Anika Mae 's blog
For the last couple of months I've been thinking "blimey, I've been doing this for a year". I can't pin down a date, it could be anything from the first time I was paid to have sex in October, to my first job as an independent* in November, but any way I look at it I've been escorting for over a year now. That's longer then it took me to get sick of the strip club, and much longer then it feels.
I have a regular, who I first saw when he was an archetypal nervous newbie. He was my third customer as an independent and neither of us were quite sure what we were doing, but it did it for him and we just had our anniversary booking.
That's not the point of the entry though, the point is:<!--break--> I have a SHINY METAL POLE! He got hold of one for our last meeting and set it up in his living room, so I danced around it and it was absolutely marvelous. Over the next month he decided that he probably didn't have a career as a male stripper ahead of him and decided to give it to me. Yay! I wouldn't have bought one for myself because I don't have much space here, but I think it's the best christmas present since I was 7 and got the My Little Pony I'd wanted all year. I'm going to try setting it up in another regular's house and see if it's worth offering a pole dancer experience.
(When I first started dancing I desperately wanted my own pole, but even if people were selling them at the time I had no chance. Nice and slightly lazy strippers make no money.)
*Before I was independent I picked up a couple of customers from a champagne bar, but I find that method of working quite different, so I draw some kind of line there.
I have a regular, who I first saw when he was an archetypal nervous newbie. He was my third customer as an independent and neither of us were quite sure what we were doing, but it did it for him and we just had our anniversary booking.
That's not the point of the entry though, the point is:<!--break--> I have a SHINY METAL POLE! He got hold of one for our last meeting and set it up in his living room, so I danced around it and it was absolutely marvelous. Over the next month he decided that he probably didn't have a career as a male stripper ahead of him and decided to give it to me. Yay! I wouldn't have bought one for myself because I don't have much space here, but I think it's the best christmas present since I was 7 and got the My Little Pony I'd wanted all year. I'm going to try setting it up in another regular's house and see if it's worth offering a pole dancer experience.
(When I first started dancing I desperately wanted my own pole, but even if people were selling them at the time I had no chance. Nice and slightly lazy strippers make no money.)
*Before I was independent I picked up a couple of customers from a champagne bar, but I find that method of working quite different, so I draw some kind of line there.
I'm sorry, I really can't tell if this stuff is interesting at all if you weren't there.
Last month I had deadlines the same day that Sirens was on, so I only had a few hours to prepare everything after school, but I got things together. This time I had a week, and was in such a mess without even having burned my CDs by the time I had already planned to be there.
I was going to do a set to <em>Viva Las Vegas</em>, and neither of the burlesque dancers could make it, so I thought I'd do it as a burlesque act with just one song, and try to come up with two other sets. I got stuff for a red showgirl costume, which went a bit tits up in the end but would be passable, and then realised that I had no basis for the assumption that the song was longer then the average Elvis track. I checked, about the time I'd been planning to leave, and it wasn't. I tried to find another song to tack on to it but finally gave up the idea for this month.
I'd only come up with one other set. I couldn't find the dress I was planning to wear and realised I'd left it in Denmark, along with the white underwear that looks great underneath. That was my first stripping dress. I have to try to get it back.
I picked another outfit for that set, looked through my Stripping Songs playlist, which is much longer then my Pole playlist, and realised that there was a bunch of stuff I could dance to that I hadn't used yet. I chucked a load of songs onto a CD, various costumes into a backpack, and left my room in a huge mess.
There'd been a miscommunication that meant no posters had gone up for the night, so we weren't expecting much. It was very quiet to start with, but that turned out to be more to do with the new licences, and it got reasonably busy after midnight. I discovered that the drinks for a pound tokens dancers get are good for a very large glass of wine, so I got drunk and it was good. (The white wine wasn't, though. Eww. I really should have been able to tell from the state of the red that white would ming.)
We have Pink Pounds for the night, 1 tokens to use as tips. We didn't have anyone who could just go around selling them, so Mia and I were doing it all. Having the dancers sell them is a good tactic to make people less scared of us so they'll use the damn things, but I'm surprised we did so well on our own given that we had to get changed, dance, and collapse on the sofa for three sets each.
Mia's there to make money, I'm not, so it took a bit of guilt to make me keep going out and selling tokens. Since I don't care about the cash it doesn't bother me when someone doesn't want any, even when the reason's something like my girlfriend wouldn't approve, which is pretty lame at a night where the hook is hey, strippers!. This time, though, there was one group that were as bad as some of the men I've had to deal with, and managed to piss me off. No I'm not bloody collecting for charity, I'm entertaining you without being paid and offering you a way to show your appreciation. It was the first time I've had people being deliberately rude to me there, fuckers.
My sets, I loved them all:
First, while it was still pretty quiet, I danced to <em>Roxanne</em> from Moulin Rouge. Awesome song, I've been wanting to do it for ages. I wore a flower printed salsa dress, red underwear, stockings and thigh boots, a black beaded chocker, and was the best dead hooker ever.
Then I did the one I'd pre-prepared, in fluorescent Cyberdog bikini and black PVC instead of the net dress (sob). I was wearing fuchsia sequin nipple tassels and had a matching star on one bum cheek. I took my clothes of and made motions towards air guitar to <em>Turbo Lover</em> by Judas Priest, because I rule. Then when some silly indie glam started, <em>Some Of You Boys (And Most Of You Girls)</em> by Robin Black and the International Rock Stars, I got up on the pole and took my shoes off so I could spend the song jumping around being camp and silly. I wanted to give people flowers so I had a fake bunch from the pound shop, but scissors weren't enough to separate them so I just played around with the bunch and gave it to the trannies in the corner when I was done because we love them. It was so much fun, there's something very special about removing six inch stilettos.
Finally I danced to <em>Spaceman</em>, by Babylon Zoo. 90s Levi ad one-hit-wonder, and a great album, I don't care what you say. I got the sadly faded chrome bikini and wrap out, the only bikini I ever started making and could be bothered to finish. I had black electrical tape on my nipples for that one, and the boots again. After that I went into <em>Stolen Car</em> by Sting, which made the set over 10 minutes.
