I read her comment: “Can we talk about the porn addiction and how it is ruining sex and marriage?” (paraphrasing).

She shared openly and honestly about how her first marriage was sexually unfulfilling and how her husband would use her for his two minutes to get off, or threaten to “get it elsewhere” if she wouldn’t put out.

After years of this, he started watching porn and then wanted to do things to her that he watched in those videos. Things that she was not interested in and that were hurtful.

She now describes herself as a woman in her 60s who is fit, earns a good income, is a great cook and keeps a clean house. (I secretly wanted to ask her to marry me, lol.) She has also found a man who is nothing like her ex and is very much interested in her pleasure. A man who detests porn as much as she does.

My reply…

This got me thinking about how we tend to blame porn for men being bad lovers, or for boys growing up with the idea that all women want cum on their faces and to be choked or slapped.

But I think we may be confusing the amplifier with the original signal.

Porn can absolutely shape expectations, normalize behaviour and escalate what someone seeks out. But it can also reveal desires and attitudes that were already there.

The uncomfortable question isn’t simply, “What is porn doing to men?”

It is also, “Why is this particular porn appealing to this particular man?”

As someone a wee bit closer to the sex industry than I would like some days, I can vouch for there being every kind of porn available on the interweb. If you can think of it, someone has probably made porn with it.

And granted, there is way more rape porn out there than I would like to see. But instead of only blaming the porn industry, I think we also need to acknowledge that the industry is serving up material that people desire.

That does not mean someone who watches a rape fantasy wants to rape someone.

Fantasy, arousal and behaviour don’t map that neatly.

Someone can be turned on by consensual non-consent fantasies and be meticulous about consent in real life. Likewise, someone can watch the most vanilla porn imaginable and still be selfish, coercive or downright awful in bed.

Porn preferences can give us information about someone’s erotic landscape, but they aren’t a psychological lie detector.

What matters even more is how someone understands consent, whether they can distinguish fantasy from reality, how interested they are in their partner’s pleasure and, perhaps most importantly, how they respond when someone says no.

None of this lets the porn industry off the hook.

Algorithms reward novelty and escalation. Performers have been exploited. Non-consensual material has circulated online. And repeated exposure can absolutely shape what people come to regard as “normal” sex.

Porn isn’t a neutral mirror.

But neither is it a magic potion that transforms otherwise thoughtful, empathetic men into selfish lovers.

I suggest that porn itself is not the problem, although we absolutely need to take down anyone producing or distributing actual non-consensual sexual material. Period.

The type of porn someone is drawn to can still tell you something about what drives their desire.

I also like to ask which person in the fantasy they identify with. Do they imagine themselves as the giver or the receiver?

That can give you another little window into how their erotic brain works.

This is where my experience in kink makes me particularly wary of blaming the act rather than looking at the consent surrounding it.

I am a HUGE advocate for consent and getting to know anyone I play with.

I demand it personally and professionally.

I have been on the receiving end of a face slap that was not negotiated.

The slap itself wasn’t necessarily the problem. I have no objection to a face slap when I have agreed to one.

The problem was that I hadn’t agreed to that one.

Sometimes an unnegotiated action is a course correction and we carry on. But often, it is an “end scene” for me.

Exploring sex and kink requires safety.

This is non-negotiable in my world, and I would hope it is a core value in yours as well.

I have clients who have told me they feel so safe with me that they can’t imagine ever needing to call “red.” I can usually sense when we are getting too close to their limits, and when I miss it, they call “yellow,” tell me what course correction is needed, and we adjust.

That is what allows people to safely explore things that, taken completely out of context, might look disturbing as hell.

Consent changes the context.

Porn, however, is not the place to learn about sex. On that point, I will agree with just about everyone.

Many of the more reputable porn sites are now also offering education to go along with the graphic videos. Yeah! That is a good step.

And then there are amazing trailblazers like Cindy Gallop, founder of Make Love Not Porn, a place to see real people having real sex and changing the narrative around what sex actually looks like.

Because maybe the conversation we need to have isn’t simply about whether porn is good or bad.

Maybe we need to talk about what we are teaching people about pleasure, consent, intimacy, communication and mutual responsibility long before they open Pornhub.

We can blame whiskey for creating angry drunks who get into fights, but then what about all the rest of us who drink whiskey without needing to throat-punch the person next to us at the bar?

I think you get my point.

Life is not neat and tidy, with singular answers to complex issues.

It is filled with a bunch of humans sometimes getting it right and sometimes making a right bloody mess of things.

And porn is no different.

To read the post and comments that started all of this check out The Contaminated Erotic Feild by Sara Szal MD.

https://saraszalmd.substack.com/p/the-contaminated-erotic-field

Written by me, editted by ChatGPT

I was sixteen, sitting in a room full of family and friends with my six-year-old cousin curled up in my lap.

He looked down at my legs, then back up at me.

“Why are your legs so big?”

Children have a remarkable gift for saying exactly what everyone else is only thinking.

I shoved him off my lap.

“Not everyone is tall and skinny like your family!”

My aunt had inherited the tall, lanky genes. She could eat whatever she wanted without gaining weight. Standing beside her, I felt fat. My stepmother was only too happy to reinforce that belief.

Looking back at photos now, I wasn’t the tall, lanky girl I compared myself to. But I also wasn’t the overweight girl I believed I was. It’s astonishing how convincing our own minds can be.

Later in life, I reached just over 200 pounds, yet I still didn’t really see it. Body dysmorphia works both ways. Sometimes it convinces us we’re enormous when we’re not. Other times it quietly edits reality until we no longer recognize how much we’ve changed.

I remember trying to squeeze into a pair of size 14 jeans when I really needed a 16, maybe even an 18. For a brief moment, reality broke through.

Years later, after losing the weight and fitting comfortably into a size 14 again, I would have sworn I was just as big.

The mirror had never been the problem.

My relationship with it was.

Like so many women, my body became a moving target. Never thin enough. Never toned enough. Never young enough. There was always another condition attached to finally being worthy.

Then something completely unexpected happened.

I stepped back into the dungeon professionally.

Standing there in a red leather corset, a tiny black skirt, and fabulous knee-high boots, I discovered that the place most people imagine would destroy a woman’s self-esteem became the place that quietly rebuilt mine.

Session after session, I found myself surrounded by submissives who genuinely saw me as beautiful, powerful, and desirable.

Not because I fit a magazine cover.

Not because I was twenty-five.

Not because my stomach was perfectly flat.

They simply saw me.

Little by little, that unwavering admiration chipped away at beliefs I had carried for decades.

My thighs are still thick.

My clients notice them.

But instead of criticism, there’s often a slight pause before one of them comments on how powerful my legs look.

Powerful.

That single word rewrote years of self-criticism.

Of course, there is the obvious appreciation of my breasts. That part isn’t unique to the dungeon.

What is different is the respect.

Women are used to being looked at. Many of us have grown accustomed to being looked at in ways that make us shrink inside ourselves.

In the dungeon, admiration stops exactly where I say it stops.

They can appreciate.

They can desire.

They can ache to touch.

But they won’t.

Not without my permission.

I hadn’t realized how much of my life had been shaped by anticipating unwanted attention until I experienced the opposite.

To know that I alone decide when my body is looked at, commented on, or touched has healed wounds I didn’t even realize I was still carrying.

That feeling doesn’t stay inside the dungeon.

It follows me into Home Depot.

Into the grocery store. Into restaurants. Into every room I walk into.

Without realizing it, I had spent years trying to disappear just a little.

Pulling at my shirt.

Crossing my arms.

Standing smaller.

Now I simply exist.

Comfortably.

Confidently.

Freely.

I sometimes wonder how differently women would move through the world if they carried that feeling of safety everywhere. If they knew, deep in their bones, that every man they encountered respected their body as completely as the men who kneel before me do.

How differently would they walk?

How differently would they dress?

How differently would they breathe?

One submissive once told me he believed that surrendering to a powerful woman was his small way of helping undo some of the damage patriarchy has inflicted on women.

Whether or not that’s true, I found the sentiment unexpectedly moving.

To feel deeply cherished without a single string attached has been one of the most healing gifts I have ever received.

There are still mornings when menopause convinces me to tug at my shorts or reach for the oversized T-shirt because of the belly that seemed to arrive without asking permission.

Those moments still happen.

But they no longer define my relationship with my body.

My clients don’t care if I’ve gained five pounds or lost ten.

They continue to see me as powerful.

They continue to see me as desirable.

More importantly, I’ve started seeing myself that way too.

My clients have no idea they’re participating in my healing.

Every session quietly reinforces something I never learned growing up.

My body isn’t a problem to solve.

It isn’t valuable only when it’s smaller, younger, or closer to someone else’s definition of beautiful.

It is strong.

It is capable.

It is powerful.

And it belongs entirely to me.

If someone had told that sixteen-year-old girl sitting with her little cousin in her lap that one day she would genuinely love the legs she tried so desperately to hide, she never would have believed them.

Yet here we are.

Sometimes healing arrives through doors we were taught never to open.

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Few topics make people uncomfortable faster than ethical non-monogamy.

Mention open relationships, swinging, polyamory, or even attraction outside a committed partnership and the room tends to split in two. One side gets curious. The other side gets uncomfortable. Sometimes angry.

And yet, if we are honest, many of us are fascinated.

Why?

Part of it is cultural taboo. For thousands of years, most modern societies have treated monogamy not simply as a relationship style, but as the moral standard. Religion played a major role in shaping that expectation. Marriage became linked not only to love, but to virtue, family structure, inheritance, and social stability.

To question monogamy can feel, for some people, like questioning morality itself.

