at times than I think I’ve been to her. It’s here in this setting I think about everything. I muse on my past, my present, what the future holds and sometimes I drift away to a very special place only for me and join him. He stands tall and straight like his father and always has a half smile as he struggles to extend me his forced and unenthusiastic “hello.” In this dream of a family utopia, we talk and share a few laughs. We work out our differences and are capable of spending a moment taking in each other’s presence and energy without blame and anger. Before he was born I dreamt of him. I saw him as a toddler with blonde hair giggling and running towards me. He took up the guitar when he was thirteen. I had a large tax refund and told him to pick out the electric guitar and amp he’d been wanting for a while. I saw this hobby as a good way for him to channel his angst. It was a good investment because he now has a Master’s Degree in Music. I suppose I over indulged him so that he’d feel like at least one parent cared about his birthday and that he had new clothes. At some point he began hanging with kids who had much more than we did. He was ashamed that we didn’t have as much and held it against me. Long story short. Single mom with many jobs and no help was our cliche, but it’s our story and it’s a good one. Interference from his father mostly left a trail of collateral damage and questions we sifted through as if digging in garbage for years. Having control over our lives was his crack. Breaking free took many years and a lot of struggling. I thought leaving was ultimately worth the lost opportunities and isolation we felt together so often. In those young years I was like a machine just chugging along day after day in a desperate race to survive and make up for all my child was missing without his father in his life. If I had stayed… You aren’t supposed to go back and bemoan the past. No. My boy would have had no chance or might have wound up drug addicted and or dead. His father left us no option. I had to dig down deep and be brave in a way that may have crippled others, but I gave it my best and we’re both still hanging in there. But we’re not really connected like we once were. Taking the time to make an effort and call, text and visit has slowly but surely started slacking off. We aren’t speaking much these days and when we do it’s not warm. You can teach a child what respect looks like and how it should be applied to whomever deserves it. However, sometimes the child that you spent so much of your life loving and nurturing turns on you. Maybe I was distant and maybe I don’t really listen to what he’s telling me. Maybe I was too stressed when he was younger and maybe visitation beginning at ten months old with a drug addled father was traumatic on a young psyche. My son resents me for things he cannot even articulate. His father is long gone. He met with the typical end one experiences as an addict. So, there’s no one else to blame but me. Praying for him comforts me and I hope the positive energy I send his way makes a difference in his day to day life. To say we’re happy both being more and more on our own is wishful thinking. Communication has broken down and what I get now is a slew of insults and the constant reminding me of every transgression I’ve made. He’s also capable of kicking me when I was down. A few months ago I had some personal health issues and he wanted me to move where he was and I explained that I couldn’t just up and move so far away when I have his grandmother to consider. She’s having her own health problems and I’m her only child. He isn’t receiving my acquiesce as readily as he had grown accustomed to when we lived as a family from his birth to age twenty two. Tough love is what they call it. I applied some and he hasn’t forgiven me yet. I’m having to do the unthinkable and tell myself that there probably won’t be a Hallmark moment where he says “I’m sorry mom. Let’s just start over and be friends.” He’s much too proud and whatever the issue is it’s always my fault. He’s not much like me and that stings because I gave him my best years. Relationships come and go. It’s true. I just didn’t realize it could apply to a mother and her child until now. I don’t believe I have felt this much pain in a good while. Seems fitting with the year we’ve had. When I think of him lately I see him in my family utopia fantasy and he’s laughing and secure with himself. He trusts me and values the love I’ve given him. To be happy is what we all want for our children. I still have hope.
