Back to the Feet

So the foot party went well. I was only there for 2 hours and I made a decent amount of money. This is partly, I think, because I was missed. The few regulars I have threw money at me to see me again. I still can't fathom the fact that I GET PAID TO GET MY FEET RUBBED.

And it was good this time. All foot guys, not a single dude secretly there for a blowjob. At least the guys I spoke with. And i got a $50 tip for having awesome feet!

Part of me is interested in my response to foot stimulation in a sexual setting. While I admit that the massages feel good, they don't really work for me in a sexual way. But at the same time, I can understand how it might. I generally don't give too much credence to new age practices but I am beginning to think there is something to reflexology: when certain parts of my feet are touched or caressed I can feel it on different parts of the body. ONE of them has to affect my ladybits.

On the otherhand, what if I do find that  I like it? I think the reason I am so comfortable with the foot fetish work is that to me it is decidedly non-sexual. Maybe it is best to not mess with that...

Oh well, you know what, I shouldn't say there were no creeps. There was one guy there - halitosis man. He was happy to see me again and to tell me that he spent all this time jacking off to me. Gee, thanks. And then he tells me he is going to try to set up a private session for he and I because he really REALLY wants to watch porn with me.

And then he stuck his tongue down my throat before I could dodge him. But he was just a 5 minute blip on a pretty normal (you know, for a fetish club) night.

Feet, the remix

Well, it seems that the Foot club is back up and running. I got an email informing me that although they had run into some undisclosed issues, the bed eggs (both male and female) had been weeded out and they were going to return to their roots: no more lapdance party or "super private" nights.

Phew.

So next week I will be going back to the club for the first time in a long time. Hopefully it will be fun, like it was when I started, and not the "i'm going to pressure you for a blowjob" bullshit it slowly turned into.

We shall see.

greetings from la

oh right. this blog. just when I had a good idea my life became somewhat normal, no more fetish clubs or creepy modeling gigs.

dont worry though, that era of normal is over.

I am writing now from a starbucks in malibu. (fact: a week ago I had no idea malibu was a real place) why? you may ask. well I found out my loving boyfriend was in fact sleeping with a girl from Jersey (as if the cheating wasn't bad enough), I cut my hair off with a kitchen knife, and booked it west.

 

now I am waiting to meet a photographer with whom I have been talking online since I started modeling all those years ago. does malibu have nudity laws? lets hope not, because all I have with me is my makeup kit. I am excited.

however, dear readers, I know that is not why you are reading. and I wont disappoint. Friday  I am dancing in an amateur night competition at a local  strip club. because the prize is 500. and mamma needs that. I went in to fill out paperwork before I headed west and everyone told me what a great look I had. What I am saying here is that there is a real chance I will be a stripper before the month is out. and... I think I am excited by this fact.

in other news the owner of the foot fetish club emailed us this past week. suddenly we are no longer able to have parties in his space. also he "cannot talk about it." I smell a prostitution bust.  i knew it had been close at hand for some time. I am just so happy I got skeeved out enough to stop working there before ut went down.

Profile of a Foot Fetish.

At this point I thought it might be fun for you to all see a little video. At the last foot party I worked, I met a man named Jack. He had been to parties before, but I knew what he was into (not what you're thinking), and I didn't think I would be any good at it.

But one of the girls I'm friends with introduced me to him and arranged for us to do a double session. Having someone seasoned to show me the ropes, so to speak, put me at ease, and I agreed. While we waited for the session room to open up, I learned quite a bit about Jack. The most interesting tidbit, of course, was that he was on Jerry Springer a few years ago for his fetish.

So perhaps watching Jack explain it all can help you understand exactly what it is that goes on:



Make sense now? Especially when I say these guys a more than a little socially inept? Oh and because I know you're wondering: I AM NOT PRINCESS.

So there it is in true Springer fashion: not fake, really, but more than a little over the top. I certainly don't do aerobics before a foot party.

Here is the thing: Jack does love, as he puts it, 'white woman's feet'. But thats not actually the fetish he comes to the parties for. It goes a little deeper than that, which brings us to my first session with him at the last party:

Jack likes to be trampled. Hard. Which basically means he lies down and you kick the bloody shit out of him. He also wants to be called every racial slur in the book. Perhaps you understand my reservations about working with him before. Yes, he likes it, and asks for it, but I still feel a little weird about beating up a blind black man while calling him the N-word... AND THEN GETTING PAID FOR IT.

