An Honorable Love

I honored the memories by enduring the pain,

I did not numb, I did not run away, I just lived and accepted the torment.

My silence was my honor.

You, however, honored it by drowning yourself in alcohol.

In this new far away place,

Without heart, you perform your 5 daily prayers.

And this is how you show your honor,

Desperate to boost your ego, your faltering sense of ‘pride,’

By buying women, using them to quench your hunger, and discarding them once you’ve eaten their souls.

Oh, an honorable lover indeed.

Foolishly, I once considered our seperation akin to tales of the Great Lovers.

Only to realize, I was the only one mourning.

Oh, what wasted tears.

To realize all that flattery was really a slow, indirect rape.

Cunning foxes always use their charm,

To use others to please their own selfish desires.

Does a fox ever repent for the blood that remains on his teeth?

I will burn, I will accept the humiliation and embrace it,

For pain is ultimately strength, and I fear no longer to endure it.

Unlike you, who fears a drop of despair.

The laws of physics now apply:

“What goes up must come down,”

you have fallen from the pedestal.

And thus, no longer worthy of honor.

-Myself

———————-

fragrant garden

The following poem was written by a man, in praise of the scent of his lover:

A Woman’s Scent

That night when my mother
took me to her breasts
I knew woman had a scent
quite different from man’s…

Tonight you still remind me of
my mother’s old fragrance
though you too have your different scent –
a scent entirely your own!

In summer, an aroma of apple juice
envelopes your breasts. In monsoon,
the wet fragrance of wild forest flowers
in your hair. And in the winter,
your arms smacking of honeyed milk
and your lovely feet of jasmines. In spring,
this strong odour of musk in your loins,
and in your navel that faint lavender!

In different seasons, you smell differently.
In different places, you smell differently.

But when I smell you entirely at once,
my love,
your scent becomes
an undefinable something!

-Dr Tapan Kumar Pradhan

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Sheherazade Becomes Marginal in a Society that Embraces Apathy

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When you live in a society where shallowness is embraced, there will be a mass following of people who imitate shallowness.

You see, the elite can only thrive with a mass following, by creating a mass appeal, popularity.

The merciless thrive by exploiting the basic human desires, and brand their strategies with the facade of “love” or “humanity.”

This shallowness is a form of turbulence — keeping us distracted, distancing us from Light.

Light can seem invisible with turbulent vision; yet the wise know Light continues to radiate in full spectra in undetected forms.

The wise know to be wary of “charming” promises, as Plato says “Things are not what they appear.”

It is only those placed in liminal states who are able to contrast between discourses.

But you see, our state of being is not a static entity. Circumstances can harden us, circumstances can soften us —

Can one be so optimistic these days?

Something new is occurring in human history, with humans being hardened into objects, irreversibly.

Resistance is strategically kept powerless and marginal.

If only Foucault was alive to see his biopolitics now.

The once optimistic feeling of softening the soul is being negated in a new social transformation who’s future is unknown.

Long ago, Sheherazade softened the heart of King Shariyar. But this was a time when the art of wisdom was embraced by the ruling elite.

Once, people were aware of the dehumanization resulting from objectification.

An objectified human becomes inanimate, lacking substance — yet this obsolescence is embraced!

Now, increasingly, the art of wisdom is silenced, and instead ‘information’ prevails.

Modern education is information, not knowledge — and the marginal are drowning.

A life of simulated shallowness, avarice and merciless individualism is propagated as “the promise” and masks the greedy profit that lies underneath

I have softened the hearts of many men. Though, I am limited in the abundance of human drones.

A drone is taught to valorise surfaces only, like the body; it cannot detect the emotional depth of the soul.

How foolish of me to consider myself a Sheherazade in a society that is morally bankrupt!

You see, in a world where shallowness prevails, the shallow ideals will be rewarded.

Oh, the days when I was an object, I only attracted objects!

Oh, I am fully aware, that if I transformed myself into a walking simulation of stupidity (a shapely ass and big pair of tits as my sole identity), then I will reign popularity.

But you see, now, I refuse to be an inanimate object.

