coquetterie

Halloween, chez la coquette, passes without trick-or-treaters. The serving-size packets of candy corn are all mine. Halloween also passes without requiring me to put on a silly costume. Move along, no naughty witches or she-devils here.

In fact, I prefer fancy dress parties (read costume parties, the former just sounds better) during unexpected times. I enjoy dressing up at Christmas or for Valentine’s Day. And, of course, a midsummer’s night always entices and creates all sorts of fun, naughty and not-so-naughty. I hope for the former, though.

In fact, if I dress up for a fancy dress party, I will select something outrageous. I want to be Marie Antoinette prior to the meeting with Mme la Guillotine. I will wear a low-cut costume that frames my assets. It appeals to me. I love the rituals of dressing and wish we did more of it.

Indeed, and dressed like that, I want to be the center of attention. I want a bevy of young men fawning over me. I want them to crouch around my chair when I sit, begging to worship my feet in the matching shoes. I want to rap their naughty, marauding hands with a fan when they attempt to slide their hands along my silk-stocking clad legs.

All-in-all, I want to be the bell of the ball. I want to be the center of attention. I want the spotlight. I want it all.

So tonight, instead of partying or dressing up, I shall be ensconced in my bed watching my my favorite horror film series: The Omen (I-III). Happy Halloween!

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Clients are funny creatures. To me, they manifest themselves as an endless source for amusement and wonder. After some calls, I ponder, “Why the fuck would the enjoy that sort of fantasy?”

A repetitive and fun client, I’ll call him Davidus, calls to relive the same fantasy, ad nauseam. Davidus seeks to relive the humiliation he faced at the hands of the popular girls and boys in middle school.

Now, these aren’t just any popular girls and boys. Oh, no! The girl is a bouncy blonde, who cheers for the local Pop-warner football team. The boy is her boyfriend, the star player, whom everyone can’t wait to see on the local high school team. Davidus, on the other hand, revisits his middle school role as social misfit, A/V club geek [as well as probable library assistant] and all around socially awkward teenager.

The fantasy I weave for him begins with me morphing into the blonde. I become the embodiment of bitchiness, pettiness and teenage petulance. I lure in Davidus with false promises that he doesn’t see through. I extract things from him whether it’s completed homework or tangible items, such as jeans of boots. He has a fetish for women wearing them together.

Then once I obtain the desired item, I exploit him. Perhaps, I embarrass him in front of the student body, beating him up in the hall way, showing what a weak, pathetic geek he is. Or, perhaps I make him service my boyfriend, laughing and taunting him. This goes on until he hangs up on me. That’s the only indicator that he’s reached his pleasure pinnacle.

Another aspect of his fantasy, he enjoys humiliation from his culture. He is Jewish. And, although I haven’t seen him and rely solely on his word, has large ears, a large nose and is chunky/overweight. So, in my sweetest-yet-most-vicious voice, I call him Pinnochio, Dumbo, putz and so-on. The so-on being other horrible things.

What I don’t understand, why he seeks to relive this torment repeatedly? Why it inherited sexual overtones? Why this provides such a release for him? And, oddly enough, other clients seek the similar treatment in connection with their culture.

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I write about sex. I like it. I enjoy it when I have it and I want to have it nearly ceaselessly. Currently, I’m not having it, though. Why? I’m partnerless by choice.

When it comes to men, I make wrong decisions. Instead of picking the good choices behind doors number one or two, I always zero in on door number three. What does our lovely contestant in the game of sex and love find behind that door: not what she seeks.

Because of that, I’ve decided to take time off from men. Oh, I still fantasize all the time about fucking; how I want to fuck and be fucked. I ponder all the cruel, deliciously mean things I’m going to do with a partner when I have one. And, I take out my frustrations on clients. The rewards from that are generous.

And, for those of you not in the know, BDSM, fetish and kinks do not always play a part in my sex life. Just like sex doesn’t always play a part in my fetish-y world. Sometimes, the cruelest games to play are the mental ones. And, I enjoy it, with the right partner.

It takes a special man to agree to these sorts of games. It takes a special man to separate the play from the reality of life. And, the games that I play require additional fetishes or kinks to be present to enhance the game. I know it must seem that I’m speaking in circles or being deliberately obtuse. And, I am. I’m not going to spill all the beans, not right away.

The first rule: Always leave them wanting more.

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Dreams. Fantasies. Escape plans.

We all have them. It’s natural. When we want to diverge from our stressed-out existence, we drift into this nether-world; this world of shadows, dreams and escapes. They act as a natural anti-anxiety medicine. For a few minutes or hours, you escape your worries into a carefree land.

