Hey guess what?

It’s been half a year since I started this blog!  I want to thank my readers (all 47 of you) for tuning in and checking out what I have to say.  You are the best! 

Having said that, I am in a quandary as to where this blog should go next.  I’ve written a few posts lately that I haven’t published, and I think it’s for good cause.  When I read the drafts the next day, I find my prose to be full of self-doubt.  Overwrought, really.  Oh my god am I really that tortured?  Frankly, I am just not writing the kind of stuff I like to read.  I know a blog is supposed to be an online diary of sorts, but the writer in me also wants to have some perspective.   I need distance between me and the experience.  When it’s too immediate, I find that I don’t know how to tell the story. 

Or maybe I’m just lazy. 

Who the fuck knows.

Maybe I really am so very tortured.  Just call me Cassandra Sylvia Plath Gorgeous.  Too bad there are no more gas ovens. 

I once read that the difference between speech and writing is that you can edit the latter.  Isn’t that profound?  I love edits.  I wish I can edit my life.  I would take out entire sections — just slash and burn.  Then add a sentence or two to make the tragic moments humorous.  Maybe this is why people write: to take the mess that is our lives and spin it into a story that makes sense. 

At the very least, I want my life to be – I hope my life will be — an enjoyable read. 

So, instead of updating you on Tie-Me-Up, Sandwich Guy, Silver Fox, Prada Loafers, Mr. Skinhead, and Don Draper (yes, he came back and we had a session without Cassandra), let’s take it back to the beginning.  There’s lots of stories to tell about Cassandra in her early days — from one full year ago!  Let’s take you back to the womb…  back to the vaginal canal… Okay, okay maybe not that far. 

For the record, I was a C-section.  Never touched a woman’s vagina in my life.  Never ever.  Not even at birth. 

Cassandra was born on August 6th, 2008.  I had been laid off from my latest work project two months prior and hadn’t worked since.  I was bored.  Bored.  Out.  Of.  My.  Mind.  When you’re unemployed, that’s when you realize EVERYONE ELSE is working and no one has any time to spend with you. 

Over the years, I had posted the ocassional picture of me dressed up on Craigslist’s Casual Encounters.  I never did much though.  The sheer volume of responses was my voyeuristic reward.  I was too chickenshit to follow through.  But boredom is a catalyst par none to trying something new.    

So, on August 6th, 2008, I chose a high school football coach to be Cassandra’s first.  His pics were so wholesome.  Blond, All-American, early forties, buff and muscular, with a nice smile.  Who doesn’t have a fantasy about their high school football coach?  When we exchanged pics, he emailed me back  a picture of him puckering his lips to kiss a picture of me.  Isn’t that so cute?  His sweetness took a lot of the edge off.  It was very scary in the beginning to dress up as a girl to have sex with an otherwise “straight” guy.  They kill trannies, I kept telling myself.  But ”Coach” reminded me of an overgrown puppy.  

Plus, high school football coaches aren’t exactly the serial killer types. 

What I remember most about having sex with Coach was that he talked me through it.  Literally.  I must have been a nervous wreck.  But his baby talk voice, however oddly sexualized, was very reassuring.

Oh yeah that’s a pretty cock Cassandra has for Coach, he would coo as if he was talking to a new born infant. 

Yeah, you got a pretty cock don’t you?  Yeah, you do, yeah you do, he would wiggle his head, squint his eyes, grin, make all the facial features adults use to make infants smile while talking directly to my penis. 

Yeah, look how hard your cock is for Coach.  Yeah, baby.  Yeah, Cassandra knows how hard Coach worked today and she’s going to feed Coach a big hard cock aren’t you?  Arrrrrrren’t you? he would grin.

Hollywood makes fun of people who talk during sex (especially baby talk sex) but I LIKE IT!  I like words.  They comfort me.  Words let me know exactly what a person’s thinking, what they’re feeling.  I don’t do well with subtlety.  I would like to do more sex talk myself but my English not so good when me excited during sex.  Add in alcohol and marijuana and sometimes I catch myself slurring in Mandarin Chinese all of a sudden.

After Coach left (he said it felt like Christmas came early this year) I found myself still fascinated by the experience.  I went through my email responses again, hoping to find another one that interested me.  There was one guy who kept emailing me and emailing me even though I never responded.  At that very moment as I was checking email he sent me another one.  This time he asked if he could make a donation. 

His question changed the trajectory of Cassandra forever. 

For what, I asked him.  I was afraid he wanted to fuck me.  This was another preconceived notion I had about having sex as a “woman”:  that the world would perceive me as a bottom.  Nothing wrong with being a bottom, except that I don’t enjoy it.   

He said, for leg worship. 

How much,  I asked him.

One hundred roses,  he said.  One hundred dollars to “worship my legs.”  This was a no-brainer.

I asked him how soon he could be here. 

He said an hour. 

I gave him my address.

I told him to hurry.

And, just like that,  Cassandra had her very first client.

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