Sunday, 30 May 2010
I am a very lucky girl. I've been a busy bee and met some lovely guys lately. On Wednesday I met a gentleman I've been looking forward to meeting for some time. He called me and requesting a two hour lunch date, said he said he would bring wine, so I got some nibbles. Sometimes in this mad world I love to inhabit I meet a guy and the chemistry is almost palpable. We had a wonderful afternoon of carnal delights, laughter and afterwards we lay in a sweaty heap, wondering about the people scuttling about Glasgow and going about their daily business. He has written me a review here ;
Thank you R, I very much enjoyed our afternoon too. ;)
The next day Susan and I headed off to York, where I met another lovely guy for a couple of hours. He arrived with wine and some feta cheese salads and after I had finally untied him, we devoured them with relish. York is beautiful and I may return there at some point, perhaps when the races are on ? Yesterday I left York and drove four hours back to Glasgow. A quick handstand in the shower and then it was off to meet another "R" for an overnight booking. He's a lovely guy and we have met before, but ...
NOW HEAR THIS !!
Here's how I run my overnights. A dinner date and a breakfast date with some sleep in between. I often see ladies advertising 8 hour or ten hour overnights, and I must admit it makes me chuckle. Oh don't get me wrong, I'm sure it works really well for them, but the reality of it is, I have never done even a 12 hour overnight in my life and I'm unlikely to start anytime soon. I NEED SLEEP.
So, typically I'll get there at say 8pm, go for dinner ( maybe a quickie firstly ) and then retire for some fun before falling asleep c. 1am. Both parties sleep until 8am / 9am, wake gently, have a shower and some brekkie and finally some more fun before I depart about 11am / 12pm. So all in all it comes to say, 14 or 15 hours and every one's happy. Of course, sometimes it's different because my guy has a flight to catch or a meeting to go to and that's fine, but the general rule of thumb ( as my regular lovelies are only too well aware ) is - place a cup of tea by the side of the bed and back away S-L-O-W-L-Y. ( Milk, two sugars. ) I don't "do" mornings and never have. Sorry, to me they are an abomination, we are not called "ladies of the night" for no reason.
So, "R" and I had a conversation this morning after brekkie.
"Thanks, you really are an amazing woman."
"No problem, you really are a walking miracle."
"I have killed folk for less, in fact my pal Caitlin is running out of space under her patio."
I really enjoyed the night in truth, and sorry about the pillow. And the bed cover. Ahem. ;)
After that hectic schedule, I crawled back home today, absolutely exhausted, but in a very pleasant way. Tomorrow I'm off to Edinburgh to do a photo shoot in a boudoir setting which I'm really looking forward to and then on Tuesday I'm off to Southampton to meet Mr F for our week away on a cruise. Bliss. I will be unavailable until Friday 11th June so I'll catch up with you when I come back.
Finally, it was with a large churn of the stomach that I read the press release from Eaves concerning the Bradford murders today. What purpose does it serve to accuse activists from the IUSW of being pimps and punters only out to campaign for a change in the law to suit themselves ? We campaign for ALL sex workers, regardless of gender, class, or method of working. ALL sex workers deserve the full protection of the law, not persecution and certainly not violent assault or murder.
Just when I was losing the will to live, I read the excellent article in The Times by India Knight - link here -
In particular I was taken with this piece :
"It is simply not okay, in an otherwise civilised society, to leave these women to their fate. Murders are seldom sadder than when they are preventable. Blamires, Rushworth and Armitage might be alive today if they had worked in a big, clean, state-sanctioned brothel, with two giant bouncers on the door, panic buttons in the rooms and an in-house programme that weaned women off the class As.
A proper brothel, I mean, that said BROTHEL in big letters on the door — not some dodgy, gang-run massage parlour. And yes, I realise we live in The Age of Cuts and legislation would have to be passed and brothels would be expensive to set up and lots of people — people who are perfectly happy to look at online porn provided nobody knows about it — would wring their hands and cry “not in my street”. I suppose it all depends on how much value you put on people’s lives. "
On that note I'm off and will catch up with you on my return from my cruise.
Friday, 28 May 2010
Mouth almighty has done it again and today I'm in The Independent.