I was collapsed in the changing room drinking a pint of water after that when Rebecca told me to go sell some more tokens before Mia's last set. When I finished drinking I started getting dressed, and the cute cloakroom girl said they'd buy them if I went out as I was. I said you know what, I will. So I stayed in boots, thong, and crosses for the rest of the night. Sometimes, electrical tape crosses are sexier then nipples.
There were a couple of girls who'd been tipping lots and were otherwise lovely. They were dancing with me while I was on the dancefloor, and I thought how fab to have a couple that were thrilled rather then disturbed by an almost naked girlie. It turned out they weren't actually together, and the blonde one had been straight until that day. I spent a lot of time dancing closely and sensually with her, it was excellent. When the last song came on I finished my wine and gave the cloakroom girl a lapdance.
I got home and found I was more drunk then at any other point during the night. Bollocks. I don't like going to bed drunk, so I stayed up until 5am.
Oh, but I finally learned how to twirl tassels! Just the simplest method, which isn't hard. Getting them to spin in opposite directions baffles me.
Last month I had deadlines the same day that Sirens was on, so I only had a few hours to prepare everything after school, but I got things together. This time I had a week, and was in such a mess without even having burned my CDs by the time I had already planned to be there.
I was going to do a set to <em>Viva Las Vegas</em>, and neither of the burlesque dancers could make it, so I thought I'd do it as a burlesque act with just one song, and try to come up with two other sets. I got stuff for a red showgirl costume, which went a bit tits up in the end but would be passable, and then realised that I had no basis for the assumption that the song was longer then the average Elvis track. I checked, about the time I'd been planning to leave, and it wasn't. I tried to find another song to tack on to it but finally gave up the idea for this month.
I'd only come up with one other set. I couldn't find the dress I was planning to wear and realised I'd left it in Denmark, along with the white underwear that looks great underneath. That was my first stripping dress. I have to try to get it back.
I picked another outfit for that set, looked through my Stripping Songs playlist, which is much longer then my Pole playlist, and realised that there was a bunch of stuff I could dance to that I hadn't used yet. I chucked a load of songs onto a CD, various costumes into a backpack, and left my room in a huge mess.
There'd been a miscommunication that meant no posters had gone up for the night, so we weren't expecting much. It was very quiet to start with, but that turned out to be more to do with the new licences, and it got reasonably busy after midnight. I discovered that the drinks for a pound tokens dancers get are good for a very large glass of wine, so I got drunk and it was good. (The white wine wasn't, though. Eww. I really should have been able to tell from the state of the red that white would ming.)
We have Pink Pounds for the night, 1 tokens to use as tips. We didn't have anyone who could just go around selling them, so Mia and I were doing it all. Having the dancers sell them is a good tactic to make people less scared of us so they'll use the damn things, but I'm surprised we did so well on our own given that we had to get changed, dance, and collapse on the sofa for three sets each.
Mia's there to make money, I'm not, so it took a bit of guilt to make me keep going out and selling tokens. Since I don't care about the cash it doesn't bother me when someone doesn't want any, even when the reason's something like my girlfriend wouldn't approve, which is pretty lame at a night where the hook is hey, strippers!. This time, though, there was one group that were as bad as some of the men I've had to deal with, and managed to piss me off. No I'm not bloody collecting for charity, I'm entertaining you without being paid and offering you a way to show your appreciation. It was the first time I've had people being deliberately rude to me there, fuckers.
My sets, I loved them all:
First, while it was still pretty quiet, I danced to <em>Roxanne</em> from Moulin Rouge. Awesome song, I've been wanting to do it for ages. I wore a flower printed salsa dress, red underwear, stockings and thigh boots, a black beaded chocker, and was the best dead hooker ever.
Then I did the one I'd pre-prepared, in fluorescent Cyberdog bikini and black PVC instead of the net dress (sob). I was wearing fuchsia sequin nipple tassels and had a matching star on one bum cheek. I took my clothes of and made motions towards air guitar to <em>Turbo Lover</em> by Judas Priest, because I rule. Then when some silly indie glam started, <em>Some Of You Boys (And Most Of You Girls)</em> by Robin Black and the International Rock Stars, I got up on the pole and took my shoes off so I could spend the song jumping around being camp and silly. I wanted to give people flowers so I had a fake bunch from the pound shop, but scissors weren't enough to separate them so I just played around with the bunch and gave it to the trannies in the corner when I was done because we love them. It was so much fun, there's something very special about removing six inch stilettos.
Finally I danced to <em>Spaceman</em>, by Babylon Zoo. 90s Levi ad one-hit-wonder, and a great album, I don't care what you say. I got the sadly faded chrome bikini and wrap out, the only bikini I ever started making and could be bothered to finish. I had black electrical tape on my nipples for that one, and the boots again. After that I went into <em>Stolen Car</em> by Sting, which made the set over 10 minutes.
I was collapsed in the changing room drinking a pint of water after that when Rebecca told me to go sell some more tokens before Mia's last set. When I finished drinking I started getting dressed, and the cute cloakroom girl said they'd buy them if I went out as I was. I said you know what, I will. So I stayed in boots, thong, and crosses for the rest of the night. Sometimes, electrical tape crosses are sexier then nipples.
There were a couple of girls who'd been tipping lots and were otherwise lovely. They were dancing with me while I was on the dancefloor, and I thought how fab to have a couple that were thrilled rather then disturbed by an almost naked girlie. It turned out they weren't actually together, and the blonde one had been straight until that day. I spent a lot of time dancing closely and sensually with her, it was excellent. When the last song came on I finished my wine and gave the cloakroom girl a lapdance.
I got home and found I was more drunk then at any other point during the night. Bollocks. I don't like going to bed drunk, so I stayed up until 5am.
Oh, but I finally learned how to twirl tassels! Just the simplest method, which isn't hard. Getting them to spin in opposite directions baffles me.
Almost finished. Not sure I can. "The Discussion should end with a synthesis of the Report and a final restatement of the conclusions." Have lost the will to live, or at least to repeat myself again.
What the hell is a "synthesis of the Report", anyway?