How could anyone be an object once they’ve reached their soul?

I speak in a language that cannot be comprehended so easily,

it will only resonate by those immersed in Love.

My silence speaks this language.

My God, I am so thankful You reign in my heart, radiating Your Beauty

The burning of my heart keeps me from solidifying into a cold, hardened object. I’m melting in Your bliss.

Love will shine, it radiates in all forms to those whose surfaces are still permeable.

-Myself

*The tale of Scheherazade is symbolic in showcasing that wisdom is what makes a human worthy of being. Scheherazade changed King Shahriyar’s murderous vengence towards women, and inevitably softened his heart. How? She used her wisdom, her knowledge — she was not simply an object. The symbolism has relevance to today’s context: When a human is simply an object, devoid of inner depth, they become perceived as insignificant, disposable as an inanimate object. Sadly, it has become a trend in modern societies for people to identify in objectifying manners, thereby neglecting the ripening of their inner beings. This trend is a reflection of the ‘popular’ social values that are advertised by all forms of media/social media. 

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set free

“They have taken us prisoners,

They’ve locked us up.

But that’s nothing…

The worst

is when people –knowingly or not —

carry prison inside themselves”

-Nizam Hikmet

(trans. Sisir Kumar Das 378)

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Do Panjereh

(…)

always been a distance

between your hands and mine.

always with this bitterness

our days and nights have passed.

 *

there is not a very long distance between us, but

(even this short distance) seems so far.

the only connection between you and me

is the kind caressing hands of wind.

*

we are forced to stay captive.

we will stay captive as long as we live.

for us the only way to freedom is death.

as soon as we are set free, we will die.

*

Oh, I wish this wall would fall down

so that you and me will die together

and in another world

we will be able to hold hands, be together.

may be in that other world,

the pain of shunning and hatred wont exists in hearts.

(may be in that new world) between their windows

wont be any barrier of walls.

-Googoosh

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Three Years Of Escort Diary

Old Man: “From the hot fire of being apart, comes the flame that burns the heart”

Lateef: “That was beautiful, you speak very well.”

Old Man: “These are words from the heart, my son”

-Dialogue from the film Baran (2001).

courtesan-dressingI started this blog three years ago. I started it during an important change in my life. I had just left my engagement. I had just immersed myself into the realm of working independently for the first time, without knowing what to expect. I was also a full-time University student. Three years later, I claim myself as a high-end courtesan, and strangely enough I feel a similar emptiness that I experienced when I started this blog three years ago. But much has changed indeed.

It would be incorrect to say that I’ve been empty and sad continuously. A prostitutes life and experiences witnesses an amalgam of emotions; nothing is static. In the past three years, there has been happiness and many blessings, and I’ve had many beautiful experiences. I am very thankful for them. My heart was grasped by my great lover, the Sheik, whom I wrote about in these past years. And as I had written, our love did eventually hit a brick wall, shattering our hearts. Wounds remain fresh. Burning, I am trying to see the beauty in this pain. For the moment, I honor this love by lonesome tears, finding the torment of separation unbearable, hopeless at times. The beautiful memories are starting to become clouded amongst the pain. And worst, I never showed any sorrow outwardly. Strangely enough, I concealed all of my pain with the facade of pride, thereby masking the tears of honor. In hopeless moments, I wanted all the love to turn into hate. But the truth remains in the heart. God only knows the extent of my heart, the honoring of love through tears.

Here is an incomplete poem I wrote a while ago: 

In the midst of helplessness, I sought to destroy my image.

Perhaps intentionally, I destroyed myself before your eyes,

Tarnishing your perception of my beauty, my grace,

Converting the good memories into hate, regret, despair.

But my intentions were for the sake of survival,

So that you can feel no remorse, so you forget my beauty, forget our bliss.

You can say, “She never loved me. She only loved money. She is happy selling herself. She has other men in her life.”

I painted this false impression.

Yes, in my state of helplessness, I wanted you to believe these things, so you feel no guilt.

For hating me will make your life easier rather than seeing that I loved you with all my heart and life.