"Ain't dere no more"
As the pandemic has raged on I’ve lost clients who had been coming to see me for years. I wonder how they’re getting on without their usual dose of Jilly kink and if they are finding ways to feed this need in hobbies or maybe an affair. I imagine that many former clients are taking a break from their normal routines and have gotten used to doing without. There were conventioneers that came back every year to see me when they were here for their annual Farm Bureau Convention or something funkier like “Tales of the Cocktail. I always appreciated that. I would keep track of the conventions in town through the Ernest Morial Convention Center online schedule. I’d even check the company or organization online to see if they had posted coming to New Orleans for their annual gathering and I’d tweet “Welcome to New Orleans” in case a horny conventioneer was reading his company’s tweet and maybe see my response, go to my profile and put two and two together. I’m always thinking of new and interesting ways to be promote Jilly. Also, being in the Lower Garden District is incredibly helpful when you’re on the phone with a gentleman from Omaha and he doesn’t know the lay of the land. He’d say, “I’m on Convention Street Boulevard near the bridge. Where are you little lady?” I’d tell him to just head south, walk under the overpass and he’d be in my neighborhood in five minutes. Sold! Some days it was like throwing a fishing line from my pad to the Convention Center and reeling them in. There’s a lot to be said for having the right location. Last night I drifted off to sleep thinking of these clients who had become regulars and some who in some ways had become my friends. Then I remembered a fairly new client who came to me in the pre-Covid days of 2019. Mr. C was born and raised in New Orleans, and like so many others, moved to the suburbs of Metairie and Kenner in the 60’s. He was a study in what it means to be a “yat!” According to him he had been with his wife since grade school, had a very close knit Italian/Irish family and was not getting any. As a man in his late 60’s he wore stylish clothes which leaned more on the trendier side, but he pulled it off well. His boyish quality paired well with his salt and pepper haircut. I bet he probably never considered dying it and I think that’s adorable. For some men getting older is a right of passage and to be accomplished with grace and patience as each new grandchild arrives. He had that one and only local accent where one says “New Orleans”, but it sounds like they’re saying “New Or-yenz.” He came to my pad one crisp fall day. I remember that he seemed almost in awe of me which was not unflattering, but a little strange. He took both of my hands into his and thanked me so graciously for seeing him at short notice. I had had a cancellation and wanted to fill the slot. So to speak. I guess I thought he was new to this and had no frame of reference. I cannot remember if he told me if I was the only prostitute he’d been with before or not. However, he let me know who he was by being himself and treating me with the upmost respect. He was a local businessman with a “mom and pop” kind of operation that deals in a lot of cash. He endeared himself to me not because he always paid me in fives, but because he was very kind and I saw him as a dying breed in these parts. We’re talking old school New Orleans. I remember my grandmother saying once that a person of his heritage was affectionately called at one time a “New Orleans Charmer.” Well. She was right. I was charmed! Whenever I have an encounter with a local gentleman who may have grown up in my neighborhood they tell me how the landscape has changed and on what corner they played with their friends. What a slice! I love these kinds of stories from real locals who grew up in the New Orleans that I had the privilege of knowing in my childhood only in short visits to shop, eat out and walk the French Quarter. I grew up in a neighboring parish and like a country mouse a visit to the city was always a big deal. Interestingly enough, in the light of all of his other positive attributes, he was quite the lover. He surprised me in a way that was refreshing. I didn’t really see him as the sensual type, but this man who stood only 5’4, with his old fashioned accent and stack of fives really knew his way around a woman. He said “it’s all about you.” Indeed!! How thoughtful! Before we began I informed him that my skin is soft and to use light touches and watch fingernails when caressing my nipples and other goodies. We undressed and he came over to me and planted a big, juicy kiss on my mouth. He used a little tongue and whispered sweet nothings into my ear. I became aroused because