But here is what fascinates me:

Despite rules, laws, social consequences, religion, shame, divorce, and public scandal, human beings have never managed to remain universally faithful.

Even in societies where adultery carried brutal punishment, sometimes death, people still risked everything for forbidden connection.

Across cultures and across time, people cheat. They fantasize. They desire novelty. They fall in love unexpectedly. They suppress urges. They struggle.

Which raises an uncomfortable question:

What if human beings are not naturally built for strict lifelong sexual exclusivity in the way we’ve been taught?

I’m not asking this from theory alone.

I have lived ethically non-monogamous relationships for the last twenty years.

When my first marriage ended, I had to face some uncomfortable truths about myself. Two affairs had not simply been symptoms of a struggling relationship. They forced me to ask whether sexual exclusivity itself had never fully fit me, even though I had tried to make it fit.

I enjoy having a partner to share my life with, but being sexually exclusive left me feeling like I had to cut off half of who I was.

So when I met my second husband, he knew from the beginning that our marriage would be open.

The first four months brought deep emotional conversations as we navigated insecurities, fears, and untangled ourselves from the scripts we had inherited about what love was “supposed” to look like.

These were the kinds of conversations that make you wish you could twitch your nose and teleport out of the room.

There were tears. Awkward questions. Moments of reassurance repeated for the tenth time. Moments where one of us felt afraid and the other had to sit in discomfort rather than fix it.

But something unexpected happened.

Those conversations brought us closer.

Trust grew, not because difficult feelings disappeared, but because we learned we could survive talking about them honestly. After navigating those deeply vulnerable conversations, almost every other conversation in life suddenly felt easy by comparison.

That experience made me curious.

If ethical non-monogamy is so taboo, why are so many people drawn toward it?

And are humans actually built for monogamy in the first place?

Recently, I read Sex at Dawn, a book that explores the possibility that early humans may have lived far more communally and sexually cooperatively than modern culture assumes.

One argument looks at our closest primate relatives: chimpanzees and bonobos.

Bonobos are famous for using sex socially. Conflict, bonding, affection, tension reduction, cooperation, pleasure. Sex is woven into their social lives in ways humans may find simultaneously amusing and uncomfortable.

Chimpanzees, while more hierarchical and competitive, also mate with multiple partners.

Interestingly, both species show traits associated with sperm competition. Compared to dominant-male species, they have relatively larger testes, suggesting reproductive success happens partly through sperm competition rather than only through physical dominance.

Humans share some surprisingly similar physical characteristics.

Some evolutionary researchers have argued that aspects of human anatomy, including the shape of the penis, may reflect adaptations linked to sperm competition. These theories are debated, but they raise fascinating questions about whether our biology tells a more complicated story than our culture does.

Then agriculture entered the picture.

Land ownership. Inheritance. Bloodlines. Property.

Suddenly certainty around parentage mattered far more than it had before.

Social systems began rewarding exclusivity and punishing sexual freedom. Marriage became increasingly regulated. Religious and legal systems reinforced fidelity.

Yet even with all of that, human desire remained stubbornly human.

We continue to struggle with the gap between commitment and novelty.

Long-term desire is complicated. Familiarity can deepen intimacy while quietly softening erotic charge. For some people, novelty matters. Some couples find ways to create that novelty inside monogamy. Others explore it outside.

And this is where I find our cultural thinking interesting.

We don’t expect our romantic partner to meet every need in every area of life.

If I love tennis and my partner hates it, nobody panics if I find a friend to play with.

If my partner dislikes hiking, I can still go hiking. I can even go hiking with other people.

We understand that one person does not have to be everything.

But the moment sexuality enters the conversation, we often move into a completely different emotional and moral framework.

Why?

Fear? Possession? Security? Tradition? Biology? Religion?

Maybe some combination of all of them.

To be clear, I’m not arguing everyone should practice ethical non-monogamy.

Not remotely.

Monogamy works beautifully for many people. For others, it doesn’t.

The real question may not be which relationship structure is “right.”

Maybe the better question is this:

What arrangement allows people to be deeply honest, loving, fulfilled, and authentic while harming each other the least?

For me, ethical non-monogamy brought challenges I never expected and while the jealocy never completely disappeared we were able to make space for understanding it rather than it being something to obey.

But it also demanded a level of honesty, communication, and trust that changed the quality of my relationships forever.

Perhaps the taboo is not really about sex.

Perhaps it is about what happens when we begin questioning stories we inherited without ever asking whether they actually fit us.

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Below is the cast of crazy that I grew up with. Me, my father, my stepmother and her two kids.

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“The first time I can remember being drawn to powerful women, I was about 6, and Sally (also 6) walked up to me in the school playground, dug a finger into my chest and said definitively, ‘You are now my boyfriend, and you will do what I tell you.’ I was spellbound and happily followed her wherever she wanted to go.”

I love to get nosy with clients and potential clients, going all sluthy to dig into why they are drawn to being under my control.

Thus far, I have noticed that almost all of them report feeling drawn to this from an early age. Often unable to pinpoint a starting incident as clearly as the example above, however, it is rarely new or fleeting.

In my experience, I have noticed a difference between men and women.

Men more often report feeling drawn to surrender and being under the control of a woman at very young ages, typically somewhere between 3 and 7 years old. Women are more likely to describe the spark arriving around puberty or in their early twenties. They often recall masturbation fantasies they secretly wondered meant they needed therapy.

I have also noticed differences in how desire gets described.

Women tend to speak in broader strokes. They may describe a general feeling, dynamic, or scenario that turns them on. A woman might say the idea of being pinned down or choked fuels her spank bank.

Men, on the other hand, are often startlingly specific. They are more likely to tell me what everyone in the room is wearing and what colour of wooden spoon or hairbrush is being used.

The specificity fascinates me.

It could point to many things. Perhaps an attempt to untangle an early emotional imprint, a meaningful memory, an experience that landed deeply, or simply the way desire wired itself to a particular image or feeling.

Some clients begin with the intention of coming for a few sessions to “get it out of their system” and then go back to being “normal.” For some, this is enough. For others, it deepens their desires and creates a new longing to explore, uncovering new levels of surrender.

Which begs the question:

What exactly are we calling normal?

Historically, what we considered “normal” has shifted dramatically.

• Homosexuality was pathologized and criminalized

• Left-handedness was punished or corrected

• Women with strong sexual agency were stigmatized, institutionalized, or labelled hysterical

Perhaps normal is simply what enough people are willing to admit publicly.

Which raises another question: if these desires show up early and quietly persist for decades, are we looking at something chosen, conditioned, or wired in?

I have just finished reading Sex at Dawn by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jethá, which I highly recommend and suspect will inspire many future articles.

In the book, they reference a scientific study involving baby sheep and baby goats. Researchers switched the babies, placing the wee ewes with goat mothers and the baby kids with sheep mothers.

Once the babies matured, they were returned to their own species and monitored over the following years.

What surprised me was that the males of each group showed more mating interest in the foster species, while the females adapted over time and showed more interest in their own species. I would have expected more of a “love the one you’re with” fluidity in both sexes.

A similar study involving meadow voles and prairie voles reportedly found something similar. The males maintained stronger imprinting toward the foster species.

Can we extrapolate that the same applies to humans?

Perhaps it gives us clues. But humans are infinitely messier when it comes to desire.

There is the desire of the flesh, yes, but we also override ourselves in order to fit social expectations.

We do not have to go very far back in history to find people attracted to the same sex while living in a world that deemed those desires immoral or illegal. Many entered heterosexual marriages while still privately longing for, and often secretly seeking, same-sex relationships. Sometimes at tremendous personal risk.

I am not suggesting these experiences are identical. They are not.

But the emotional pattern feels familiar: hiding something core in order to fit social expectations.

So it begs the question:

And is the answer different for men and women?

From what I see in my practice, many people are in deeply loving vanilla relationships while a profound longing for kink quietly sits in the closet.

Most often, I see this conflict in men, which I suspect has much to do with social expectations and rigid gender norms. It is culturally acceptable for women to want to surrender. For men, surrender is still often viewed as weakness, failure, or something unnatural.

So some men stay in the vanilla marriage much the way many gay men once kept wives. They may love their partner deeply, while privately feeling sexually unfulfilled.

Again, I am not suggesting these experiences are the same. But I do think the emotional tension deserves compassion rather than judgment.

I do not know whether desire is fixed, fluid, or somewhere in between.

I suspect the answer is messier than either side wants it to be.

But I do know this:

The people who sit across from me rarely speak about these longings as something new.

More often, they describe them as something remembered.

Something quietly waiting beneath the surface.

Something asking to be acknowledged.

Perhaps the more useful question is not:

Why do I want this?

Perhaps the better question is:

What happens if I stop pretending I don’t?

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We begin with the Preface - things you need to know before reading the book and the tantalizing Chapter 1 that starts in the Du…

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There are days when I wander into dark corners of Fetlife (a kinky social media platform with very graphic photos - you may or may not thank me), dark corners that you hope have friendly bunnies and delightful conversations, but where you find the most interesting of kinks and people posting requests for said kinks to be done to them.

I am glued to the screen, unable to turn away, surely causing a traffic jam behind me as I stare in horror and fascination.

When I found the kink community and joined events, the internet connection sang a tune of kssshhh, screeeeee, breep-breep-krrrchhh. I had not yet found my fellow kinksters online, but I did find small groups hanging out in my small city of Barrie, Ontario.

We gathered snacks, shared stories and best practices. In those small gatherings, the more seasoned players encouraged us to stick to what was Safe, Sane and Consensual. There was also a mutual respect shown in “not icking someone else’s wow”, aka - don’t be a judgmental cow.