I'm quite sure this report is the dullest thing I've ever written. If you've ever done anything vaugley sciency I guess you'll have done it too. Work through some basic and established techniques, and then explain your work as if it's something new. For EIGHT PAGES! Single spaced! I can't bring myself to proofread, but must... just... restate... conclusions... zzzzzzz.<!--break-->
What the hell is a "synthesis of the Report", anyway?
I'm quite sure this report is the dullest thing I've ever written. If you've ever done anything vaugley sciency I guess you'll have done it too. Work through some basic and established techniques, and then explain your work as if it's something new. For EIGHT PAGES! Single spaced! I can't bring myself to proofread, but must... just... restate... conclusions... zzzzzzz.<!--break-->
Gah. I hate passive past tense. (You know, the one associated with scientific papers to make them feel as much like they were written by a robot as possible.) Plenty of scientific papers these days are written so they sound like humans were involved somewhere, but this lecturer likes to insist on passive past for assingments. It's mind-numbing to write, mind-numbing to read, and it turns out, alltogether pretty frustrating when I've skipped a night's sleep.
What I'd give for a "we"!
What I'd give for a "we"!
I have some really lovely and considerate punters. Makes me feel like being a better person, or something.
I also still have two peices of coursework to finish. Bollocks.
I also still have two peices of coursework to finish. Bollocks.
What goes on in my inbox is, of course, between me and my potential clients, even the flaming arseholes. However, there are a few exceptions. In this case the character is:
a) Clearly simply invented by someone who wants to be treated as if he's important (if the email manner doesn't convince you, try googling the "American College of Addiction Medicine"), and;
b) Too funny not to share.
So... read on and watch as our protagonist, a mature, cultured, and sexually proficient Doctor of Medicine introduces himself to the woman who is destined to become his antagonist; his specially selected whore. THRILL as our characters state their intentions and conflict quickly develops! GASP as knuckles are politely bared! Then feel your heart WRENCH as our protagonist and antagonist's paths diverge in a tragic finale of exclamation points, never to meet again.
<em>Dear Anika,</em><!--break-->
<em>I am a 50 year old Psychiatrist living in Cornwall and was wondering if I could see you for 2-3 hours in early January.
I am 6 foot tall with blonde hair and blue eyes and I have a reputation for always treating ladies with due courtesy and kindness.
I am going to be on leave in the first week in January and would propose to come to Brighton and stay in a luxury hotel---I dont stay in anything but the best hotels.
You imply from your web page that you are at the University so we would need to see each other prior to your Spring Term starting.
I am sexually interested in being teased and maybe teasing a bit myself.
I am an extremely cultured doctor having been educated at a Catholic public School and Cambridge University----St Johns College and although I am very old compared to you I am at the start of any sexual liaison very energetic and am known for my tender touch.
I see no reason why we should not get on famously because I suppose there is a bit of an experimental side to me so Anika perhaps you could reply to my letter and tell me whether you will agree to meet me for 3 hours of fun in early January.
I look forward to receiving your reply.
Best Wishes,
Michael Smartypants MB MRCPsych
Member of the American College of Addiction Medicine.
PS Perhaps I could phone you on receipt of your reply to finalise arrangements.?</em>
======
Hi Mike,
I'll be around during the first week of January and have no plans for
that time at the moment. I'd be happy to meet up with you.
For hotel visits I always ask for a full name, which I check against a
passport or driving liscence when we meet. I'll need to have your name
and mobile number when we confirm the booking, we can do that soon or
closer to the time.
Anika
======
<em>Hi Anika,
Thank you for your speedy reply to my request to meet you in January.
After consideration of your terse reply I have decided not to proceed with
this potential arrangement. I feel we would be unlikely to interact in a way
that would make me happy.
I apologise if I have wasted any of your time.
Best Wishes for Christmas etc.
Michael Smartypants</em>
======
Blimey. I'm not sure what you're looking for, but ok. I hope you find
the pre-customer service you're looking for.
======
<em>I think you did not understand the fact that well known Psychiatrists or
other Medical Specialists would not be expected to produce a driver's
license or passport especially if they are staying at the Grand Hotel which
is a 5 star hotel----the hotel people would check if I was a bona fide
customer.
I was quite insulted that you thought I was a chav. I can assure you one
does not become a member of the Royal College of Psychiatrists and a Member
of the Royal College of Surgeons if one is a nee'r do well and I do have a
University degree from a proper University.
I doubt you would have been too pleased had I insisted you produce
haematological proof that you are free from any STD and Hepatitis.
In view of your cheeky request I certainly would have insisted on blood test
proof that you are free from an STD and Hepatitis A & B.
After all a significant percentage of Escorts are recovering Drug addicts
and use "nom de plumes".
However I do wish you best wishes and as usual am prepared to close this
note with my proper name.
Yours Sincerely
Michael Smartypants</em>
======
As I see it, the misunderstanding is on your part. As you know, my
profession has it's dangers, and all responsible escorts take
precautions against them ranging from practicing safer sex to never
seeing a client without her own security present. The precautions and
risks I take are my own choice, and though my clients come from a
variety of different backgrounds they all respect my limits.
(If you must argue that as a well-qualified professional you are
incapable of impure intentions, I will counter with the obvious
example of Dr. Harold Shipman.)
I would not be offended if you had asked me for health certification,
however I would not be willing to put myself at significant
inconvenience before our meeting, so this would probably preclude it.
As it is, your attitude already has.
Best wishes,
Anika
======
<em>I certainly would not have insulted you by dragging one of the worst
murderers of all time into a reply. YOU WIN WELL DONE!!! YOU ARE CLEVER!
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't reply to this or any other communication from me
ever again. YOU HAVE WON THE DAY WITH YOUR INSULT.
I thank my lucky stars WE will never meet. And I thank God I have been
enlightened about you without Finding my passport my driving license my
birth certificate and any other docs you wanted to romantically look at.
Michael
PS Please spare me the agony of a reply!!!!</em>
a) Clearly simply invented by someone who wants to be treated as if he's important (if the email manner doesn't convince you, try googling the "American College of Addiction Medicine"), and;
b) Too funny not to share.
