True Stories

I SQUIRT, AND IT’S BEAUTIFUL

When I first started having sex, I loved it. I couldn’t understand what everyone was on about when they said sex was awkward, uncomfortable and painful the first time. I took to it like a duck to water and I wanted more. All the time.

My first boyfriend was incredibly horny, however, he’d spent a lot of time with girls who didn’t fuck, because he was part of a fundamentalist church group. He was constantly gagging for sex, but he wasn’t very good at it. He’d only ever watched porn, so he thought women took it up the arse fairly casually, and also he’d masturbated so much due to years of blue balls that he could barely have sex anymore. He was married to his hand.

Despite his addiction to porn and (the idea of) sex, my first boyfriend was very taken aback when, during foreplay, I had my first orgasm with him. He was using his hands, and I was very in tune with my erogenous zones, having masturbated the minute my body gave signs of being sexual; so when I squirted at the point of climax, he jumped back in disgust. “You’ve wet yourself!” he cried. No, I had just had an orgasm and he’d just ruined my post-cum buzz.

You see, he’d seen it in porn, but he was taught that sex was for the man’s enjoyment, and women who loved sex as much as I did, were evil. He refused to believe I’d enjoyed foreplay so much I’d ejaculated, so he told me to “clean that mess up and don’t do that again.”

We eventually broke up, mainly because he didn’t have a job and refused to move past the dark ages in terms of equal rights and generally being a decent human, but for years after that, I would get embarrassed around new partners and try to hold my orgasms in.

7524062_f5827bb95aWhen I masturbated, I was happy to let my juices flow. I would relax into my pillow, arch my back and massage myself until I released all of the day’s tensions. Then a friend bought me a vibrator ‘as a joke’. I kept it in my drawer for a while, curious, but not quite ready to use it, telling myself I preferred the real thing. Then one night, after a few champagnes, I took it out of the drawer. I started by teasing my clitoris, then rubbed it against the outer lips of my pussy. It drove me crazy. I had to have it inside me. I pushed it hard and deep inside, pumping it in and out until I came with the most explosive orgasm I’d ever had. My sheets were saturated and I was spent.

Around that time, I met a guy who wanted a casual fling, and so did I. One night we were up late, drinking, talking and listening to music, and he revealed he’d been branded ‘Magic Hands’ by his previous girlfriend. Intrigued, I asked him to demonstrate. He lifted me onto his lap, and put his hand inside my underwear. He stroked my freshly waxed skin and circled my clit. It was ok, but I wouldn’t say ‘magic’. And then BAM. He crossed his fingers, plunged them inside me and started rotating his wrist. Oh my god. His knuckles were grinding against my g-spot and every other spot I had. I was going to cum.

“Stop!” I yelped.

“Why?” he questioned. He was so hard, he was almost busting out of his jeans.

“Because I’m going to squirt!”

He ground harder and deeper, using his thumb to massage my clit and grabbed my breast with his free hand. I came. All over him.

“That,” he growled. “Was fucking amazing. That was the hottest thing I have ever seen. I am covered in your orgasm and it is beautiful.”

We looked at each other and started to laugh. It was beautiful. I lay against him and we spent the rest of the night laughing, talking about life, and feeling close to one another.

That was our only night together, but after that, I felt no shame in having beautiful, messy orgasms; and if a man was uncomfortable about my sensuality, he didn’t get to play with me again.

I believe, if we explore and understand our bodies, we will enjoy sex more. And if our partner won’t let us express our sexual freedom (provided that freedom isn’t taking liberties at the expense of their partner’s feelings or safety), we need to find a partner who will. And they’re out there; probably waiting for us…

By Deborah Bennett

Stripping back the truth of exotic dancing – as told to Deborah Bennett

Stripping isn’t just about sexual gratification or titillation; it’s a sexual adventure, a desire and a fantasy.

I am a stripper for private parties and events and I provide a sexual adventure for my clients, rather than just a quick lap dance.

Despite popular belief, stripping alone doesn’t make me enough money to survive. In fact, some strippers I know are 9am-5pm government servants or professionals in other sectors. I can make up to US$500 for one half an hour show but the work isn’t as regular as I’d like.