After we sessioned I was told that I needed to work on my racial slurs. I, apparently, don't know enough of them and I didn't use "any of the good ones." I.... I still don't know how to react to that statement.

But I will leave you with some interesting food for thought: Jack told the Springer show about the rest of his "white girl feet" fetish. And even the Jerry Springer show wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole.

Socially Inept.

Another foot party. Another weird, weird night.

Two different guys offer you today's reading material: The submissive and headlamp guy.

First the submissive:

This guy, he is the the king of the socially awkward. I was eating dinner and the moment I finished he was there, asking me if he might take my plate. Total gentleman, right? And he would have been, if he then didn't proceed to crawl away with it. On his hands and knees - that sort of crawling. 

Later, he comes up to me, telling me I am so beautiful, so German looking (seriously, German looking?) that we have to session. Ok, fine. So we go off to a couch and I sit down and he hands me a mirror. He apparently gets off on women looking at themselves. And then he starts licking my boots (literally!) and saying how sexy my Nazi boots were. Nazi boots?

My Boot

Hitler

Not exactly, though I'm sure the Nazis would have had a much better go of things if they had worn a cute kitten heel. 

So then he asks me to put on lipstick and I know that he likes to be humiliated. So I call him stupid and worthless and he asks me to step on his face with my boots on which I do. And then he says "you're so pretty. I bet you were popular. Just like Regina George." Thats when one of the other girls in the room (who was in a session of her own) starts creaking up. The whole time, I had been rolling my eyes and shoot her looks because this guy was just so weird, but at this point she actually loses her shit and laughs. It took me a moment - what was he talking about. And then I realize: oh my god, Regina George.

Regina George

He is actually comparing me to a imaginary 17 year old queen bee. Amazing! Then he starts this deluge of weird compliments: my skin is so pale, he wants to buy me Uggs, I look so un-American.

What, exactly, is un-American?

Oh but this next guy. I have never actually sessioned with him. I've tried all the tricks: engaging conversation, laughing at his odd jokes, pretending that I give a shit when he talks and talks and talks... No go. But he does make a point to come up to me and say hello almost every party. Usually he does and then wonders away mid-conversation. We call him headlamp guy because when he does session he puts on a miner's hat and inspects every inch of your foot. So. Strange. And this night... oh my god.

Him: Hello, Craftitute.
Me: Oh hey there.... you (I have no idea what his name is). 

Him: You know that band? They sang a song with your name in it.

Me: Yes they did. 

Him: I had a friend named Craftitute. She got pregnant at 17 and stopped being our friend because she thought she was so much better than us.

Me: Oh thats weird. 

Him: Why?

Me: Well, she was 17.... i mean, thats not a good thing...I.. er... well kids just aren't my thing.

Him: You don't want kids?!

Me: Not at all.

Him: But you've babysat before.

Me: Huh? yeah, I've babysat. Thats why I know I don't want kids, haha.

Him: Did you ever babysit boys?

Me: Yes.

Him: Babies?

Me: Yeah, less than a year.

Him: But how? You couldn't change his diaper!

Me: Um, sure I could.

Him: But he has a thingy! You would have seen it! (seriously, that statement is verbatim)

Me: Well, yeah, but he was a baby.

Him: There is this video on Youtube of a mother showing how to change a diaper.

Me: Oh yeah?

Him: Yeah, she uses her son and films what to do.

Me: Well thats a great idea. I think a lot of people might not know how to do that and could use the help.

Him: You should see the comments people leave. They think it is wrong.

Me: Why would it be wrong?

Him: Well..... she..... she lifts his thingy and cleans it!

Me: Yeah, thats what you have to do. You can't let it stay dirty.

Him: But you didn't do that when you changed diapers.

Me: Yes, I did. Thats what you have to do. They're not old enough to take care of themselves.

Him: [weird silence]

Him: You know touching the thingy of someone your own age can be kind of fun, though.

Me: [startled silence]

Him: What? [he got right in my face] what did you say?

Me: I didn't.... I didn't say anything.

Him: But it COULD be fun, if he is older, right?

Me: I... don't know?

Him: Oh never mind. You don't understand.

He walked away then and I realized "Oh my god, he was trying to ask me for I handjob, I think."