Though silent and concealed, God only knows the extent of my honor,

The secrets lay concealed in my heart.

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For this post, I will share some meaningful, poetic lyrics to a song:

madhubala-tawaif

Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya  – When we love, why should we fear?

The following lyrics are from the masterpiece film Mughal E Azam (1960) which is filled with the most enriching Urdu dialogue and songs. The film depicts the legend of Anarkali, the tragic tale of the Mughal Prince Salim and his love Anarkali, a courtesan. In the film, Anarkali sings the song Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya to defend her love with Prince Salim, and also to defend the honesty of her heart (she was accused of deceit). By revealing her heart in this song, she was risking her own life. Her honest heart lead to her imprisonment.  Her love, Prince Salim, also endured all the punishments for the sake of their love. For as the song says, “We have only loved, why should we be afraid?” The Urdu lyrics are powerful and expressed so beautifully. Visually, I love watching the actress Madhubala performs this song so eloquently. Here is a translation of the lyrics:

It is but once that man falls in love with another

In anguish he lives, in anguish he dies

When we have loved, why should we fear?

We have loved, not committed a theft

We have only loved

Why should we be afraid?

I’ll reveal today the secrets that stay in my heart

Death is what the world witnesses

What good is dying a death of sufferance like this?

We have loved, why should we fear?

In desire of him, I shall burn

For love, I shall live

For love, I shall die

Nothing more is my will

Now that I am in love, why must I fear?

Our love will not remain hidden

Everywhere around us are stories of our love

There is nothing that separates us from God

Why should we create barriers between humans?

We have loved, why should we fear?

Watch Madhubala’s beautiful performance of Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya in Mughal E Azam:

On a final note, here is another powerful line that is attributed to Anarkali:

While flowers wither away, “Thorns live not in fear of wilting”

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When Honey Drips – A Courtesans’ Pleasure Part 3

bee-rose

I’m aware that my erotic writings can come off as pompous. I do not want to give this impression, as I’m rather humble. But my instances with great admirers and lovers induced these realities — I never elected to be praised or admired, but fate had it that I am a delicate rose for them..

My loves are well versed in my ripeness, and my admirers quickly learn about it  —  they all know how euphoric our experience will be when I’m ripe. Just like bee’s know the bliss of pollinating the fragrant rose– my lovers and admirers know there are certain times when my fragrance, taste, touch and visuals are simply irresistible.

Synchronous with the moon cycle, I go through a phase of ripening — like a sweet fruit or blossomed flower. It seeps out of my skin, speaking silent words, which say that I’m deliciously ripe, at my tastiest peak. I cannot even hide this secret, as it becomes obvious that my body is exceptionally warm, exceptionally soft, delicate, and exceptionally aroused. This erotic ripeness is written all over my face, even though there are no words. This invisible language somehow conveys that there is silky yearning from between my thighs. My lips, already full and thick, become more plump. My pink flower becomes more fragrant. My bosoms, more tender and soft. Even my soft feminine feet speak this language too. I take well care to emphasize these yearnings, by bathing and grooming so lavishly.

On this particular morning of ripeness, I wake up from a relaxing sleep. My body is warm and slightly damp from a light, fragrant sweat. Whenever I feel this sensual dampness from my body, I remember the times when a former lover begged to taste my perspiration, such as under my heavy breasts or on my neck. Scent is a lovers comfort. Anyway, on this particular morning, I remain lazed in my bed. As usual, I squeeze my large breasts and hug my body as a form of comfort. My breasts feel exceptionally soft, tender, and erotically sensitive. Then I softly squeeze other parts of myself. I put my hands between my legs, feeling the softness of skin and heat between my thighs, and then put my hands over my soft hips. I relieve a heavy sigh, and felt an intense yearning to be touched, caressed, kissed. What bliss it would be to be gently thrusted right at this moment. For the moment, I start to fantasize about my lovers of the past and present. I am reminded of the countless erotic mornings where my lover is beside me in bed — morning passion is my favorite, but I shall write about that another time. Meanwhile, I fantasize about a lovers warm thickness inside of me, I am yearning to erupt. But then, my phone beeps, and I remember that a client will be arriving shortly. Rather than explore by myself, I decide to unleash my arousal on this new client that I haven’t met before. I have high hopes that this client will be lovely, for a ripen beauty awaits