Some weekends, I can get two to three different jobs, if I’m lucky. Sometimes, there’s the occasional lunchtime birthday strip-o-gram sort of thing, which always interests me; and for me, a show can be performed at any time, anywhere.

Very few people in my private life know that I strip. I’m not a bad looking girl, but I don’t have the face of a supermodel. I’m in good shape, but I’m no Gisele Bundchen; and I can dance pretty well, but I’m no Joaquin Cortes. And I don’t have gigantic boobs but I’m happy with what I have.

The one thing I do have is what every successful stripper needs; and that is confidence: confidence that your audience wants you and confidence that you can make them want you more.

Stripping isn't just about sexual gratification or titillation; it’s a sexual adventure.

Stripping isn’t just about sexual gratification or titillation; it’s a sexual adventure.

I got into stripping in college. A friend of mine was looking for a stripper and he asked me because I’m a dancer.

I’ve always been a show off on stage and I thought it was the perfect opportunity to make a few bucks and get a thrill. Plus, I had the chance to impress someone. I had so much fun and after that show, more and more people engaged me for strip shows.

The clients usually give me a few details about what they want from me, for example, the theme, venue, time, what it’s for and the kind of crowd that will be there.

My first experience was doing a routine that is a must for almost all female strippers: go in dressed like a school-girl and ask if you can join in the party. It turned out to be a going-away party for an English lecturer from my college! Since I was a Computer Science major, I didn’t know many of the English faculty.

It was mostly men about 30 years older than me. As the featured stripper, I always arrive after the crowd has had one drink, two at the most. If I get there too early, everyone’s too reserved to get into it, and I end up feeling too self-conscious with the lack of audience participation. On the other hand, I don’t want to get there when everyone’s smashed. My rule is that my client has to be there at all times to ensure my safety.

That first evening, I did the school-girl thing and danced for the man of honour. I was nervous at first, but I warmed up quickly and everyone seemed to be having fun. He was flattered and fairly buzzed; and when I got down to just the thong, he wanted me to come closer.

Stripper rules are: I can touch the customers if I am invited to; and they always want me to! But customers are not allowed to touch the strippers unless she guides them to.

I ended up doing a lap dance for him, me in his lap, straddling him, facing him and grinding against him. The music ended, I gave him a kiss, and I got up to go.

Then another song started. That was not my plan. A few guys wanted me to dance. Gamely, I took a few steps with each, gave them a kiss, and tried to work my way towards the door. Then one, probably the youngest, best-looking man grabbed me for his turn.

He was about 20 years older than me but in great shape. He looked familiar. I had probably bumped into him in the hallway rushing from one lecture hall to another. We did a little bump and grind on the pseudo dance floor.

He looked at me and said, “Hello little dancer.” At first, I thought he might not recognize me, since I was lacking clothes and all. But then he whispered, “I remember you.” He smiled and slid his hands down to my waist.

“Hello sir,” I whispered in his ear. “Nice to see you here.” He gave me another slightly lop-sided grin and proceeded to lead me to dance as the crowd of men around us cheered enthusiastically.

All the attention was feeling really good and I started getting horny. We were quickly going to a place that I didn’t want to go with a crowd of boozy academics watching over us.

I danced us over to the door, told him that I was very sorry, but had to go. I gave him a kiss on the cheek, smiled at the glassy look in his eyes, grabbed my stuff and raced out the door.

My job is sexy, fun and exciting. I try my best to fulfill my clients’ fantasies and desires, as long as my safety is assured.

As a stripper, men drooling over me with a big hard on is nothing new and the thrill of stripping is that a bunch of men that I don’t know have that desire for me; never mind that they’re usually half drunk. Never mind that I might not be especially attracted to any one of them. It is all ego gratification in its purest, most addictive form.

SECRET WOMEN’S BUSINESS – as told to Deborah Bennett  

I have a thing for hands when comes to men. I like them rough. I don’t like them pretty. Pretty hands are for women. A rough pair of hands shows me he’s willing to get dirty and it feels good to have rough hands running all over my body.

I love thinking about sex; it consumes my thoughts. I used to wonder if I was addicted to the eroticism of my fantasies, but now I know I’m as normal as the next woman.

Women have sexy thoughts all the time.

Women have sexy thoughts all the time.

