April 10
You know you’re a goddess when you have men requesting locks of your pubic hair (one more reason not to shave, which seems to be the trend these days) and making collages out of your panty shots.
When I talk to all the men about what they want, they all say, “I’m not like the other guys. I like the cuddling and foreplay and pleasing my partner.” Of course they also like getting down ’n’ dirty—facials are a popular fantasy. They see it in porn all the time, but never get to do it themselves.
And men are crazy about Eating The Pussy. It’s like their favorite thing.
Men are posting reviews about me on the Internet, free publicity! So far, so good…
This morning I met with a man who had a George Bush sticker on his big truck thing. I felt dirty. HA! (Also, I wonder how getting with whores while married fits in with the whole “family values” thing.)
When I’m driving to a rich blue-collar client, I like to listen to Bruce Springsteen to get me in the mood.
I like thinking to myself:
So, what did you do last night?
Oh, I was just out whoring around….
It’s odd to have sex with someone and for them to call out another person’s name. “Oh, Elisabeth!” HA!
I kinda miss the werewolf who took me to Vegas. He was so masculine and sweet, called me baby… he had the nice combination of tender and tough, cocky yet vulnerable. Last night the client I was with was wearing the same cologne he did, and that made me enjoy the experience all the more.
I have orgasms every session. They WANT to please me. I notice them shaking when they first meet me, the excitement is so great. I can tell I intimidate them. Hell, they SAY so. I feel powerful.
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Yesterday afternoon I met with a potential client at a restaurant. I could tell he was really paranoid and wanted to size me up before setting up an appointment, to make sure I matched my pics and wasn’t the police. He’s very tall, from the Czech Republic, has a sexy accent and intense eyes.
At first he was aloof and asked a lot of questions, but over time he thawed and we fell into good conversation about gender roles, cultural differences, how his brother warned him I’d be 40 with no teeth, since it all seemed too good to be true.
I pointed out that his brother was halfway right—that I was 34, not 29. He laughed and said, “But you look 25.”
He told me about his friend the Italian sailor who has been to 80 countries and knows five languages, how he’s coming in town later this month and he wants to set us up. He wants to impress his worldly friend with me (the whore!)
By the end of our meeting, he was dying to get with me. I told him we could meet the next day. I allowed him to cop a feel up my skirt in the parking lot.
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Meanwhile, I had a date set up that evening with another guy. All day I had flirted with him via email. I said, “Isn’t it sexy that I don’t even know what you look like, but that later on tonight you’ll have your hands all over me? You’ll be touching my belly for the first time, my breasts, slipping a hand up my skirt and cupping my ass…”
It drove him nuts.
The evening proved enjoyable. He had a nice place, and he had a thing for lighthouses—they were all over his kitchen and living room. But when I asked him if he ever visited real ones, he said no. He was a small, attractive guy, in decent shape, gray hair. I was hypnotized by his strange eyes. They looked steel, silver, light green, ice blue, depending on the light. “Wolf eyes,” I called them. He told me they were brown until he was 18 years old, then they suddenly changed.
I let him fuck me with one of my glass dildos.