I do my best, and yet as I fall into these dark corners, my far from naive eyes burning with images I can’t unsee, I find myself questioning if I am that judgmental cow or if I am aware that these things are outside of the Safe, Sane and Consensual realm.

I miss having those small groups with seasoned players sharing years of wisdom for those embarking on a new, wonderful type of play to explore. Instead, we have the all too familiar echo chambers where members boot out anyone who dares to question or suggest how they can practice such things safely.

I want to scream into these groups.

I watched the series Dying For Sex, which is a well-done true story of a woman who is dying from cancer and chooses to spend her remaining time exploring sex with different partners, primarily to achieve an orgasm with one of these partners. It is well done, sometimes funny, definitely needs tissue, and at times, I wanted to pull her aside to guide her on her exploration into being dominant.

Do not follow what she does as an example of exploring Kink safely, or sanely. She definitely missed the mark on that. And while we get the idea that there is consent, in real life, consent in kink is more complicated than simply not saying no.

Consent deserves an entire article on its own.

There is one scene that had me yelling at the screen. He wants her to hit him in the balls, so she pulls back her leg and kicks him so hard that she breaks her femur (which was fragile from her cancer, but still!!!).

DO NOT DO THIS!!!

There are ways to kick people safely, but what she demonstrated was not one of them. It actually takes skill to make it appear as if you are going to kick them full out, but then pull back so that the impact is just right. Painful enough to thrill, but not enough to injure. It is more about the psychological fear factor than actually impacting the testicles.

The sad fact is that because we as a whole carry immense shame about sex and our desires, we rarely seek out any training on how to engage in anything sex related, let alone high-risk sex activities, choosing instead to follow our genital arousal as proof that we are good to go.

It is enough to make me want to recreate the scene from the 1980 movie Airplane, being first in line to slap these people out of their stupidity.

But until someone invents a technology that reaches out from your screen and slaps you when you post dumb shit, I will have to make do with a face-palm moment, fearing for the next generation.

But then faith in humanity is restored, or at least some of it, as I have a conversation with a couple embarking on their journey into Domination and submission. They reached out to me to get some guidance and training - yeah for the sane people!!!

Kink play can be dangerous, even causing death when not done properly.

Granted, most people are not engaging in extreme acts that will require a coroner to remove the body, but many will require a trip to the emergency room.

So, best to save yourself the embarrassment and potentially permanent damage - learn how to practice kink safely.

Let’s say you read the terrible Fifty Shades book and think, “Hey, it would be hot to have my lover choke me while they are banging me.”

If they know nothing about anatomy, they could damage your windpipe permanently, or they could cut off blood flow to your brain and cause you to pass out, where you could split your head open.

Choking is hot and sexy when done well, but lying on the floor with your brains leaking out is not.

One of my lovers is a former police officer and black belt in martial arts. He understands anatomy, restraint, and the serious risks involved in breath play. As such, he is allowed to choke me because he knows what he is doing.

I have had way too many lovers who have reached up to choke me, clearly untrained and not having gotten consent, whom I have stopped immediately, and some I have ended the sex and sent them home.

Yet, people mistakenly think choking is a low-risk kink play. (Where is that slap button when you need it?)

Some classic books that I have personally read are The Topping Book and the complementary The Bottoming Book, as well as Screw The Roses, Send Me The Thorns. They are older, but their wisdom is not out of date, and perhaps because of that, they are better (like me and fine wine ;) ).

Kink is not inherently dangerous because people are kinky. It becomes dangerous when curiosity outruns education. Desire is not expertise. The old communities understood that mentorship, safety, and asking questions mattered. We need more spaces where people can learn without shame and where experienced players can say, “Slow down, here’s how to do this safely,” before someone learns the hard way.

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It was all going hot and heavy in the texts. Our desires matched. Our life outlooks matched. My rules and protocol got tossed out the window, and I slipped into the danger zone of counting my cocks before they showed up.

After two weeks of texting, I pressed for a first meet, calendars out to find a spot that worked for both of us. I had something to look forward to…in another 4 days.

Two nights before, light texting to stay connected when he asked me a question I had never had before (well, not in this context).

“Do you know what you will be wearing for the date?”

Oh boy, his newbie flag was flying for all to see.

“No, this is a first meeting. Think normal attire and normal date set up. I don’t fuck on the first date.”

“Oh, okay. I am really excited to meet you. Are you not excited to meet me?”

“Yes, and keep in mind that I am not new. I have had more than my share of “lunchbag letdowns” in this crazy online dating, so I hold off getting excited until I meet people and they can show me that they are who they say they are.”

Two days later, I sent him a text to confirm our date and …crickets.

Ghosting - possibly the number one flag in dating that someone’s subconscious is on a runaway train heading off the cliff. When triggered, the subconscious stops allowing reasonable behaviour, and we turn into asshats.

He could have said, “I don’t feel good that you are not as excited as me.” Which could have opened a conversation.

If he didn’t want to go that route, he could have politely backed out by saying that he had realized that the distance (an hour) is too far and he doesn’t have the time that would be needed.

No, instead I would suspect that his subconscious internalized my not being excited to meet him as rejection, and possibly his question about my outfit was internalized as his being wrong.

Both are reasons enough for the subconscious to hijack the situation and cause him to run.

I can pretend that I don’t care, but I do! It sucks to get ghosted. I would almost rather someone be rude than say nothing (almost).

There is also that part of my brain that loves to dig into the inner workings of the mind to understand what is making them do what they do - which is an excellent skill for my clients but annoying when dealing with ghosters who wouldn’t dream of telling me the truth even if they could admit it to themselves.

Rather than us both getting what we wanted and possibly starting an ongoing play, his subconscious cockblocked us both.

If your subconscious has been cockblocking you and you want to have the hot sex you desire, let’s talk.

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How exactly did this become my life? I wonder. It feels too surreal; who does this? Sitting here on the padded spanking bench, I attempt to get comfortable.

The boning in my leather corset forces my spine straight. How exactly did women tolerate these back in the day? I might look smoking hot, but I could pass out from lack of oxygen.

I test out different options to find the Goldilocks “just right” one, which proves to be elusive, and settle for the least uncomfortable. Poised on the corner of the spanking bench, I’m half sitting and half leaning, sipping shallows breaths while trying to summon the required Dominatrix energy. The COVID pandemic transformed my wardrobe into yoga attire and flats for all occasions. Wearing this corset makes me wonder who’s being tortured today.

I manage to find a somewhat comfortable position, and with each inhale, I see my breasts lunging towards my face, my abundant cleavage threatening to swallow my head whole. I tell myself to relax, hoping that simply saying it will bring on the feeling of ease I desperately need right now. I remember to do some Kegel squeezes and remind myself to focus on the fact that the point of what I’m about to do is to have fun, despite the fact that I want to run from the room⎯the dungeon⎯and drop this silly idea of being a professional, paid Dominatrix.

At the same time, I’m equally excited to start this new career. I want to be paid to have fun, to laugh, to feel pleasure, and, of course, to consensually beat people, in the most delicious kind of way.

The pay for this kind of work is extremely enticing, but the only way I can get back into it is to feel proud of my work and have loads of fun doing it. Otherwise, I know it won’t be long before I feel trapped in the loop of wanting the money but not loving the work or the clients. Given how intimate this work is and how much trust my clients will be placing in me, they deserve for me to be doing this because I love it.

As I wait for the scheduled submissive to arrive and the session to begin, I can’t help but think about what has changed to make it possible for me to do this now.

In 2019, I met my best friend, Gaia; our beginning mimicked the start of every Hallmark movie, given how much we clashed and found each other irritating. Gaia is a professional Dominatrix and sexual wellness expert, and given that I was in a sexless marriage, she annoyed me. Her wild sexcapades and laughing about spanking people with rubber chickens nearly caused me to spit out my tea, but I plastered my best British-level neutral face and kept to myself that she was oversharing while I clamored to get off the Zoom call as quickly as proper etiquette would allow.

I’d later learn that she saw me as angry and closed off, which I was. Thankfully, I ultimately healed that anger as well as my sex shame, and these days, we laugh together as we exchange our sexual escapades.

It’s ironic: 10 years before we met, I was nearly as wild and sexual as Gaia. You could have found me at various kink parties (playing on both sides of the whip), partaking in orgies and living an ethically non-monogamous lifestyle. Not to mention that I too had been a paid Dominatrix. I went from that to shutting off my sex drive, quitting the Dominatrix work, and refusing to look at anything sex-related.

When Gaia and I met, I was working as a business mindset coach. Although I used my previous experience as a Dominatrix for my branding, playing off the Inner Dominatrix concept, I was holding on to the idea that I could separate the sex worker stigma from the branding and have it viewed as a legit business by those in the business arena. But there were issues with this. On one hand, the branding was bold and catchy; branding experts repeatedly praised it. On the other hand, I was still navigating an internal conflict around it and therefore couldn’t fully embrace it. I wanted to lean in. I believed in both the branding concept and the extent to which we can learn from the embodiment of the Dominatrix. At the same time, societal resistance to open discussions about sexual concepts combined with possibly being seen as a sex worker kept my business from taking off in the way that it should have. I did well, but there was so much untapped potential that I could feel waiting there, left on the proverbial table.

When I was finally ready, Gaia was my guide and mentor back into the world of pro-Dominatrix work, this time in a way that left me feeling empowered and good about myself. I returned to enjoy it and hold space for clients to embrace their own kinks, releasing any shame they may carry. It’s been a remarkable journey, even though at times I’ve certainly wanted to jump off this crazy train and go back to hiding under the covers, ignoring it all.