Women have sexy thoughts all the time. If a woman tells you she doesn’t, she’s lying. We think about sex just as much as men do, but a lot of women are too shy to speak about it.

Sometimes when I am having a conversation with an attractive man I’ve just met, I find myself fantasizing about him, imagining what it would be like to feel him against my lips, touching my skin or thrusting deep inside me.

I failed my diving writing exam because my instructor was too hot and I couldn’t stop staring at his butt as he wrote on the board. I found myself lost in a fantasy of us together in the water, naked. I couldn’t answer any of the questions he asked. It was so embarrassing.

Many of my girlfriends have boyfriends and they are faithful to them in body but not in mind; they all masturbate thinking about other men. I am no different.

It feels good to have rough hands running all over my body

It feels good to have rough hands running all over my body

Having said that, when I’ve had sex with a really hot guy, I will think about him non-stop until I can have him again. I think about his face, his mouth, his chest, and his hands, especially if they are rough hands.

TEQUILA AND GROUP SEX – by Marcus Armstrong

As with many a good story it began with tequila.

Debbie and I sat in the casino bar contemplating whether we should go. We reasoned that the decision could only be made after we’d had shots. In the warm haze that followed, we kissed and sealed our fate. In the taxi Debbie took my hand and we journeyed in silence: we were in this together. Our destination was a non-descript door set among shops and other businesses on a main road in the suburbs. It could have been an accountant, a real estate agent, an art gallery. But inside and up the stairs was a swingers club.

Our relationship was relatively new but we had jumped in at the deep end with no looking back. Debbie and I had both come out of relationships that had become stale and were devoid of risk taking. Tonight was antidote to that. However, both of us being professionals with a number of tertiary qualifications to our name, this was not something we would be able to talk about lineing up for the coffee machine at work on Monday morning. We were, to all appearances, a picture of respectability. Swingers clubs might be something that most of us hold some curious fascination about, but how many of us actually know someone who’d go to one? It conjures up images of keys in bowls and poorly trimmed moustaches. We were both going far out of our comfort zones and there were understandable misgivings: who knew what we would find at the top of the stairs? While it had been my idea to come here, Debbie held similar fascinations, but she was also wary about not becoming the centre of some male fantasy. We had set rules for the night in advance.

We found ourselves in a darkened bar that could have been any nightclub, save for the porn playing on the television screens and that everyone was dressed in their underwear. And there were lockers. As far as venues go, the swingers club is friendlier than your average club; there is no difficulty in sparking up a conversation. As per protocol we dressed down to underwear and, with the effects of tequila fading, ordered another drink.

It was time to explore. Debbie took my hand and we wandered through the maze of corridors and different themed rooms. We giggled like a couple of teenagers, the sound and smell of sex were all around. We breathlessly listened at doors. Any misgivings that Debbie had previously held about the place had completely dissipated. She was clearly energised and stimulated by this new environment, displaying a poise I hadn’t seen before as she led me around the shadowy maze.

We eventually got chatting with a South African couple. It was a pleasant enough conversation but it became clear that they were losing their attraction for each other and had come here trying to spark something. They were a good looking couple and we would have been happy to play with them, but later Debbie and I agreed there was something distinctly unattractive about people who weren’t attracted to each other anymore.

It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

Moving to the main play area we found a sexy couple naked on a mattress as she was animatedly sucked his cock. A lithe brunette, she must have been a regular attendee, known to the gathering crowd as Rachelle. He lay on his back, as she bent over him, her delicious ass pointing upwards. It was confronting and arousing. This might have been a commonplace scene in a porn, but here it was happening in front of us. We were both transfixed and took a seat; to feed our arousal we kissed deeply. Another couple were seated next to us also enjoying the display on the floor. She was dressed in elaborate red lingerie and spoke in an Eastern European accent. We affectionately dubbed them the Romanian Couple. With barely any interaction the woman reclined back into Debbie’s lap and they began kissing. As this became more intense the couple asked us to join them in a private room. By this time we had caught the attention of Rachelle and her partner who asked if they could join us. There were then six bodies in a small room and things were happening fast. Rachelle dropped to her knees and began eating out the Romanian woman and sliding her fingers into Debbie’s aroused pussy. The Romanian woman pulled down the straps of Debbie’s lingerie revealing her large, firm breasts and both women moved, beginning to feast on them. It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen. I was holding Debbie from behind, hard against her watching this display of raw sexuality unfold.