So... read on and watch as our protagonist, a mature, cultured, and sexually proficient Doctor of Medicine introduces himself to the woman who is destined to become his antagonist; his specially selected whore. THRILL as our characters state their intentions and conflict quickly develops! GASP as knuckles are politely bared! Then feel your heart WRENCH as our protagonist and antagonist's paths diverge in a tragic finale of exclamation points, never to meet again.
<em>Dear Anika,</em><!--break-->
<em>I am a 50 year old Psychiatrist living in Cornwall and was wondering if I could see you for 2-3 hours in early January.
I am 6 foot tall with blonde hair and blue eyes and I have a reputation for always treating ladies with due courtesy and kindness.
I am going to be on leave in the first week in January and would propose to come to Brighton and stay in a luxury hotel---I dont stay in anything but the best hotels.
You imply from your web page that you are at the University so we would need to see each other prior to your Spring Term starting.
I am sexually interested in being teased and maybe teasing a bit myself.
I am an extremely cultured doctor having been educated at a Catholic public School and Cambridge University----St Johns College and although I am very old compared to you I am at the start of any sexual liaison very energetic and am known for my tender touch.
I see no reason why we should not get on famously because I suppose there is a bit of an experimental side to me so Anika perhaps you could reply to my letter and tell me whether you will agree to meet me for 3 hours of fun in early January.
I look forward to receiving your reply.
Best Wishes,
Michael Smartypants MB MRCPsych
Member of the American College of Addiction Medicine.
PS Perhaps I could phone you on receipt of your reply to finalise arrangements.?</em>
======
Hi Mike,
I'll be around during the first week of January and have no plans for
that time at the moment. I'd be happy to meet up with you.
For hotel visits I always ask for a full name, which I check against a
passport or driving liscence when we meet. I'll need to have your name
and mobile number when we confirm the booking, we can do that soon or
closer to the time.
Anika
======
<em>Hi Anika,
Thank you for your speedy reply to my request to meet you in January.
After consideration of your terse reply I have decided not to proceed with
this potential arrangement. I feel we would be unlikely to interact in a way
that would make me happy.
I apologise if I have wasted any of your time.
Best Wishes for Christmas etc.
Michael Smartypants</em>
======
Blimey. I'm not sure what you're looking for, but ok. I hope you find
the pre-customer service you're looking for.
======
<em>I think you did not understand the fact that well known Psychiatrists or
other Medical Specialists would not be expected to produce a driver's
license or passport especially if they are staying at the Grand Hotel which
is a 5 star hotel----the hotel people would check if I was a bona fide
customer.
I was quite insulted that you thought I was a chav. I can assure you one
does not become a member of the Royal College of Psychiatrists and a Member
of the Royal College of Surgeons if one is a nee'r do well and I do have a
University degree from a proper University.
I doubt you would have been too pleased had I insisted you produce
haematological proof that you are free from any STD and Hepatitis.
In view of your cheeky request I certainly would have insisted on blood test
proof that you are free from an STD and Hepatitis A & B.
After all a significant percentage of Escorts are recovering Drug addicts
and use "nom de plumes".
However I do wish you best wishes and as usual am prepared to close this
note with my proper name.
Yours Sincerely
Michael Smartypants</em>
======
As I see it, the misunderstanding is on your part. As you know, my
profession has it's dangers, and all responsible escorts take
precautions against them ranging from practicing safer sex to never
seeing a client without her own security present. The precautions and
risks I take are my own choice, and though my clients come from a
variety of different backgrounds they all respect my limits.
(If you must argue that as a well-qualified professional you are
incapable of impure intentions, I will counter with the obvious
example of Dr. Harold Shipman.)
I would not be offended if you had asked me for health certification,
however I would not be willing to put myself at significant
inconvenience before our meeting, so this would probably preclude it.
As it is, your attitude already has.
Best wishes,
Anika
======
<em>I certainly would not have insulted you by dragging one of the worst
murderers of all time into a reply. YOU WIN WELL DONE!!! YOU ARE CLEVER!
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't reply to this or any other communication from me
ever again. YOU HAVE WON THE DAY WITH YOUR INSULT.
I thank my lucky stars WE will never meet. And I thank God I have been
enlightened about you without Finding my passport my driving license my
birth certificate and any other docs you wanted to romantically look at.
Michael
PS Please spare me the agony of a reply!!!!</em>
I live in a houseshare, in studentland. There's four of us and we try not to keep it too studenty (current age range is 22-40), but I'm at the at the stage where this kind of arrangement is the best for me.
I've been here two and a half years now, and only one person's lived here longer. She told us a few days ago that she wants to move out, which I'd thought she might say at some point. It's a shame for me, she's a good housemate and all kinds of lovely, but I hope it works for her when she finds somewhere that'll take the cats.
She seems to me to be suffering from graduate depression. Getting through her degree wasn't a smooth course, but she came out with a first. Now it's been a few months, she has a not unpleasent office job, and isn't sure where she's going.
I'd probably feel the same, which is why I'm really glad I don't feel I'll have to get a 9-to-5 any time soon. I'm happier with my life now then I ever have been since I was about seven years old, and it's not just the moment that's good. I love that there's no cold dark real world facing me after graduation. I don't want to grow up now and don't expect to feel much different after two years. Maybe I'll feel like studying some more and do a part time masters, learning for the fun of it while earning enough to live comfortably, save, and do whatever else makes me happy.
I am very glad I've found myself escorting, but who knows how long it can last? I keep my prices high and workload low to avoid burnout, because I'd much rather still find joy in my work years from now then be earning two or three times as much at the moment. Still, I've only been doing it for a year and it's changed a lot for me. I'm only 22 and will yet change a lot myself. Maybe I'll carry on for ages, or find something else I love that I can apply my skills to. But maybe I'll have to live a normal life one day. Answer questions like "describe a situation in which you motivated others" on application forms. Scary. I don't want my 20s to be the best days of my life.
I've been here two and a half years now, and only one person's lived here longer. She told us a few days ago that she wants to move out, which I'd thought she might say at some point. It's a shame for me, she's a good housemate and all kinds of lovely, but I hope it works for her when she finds somewhere that'll take the cats.
She seems to me to be suffering from graduate depression. Getting through her degree wasn't a smooth course, but she came out with a first. Now it's been a few months, she has a not unpleasent office job, and isn't sure where she's going.