I am so glad that they caught the killer of those innocent women. They were not "just prostitutes", they were mothers, lovers, sisters and daughters. Their families must be going through agonising grief. How many more times do we have to have the senseless slaughter of sex workers before some measures are introduced to protect them ?
I liked what Amanda said on Harlot's Parlour yesterday ;
"Why, in our enlightened society, where the AA and RAC will send a patrol at super speed to a woman on her own, where we are sent a text with details of our taxi after a night out so that we don’t get into the wrong car, are these girls left to hope for the best and fend for themselves ?"
I'll leave you with the press release just issued by the IUSW -
28 May 2010
The IUSW and GMB sex workers' branch call to prioritise safety in the wake of the Bradford murders.
The recent murders in Bradford have highlighted once more the human tragedy that results from laws that discount sex workers’ safety.
The International Union of Sex Workers released this statement:
An inherent contradiction between prosecution and protection
There is an inherent contradiction between the police role of prosecution and protection, Street sex workers have faced additional criminalisation in the Policing and Crime Act 2009 (which defined persistent soliciting as more than twice in three months and removed the requirement for persistence by kerb crawlers); indoor sex workers are also more vulnerable as a result of premises closure orders. Bradford Police have acknowledged they have been using the full range of the law against women working onstreet – arrests, ASBOs and kerb crawling crackdowns.
Increased enforcement endangers sex workers. It does not add to the options and support available, but increases antagonism and distrust between street workers and police. Those deterred by knowledge of police campaigns against kerb-crawlers are the most law-abiding; such campaigns do nothing to affect the behaviour of those intending to assault, rape, abduct, rob, or kill, who will not be prevented by the prospect of a fine for kerb-crawling.
Greater fear of the police and a smaller number of clients does nothing to reduce the amount of money the women need, so street sex workers are more likely to interact with those they would otherwise avoid, cut prices in order to secure a client, take greater risks and engage in activities they would prefer to avoid, including sex without a condom.
Greater desperation leads women to work in more isolated locations (further from other sex workers) and to go with clients without negotiation as they have no time to assess potential clients or agree prices, boundaries, safe sex and other limits. Women are more likely to find themselves in a situation they would have declined with more time to make a decision.
The cost to communities -
Sex workers pay the price most directly for this failure, at worst in tragedies like that currently playing out in Bradford, but communities also suffer the consequences of damaging and futile law enforcement. Kerb crawling crackdowns result in
• sex workers’ dispersal over a wider area
• sex workers are more likely to approach passersby in search of business,
• more aggressive competition to attract clients and between sex workers
• longer hours onstreet needed to generate the same amount of money
All of which not only harm women selling sex but increase impact on communities. In addition, women revert to other forms of crime as a way to make up the money that cannot be earned from sex work.
Failed legislation -
The Street Offences Act 1959 has had more than fifty years to demonstrate beneficial effects; the Sexual Offences Act 1985, which criminalises kerb crawling, more than twenty five. If this legal approach was going to solve the problems associated with street prostitution, it would have worked by now. Yet, rather than listen to the voices of projects that provide frontline services to women onstreet and to sex workers themselves, the Policing and Crime Act brought in “more of the same”.
Putting safety first -
The law endangers us, but it doesn’t have to be this way. In Liverpool, specialist service the Armistead Project and Merseyside Police have worked together, and crime against sex workers is treated initially as hate crime. Armistead have built trust with sex workers to increase reporting of crimes against them. The results speak for themselves - a 67% conviction for rape and 90% of cases for violence against sex workers that went to court during 2005 to end March 2009 resulted in convictions.
The IUSW campaigns for these policies to be adopted nationwide.
To contact the IUSW call 07772 638748.
To contact the UKNSWP call 07957 978018.
The International Union of Sex Workers is the only UK organisation of individuals themselves working in the sex industry. We campaign for human, civil and labour rights, and the full protection of the law for everyone who works in the sex industry and for the inclusion of sex workers in decisions which will affect our rights and safety. The IUSW offers a unique source of expertise and experience from people who see reality of the industry day to day.
