Nothing left to say

A few pictures, two tickets, from a trip we took last year

A handful of memories, some still seem clear

Few regrets, couple melodies, that remind me of you

Well, I could say that I won’t miss this

But that wouldn’t be the truth… 

There’s no one here to blame and this is the only way

There’s nothing left for us, to say…

It’s time to let you go, it’s what we have to do

It’s time to give this up, I think that we both knew

There’s nothing left to say, there’s nothing left to prove

And now it’s time to turn and walk away from

What’s left of me and you

Box of letters, that old t-shirt, still brings me back to you

A few more hours in the day, not sure what I should do

There’s no one here to blame, and this is the only way

There’s nothing left for us to say… 

It’s time to let you go, it’s what we have to do

It’s time to give this up, I think that we both knew

There’s nothing left to say, there’s nothing left to prove

And now it’s time to turn and walk away from

What’s left of me and you… 

You are the best thing I’ll ever give up

And it’s hard to see the truth

When you think you’re still in love

The only way to get on with my life

Is to say goodbye, so goodbye… 

It’s time to let you go, it’s what we have to do

It’s time to give this up, I think that we both knew

There’s nothing left to save and nothing left to prove

And now it’s time to turn and walk away from

What’s left of me and you

Women empowerment and the rise of gentleman escorts

This is a guest post written by my friends over at Gentlemen4Hire.

I’m not being paid or anything, I just really support them and the services they offer, and while I don’t have a ton of readers in the UK, I think they deserve some love, and I love the idea of gentlemen escorts in general. If you happen to live in the UK, definitely check them out.

Women Empowerment and the Rise of Gentlemen Escorts

Women everywhere are breaking through the glass ceiling and achieving more than ever before. But what happens when they want to let loose and have some fun? That’s where gentlemen escorts come in.

These services provide freedom and flexibility for empowered women who want to enjoy time with a quality man without all the strings attached. You can choose your adventure, whether that means going out on a date, attending an event, or simply spending time together in private.

When you work with an escort service, you know you’re getting someone who is professional, discreet, and respectful. You’ll feel confident and beautiful knowing that you’re being seen by the best of the best. Escorts provide a service that allows women to explore their desires safely and securely.

How Women Empowerment Has Evolved Over Time

Hiring an escort is not just for the rich and famous, nor is it something to be done in secret. These days, hiring an escort is common among women looking to hire someone for their own needs.

Women hire escorts for companionship, as well as many other reasons. One of the main reasons for hiring an escort is that it gives them a sense of empowerment.

Women empowerment is the ability of women to control their own lives and make their own choices. It has been around for centuries, but it has evolved. In the past, women were not allowed to own property or vote. But now, they can do both of those things and more. Women empowerment is about giving women the same opportunities as men. It is vital because it helps break down barriers and empower women to achieve more.

Gentlemen escorts are becoming more popular because they provide freedom and flexibility for empowered women who want to enjoy time with a quality man without all the strings attached.

It allows them to hire someone who will do what they want without asking questions or judging them.

The rise of gentlemen escorts also leaves women feeling less vulnerable when hiring one because they know that there are men available to hire.

The Rise of Gentlemen Escorts and What Services They Offer

The escort industry is booming, and for a good reason. Women are empowered more than ever before, and they want to enjoy themselves. That’s where gentlemen escorts come in.

These services offer a high-quality, professional experience perfect for any woman looking to let loose and have some fun. You can choose your adventure, whether that means going out on a date, attending an event, or simply spending time together in private.

When you work with an escort service, you know you’re getting someone who is professional, discreet, and respectful. You can relax and enjoy your time without worrying about anything else.

So if you’re looking for a way to let your hair down and have some fun, be sure to hire a gentleman escort. You’ll love the experience.

Each gentleman escort has his own personality, yet some specific qualities make them stand out from the rest:

Dress for The Occasion: The clothes you wear speak volumes. If you hire a handsome escort, then he’ll come dressed in fitted suits that make him look like the ultimate gentleman.

Good Posture: You know how some men slouch when they sit down? Well, your escort will make sure he sits up straight and makes you feel comfortable in his presence.

Mature and Respectful Man: The best gentlemen escorts understand that their job isn’t about them, but rather the client. They know how to make a woman feel like she’s the only one in the room, and they’re not afraid to treat her like royalty. Your companion will be happy to join you for any adventure you plan. He’ll be the perfect gentleman, courteous and respectful at all times.

Makes You Laugh: Everyone loves a man with a good sense of humor. Your escort doesn’t have to be the next comedian, but he does need to be able to make you smile. A sense of humor can be the difference between awkward silence and a fun conversation during your time together.

Open-Minded: Whether you hire an escort for a night or hire one to take you on a trip around Europe, he’ll be able to go with the flow. An open mind is critical because no two women are exactly alike. You hire a gentleman willing to go with the flow and try new things.

How Do Gentlemen Escort Empower Women?

There are many reasons why gentlemen escorts empower women.

First and foremost, these services provide an opportunity for women to have some fun without all the drama and hassle that often comes with dating. You can choose your adventure, whether that means going out on a date, attending an event, or simply spending time together in private.

When you work with an escort service, you know you’re getting someone who is professional, discreet, and respectful. You can relax and enjoy your time without worrying about whether or not you’re going to be judged or ridiculed.

Gentlemen escorts also help to break down gender barriers. By providing a service specifically for women, they empower them to take control of their own dating life and enjoy it as they see fit.

In addition, gentlemen escorts provide an excellent opportunity for women to take back the night. In today’s society, there is still a stigma surrounding sex and sexuality that makes it difficult for women to express themselves and explore their desires without fear of being judged. With the help of gentlemen escorts, women can explore the different facets of their sexuality without sacrificing respect.

