The little things

My only pair of sneakers is about ten years old and falling apart; I’ve been meaning to replace it for a while. Now that I’ve a) put stinky cheese residue into them in order to b) earn $200, I decided it was time to set that pair aside as dedicated foot-enstinkeners, and finally buy a brand new pair. My ex husband always spoke highly of New Balance and I’d been wanting a pair for years, so that’s what I looked for.

I found a pair at Winners, so they were cheaper than you’d expect. And they’re white with dark purple accents, not some blah combination of grey and navy blue like all the other sneakers in the men’s section. I hate grey and navy blue, for one thing, and for another thing I kinda wanted shoes that didn’t look too gendered – just a pair of sporty shoes that looks cute on me without being Post-Apolcalypse Drab or fucking pink and bedazzled, y’know?

Usually if I spend money on myself it’s on shiny, frivolous things; I’ve always resented parting with cash in order to get practical shit. But I’m super happy to have comfy shoes to walk in. This will affect almost every area of my life in a positive way.

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Stinky feet

So, people’s advice on getting my feet smelly for my client reminded me that the stink requires bacteria, not just sweat. I looked up what kind of bacterium makes your feet stink, and it turns out it’s the exact same one they use to make Limburger cheese.

I prepped for my client by rubbing Limburger all over my feet and then letting them marinate in a pair of old sneakers for two hours (no socks). Honestly I think the cheese itself might have been enough, but I’m an overachiever. :P Special bonus: even once I’ve run out of Limburger I bet the shoes themselves will make a good “culture starter” because of the cheese residue in there.

The client loooooooved the resulting smell. It was gratifying to see how much. :)

Other thoughts about pro domming:

The only other time an hour has gone so slowly for me was when I used to cover reception at my old office job. In both cases the culprit is having to be “on” all the time and pay super attention to detail even though I barely have any interest in the work I’m doing. Doing a one-hour pose for an art class – where I can let my mind totally wander anywhere I want – is a cakewalk by comparison, as long as I’m in a relatively comfortable pose. Posing, in many ways, is meditation for me – it’s self-care. Pro domming is taking care of other people. So again it comes down to energy flow.

My feelings about this client are…contradictory. During session I’m feeling bored (GOOD GOD WHY IS TIME PASSING SO SLOWLY) and anxious (am I catering adequately to his desires? I feel like things have gotten really repetitive but fetishists are obsessive and repetitive by nature so it’s probably fine, right?) and objectified (man, he’s just…buried in my feet. Hasn’t even opened his eyes since we started. I’m not sure he even knows I have a face at this point. Which is cool because it lets me check the clock without him noticing, but still…I almost feel like if my feet unscrewed I could just leave the room. Maybe I’m way overthinking it with my moans and gasps and attempts at dirty talk. Maybe all he really needs is the feet…).

After the session, though, I feel this wave of tenderness and affection toward him. Dude shows up on time, has never haggled my price, tells me what he wants clearly but in the sweetest most deferential non-bossy way, and his fetish is totally inoffensive. It’s boring to stick my feet in his face for an hour, but it’s easy and doesn’t make me feel degraded or anything. It even taps into my dominance a little bit for real, seeing him writhing helplessly under my foot like that. And I’m aware that I might very well be the only person in his life right now who ever sees him so entirely vulnerable and undone, which is sorta hot. And now I’m $200 richer.

At the same time though, I’m also aware that I’m basically a repository for the part of himself he doesn’t want to share with people who matter, which is mildly insulting. I mean, it’s fine. It is what it is. He treats me respectfully and makes pleasant small talk and pays me nicely for my services. But I am totally the whore in his madonna/whore complex and that’s weird to think about.

Every time one of our sessions finishes, I feel emotionally exhausted and wonder how full time sex workers even do it. Then I realized that, for me anyway, I’d only have to do this eight times a month in order to make ends meet. I could totally rally myself to do that eight times a month, especially if all of my clients were as lovely as this one. And if I got a vibe that a potential client was a troublemaker I’d just jack my price way up – so he’ll either pay me a shitload or be scared off. Win-win.

Supporting myself on eight one-hour sessions a month is a nice thing to daydream about, since I’m currently off any meds and seriously lacking the spoons and emotional fortitude to work full time.