The UK Network of Sex Work Projects (UKNSWP) is the umbrella body for nearly 70 frontline services across the UK, including Bradford and Huddersfield. http://uknswp.org/
Monday, 24 May 2010
The voice of reason at last. On Thursday 29 April, in Luton Crown Court, Claire Finch was found not guilty of a criminal charge of keeping a brothel. The jury, in line with public opinion, refused to criminalise Ms Finch for working together with friends from her own home for safety. Ms Finch, her friends and colleagues, her legal team and the English Collective of Prostitutes which co-ordinated the case, celebrated this victory for rights and safety. I celebrated too, what a result and Cari Mitchell and her colleagues at the ECP must be feeling ecstatic. Cari herself said ;
“This landmark decision strengthens other women facing similar prosecutions. Like Ms Finch, many women now facing prosecution are mothers supporting families. At a time of economic crisis and brutal cuts in welfare and resources, women, whether they work on the street or in premises, should not be criminalised for trying to survive.
We note the deafening silence from so-called feminists who enhanced their careers by pushing through repressive legislation against sex workers, and have nothing to say about prostitute women’s safety and rights.”
Very well said. Yes indeed, the rad fems have been exceptionally quiet since this decision was announced. Funny that.
Can you imagine for a moment what it must have been like, Ms Finch is an ordinary, middle aged woman who had stepped out of the bath when before she could reach the door reserved for her clients, several police officers kicked it in. Outside, 20 others had surrounded the house with four cars, three vans and a team of sniffer dogs. I mean, WHAT ?? Add to that the stress of waiting for the court case to come up on a charge which potentially had a sentence of 7 years attached to it, it must have been hell for her.
During the course of the case it emerged that all of her neighbours knew she offered "massage with a happy ending" but it didn't bother them as it didn't impinge on their lives and they liked Ms Finch. Three of her neighbours, including an 87-year-old woman testified on her behalf in court, while another sent a letter of support. They told the jury that Finch was a decent member of the community who cared for an ill and incontinent neighbour and would look after their children in an emergency.
I am just so glad that common sense prevailed and it was reported in The Times that when the verdict was read out even the judge was smiling.
As a complete aside, I was sitting here thinking about how I've never been in trouble with the police. Actually, that's not strictly speaking true. I actually have a caution on file with the Irish Gardai dating back some 10 years now. Unfortunately, along with being a "Celtic maiden" comes a "Celtic temper".
I was strolling down a busy shopping street with a friend one fine afternoon having enjoyed lunch when I noticed a group of three lads in front of me. One of those brave boys crept up behind a pigeon and booted it into the air, to a flurry of squawks and feathers. I was raging ( and well, quid pro quo and all that) I went up behind him and gave him a firm boot to his behind which sent him flying.
Unfortunately for me, two off duty Gardai were just coming out of McDonalds at the time. ( Doughnut cliche, anyone ? ) The boys took off and I was given a firm telling off but I swear I caught a twinkle in their eyes. They took my name and address and cautioned me for "common assault". How rude. Don't they have just "assault" ?
On that happy note I'm off to share my salad sandwich with my feathered friends in the glorious sun in my back garden.
Friday, 21 May 2010
Greetings one and all, I've arrived home from Newcastle and am trying to get organised in my hectic world. I frequently have grandiose notions but when it comes to reality it's a different matter. Last week I decided I was going to have a mini office in my house, with a desk and a leatherette swing chair. It was to be my space, for studying mainly but also an oasis away from my children, ( two furry and one actual ). I went online and ordered both items and they arrived. Oh joy, they are flat packed. So the next couple of days will be filled with left over nuts and screws with moi growling along the way. As far as I'm concerned if boy cat and girl cat can fight on the desk without it collapsing it will be a resounding success, so wish me luck on that.
Grandiose notion number 2 : webcamming. Whilst I was in Newcastle Juicy Jo and I spent the best part of 2 hours trying to get a webcam installed on my PC which has so far not gone very well at all - it's not transmitting a picture to the PC. It's at times like this I'm reminded of the quip used by IT support geeks - "the problem is usually between the screen and the chair". Not to be dissuaded, this afternoon I am off to a geek store to see if I can find a suitable replacement. I am a woman on a mission and if it kills me I will be camming from my new office by Monday.