My fantasies range from elaborately dressed and choreographed costumes dramas set in impossible locals to what I perceive as the embodiment of stripped-down, basic carnal lust. Both evoke ideas, plots and plans that revolve around needs being satisfied. Right now, I lean towards a costume drama.

I miss the formality of dressing from my childhood. I remember the hats, white gloves, shined black patent-leather shoes worn to look presentable. I wish I had experienced the art of dressing from two and half centuries ago.

Even though I know it was not meant to be a sensual experience, it evokes those feelings in me. I crave the feeling of a corset being fitted around my form. The thought of supple yet rough hands brushing against my skin as the ribbon is laced up.

Two pretty, young, lady’s maids assisting me into the corset. Big eyes fill their faces and curls drip from beneath their caps and the flush of youth stains their cheeks. They cosset me. They assist my bath, they poured the oil into the hot, steaming water. They assist me in and out, wrapping me in a large towel and dry me.

Wrapped in a dressing gown, they brush and dry my hair. I smell of garden flowers as I watch large flakes of snow drift past the window. They pull gowns from the armoire for my review. I select one and then direct the selection of lingerie and accoutrements. I slide my legs into stockings; they tie the be-ribboned garters.

Layers of clothing, made of stiff, luxurious fabrics wrap around me. Their hands touch flashes of flesh. These light, exacting touches send shivers through me. They hold my hands as I slide my feet into my shoes.

Holding a powderpuff in their hands. They dust a fine layer of powder over the expanse of decolletage exposed in the deep cut of the dress. A fringe of lace decorates the necklace, serving only to draw the eye’s attention to the ample curves displayed.

The corset nips my waist in, contrasting the lush curves of my bosom, by appearing unnaturally small in this dress. The skirt brushes against the floor, rustling as I move slowly, unaccustomed to the weight of the dress. My hair has been teased into curls and piled atop my head.

A long, lone, chocolaty curl unwinds along the creamy skin of my neck and then rests against my bosom. It draws attention to my neck, wrapped with a wide ribbon decorated with a cameo. Earrings that sparkle and shimmer in the light adorn my ears, whilst gloves hide the flesh of my hands.

Finally, a wide-brimmed hat is perched at a jaunty angle on my upswept hair. Long, bejeweled hat pins secure it into place. A confection of ribbon, flowers and feathers. It serves to highlight my features: my dark eyes and hair, pretty button of plum mouth.

Inside this amazing costume, I’d seethe. The little touches served only to stoke the fires of my desire higher. I need. I want. I ache. Yet, as these feelings toss around, I know what I want. And, I am not willing to settle.

I want a darkly dressed man. Not just any man, though. I want to see the leer in his gaze and the smirk upon his lips. I want him to think that he can read my thoughts and, perhaps, he can.

I want him to seduce me with words and actions. Perhaps, beyond the perfunctory greeting, he doesn’t touch me at all until our kiss. A kiss that finalizes the negotiations in the seduction.

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As everyone is well aware, the election is a little over a week away. For consideration in Florida, a state constitutional amendment to legislate the definition of marriage. Since this topic relates directly to sex and sexuality, writing about my position became imperative.

Amendment Two to the Florida State Constitution reads,

Inasmuch as marriage is the legal union of only one man and one woman as husband and wife, no other legal union that is treated as marriage or the substantial equivalent thereof shall be valid or recognized.

After casting my absentee ballot, on which I voted “NO!” (I wish you could show emphatic feeling on ballots.) I spoke with my mother. In her succinct way, she easily summed-up my position, “I do not want the government to legislate morality.”

Your personal view of marriage is a choice made based on your values and morals. I, personally, believe that everyone, gay or straight, is entitled to live unhappily-ever-after. If your view differs from mine, let’s agree to disagree. Just as we agree that there ought not be a state religion, should we not agree that personal morals ought not be forced onto someone else through legislation?

This amendment is being fully supported by conservatives and self-proclaimed family-values-advocates. It’s clearly a values platform. Although, I find there are values missing from it.

If these conservatives and self-proclaimed family-values-advocates are so intent on saving marriage, why is nothing being done on the divorce front? Why are they not protesting the ease with which divorces are granted? Where are their pickets, advertisements and protests against no-fault divorces? Why are they lobbying to make divorce more difficult to obtain? Or, why are they not reducing the reasons for divorce?

My thought, if you want to save marriage, you must make a plan that supports your position from all angles. Cherry picking varied arguments, well, it all seems a little hypocritical to me.

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I am posting this from my new MacBook. I hope it works. I have to sort it all out and learn a new OS. It’s difficult. It’s also better for me to learn as I do.

I’m in the process of trying to move all the files from my windows machine to an external hard drive to my shiny new MacBook. It’s not going well. I borked it. I’m trying to move as much as I can before I return it.

I do love the new OS, what I’e seen of it, thus far.