The Bottom Line

Women have always been powerful, but their power has taken different forms.

Today, women are more empowered than ever before and can make their own choices about their lives and careers. This newfound power also leads to a change in how men view and interact with women.

Gentleman escorts are one example of how this new power dynamic is playing out. They offer a unique service that empowers women by controlling their sexual encounters.

Gentleman escorts provide women with the necessary, safe space to explore their sexuality without judgment or fear of reprisal. They help break down traditional gender roles and pave the way for an equal society.

So, don’t hesitate to give these guys a call for your next girls’ night out!

The jaguar and the cougar

So I’m home, and like I always do when I travel, I got sick, so I’ve felt like death ever since the airport. So this post is actually a little delayed, but I couldn’t not tell this story.

Our vacation was the best ever. I mean, it’s weird, I wasn’t planning on sleeping with half the hotel. Because it’s not exactly an intelligent decision to sleep with half the hotel right at this particular moment.

Of course, Kazander and I are vaccinated, because we’re not Fox-worshiping sheep, but even so, I still have leukemia and people are idiots. I wasn’t planning on doing anything with anybody.

So we met this girl. And just like the sisters, I swear she walked right out of a porno.

She was 20 years old. Columbian. A librarian (complete with the cute big hipster glasses). Smart as all fucking hell. She speaks Spanish and Portuguese, as well as English, and she knows about philosophy and history and politics.

She’s a vegetarian because it’s more environmentally sustainable, but she admits that she loves steak and chicken nuggets every once in a great while, and she only just recently tried bacon for the first time, and oh my god, you guys, the way her eyes lit up as she gushed about how amazing bacon is, it was like watching a little kid at Christmas.

And yeah, her hotness puts even the sisters to shame, but it was her mind that caught my attention. It started because Kazander and I admitted that we don’t know basically anything about Columbia, except for drugs and Pablo Escobar.

And she sat there and gave us an entire history lesson about him. And it was amazing, you guys.

I mean, first, I love shit like that. I love seeing those other perspectives. And as smart as she is, her perspective was brilliant. She explained how he rose to power, why he became so popular, and how Columbia teaches kids about him. It was so much more in depth than anything I ever learned here.

I mean, of course he was still a bad guy, everyone knows that. But there was so much more to that story than I ever knew.

She carried her laptop with her, everywhere she went, and multiple times during our conversation, she’d open it up and look up a word she didn’t quite know the right translation for, or a fact she couldn’t quite remember.

And I don’t think I’ll ever get used to just how friendly and kind people in Latin countries are. I see it in Mexico all the time, and it always takes me by surprise, but she put even Mexicans to shame.

Just bubbly and outgoing and the sweetest, nicest girl you could ever meet. And easily one of the smartest people you could ever meet.

Needless to say, we all hit it off.

And then we really hit it off.

At one point, she ended up with her tongue down my throat. Then down Kazander’s throat. Then she wanted a three-way kiss.

Then she wanted a three-way.

And I mean, I was not about to deny this sweet Columbian naughty librarian what she wanted. I’m not a monster.

We brought her back to our room, and the entire way there, she was just a damn wildcat. Pawing at me, kissing and biting, climbing all over me. Once we got to the room, Kazander wanted to hop in the shower and rinse off (it’s humid. Lots of sweating), so I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom like I was carrying her across the damn threshold.

I tossed her on the bed, but she immediately jumped back up with a dark grin and just attacked me. Crazy aggressive, biting and scratching and tearing my clothes off.

And it just woke up that primal predator in me. I found myself almost growling, throwing her around, biting and clawing at her just as hard as she was biting and clawing at me.

I’m a few inches taller than her, and much broader and stronger, but she was agile as fuck, and every time I threw her down, she immediately jumped right back up and pounced on me again.

By the time Kazander came out of the shower, the bed was completely destroyed, pillows were thrown across the room, I think her bra was hanging from the bedroom door, I mean, it was intense.

And yeah, pretty much all he could do at that point was lie back and let us have our way with him. The poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

By the time it was over, I was bruised, scratched, bleeding out of like eight different places, my sheets looked like a damn war had broken out on my bed.

And jesus christ, y’all, I think I met my match. I was exhausted.

I’m not 20 anymore, mkay. I’m not a young adult anymore, I definitely lean closer to “cougar” now. I don’t have the energy I did 15 years ago.

And my personal brand of intensity is slower, more mental, and usually involves a lot of carefully-planned build-up, gradually growing more and more intense until the sub feels like they’re going to absolutely break, before I finally let loose on them.

While she was just fucking explosive. No hesitation, no build-up, just a goddamn wild animal.

Honestly, she was like a jaguar. Small and lithe, aggressive, absolutely predatory, laughing and growling and trying her damndest to take a chunk out of me.

Finally, things died down, and I had Kazander walk her back to her room while I hopped in the shower and counted my battle scars.

He came back and shook his head, nursing his lip from where she’d kissed him goodnight and tried to take a chunk out of him, too.

“My fucking god, she’s crazy,” he said.

I laughed. “Yeah, she definitely is.”

And we all ended up making out again the next day, though (thankfully) we had to get up early the next morning for our Covid test, so we couldn’t stay out late. Because damn, she was ready for round 2, but I needed a day to recover after that.

Ah, to be 20 again.

Kazander made the comment that he was glad she was the last one we played with, because there was no way the sisters or the couple could have ever lived up to that.

I mean, how do you follow up something like that? How do you top that?

We got her contact info, and we’ve been chatting with her since we got home. When she turns 21, she wants to come to Vegas and hang with us for awhile, and yeah, that’ll be a hell of a lot of fun.

But holy hell, I think I’ll need to wear armor.

Not punching people in the face

So I’m a teensy bit aggressive and confrontational. I also have a distinct lack of patience.