he wanted to linger and actually enjoy his time. I felt like a china doll that he was handling very carefully. It was then I reminded myself that you should never judge a book by its cover because you just might be wrong. I was dead wrong about what I thought our time would be. He asked me to lie back onto the bed. Then he crawled on top of me and we began making sweet, passionate love. Good chemistry. Everything about him felt cozy and he was completely devoted to his task of pleasing me. He was the kind of guy that goes down on you and you don’t feel rushed. He lingered a while, just lapping me up and moaning softly. He wanted me to flip over and give me a massage. Woozy and turned on I flipped over as gracefully as I could. His good loving had made me dizzy and I struggled to come back to earth so that he could continue. He purred “lift your pretty little ass” so he could plant his face under my sopping wet pussy and tongue me from that angle. It was a deeply profound and erotic experience. I got used to him coming back. For a time he was consistent and came at least every three weeks. We both enjoyed our sex and I liked that we didn’t waste time with a lot of conversation. We wanted to get into bed together. That was what our hour consisted of. As a man who claims he doesn’t get much from the wife I supposed he wanted to make the most out of me because his opportunities are few and far between. I remember the last time I saw him was right before the quarantine. He had made his way to my place around the usual time. Midday. He was wearing a pair of jeans and grey sweatshirt and sneakers. He looked so cute that I embraced him as he came inside. I wonder how he’s been and I wonder if he’s become one of regulars I’ve had and lost for some reason beyond me. Clients come and go. That’s the name of the game, but I wonder about Mr. C from time to time and muse on what he’s up to and if I’ll see him again some sweet day. Chemistry and connections are sexual in nature if you ask me. I think we made a deep impression on one another. You might even say that we were kindred spirits who genuinely cared only for pleasing the other. So many things in this city have simply faded away like thick fog over the river at sunrise. Mr. C, for me, represents something that is a part of the authentic New Orleans that once was. Sadly, I have to admit to myself that he, like so much more I have loved just “ain’t dere no more.”
Born to Hustle
I have an edge. When I was three years old I stole candy from a convenience store. I don’t remember stealing the candy, but my mother has been kind enough to mention it over the years. According to her we were walking out of the store and as she picked me up to put me into the car she noticed my panties were lumpy. That’s right. I had the fortitude of mind to stash the candy somewhere it couldn’t possibly be discovered. It was a brave first try, but I was sloppy. What’s that crooks always say when they get caught? Oh yeah. “I almost got away with it.” Cue canned laughter and we’re out in 3, 2, 1. So, my mother marched me right back inside and made me apologize as she took the candy from my panties and laid it out onto the counter for the clerk to see. Even though I took to crime early on in life, I was never a rebellious child. In fact, if you look up the word acquiescence there I am! I guess my heart was yearning to stray. Although I cannot remember what I was thinking when I stole the candy it’s possible when I left the store, a budding thief, I felt exhilaration. I obviously wanted to get away with it. Or, I could be completely wrong and maybe I didn’t feel exhilarated by what I had just done. Nah! On second thought, I think it was an admirable first heist and there was a compulsion in me to make this much effort in the first place. I had a decent start in life, but for some reason I have always had a restlessness that will not be satisfied. My good judgement at times is skewed and naughty thoughts cloud my mind. An overwhelming desire to get away with it basically redirects my normal process of thought. I wouldn’t say that I’m a bad person. I know right from wrong. However, this never ceasing battle between the good angel and the bad angel on my shoulders is loud and thick and intricate. Proper thoughts and clarity of my mind are lost when I’m faced with prospect of say, walking out of a hotel room into the hallway and snatching a bar of soap off of the maid’s cart. I’m not a kleptomaniac, but a small token such as candy or soap may be a symbol or reward for having the finesse it takes in not being caught in the act. As I make my way down the elevator I enjoy walking out of the hotel and saying “have a good day” to the hotel clerk like I’m merely a guest