I could hear the submissive walking down the hall towards me. He has been here many times and has permission to let himself in and get ready. Today, he is loaded up with two gym bags full of goodies for his session. He’s here for a double-domme session with Gaia and me. He’s her client, not mine. This world is forever layered and complicated.

“Hello,” he says, as I give a short hello and a nod. What is the protocol? Should I ignore him until the session begins? Gaia and I didn’t talk about this. I don’t want to fuck up the power dynamic. If I say hello, will I give him the idea that we are on the same power level and prevent him from dropping in? Ugh! So many things to think about.

As is the case with so many things, the devil is in the details. The power dynamic the submissive craves is subtle and nuanced as much as it is overt and obvious. Relational dynamics that might not matter with a coaching client can quickly erode the power dynamic in the dungeon. For example, if a coaching client were continually late, I would continue with the session but end on time. In the dungeon, however, the rules are quite different. Most of the clients are powerful, successful men who crave letting go and letting someone else be in charge. Men who, because of their power, often aren’t challenged and rarely told no. These men get used to this, so when they show up late for a session, they expect it to be no big deal. “Just short the time, and we’ll call it even,” they might say.

It sounds reasonable when dealing with a business situation, but it creates a huge problem with the power dynamic in the dungeon, which is essential to allowing them to surrender control to me as the domme.

Being late is being disrespectful, and that will not fly in the dungeon. How can one surrender if he’s still holding on to this element of control? Showing up late is almost always in a person’s control, so when they do it, they are withholding some of their power and surrender from the session - from me!

I remember Gaia telling me about one client in particular who was not only successful and influential but also tall, dark, and handsome (nicknamed Pretty Boy). He likely had never had a woman say no to any of his requests. He showed up late for a second time, apologized, and handed her some money as an apology.

She took the money, then informed him that he would still be punished for disrespecting her. I imagine the look on his face. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he saw that he couldn’t dismiss the transgression with a weak apology and some money.

Now one man’s punishment might be another’s pleasure, so for a punishment to have a behaviour-correction effect, one must understand the client deeply. This is where the deep-dive intake session⎯one that often takes one and a half to three hours⎯gives the domme the intel on what would actually feel like punishment instead of good torture. Knowing the client deeply is a big part of success when it comes to allowing the trust to build and the client to find that sweet surrender they both crave and never find outside the dungeon.

Given his deep desire for her, she used a tease-and-denial approach. She blindfolded him so he couldn’t enjoy seeing her, then pleasured herself and asked if he wished he could see. Of course, he was nearly begging. At this point, she informed him that only those who arrive on time are granted that privilege. The whole session played out with various teases and denials, followed by her repeating that only submissives who respect her and show up on time can experience everything she had denied him. He left frustrated, but the point was deeply instilled that disrespecting her time would not be tolerated.

I felt conflicted as I listened to her describe that session in great detail. The punishment seemed too severe. Yet simultaneously, a tiny piece of me was cheering her on.

The dance between maintaining control and giving the client the experiences that bring them to surrender is a constant tightrope walk of psychological and physical factors one must be mindful of while simultaneously maintaining the energy of control that allows the client to drop in. The deep layers of psychology are intertwined with and complicated by the fact that far too many feel shame about their sexual preferences and desires.

We are learning to understand our conditioned roles as male- and female-identifying people, and to see the subtle ways that they play out, as they did with Pretty Boy. It might appear to an outsider that his offer to financially compensate Gaia for being late was polite and respectful. The thing is, there was a power play at work here. He was exhibiting his unconscious habit of always being in control and able to buy his way out of being a jerk - or at the very least, impolite. He craved to truly surrender, which meant that he could not be allowed to get away with this behaviour. Listening to Gaia tell me this story made me question my skills while simultaneously feeling grateful to have her as my best friend and mentor.

Thankfully, the submissive currently in the dungeon, who is busy laying all the kink toys he brought on the table in the hall, isn’t the type who needs much prompting to drop in and surrender. He’s what we call a natural submissive. His true nature is loving to serve, be of service, and be given tasks. He gains exquisite pleasure from serving and pleasing his Empress Gaia.

It makes him the ideal submissive to continue my re-entry into this work. He’s happy to be in her presence and not demanding or bratty. He loves to receive praise for a job well done and is easily crushed when he disappoints her.

No matter what happens in this session, he will be delighted. He’s an ideal client and a stark contrast to my coaching clients. I can’t imagine them being willing to pay me to sit at my feet, to simply be in my presence. In fact, it’s funny to imagine my coaching clients sitting at my feet, as though I were reading them a story. It’s definitely not something I can see them doing. Yet in the dungeon, so many things become possible because it is a type of play—adult play, mind you, but play nonetheless.

He finally gets all his toys lined up on the folding table. There are various types of clamps for his nipples, a bag of locks, and half a dozen gags for Gaia and me to choose from and use on him. With everything neatly laid out, he comes back into the dungeon and assumes the position of earnestly waiting for Empress Gaia to come in and for the session to begin.

Before I finish this story, I should tell you about my year of surrender, since that kicked off the change that landed me back in the dungeon as a paid Dominatrix.

Need to know how the story ends?

Grab a copy of Go Ask The Dolphins now

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You can also search for the book by my full name. I have the distinction of being the ONLY Dana Pharant in the world.

The book is finally live and available for purchase and I am excited to have you read it

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Signed Copy

Other Book Sellers

Amazon US

Amazon AU

Amazon UK

You can also search for the book by my full name. I have the distinction of being the ONLY Dana Pharant in the world.

Happy reading! Mooah!

Dana

I had visions of grandeur when it came to publishing THE BOOK, that one that I have been promising for so long.

The adventures of my year of surrender that led me to awaken a deep sexual empowerment between conversations with the Universe and nature.

Pitched as my Eat Pray Love spiced up with Fifty Shades of Grey, it has become so much more than that.

It was a way for me to look head-on at all the ways I slid into control mode to avoid facing things that were ready to clear out. The writing, the re-writing and the editing - each layer taking me deeper. Each layer bringing me more freedom (and better sex).

I foolishly thought I could switch gears and push this book out so that it becomes a best seller (NYT kind of best seller). I had plans! So many plans.

Ha! The Universe had very different ideas. Ones that require a continued surrender and deeper letting go.

FACK!!!!!!!!!!!

This winter, I was tasked with asking the Ocean for the title of the book.

Why would I bother to ask the Ocean when I could use AI to brainstorm a catchy book title?

NO!!!!!!!! That would be to facking easy!!!!

And NOTHING about this book has been easy.

After throwing a temper tantrum to rival a 2-year-old, I got in the water to listen.

My first location this winter was Punta Cana, Dominican. The winds were as strong as my resistance, and I swallowed enough salt water to drown a fish.

Two weeks of sitting in, and by the ocean and nothing!!! Not a peep.

Next location, the French Polynesian islands. Islands that are surrounded by coral reefs that keep the inner waters calm and ideal for floating.

I got sent to a bucket list location but with a few twists - stay tuned for tales from the Tahitian islands.

Here I could have a conversation with the Ocean, but still no book title.

When I returned to Canada, it was time to call in a friend to help me connect to the Book Title.

And in case you're wondering why I am bothering to take this ridiculous route for the damn book, let’s just say I have learned the hard way that shit goes sideways when I ignore the prompts and try to slide back over to control mode.

All of this to tell you the good news!!!

THE BOOK now has a title!!! Woot woot raise a glass with me. I am so close to that finish line (the one where you can click on a button and buy it).

Many have waited, ever so patiently, and some have messaged me to ask like excited kids in the backseat, “Are we there yet?”

Well, we are nearly there, no more bathroom stops needed.

So….while I do the backend publishy stuff, let me show off the book cover. (and feel free to ooh and ahh in the comments)

In case you're wondering about the dolphins and why they are in the title…

“Dolphin spiritual meaning centers on joy, harmony, protection, and emotional healing, representing a deep connection between the physical and spiritual realms. As spirit animals, they symbolize intelligence, community, and the need to “flow with life” by embracing playfulness, curiosity, and nurturing inner peace.”

It may not have been the title I would have picked, but my work as the creator is done, and it is time to release this out to the world.

Then I can start writing the next one…because I seem to enjoy this torment. lol

I kneel on the floor naked and waiting for my Dominant to arrive. Wanting to run, yet longing for the sweet bliss of surrender.

“What am I doing? This is crazy. I should leave. This is not normal.” My subconscious protests, hoping I will put on my clothes and leave while I still can.

I don’t move.

I breathe and recall my last session with my Dominant. The release, slipping into the void of nothingness where time and space disappear, along with every stress and worry I walked in with.

It relaxes me just enough to not run out of the room.

My Dominant arrives, and our session begins in the same way it always begins.

“Are you ready to surrender?”

“Yes,” I squeak out, longing for the vocalizing to make it true. I want this, yet am I ready? I can’t say it is completely true.

“Good, then come over here for your cuffs and collar.”

I crawl over to sit at the feet of my Dominant to wait for the cuffs and collar to be placed on me.

“Give me your hand.”

I hold my hand out, and the cuff is placed around my wrist. Feeling the tenderness and care, feeling the tightening that signals my body to begin to let go.

“You are safe.” As they press their hand around the cuff, symbolically connecting us and anchoring me back into the space of surrender that I have come for.

“Give me your other hand.”

The process is repeated, and I feel as though a magic spell is woven as the cuff is placed around my wrist and locked into place.

“It is safe for you to surrender.”

The spell gets stronger, and my body drifts towards the void.

“Give me your feet.”