I hope to be back to no good soon, I have a lot of devious tales to tell.

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My pucker is not the stuff of legends. In fact, I have the cute, Kewpie doll pucker. A retro doll not seen since the last time they were popular.

On the other hand, my sister inherited a lush, naturally plump Jolie-esque pout. It’s not fair; it’s life. I’m over the fact that I will not have her mouth, on the other hand, if small cute lips return to vogue, I’ll be a very popular woman.

My upper-lip is very small and narrow. My best friend referred to it as the perfect Cupid’s bow. She also said she wished she had it. (Score!) My lower lip, thankfully, curls outward with a slight pout. After years of manipulating my bottom lip, I pout with the best of professionals.

The coup de grace with my lower lip, though, remains not the shape nor the size. Gracing the left side, is a beauty mark. Until a few years ago, I paid no attention to it. It graces a place perfect for placing a little kiss. A little kiss that will lead, hopefully, to a deeper, longer kiss.

And, for those that want to know, I adore deeper, longer kisses.

Now playing City of Prague Philharmonic: The Hunt for Red October (Hymn to Red October by Basil Poledouris): Music from the Films of Sean Connery [5:45]

Technorati Tags: life, pucker, lips, kewpie doll, Cupid’s Bow, full bottom lip, beauty mark

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Over the past year, my debut year as a [professional] dominatrix, I’ve been taking notes on call volumes and patterns, as I see them. Yes, I have them, and, they reveal a lot.

Men, I’ve found, tend to be creatures of habit. Very few of my clients want to try something ‘new.’ Their something new always arrives wrapped in familiar phrases, plot lines and stories. Fantasies, no matter how different they assure me they want to try, differ little from session to session.

What changes? How does it stay fresh? The surroundings change. I change. By me, I mean that my look: what I wear, how I feel, what role I inhabit, these things.

Another noticed change: Calling habits. The economy is to blame.

With all eyes on the world’s stock markets and they roll coaster ride they have taken, my calls have followed suit. Weeks with doom and gloom, my call volumes decrease substantially. When the market ticks upwards, men come out and want to play. Today was no exception. I’ve had more calls today than I had for the period of Thursday through Sunday.

The government financial plans being announced, I hope they are the shot in the ass the economy needs; although, I have doubts. Large, Alaska-sized doubts. As the housing bubble burst first became evident earlier this year, I noticed my call volumes tapering off. Die-hard clients called more frequently; fair-weather clients started to grow the gap between calls. Now, even die-hard clients call less regularly. Surprise and glee colors my voice when fair-weather callers return to the fold for a session.

Right now, I’m glad I have calling clients.

Now playing Ne-Yo: Closer: Year of the Gentleman (Bonus Track Version) [3:54]

Technorati Tags: work, clients, sessions, economy, dominatrix, fair-weather clients, die-hard clients, housing bubble, call volumes, call patterns

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Can a woman apply the pick-up artist guidelines/rules/attributes successfully?

I feel an experiment looming.

Technorati Tags: life, pick up artist, pick-up artist, experiment

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Narcissistic, witty and funny, I always enjoy my time chatting with this client. No two calls are the same.

He’s the reason I actually read the news and election coverage. He teases me about my left-leaning politics and snickers when I properly identify as lefty-commie-pinko. In a fatherly tone, he chides, “Coquette, what am I going to do with you?”

And my witty salvo remains, “Try and get into my pants, Mat.”* He laughs, every time, at these teasing words.

Two nights ago, told me about one of his clients and how he has to travel to see him. His trip ended in countryside surrounding my natal city. In his most charming manner, he invited me to spend the day and night with him at his posh hotel in the city. (Mind you, this is before removing to the country.)

I would have the run of the room, amenities and shops if I so desired. And, at night, I’d have an older, witty lover at my beck and call to push around. A win-win all around for the both of us.

Sadly, it was not to be. First and foremost, he’s still with his girlfriend. That’s another long story which is not mine to tell.

Secondly, my air conditioning broke. That was the reason I used to decline. The day he wanted me to fly in, I spent the morning in work-out clothes and a pony tail, ushering the repairman in and out. For two hours he ducked in and out, fixing the system, and winterizing it. This was supposed to be a 20 minute appointment. Oops!

Mat’s additional incentive was meant to be the allure of a good meal in a posh restaurant. Instead of jumping at the chance to dine in a fine restaurant,with good company, I retorted, “Could we go to such-and-such and have seafood instead?”

Incredulous, he replied, “I offer you dinner at one of the top-rated restaurants in town and you want to go to an inner-city dive and have the local delicacies.”

Yeah, that’s me, pretty much.

* Not his real name.

Technorati Tags: work, clients, sessions, propositions, natal city, seafood, top-rated restaurant

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