who is leaving. Then, giddy and sated, I blend onto the street and casually make my way home. I feel the same way when a stranger calls me and asks for an appointment. When I get that call I may be toying with the idea of finally getting that master’s degree I’ve been putting off for the last twenty years. Or, I’m looking at jobs online and making a pledge to straighten up and fly right because you just can’t hustle forever. Right? The caller is waiting for my response and all of a sudden I’m a flutter with the possibilities. I think to myself as he waits for my answer “maybe he’ll have a hard cock and I won’t have to coax it out of him.” Or, “maybe he’ll have that certain something that makes me giggle.” He might be so grateful for the sexual gifts I share with him he’ll become so inspired and leave a large tip. Oh! I do love to be rewarded for my abilities! Perhaps I’ll choose the right music. Maybe we are about the same age. He might get lost in my lush escape of familiar songs, strange pheromones, my earthy smell, soft skin and ample figure. I’ll feel younger and he’ll feel younger and our sex will clear the cobwebs from our minds and our souls will be purged of every day worries of life and family and what we’ve lost and will never regain. Brush your hair. Apply lipstick. If he’s a regular I wonder “has he seen me in this teddy before?” The text comes and he has arrived. Soon I will feel that irresistible tingle of excitement and I’ll see him and he’ll see me. Sometimes I can hardly wait for him to undress. I will put his cock into my mouth deliberately and purposefully. Then I’ll drift away ever so gently. I can’t wait for the soothing rush of hormones that will flow into my frontal lobe. It always feels like like I’m floating on a cloud of titties. He will cum and I will cum in my head for luring him into my bed and getting him off. I will wrap my lips around his throbbing shaft and he’ll writhe and speak to me in half whispers. “Suck me harder Jilly.” I do. I will oblige him until I feel his soft release in my mouth. Guiding my client to orgasm has become an effortless task. If it’s done well it is an act in efficiency. My goal is to get my client off with patience and compassion. I love that I won this hustle and the reward is more than monetary. I hustled him into my web and once he makes his personal deposit I will feel complete. Everyone is born with something they are good at. I love getting away with it.
Polyamory is not for the faint of heart
Polyamorous - Polyamory (from Greek πολύ poly, "many, several", and Latin amor, "love") is the practice of, or desire for, intimate relationships with more than one partner, with the informed consent of all partners involved. It has been described as "consensual, ethical, and responsible non-monogamy".
Serial dating prepared me for life as a whore. I couldn’t imagine beginning a career in prostitution back in my twenties or thirties. I wasn’t ready at these stages in life to turn my back on how I was raised. People and family and unexpected twists and turns of life mold you into someone else when you arrive at forty. As I slid down the backside of forty I decided I should at least experiment with girl on girl and threesomes to build my courage. You know. They say you should be careful while cruising the internet. You never know who you’ll meet. That was what I was hoping for. I wanted to meet strange people and see life from their perspectives. I began dating men I met on Craigslist and various dating sites. I wanted good sex. I wanted adventure and spontaneity. Sleeping around became my norm. I figured that it was easier to date with no expectations than sitting and chit chatting over what we both do and it never going anywhere. I didn’t really want a husband. So, this was easy.
One day I met a man online named Kevin. He lived part time in New Orleans and part time in California. Not to downplay what he did, but he was a former “suit” that really wanted to be a hippie and help the homeless rather than earn a lot of money. However, there was something about what he was doing that seemed insincere. A lot of people made money off of New Orlean’s reconstruction after Katrina. So, I took this as a sign that he really didn’t love New Orleans the way she deserves and that, in my mind, was a fatal first blow for our fledging relationship. He was in New Orleans and I in another when he contacted me on a dating site and asked if we could meet. For the first meeting we met halfway. He was poly amorous and needed a lot of reinforcement from many women to feel whole. We didn’t discuss that very much on our first date. I just figured this out as we were talking because he made sure that I understood he saw other women habitually.