I'd probably feel the same, which is why I'm really glad I don't feel I'll have to get a 9-to-5 any time soon. I'm happier with my life now then I ever have been since I was about seven years old, and it's not just the moment that's good. I love that there's no cold dark real world facing me after graduation. I don't want to grow up now and don't expect to feel much different after two years. Maybe I'll feel like studying some more and do a part time masters, learning for the fun of it while earning enough to live comfortably, save, and do whatever else makes me happy.
I am very glad I've found myself escorting, but who knows how long it can last? I keep my prices high and workload low to avoid burnout, because I'd much rather still find joy in my work years from now then be earning two or three times as much at the moment. Still, I've only been doing it for a year and it's changed a lot for me. I'm only 22 and will yet change a lot myself. Maybe I'll carry on for ages, or find something else I love that I can apply my skills to. But maybe I'll have to live a normal life one day. Answer questions like "describe a situation in which you motivated others" on application forms. Scary. I don't want my 20s to be the best days of my life.
Hey all. I have another researcher request. She's emailed me privately from a Cambridge student account and seems to be genuinely just looking for help for an article for the student paper, so I hope you don't mind me posting it. If you don't need to be anonymous you can reply here.<!--break-->
<em>Student? and escorting /in the sex trade? I'm looking to hear anonymous
stories of how you got into the scene and what your experiences have been,
as part of an investigation for our student newspaper. For more details
email: escort_research@hotmail.co.uk. Please get in touch as soon as
possible - we go to print Thursday!</em>
<em>Student? and escorting /in the sex trade? I'm looking to hear anonymous
stories of how you got into the scene and what your experiences have been,
as part of an investigation for our student newspaper. For more details
email: escort_research@hotmail.co.uk. Please get in touch as soon as
possible - we go to print Thursday!</em>
<em>"That's great. I'll get back to you soon."</em>
"Ok, is there anything else you'd like to know now?"
<em>"No thanks. Everything's covered on your website."</em>
What wonderful words to indie ears!
"Ok, is there anything else you'd like to know now?"
<em>"No thanks. Everything's covered on your website."</em>
What wonderful words to indie ears!
At the moment I think about half of my appointments are booked at short notice; same day or the day before. It's nice to know what's coming, but the flexibility of bookings made late does come in useful. If anyone calls today I'm definately not available. I had a bit of a challenge on Friday night. I rose to it well, but then I had a special friend here for the weekend and I wasn't careful enough about keeping my prime assets happy. I don't have anything booked until Wednesday so it's not a problem, but if I had one tonight I suppose I'd have to say "sorry, not tonight, bit sore". Oh dear. I've heard a lot of men complaining about how unsexy it is when a working girl uses artifical lube, but if I worked half as much as some I'd need it as a preventative measure. We're dealing with delicate stuff, here!
(Bearing no relevance whatsoever: My adoreably gay genetics lecturer gave us a quiz with halloween-themed mutations today. Hooray for education.)
(Bearing no relevance whatsoever: My adoreably gay genetics lecturer gave us a quiz with halloween-themed mutations today. Hooray for education.)
I have a list of all the people I've slept with, so I don't forget. I decided I needed one about a year and a half ago, a little before I started whoring. My customers not only have a place in my heart, but one in a .txt file on my hard drive. (Nothing identifying, of course.)
Today I added a new name to the recreational side for the first time in a while. It was a friend I've had my eye on for a year or so who's finally single and not living in Scotland.
I think whether I fancy someone who isn't a customer has a lot to do with how horny I am when I first get to know them. (I don't tend to be attracted to strangers.) It holds up in this case, anyway. At the moment though, I'm not in a mood to fuck anyone with a nice smile, and work is enough to satisfy me. So although I've been waiting a while to give this one a seeing to, there wasn't the anticipation that I'd have had in the days when I wasn't getting laid frequently.
It was a little strange. I used to be very timid about taking the initiative sexually. I still am a little, but work has helped with that enormously, as well as giving me experience that translates into lots of nice tricks. All good stuff, but it meant I was thinking about the experience a bit like a job, which was somewhat disconcerting. The day became one of those where making breakfast or getting more water are the only good reasons for getting out of bed. The sex was worth giving up half of my bed for, but it was all the post-coital time that stood out. I always have a good snuggle with customers; I tend to feel unsatisfied and disorientated if I have sex without that. Its nice, often very nice, but definitely different. My brains started working again by that point, so Im aware that Im providing a service, that I have to leave in a certain amount of time, often that I dont know if Ill ever see this person again, even if they say theyd like to. Spending the night student-fashion; spooning in my single bed and chatting about shared experiences and whats important to us at the time is something I can forget that I miss.
Today I added a new name to the recreational side for the first time in a while. It was a friend I've had my eye on for a year or so who's finally single and not living in Scotland.
I think whether I fancy someone who isn't a customer has a lot to do with how horny I am when I first get to know them. (I don't tend to be attracted to strangers.) It holds up in this case, anyway. At the moment though, I'm not in a mood to fuck anyone with a nice smile, and work is enough to satisfy me. So although I've been waiting a while to give this one a seeing to, there wasn't the anticipation that I'd have had in the days when I wasn't getting laid frequently.
It was a little strange. I used to be very timid about taking the initiative sexually. I still am a little, but work has helped with that enormously, as well as giving me experience that translates into lots of nice tricks. All good stuff, but it meant I was thinking about the experience a bit like a job, which was somewhat disconcerting. The day became one of those where making breakfast or getting more water are the only good reasons for getting out of bed. The sex was worth giving up half of my bed for, but it was all the post-coital time that stood out. I always have a good snuggle with customers; I tend to feel unsatisfied and disorientated if I have sex without that. Its nice, often very nice, but definitely different. My brains started working again by that point, so Im aware that Im providing a service, that I have to leave in a certain amount of time, often that I dont know if Ill ever see this person again, even if they say theyd like to. Spending the night student-fashion; spooning in my single bed and chatting about shared experiences and whats important to us at the time is something I can forget that I miss.
Oh, I've neglected my blog, but I told you that could happen.
