I miss working in a commercial dungeon because of its infrastructure, and I miss the comradeship…it would be so nice to have my domme friends to talk to before, after, and in between sessions.
That said, working 100% independently for the first time in my sex work career has showed me just how badly the dungeon rips one off. I am more successful in San Francisco than I ever was in New York, and I’m only working 2-3 days per week. I’m not doing sub or switch sessions either, and that’s where the money gets VERY good.
These are things I have now:
20 kindle books from Amazon that I couldn’t afford a month ago. I’m working my way through Joachim Fest’s excellent biographies. Also: The Wages of Destruction: The Making and Breaking of the Nazi Economy by Adam Tooze. The Plantagenets: The Warrior Kings and Queens Who Made England, by Dan Jones.
I bought a house for my new parrot! It’s a Meyer’s parrot, and we don’t know the gender yet, because we’re waiting on the DNA test. If it is a girl, I will name her Sweetling. It’s not entirely weaned yet, so I have to wait for at least another three weeks. It’s still living with its Mom and Dad in the aviary. I don’t mind waiting, I will wait as long as it takes…(in fact, I feel guilty that I’m going to take it from its family. :/ I will give it the best life I can, including a mate when it gets old enough.)
This is a picture of my bird…ADORABLE, RIGHT…? It’s very closely related to the Senegal parrots, which are Parrot’s species, but it doesn’t look entirely like Parrot.
This is its new cage, which I just bought this week at the nice bird store in town. It’s a top-of-the-line cage, and spacious for the species. I feel badly about sticking a bird in there because it’s basically a birdie prison, but I let my birds out whenever I’m home, so it’ll have some freedom. It has a playstand on top with perches and puzzles for the bird’s entertainment.
I bought a couch for my apartment. It’s used, but the store steam-cleaned it and treated it with heat to make sure there are no bedbugs or other critters hanging out inside. The fabric is very pretty and there are no obvious signs of wear. This is a great, comfy couch, and it only cost me $225! Too bad I can’t take it back to New York with me. Also, it weighs a ton. I have no idea how the movers are going to get it up the stairs to my new apartment. I plan on tipping the guys $40 each. I hope they don’t hurt themselves.
This is the living room of my new apartment. The photo is a bit of an optical illusion: it looks small, with low ceilings, but it’s actually a big room. The apartment is 800 square feet. I won’t have that back in New York, so I’m going to enjoy it while I can. It’s an attic apartment in a Victorian house downtown. Wood floors (I can’t stand carpet; so uncivilized!) and windows everywhere. I’m installing screens at personal expense to ensure my new parrot can’t fly out the window if I accidentally leave it open.
I’m buying some cheap bookcases at garage sales and I will finally have my LIBRARY with me again, unpacked from the moving boxes. It will only be for a few months before I have to pack them up and move them across the country again…but it will be a great comfort to have them all near me.
I also hired a personal trainer because I want ABS by the end of summer, went to the dentist for a check-up and teeth cleaning….
…..and took my car to the shop to fix the damage I did to it last week.
I crunched my Camry, readers. It was totally my fault. I was cruising along on the highway just outside of San Francisco, and I tried to merge into the righthand lane and I ran right into another car. It was a fender-bender and neither one of us was hurt, but I broke out my right side mirror and blinker and I crunched my fender. The impact screwed up his door.
I was so embarrassed. I haven’t had an accident since I was 17.
He stopped IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREEWAY. I had to stop behind him. All the cars were whizzing by. It sucked. I was afraid one was going to rear-end my car and make it collide with the other driver, who was out on the blacktop and hopping around angry at the damage I did to his door. He was actually standing on the freeway in the middle of traffic. I couldn’t believe it. I kept telling him that I would give him my insurance information and I wasn’t going to run out on him, but we needed to move over before we got killed.
Then THE COPS DESCENDED. Four California Highway Patrol cars and motorcycles. Cops usually don’t make me very nervous, because I have cops in my family, but the fact is that I was traveling from one hotel where I did sex work, to another hotel to do more sex work, and I had a wad of cash money in my purse and BDSM gear in a bag on the passenger seat, and I felt like there was a huge blinking neon sign above my head that said “SADOMASOCHISTIC HOOKER.”
The cops escorted us off the highway and one of them, a youngish lady about my age with her hair in a French braid, took our statements. I admitted culpability.
I missed a session because I was held up by all this. I apologized profusely to the client. What else can I do?
My 1997 Toyota Camry now looks like a piece of shit, and I have to get it fixed. But honestly: who cares what a 1997 Camry looks like…? It’s not as if I was impressing anyone with an 18-year-old rice burner.