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Goddammit.

I just had a fantastic night with The Pedant…and at the end of it he told me that things are going so well with the other woman he’s seeing that they’ve decided to close the relationship temporarily to “build a foundation for something possibly long term” so he won’t be sexing me for a while. I wish to crap he’d told me sooner – I’ve got that feeling like when you’re kind of mindlessly eating cookies and then suddenly you’re groping around the empty bag and realized you finished them without really noticing and you’re like, “NOOOOOOOOOOO! Why didn’t I properly savour the last few while I had the chance?”

Plus I’m feeling jealous. Which I know is petty and nonsensical, because I don’t want The Pedant all to myself, but still. When he was all “I think things with this woman have real long term potential and we’ve been discussing moving in together” it felt like like a bit of a slap in the face, like he was blatantly telling me that I was just a throwaway or something. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying “jeez, dude, I’m right here.”

The thing is, though, I miss having someone who’s committed to me (not monogamous to me necessarily, but committed. Super into me and in it for the long haul). It felt like I was almost there with Mine, but then the bottom fell out of that. And now the person I’ve currently been seeing the longest and have the most affection for is absenting himself.

In the years since I’ve been broken up with Minx, I’ve felt single. I mean even while seeing multiple people I never thought of myself as being in multiple relationships; more like single and “dating around,” but without the presumed goal of eventually narrowing my focus to one person. I am currently in a phase where I am fucking sick of being single, and feeling kind of self-pitying about it. This too shall pass. Probably. Tends to come and go in waves.

And dammit, the more I think about it, the more pissed off I am at The Pedant waiting until the end of the night to break his news to me. Because during the course of his visit I said a bunch of stuff that clearly presumed a future of regular sex between us – things like “Hey I’m not saying right now but at some point would you consider getting acquainted with my strap-on?” or “So since you’re considering getting laser hair removal over your entire body – if you want a preview of what that would look or feel like I can help you do some waxing if you want” and he knew we would stop being on a naked basis as of later that night and kept it to himself and just gave me noncommittal/neutral answers instead.

His new monogamy with this chick is supposed to be just temporary as they “build a foundation” for their relationship or whatever, and then in theory they’ll open up again. So technically maybe we will go back to fucking each other on a regular basis and his lies of omission weren’t exactly misleading me per se they way they would be if he’d decided to definitely bail on me forever. But I’m still not thrilled.

When we were saying goodbye at my front door we kissed a few times – clinging, slightly melancholic, consciously final kisses – and his kisses and the way he held onto me and the way he looked at me all conveyed a deep affection that reassured me that I still have a place in his life. Maybe not the top spot, but I am dear to him. That much is obvious. I’m not a piece of throwaway tail.

Annnnd now it’s 6am and I really need to get some sleep.

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Stinky foot help?

That lovely foot fetish client I saw a month or two ago has messaged me looking for another session…and asked if I could make my feet stinkier this time.

Last time I no-shit spent seven hours before the session wearing plastic bags and multiple layers of socks – one of which was a thick insulated pair specifically meant for keeping feet warm in winter – and although my feet sweated so much I felt like I was walking around in my own private swamp all day, I honestly didn’t get much of a whiff of footstank off myself when all was said and done.

I think this time I need to “cheat” and just rub something awful-smelling on my feet to make it seem like I have foot odor. But what?

Oh! Oh! Parmesan cheese, maybe?

I can’t even remember what foot-stank smells like, is the thing. So I don’t know what would impersonate it.

Any foot fetishists or fetish workers out there got suggestions for me?

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A WILD DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD APPEARS.

I have some clients I model for privately. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to me for the first couple of years of life modelling that I could do it in people’s homes, not just in art schools. But I fell into private posing kinda by accident, and the clients have been lovely, and I was thinking “Yay, I should get as many private clients as possible because then when the art schools close for the summer I won’t starve!”

Here’s what I’ve just realized: there’s a substantial overlap between “people who have enough disposable income to hire a human being to sit naked in their house basically as decoration and not feel ridiculous about it” and “people who like to go on fancy vacations that last all summer.”

Dammit!