I quickly tidy up my home, and then have a streamy bath. I wash my body thoroughly under hot water. And then I shave my intimate parts to pure smoothness. Afterwards, I lather myself in a fragrant lotion. I decorate myself in all the ways that brought my other admirers to awe. I keep imagining how aroused this client will feel when he see’s me. I can’t wait to reveal myself to him, and impress him with my beauty and seeping sensuality. I observe myself as I stand, how my ample breasts are peeking out of my lacy bra, how my g-string tightly clings to my hips, how my anklets make my legs and polished toes look pretty, how my thick glossed lips look tasty, and how long silky black hair drapes around my exotic face. Before I become too full of myself, I remind myself about what’s most important: being grateful, so I say “Alhamdolilah” for everything.

body

And the Almighty answers my heart, as I’m blessed with having clients with lovely hearts and romantic mannerisms. At times, I could be in melancholy mood, yet my day is brightened from seeing lovely clients. The new client finally arrives. He is an older man, very polite and soft spoken. I can tell he has a good heart, which soothes my happiness right away. As we made introductions, he kisses my hand. He then respectfully hands over an envelope with the money for our allocated time. We then proceed to the purpose of our appointment..

I suppose I tease in a very subtle way. While we exchange some introductory chatter, I am fully aware that he is absorbing my voluptuousness, my erotic look. I am also aware that my well-endowed cleavage is on display for his eyes, and that he is yearning to touch them. My buxomness is yearning to be cuffed by manly hands, and suckled by a warm mouth. Without words, I give him permission to touch me, as I gently place his hands on my warm skin. He caresses my breasts, and wants to kiss my lips simultaneously. But I motion him to kiss my cheeks and neck instead. I only permit him a small kiss, without tongue. I do not passionately kiss men so easily. But for this client, there are many other delicious spots where he can taste.

My bra comes off and reveals breasts that are beckoning to be suckled. Like a child yearns for milk, grown men desire my voluptuous breasts like I’m providing the comfort of milk (though I have none). Yet their desire does me great wonders too. He feasts upon them and suckles gently, while I’m starting to lose myself in a trance. It’s not that I’m even particularly attracted to this client, but his immense respect and sweet admiration makes me want to be playful.

After, his hands gently pass over all over my body. He reaches my thighs and then over my panties. I’m fully aware of what potential bliss he might induce upon me. My thoughts are exceptionally vain, because I know he wants to please me. I know he will slowly work his way down, and move his face to my core. His face arrives between my thighs. I hold my breasts while I watch him soothe his curiosity of my feminine parts. He opens my legs, where I am completely exposed to him. I can feel myself moisten as I’m exposing myself. He says, ever so sweetly, “Can I taste you? Is that allowed?” His mannerisms and touch is so delightful that he didn’t even need to ask. But since he is mindful of my comfort, I give him permission, “Yes… please…taste me.” I am deeply honoured when men ask permission before exploring me further, even though it’s not always necessary when I’m deeply aroused. His courtesy only furthers his goodness in my eyes.

He feasts upon me so softly and delicately, and I am melting all over his lips. When I’m ripe, my body emits a scent that makes my worshippers crave. Yes, a fragrant rose who summons the bees to consume the sweet nectar………………..

Rather than divulge into the rest of the details with this client, I will begin with another client who arrived at my home right after. After this new client left, I was still immensely warmed and aroused. Another client would be arriving shortly, a regular client of mine whom I know well. I was pondering about getting out my toys to satisfy my yearnings, but again, I decided to unleash these passions on my next client…….