I was drawn to him because he stares. He stares in his pictures and in person. He was foreign to me. I had never dated anyone from the West Coast. He was older than me and lived a rather minimalist existence, He wore tattered clothing and looked a little like Kevin Costner. Just a little. He had three children with whom he shared a strained relationship. He had bailed on them when they were young and lived like a rambling man. He was living with a smart woman who was in her twenties. He was in his early fifties. He thought by having her in his life he was a stud. In all actuality, he was a stud with or without her. Tantric sex is what he offered me. We made love all night long in a shabby little motel in McComb, MS. Now that I look back on his technique I’m awed by his stamina. I thought to myself that this guy needs to fuck like a drunk needs to drink. At best our times together were sexually charged and left us both satisfied. At worst, I spent a lot of time alone on some of our dates as he was with me for part of the day and with another woman that night. I can never decide if he made me feel lonely on purpose or if he just didn’t care how I felt. No matter. I wasn’t that interested in him for the long haul as I had already decided that being on my own was probably best for me. However, I had hoped that he wanted to spend more time with me when we were together. Oh well. At least I was able to visit him in New Orleans here and there. New Orleans was always good to me. I decided that Nola would soothe me after a long day of delicious sex and keep me company after dark when he’d left me. It’s rather serendipitous that we did meet. We both agreed that we had an irresistible pull towards each other and an undeniable chemistry. Also, I believe meeting him gave me some insight into what life in New Orleans would be like. After all, New Orleans was always the goal and I was keeping my eye on the prize and nursing my pride on the sly.
The last time we were together was in New Orleans. We stayed in a beautiful bed and breakfast on Prytania Street. I had never spent any time in the Lower Garden District. I wanted to enjoy the beauty of this lovely home with him, but unfortunately, he spent the majority of our time on the phone with his “main squeeze” while I walked around the neighborhood waiting for our date to start. She had some misgivings about his dating me. He never said any more than that and I didn’t press him. So, I took in the sites and secretly mused how I could become a part of the scenery. I walked around Coliseum Square Park and admired the architecture of homes that were meticulously restored and some that needed a complete restoration. A friend once told me that New Orleans has a “shabby grandeur” you can’t find anywhere else. I felt as if I belonged here and I do believe I fell in love with this side of the city as my lover talked his girlfriend into accepting me as one of the girls. Little did he know that I was never going to be one of his girls. I played along because I didn’t know much about being poly other than it seemed like the one who wants it the most benefits and the rest of us are left with hurt feelings. Two hours went by and he didn’t text me to come back upstairs to our room. I knew this would be our last date and kept walking until I noticed a statue of a woman blowing a trumpet. The plaque attached said that Terpsichore is her name. The street was named for her. In Greek mythology, she is the muse of music, theater, and dance. She was good company for me when I was feeling lonely and confused. I believe she was a sign for me to head in a new direction. I went on to move to New Orleans and incidentally, I’ve had two incall locations on Terpsichore since 2015. Somehow I knew on that lonely reflective night, as my part-time lover lied to his girlfriend, I belonged here within the shadows of the mossy oaks. As I started on my walk again I turned back towards this friendly muse and said “hello neighbor.”
Signature Moves
How do you like my “o” face?
Read MoreWhat do you desire?