Well, I think it's fair to say that there was no webcam action required by the truckers who were utilising the M6 yesterday. Susan decided to treat them to a quick flash of her assets as we raced past them in the fast lane. I almost crashed the car from laughing, the look on their faces was just priceless. The text I got from Amanda this morning tickled me too - " Walk of shame today. I have to go to M & S to buy a pressie and my hair looks like a burst mattress thanks to a night of playing in the shower and bath, hehheh xxx "
I am very lucky to know and love some of the nuttiest women in this industry.
Right, I'm off to commence battle with my Philips screwdriver.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
The first time I meet a client is always the most exciting. Some guys are very open in their desires re roleplay for example and email me prior to our date with a list of things they'd like to try. In some ways I feel like an extra on Eastenders re-reading and checking the script just before they arrive, to make sure I remember everything. ( Inevitably I never do, anyway. )A step up from the Eastender is the "hinter". He will email requesting a perfectly vanilla appointment and then mention at the end that he has been a "naughty boy". To me, that's an indication that he would like some form of discipline, but it's left to me to determine what that might be.
To do this I rely on a couple of things, body language being the main indicator. So, if in the course of foreplay he pays a large amount of attention to my nipples then the chances are that's what he enjoys himself. Solution ; apply gentle pressure to nipples and keep going until said client squeaks.
For the record, I really, REALLY prefer if someone tells me their "thing".
Most challenging of all I think is the silent man. That man who books for an hour, enters the room with a polite nod and just lies on the bed.
"Tell me what turns you on, what makes you squirm."
"Anything, anything at all."
See now, that really doesn't help. Because with the services I offer that could be anything from ball crushing to a naked picnic. A little help here ?
A while ago I had a gent come and see me for an hour. He was lovely in email, and when he came to my apartment he was very pleasant, if a little quiet. I offered him a drink which he gratefully accepted. After that he stripped off to his y-fronts and then lay like a petrified piece of wood on the bed, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.
Erm, that's my stereotype, is it not ?
So I asked him -
"Would you like a nice massage to begin with ?"
"No thank you."
I leapt upon him and gently kissed him, he made a paltry effort at pursing his lips.
So I lay beside him and cuddled into him, allowing my fingers to gently trace his gradually increasing swelling. Nothing.
I mean the swelling increased, but there it ended. No reaction whatsoever.
Hmmmm. I was going to have to up my game.
So I covered him in massage oil and began sliding up and down, body to body. I might as well have been studying the train timetable for the Paddington Express. Nowt.
I was truly lost for actions, nevermind words. In the end, following further cuddling and some dry action against the side of my leg, he found the golden fleece.
I guess I wrote than one off to a lack of chemistry and just accepted that maybe I was not what he was looking for.
Three weeks later, I had an email.
"Dear Laura, I thoroughly enjoyed our last meeting and should like to see you again this coming Tuesday should you be free."
Further proof, as if it were required, that for as long as I do this job, I will never truly understand men.
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Good evening and greetings from home where I've finally landed after a superb trip to Inverness. Girl cat is in heat ( again ) and is busy caterwauling in the hall to attract the attention of the local talent, boy cat has given up and taken cover behind the washing basket. As soon as she's finished this time she's off to the vets, without her paws touching the ground. *sigh*
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I have a "ned filter" which has seldom let me down. Perhaps I should have mentioned my "gobshite filter" too. In some respects this is a lot easier to police than the ned filter. A dear friend of mine in Edinburgh who speaks beautifully ( proper English like wot the Queen does ) kindly recorded my voicemail greeting for me. It says - ( think Watson and Jeeves ) -
"Hello, you've reached the private telephone of Miss Laura Lee. I'm afraid the Mistress isn't free to pick up the telephone herself, so please leave a message with me, her very personal assistant. Speak after the tone."
Fairly straight forward you'd have thought? Apparently not. The number of people who speak to my "butler" is truly frightening.
"All right mate, eh, can ye get a message tae Laura fae me ?"
The best of all was the ( I'll be kind ) "gentleman" who called me one afternoon as I made my way to Aberdeen. The phone rang and as per usual, it was buried underneath two tonnes of my worldly possessions in my handbag. By the time I found it, it had gone to voicemail. Blast. Happily though, he called back two minutes later.
"Is that you Laura ?"
"Hi there, yes it is. Sorry I missed your call."