A regular client of mine arrives. Very quickly, he detects my ripeness by the flush in my face, and he wants to make me bloom more. He undresses me, removing my bra, removing my elegant heels. And then, I watch him as he feasts upon me. Every man has their own unique way to caress my body, and I thoroughly enjoy to see how each man seduces me. He put my soft feminine feet in his warm mouth, licking and caressing each toe. Gradually, his lips move up my legs, up to my thighs. And he dove in to taste me. He gently dips one of his fingers inside my melting honey pot and then he put the same finger in my mouth and said, “Look how delicious you taste.” Fruits are more sweet when ripe. Once my sweet bee felt satiated with my taste, both of us yearn to connect. There is nothing more blissful than feeling a desirable man’s thickness enter the tensed, silky warmth between my legs. Like a bee to a rose, I bloom more..

To be continued.

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Prostitution: Elitism & Why I Despise the “Man in a Business Suit.”

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Like many young minds, I once believed the stereotypes that were socialized into my little mind from a young age. Back then, I had no idea that the debauched images, ideas and discourses from the mass media would vastly influence me to have a narrow outlook on life. When I started prostitution, I had a naive sense that wealthy-looking men were the ideal clients. It was not only clients, but I had a naive admiration of the ‘prestigious’ and ‘elite.’ Only later, I realized that the most ‘prestigious’ people are actually quite poor, poor in they have not acquired any compassion or true beauty (ihsan). Very quickly I learned that wealth does not necessarily imply a persons inner qualities. True wealth and beauty are not material or physical, true wealth is in the heart. With clients, I realized the loveliest men are those whom are humble, easy-going and unscathed by the poison of Western-Liberal values. My ex and the Sheik, among others, are the best examples of such men.

Years ago, fresh to the sex industry, I remember an older prostitute who put us younger escorts into perspective. While all of us were chatting together, a newbie escort announced, “I only want to see clients with business suits!” Shortly after, a well-dress client entered, wearing a business suit and carrying a polished leather briefcase. The older prostitute joked, “Don’t get too excited girls. He might be jobless, going for an interview.” In other words, the older prostitute was trying to say that a ‘business suit’ doesn’t really mean anything — it doesn’t mean he will be a worthy client. She was right. A lovely, generous, warm-hearted client can exist in any form, any ethnicity, and any social class — and more importantly, in any type of clothing.

As mentioned in previous posts, some of the most generous clients I have had are those who do not actively showcase their wealth. As well, even regular working or middle-class men can also be generous and lovely. I was once naive enough to believe that a man dressed sharply in a posh business suit was the ideal client. But now, after all these years, I find the business suit quite unappealing. It’s not the actual clothes I despise, but I despise the VALUES associated with the business suit. The ‘business suit’ is symbolic of modern capitalism; It’s the image of condoning unequal profit, greed, competition, exploitation, egotism, ignoring the metaphysical — and even worse, this mentality and it’s associated values are PRAISED and embraced in the West, and increasingly being praised in non-Western societies. Sadly, so many people are seduced by these material values, which they consider important and worthy. This reminds me of a quote from the book, “Tuesday’s With Morrie,” below:

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It’s also very sad to see so-called Muslims exhibit and condone these traits of business ‘professional’ ethics, which is completely the antithesis of Islam:

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Now, of course, not all men who wear suits are the heartless, soulless persons with no values that I am depicting. And equally, not all businesses have inhumane objectives. Of course not. The business suit has become a norm, and indeed some whom wear it do not subscribe to the values it currently symbolizes. Some have to wear this business attire out of conformity, or expectation, but it does not define who they are. Here lies the importance of not judging on first appearances. We all wear facades and labels, but the trueness of individual is much deeper.

I, too, portray myself in ways that can be misleading. I advertise myself under all the terms of “elite,” “high-class,” “upscale,” “exclusive.” These terms could easily signify that I’m arrogant, pretentious, shallow, etc. These terms have very vague meanings, yet I only use them to market myself accordingly to the norms of escorting world. Sadly, the terms ‘elite’ and ‘high-class’ are the accepted descriptors for prostitutes who are allegedly physically beautiful, clean, well-mannered and can provide good service. If I don’t use these words, then clients might assume I’m the opposite of those qualities. It’s ironic. Subscribing to the term ‘elite’ does not make me a better lover, nor does it make me better person. In essence, good companionship and good sex HAS no class, no discriminant.