I move my body to bring my feet onto their knees, feeling the vulnerability of the position while also feeling the love and care as the cuff is placed around one ankle and then the other. Choosing to trust that I am in good hands. A choice that comes out of repeated experience that I am safe and cared for every moment of my sessions with my Dominant.

“Come back to kneeling and bend your head forward.” As they pull my head to lean against their body, letting me rest against them, feeling their heartbeat as I feel the collar gently pressed against my neck and buckled at the back.

“Who owns you?” I hear whispered in my ear, causing my body to melt into them. A reflex action, my body knows what to do now.

“You do.”

The door to the void has been opened wide, waiting for me to step through.

To some, cuffs and a collar are merely tools used in kink play - a means to confine and constrain. All part of the consensual play.

To me, they are a ritual. One that is critical for setting the stage for surrender and for the submissive to feel safe in that surrender.

As one who is submissive in my personal life and dominant in my professional life, I know both sides of surrender. Both sides of control.

I know what it means to relinquish control, and as such, I know the responsibility that comes with holding that control for another.

The cuffs and collar are not simply a routine part of my work; they are the act of handing over control and the choice to surrender that power.

From the outside, it might seem that the scene (kink play) starts once the cuffs and collar are on. In fact, most new clients try to rush this process, not fully grasping that the ritual is part of the scene. A critical part of the scene.

Handing over control in those first few sessions is hard; it goes against what they were taught. Especially if they are male. Males are often groomed to be in charge, to lead, and not to show weakness or emotions. Putting them in conflict with their desire to surrender.

The slow and deliberate ritual of the cuffs and collar allows them to let go a bit at a time. Each tiny bit of surrender reinforced by seeing and knowing they are safe. It also connects them to all the other times they have had these same cuffs and collar on. Building the muscle memory of what surrender feels like and allowing that to deepen with each session.

I had a new subbie recently who showed up for his second session with his cuffs and collar already on. He wanted to save me some time and effort, which was sweet, but he robbed us both of the ritual. He was, of course, punished. To anchor in that he was there to surrender and do as I instructed. He was very sorry and grateful for the training. He longs to be a good submissive for me (which he is coming along very nicely), so I know his heart was in the right place, but giving up control means that I am in charge, and I will say when and how things are done.

I know from my own submission that the challenge of letting another actually be in charge is hard and goes against all my natural leadership skills and ability to be in charge. It is hard, and yet it is the best thing for me. It resets my nervous system and allows me to be in the flow state for days or weeks following a session.

That reset is what keeps me coming back again and again.

I also love seeing this same reset for my submissives. The look of utter bliss that comes from deep surrender.

The end of the session is a similar ritual. One in which each removal brings the submissive slowly back to the world. Lavishing them with praise to anchor in the safety of surrender, the safety found at my feet.

This is critical for the emotional well-being of the submissive. They have allowed themselves to let go, possibly completely, and slowly removing the cuffs and collar gives me time to connect them to the joy of this act. Gradually untangling the conditioning they may have been raised with, so they can be free to revel in the joy of safe and utter surrender.

As deliciously evil as I may have been during the session, the removal of the cuffs brings out the tender, caring side of me. The aftercare of a submissive who gave over their control, seeing that they are put back together and ready to face the world, but without the stress and tension that they came in with.

📞 If you feel called to work with me, let’s have a chat.

🌶️ For time in the Dungeon with me (traditional kink, therapeutic kink, or couples/singles training) - Click Here

💎 Sexual Wellness/Healing Consult - Click Here

Remember to 🧡 , comment and subscribe - it is my secret thrill ;)

I was sitting in the living room with my bestie and roommate Gaia as she told me about her latest podcast interview for her podcast My Orgasmic Life.

She interviewed a fellow sex therapist, each of them sharing their journey to finding pleasure and making space for it in their lives.

“You know, I don’t think I am comfortable with the word pleasure. I tend to call it desire,” the guest said.

“So you are okay with wanting, which is the desire, but not the having, which is pleasure,” Gaia asked her.

“Yes, I have never thought about it until now, but that is a good way to put it.”

“Interesting. It is like you are window shopping for pleasure but never going in the shop to experience it,” Gaia offered.

The visual of this stuck with me as a perfect analogy for how most of the world moves with sex and pleasure.

The clients I coach who nearly shudder in horror at the idea of exploring what might feel pleasurable.

Those who reach out for a dungeon session and then recoil in fear. Fear of being found out as kinky, fear of being discovered by a partner, fear of having the thing they dream about.

The reasons for pulling back vary person to person. Such as;

“What if it becomes all consuming and I become an insatiable nymphomanic and can’t run my business?”

“I don’t want to be seen as a freak!”

“That is not important. I am on a mission for world domination.”

Those are some of the spoken fears, but underneath the outward protests lie the deeper fears. Ones like;

“I will go to hell and burn forever if I am allowed to feel pleasure.”

“I don’t deserve to feel pleasure.”

“I would not be safe.”

Granted, there are those who begin to explore pleasure and find it all-consuming. I was one of those. When I first allowed myself to explore my kinky desires, I was an absentee business owner, leaving my manager to handle things while I ran off to attend every kinky party I could find in Southern Ontario. I let my work slide, shirked my responsibilities and ignored pressing problems in my business.

Perhaps if I had a mentor to guide me through the emotional journey of sexual exploration, not just the logistics and physical aspects of kink, I might have been able to keep a more level head about it, but my point is that I didn’t die. No one else died, and I had a hell of a lot of fun along the way.

I can also see, in looking back, that I used sex and kink both for healing my sexual trauma and avoiding it. There were sessions that allowed me to release the trauma from my body and script new outcomes, and there were subtle situations of using sex and orgasm to escape feeling my triggers. To ignore where I was acting from obligation rather than choice. It was complicated, nuanced and layered, which took time and an amazing expert to guide me back again and again to discover what was my choice and what was me slipping into old patterns.

It was easy for me to look for the praise of being sexy and sexual. It was not easy for me to ask for what my body truly desired.

Which started with being able even to identify what my body desired. I had spent so many years feeding off the other person’s desire that I thought it was mine.

Add on the mountain of outside judgment of sex and kink, and it is a wonder any of us get to the place of embracing our sexual desires, let alone experiencing them.

You are not alone if you don’t, can’t or won’t look at pleasure or allow it into your life.

Imagine I am holding the door open to the pleasure shop, taking you around patiently, showing you the options.

“How does that one feel in your hands?”

“What do you notice in your body?”

“What one thing would you like to purchase and take home to enjoy?”

“There is no rush, and it is okay if you feel weird, uncomfortable and wildly turned on all at the same time. Yup! Totally normal.”

We have lived in a world that has commodified sex and sexuality. We have even commercialized sexual empowerment, encouraging people to “get their sexy on”. Teaching from stages that sharing photos of themselves in sexually provocative poses means they are claiming their sexual power.

Maybe some are.

And the rest have skipped ahead in the program. They missed the class about reclaiming their body for themselves before showing it off to the world. That quiet time to go within and discover what turns them on, outside of what others find sexy or hot. To let go of needing to respond out of obligation or using sex to avoid the pain and trauma.

I personally feel that we don’t need anyone to tell us when we should flaunt what our mama gave us. Instead, it can feel like a call to do it because it turns us on. This is a deeper sexual empowerment. The kind that doesn’t feed the system but does fuel our souls.

So, the first step in reclaiming your right to pleasure is to discover what IS pleasure for YOU.

Read different erotica and see what makes your body tingle in the fun places. Keep a journal on what turned you on. What was it about that story? Was it the writing, the build-up, the scene, the characters? Get specific and keep a log.

As your journal fills up, you can notice patterns that can be clues to your desires—the ones that are yours alone (though some are fun to share with others).

This is another way to step inside the pleasure shop, explore, and make a list of things you want to buy later.

These days, I love to help others find more pleasure, more self-love, or simply embrace their kinky selves.

📞 If you feel called to work with me, let’s have a chat.

🌶️ For time in the Dungeon with me (traditional kink, therapeutic kink, or couples/singles training) - Click Here

💎 Sexual Wellness/Healing Consult - Click Here

Remember to 🧡 , comment and subscribe - it is my secret thrill ;)

For ease of writing, I have used heteronormative terms; feel free to change the genders in your head as you read.

On a recent trip to the sex club, I found myself annoyed with one of the men there. My lover had gone to the bar to get us some drinks, and in the brief window that he left me standing out of arm’s reach as he squeezed in between patrons to catch the attention of the server, I found myself feeling like a target for the men in close range.

I went in feeling super hot and sexy with my lover by my side, touching me, flirting with me, which I loved, and it was clear to everyone that we were there together.

While he waited for our drinks, I was standing alone, and I could feel the circling of single men closing in to sniff out their odds of being able to get jiggy with me.

Feeling confident and desiring to flirt, I let them know that we were not open to men joining us that evening; however, they were welcome to watch us later.

One man seemed to take my ‘No’ as a challenge. The challenge to find the right ask for me to say ‘Yes’ to. He even pulled in his friend to vouch for his oral skills - not sure how his friend would know what his pussy eating skills were, but that is what I call a wingman!

After I had my fill of dancing and teasing my lover, we made our way back to the sex area, where we found the gentlemen from earlier.

I once again politely declined the offer of his cock, and said he was welcome to watch. I moved myself out of easy reach and settled in to enjoy my moment of exhibitionism with my lover until I was in need of a break.

The gentleman lavished some praise on me about how hot that was and how sexy I am before trying once again with his offers. “Can I lick your pussy?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I suck on your nipples?”

“No,” feeling myself getting slightly annoyed, I moved further away from him, and my lover started fucking me again (excellent distraction ploy on his part).

When I next came up for air and could see straight, I noticed that my gentleman had moved on.