University is going alright. It doesn't feel strange to get up at 7:30(am!) and sit in lectures, and my timetable isn't as akward as I thought, so I can still take daytime appointments on some Tuesdays and Fridays this term. It's still a bit of a shock after my year of leisure though. Suddenly I can't visit friends any week I want, or read everything I want to. I need to rationalise my time, eek!
On an entirely unrelated note, I was just sent some more pole dancing pictures from the Candy Bar. I'm often told that the best thing about my dancing is how much I seem to enjoy it, so I've attached a couple to further prove it. Also, a wonderful shot of my bum. (I think a metal (Genitorturers) version of <em>I Touch Myself</em> was playing for the first one. The second was <em>This Is Hardcore</em>, which I love dancing to more then you can know.)
Speaking of pictures, I'm always up for doing a shoot for fun if I've got someone behind the camera who's work I like.<!--break--> If any photographers in the South East are reading and interested, email me as anika.mae@gmail.com with examples of your work. I'm looking for glamour and/or art (basically anything tasteful and pretty, experimental is fine). I'd want to be able to use any suitable pictures for promotion, and of course you'd be welcome to do the same.
University is going alright. It doesn't feel strange to get up at 7:30(am!) and sit in lectures, and my timetable isn't as akward as I thought, so I can still take daytime appointments on some Tuesdays and Fridays this term. It's still a bit of a shock after my year of leisure though. Suddenly I can't visit friends any week I want, or read everything I want to. I need to rationalise my time, eek!
On an entirely unrelated note, I was just sent some more pole dancing pictures from the Candy Bar. I'm often told that the best thing about my dancing is how much I seem to enjoy it, so I've attached a couple to further prove it. Also, a wonderful shot of my bum. (I think a metal (Genitorturers) version of <em>I Touch Myself</em> was playing for the first one. The second was <em>This Is Hardcore</em>, which I love dancing to more then you can know.)
Speaking of pictures, I'm always up for doing a shoot for fun if I've got someone behind the camera who's work I like.<!--break--> If any photographers in the South East are reading and interested, email me as anika.mae@gmail.com with examples of your work. I'm looking for glamour and/or art (basically anything tasteful and pretty, experimental is fine). I'd want to be able to use any suitable pictures for promotion, and of course you'd be welcome to do the same.
As I said, I've been checking RealBrighton for pictures from the Candy Bar on Thursday the 15th, when I pole danced there. That story still isn't up (why not? Can't you feel the impatience from there!), but the one for Wednesday the 21st is, when I danced again, at very short notice, for the birthday celebrations. <a href=http://www.realbrighton.com/storyphotos/1559/4>Here's the gallery.</a> I'll be back there on the 20th with a new outfit or two!
In case you hadn't noticed, I'm really pleased to have somewhere I can go and dance now and then and it's all just fun. I get to go pick on the audience or whatever I went there, too, it's great. Now I don't need to dance around my bedroom <em>or</em> go to Denmark.
In case you hadn't noticed, I'm really pleased to have somewhere I can go and dance now and then and it's all just fun. I get to go pick on the audience or whatever I went there, too, it's great. Now I don't need to dance around my bedroom <em>or</em> go to Denmark.
At this time next week, Ill be back at University. Its exciting and terrifying. Mostly terrifying, to be honest. At least, it would be if I was at all prone to worrying.
To explain the situation (and why Im so fond of the sex industry), Im going to go back to a time before I was a voracious minx with enough ego to furnish a principality.
Two and a half years ago, I was coming to the end of the second decade of my life. The whole ten years, while never terrible, had on balance been a bit rubbish. At this stage of it I was suffering from sub-clinical depression and social anxiety. I was living with my boyfriend, who suffered from severe chronic manic-depression with psychosis, and was recovering from an episode excruciatingly slowly. We had no friends in the area but each other, and couldnt have been in much worse of a rut. My studies were going abysmally; I was one of those smart kids who coasted through school and crashed at University. I had no motivation to work and stayed only because of inertia and fear of telling my parents, but I felt guilty getting involved in anything else when I knew I should be doing school work, so I didnt. I had hardly any sense of self-worth, which is why I thought dating depressives was a good idea.
Around the time I turned 20, I came to understand depression as a self-indulgent state (yes, I was unhappy, but it was so comfortable) and set about changing all that bollocks. A lovely counsellor employed by the University helped me break the inertia and make the decision to withdraw, and we agreed that Id be better off failing my second year and having the chance to get it right later then scraping a pass and being utterly hopeless in the final year. I arranged to temporarily withdraw from study, then I left my boyfriend, moved house, and became a stripper.
The idea had been to do some normal job related to my degree, realise the real world was really boring without much of a qualification, and return to study after a year with a new enthusiasm for doing anything else. After a bit of vaguely looking for a real job, I thought bollocks to my CV, why cant I just enjoy my life as it happens for a bit? So I called up the local club and got a job.
Stripping was pretty much nothing like I expected, especially here in Brighton where the clubs are rather pokey and naff. It was a nice place to get started though, and the girls were absolutely lovely. I made friends like I never did at University, and with the help of some other factors, I learned to accept and finally like myself. You see, while I had many issues, none of them were with my body. I knew I was sexy, had always been an exhibitionist, and was very comfortable working with that. Stripping built up my confidence in that area until it spilled over to where I needed it. Even my mum warmed to the situation when she realised how good for me it was. She came to see me at work once and told me she was proud.
By 21 I was sickeningly happy and positive. That was a great year. Id got bored and frustrated with the strip club though, so it was time to move on. I decided to take the opportunity to work abroad, and picked Denmark because a friend said it was good. I arranged a three week contract and went over there, alone, to work and live in a foreign city with people Id never met before. It was one of the most exciting things Ive done recently.
The clubs in Copenhagen are champagne bars with strip shows. (The people I worked for treated the girls far better then anything Ive heard of in Britain or Ireland, but thats not very relevant.) Show dancers perform up to four sets a night on stage (and get paid for it, wow. Not a great deal, but how novel to be paid for going on stage, rather then having to pay the club). Then we spend the rest of the time trying drink champagne with customers for a commission and getting tips if we want to. The system there is very different to here, and there arent a lot of rules. Having the British system ingrained in me, I was mentally gaping to see girls casually touching customers. And then the customers touched them back!