…But on the plus side, that one lovely foot fetish client just got in touch with me for a second session.

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Just a sample

This is just a wee sample of the kind of thing that pisses me off when I try to shop online.

I don’t actually shop for clothing online because I’m a huge misshapen freak and thus need to try things on. But I ended up on this Etsy page kinda by accident. Let’s recap my thought process as I looked at this page, shall we?

Extra-long leggings! Cool!

…Except, they’re described as having “playful gathers at the ankle”…so apparently they’re only extra-long because someone thought them bunching up at the bottom was a cute stylistic choice. Because it’s not like actual tall/long-legged people exist or anything, you fuckers. Subquestion: since these leggings are described as having gathers at the ankles – not as being long enough to bunch up on some people – does that mean they’re actually sewn that way and would not un-bunch on someone taller?

How long is “extra long,” anyway? Oh cool, they state the model’s measurements. That’s helpful…wait no it’s not because what’s her fucking inseam measurement?

Oh, here’s the size chart for the leggings themselves. Well that’s cool but WHAT’S. THE. FUCKING. INSEAM MEASUREMENT?!?!? How is inseam not a standard listing on sizing charts, by the way? Do clothing makers not comprehend that women don’t all have the exact same length of legs? Maybe some of us wanna see if their stupid shitty clothes would be goddamned long enough. But we can’t. Because size charts almost never include that info.

But wait, their largest size is still an inch too small in the hips for me (and three inches too big in the waist) so it’s kinda moot.

I see they do custom orders but I’m actually so pissed at them for not recognizing tall people’s existence (or apparently the existence of legs, INSEAM MEASUREMENTS ARE A THING HELLO) that I don’t especially want to do business with them. Bye, Felicia.

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Young dudes are annoying, part eleventy-billion.

It’s paypet’s bday today…and it came out that he actually lied about his age on his FL profile. He’s not 25 turning 26. He’s 23 turning 24.

I don’t really care or anything (although it’s hilarious to me that he lied to try to preserve his anonymity – his profile lists a different city from where he actually lives and – when I first spoke to him – had a pic of only his disembodied torso. I don’t think stating his real age is gonna make people immediately go “Ohhh hey I know that guy! I wasn’t sure before, but now…”) but it does make his overeagerness make even more sense.

On a possibly related note, the boy is not good with political correctness and it bothers me. Like he used the word “trap” the other day to mean “hot man who passes as female” and when I said that it’s often used as a slur against trans people and kinda makes my heart hurt, he said “Well they use it on 4chan all the time!” like that was an excuse. I’m old and out of touch and even I know that 4chan is notoriously filled with shitty awfulness. If you try to defend a bad thing by saying they do it on fucking 4chan, that will only prove my point.

To be clear, I’m okay with pet not knowing that “trap” is a Word We Don’t Say. I am not okay with him trying to defend it after I explained the wrongness. Whether he gives a shit about political correctness or trans people or not, I was very clear that I do not like that word – it gives me an almost physical pain when someone casually tosses it around – and anyone who wants to be in any kind of relationship with me should want to avoid hurting me or pissing me off, yes?

And now I’ve just explained to him about Minx’s trans status and he almost immediately misgendered her. When I corrected him he was like “Yeah, yeah, ‘she.’ Cut me some slack, it’s been a long day.”

When I’ve been pissed off at him for other things, he’s apologized gracefully. It’s only political correctness issues that make him bristle and whine and defend himself. And he’s so young and honestly not super bright from what I can tell and white and cismale that I don’t know if I can even explain the concept of privilege to him and try to dismantle this shit – I may actually have to just be like “Look, don’t say these words in front of me BECAUSE I SAID SO. Preferably don’t use them at all, but at the very least don’t use them in front of me.”

Oh, speaking of cismale privilege, last night he asked if I had any rape fantasies and it predictably turned into more-or-less this conversation again. Sigh.

Rape means fucking someone who doesn’t want it*. It does not mean initiating rough but enjoyable sex. If you want fun rough PIV then ask for it because if you ask for rape play instead, I will aim to leave you terrified and crying and/or bleeding.

*And I would argue that rape play needs elements of tension/fear/unwillingness, too, otherwise how is it rapey? It’s just rough sex.

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