Overall, it was a fantastic evening, and over the last year, I can’t help but notice how far I have come in being comfortable at the sex clubs and knowing that I am safe there.

Yet, the persistent asking has had me pondering. I would be tempted to put him in the category of “that guy”, but is he? Sure, there are douche bags who don’t understand how to accept a ‘No’, but I suspect there are a number of gentlemen who have been led astray by what we have all been shown in media and movies in particular.

The familiar plot is boy meets girl, girl dislikes boy, boy sends flowers to her work, boy does all kinds of nice things before eventually showing up on her lawn with a boombox to show his undying love for her, and then she sees the error of her ways and takes him in and falls in love as well.

Hollywood has basically taught us to accept stalker behaviour as proof of how much we are loved.

As teenage girls, we think we need to engage in a dance of “prove how much you love ME (and not the other girls)”. So we don’t put out until x number of dates, or maybe we hold out till marriage because of the “why buy the cow” adage we were taught.

What if the boys were learning that you need to be persistent? To find the magic question that unlocks the Yes they desire. What if that is the dynamic at play with some of these good men?

And what if that crazy dynamic keeps getting reinforced when they meet women who have the same stories in their heads? The ones who say No over and over until they feel that the man really does want them, and that unlocks the ‘Yes’.

I remember one date I had two years ago, who was given the nickname “just the tip guy” (partly because I seem to forget names). I had told him when we arranged the date that I don’t put out on the first meet.

I have found that a quick meeting with a chemistry check kiss, and the next day I check in with how I feel about that person to decide if I want to have sex with them, is the method that works for me and keeps me from saying Yes because my pussy is excited (she makes terrible choices in lovers).

Back to “just the tip guy”, he knew this ahead of time and said he was okay with it; however, on the night of the date, he became the guy trying to unlock my Yes. “Could I touch your boobs?” “I bet you have sexy feet. Could I massage your feet?” “Could I suck on your toes? You’re so sexy, could I see your boobs?” Could he….20 more variations. Each one met with a No.

That guy was the coercive type who can’t accept a ‘No’. He unmatched with me on the dating app that night.

The gentleman at the sex club did move on. I suspect that the high ratio of single men to possibly available women leads them to feel like they need to be assertive and persistent. It might also work on some women. I happen to not be like those other girls. ;)

Personally, I can’t understand paying $110 to maybe get some action when you can go to the massage parlour for a happy ending for about the same price, but that is for another post.

For the ladies - if you have a man who won’t take your ‘No’ at face value, it is okay for you to ask them to move on.

For the gentlemen at these clubs, here is another approach: “I hope you feel as sexy as you look because you are on fire.” After she answers, you can ask what she is open to or looking to experience that evening. If her answer includes something you would enjoy, then you can proceed with offering yourself. If the answer is ’No’, you can tell her you’re available if she changes her mind and switches topics or moves on.

These days I love to help others find more pleasure, more self-love, or simply embrace their kinky selves.

📞 If you feel called to work with me, let’s have a chat.

🌶️ For time in the Dungeon with me (traditional kink, therapeutic kink, or couples/singles training) - Click Here

💎 Sexual Wellness/Healing Consult - Click Here

Remember to 🧡 and subscribe - it is my secret thrill ;)

My delusions of grandeur can really run wild at times.

I foolishly thought that I could write this book in one summer, edit it that fall and publish the following winter. My first book was done and published in 30 days, so I really thought I was being reasonable.

That was back in 2023!

Which has come and gone, so what exactly is taking so damn long with this book???

Let us time-travel like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Summer of 2023, I had just bought my cozy summer trailer to be my writer’s retreat. The covered deck with a view of the creek were to be my safe space to write about all my adventures and sexcapades during my year of Surrender.

“I have lots of time, I can do this.”

Sure, but as we look in on that writing process, we see me doing bits of writing, followed by long periods of nothing or napping on the deck.

I look like a lazy bugger, but what you can’t see is the internal battle and vulnerability hangovers that required long stretches of time to integrate. Time to get comfortable with the idea that the world would be reading about my most intimate experiences.

Summer stretched far into fall before the first draft was completed, along with too many bags of chips and way more chocolate than I care to admit to.

With the first draft completed, it was time to call in some help to suss out what stories would stay and what stories would go.

I packed up the bare essentials and headed back to Costa Rica for six weeks. During this time, I recorded each chapter and sent them to my gifted friend Gaia, who would listen and get the yay or nay from the Universe on what to keep and what to let go of, doing rewrites and rerecording chapters as needed.

It was now January 2024, and the ocean and jungle were my go-to places to retreat to when the book got too intense.

That round done, I was guided to take a break in the early spring of 2024. We fly over the tiny Island of Montserrat to see me soaking in the peace and quiet of the island. There is little else to do other than swim in the ocean, hike and lounge in the hammock. (It was rough, but I took one for the team lol).

Back to Canada, and we now see me joining forces with Gaia again, but this time in person, armed with tissues. I read one chapter at a time to her as she pointed out what I needed to release or come to terms with. Guiding me so that I was ‘done’ with each story, allowing me to re-write it in a way that the future audience (aka you) would enjoy with minimal triggers.

This shit was HARD!!! I had no idea how hard this round would be, so many feelings and soooooo many rewrites.

We pressed on until late summer of 2024, both of us ever so glad to be done that round.

Now it was time to polish it before picking an editor. As we look down at the scene, you will notice that my enthusiasm has slowed to a trickle, and I was phoning it in for edits, leaning on Grammarly. I just wanted this damn thing to be done!!

November of 2024, my editor, Elizabeth Lyons, has the book and I pace nervously for the feedback and suggestions.

Shortly before I head out for my winter galavanting, I get the book back.

See me curled up crying? That was me having my Diva moment because I didn’t get an A on my work. It came back marked with red. It was too long, there were big sections of extraneous details, and it read like someone was peeking into my Diary. Interesting but not captivating.

Once I landed in Tulum, I arranged a call to brainstorm how to bring in more dialogue to make it interesting and then my task was to take this book of journal notes and craft an interesting captivating read out of it.

That started in December of 2024, I got the first chapter done and sent off for a dose of praise from my editor, then dropped back into resistance. This was going to take forever.

My editor refused to take it over as a Ghost Writer, lovingly telling me that it needed to be in my voice. Damn her! (But she was right).

As we fly over the year of 2025 thus far, you will see me writing, rewriting, some crying, but mostly working on the book.

Bringing us back up to the present day, where I sit with the remaining 5% of the book left to rewrite as creative true-life storytelling.

Moral of this story…

• Don’t ask me to predict how long something will take.

• Writing a book that outs you for all that you are and all that you do is the hardest, most healing, and extremely liberating thing I have done thus far.

I am writing this under my real name, even though some of my family is braced for impact. I needed to do it that way, I suspect that using a pen-name would have had me skipping some of the healing since I could pretend someone else was having the orgy and communicating with nature, not me.

What’s next?

Well, for this book, I still have another round of polishing as I read it cover to cover, tweaking and tightening it up. Then I will elicit the help of a few test readers to make sure it flows, characters are not left hanging, and it lands the way I hoped. Then one more round with my editor and the final clean-up on my end.

It will take as long as it takes, and fingers crossed, it will all be worth it in the end.

If you are an avid reader of books and might want to be a test reader, send me a message.

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“Thank you for letting yourself enjoy this.”

I heard this from two of my lovers this week, and it took me by surprise. I consider myself to be quite good at letting myself enjoy receiving pleasure, and yet as they came up for air, they were inspired to express their appreciation.

To thank me for what I have labelled as being selfish, although, for my lovers, it is actually mutual pleasure. They might be wiping the excess juices from their face, but that would never wipe away the look of pure bliss.

As I continue to work on the slow and sometimes painful editing of THE BOOK (in case you are new to me, the book is my year of travels, going where the Universe guided me and often my adventures were sexual, so I have dubbed this my ‘Eat Pray Love meets 50 Shades’ book) I get to reflect on how much I have evolved sexually in just a few years.

I was thinking back further today, growing up, I had a strong sex drive inside of a cult that shunned masturbation and heaven forbid we even allude to female pleasure, so I fumbled not knowing what to do with my desires lest I be condemned to hell.

In my twenties, sex was awkward, and given my conditioning from predators, I had no idea that I could ask for it to be different. I still craved sex, and yet that pleasure component seemed to elude me.

In my thirties, I discovered Kink and opened a world of sexual exploration that allowed me to begin significant healing of my trauma, and with it opened up my orgasmic range. I remember squirting for the first time in the middle of a corn field after a delicious flogging. It was a porn worthy event, squirting up 4 feet high and hitting me in the face as it came back down. The crowd cheered (it was an outdoor kink play party, not some random outdoor space).

In my forties, I found myself - for multiple reasons - in a sexless marriage. Having convinced myself that I no longer had a sex drive.

Now in my fifties, the fuck it fifties, I find myself in a position to devote much of my life to exploring sex and pleasure. My year of surrender, which took me galavanting around the world, started this devotion.

I have gone from a woman reluctant to ask for oral to a woman who seeks out lovers who are skilled and love to give pleasure that way. I don’t have to ask, but I do. I ask because it reminds me that it is beautiful to receive and that I am giving of myself and sharing my orgasm (many orgasms).

Just three and a half years ago, I was frustrated that my pleasure was not a priority.

Now, I realize that I cheated my lovers out of the joy of sharing in my pleasure. I held back from what could have been an incredible experience to one that was a pretty good orgasm for them and maybe a few small ones for me.

Moving into the dungeon professionally as a Dominatrix has also been instrumental to claiming my voice and asking (or in the dungeon…commanding) that my needs be attended to.