Like many odd reasons, our society embraces this notion of being “exclusive” — excluding others, and being only available to eligible persons. This makes me feel sad. I wish I didn’t have to use these arrogant terms for myself when advertising. However, although I would love to be more inclusive with whom I see,  I have to be exclusive when advertising. The unfortunate reality is that there are many “bad” seeds of clientele that exist in the escorting world. If I am too inclusive, then I make myself vulnerable to danger, undesirables, the heartless, etc. I do not like to give the impression that I’m “exclusive” in an arrogant way. I’m only “exclusive” to protect myself from the ills of the sex industry. In essence, I welcome decent, kind, warm-hearted men from ALL social statures so long they can pay for my services. I see that many “high-class” escorts misuse their imagined status — they develop an ego. Some escorts mistakenly assume that being ‘elite’ makes them better, and also believe that ‘elite’ men implies better clients. I made this mistake too, but very quickly realized I was wrong in my assumption. Judging clients on their heart and intentions is much more wise than judging on their level of material prestige. But one only learns with experience…

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A Courtesans’ Perspective: Fragments of Thought

Lately, I am reluctant to share my thoughts. Sometimes I see no purpose to continue writing at all, but then I’m reminded of how my writings can, perhaps, comfort and help others with similar experiences. Rather than a usual post,  this post contains fragments of my writings in recent months.

nature

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(…) I am immersed in emptiness. Yet this lonesome exile inspires my poems. Had everything remained glorious, would I ever conceive these poems? These thoughts brew endlessly in sleepless nights. If you see beauty in my words, then please know that they are the result of pain and tears.

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(…) At least, with your protective arms, I could forget the world. Forget all my worries. But now, there is no hope. No security. No protective love from you. Everything is gone. I want to escape so desperately. But I can’t. I am on my own. And this debauched society tells people to be ‘independent,’ in an effort to mask their exploitative interests. Yes, I am praised for being ‘independent,’ yet this made me further isolated from warmth and belonging — who did this really benefit after all?

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On “The Impact of Travels” :

(…) When I was in my early teenage years, I remember walking along a narrow lane in a busy city in Northern China. I was starting to become aware of my rapidly blossoming womanly body. My appearance caused the attention of onlookers, who first complimented my appearance and then ask “Where are you from?” Ethnic wise, I can be anything from Turkish to Turkmenistani, so whenever I travel internationally people often assume I am mixed with their local culture. As I walked along, an elder man, who seemed to look like a holy man of some sort, stopped before me. He bowed at my feet and then apparently blessed me. These early instances of superficial admiration started to build my growing sense of self..

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(…) I realize my daily routine is really just feeding someone else’s dream. Countless hours spent studying, reading. And I do this with painstaking joy and curiosity. But why through these elitist institutions? It’s very discouraging when realizing that most of our lives have been strategically tailored to maintaining a system of profit and greed. 

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Poetry:

(…)Let me wither away. Let me be like a corpse, a dead body, attracting all the vultures. Let them feast upon my body until it’s empty. What is the point to remain a half-dead body? 

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“Hopeless Moment” :

I cannot bear to be a burden to anyone anymore, so I stay in my own prison. If I don’t sell my dead body, then my savings will go dwindling, just like my heart. How can an escort remain successful when she is dead inside? My success is tied to my sense of hope — but how does one continue this work when all hope is faded? This smile is so fragile. I cannot bear to be fake, but I have too. 

My ‘sweetness’ is fragile, and I pray that good men will approach me. I fear the bad side of this industry, as I’m far too weak, at this particular moment, to deal with the bad seeds. And sadly, bad seeds are increasingly abundant….

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On “Annoyances of Advertising” :

In a perfect world, I could advertise and only lovely men would contact me. But in reality, my carefully outlined website isn’t enough to deter morons from contacting me and wasting my time. Yes, there are hungry vultures of men who sit on their computers, calling up escorts and inevitably waste our time. They have no sense of courtesy or respect. I ignore these types, yet unfortunately they are part of the process of sifting good potential clients from bad ones. I must say thanks to God, because my clients are lovely men who are deeply respectful. But sadly, an escort has to encounter the BAD to see the GOOD. And even worse, sometimes it’s not so easy to tell the good from the bad. 

