I had the deep pleasure of lunching with an FSSW (full-service-sex-worker) who I admire. She is the only one I have ever seen. And none too often. First, it is an almost unaffordable luxury. But more importantly, even when paying, intimacy with someone feels very special and it isn’t just with anyone that one wants that. I am also conscious that a successful companion has freedom to choose, so the incentive to bring one’s very best self to the mix is a powerful one–one that would be best learned in civilian life too.
As with all things, my intention was deeply thought, felt, and studied. It took me a year to approach her for the first time, and our first encounter struck me in unexpected ways. I had asked that as it was the first time, that we spend most of our time just sitting together and getting to know one another.
What I hadn’t expected, for having been trained well in this regard by others who preceded (or I should say, one other), was that she would be so open to me. I felt that she trusted me from the start. I don’t understand it, but I also don’t question it. It is a treat to feel treated as I would be treated in all walks of my life. And to be trusted in this way allows me to bring my best self into the mix. And I know that the absence of trust in pro-client relationships which are intimate exist to protect the pro from the difficult emotional entanglement that can result, for identity, for safety. So to feel that set aside, and to engage “normally” was surprising and unexpected. And as a client, we need many of the same things, discretion, anonymity. I felt completely safe with her, which is what I needed to follow her back to the outcall she had organized.
The other thing she did with me which had never happened before is that she was loose on time. I know that providers have a savant-like skill on the clock, and clients have the opposite, wanting it to go on. But I noticed the time and I didn’t want to abuse her generosity, so I said, ‘oh my gosh, the time, I have to go,’ and quickly made my exit, filled with joyful gratitude for our time together.
What was going on at lunch? Why did I reach out, and why did I reach out just to have lunch? Well, I didn’t.
I mentioned in a recent post that I am looking at the spiritual aspects of transition. My impending sex change operation, now less than 40 days away, will mark a profound watershed for me. It is not the only serious surgery I will undertake over the next year or so, but it is the most profound. Every trans person processes their gender dysphoria in different ways. The “therapeutic solution” varies based on our needs. My path to my sense of femininity requires a sex change operation of me, to make my anatomy align with my mind.
But it is so much more to me than just changing from someone who had a penis to someone who has a vagina. It is a rite of passage. A ritual entry. Formally stepping in to another world, another life. The most essential element of which is to be welcomed, and for this reason more than any other, I do not feel I would deserve to be welcomed were it not for me taking this step. Plus, I look hot in a bikini and I want everyone to know that.
So I wrote to her conscious of it having been a long time since I had seen her, and conscious also of how sacred what I was asking her for was. I told that my operation was coming very soon, gave the date, and asked if we might spend time together. It would be a last moment of intimacy in a straight male body, and I asked if she would celebrate a goodbye of sorts with me. Her response melted my heart.
Our previous time together was to teach me about the female body, about pleasure, about sensual touch, and she was a gentle and masterful teacher. Surprisingly, she is submissive. Through a group of SWs I am friendly with I had learned that most men who go to see an FSSW, particularly those who look for GFE (the girlfriend experience), are submissive. [For readers with inside insight, does this hold true from what you know too?] That really surprised me as I always had this image in my head of a swaggering man, a wolf of Wall Street, throwing cash around, acting all alpha, and a bit macho. Apparently not.
And of course, I can’t help but be submissive around a woman I find attractive. It just comes out. So, here I am imagining myself on my knees before her, speaking to her in a submissive tone, and she tells me, “I’m submissive. I’d like you to tie me up.” The symmetry of life is often bizarrely uncanny.
I don’t normally like to talk about things I have planned for the future, but I am making an exception because they are only incidental to the story, the true meat of which is trust. She is coming to stay with me, and I get to cook for her. And I say “get to” because I really mean it. Having the honour of cooking for someone is my first expressive love language, a mark of my respect. I am becoming a Sex Witch. She is one of my teachers. She is a Sex Witch already. Respect.
She has told me what she wants me to wear. A sexy evening gown. “But you can wear an apron if you want.” I have a real maid’s outfit actually. And I say real, because I had it made in South America to look just like one of the ones that our staff wore when I was a child.
Who knows what we will do together, and as a partially male-bodied individual who feels liberated by removing the penis from any sexual interaction, what business do I have spending time with an FSSW? This may seem ridiculous, but it’s true: I am seeing her because of the spiritual significance. Readers of this blog will know that I have a deeply felt belief that Sex Work can be an aspirational profession. If I had grown up a girl, I would have aspired to the empowerment and freedom that being a successful sex worker offers.
The kind of woman I love and have loved, is a woman who is strong enough in herself to say “fuck you” to anyone and any situation that compromises her.
[This was especially true of my marriage, and although it had no direct connection to the dissolution of my marriage, my wife lost her independence and strength. If there is anything I would be hurt by in relation to the breakdown of our marriage, it would be that somehow I might have been complicit in this. I declawed a Dragon. I deserve to lose her, for even if I didn’t do it, I was a passive participant. The consequence of this was that I lost respect for her, because she became dependent on me, dependent for everything: her financial well-being, but also her fun, her activities, her dreams. It was too much to bear. Nobody should have to do that for a partner. My wife lost her ability to say “fuck you”. In the end, however, divorce is giving that back to her, and she is doing it with gusto. And while it sucks for me, I am happy for her, as it gives me hope that the mother of our children will find her feet again and be able to be strong for herself and for our children, as they will always need their mother.]
Apologies for the aside.
The “high-end” FSSW embodies this strength to me. The work they do enables a financial freedom and lifestyle which is equal to or greater than many of their high-profile clients. They are as expensive by the hour as the most expensive lawyers. I think that is beautiful. And I love the twisted sentence that the law imposes on the exchange: “you are paying me for my time. Anything we get up to in that time is between consenting adults.” Isn’t that glorious?!
I don’t even see it as that gentle…what I see is that I am not even paying for her time, but to simply occupy the same space as she is for a given period of time…that we engage at all, is already deliciously indulgent of her.
In this envelope of time created by a financial transaction, something holy will take place. Mostly, it will be fun. To laugh. To learn. To be trusted to this incredible degree by someone who will come into my space, who is leaning into being tied by me, and who will mingle her spirit with mine as a teacher and her acolyte. She knows I’m a baby, but understands that in the context and meaning it is meant to have: that I will be with her with all my innocence, open, wishing to learn, but mostly just wanting to feel her gentle energy at play with mine. And she understands that my own energy, the baby, the slave, these archetypes, will find fulfilment through her joy. This is trust. And when we are trusted, we thrive. And when we trust others, we also thrive, but more importantly, the best of ourselves gets more sunshine, more growth, more water, more love, and come to shade our shadows, making them smaller, making them disappear. Amazingly, I think that what she sees and likes in me is my mommy energy.
Yes, we make mistakes, and the more we trust, the greater the stakes, the more painful comes any eventual betrayal. But it is far better to risk it, for only good comes from it. The grand scheme of things is what matters, not our petty day-to-day lives. And trust sits at the root of the grand scheme. Trust is right up there with love as one of the core principles of a life well lived.
Can you see you? That is the first and most important step. Please join me. Know thyself, for this is the path to healing and enlightenment.
Do you know what it feels like to be with this woman for this important step? It feels as if I am a bride walking down the aisle, and that she is the one who is “giving me away”. Only I am not marrying someone else, I am simply accepting myself, stepping into myself, becoming the woman that I always needed to be, and in so doing, accepting the man that I once was. Being made whole. Finding myself in a form of sacred union.
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