Seeing how a submissive has exquisite joy from my pleasure, be that from spanking them or from using them, has allowed me to receive more pleasure. There has also been this amazing gift of breaking the chains of obligation I carried for far too long.

A submissive (the good ones) would not dare to try to look or touch anything they didn’t have permission from me to do. And I know it would take another article to explain the full dynamics of this and why it released me from feeling obligated to “do something” when a man is turned on, trust me when I tell you that learning and becoming a dominatrix has broken that obligation for good.

Which no doubt has also opened me to allowing more pleasure from receiving oral. I am not obligated, and I am not doing this so that he can fuck me. I am doing this because it is fun, and it feels good for all participants. The only ‘complaint’ I get is not knowing when to stop because I seem to go from one orgasm to the next (goddess problems ;) ).

Years ago, I was doing business mindset coaching and pulled from my training as a Dominatrix to help women in business become kick ass. What I missed back then is that embracing the sex aspects as well creates even deeper liberation and stronger orgasms.

These days I love blending all of my skills, using them to help others find more pleasure, more self-love, or simply embrace their kinky selves.

📞 If you feel called to work with me, let’s have a chat.

🌶️ For time in the Dungeon with me (traditional kink, therapeutic kink, or couples/singles training) - Click Here

💎 Sexual Wellness/Healing Consult - Click Here

Remember to 🧡 and subscribe - we writers have fragile egos that need continual reassurance that someone is actually enjoying the shit we write. ;)

It happened again

I should be used to this by now, especially as a professional dominatrix.

They have fantasized for years about being dominated, or spanked, or pegged or some other sexy kinky play. They gather up their courage and book a call with me.

They show up for the call, and because they meet my criteria, they are invited to do an introductory package that includes a deep dive into all their desires, hard limits, history and anything else I need to know before bringing them in for their first play session.

The session is filled with consensual debauchery, and they leave doe-eyed and raving about how much they loved it.

Then something happens. The next appointment is booked, and yet the odds of them showing up drop to record lows.

Maybe they text to tell me they have been called to move to Greenland, or that their grandmother is in the hospital and they need to care for her. More often, they disappear without a trace. Their phone no longer receives messages from my number. They have been swallowed up by the kink Bermuda Triangle and are never heard from again.

If I didn’t know better, I might be tempted to think that contact with me is dangerous to their health.

However, there is a simpler explanation.

There are those who never make it to the first phone call who are likely afflicted with:

• Fear of being found out to be kinky.

• Fear that the fantasy could not possibly live up to the reality.

• Inability to give themselves permission to explore their desires that they feel are outside the norm.

• An ingrained belief that there must be something wrong with them for their desires.

The thing I wish they knew is that it is perfectly okay to have the desires you have. It is also OK to find safe, sane and consensual ways to explore those desires.

There are also people who want to explore them with you.

Maybe not everyone, but that doesn’t make you wrong.

I personally hate cilantro. It tastes like soap to me. That doesn’t make cilantro lovers wrong. There is nothing wrong with cilantro. It is a fine upstanding herb, and there is also nothing wrong with those who love cilantro.

The ones who make it to their first session, have a fantastic experience and then disappear into the Kink Bermuda Triangle are the ones who sadden me the most.

They now know what they are not allowing themselves to enjoy.

It is one thing for people to tell you how amazing chocolate molten lava cakes are, but as long as it is just a fantasy you don’t actually know how good they are.

But when you know and you see the server taking a chocolate molten lava cake going to another table instead of yours your eyes can’t help but to follow it as your mouth fills with saliva remembering how delicious it is.

To know that they could order it and yet choose to experience denial instead saddens me. It seems like cruel and unusual punishment for what I will never know.

And yet, my understanding of human behaviour does give me insights. We are illogical creatures, we choose to follow the subconscious demands to stay safe even when there is nothing unsafe. We rarely challenge the subconscious. Seldom ask if our actions are warranted. We act and react.

It is what we do. Neither right nor wrong; simply patterns we fall into.

Of course, they can be changed. I have done it for myself and hundreds of clients over the years, so I know it’s possible.

If the world of kinky exploration has been on your bucket list but you can’t pull the trigger, feel free to reach out to rewire your brain and install the permissions settings.

In the meantime, try questioning your behaviour - ideally without judgement or criticism but with curiosity.

Do I need to do it this way?

Will I or anyone else die if I do?

What has helped you embrace your sexual exploration? Comments welcome.

Eeek! What have I done?

That pesky voice was creeping in the morning after. Telling me all that sexy fun I had the night before is going to land me in hot water.

That voice, aka the lying sack of shit that lives rent free in my head, has caused me to run away from sexy adventures in shame.

Thankfully, that voice has limited influence over me these days, but it had a good run for a few decades, so I came to know it intimately as I would go out and have sexy adventures only to find myself the next day recoiled into my bag of Doritos. And of course, I would then have to ghost another lover who dared to give me multiple orgasms. How dare he!

Didn’t he know that I would make myself suffer for days, weeks or even months for each one of those delicious orgasms?

Didn’t he know that I was not ready to claim my right as a sexual goddess?

Ah, the beauty of projection. I could shift the blame onto the other person and then feel angry at them while simultaneously loathing myself.

These days, I watch with empathy as some of my clients have amazing sessions in the dungeon and then disappear for months or years. Not quite ready to embrace their desires and kinks. Not quite ready to let it be okay, healthy and sexy.

I also see it play out in the sex clubs, places where the sexy fun does not get started until after dark and when they have had enough drinks to override the resistance to letting themselves explore their desires. Setting themselves up to be able to laugh it off later and “blame it on the alcohol”.

I know that for me, I grew up with the medical sex education that talked about reproduction and preventing pregnancy, but no one talked about pleasure. My upbringing in a religious cult also imprinted that sex was only for the man’s pleasure and carried a heavy obligation component to it.

I stumbled alone in the dark, no one to guide me and all of these negative messages about sex swirling around with my own carnal desires, causing my body to betray my upbringing.

Fate stepped in and about 6 years ago I met my now BFF who is a sexual wellness expert and fellow Professional Dominatrix and through constant conversation about sex and normalizing desire and wanting to explore my full range of sexual adventures I have been able to rewire my brain to feel blessed and proud of the fact that I am a sex goddess who adores sex with partners who have been screened and equally committed to mutual pleasure.

Now, if only I had a magic wand and could bring people to this same place of freedom and liberation not to mention the fantastic orgasms. ;)

For now, if you are at all like I was and find yourself holding back from enjoying sex in all its glorious, messy, bliss-inducing and sometimes falling off the bed kind of fun…my suggestion is two simple tools for daily practice until you have embraced the inner sex god/goddess.

Tool 1

Say out loud to yourself while looking in the mirror, “I give myself full permission to enjoy sex.”

I will bet money that at first, you will resist saying it out loud. That resistance is the internalized shame most of us carry, and it is precisely why it needs to be out loud: to chip away at the shame and create more freedom for you.

The mirror is for you to have a feeling of being supported by someone else. The subconscious brain is a wonderful thing when we learn to make it work for us. And again with this piece, you will likely want to avoid looking at yourself. Take a deep breath and do it despite that resistance. It will get easier with time, and that is why this is a daily habit.

Tool 2

Grab a journal and some coloured pens/markers/pencils. With your dominant hand write this prompt at the top of the page in one colour “What makes it unsafe for me to be fully sexually liberated (or use the word slut if you are ready to dig in deep)”

Switch hands and with a different colour, allow your subconscious to write the answer.

Back to your dominant hand and first colour, “What would I need to change or let go of to make that safe”(referring to what your subconscious just wrote).

Switch hands and colours and allow your subconscious to tell you what you need.

Ready for more?

Subscribe for more sexy stories, tips and tricks to embrace your own sexy side. And if you want personal support I do take on a limited number of clients for 1:1 work. Click Here to have a chat with me and see if it is a fit.

And if it is your kinky desires that are calling to be embraced, book a consultation to apply to surrender to me.

I was sipping on my tea today, reflecting on my night at the sex club with one of my lovers, when it occurred to me that from the outside, it might not seem that all that much has changed.

In my twenties, I was the one to fuck everyone at the party after drinking enough to be tipsy. The thing is that back then, I was hoping someone would fall in love with me and whisk me away, Pretty Woman style. Which, of course, never happened. The men I met could spot the wounded bird that I was, and they used me for sex.

They used me.

I let them.

We could go down the rabbit hole of placing blame but for the sake of this article let’s just lable this as all parties conscented and we all had some fucked up ideas about sex and relationships.

So when I was at the club recently, it might have looked as though I was still that promiscuous girl looking to be picked and loved. The reality, and what might not be seen looking from the outside is how much work I have done on myself to get to this place of feeling amazing after an evening of letting my slut self loose in the sex club.

First, I have been seeing Rob for over a year, and we have great chemistry and a well-matched sex drive. He is also one of the good guys. He shows me in lots of ways that he cares about my safety. He grilled me on my screening process for clients and has offered to be a bodyguard if I need. He instinctively moves to be closest to traffic when we are walking together. He also pays attention to when I am done; it is not uncommon for him to end a sex session before I have registered that I am done.

All this to say, he is safe and sexy and committed to my pleasure, which is also his pleasure. This has allowed me to ask for anything I want when it comes to sex.

In my twenties, I never would have imagined asking a guy to go down on me, let alone kicking him out of my bed if he was not interested in my pleasure.

Now, my struggle is in finding a moment between orgasms to give some direction—first world problems at their best. Rob, and all of my lovers, WANT to get feedback and ideas of what else might make it better for me. They don’t have egos about it and they know that sex is exploration and each day and each body are unique, so what works one day might not be fun the next, and it is not personal.