"Have you got yer pimp with you like ?"
"I very much beg your pardon ?"
"When I called a minute ago some bloke answered the phone."
"Oh I see, no don't worry that's my assistant, he takes my calls in my absence."
"I was gonnae come and see ye, but that's well dodgy man."
"You know what ? DON'T BOTHER."
I mean really.
It's fair to say that sometimes I get to the point of wanting to find a remote beach where I can scream until my lungs implode. Take this little beauty -
"I saw your details on the net and would love to come and see you."
"No problem, was it a Glasgow meeting you'd like ?"
"Aye, but there's something I need to tell you."
I braced myself.
"I'm on job seekers allowance so I only have £30, yeah ?"
Brilliant. Perhaps I should go the whole hog and offer discounts to OAPs and students too. And people born on Wednesdays. And bisexual one-legged pisceans.
Just when I start truly losing the will to live, there is always a last minute reprieve. So when I came back from Inverness today ( still seething at the man who tried to convince me that unprotected anal sex is ok, because it's only vaginal sex that transmits STI's ) I went through my mail. Amongst the usual stuff was an envelope from Debenhams. My slave "J", has sent me a voucher to go shopping by way of apology for our recent trip. I am so chuffed, and there really was no need, no-one can help being ill. Thank you J, I really am very grateful.
So tomorrow, after I've booked slut cat into the vets, I'm off to do some retail therapy. Bliss.
(P.S : Gobshite is not a curse, if it's good enough for Channel 4, it's good enough for me, K ? )
Friday, 7 May 2010
I had a question sent to me via Formspring, and thought I would share it with you.
"You seem to be a campaigner for sex workers rights. Why? Don't you think that if you keep a low profile that the battle will just pass you by. Are you not afraid that the anti's will come after you and attempt to unmask you and make your life a misery."
I'm going to do my best to answer this question without sounding like a politician outside a polling station.
There is a large battle ahead for us as sex workers, for the recognition we deserve as individuals who make a worthy contribution to society but also as a group, who deserve to carry out our perfectly lawful jobs without fear of intimidation and social exclusion and stigma.
As to why I became an activist; I used to live in a very small town, full of very small minded people. When it became common knowledge that I was an escort, the treatment I received at the hands of the local people of that town was nothing short of disgraceful. They projected their own insecurities onto me by belittling me, when in fact I had committed no crime. In my career as an escort/ whore / prostitute I have done no more than provide pleasure and companionship for men who crave a woman's presence for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps they are widowed, perhaps they are sex starved, or perhaps they want to roll around in jelly and are afraid to ask their wife of some thirty years. Whatever the reason, I provided the service and I was very proud of my work and got an immense amount of job satisfaction from the grateful hugs I received. For some reason my job was an indication to local people that they could feel free to treat me like scum, to them I was no better than the dirt from my cat's paw. That HAS TO CHANGE.
It's not so long ago since homosexuals were isolsated, stigmatised and in some very backward minds, even feared. However, with education and the public debate of rights and status, the public attitude towards homosexuality has gone full circle. It is now possible for a gay couple to have a civil ceremony and adopt a child. Progressive and rational thinking at it's best. I firmly believe that in time, the same full circle turnabout will happen for sex workers, after all as a person I never believe in putting up a fight if the end result is but a futile fantasy.
I am constantly in awe of my fellow activists, they are far better read than I and in many respects I feel that sometimes in joining them as a voice I am punching very much above my weight. But surely the crux of the matter is that I, as a sex worker feel that the current system as it is is highly hypocritical in it's aims, which amount to no more than hooded abolition. If I can add my voice to those that speak for the silent amongst the 80,000 sex workers in Britain, then why not ?