This has led to me occasionally punching someone in the face when they cross a line.

But I’ve been working on that. I haven’t punched anyone in in face in like six months.

But okay, to be fair, seriously, that guy deserved it. And I don’t regret punching him at all.

It was December, and the casinos were open again. I grabbed my mask and decided I wanted a drink.

And do you remember what happens when I try going to a bar by myself?

This guy came up, hitting on me. I thanked him and told him I wasn’t interested. He kept pushing, so I told him to fuck off.

He started rubbing up on me, so I called security. They told him to back off. He came back.

So I punched him in the face. No conversation, no talking, no waiting to see what he was going to say this time. As soon as he was close enough, he got punched in the face.

And security came back in force. But who did they grab and escort to that dark dingy office that every casino has in every movie? Who did they treat like a criminal?

I’ll give you three fucking guesses.

And the main security guard was such a condescending prick. He lectured me, like, “We’re adults here. We are supposed to handle problems like adults. We use our words.”

And I got pissed (and I was buzzed). I said, “If you’d done your fucking job the first time I came to you with this problem, I wouldn’t have had to handle it myself. God forbid you have to stand up to another man. No, that’s just too scary. It’s so much easier to let him harass a woman and sexually molest her on your property, and then lecture her when she does your job for you, you absolute fucking coward.”

Oh, I was pissed. And I didn’t have Kazander or Sounder or anyone there to calm me down or hold me back. I got downright mean.

He finally told me he wouldn’t ban me from the casino, but this would be my only warning, and he “expected me to behave myself.”

So whatever. I can guarangoddamntee that asshole didn’t grind up on anyone else the rest of that night, and it’s not because security told him to leave me alone, it’s because he got punched in the face.

He learned the same lesson that small children are taught: shit has consequences.

I should work security.

Anyway, I was hanging with this Mexican couple the other night. It was late, and suddenly this big group of drunk college-age white American kids came in. They were loud, rowdy, arm-wrestling on tables and just having a grand old time.

But, while annoyingly loud, I was fine with that. Just innocent drunken rowdiness. Boys being boys.

Until their friends came in. These guys were wearing speedo-type swimsuits, and started air-humping behind every woman in the place.

They came up behind me, but I waited. Because the staff was already moving. They wear all black, and the entire energy of the room changed, and all of a sudden it was like you saw these men in black just swooping in from every direction, all at once.

Surprisingly not this time, Alistair

And I’ve been trying to refrain from punching people, and obviously the staff wasn’t messing around, so I stayed seated and let them handle it.

They really weren’t playing around, either. The whole thing, from the time the second group came in, until the time security showed up, was maybe 30 seconds (I was drunk, so my perception of time might be off). Maybe a full minute before they got all of them out the door.

I was impressed, honestly. And relieved. And happy to sit there and let the staff handle it, since they obviously took it seriously. It was nothing like the “meh, shrug” attitude you see in the US when a guy crosses that line.

But apparently I’d tensed up. After they left, the husband said I looked like I was about to go off on the kids. I laughed and told him I thought about it, but didn’t want to risk being thrown out of the hotel.

He looked at me like I had three heads. So I explained last time I punched someone, and I got in trouble.

He looked at me like I’d just grown a fourth.

“What? Oh no, this is Mexico. That doesn’t happen here. As long as he’s 18, you’ll never get in trouble for that.”

His wife chimed in. “Why do you think you never see Mexican boys doing that? You wouldn’t be the first woman in this country to teach a drunk boy that lesson.”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m kinda a fan of the US, it’s kinda my favorite place. But goddamn, you know, we could learn a thing or two from folks down here.

Even so, I’m glad I refrained. I’m trying to not be a complete asshole, and I really was impressed with how fast and how effectively the staff handled it. As long as the people who are supposed to care about my safety actually do care, I’m fine to sit tight and let them handle problems.

It was kind of an eye opener, though, just seeing the difference in how that sort of thing is handled. Like, the staff didn’t care about the rowdiness, I think one of them was going over to ask the first group to tone it down, but that was it.

It wasn’t until the kids started fucking with the women that suddenly it was like all the fun was immediately sucked out of the room. It was tangible. You could feel it. There was nothing good-natured or accommodating about the staff as they came running. They ran in, barking orders into their walkie-talkies, and everything about their faces, their body language, their energy was intense and serious. They almost felt dangerous.

Like, they weren’t getting the guys out because that’s what they’re paid to do. There was almost an anger behind it (though they are not US cops, so obviously they know how to deescalate instead of escalate issues. But to be fair, even McDonald’s workers have better deescalation capabilities than cops. Because, *sips tea,* they get fired if they don’t).

So it wasn’t hostile or violent, but it almost felt like there was this anger simmering underneath the surface in all the staff. Like they took it personally. It’s hard to explain, but it took me completely by surprise, and like, I was okay to be the damsel in distress and let the fierce knights come charging to my rescue.

I’d never felt anything like that in the US. You’d never see anything like that back home.

And it felt good, honestly. Like, oh, I can relax. I don’t have to be on my guard constantly, ready to hit someone at a moment’s notice. I can trust these people to step in, I don’t have to deal with it myself.

As if I needed another reason to completely adore this place.

And it makes me wonder, how much of me being an asshole is because I feel like I have to be on my guard constantly? How much of how aggressive and confrontational I am is because of shit like what happened at the casino, and would I still feel that way if I could trust the people around me to help out if I need it?

How many American women are assholes because we feel like we’re alone? How many women have bitten a guy’s head off for seemingly innocent shit, because she knows there is a size and strength difference, and she can’t rely on anyone to help her, so she needs to compensate for that difference and the fact that she has no one to back her up, by striking first, striking hard, without mercy?