We stripped off any remaining items of clothing and exchanged passionate kisses with other members of the group: Debbie was kissing Rachelle’s partner and Rachelle was on my lips. I was surprised at my reaction to watching Debbie being kissed by another man. In this context it was incredibly arousing. Making our way to the floor, Debbie lay on her back and spread her legs; Rachelle got down on all fours. I entered Debbie while Rachelle’s partner took her from behind. Meanwhile the Romanians were still involved: she perched on my back while he fucked her. I could feel their every move. Six bodies were now moving together: thrusting, groping, fucking. Meanwhile, Debbie and I took turns kissing Rachelle and our hands went to her pussy. It felt like soft velvet and we could feel him thrusting inside her. This wasn’t exactly swinging, it was something more intimate. We were each with our own partner but feeling the bodies of everyone else, sharing this incredible sexual energy. I’m not sure how long we kept at this, time seemed irrelevant. Eventually we moved to a larger room. I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it was time for an audience, maybe we just wanted to be able to stretch out in a bigger, more ventilated space. As we walked down the corridor naked, we passed by the South African couple from earlier in the night.

“Wow. You guys didn’t waste any time!” he said to us, a hint of envy in his voice. And it was true we didn’t. We might have had some hesitations about going to this place, but once there we were committed to experiencing all that we could without pause.

The six of us went to a public room with a large, round bed in the middle and continued in much the same fashion as we had in the smaller room. An audience grew around us. It was a turn-on to have people watching us and hear their groans of approval. This time I took Debbie from behind who had now developed a deep fascination with Rachelle’s cunt. She was displaying an awesome confidence I had never seen before: she was directing the show. Any fears of being some pawn in a male fantasy had long been cast aside; this was Debbie’s fantasy and she was in complete control. With her hand on Rachelle’s pussy she gave the orders to Rachelle’s partner: “I want to you to make her cum,” she said, while also forbidding him to cum until she said so. Debbie held Rachelle’s gaze, and with a hand on her, Rachelle orgasmed. The sexual energy passing between the two women was an incredible thing to behold.

At the end of the evening Debbie and I found our way to a private room, and having held back through the night, I came alone with her. It was a beautiful and loving moment and I think it was then that both of us knew that we had a partner who was perfectly suited, who could balance the crazy, dirty moments with the loving, intimate ones.

We had gone there with a sense of curiosity, knowing that it would be far out of our comfort zone. But it was, in fact, a better experience that I could have imagined. It wasn’t freaky or salacious: just the most natural act on earth, only shared when we would usually keep it safely locked away. And it wasn’t in any way about ogling other people, it was about us as a couple. We began the night together and never left each other’s side before ending the night together. We each definitively knew that we had an audacious partner who would never settle for the mundane.

That was a few years ago now, and it was that night that we really fell in love.

Thank you tequila.

CONFESSIONS OF A HIGH CLASS SEX WORKER – as told to Deborah Bennett

Most people’s getting-ready-for-work routine is a shower, sensible work clothes, a piece of toast and a ride on public transport; while mine couldn’t be further from that.

After a shower, shave and douche, you’ll find me sorting through my overflowing collection of lingerie, pulling on silk stockings, applying make-up and a gentle spritz of Lady Million by Paco Rabanne; then I’m ready to greet my client who has been booked and screened prior to his arrival.

It takes just an hour to transform from Pippa: the girl who was educated at an exclusive Lutheran college and grew up in the leafy greens of Adelaide, into Grace Bellavue: high class sex worker.

I meet my client at my city apartment with a kiss, we chat, have a drink and I lead him to the bedroom where my workday really begins.

But my business wasn’t always this way.

When I chose to become a sex worker at 17 years old, things were different.

I was underage with a fake ID, and every weekend I’d go to a brothel and lie to my parents, telling them I was going to a party.

When I finally told my family I was a sex worker, they kicked me out, although I think they secretly knew what I was doing all along.

What I was doing was being paid $35 for 15 minutes and seeing around 8-13 clients a night.

When I broke it to them, Dad cried, Mum vomited and they gave me an ultimatum, but I had made up my mind – I wanted to be a sex worker.