As to whether I'm afraid of the anti's - I campaigned for animal rights in my home country for many years ( and still do ) and sometimes got myself into some quite sticky situations. Quite often I ran ahead of a fox hunt to ruin the scent and if I was caught, I risked a horsewhip to the side of my head. Was I afraid ? Sure. Did it stop me ? No, because at the end of the day I knew what I was there for was to protect the fox being thrown to the hounds and that made it all worthwhile. :)
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Good morning and greetings from home where I am doing my best impression of that woman from "The Exorcist". FULL HEAD SPIN. It's been quite an eventful few days for me, to say the least. Firstly, I've had some lovely people take the time out of their day to place some pretty pathetic phone calls my way. This could be on foot of my speaking out against Trish Godman and Co, or maybe the police are less than pleased about my highlighting their behaviour on Punternet, who knows ? Funny how the male and female callers both have the same very distinctive Northern English accents; honestly some people have the intelligence of an aubergine. ;) I've let several of the review site webmasters know and they're keeping an eye out for the inevitable false field reports which will be shot down on sight. *sigh*
So why is my head spinning ? Well, I've just arrived back from my extended weekend away with my slave and it was a break away not to be forgotten for a long time. We had night number one in Glasgow at his place and I gave him a good thrashing to remind him of what he had missed. The next day we headed off to our cottage in the middle of nowhere where we were to stay for a further three nights. It was idyllic, so quiet and peaceful, bar the very tame pheasant who made himself known and squawked regularly at our door for titbits. The cottage we had booked had an outside hot tub and it was wonderful to lounge about in large fluffy dressing gowns whilst nibbling on home made shortbread and quaffing ice cold wine.
Night number two - I bid my slave goodnight and curling up beside him I fell into a deep sleep. At about 2am I heard a very strange noise, it filtered into my dreams and I began to wake. I very quickly realised the noise was coming from my slave, hereinafter referred to as "J". I switched on the bedside light and had a moment where my stomach plummeted to my toes. He was lying on his back and his breathing was very laboured. His face had turned a shade of blue/purple and there was a small pool of blood just alongside his face.
I was aware that he is diabetic, but when he started to fit violently I knew we had a major problem on our hands. Clearly, the blood had come from him biting his tongue and the gurgling noise was the accumulation of blood in the back of his throat combined with his tongue slipping back and blocking his airway. ( Thank goodness I was in St John Ambulance for years, I joined as a young teenager because my pals had joined but enjoyed it so much I stayed until I left school. )
So I dived on him, turned him on his side into the recovery position and fished his tongue out with my little finger. His breathing immediately calmed and over a period of minutes his fitting stopped, I supported his head to stop him injuring himself further. His eyes were rolling back which I knew is a sign of losing consciousness so I kept talking to him. I asked him if he knew what day it was and where he was and he was obviously very confused. I felt since he was no longer fitting and able to speak I could take two minutes to call an ambulance.
I said to him -
"J, you do realise I'm going to have to explain the nature of our relationship ?"
"Because your bum is marked and if I don't explain it was consensual they'll think you've been assaulted."
In time an ambulance arrived and in all there were three paramedics, two in the ambulance and one in a car. I met the first paramedic at the door and gave him the rundown -
"This is J, he's an insulin dependant diabetic, full tonic clonic, he's bitten his tongue and is very confused. GCS was 10, now about 12. Pupils equal and reactive."
"Good on you, thanks."
We made our way through to the bedroom and they started assessing him. The older paramedic turned to me.
"Are you a doctor ?"
"So are you his wife then ?"
"No. He's not married."
" You're his girlfriend then ?"
"Ahhh, you're his Mistress, right ?"
Cue long knowing glances between the paramedics.
"Well, in a way, yes."
Longest pause in history.
"Look we've discussed it and you might as well know, I'm a dominatrix and J is one of my clients."
The look on the faces of the paramedics was absolutely priceless.
"Ok, do you have anything sugary in the house? "
"Yes, there's some lemonade in the kitchen."
"Ok, well tell him to drink some of that."
"He does speak English you know, you could just mention it."
"I know, I just wanted to hear you tell him 'YOU WILL DRINK IT'.
There's a time and a place for everything and I was not in the mood for fantasy role play for the benefit of a horny young trainee paramedic.
Right on cue, came this whimper from the bed -
"I'm very sorry Mistress."
"No you're not, but I tell you this, when I'm finished with you, you will be."
That seemed to satisfy the paramedics and they raced back to the station to tell their colleagues about their real life encounter with one of "those".
As for us, I insisted we take it easy the next day, just some shopping and a soak in the hot tub as we had had quite enough excitement for one trip.
I threw the odd menacing glare and growl his way, just for good measure like. Needless to say by night number four it was business as usual. ;)