A group of scared people who don’t know how to handle certain shit and don’t feel like anyone has their back, so all they want is to hurt someone before that person has the chance to hurt them. It’s not right, it’s not healthy, but you heal Johnny by supporting him and teaching him that he isn’t as alone as he feels, not by arresting him or beating him up or telling him he’s on his own, and goddamn I love the first season of that show.

I mean, yeah I can admit that American women seem to be getting meaner, myself included. But I wasn’t mean and quick to punch people before I had issues like at the casino, or at the swinger’s club where I hit a guy for grabbing my ass without permission, and he didn’t even get kicked out, or my boss and my male coworkers stayed silent instead of warning me that one of the other bosses had drugged my beer (thankfully a female coworker pulled me aside and warned me).

I wasn’t born an asshole, guys. No one is. And maybe the US should take a note from how Mexico handles this specific kind of situation. Because if I could go to a bar by myself and feel safe, I’d probably be way more likely to be kind and friendly if you come up and offer to buy me a drink.

I still loved the couple’s reaction, though. Like, “Honey, you’re in Mexico. If a guy gets in your face and won’t back off, you are well within your rights to fucking make him.”

And like Sounder said when I told him about it the next day, we need to make “Fuck around and find out” the basis for our laws in the US. I think it would make a difference in a lot of unexpected ways.

Becoming Bar Mom

Fair warning, y’all, I’m drunk. And I ramble uncontrollably when I’m sober, you think I get less talkative when I’m inebriated?


So I’m in Mexico. This is our first vacation since the pandemic, so of course, there are hoops to jump through, and the resort is at half capacity (and half staff), and we have to wear our masks, and social distance, blah blah blah.

But honestly, it’s not as bad as I was expecting. It’s mostly just common sense. Don’t be an idiot, just wear the damn mask (because my only child can’t get vaccinated yet, and I haven’t punched anyone in the face in like six months, so I’m overdue, bitch test me, I fucking dare you).


So it’s actually been really great. Sure there are some annoyances and inconveniences, but the staff seems to be working even harder to make up for it, and our butler and my favorite bartender remember us, and even bent a couple of rules for us, and honestly, even with the extra hoops and the tests and the inconveniences and the annoyances, this might my favorite vacation I’ve ever been on.

Hell, I walked up to the bar in the lobby, and one of the bartenders came up and greeted me. We weren’t here last year, but he remembered me from two years ago (though he got my name just barely wrong. He called me Gemma. But hey, after two years, that’s not bad. I’m impressed).

The extra fun started the other night. I got to talking to these two women at the bar, and we struck up a conversation.

And for most of my adult life, I was always the youngest in every group. Now I’m 35, so that’s changed.

At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. In the past couple of years, I’ve lost a lot of things that were kind of central to how I define myself. First I lost my voice, then I lost my “plus size” status (which doesn’t seem like a thing, but realizing I was too small for Torrid was kind of an unexpected hit), then I lost my “young adult” status, and those were all things I loved about myself.

I had an entire plan for singing. I was damn proud of being plus size. I’d always been the youngest in pretty much every group. I loved my youth.

There have been a couple of other things too, that are a little harder to explain. But now it’s all gone. It’s been a lot to get used to. It’s been…

Well, not bad, actually. I have moments where I feel a little lost, but on the whole, it’s actually kind of exciting. Because now I have to go out and find new things, new ways to define myself.

And one of those new things is “bar mom.” I’m not the youngest anymore, but a couple of times now, both here in Cancun and back home in Vegas, I’ve found myself surrounded by women practically half my age, and holy shit, I kind of adore it.

These girls haven’t done anything. They haven’t seen anything. They’re barely adults (especially true here, where the drinking age is 18).

And they see me, this effortlessly confident woman, hot as fuck, sauntering up to the bar, and all of a sudden I have them hanging on my every word.

Which, I mean, I don’t know if you guys know this about me, but I have a teensy bit of an ego. So having a group of 21-year-olds sitting around like, “Teach us, o wise seer. Impart to us thy wisdom,” is kinda nice.

So the other night, I’m hanging out at the bar, chatting with the bartenders, and got to talking to these sisters.

And they’re both insanely hot. Like, just stupid-hot.

I mean like…

We’ll call them Hannah and Montana (not their real names, but their real names rhyme just like that). One is 18, the other is 20, sitting together getting plastered on a beach in Mexico, it was like they walked right out of a porno, I swear to gawd.

And as the night went on, we just totally hit it off, and suddenly we just totally hit it off.

I brought them back to my room. Kazander was off with his family, so I asked if he’d be cool fucking off for half an hour, and I’d find him when we were done. He was insanely jealous (justifiably so), but he agreed, so I brought them back to our room and that’s when we really hit it off.

It wasn’t like how it is in porn, though. Sure, it was a little kinky, just because they’re sisters, but they didn’t really do anything with each other. They were both completely focused on me.

Which, I mean, I kinda like being the center of attention, so that was nice.

I fucked them both raw, then I walked them back to their room (because I’m a lady, dammit), then I came back and passed the fuck out, because I was just a little sloshed, myself.

I was pretty proud of myself. But then, a couple nights later, I saw them again, and they literally screamed my name, and jumped up from the table to hug me, and the blonde asked for round 2.

So I mean, I was pretty goddamn proud of myself. Here I am, 35 years old, curvy, with stretch marks and big thighs, and I pulled off something every sculpted-Adonis dudebro wishes he could pull off.

Those guys fantasize about it, but I actually did it. Without even trying.

And I did it so well, they came back wanting more.

And just how hot are we talking? Well, I’m not showing their faces, but the night they screamed my name across the resort’s central plaza, I did manage to get a picture with them.

Again, no faces, so y’all are just gonna have to take my word for it, but even without seeing their faces, can you imagine walking through a beach resort with one of those on each arm?

‘Cuz I don’t have to imagine it.

And it’s funny, I’d kinda forgotten just how hot 20-year-old bodies are. Don’t get me wrong, I love my body, I’m okay with my flaws, I know how to turn heads and carry a room, etc. But I also know that I have the kind of body you only get from 30+ years of tacos, alcohol, and mild neglect, plus having a kid.

But these girls don’t have those problems. No stretch marks, no cellulite, everything stays in place when the clothes come off, just smooth and tight and fucking hot.

And hanging on my every word, following me like puppies.

I was just impossible to be around. I felt so bad for poor Kazander having to deal with my ego, so I promised that the next time I find sexy fun, he’s included.

Which… just so happened to fall into my lap later that very night. He’d already gone back to the room, and I was on my way back, I’d just stopped at the pool to finish my drink, when another woman walked up to me.

I honestly don’t remember how, but we ended up in her room, and I had Kazander meet us there. Turns out, they wanted to be poly, but they live in a small-ish town in a red state, so that makes things difficult. They haven’t been able to actually do anything yet.

And they were hot, too. The woman was especially hot. She was in her forties, fit and toned, with a gorgeous rack.

The husband was hot, too. He was in his fifties, muscular and fucking tall. He had to be every bit of 6’5″. I’m not used to having to look up to talk to people.

But he was such a gentleman. A teensy bit heavy on the benevolent sexism (he kept insisting that I text Kazander so he’d know where I was, and kept wanting to make sure I felt safe in the room with them), but I can appreciate the thought behind it. I’m aware bad shit can happen in Mexico.

I mean, bad shit can happen at a music concert in my hometown, too, but again, whatever, he was doing it to be nice, and while I don’t love being infantilized and seen as a helpless delicate flower, I also recognize the dude is from a different time in a conservative state, where they still think women can’t survive in a world of dangerous scary men without a dangerous scary nice man to protect them.

Ugh. That shit annoys me. You want to make me feel safe? Stop creeping me the hell out with that shit. Knock it off and go make me a sandwich.

That goes for all of you reading this, too. If you ever do that, knock it off. Being seen as if you’re a child isn’t cute. It doesn’t make us want to fuck you. It’s creepy. It’s uncomfortable.

I’m not a child. I’m old enough to drink, old enough to vote, old enough fuck your mom so hard and so good, she’ll leave her husband and call me Daddy.

Quick, someone ask me how I know. Maybe I’ll tell that story one day.

Not the point of this post, though. I appreciate that the guy was trying to be considerate, and he is a big guy, so I’m sure he’s dealt with being perceived as a threat everywhere he goes.

I’m gonna bitch about it here, because I can, but in the moment, I was good with just shrugging it off and letting it go.

But it was so cute, the wife told me he was nervous and self-conscious, because he’s a little older, and you know sometimes the plumbing doesn’t work as well in a man his age, and he’s also not quite at the level of hotness she is.

So of course, I immediately thought he was so sweet and adorable, and decided I wanted him to feel like he can still rock a girl’s world.

Kazander stayed with her in their room, and I led him to ours.

And of course, he was intimidated and flustered and nervous, so the performance anxiety kicked in.

Which, first of all, was great. This guy was huge, okay. Broad, strong, tall as fuck. But once I got him alone, he was like a blushing virgin.

I adored it. I wanted to give the sweet tall boy a good time. And I’ve always liked older men, so I know how to work around performance issues.

But I was reminded once again just how different vanilla men and sub men are.

And that’s something I told Kazander later. It’s always weird with vanilla guys. I don’t really know how to relate to them all that well. If the husband was a nervous sub, I would’ve known exactly how to fix that.

But a vanilla guy? Like, literally, what do I do? They’re like a different species or something. How do I handle a nervous vanilla guy?

I mean, I figured it out, because it’s me, of course I did. But I thought that was kind of funny, just trying to figure out how to give this boy a good time, and make him feel like “the man,” and give him a bit of a confidence boost, while also working around his performance anxiety and his nervousness.

He really was so cute, though. And eventually, he did relax and loosen up a bit. Once he did, we were golden.

The poor sweet thing, I think I broke him. But I managed to get him back to his room and traded him back for Kazander.

Unfortunately, they were leaving the next day, but they come to Vegas a lot, so I got the wife’s number. If it works out, they could turn out to be a couple of fun play partners when they’re in town.

But yeah, if I wanted to nitpick, I could find things to complain about. And the Karens and Chads are out in full force this time.

I mean, there are kids literally right down the street from the resort that go to bed hungry each night, but god forbid Chad has to wait 5 minutes for his refill.

We had semi trailers, in our own country, filled with dead bodies, but god forbid Karen can’t have an extra lounge chair at the pool.

And the poor overworked staff is doing everything they can. There’s a pandemic here, too. Some of these people have lost family members, too. And they come here and smile and bend over backwards so we can have a good vacation.

So every time I see someone chewing out an employee, I get super loud and snide and just dickish about it. Like, “Oh, no! A 5-minute wait is just going to ruin his whole vacation!” Or, “Hey, we found the woman who has never been told ‘no’ in her entire life.”

Or, “hey, cut her a break. The worst thing that ever happened to her was that time she got bangs. Poor thing can’t handle waiting for a chair.”

Yeah, I’m not making friends with the other guests. But I am making friends with the employees, and they’re the important ones. And now every time we walk into the lobby, or up to the pool bar, or the spa, or the privilege lounge, we have employees smiling and calling our names.

So the assholes can sit in their rooms and pout because they’re too fragile to handle literally anything, and oh their entire lives are just ruined.

I’m gonna hang out with the bartender who shouts “Mi Jenni, mi amor!” across the lobby every time I walk in. And I’m gonna have fun with the sexy waiters and cabana boys, and get completely plastered, and play in the pool, and just have a goddamn blast.

And we’re still here for another whole week. Yeah, I’m a happy Jen.

History’s Badass Bitches, part 3

So I’ve done one of these on the Amazons, and one on a Spartan queen named Arachidamia, but they were some of the posts that were lost, so I’ll have to rewrite them. Which I’ll do at some point, when I’m feeling productive.

Today, though, since it’s the 4th of July, I figured I’d be all patriotic and shit, and talk about a woman who helped build Nevada.

I was born and raised in Nevada, and I can rattle off all kinds of names and years and useless statistics, because dear god do we love Nevada history here in Vegas schools.

And don’t get me wrong, I love it, too. This is my home. And it happens to have a really fascinating history. We’re the Silver State. The Battle Born state.

We helped the North win the Civil War. We helped build California (San Francisco is a nice place, right? You’re welcome). We carved a life out of an extreme and inhospitable climate.

And by the way, when I say “we,” I’m talking primarily about women.

Prostitutes, specifically.

Because pretty much everything you’ve been taught about the Old West is dead wrong.

We were taught that gunslingers and cowboys and shady saloon owners were the backbone of society. That shootouts happened every day, and the streets ran red.

It was a bloody and lawless place, where only the strongest, toughest men survive.

And it’s all 100% romanticized bullshit. The West was built on whores and immigrants. End of list.

But it’s important to remember that in the Old West, sex work wasn’t seen the way we see it now. Whores were respected members of the community. Even in places where women couldn’t vote (many parts of the Old West allowed women voting long before it became a law, specifically because women were usually among the wealthiest and most influential members of any given community), they were still given seats on councils, they were listened to, their words and opinions given weight.

Which is why all that bullshit about women becoming cattle if society implodes drives me nuts. Because we had that here. Utter lawlessness.

And women excelled in ways that few men did.

Turns out, even in violent, lawless, harsh environments with no established society, humans are humans. The streets never ran red, shootouts weren’t a thing (the OK Corral is one of the bloodiest battles in the Old West, and a whopping three dudes died).

No. Nothing you think you know about how this country came to be is real. You owe your existence to Mexicans, Chinese, Indians, and whores.

Cowboys were nothing. Myth has turned them into these glamorous, romanticized “Man’s Man” types, but in reality, they were almost exclusively poor immigrants. Mexicans mostly, with a few Chinese thrown in.

It’d be like if, in 200 years, we decided to romanticize undocumented field laborers. Yeah they’re around, and our economy would be fucked without them, but they’re not exactly a focal point of the culture as a whole.

No, cowboys didn’t build the West. Whores did.

Because, particularly in mining towns (for which Nevada is famous), the men would get there and build a few shacks and a post office.

Then the women would show up, looking for work. Because of the nature of prostitution, they would quickly become the wealthiest members of the community.

And they would look across these sad little tent cities and say, “yeah, you know, fuck everything about that.”

They’re the ones who built things like hospitals. When they started having kids, they built schools and permanent family homes. They built the towns and cities we’re still living in today.

Go thank a hooker.

But when speaking about Nevada, everyone knows about Las Vegas. Today, that’s Nevada’s biggest draw, the thing that puts it on the map.

But before Vegas was a thing, there was Virginia City, up north, near Reno.

And the history of Virginia City is really, really interesting, but for today, I want to talk about one specific resident.

I want to talk about Julia Bulette.

Julia Bulette was a prostitute born in England, who came to America and moved to Virginia City. She was the first woman there, so she immediately set up a brothel and became the wealthiest person in the town.

Today, there are a lot of myths about her, and many historians have romanticized her, which makes it harder to sort through fact and fiction.

Some will mention her beauty. But in all honesty, nothing written about her at the time labels her as exceptionally beautiful.

They say she was tall. Thin. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. She was charming and funny, with a quick wit and an easy, infectious laugh.

She was average-looking, but she knew how to command attention and respect.

And she was pretty much immediately universally loved.

She had a soft spot for miners, and fell in love with the gritty, rough culture of the infant mining town. She involved herself in every aspect of that culture, and quickly became the unofficial leader of the town.

When an epidemic swept through, she threw open the doors of her brothel and personally nursed ill miners back to health.

When a fire ravaged the town, she worked tirelessly, right alongside the town’s fire brigade, for hours. Even when the men around her were exhausted, she kept going.

They later held a parade in her honor, presented her with a fireman’s hat, and made her an honorary member of the fire brigade.

And today, one of the only surviving portraits of her shows her with the fireman’s hat they gave her.

But she took the wealth and influence she earned, and put it right back into the town. She funded and helped write new training guidelines and procedures to keep firefighters safe. She wrote to and recruited knowledgeable experts to make sure the town would be safer for the residents (and as it happens, Virginia City developed some significant technological advances in mining).

As wealthy as she was, she spent herself practically into debt, funneling her money and power right back into the townspeople who followed her.

She loved the town, and the town loved her.

Others took notice, too.

You may have heard of Samuel Clemens. You may know him better as Mark Twain.

We don’t know how he came up with his pen name, but a popular theory is that he came up with it while in Nevada. Virginia City, specifically.

I came across one theory that Julia Bulette is the one who gave him the idea for the name. Now, I think that’s kind of a stretch, probably one of the romanticized myths that have sprung up about her, but Clemens and Bulette were close.

She had a purity in her that everyone could see. When she walked into a room, people noticed.

In January of 1867, she was found dead, strangled and beaten, in her home. A drifter named John Millain was quickly convicted and hung for her death (though he insisted, til his dying breath, that he didn’t kill her), and literally the entire town came to see him hang.

Mark Twain, who was too far away and couldn’t make it back in time for her funeral, made sure to be there for Millain’s execution, and was seen paying his respects at Julia’s grave.

Her funeral procession was thousands strong. Her body was transported in a glass-walled hearse (similar to the glass coffins in fairy tales such as Snow White). The firemen were next, followed by the Nevada militias, and then the miners, and then all the citizens whose lives she touched. The town closed down, to allow its citizens to attend her funeral (it closed down again when Millain was executed).

And her legacy lived on. A railroad honored her memory by naming one of its nicest coaches after her. Her portrait hung in every saloon and casino, and patrons routinely toasted her.

She was immortalized as Cherry Malotte in the novel, The Spoilers. She was the subject of countless articles, stories, and tall tales. One author claimed she was written about more than any other woman of the Comstock Lode (the silver rush upon which Nevada was founded, and helped fund the North in the American Civil War).

The Virginia City chapter of E Clampus Vitus, a historical men’s society, is named after her.

There aren’t many people who did more for the Old West than she did. She built Virginia City, which went on to revitalize the dying town of San Francisco. It became the richest city in the West, and one of the most populous.

Even though politically, Nevada has historically been split pretty evenly down the middle, and Virginia City had its share of Southern sympathizers, Nevada’s Comstock Lode was the greatest ore find since the California Gold Rush, which gave the North a decided advantage in the war.

It was Virginia City that gave Nevada the population it needed to qualify for statehood. Nevada, Battle Born, burst on to the scene in the middle of the war, a new powerhouse of political clout and funding (silver was just as valuable as gold back then) that helped the North win.

Julia Bulette, an immigrant, a woman, a whore, did more for Nevada history than almost any other single person.

But we don’t learn about her because she was a whore.

She, who exuded radiance and purity so blinding, the tall tales sprang up before her body was even cold, fueled by those who loved her.

She, who cared for everyone, from the wealthiest saloon owner to the poorest miner. Who accepted everyone, regardless of origin or background or the color of their skin.

She, who built schools, who reformed firefighting training, who gave miners a place where they could feel welcome, who carried a city of thousands on her back.

She, who was the heart and soul of that city. The foundation upon which it, and later Nevada, was built.

She was a whore.

And that’s a sin that will never be forgiven. She’ll always exist in the shadows of obscurity, despite the efforts of Virginia City residents to immortalize her and pay respect to her memory.

She wasn’t just a whore to them. She wasn’t just a woman. And the effort they went through to preserve her legacy is extraordinary.

And ultimately, they succeeded.

History tried its damndest to wipe her out. The antiquated, provincial notions about women and sex that were so prevalent in the east swept westward, erasing countless women like Julia.

But Virginia City fought back. They kept her memory alive. When the American political machine came through, trying to devalue every woman who helped build their communities, Virginia City stood firm. The richest and largest city in the West, built on the back of a prostitute, would not bow to what the other side of the country said it should be.

Though to be fair, I think part of why they fought so hard was guilt.

Y’all don’t understand. The town ground to a halt when she died. Stores and saloons closed. Flags flew at half mast. Bells rang in the fire station, a mournful wail that rang out across the town.

They were devastated. Crushed. Angry. They wanted someone to pay for the death of their matriarch. They found a French drifter named John Millain, and he likely became a scapegoat.

But I don’t think Julia would have approved of that. She knew how life was in the gritty Old West, but even so, she spent her life as a voice of compassion and reason.

I think she would have been disappointed in the town’s knee-jerk emotional reaction.

And I think, once it was all said and done, and emotions subsided, the people knew that. I think that’s part of why they fought so hard for her legacy. I think they all wanted to make sure they never let her down again.

And in the end, I think they did right by her. They kept her name and her story alive, even if it’s impossible now to tell fact from fiction. I think she would be proud of what they did, and the way Virginia City, her city, changed the course of American history.

She is truly one of history’s badass bitches, and because of those people, her memory survives today.

Magic Wand

So some of you may know I’m kind of a fan of vibrating wands. I have mine, it’s my favorite and I adore it.

But it’s dying, as it does every few years. I was planning on replacing it with the same brand I always get.

Then I got an email with an offer to write a review for Adam and Eve, in exchange for a free toy and a commission for any orders made through this post.

I had mixed feelings.

So first, y’all need to understand the history of sex toys, and the sex toy industry, and Adam and Eve in particular, because you can’t

You know, it’s funny, I asked the marketing woman if there were word limits, and she said there’s no maximum.

We’re gonna go ahead and pretend there’s a maximum, and I’m not going to go into a 6,000-word history/archeology/sociology essay about the last 30,000 years of sex toys (the strap-on predates the wheel, fyi. By a lot).

All you really need to know is that, historically, vibrators were not seen as they are now. In fact, there was a time when they were marketed only to men, as a cure for impotence and ED, and they all had disclaimers that they weren’t designed for women.

Because men’s sexuality was socially acceptable, but women’s sexuality was seen as subversive and perverse. It’s a cultural attitude that we’re still trying to untangle ourselves from, and that kind of fundamental social change happens over a period of decades. It permeates every area of personal interaction. Every aspect of how women see themselves, as well as how men see women.

There are a handful of industry titans that have done some pretty heavy lifting in regards to helping expedite that process. Everyone knows about Hitachi and Vibratex (the company that made the Rabbit).

But you can’t talk about industry-defining titans without mentioning Adam and Eve. They’re the Amazon of sex toys, and they’ve done more to normalize women’s sexuality than pretty much any other organization out there.

Not only have they normalized sex toys and sexual expression, but they do quite a bit of social work and a portion of their proceeds goes to charity, for sex education and sexual health in developing countries.

An opportunity to associate with a company like that? Hell yeah, I’m down.


Adam and Eve is a very mainstream organization, and as such, tends to be far more mellow than I’m used to. I mean, they’ve got some decent basic BDSM gear, but nothing that immediately jumps out at me.

I respect the corporation for the impact it’s had, and continues to have, on how society as a whole sees sex. I just never really saw myself associating with it personally.

But that aside, I wasn’t going to not jump at the opportunity to be part of that. I mean, I’m generally wary of giant corporations, but as far as giant corporations go, this is one I’m stoked to associate with.

I signed the paperwork and they sent me the Adam and Eve Brand Magic Massager Deluxe Wand.

It got in, and at first I was disappointed to find out that it has the set speeds and modes, rather than the smooth adjustment I’m used to. But to be fair, that seems to be far more popular in my experience. Most vibrating toys have the set speeds, and don’t let you just choose the intensity you want.

Which, I mean, that’s fine. The whole “One Size Fits Most” mentality is profitable in most situations. I’m not a fan, but I get it, you know?

I’m just saying I’m a little bit of a napoleonic control-monger. I like what I like, how I like it, and a setting that’s just a little too fast or a little too slow can often end up just annoying me.

And the intermittent settings do nothing but frustrate me. I have no use for them.

Yes, I’m neurotic and overly picky. We’re all aware.

But let me tell you, when it comes to tormenting subs, this wand has given me a brand new appreciation for those intermittent settings.

First, the thing is surprisingly strong. Loud as all hell, but damn strong.

It was delivered in the afternoon, and we couldn’t do anything fun until the kid went to bed, but I wanted to plug it in right away and make sure it worked.

As soon as I turned it on, I looked up at Kazander, and I could see the “oh, shit,” in his expression.

I grinned. “It’s strong.”

“I can see that.”

I had a shiny new toy. I wanted to see what sounds he makes when I poke him with it. So after the spawn went to bed, we finally got to try it out.

“How many edges are you up to?” I asked.


I stopped. “That’s it?

Usually, I like giving him at least 100 edges in between orgasms. And that sounds like a lot, but he’s used to it, so he can usually knock out fifty in two evenings watching porn, without breaking a sweat (it doesn’t hurt that orgasm denial is one of his top three favorite kinks, so that’s helped him get used to so many edges, so quickly).

Letting him cum after so few edges is normally something I’d save for a reward. So originally, I was just planning on using the wand to tease him. Give him another few edges, and send him to bed horny and denied.

It was a great plan. But it can’t hold a candle to what happened completely by accident.

The wand has 3 steady settings, with low, medium, and high intensity. Then it goes into all the intermittent settings, with varying speeds and intensities.

One in particular is just impressively mean. I fell in love with it right away. It almost seems random at first, with different intensities and pauses.

I pressed it against the head of his cock, and immediately he tensed up and started squirming, and made the cutest noises.

But then, all of a sudden, the intensity of his reactions skyrocketed. At first, I pulled the wand away, worrying that he was about to cum.

“Were you close?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Um, what?”

He took a second to fight through the horny fog in his brain. “It felt like I was close, but I don’t think I was going to cum.”

I arched a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah… I think.

Well, this could be interesting.

I put the wand to his cock again and turned it back on. Within a few seconds, he was back at that edge again. And now I was curious. I left the wand there even after he said he was too close.

Sure enough, he didn’t cum. The fact that it seemed so random, and kept stopping and starting, made it just intense enough to keep him riding that edge, but it wasn’t enough to push him over.

Which, you guys, let me tell you, was awesome.

It was torture for him. Just a never-ending blinding intensity.

His squirming turned to outright thrashing. He couldn’t control it. I finally had to actually tie him down, just to keep him from jerking away.

I wanted to see how long I could keep that going. How long could I keep him right there, right at that edge, without letting him cum?

Unfortunately, after a few minutes, it ended up being too much, and he came unexpectedly. But even that was great, specifically because it was so sudden. He’d spent minutes right there on that precipice, in the throes of that build-up, so he had no way of knowing when he was finally going to cross that line.

So it’s not completely foolproof. I’ll have to practice a bit with the wand, and see how to adjust to keep him on that edge indefinitely.

Because oh my god, you guys. Can you imagine?

Like, think of how it feels in that last half-second before you cum. Now prolong that feeling, with no orgasm. I didn’t even think that was possible. Not the way we managed it. Not without hours and hours and hours of intense teasing and fucking with his head beforehand.

Oh, but it’s possible, alright. And with a little practice, I’m hoping I’ll be able to manipulate that build-up. If I can, then I could potentially spend the afternoon just keeping him in that constant state of hyper-arousal.

I could do that for an entire evening. Or an entire day. Or a weekend.

Next time the inlaws are in town and take the spawn for the weekend, I’m definitely going to have to try that. I want to see what will happen if I keep him on that edge for a couple of days.

It’s a great plan. I couldn’t help but smile when I told him about it.

All he could do was sigh and say, “Yeah, can’t wait.”

Like he isn’t already fantasizing about it. Silly little boy.

Want to know the best part, though? The orgasm wasn’t even that strong. Not relative to the intensity of the prolonged buildup. He said it was enough that he felt satisfied, and it still felt good, it just was almost more of a letdown compared to how intense the edging was.

Though to be fair, he often feels that way about most of his orgasms, specifically because he likes the buildup and denial so much. He can’t do multiple orgasms, he’s very much a one-and-done kind of guy, so once he orgasms, all the pleasant feelings and buildup and horniness and awesomeness goes away, and it takes a couple of days to build it back up.

But even as far as his orgasms go, this one was remarkably average.

So I get a super intense and prolonged build-up, I get to tease him mercilessly, and even if I decide to show mercy and let him cum, the relief won’t be as intense as the torment itself.

Yeah, I’m happy. And I’m officially a fan of this wand.

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