Desire is my middle name
Read MoreThe Executive Fuck
One of the best fuck’s I have ever had is alive and well in New Orleans. Let’s just call him Big Sexy for this story. I wouldn’t want to give too much away. It would ruin the mystique. Big Sexy and I met online several years ago. I was living in another state at the time and was starving for something from home. He was from New Orleans and this gave him a few more brownie points. Also, this was before I chose a life in “cough” entertainment. I was doing the mom thing and working many, many jobs. In my spare time I serial dated for sport. One day I’m typing away at job #1 and I receive a notice from my account at OkCupid. I found that this dating site had classier guys as opposed to Plenty of Fish which had only given me a bucket of chicken and an ass pic. You have to kiss a lot of frogs. Believe me. Now that I’m thinking about it the serial dating was training for my current job and I think I can say without hesitation that I’m skilled. Also, I’m proud of it. I’ve seen it all. However, until then I had not met one such as Big Sexy. I knew when I looked at his face and I read what he thought about food, his grandmother and how he preferred a woman with “abundant style and taste,” we had to meet. Within two weeks he was in my town. Upon encountering him for the first time I thought he seemed rather mild mannered, but as I took a deeper look into his eyes I could see there was a little bit of a twinkle. I felt a twitch in my skirt. Goody! That means bad boy, player, rebel and or a combination of all three. Confidence has always made me giggle. Seriously. I get lightheaded. What can I say? I’m addicted to virility. We gave each other a little hug and had coffee in the hotel that he was staying in. Glancing over the table I could tell that he was raring to go. I, being a lady, wanted to talk for a while and have something to eat before I just handed over my holes. Don’t laugh. I used to be a lady. However, I’m very weak. So, four hours later he had me slammed up against the wall of his room with his tongue so far down my throat I could barely breathe. Yes. I fucked him. I mean. He had driven all that way. I had to give him a little taste. The sex was beyond anything I had hoped for. For a woman that cares about sex this is what you’d call memorable sex. This is the kind of sex that you think upon and masturbate to on a lonely Sunday night. Chemistry is cruel. When you find it you’ll do anything to hold onto it. Why? Because it feels fucking fantastic!! But, I digress… I was glad that he had made the effort and I needed a good thrashing in the worst way. Women can get sex. That’s not the problem. What you want is quality sex with a man that pays attention to not just what you are saying, but also what you are not saying. He led by instinct. He just knew how to touch me. By paying close attention to every thrust and how I arched my back and what sound he could force out of my parched throat, he brought me to orgasm. Many. He consumed me with his mouth and his hands. At one point we were fucking up against the hotel window. He was behind me and I was plastered on to the glass so engrossed in what was coming next that I ignored the agony I was actually in. I knew if I held on a little longer there would be relief by way of him reaching orgasm or me collapsing. We both tapped out after a good six hours. I wanted to keep going, but I was having trouble staying awake. Dazed, but sated, we pondered what we could possibly find to eat at 12:00 a.m. Before too long he started eating my pussy. I wrapped my legs around his neck and asked him gently “you do know that you are an amazing lover?” As he grinned with sticky lips over my furry and battered mound he purred “I just gave you the executive fuck, baby.”
Foxy
Have you ever met a real outlaw? About a year ago I was seeing a client who could be best described as a drug dealer. He ran weed and weed products from one end of the country to the other. He was shaped by the time and the place he was from. It’s an area that is still as it was when it began. Rules are up for speculation. I didn’t know this about him right off. At first I didn’t quite know how to take him. He has a fox face and little laugh that is cartoonish. He is auburn from head to toe. He told me tales of growing up in the wilderness and traveling the world. Eventually I started calling him Foxy because it just fit. I was both fascinated and terrified by him. Sex with him was animalistic and spontaneous. We’d chief on some of his oily paper blunts and fuck until we couldn’t. We’d usually start with me bracing my hands on the kitchen counter with one leg on the floor and one wrapped behind his waist. Then we’d wind up in the bed and I marveled at how it was so easy with him. What was most interesting to me was that I couldn’t get a read on him. Men tell me all sorts of things and you never quite know if it’s true. At any rate, he confounded me. What did he want? We got along so well and conversations were effortless. We barely knew one another, but we knew one another. I liked him and was happy when he would return. Then one day he opened up some and told me about a relationship he had with this older woman. I gathered that it was on the rocks. He told me he was looking for a place to crash while he was in New Orleans. I started to laugh because I finally figured him out, He is a player. He said his job can be dangerous and he’s tired of “dodging bullets.” Okay. That’s great! Why don’t you move on in! Not really. He said “I’m getting a little older” and so forth and so on. I’ve never had a man try and move in with me so fast in my life. On the other hand I was quite flattered. He must have felt like I was a success or comfortable financially. The sex had been a performance or maybe an audition. Okay. Well maybe not all of it. While I’m sure he enjoyed himself he really made an effort to dazzle me with complicated sexual poses and lots of attention to my nether regions. I’m not complaining. Don’t get me wrong. Also, he came on strong and fast and he commanded the room each time we met. I would just step back and let him expound on what his life is like and we both bonded over the fact that we are both “wiley” and love to get away with it. We are both hustlers. I was impressed in him that it took me more than one meeting to see him for who he is. He’s not a bad man. He’s just the kind of man who’s been through a lot and has seen a lot. He wore black. Mostly. He even wore expensive cowboy boots. He had the “villain” persona perfected beautifully. I imagined he’d look great in an old silent film where the bad guy is tying a helpless lady onto train tracks. In my experience these aren’t the kind of men you take in. I’m not sure that the danger he spoke of would stay away. It might come to my house. So, I politely and ever so gently told him that he was a good client and I enjoyed his stories and the gifts he’d bring and of course, the sex. I also explained why we couldn’t be roommates. He was graceful and didn’t push the issue further. We wrapped up what was to be our last session and he took my hand as I led him to the door. He could be so very tender. He left. As I watched him walk away he lit another oily blunt and disappeared in a veil of smoke. That was the last time I saw him. It’s a shame. I would have liked to hear some more of his stories.