Want vs Need

I guess it's important to say that I consider myself a feminist. Not to go into all the history, but depending on what theory you subscribe to (if you subscribe at all), I am a third wave feminist. This is partly based on age (after all, I am only in my 20s) having grown up with the idea that girls can do anything boys can do, not only from my own mother, but from teachers and TV and battle of the sexes challenges in gym class. So yeah, being a girl has always been an okay thing. Glass ceiling? Yes. It's there. But no one I know makes any money, so I can hardly cry foul about that in my experience.

Now, generally, 3rd wavers are known for not being opposed to sex work. Where as my mother's type of feminism requires any utilization of the female body to be regarded as 'demeaning,' I have always struggled with that notion. What could be demeaning about using your very own body to support yourself? An accomplished stripper has always seemed like the ultimate woman to me. You're a perfect specimen of feminine beauty and men are willing to pay to look at you. Hasn't this been in vogue since Aphrodite? And if you so desire to engage in more than longing looks? Well, good for you. Sex is fun and it feels good and if people are willing to pay you for that as well? There are plenty of girls for free at the local bar, yet you are something so exquisite they are willing to pay for YOU.

Not demeaning in the least.

And so working at the club has always seemed okay to me. Sure, people are weird, and I've had requests for situations that I wasn't interested in participating in. But that is part of the beauty: you bat your eyes, smile coyly and say thanks but no thanks. I have always been in charge. And when I made enough money to make my evening complete, I pack my things and go.

Now things are different. No longer am I there because I want to be. I'm there because I have to be. This money is my income. I need it. It pays my rent, buys my food, keeps my heat on during these 4 degree nights. That realization struck me as I left Real Job last weekend and walked to the club. And I felt ill. I didn't want to go. I cried tears that burned my face in the subzero wind and felt utterly defeated. Because the money wasn't something I simply wanted, but needed it to survive. How much harder it is, to refuse a request, when the money they slip into your palm is going to feed you for the next week.

And once everyone in the club, guys and girls alike, started to comment on how good I looked and how I must "have been busting ass at the gym" to lose that much weight in two weeks, refusal stopped being an option. Because I haven't been busting ass at the gym. I just haven't had money to eat.

So yeah, when creepy old guy gives you $100 to make out with him for ten minutes, what do you do? I guess on the bright side I know many of the girls there make that amount of money through many more illicit means. Should I be flattered? There is something to be said about that, I guess. First base with me is worth the same as 3rd with other girls. But that is also very... weird. I'm certainly no prettier, no sexier, no more interesting than any of the other girls there. It is unnerving.

Also there is this orchid blooming at Real Job that smells exactly like creepy old man's breath. Orchids aren't known for their fabulous fragrance, but I'm haunted by this particular halitosis orchid. It taunts me with my shame.

And this is when sex work stops being empowering. It smothers you in the mantle of no other options and that is scary. Because i feel optionless. I've sent SO MANY resumes and cover letters into open positions in my field and have not even had the courtesy of a rejection letter. And, quite frankly, I'm REALLY accomplished in my field. I should at least be getting a round one phone call.

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.

Foot Parties

So the most bizarre of my jobs in the "exploiting my body for money" category has to be my work as a foot fetish club girl. What? Yeah, it's pretty much what you think. Then again, you might not even know what to think. I certainly didn't until I was poor enough to troll Craig's list looking for a job.

For what it's worth, I don't really recommend trying to find work on Craig's list. At least, nothing that could be considered "Adult" in nature. It's not that the opportunities aren't there - they certainly are, even with the "Adult" section removed - it's that every time I inquired about a post, I got a bad vibe when I read the responses. The vast majority wanted me to send photos of my tits to be "evaluated." Uh-huh, sure. But those weren't creepy so much as an annoying waste of my time, since the ad posted seemed legitimize. Some, however, wrote back long detailed dissertations about how I'd been a "bad girl" and gave a blow by blow of my "punishment." WTF? Some of these were ads for house cleaners and dog walkers. They're like the internet equivalent of flashers on the street in long trench coats... they seem benign enough and then BAM! penis in your face and there is no other place to look.

The Foot Fetish ad was sort of a bait and switch as well. The ad posted simply said it was looking for models and to respond for more information. I did, and, to the credit of the organization, what came back was an honest and succinct description of what the gig was: you go to weekly theme parties and men with foot fetishes come and pay you to touch your feet. Well, that seemed easy enough. And in all honesty, the reason I gave it a try was because the email was written in full sentences with good grammar, unlike any other internet job response I had received.