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On “The Doctor: an ‘Endowed’ Client” :

(…) I was not used to his endowed thickness. He was too lovely to deny, so I wanted to try. He asked, sweetly, “Are you okay?” I told him, “Yes,” and motioned him to continue pushing it inside me. Whilst this handsome young doctor was attempting to fill me with his thickness, I was fantasizing that my previous lovers were watching me take it. I expressed this fantasy to another client, Mr.Zee, last night. Whilst he penetrated me very passionately, I said, “I wish a group of young handsome men are watching us, would you be shy?”

At times, that’s one of my main fantasies: to have my lovers watch me getting so wet and horny for another handsome man’s thickness. I want my lovers to get angry, yet at the same time see their manhood getting immensely hard. And then, my lover, of course, gets his turn after the other(s) finish. I do not actually consider doing this fantasy, but talking about it can be exciting…

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On “My Heart and Love Cannot be Bought” :

I swear, it is really the most strangest feeling to be extremely sad, hopeless, unhappy whilst simultaneously laying in the arms of a man who thinks you are a Goddess. I can illustrate this by narrating a client I recently saw. This client was of similar origins to myself. He saw me and couldn’t stop praising me. He said I was his dream girl, and he wanted to dedicate the entire appointment to praising me. His flattery was along the lines of “I’ve been dreaming about the most perfect girl all my life, and it is you.” He literally was licking and kissing my body for 2 hours. After he made me orgasm, he insisted that I come again, and again. Eventually, I had to forcefully push his head away from between my thighs. I found his sweetness very lovely, and felt very thankful for it. But I knew what he wanted — he wanted love. And I have no love in my heart to give him, except for the moments he paid for. He reminded me of my ex-fiance, who went to all lengths to make me feel pleased and happy in the most selfless manner. I feel sad that I cannot give him the love he desires. 

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Without love, everything can seem so pointless. Why aspire to anything if life is going to be lonesome and meaningless? And ironically, there is love all around me. I do have men who love and admire me, offering me the life I dream about. But I do not love them. I cannot force myself to love someone. I want nobody else. I have no desire to meet others. My heart is in exile. 

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Poetic Thoughts:

Let me burn. Let me burn until there’s nothing left. I swear, I am only a body now. My soul has departed. Like Pakeezah called herself, I am just “a dead body.” I am a beautiful body, who’s dead inside. I am painted with kohl and red lipstick, appearing like an elegant beauty of exotic regions. Once, this beautiful body and face was filled with light within, but now, everything is gloom.

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More on “My heart and love is not for sale” :

(…) Lately, I’ve met too many single clients who are trying to get a relationship. Most are humble and respectful about it, which doesn’t bother me. But some are arrogant, who mistakenly think they can impress me with their money and so-called ‘success.’ To the arrogant types, I feel like saying, “I’ve had much BETTER than you. I’d rather DIE than settle with you.” Yes, that’s extremely harsh, but honestly sometimes that is what I feel. One overly-confident client asked, “If a man supported you financially, would you be with him?” And I said, “Only if I loved him, but otherwise no.” No, my love is not for sale. 

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I am back in hell. Silenced. I do not dare to share my pain with clients, or anyone. If I wanted to, I can be loved and cared for. But I don’t want to be near somebody I don’t love. I’d rather sulk alone. I don’t want pity. The only one who can console me is the one who just died. 

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(…) and these nights drenched in tears, surrounded by abundance, has made me realize the most invaluable purpose of life: God (love). 

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On “Mourning” :

It feels like I’ve spent these weeks in mourning. Mourning, yet there is no comfort in the sense of closure. Finally, I went to a place of death, where there is only mourning. And I cried. I was shocked at myself, as I almost never cry in front of strangers. Everyone around me was crying, and somehow I absorbed their pain too. But for the most, my tears were in vain, as I was mourning the death of my own love. And how does one mourn when their heart is shattered? How does one just continue in life? Life can never be the same. 

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An Ending

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