That took me a couple of hours to get over, but it was two or three days before it registered that as long as enough champagne had been bought to satisfy the club, it was acceptable to take a wad of tips and go out to a customers hotel room. And yes, they were having sex. Wow.
Literally about a week before that Id decided prostitution was something I could and should try, at least once to see how it felt. The opportunity was there and the setup was quite nice (getting to know a customer before agreeing to anything), so I was determined to take it. It was quiet that month and I was shy, so it took about a week before I had the chance, and I fantasised all the time. My first customer was a nice Turk who had lived in various parts of the world, including London for ten years. We got on really well and he didnt seem very worried about holding on to his money. I told him that for DKK4,000 I could go out with him. Neither of us had a condom, but I convinced him to go for a 4k hand job. We had a lovely time and I bounced out of the hotel on my own at about 4am. I felt great the next day.
I didnt feel like Id quite done the deed, though. We hadnt had sex, and if I did one night stands I might have done him for free. I was looking for another punter, and he came along close to my last night. He was with a women, who Im not discussing for the sake of flow, but their relationship made me not like him. These days I might have found having sex with him unpleasant, but at the time I was so caught up in the thrill and feeling of liberation that it was exciting, if in a strange and possibly perverse way. So there it was, I was a prostitute. I was a bit shy about it at first, but soon I had the support of enough friends that I was happy to tell anyone in the world (except my father).
When I got home I thought about stripping in London, but decided it wasnt worth the stress and commute. I sorted out everything I needed to be independent and checked my phone and email obsessively. Gradually I got the hang of my business, and its all been quite marvellous. Total independence, a few hours work a week, ego stroking, and omigosh the sex.
So now Ive decided I should try to do something sensible. I dont know where Im going, but if Im going to spend years faffing it would be good to at least have a degree to show for it. Also, my brains getting distressingly mushy. Ive still never learned how to knuckle down and get on with it. I have a sex work ethic, but that doesnt really help. I dont think Im likely to learn until I try it though, and Im in a far better mental place then when I left, so Im going to give it a go. 17 hours contact time a week plus 20 or so for homework, after what Ive been doing for two years. Scary. And my classmates are going to be 19!
To explain the situation (and why Im so fond of the sex industry), Im going to go back to a time before I was a voracious minx with enough ego to furnish a principality.
Two and a half years ago, I was coming to the end of the second decade of my life. The whole ten years, while never terrible, had on balance been a bit rubbish. At this stage of it I was suffering from sub-clinical depression and social anxiety. I was living with my boyfriend, who suffered from severe chronic manic-depression with psychosis, and was recovering from an episode excruciatingly slowly. We had no friends in the area but each other, and couldnt have been in much worse of a rut. My studies were going abysmally; I was one of those smart kids who coasted through school and crashed at University. I had no motivation to work and stayed only because of inertia and fear of telling my parents, but I felt guilty getting involved in anything else when I knew I should be doing school work, so I didnt. I had hardly any sense of self-worth, which is why I thought dating depressives was a good idea.
Around the time I turned 20, I came to understand depression as a self-indulgent state (yes, I was unhappy, but it was so comfortable) and set about changing all that bollocks. A lovely counsellor employed by the University helped me break the inertia and make the decision to withdraw, and we agreed that Id be better off failing my second year and having the chance to get it right later then scraping a pass and being utterly hopeless in the final year. I arranged to temporarily withdraw from study, then I left my boyfriend, moved house, and became a stripper.
The idea had been to do some normal job related to my degree, realise the real world was really boring without much of a qualification, and return to study after a year with a new enthusiasm for doing anything else. After a bit of vaguely looking for a real job, I thought bollocks to my CV, why cant I just enjoy my life as it happens for a bit? So I called up the local club and got a job.
Stripping was pretty much nothing like I expected, especially here in Brighton where the clubs are rather pokey and naff. It was a nice place to get started though, and the girls were absolutely lovely. I made friends like I never did at University, and with the help of some other factors, I learned to accept and finally like myself. You see, while I had many issues, none of them were with my body. I knew I was sexy, had always been an exhibitionist, and was very comfortable working with that. Stripping built up my confidence in that area until it spilled over to where I needed it. Even my mum warmed to the situation when she realised how good for me it was. She came to see me at work once and told me she was proud.
By 21 I was sickeningly happy and positive. That was a great year. Id got bored and frustrated with the strip club though, so it was time to move on. I decided to take the opportunity to work abroad, and picked Denmark because a friend said it was good. I arranged a three week contract and went over there, alone, to work and live in a foreign city with people Id never met before. It was one of the most exciting things Ive done recently.
The clubs in Copenhagen are champagne bars with strip shows. (The people I worked for treated the girls far better then anything Ive heard of in Britain or Ireland, but thats not very relevant.) Show dancers perform up to four sets a night on stage (and get paid for it, wow. Not a great deal, but how novel to be paid for going on stage, rather then having to pay the club). Then we spend the rest of the time trying drink champagne with customers for a commission and getting tips if we want to. The system there is very different to here, and there arent a lot of rules. Having the British system ingrained in me, I was mentally gaping to see girls casually touching customers. And then the customers touched them back!
That took me a couple of hours to get over, but it was two or three days before it registered that as long as enough champagne had been bought to satisfy the club, it was acceptable to take a wad of tips and go out to a customers hotel room. And yes, they were having sex. Wow.
Literally about a week before that Id decided prostitution was something I could and should try, at least once to see how it felt. The opportunity was there and the setup was quite nice (getting to know a customer before agreeing to anything), so I was determined to take it. It was quiet that month and I was shy, so it took about a week before I had the chance, and I fantasised all the time. My first customer was a nice Turk who had lived in various parts of the world, including London for ten years. We got on really well and he didnt seem very worried about holding on to his money. I told him that for DKK4,000 I could go out with him. Neither of us had a condom, but I convinced him to go for a 4k hand job. We had a lovely time and I bounced out of the hotel on my own at about 4am. I felt great the next day.
