Why I'd never be a high class hooker

Also read Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven,  Eight and Nine.

I have a friend – she’s fifty, single, sexy and extremely rich. She lives on lettuce leaves, uses botox, whitens her teeth, has perfect hair, a private gym instructor, wears heels, and fucks men for money.

She gives great blow jobs, and in return, she makes sure that her ‘men’ give her everything that she could possibly want. 

She’s a high class hooker and I am highly bloody jealous. I would kill to have the kind of money she has. But I would not be very good at sex work.

My sexual encounters are generally disastrous. If I give someone a massage, I find myself allergic to the oil. I look pathetic tottering about in heels and my stockings are always laddered. I’m scared of injections so wouldn’t botox, too lazy to brush my hair, and I’ve never given a decent blow job in my life.

In fact, my last sexual encounter landed up with the guy losing his tooth while opening a condom and crawling around the floor, naked, desperately looking for it.

Sex work was not an option for me to make extra money.

But sex writing was. And so I applied to write for a new raunchy magazine - ‘Tantric Touch’.

I got the job! Violet Online was soon going to be called Tantric Violet.

My first assignment: Sensual Sanctuaries in the City. Thinking of the dresses I could buy with my first paycheck, I plunged myself into internet research.

God I had fun. Amazing sites for Tantric Sex.  Amazing pictures of Tantric Sex. Amazingly, I wanted to have Tantric Sex. But then I remembered that this was work and I was on a deadline. So getting serious, I googled a little more, finding the mysterious sounding ‘’Bhoga Sexual Sanctuary’.

Bhoga means 'Sexual enjoyment'. I was on the right path. 

In the name of research, I booked myself a  Sexual Energy Massage with Tantric Master Floating Eagle.
Floating Eagle was charming, tall, toned and definitely naked under his loose orange robe.  He handed me my own robe and said "Don’t be shy. Take it all off".

We sat opposite one another on our yoga mats, legs in lotus position, hands in prayer position.
He chanted about honoring my mind, body and spirit, and told me the only thing expected of me was to ‘surrender into bliss.’ That didn’t sound so difficult. I can do bliss quite easily.

I disrobed, pretending it was completely natural to be naked in front of an orange robed floating eagle. The room was quiet, apart from his chants and tantric breathing. I focused for all it was worth on the Bliss yet to come. I kept my eyes firmly closed and avoided glancing down at his floating eagle, which I have to say, seemed set to soar at any minute.

Floating Eagle’s breathing got louder and louder. Pleasurable sounds. Intense. Animalistic. Sex sounds. I started making sounds too.

Mine started softly but slowly, coming from the bottom of my Yoni, up through my sensual feminine waters, and out through my mouth, where they became huge full blooded hysterical guffaws. My sounds were not sounds of sexual pleasure.

Floating Eagle was not amused. He stared at me while I dissolved into fits of laughter that only ended when I stooped to pick up my clothes from the pavement outside the Sanctuary.

I dressed in the car, pulled up my laddered stockings, then called my Tantric Touch Boss.

"Don’t bother coming back. If you want to work for us, you need to put your full heart and Yoni into the stories".

I wish I had put my whole Yoni into that story. Even with all the intense research I did, I never got paid.

I never had a Tantric Massage.

I never learned how to give a decent blow job.

And I still don’t have any money.

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