Fascinating.

One thing I've been doing lately to unwind at the end of the day is making fascinators, which, if you don't know, are the sort of Victorian-inspired feathered headpieces that look pretty awesome and are getting to be pretty popular.

There are like a zillion people on on Etsy selling fascinators so I'm trying to think of a way to market mine differently. And I think I may have figured it out: since i'm making them out of scraps of old projects and actually using packing material from Real Job shipments, I can claim (truthfully) that they are recycled and earth friendly. Which is cool.

Wanna see?

 

This one I can't actually sell, because it used a Goldfinch feather I found in the woods, and the peskty migratory bird act states that songbird feathers can't be bought or sold, but I can use it for me. 

Black and Gold!

Into the den of Saints and Sinners

Another foot party last night. Blah. The upside is that Real Job and fetish club are in the same neighborhood and the food parties are starting earlier now. Which means I just go straight to fetish work after Real Job work. And because I start earlier, i hit the amount of money i want to make earlier and go home earlier. These things are good.

Things that are not good: I know we've gone over this before, but seriously, the place is a brothel. When I started it used to be guys where there to worship feet. Now there are my few regulars and they are the only guys I session with. Last night there were a TON of guys, but every new guy I talked with chatted me up for a bit and then asked if I did private sessions.

creep: "You know, I only session with the girls I know here, but every so often I like to add another girl to my group. You're really sexy. Do you do private sessions?"

me: "well, it depends on the sort of thing you like to do in sessions. There are some things I'm not interested in."

creep: "my sessions get a little wild and crazy"

me: "oh yeah? like how?"

creep: "you promise not to tell anyone?"

me: "no, of course not. I just want to make sure we're on the same page"

creep: "well, the girls I session with... they let me eat their pussy"

me: ".......oh, wow, Really? Uh yeah, while I'm flattered, I'm just not into that. But thank you for being upfront with me. Some guys would do a session and not bother to ask if I'm ok with that"

creep: "well yeah. I'm a nice guy. And you're really sexy. So you should let me lick your pussy"

me: "Yeah, no. Again, thank you. I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, but honestly, I don't do that. I just don't like the way it feels"

creep: "oh, I understand... can I lick your ass then?"

At this point I excused myself. I wish that I would have been quicker on my feet at the time, though, and asked how much he paid for one of those sessions. Not that any amount of money would have turned me, but I'm curious.

Moments later, I saw him go into a private room with one of the girls. They came out 10 minutes later and he went in with another girl shortly after that. Here is my issue: you bury your tongue into a girl's vagina. Then, less than a half an hour later, you stick your tongue into ANOTHER girl's vagina. Considering the STD/STI rate in the city I live in, I just don't see this as a good idea for anyone involved. Seriously, if you want to let some guy eat you out for money... I mean, it's not like it's hard work. But how do you know he's clean? And when he is going from girl to girl in rapid fire? EW.

And yet, not the weirdest exchange of the night.

There is a man who comes every week. He is older. I sessioned with him once. He has 100% Catholic guilt. He wants you to spit on him, tell him he's worthless, etc. But he also wants you to call him daddy and tell him you're a sinner. At least he did with me.

Thing is, I don't think he remembers that we've sessioned. But he does remember me. And every day he comes up to me and tells me, very sincerely, that I don't look like I belong at the club, that I'm too innocent looking, that I deserve better. I always assumed this was his way of hitting on the girls at the club, until last night.

last night, he approached me, and told me that he had been praying for me and that he had a message for me from god. And that message was for me to quit the parties. "These other girls," he told me, "they deserve this life. They don't have morals. But you are a good girl. And I know the money isn't that good for you. You just do the foot stuff, right?"

"Yes," I told him. "That's all"

"Good. But it still isn't worth it. Don't compromise yourself. It's a slope, and all these girls, they do things for money... I have something for you, and I hope you go to church tomorrow and pray on this, and I hope I don't see you here again"

And he handed me this:

Front

Back

Seriously. He tried to save me at a foot party. Now, I know that that scene is a good place to find fallen women who might need saving, (certainly there were a lot of people trying to save everyone at the porn convention I worked at)  but generally the people doing the saving are not also partaking in the debauchery. Just because he didn't session with me didn't mean this man didn't session. He did. Religious hypocrisy at its finest.

I'm not a religious person. But, what he said did make some sense. Less and less of the guys are there for services I offer. One of the girls I'm friendly with spent a good 15 minutes after a session scrubbing her hands with soap. She couldn't get the smell of, what she called "old man penis mold" off her hand, after she gave him a hand job. I....I can never bring myself to be that girl.

On a completely unrelated note, we did have a homeless girl sneak into the club last night to get off the street. To be fair, I think it dipped below freezing for the first time. She got the most attention I've ever seen a new addition to the club get. I think this was because she was underage. We deduced she was about 8 months old:

Homeless Kitty came into the club

Friendliest kitten ever. She curled up on my lap and feel asleep, even amongst the din of the music and talking and annoying drunk girls. So we fed her meatballs and one of the other girls took her home.

Taxi

So yesterday was halloween. I'm a huge fan of dressing up - it's the one time out of the year where no one thinks I'm crazy when I doll up in full makeup and outfit-that-is-more-costume-than-clothes, but I'm at that shitty age where my cohorts think dressing up is lame and really there is no where to go in costume anyway, because no one has costume balls or if they do, I certainly can't afford to go to them. Last year I dressed as a unicorn in full white body paint and yarn tail and ended up at a house party where A) I looked like a fool with my costume partner who was a Narwhal because really no one else dressed up and B) we couldn't figure out where to go in costume anyway, so we just sat around watching the World Series. Perfect waste of good latex body paint.

I knew this year would be more of the same, so I didn't even bother with a costume. I pulled out an old 80s prom dress and stuck  a flower in my hair to hand out candy. All the little girls who came to the door cooed over the "princess" who gave them candy. Then when the children had gone, I dressed up in drag and went to the local bar to watch Sunday Night Football. That was funny at least, I make an ugly man and ended up looking like the unibomber, but still, it took the bartender who knows me a little while to realize who I was.

But the real story was earlier in the day, when I had a photoshoot. There is a photog who I work with whenever he comes to town (every other month or so) and we generally shoot content for the pay site I'm on. This time he had a fun idea: to shot various states of undress in the back of a taxi cab as it drove around town. I thought it could be cool, but also was a little concerned: what if we offended said taxi driver's morals or sensibilities if his fare started stripping in the back of the cab?

Obviously, we planned on asking permission to shoot photos before we got in the cab anyway, but I tend to be rather blunt and I wasn't sure how to simply say "hey there, can I get naked in your cab? Kthanksbye"

In the end, the outfit I wore solved the issue. Who didn't love Vivian Ward

 

and the runway looks she inspired?

Basically, I walked down a major road in an outfit similar to above (a dress [shirt?] with garters showing and black thigh highs) past a row of cabs. The one that craned his neck to keep looking as I walked past? He was the one we asked.

So there I am, in the back of the cab, pulling up my dress, practically hanging out the cab window trying to get enough room to make good angles and not flash my vagina to ALL of the parkway when I noticed something: it was a Sunday morning on Halloween weekend. There were slutty nurses, slutty cows, slutty Jersey Shore Housemates, slutty fairies, and Lady Gagas walking home confused, hung over, and likely on their way to purchase Plan-B. No one was paying attention to my subtle flash of labia.

The moral here is that the early morning after a city's night of costumed casualties is the PERFECT time to slip past the radar unnoticed...