Papillon
I’d like to say that I always understood men, but that wouldn’t be true. Somewhere in my mid thirties I decided that they had something I needed and if I didn’t fully understand the man I was screwing or dating or working with that was okay. I understood my own needs and that was all that mattered. After a long seven year dry spell I met a coon-ass that would change my life forever. He told me at a critical point in my life that it was okay to embrace my sexuality. We met on a chilly November day in Mississippi. I was reading a book of poetry and he came up to my desk and said “you look real sweet reading your little book, but you look to me like you need to take a walk on the wild side.” A line. Yes. I knew then that it was a line, but the sexual chemistry between was as thick as a slice of my mother’s butter pound cake and being from Louisiana and living in Mississippi I was starved for a man with the spontaneity and passion that men in Mississippi lacked. Kind of explains the dry spell when I think on it now. Hmmm… Why I was living there is another story. So, the day came that I told him I’d meet him after work. I felt ashamed of myself and exhilarated for being weak. I was giving in to him and myself. The truth was I wanted to be ravaged by a man that could make me wet with just the sound of his voice. “It will be an escape.” I told myself. I needed to escape from my daily routine. Three jobs. Single motherhood. Past mistakes. Disappointments. Also, no matter how hard I worked I could never get ahead. He was right. I needed to take a walk on the wild side and he was just the man to show me the way. I just wanted him to drive for a few moments so that I might, hopefully feel free again. So, I told him that I was ready. He said “I had just about given up on you. It’s been nearly three months since I first approached you.” We decided on a local hotel and drove separately there for our tryst. He got the room and I came in after he was settled and ready inside. I was so out of practice. Anxious doesn’t describe what I was feeling. I knew I needed to do this and luckily, he was a gentle and sympathetic kind of guy and suggested I take a warm shower in order to prepare myself. I turned on the shower and stepped in. I didn’t feel like a woman. In fact, I remember feeling kind of numb as the water ran down my body. I didn’t know him and one night stands weren’t my cup of tea. Obviously I’ve gotten over this. ;) However, here I was breaking my own rules because I seriously needed to feel something else. I was trying to connect with the girl I used to be. I showered. I joined him on the bed and he began to kiss me softly. He smelled great. He felt great. I wanted to devour him and drown in his newness. He had really big strong hands and they were all over me. We were sexually in sync and it was like we had been fucking for years. I matched him stroke for stroke. I arched my back and pushed myself up into him so that he thrusted deeply inside me. At some point I was on top and realized that I didn’t remember how I got there. I leaned over him, stuck my tongue in his mouth and began grinding him. As he came I remember exhaling as he screamed in orgasm. I didn’t cum, but it didn’t matter. I got what I wanted. I was desired by a man I was attracted to and for a little while we were the only two people on earth. He told me he was surprised and didn’t realize that I would be so passionate. I dressed quickly because I needed to get home and be a mom again. I thanked him and we said good bye. As I headed towards the door I turned around and looked at him. He lay there on the bed with the covers up to his chest. He looked so vulnerable. He had really connected with me. That takes guts. He said “are you going to call me?” I was stunned. It was one of those moments when you realize something about yourself. With a simple question my life was changed and I knew I would be heading down a different path. I replied “You want me to call you?” Then I said “I’m the man!” He blushed. I realized my power as a woman. I said to him “this is what it feels like to be the man.” I didn’t care if called me back or if he’d even speak to me at again. This was just one of those things and I was good with that. Think like a man. Go with the flow. Keep your emotions in check. Every conquest doesn’t have to end with true love. God! My generation of girls was sold the whole get married and have kids fantasy. It was a relief to leave that notion behind. I understood him and men and myself all in one moment. Papillon is French for butterfly. I became a butterfly in that hotel room. I spread my wings and a new me was born. They say butterflies are free. So am I.
