I Want You To Come

     “I want you to come.”

      Of all the requests that I get at my Secret Job, this is the one that bothers me the most. 

     Not the requests for footjobs or traditional sexual services (that is slightly annoying, but I actually can’t blame a guy for trying, as long as he asks in a straightforward and polite manner and doesn’t pout or turn hostile when I gracefully decline).  Not the requests for my real name, or where I was born, or what I studied in school.  Not the requests for full nudity.  Not even the requests for my phone number, or that we go out on a “real date.”  I can cope with all of these and even continue to hold the man in high esteem, depending on how he acts when I tell him “no.”  

      The request (and sometimes it’s not even a request, but an expectation–something taken for granted, even, like an entitlement) that I have an orgasm in session, or even masturbate, is the one that I find truly offensive.  

      It really bothers me, too.  It sticks in my craw.  It angers me.  I find myself thinking about the request, and the man who made it, long after the session has ended, and I start to fume.  

      The request almost always comes from male doms, natch.   All 8 of the male subs who are reading this can give yourselves an affectionate pat on the head (or a kick in the ass, if that’s more satisfying for you, ha ha).  Male subs sometimes have boundaries issues, but this is not one of them.  Even if they fantasize about it and wish that I would, they know better than to ask.

      (Which isn’t to say that I don’t get turned on sometimes when I’m the domme in a session.  That does happen from time to time.  A really good sub–usually a masochist–that I have chemistry with is like a good dance ballroom dance partner: he can bring out the best in me and make me look a hell of a lot better than I normally would.)

      It’s the male doms who want me to get off.  

      I understand the fantasy from their point of view–really, I do.  To have that power (as they perceive it, anyway) over my body.  The desire to see me vulnerable.  The control.  The validation of their ego and masculinity.  Even–if they’re the more sensitive, generous-natured types–the earnest desire to give me pleasure and joy. 

     I still hate it. 

     I am here for them.  They are paying for a service.  Now, it’s a very intimate service…and I give as much, emotionally, to my clients as I think I can safely allow.  Because this isn’t an act to me.  This really is an expression of my sexuality and personality.  I did not end up in this job by accident.  

      But there are boundaries.  There are limitations.  These male doms who want to see me come…I want to ask them (and one day, before I retire, I WILL ask one of them):  Did it ever occur to you that I am a complex emotional creature who might be unwilling or unable to achieve personal sexual gratification with a total stranger I met 30 minutes ago…?  

      Of course it didn’t occur to you!  You’re a dude! 

      You are not my boyfriend, dude.  I just met you.  You hired me for an hour.  I take this job seriously and I want to give you the experience you want to have…but that’s what it is: a service.  You do not get an all-access VIP backstage pass to my private sexuality.  You do not get to give me an orgasm.  Frankly, I am very fucking offended that you presume to do so.  I can understand the desire to do so, but to actually presume to implement it…? 

      Some men see sex workers, and their entire concept of boundaries and good manners and perspective goes right out the window.  Sometimes, I think it’s because they don’t respect us whatsoever and therefore don’t feel obligated to treat us like “normal” women.  More often, I think it’s because these particular men have too much entitlement and an empathy deficit, and they don’t even bother to give a thought to how the woman perceives the situation.  I think they think they think something like: I’m turned on and this is a sexy situation for me, so she must be turned on, too!

     If you’ve stayed with me this far, gentle reader, you may be wondering: So, how does she handle it…?  What does she tell these guys…?

     Well, I don’t tell them, but I will tell you: I fake it.

      Fake it, fake it, fake it till you make it, fake it to the bank and back.

      I almost never fake it in my private life.  I come very easily with my boyfriends.  On rare occassions, when I was sick or chafed, or when I’d had too much to drink and knew that it just wasn’t going to happen, I’d fake it to make the man more excited and get it over with.  Rare, like I said. 

      With these male dom clients, though…?  Fake, fake, fake. 

       (There are a few exceptions–clients who have cultivated a relationship, and my trust, over the course of many months.  Fortinbras is one such man, so is Mr. Wolf.  They get more of me.)

