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.