Washington D.C. Summer 2023
Sex is therapy
New Orleans was sexier when I began my provider lifestyle about five years ago. It seemed like more people were swinging and a few sex/nude clubs closed down (The Country Club, Jasmine’s) as the world collided with Millennials coming of age and the old guard who appears to be hanging on with a death grip for absolute power. I’m a Generation X gal. Sometimes I feel as if we’re the forgotten middle child between these two. There’s not as many of us and that means we will probably continue as we are now. I am referring to working until we die. I mean, like on the job. The club lifestyle isn’t my thing, but it was fun to share a blunt with other fun naked people in the hot tub at the place I mentioned earlier, The Country Club. I was inundated with calls when Backpage was still rolling and I just figured this is the way it is in New Orleans. It’s a tourist destination and there will always be another convention or festival. I became spoiled. I was in my mid-forties and figured I was just lucky to be able to pull this off without any real problems. Clients are mainly friendly and decent people. I wasn’t really afraid and if someone was a little physical with me I’d just show him to the door. Easy.
As social media made New Orleans more popular more people and provider competition made this job more of a tap dance day by day. A lot of transplants from elsewhere or touring women have made my hustle a little more challenging. Client retention is key to making it in our kinky little world. Many gentlemen come back every month because I make sure they feel cared for and appreciated. It’s comforting to have sex with a man you’ve cultivated a friendship and during uncertain times the smells and tastes of familiar lovemaking are truly therapeutic. The gents I’ve seen have been only the best of the best in my lineup. I’m grateful and flattered for their company and their sex. I don’t just do this for the money and Mama’s not getting her fix like she used to. Sigh…. Also, I get calls, but I don’t feel comfortable seeing everyone, especially with the quarantine and COVID situation. I miss my old routine. I miss hot sweaty sex with one client and then soft-giving sex with another all before noon. Then I’d figure out what I wanted for lunch and grab an iced coffee. I had what I’d call a pretty decadent life. Now it’s turkey sandwiches at home and lots of yard work to keep me occupied. My cat enjoys it when I’m outside and my yard is coming along, by the way. Times are changing and I’m not sure what that will mean for a seasoned woman like myself. So, I will carry on and see how I can thrive as a person and a provider without offering video chat, phone chat, and some of the options my peers are adding to their menus. It’s just not my style. I’m more fun in 3D and I like to get lost in a casual exchange. Live and in person. However, I am offering nudes (send $25.00 to Venmo for five nudes) if you would like a visual when you take a shower. Giggle…. I bet some of you are sick of masturbation. I know. It’s not the same as the touch and giving exchange between two ravenous souls. I miss the smell of a man. I miss making a man hard. I guess I’ll just have to be patient. Keep the faith. We’re all going to be alright. One more thing. Don’t forget about me when you can play again. I’m wanton and rarely satisfied. There’s plenty of Jilly for everyone.
Don’t let my sweet nature fool you. I’m a little firecracker!