       It’s sort of funny, their conceit, and the way they eat it up–they really believe it.  But at the same time, it’s insulting to even have to fake it.  Yes, it’s a job, and yes, I’m being well-compensated, and I believe that the wage for labor is equitable, and that is why I’m doing it.  

      Yet there is something degrading about the entire charade.  It makes me feel very hostile.

      And look…I’ve written this huge blog post, and I have no idea how to end it.  Oh well.  I’m not submitting it for a grade. 


5 thoughts on “I Want You To Come”

  1. “sometimes it’s not even a request, but an expectation–something taken for granted, even, like an entitlement”

    A sense of entitlement is baked into the male psyche by patriarchal culture. But it’s *amplified* by the fact that the dude is paying for the service.

    And you’re right. What some (not all) of these guys want is the control, the validation of their ego and masculinity. But there’s a conundrum for some punters – those with both special needs and a tendency to unreconstructed phallocentrism .

    As well as a sense of entitlement, these men have an acute sense of being in competition with other men, of jockeying for position in the hierarchy.

    Paying for service means that the punter is just the same as any other schmuck. It’s a mere cash transaction in which no man’s money is worth more than another’s. One dollar bill is worth the same as any other dollar bill. The money is a great leveller.

    How to prove that he’s different from all the other schmucks? Why, make the lady come, of course. That way, he can conveniently lose sight of the fact that he paid to have this experience just like everyone else. He can demonstrate that he’s special. He’s the one she won’t forget because he made her come.

    With him, she won’t be looking at her watch like the Jane Fonda character in the movie ‘Klute’, counting the seconds till she can get out and start leading a normal life – the one she really wants to lead. And that’s because he’s so cool and good at sex that in fact she’ll be grateful in the end that he picked her.

    In fact, looked at in a certain way, if he can get the lady to come, the punter will feel that she’s the one who really should be paying, and that any payment he makes is ex-gratia, and act of supreme philanthropy.

    What better way of leaving the building with his kinky desires catered for and his amour-propre intact.

    NB this piece of cynicism is not aimed at all users of pro-domme services. Just the ones you are talking about.

    1. This comment is so awesome. I might make a blog post out of it. Thank you for taking the time to write it.

      “In fact, looked at in a certain way, if he can get the lady to come, the punter will feel that she’s the one who really should be paying, and that any payment he makes is ex-gratia, and act of supreme philanthropy.”

      Men have said this to me. After I (almost invariably) faked enjoying their company: “You should be paying me!”

      HAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA yeah right

      Your analysis is very interesting and I am going to think about it. One part that immediately caught my attention is that you say that even in their interaction with me (or, presumably, other sex workers, like strippers or escorts), these men are competing with each other.

      I’ve also had a million clients want me to reassure them that they’re “not like the others.” Usually they want to be reassured that they are not “weird” or “perverted” or “deranged,” as they presume all my other clients must be. This is kinda insulting on a number of different levels.

      Men! They say we are more emotional, but I don’t buy it.

      I have to look up amour-propre.

      Thanks for this great comment.

  2. Entitlement is something that seems to be across not onlt genders but across most every field, SES, and human situation. I cannot imagine the aggravation of this paticular situation. A similar, but less charged situation, exists with waitresses and waiters. Some people have a sense that they exist to be abused. I tell my kids to take a look at how their date treats a waiter or waitress because that is how that person will treat their significant other in about six months.

    1. Hi Roy!

      I completely agree with you. The way a person treats waitstaff is an excellent barometer of decency and capacity for empathy, not to mention plain old good manners.

      I once dated a guy for about a month. We spent a weekend at a bed-and-breakfast, and at the end, I left a $40 tip for the housekeeping staff. I wrote it on the stationary: “$40 for housekeeping, thank you!”

      He came up behind me and said, “$40 is far too much! $10 will do.”

      Besides the fact that he’s telling me that my judgement is wrong, and telling me how I ought to spend my money, he’s also being disrespectful to the maids, who have to bend over and clean our trash and scrub the bathtubs all day. Like, these women have families and they depend on this money to live.

      I dumped him immediately after I got home, and I told him why, too.

      Your advice to your children is very prudent.

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