At first it was exactly as described. I went to theme parties, dressed like a Sorority Girl, or a Cheerleader, or a Secretary. Girls would sit around the club and guys would filter in, scan the room for the one that struck their fancy, and then lead them to various couches and chairs (or the private VIP rooms) to 'session' (ie, rub the girl's feet, suck the girl's toes, or have the girl rub her feet on his body)

Need a visual? Let me demonstrate for you:

 

Pretty innocent right? Yeah, we'd usually have short skirts on, so when you lift your feet you can sneak a peek up the legs, but nothing really that sexual. Sometimes the guys liked to lick:

Ok, I guess it's sexual for them, but I don't really get anything out of it, so its really had to think of it as something somewhat taboo... And yeah, sometimes I'd get a little drunk and take it a little further, showing a little bit more leg or doing sessions in a bra instead of a shirt, but it was all in fun.

I will admit though, that in the back of my head, I kept thinking how much it was set up like a brothel: guys would pay to come in the door, then they would pick out the girl they wanted, then they would pay her for her time. Yeah, ok, that sounds a bit like prostitution, but ok, I'll be a foot hooker. I mean, it's just feet right? It's not like it's taking it too far.

And then one day, I was looking for an open room to session in at the end of the night and I walked into this: 

Oh god. Are those dolls having sex over the side of a couch? Yes. Yes they are. And that very couch was one I had laid on earlier in the night while getting me feet licked and oh god.... 

I turned and ran from the room. I mean, it's not good manners to stand there and stare when people are fucking like rabbits on a velvet couch that is used by everyone in the organization. And as I fled from the room I had a sickening realization: this isn't a silly facsimile of a brothel, this IS a brothel. I work for a brothel. 

You guys, I'm pretty naive. I'll admit it: I didn't put that together till that moment. And once I did, all the money that came from that innocence was gone. Suddenly, I would be taken to a session room and told "yeah, so, I don't really like feet... why don't you just let me touch your vagina" or "Oh no keep your shoes on. I think feet are gross. I'm going to pull my dick out and you're going to dance for me"

Suddenly, I found myself here:

And in case you missed the details:

Yes, that is his hand in his pants. 

Now, I want to make it clear that I have never EVER touched a penis at one of these clubs. I get the "but all the other girls go down on me" line all the time and I'm just not that desperate. Yet. Once, a guy tried to entice me by saying "I know it costs extra... I have another $20 here for you if you just put it in your mouth" and I literally laughed in his face. He got all pissy, and complained to management that I was "rude" and "uncooperative." Whatever. Although I am concerned that some of these other girls are giving blowjobs for a mere 20 bucks. 

Last night was my first night back at one of these parties in almost 8 weeks. The last time I was there, I was dancing for some guy and he took it upon himself to stick his hand in my vagina. No bueno. The next day, he had followed me on twitter and facebook and found me on the modeling site online. Creepy. Ass. Stalker.  I got really upset and swore I was done with it forever. But I found myself in some dire straights the past few weeks and finally broke down went.

Of course, because I was desperate, I had the worst night EVER. Too many girls to choose from + not enough guys to choose = no money for your friendly neighborhood Craftitute. The only interesting thing to report was that in my absence a man has started coming who simply lays on one of the beds and girls stand on his chest and bounce up and down. Sorta like:

I don't really get it, but I don't really get most of the stuff there. 

The crowd was simply annoying last night. They wanted to talk and mingle and the guys don't seem to understand that this isn't a real party, these girls don't really care about you and your day. I mean, it's fine to chat for a bit, but we are there to get paid for our time. So I gave up and went to drink with friends in the city.

NOTE: You might notice in the photos I have reenacted for you that the girl is always checking her cell phone. Although in real life, the girls try to be more subtle about it, this is generally how things go. Why? Well, the guys buy a session that lasts 10 minutes. It is up to the girl to keep tabs on the time. If you go over time and don't get a verbal OK to charge for another session, you're out that cash. So everyone is pretty good about checking their phones at various points of the ten minutes to know how much cash they are pulling in 

Dress up

So I'm killing time before I head over to foot fetish club for the night. Don't worry, dear readers, you'll get a full update but as I'm there working the podiatric crowd, I'll leave you with this thought:





It is creepy how much more money I make when I make myself look 17.