Second, I have taken my time to slowly gain exposure and comfort with the Sex Club scene. I went with girlfriends who had my back and helped me with saying No when I needed to. I had also been with Rob before, and we discussed what I would be okay with and what I needed from him to feel safe there.

In my twenties, I would have overridden my desire to take it slow and had a couple of extra drinks so that I could be sexy and flirty in that setting.

This time, I did have a glass of wine at dinner - I am a super lightweight these days, so one 9-oz glass of Chianti had me feeling giggly and buzzed. It was not required, but I chose to have the wine to add to the sensations, not to boost my courage.

We arrived at the club well before the crowd. We were making out on the couches with him deliciously torturing my nipples to give me several orgasms, starting our show for the dozen or so people in the lounge with us. Mixed with the wine buzz, Rob was in charge of making sure I didn’t fall over while walking. On the outside, I might have looked like the drunk girl I was in my twenties, but this time I was actually having pleasure.

We moved into the dance area when it opened at 9 pm, the downside of going that early is that there were not many people to enjoy the show. I took over one of the dance cages and let myself move, feeling the music mixed with the wine and all the orgasmic pleasure grinding up against Rob and grateful for the bars on the cage to keep me upright.

Once I had had enough of the dancing, it was time to move to the sex rooms. We stripped down, and Rob checked in with me on what I was up for, did I want to have people watch, did I want to potentially swap with another couple? Which spot in the room was going to suit me and make me the most comfortable?

I picked a bed that was in the corner, leaving only two sides open to the room. I wanted to be watched, to feel the arousal of being watched and knowing that it is turning others on.

Rob laid towels on the vinyl covered bed for me and started with me on my back as he dove face first into my pussy testing out some ‘moves’ we had talked about earlier to test for scientific research of course. Turns out they were all winners, all made me cum.

I had wanted to watch the watchers, but failed to register that one can’t see if one’s eyes are rolled back in one’s head. I would notice a bit as we changed positions, and then go back to sensory overload bliss.

It was not until one lovely man vocalized how much he was enjoying the show that it landed for me. His sweet “Hot damn! That is so sexy!” felt genuine and added to my fun. I was riding Rob, my eyes fluttering, but I made a point to look over and smile at my admirer, pulling him into the scene as the appreciative voyeur that he was.

The room was filled with single men and a few couples; I knew it would be. Fridays are the nights at M4 for single men, most awkwardly moving around the room, hoping for the chance to get invited to join a couple or the rare single lady. I chose this night to test out all the work I had been doing around feeling obligated to men when it came to sex.

Zero obligation! Woohoo!

I knew I was safe. I knew I had the right and responsibility to say yes only if I meant it.

Fucking liberating!!!

Gone are the walk of shame days that left me reaching for comfort food and feeling bad for weeks after.

This time, I left the club with my head high and buzzed on orgasmic bliss. The plan was to have sex one more time at the hotel, but as the key opened the door, I began to crash. Rob noticed and gave me one last passionate kiss, tucking me in and leaving me to sleep.

I woke up late, took a bath, and enjoyed the bliss of an incredible evening for days afterward. As I reflect on this lovely evening, I am really proud of myself and how far I have come to feel sexually liberated and empowered.

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‘Welcome to Sexyville’

Reads the sign as I drive along the two-lane interstate crossing the town line, as my car and everything in it melt momentarily, then rebound like new.

“What was that?” I say to the empty car, looking around at Sexyville as the road takes me to the main street.

I wipe my eyes, hoping to remove the haze that made everything look as though it were filmed in the 1960s.

As I pull into a diner parking lot, I can’t help but notice the businesses on either side. Big signs in plain but elegant script “Brothel House - Our whores care about you!’ and “All Faith Meeting Space”

I stood there dumbfounded, staring.

“How can a church be okay with a brothel blatantly conducting its business right here?”

No sooner do the words leave my mouth when I see a fellow leaving the brothel waving goodbye to what I guessed is his whore as defined on the sign. I’m tempted to ask him about the brothel when I notice he is walking towards the “church”.

What??

Yes, he is going in there.

Where am I?

Shaking my head, I decide to get some food, maybe I’m hallucinating from hunger. Although I don’t feel that hungry.

As I slide into a booth, a waitress holding a large menu and a bigger smile greets me.

“Ummm, thanks.” I manage to blurt out as I take in the diner.

My waitress watches me for a moment and then yells out, “Marta, we have another one.”

Another what? Does she mean me?

Marta comes over and slides in across from me. She reaches out her hands, and without thinking, I place my hands in hers.

Well, at least someone here cares. I think

“Does it feel like you are not seeing colours as you should?” she asks

“Um, yeah.”

“Okay, I am here to help. What I am going to tell you is going to seem as if it were torn right out of a film plot but I want you to know it is all real, and you are totally safe.”

“Ooookay, so why do the colours look off?”

“We don’t fully know why or how, but the best we can figure is that something aligns so that as you pass the sign for Sexyville, you end up leaving your reality and entering ours. I guess something about how your eyes take in our reality makes it look like the colours are off. ”

“What the? Different reality???”

“I know it all feels like too much, but let me continue since there doesn’t seem to be any way to cross back. But you might just be happy to have this freaky little accident and be “stuck” here.”

Stuck! What the hell was this gal talking about? I can just drive back the way I came….well I hoped I could. Yikes, what if I am stuck?

“This is a lot to take in. And you are going to be in shock for a while, but let me continue with what we know that will help you. We have learned that your reality has some weird ideas about sex, very different from how we see sex.”

“Umm, I did notice the ur brothel next door” I whisper. My eyes darted around to see if anyone heard me.

“Yes, the Brothel is a fine establishment. I hope to be invited to work there when I get older.” Marta beams

“You WANT to work THERE?”

“Oh, yes! It would be such an honour to be able to fulfill fantasies and explore all the possibilities of sex and pleasure for a living. I will have to wait until I am at least 40, though; they only invite experienced men and women to work there.” She explains with a mix of pride and wistfulness in her voice.

I must be in an alternate reality. There is no way that this place would exist otherwise.

“So it is legal to be a sex worker?”

“We have never had any laws that would make any sort of consensual pleasure illegal.”

“What about the churches? Do they agree with all this open sex?” I ask, thinking about the fellow leaving the brothel and walking to the church.

She giggled, “Yes, we have learned that this is also something that is very different in our reality vs the one you left. The ‘churches’, are all multifaith and encourage people to discover what version of spirituality works for them. They guide people to find that spirit within and let that lead them to make choices that help them grow.”

“So you have one church, but everyone worships the god they choose? How do they know they picked the right one?”

“Ha! You will love this. The churches encourage people to see that all paths are sacred and spiritual. They also believe that sex is another way to commune with god.”

“Jesus! I am not sure what is blowing my mind more, the open sex or the non-judgmental religion. But I am starting to see why you said I might not want to find a way back to my reality.”

“From what I have learned about your reality, I would never want to end up there. The people sneaking around or waiting till late at night to explore their sexual desires, only to feel guilt and shame about them afterwards. That sounds awful.”

“It is! What about rape? Is that a problem here with sex being on display everywhere?”

“Oh no! Everyone is raised here to value consent when it comes to sex. There have been a few from time to time who try to take without consent, but they are instantly reported and taken to a place outside of town for intensive therapy. We believe it is a fractured spirit that causes one to take without consent, so they are given the help they need to heal.“

“Wow!” My head was spinning from all this information. Is this what happens when we are open and accepting about sex?

“Come back anytime you have more questions. For now, wander the town and get to know some people. Maybe you will even get lucky.” She winks at me as she slides out of the booth.

I stroll down the main drag, still stunned to think that I have landed in a place where sex is seen as healthy and acceptable, and where religion is inclusive and welcoming of all.

I notice how people flirted with each other, relaxed and yet with blatantly sexual overtones. A linger, a light touch a smile, some even stopped for a passionate kiss before continuing on their route. To have this kind of ease and freedom! This place is fantastic. I do hope I am stuck here.

I saw one man flirting with a woman tending a shop who seemed uninterested, but intead of pressuring her into coming around he simply said “Looks like you are not into flirting today.”

“No thanks, “ she said with a smile, and he tipped his hat to her and left the shop.

Wow! I guess this idea of consensual pleasure really is a thing here. The freedom that could have been created back in the other reality. To know that saying No Thanks, would be respected. No fan fare, no drama.

I have to check out this alternate reality brothel!

I push open the door, and inside is decorated like an expensive hotel lobby, yet somehow also welcoming and relaxed.

The hostess greets me and brings me to a pair of plush high back chairs as another woman brings over a drink for me.

“Sit. Tell me what we can do for you. What fantasy or exploration can we help you create?”

“Well, I was thinking….

And this is where you, the reader, are called in. What would you have me explore in this Sexyville Brothel, a place where sex is sacred and beautiful in all its forms?

Put your ending in the comments. I can’t wait to read them. What sexy adventures will you craft for me I wonder?

And until we all end up in the alternate reality that welcomes sex, sex workers and spirituality as sacred, you can choose to create this reality for yourself. Seeing the lies that have been imprinted on you for what they are. Choosing to release the shame about something that is natural and oh so good for you (beyond a good orgasm - although that is also super yummy). Maybe even finding another person to share your journey to Sexyville with, having a non-judgmental ear to share openly with, can do wonders for healing that shame.

I have had the privilege of holding space for many clients as they navigate through the ingrained programming and sex shame that have blocked them from being able to find and enjoy the sex they desire. I have space to support you on your road to Sexyville. Click here to book a consultation call.

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