At the brothel, I worked for a manager whose face was tired from years in an unforgiving industry.

This inspired me to choose the name Grace, because Grace was a nice name and I wanted to be a nice hooker.

My first time was horrific; I was pounded for 40 minutes by a hairy, sweaty business man who grunted on arrival and snorted on departure.

I sat in the toilet swabbing the blood and nursing my dignity when one of the old girls came in and said, “Honey, you don’t have to let them do that, you know. You’re in charge.”

That’s when it changed and I started directing my own show.

My business is my baby and I have built it from the ground up; I love my job and I can’t imagine doing anything else.

Through sex work I have met some incredibly inspirational people, had some remarkable experiences, and have been lucky enough to travel.

Recently I took some time off from work for personal reasons; I had become depressed and I got quite lost so my holiday in Africa is a chance to get Pippa back after a difficult six months.

Sometimes my Grace persona creeps into my Pippa-life which makes it difficult to switch off; the phone is constantly ringing for bookings and enquiries, emails are nagging at me and occasionally the costume I wear starts to become heavy.

As Grace, I have to look good all the time which means Pippa can’t be lazy very often.

It’s hard to turn off the sex, especially when I’d only had sex a couple of times before I worked in a brothel, so my entire sexual life, aside from those few experiences, has been in performance mode.

The sex I have with my clients, though in abundance, is all partner focussed which means often I spend so much of my time pleasing others, I forget to please myself.

I can count on two hands how many times someone has made me orgasm despite having had over five thousand partners

I rarely fake an orgasm, though, because it would be an indication that someone is doing something right when they’re not and that defies the purpose of my job.

Often men come to see me for guidance and education so if I’m giving them fake responses, they’re not learning anything and I am not doing my job as a sexual mentor.

An orgasm, for me, is also an emotional response so I can only really climax with someone I am in love with but there’s not much room for love with my job and I would find it difficult to give up my job for a partner.

I am often asked if my world is as glamorous as Pretty Woman or Secret Diary of a Call Girl and at times, it is – I received gifts, wear gorgeous lingerie and have sex with incredibly wealthy men.

But the main difference is the hard work that goes into making a client happy so they can leave knowing they have had the experience they paid for (around $800 an hour).

And yes, I kiss! It seems strange to me that kissing would off limits when anal sex is not!

Despite the stereotype, I didn’t go into my industry because I needed quick money to feed an addiction or keep debt collectors at bay.

I chose to have sex for a living because I was young, curious, and horny and I loved being Grace Bellavue.

These days, I’ve developed my business to a point where I can pick and choose when I work, who I work with and where I work.

Sometimes I take Grace on tour where I travel to different cities and spend my holidays in the bedrooms of some of the best hotels with the most beautiful views in the country.

Sometimes I work with other sex workers and sometimes, like this year, I take some time off to travel or rest; but it’s always on my terms and I’m not sure I would ever want to change that.

Every day is different in my job and I have the pleasure of sleeping with some beautiful men and women.

I have a lot of regular clients who I have developed a good relationship with and who I have grown very fond of; my youngest client has been 18 but my oldest client is 83.

My married, or attached, clients come to see me because it’s a non-judgemental space and they can give over the desires they can’t necessarily communicate to their partners.

It’s far more discreet and less stressful than an affair.

Sometimes men have a fantasy in their minds that they’d love to play out but know their partner would be against it; that’s where I come in.

A lot of my married clients prefer to come to me to live out their sexual fantasies rather than put their partner in an awkward position, or jeopardise their marriage or partner’s trust.

Some of my clients come to me when they are tired, stressed or in a slump and they treat our time as they would a psychologist’s, but with less psychobabble and more stimulation; I listen, understand and give them a chance to just be free for the duration of our booking.

I see many couples who come to spice up their relationship, live out a fantasy or treat each other to a sexy weekend, which I love because I am very attracted to women; and sexy play with couples is always a lot of fun.

My life as Grace Bellavue is beautifully chaotic and I wouldn’t change any of my experiences for anything, but it has been an incredible journey to get to a stage where I can proudly call myself a sex worker with the support of my friends and family, and know I am a business woman who has built a company from the ground to the success it is now.