I didnt feel like Id quite done the deed, though. We hadnt had sex, and if I did one night stands I might have done him for free. I was looking for another punter, and he came along close to my last night. He was with a women, who Im not discussing for the sake of flow, but their relationship made me not like him. These days I might have found having sex with him unpleasant, but at the time I was so caught up in the thrill and feeling of liberation that it was exciting, if in a strange and possibly perverse way. So there it was, I was a prostitute. I was a bit shy about it at first, but soon I had the support of enough friends that I was happy to tell anyone in the world (except my father).
When I got home I thought about stripping in London, but decided it wasnt worth the stress and commute. I sorted out everything I needed to be independent and checked my phone and email obsessively. Gradually I got the hang of my business, and its all been quite marvellous. Total independence, a few hours work a week, ego stroking, and omigosh the sex.
So now Ive decided I should try to do something sensible. I dont know where Im going, but if Im going to spend years faffing it would be good to at least have a degree to show for it. Also, my brains getting distressingly mushy. Ive still never learned how to knuckle down and get on with it. I have a sex work ethic, but that doesnt really help. I dont think Im likely to learn until I try it though, and Im in a far better mental place then when I left, so Im going to give it a go. 17 hours contact time a week plus 20 or so for homework, after what Ive been doing for two years. Scary. And my classmates are going to be 19!
<em>Woohoo, the site's back. It went down between me setting up my blog, and posting my first entry. Bah. This was written two days ago, on Saturday. Please click "read more" for the full entry.</em>
In one of my regular fits of narcissism, I've decided to try blogging publicly. I'm not sure how well I'll keep it up as I already have a private blog, but here goes.
This week I booked myself into a hotel to take incalls for the second time. I tried it in spring and enjoyed it, so I thought I'd wait until room prices went back down and school started again, and go for it before slowing down when I go back to school myself. I booked over a month ago, and then started to hear last week that the week before the Labour Party Conference was a slow one. Bugger. It all worked out ok though. I was concerned that I hardly had any bookings a few days before, and there was a late cancellation, but the time filled up in the end. It could have been better distributed, but once again I met some lovely and interesting people and had plenty of marvelous sex.
After doing it a couple of times, Ive come to the conclusion that two appointments in a day is alright, especially if they come to me, but three is pushing my limit. By the end of them on Wednesday I was feeling mentally and physically exhausted. And sore.
(I also discovered that I bite my lower lip when I have sex, on discovering the teeth marks in my mouth and having trouble drinking orange juice.)
Not done yet though! Id previously got in touch with Rebecca of Seven Veils Productions about her night at the Candy Bar. I went along, performed, and got my pole dancing fix. Im still checking <a href=http://realbrighton.com>RealBrighton</a> compulsively for the pictures. That was all fine, but on Wednesday the bar was celebrating its fifth birthday, and had somehow hadnt got around to arranging the promised performances until that day. I was impressed with Rebecca and everyone that managed to get together to make it work on such short notice. I knew when she asked me that Id be tired, but a good audience perks me up and I had my shoes and a couple of costumes from a private lapdance the day before, so I agreed. Leaving the room after my last booking of the day was tough, 11pm, and we were both relaxed and sleepy after night-time sex. I pushed on through anyway and wandered about like a zombie for a bit before my set. It was fun to dance, even though most of the audience thought my thong would grow teeth and bite then if they tipped me. I got to bed at three, continuing the sleep depravation theme of the week.
Thankfully the rest of time was more relaxed. No-one took me up on Friday morning, so I didnt have to rush at breakfast or packing. I still hadnt slept well though, and had agreed to do a double for a friends regular and then learn some new pole tricks later in the day. (Impressing women is quite different to impressing straight men.) Rebecca was tired too, so we postponed the lesson and my champagne-drunk friend tied me up with red rope. Then we went for dinner and a drink and I came home for an early night. Today, plans arent allowed. I might start redecorating.
In one of my regular fits of narcissism, I've decided to try blogging publicly. I'm not sure how well I'll keep it up as I already have a private blog, but here goes.
This week I booked myself into a hotel to take incalls for the second time. I tried it in spring and enjoyed it, so I thought I'd wait until room prices went back down and school started again, and go for it before slowing down when I go back to school myself. I booked over a month ago, and then started to hear last week that the week before the Labour Party Conference was a slow one. Bugger. It all worked out ok though. I was concerned that I hardly had any bookings a few days before, and there was a late cancellation, but the time filled up in the end. It could have been better distributed, but once again I met some lovely and interesting people and had plenty of marvelous sex.
After doing it a couple of times, Ive come to the conclusion that two appointments in a day is alright, especially if they come to me, but three is pushing my limit. By the end of them on Wednesday I was feeling mentally and physically exhausted. And sore.
(I also discovered that I bite my lower lip when I have sex, on discovering the teeth marks in my mouth and having trouble drinking orange juice.)
Not done yet though! Id previously got in touch with Rebecca of Seven Veils Productions about her night at the Candy Bar. I went along, performed, and got my pole dancing fix. Im still checking <a href=http://realbrighton.com>RealBrighton</a> compulsively for the pictures. That was all fine, but on Wednesday the bar was celebrating its fifth birthday, and had somehow hadnt got around to arranging the promised performances until that day. I was impressed with Rebecca and everyone that managed to get together to make it work on such short notice. I knew when she asked me that Id be tired, but a good audience perks me up and I had my shoes and a couple of costumes from a private lapdance the day before, so I agreed. Leaving the room after my last booking of the day was tough, 11pm, and we were both relaxed and sleepy after night-time sex. I pushed on through anyway and wandered about like a zombie for a bit before my set. It was fun to dance, even though most of the audience thought my thong would grow teeth and bite then if they tipped me. I got to bed at three, continuing the sleep depravation theme of the week.
Thankfully the rest of time was more relaxed. No-one took me up on Friday morning, so I didnt have to rush at breakfast or packing. I still hadnt slept well though, and had agreed to do a double for a friends regular and then learn some new pole tricks later in the day. (Impressing women is quite different to impressing straight men.) Rebecca was tired too, so we postponed the lesson and my champagne-drunk friend tied me up with red rope. Then we went for dinner and a drink and I came home for an early night. Today, plans arent allowed. I might start redecorating.
Related pages referred from the search engines today:
