All right, readers, I want feedback from YOU – tell me about an encounter you had with a creepy guy. What made it creepy? What are the qualities of a creep? Can creeps be cured?

Being in the sex industry, I’ve met A LOT of creeps. Here is an example: A man contacted me through my website. He wrote me a couple emails, then met me at an event I advertised – I was part of a sex fair that was open to the public. He seemed nice enough, and asked to meet me for coffee.

I said sure, so we met for coffee. At coffee, he asked me tons of questions and got this weird look in his eyes. He got excited from all the things I was sharing with him. He walked me to my car and asked if he could get in with me so he could ask me a question. A huge red flag went up, but I said sure, BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING IDIOT.

We sat in the car and he turned to me. “Can I kiss you?”

I sputtered no. I had NO interest in this guy. He was creepy.

He whined a bit, then took his leave. I’m very lucky nothing bad happened. I appreciate that he asked and respected my reaction. NEVER put yourself in a closed space with someone you’re unsure of. Look, I even wrote a blog post about this very lesson.

Later, he showed up for one of my TBK get togethers. He circled the party, stared, and kept to himself. His behavior made me uncomfortable.

Since then, he has emailed me two or three times asking when I’m going to have another get together.

I’ll tell you when: NEVER. Or if I do, it will be invite only.

It wasn’t just him that ruined the party for me – there were two other creepy guys there putting a damper on things.

OK, so what made this guy creepy?

1. He had awkward social skills. He wasn’t warm or personable. He came off as kindof cold. He had a bad vibe.

2. HE BROUGHT NOTHING TO THE TABLE. As I sat there and regaled him with interesting stories and advice, I realized I was providing all the entertainment, and that I was basically wasting my time. When I interact with someone, I want there to be give and take.

3. He was predatory. He watched me like a chickenhawk, circled the party like a wolf. It’s important to be assertive and go after what you want, but don’t treat the person like a walking steak.

Other things that make a man creepy:

- Being manipulative. Trying to guilt a woman into doing something, trying to wheedle something out of her.

- Being selfish. A creepy man’s goal is to score, and if he keeps macking on a woman even though she’s not giving him signals that she’s into it, that’s fucked up.

Here are my big suggestions on how to not be creepy:

- Bring something to the table. Be good looking, smart, charming, sexy, thoughtful, attentive, and if you are lacking enough of those characteristics, then at least be rich.

- Make a woman WANT you. Leave her wanting more. So many men’s main goal is to get their dick in a hole. It’s so refreshing when a man plays the game differently – I’m always shocked when a man doesn’t try to fuck me right away. It’s happened a couple times. Being patient and in control is very sexy. Eager and pushy is not.

- Be respectful. I’ve seen Beast say to a girlfriend of ours at a bar: “So you want to take my load, huh?” If some other guy were to use a line like that, it would be nasty and inappropriate. But Beast has already paved the way for it to be hot and welcoming, because he has established that the woman is totally into him through conversations, building rapport, and being attentive to what turns her on. This is why he should give lessons on confidence and how to please women and be successful in the dating game. SO MANY MEN DON’T HAVE A CLUE.

I hope this post provides a few clues on how to interact with others. So often a guy is creepy and then we avoid them, which isn’t constructive. We need to let them know what time it is.

I didn’t even get to the question, “Do you know any creepy women?” Do you?

My aunt is 62 years old. She’s my mother’s little sister. She’s not as crazy as my mom, but then again, NOBODY is as crazy as my mom.
I don’t pay attention to the news, but I hear the term “Teabaggers” often. Does “Teabagger” mean “stupid/ignorant Republican?” That would be my aunt.
I’ve seen her attack her daughter-in-law with her grandson in the room. She shares my mom’s risky hobby of overdosing on prescription medications. She killed a cat with her dryer and dragged a dog under her car for a mile.
She’s my conservative token Annoying Email Forwarder. She’s the one who sends me “god bless our troops” messages festooned with sparkly yellow ribbons, and warns me of the man lurking in Wal-Mart parking lots with perfume samples, drugging a woman so he can drag her into a windowless van and rip out her uterus, forcing her to endure reverse abortions.
So when she told me she was coming in town and wanted one-on-one time with me, I groaned. What the hell did she have in mind?
Turns out she was worried about me, and wanted to check in and see if I was on the right track. I think she decided since my mom is crazy, I must be a lost, dysfunctional victim, and it was time for her to take me under her wing and impart some words of wisdom that would steer me in the right direction.
Keep in mind she doesn’t know a thing about this website. She just knows me as an odd, single mom who doesn’t eat meat or believe in god, silly liberal weirdo!
We hung out at my house, and she was surprised it was so lovely and neat. I came from a filthy home where cats act like it’s the Wild West, only instead of gunslinging, they shit everywhere, completely disregarding the law of the litterbox.
She grilled me on my personal habits, new job, parenting style, sensitive family gossip, and I passed with flying colors, when all of a sudden we started talking about sex. I have NO idea how this happened, every time I rack my brain I can’t recreate the connection between my spinster cousin who can’t land a man to save her life and my massive sex toy collection, but there you have it.
Maybe it was when she asked if I knew my dad had a penile implant. I said yes. She told me she wondered if he told her about it because he wanted to use it on her. I said I didn’t think that was the case; rather, he was following my advice to be open and honest. He WAS going to tell everyone he had a hernia operation.
My aunt told me she has never had a sex toy in her life. I was flabbergasted. She said, “I’d like to get one, but I have no idea what to get and I don’t want any of those websites on my computer.”
And just like that, I was playing sex consultant for my aunt. She said she’s been married three times and doesn’t want a man now, but that she does like sex. I told her about my relationship, and how much I loved living in separate houses. She said, “That would be ideal, but I would worry about loyalty.”
I paused, took a deep breath, and then told her, “Actually, we have an open relationship, so we don’t have to worry about that.” I could feel my mouth tighten self-consciously when I said it. I thought I would lose her for sure.
Instead, she asked me wide-eyed about jealousy, disease, logistics. I answered all her questions, then asked if she wanted to see my toy collection. She giggled like a schoolgirl and said yes. It was TOTALLY odd taking her back to my bedroom and showing her my stash, but I went into counselor mode and pretended she was a client and not my mom’s sister.
She likes penetration and is orgasmic. She was impressed by my collection, of course. If I had three toys she would have been in awe. I even showed her my butt plugs and she said, “No man I’ve ever been with has brought up anal sex.” She seemed relieved about that.
I asked her if she wanted to order something on my computer, and she jumped at the chance. So then we were on the laptop searching EdenFantasys together. Most newbies order an egg or bullet vibe, but she really wanted glass. She wanted to keep it under $40, something with texture and a curve in it, and preferred pink.
She liked my rainbow nubbie (pictured at top of post), but it was too straight. She liked this pink one pictured next in this post, but it was TOO curvy for a beginner. Finally she settled on this one, figuring the color wouldn’t matter too much since it would be inside her. I asked if she had lube and she said yes. I asked if she liked g-spot stimulation and she didn’t know what a g-spot was.
It was fun watching her get completely giddy ordering her new dildo, something I do every week. She felt so liberated and high. She told me, “I WISH I was as open and honest as you when I was your age! I would have been SO much happier!”
I told her my daughter was learning to be open and honest even earlier, which was even better for the next generation!
My aunt couldn’t stop smiling. When we got back to my parent’s house my she told them proudly, “Your daughter has it all figured out. She’s got her stuff together!”
My dad hugged me, handed me a beer and I said, “I’ll drink to that.”
PS: I want to mention that my aunt deserves major credit for being open to diversity and sexual orientation. She told me her son and daughter-in-law (not the one she attacked, that one fled, now he has a new wife) believe homosexuality is a choice, because god would never create a mistake. My aunt told me if her grandson turned out gay, she would accept him for who he was, and that she hoped his parents would come around if things turned out that way. In other words, I gained a lot of respect for my aunt after spending quality time with her.
Update: My aunt got her special order a week ago, and tells me she’s been smiling ever since!

This a true story about one of the hottest moments I had as a prostitute.

This morning I woke early for a massage appointment. A male massage therapist wanted me to act as if I was one of his regular clients, take the entire massage, and then it was understood he would deviate from the norm and touch my “breast tissue” and massage closer and closer to my crotch. He said he’s been looking for the right woman for this fantasy, but he hasn’t been able to fulfill it.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He told me he had tried other providers (that’s what they call the women in this arena; the men are called “hobbyists”) and they wouldn’t do a lot of things. They just wanted to offer themselves as a hole. They wouldn’t masturbate for him, play along, no kissing, no sensuality.

My fellow whores are kindof pissing me off. By offering their bodies and orifices in a mechanical fashion, they’re disrespecting their clients and disrespecting themselves, turning sex into something creepy. They are perpetuating the notion that men are just after fucking, when in actuality, they are craving the intimacy of foreplay and sensuality.

Anyway, I arrived at his office at 8am. He was big, bald, quiet, muscular. He took me to the massage room. It was as you would expect – dim, new age music, cozy, massage table. I asked him if he wanted to watch me disrobe or if he wanted me to act like a regular client, and he told me he wanted to step out of the room while I got ready.

I undressed and slipped under the sheets, facedown.

He came back into the room, and conducted an amazing, professional massage with sensual oil. It smelled faintly of cloves and a sheik’s tent. After 30 minutes or so of warming me up, relaxing me, thoroughly seducing me, he asked me to turn over. It was so hot to feel his hands get just a little too close to my crotch, but not touch. I wanted to grab his hands and shove them places, but I held back.

He was at my head and was massaging my shoulders, and he kept creeping down closer and closer to my breasts. Finally, I reached for his hands, and slowly moved them down. He handled my breasts and nipples expertly, so slowly and gently. As he did that, I slipped my hand under the sheets and put it between my legs.

I played with myself as he oiled and worshiped my breasts. It was so fucking intense I made myself cum easily. I made sure to be very quiet, since there were people right outside the door walking around and talking. They had NO idea that there was lovemaking going on behind that closed door, as opposed to the usual massage.

Yes, lovemaking.

My eyes were closed and he gently kissed my cheek, and I turned my head and kissed his. We found each others lips, and I gently caressed his shaved head, felt his hot neck. He kissed my neck, my nipples, all so slowly and sensually. He worked his way down between my legs. I parted them slightly and he nudged his way in, licking and kissing me with reverence.

God I felt like I was a sleeping beauty, and a masculine prince was sneaking into my dreams, having his gentle way with me, it was so surreal and hot. His methodical lapping brought me to orgasm again. I felt filled with tremulous peace, such an oxymoron.

I wanted him.

He shed his shirt, and undid his pants and stood by my head. His cock was so small and uncut, buried in his balls. I licked at it, coaxed it, and it bloomed. It grew big and hard. He stepped back and moved my ass to the edge of the table, put on a condom, and positioned himself at my ripe pussy. The whole thing was done in slow motion. He entered me, pushed his way in and out of me, my legs in the air. After a couple minutes he came, moaning quietly.

We came down. He withdrew, got dressed, tucked his shirt in, and with one last gentle kiss, left the room.

I dressed, opened the door. He stood there. I smiled and said, “Thank you. I’ll see you next time.” And left.

Fuck, I wish all massages went this way. And I got paid for it, too.

I wanted to share with you the most interesting plane ride I’ve ever had – and keep in mind I am a card carrying member of the Mile High Club, so that’s saying something.
I was flying home from Los Angeles to St. Louis, and a pretty young woman sat down next to me.
She noticed my book and asked, “Excuse me, but what are you reading?”
I told her it was about werewolf prostitutes (my friend gave it to me as a gift due to my thing for werewolves and prostitutes, though truthfully I wasn’t crazy about the book – the author was a Russian snob). I could tell this vivacious minx thought I was a regular mom, so that perked her right up, and gave her a sign that I might be cool.
Turns out she was a 24 yr old stripper from LA on her way to visit one of her sugar daddies in St. Louis, a Porsche-driving, 30 something in the Central West End. Sounded like a douchebag to me.
She drank three vodkas on the plane and opened up to me about all the coke parties, working as a receptionist at an escort service, her great love of weed, fucking her roommate/best friend’s boyfriend (“He started it!”), and all the wild parties she attended in Hollywood Hills. She had a thing for dark complected men, and ranked her top 10 lovers for me.
As she twirled her tousled brown hair and fiddled with her Tiffany necklace, she recited with rolling eyes, a wicked grin, and shrugging shoulders, “The guy I’m seeing in St. Louis is #3. Marco is #2, he’s the best in bed EVER, and Miguel is #1, he keeps breaking my heart, but I hang up on his ass and that slays him… Dylan is #5, he drives a Hummer. I had my first threesome with oh, what’s his name, well he’s #7 anyway…”
HA! So I was sitting next to a witch, one of those women who dances with the devil in the pale moonlight, an “It” girl, a seductress. Heck, she got up to use the bathroom and a guy sitting on the plane took one look at her and asked for her phone number!
She was dressed completely casual in a trendy track suit, very little makeup, all natural. It was her confidence and chutzpah that threw men for a loop, not fake boobs or slutty clothes.
The conversation was wildly entertaining, and she even got into the death of her father and cried (I love my gift of opening people up and getting right to the heart of matters instead of wasting time with small talk.) But the main reason for sharing this story with you is due to a valuable lesson she taught me, and I want to pass it on to you.
One night when she was in the strip club, she was hanging out in the manager’s office with the club owner.
Suddenly a man with a gun barged into the room and hollered at her, “Close the door.”
I am a submissive person, so if that had been me, I would have blindly obeyed him and closed the door, on auto pilot and totally freaked out.
But not her.
She is seriously feisty, so her response to that demand was to fling the door wide open and stalk out.
This completely surprised the gunman, which gave the owner his chance to jump the guy and disarm him. Later he thanked her, telling her she saved his life.
I was in awe. “Holy shit that took guts!” I gushed.
She said, “Yeah, but it’s just like my grandma told me, if someone tells you to get in their car, you have a better chance of making a run for it, cuz once you get in their space, you’re as good as dead. There was no way in hell I was going to trap myself in there, fuck that shit.”
Then she flashed me a smile, flipped her hair, and asked the flight attendant for another vodka, which of course he gave her for free.
(Oh and PS: She and I have kept in touch, and turns out yuppie Porsche driving sugar daddie is indeed a douchebag.)

Sometimes (OK as many times as possible) my man Beast stops by my place for lunch. And by lunch I mean eating my pussy and fucking the shit out of me.
I’ll be right in the middle of my day, getting things done and on a roll, and then he comes along and picks me up and shakes me like a snow globe. Inevitably, after he has his way with me, I curl up in the blankies, all disheveled and exhausted and nap for two hours.
Obviously, it’s not good for me to be a lazy bitch. I am a busy beaver, I need to accomplish great things! I’m always working on writing projects, I have clients, and my blog is like a baby I need to feed every two hours.
The last time we had a power nooner, he stood up and dressed, and I did my usual “lady of leisure” routine. I slid under the sheets and put a weary arm over my eyes.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, tucking his shirt in and buckling his belt. “You’re getting up with me this time. You have to go to the store, so you’re leaving with me.”
I whined, I fussed, but he dragged me out of bed (literally – by the ankle) and I stumbled to the bathroom to check the damage. Oh my fucking god, I looked like Aileen Wuornos.
I started to brush my hair and touch up my makeup, but he came up behind me and announced, “You have four minutes, and then you’re heading out the door. It’s up to you whether you’re wearing pants or not.”
CRAP! Fucking Taskmaster. It was COLD out, so I scrambled for my clothes and threw them on. I snuck back to the bathroom to make myself more presentable -
“Two minutes.”
UGH! I grabbed my cell phone, my purse, tried distracting him with aimless chatter… “I have a photoshoot Thursday with that photographer I met at the networking happy hour last week. We’re going to do a Mother/Whore theme using a white sheet as a prop. Oh and are you free next weekend? We’ve been invited to an art opening with The Shining as the theme. Oh, and can you help me pick up a curio cabinet for my sex toy collection? I found one on Craigslist that’s only $100.”
He was undeterred. He pushed me like a bulldozer moving a pile of dirt. “Out the door. Now.”
“Let me grab my keys!” I protested.
And then we were out in the harsh light of day. I blinked and looked up at him, resigned to my fate.
“There,” he said kindly, kissing me on the forehead, “Now go be productive, Love.”
It was only after I was at the grocery store for 10 minutes that I realized I was walking around with pecker tracks on my face.
SIGH.

A guy contacted me about buying a pair of my used panties. I said sure, and we met for lunch to make the exchange.
He was drinking a beer when I arrived, and I ordered one as well. He handed me an envelope with cash, and I slipped him a gift wrapped pair of a pretty cotton panties I wore the day before.
Panty Guy was bleary eyed, and apologized for being out of it. He said he drank too much the night before and was suffering from a hangover. Nonetheless, he ordered meatloaf, which he couldn’t eat, and excused himself to smoke a cigarette.
I asked him what his deal was with used panties. He told me he started out as a teenager, stealing his older sister’s panties and having his way with them. I asked if she minded, and he said not really, except when he ganked her fancy Victoria’s Secret lingerie.
These days when he wasn’t stealing panties from his neighbor’s laundry baskets queued up for wash (“My landlord rents to some of the HOTTEST CHICKS MAN, I can’t help it”), he was scoring pairs off Craigslist. “This works for me right now, since I’m not in a relationship at the moment. I mean, not many chicks are down with being with a raging alcoholic.”
Then he told me about how he’s had three DWI’s, but only one is on the books. He told me about how he had to attend mandatory Drunk School, which took place in a hotel.
As soon as the last class was over, he popped on over to the bar to tie one on. I said, “DAMN, dude!” and he shrugged, “Well it’s their own damn fault – why hold Drunk School right next door to a bar??” He had a point.
I asked what he planned on doing with my panties. He said he would likely rip the package open right in the car and sniff and lick them on the way back to the office, and then when he got home, he would wear them for a while and then jerk off into them.
“Really? You’re going to wear them?” He was a smaller guy.
“Yeah,” he laughed. Openness and honesty at its best!
Then an older guy came up to us who knew Panty Guy, and introduced us to his hot adult daughter.
Panty Guy practically fell out of his chair checking her out, and only after they left did he realize his faux pas of not introducing me to his friend. “I’m SO sorry, it’s just that his daughter was so fucking hot.”
“That’s OK,” I said gamely, “I’m just a slut.”
He asked for a box for his meatloaf, and ended up leaving it behind. But he sure remembered to take my panties with him.
Later that day I got an email from him: “Your panties were awesome – I almost wrecked on Park Ave. But next time,
I’d like them to be dirtier.”

I’m annoyed. Lately, just about every woman I’ve met who SAYS she is polyamorous or in an open relationship then qualifies it to mean that she has a boyfriend and they are both allowed to be with women, as long as he is present. And no boys allowed.
POLY MY ASS!!!
That, my friends, is OBS – Opportunistic Boyfriend Syndrome; dudes who take advantage of their awesome, open-minded girlfriends.
I had a series of relationships like this – the guys I was with were all down with fucking my girlfriends and having male-female-female threesomes and me allowing their wildest fantasies to come true, but the double standard kicked in as soon as I’d express interest in fucking one of their male friends. I dunno, seems selfish and one-sided to me.
Finally I got so fed up with this hypocrisy that I swore off committing to any man, since apparently no person with balls could handle my wildest fantasies. Nope. Just his.
And then as if by some divine (yet complicated) intervention, I met Beast, who didn’t know a thing about polyamory before he met me, yet can find it within himself to be supportive and understanding of my deepest, darkest desires. What’s more, he gets off on me being happy. AND he makes me suck his friends dicks.
YESSSS Dreams do cum true!!!!
So what do you make of all this? Do you share my frustration? If you’re poly, what are your “rules”?