Tongue Tied
I am days away from seeing Hugh, but my mind and my heart are focused North.
I find myself calling it ‘the house’, rather than ‘our house’ even though we’ve spent the last four days loading up the trailer with my belongings and raw materials we’d salvaged from some incredible homes my family bought to teardown. What a dream to be giving new life to such beautiful pieces. How rewarding to enjoy time together in this way, literally hand selecting each piece, disassembling and packing them away for transport North. It’s worth stating that Mr. Wilderness looks incredibly sexy while working. My only regret is being too focused on the task at hand to act on my sexual impulses.
Leaving our home (trying this on for size) was not hard because I know it’s waiting for me when I return. Leaving Mr. Wilderness and the daily doses of pleasure that often resulted more than just once, is a different story. It’s not just the way he devours me with his eyes, his hands, his tongue and his cock, it’s the freedom to indulge in the random moments of joy. I’ll miss the way that we fell asleep holding hands, the times I’d feel his tongue between my legs, licking my pussy even before my eyes opened for the day.
As I write now, I am lounging on the luxurious patio alongside the hot tubs and cold plunge at Espace Thomas in Montreal. I am days away from seeing Hugh, but my mind and my heart are focused North. I’d never felt at home until I moved to New York in 2008 and now it seems I found a new place to call home; It only took 5 years since leaving what some call The Big Apple. I am fully confident about my commitment to Mr. Wilderness, yet even though the town really does feel like home, there is fear about how I will be received by the others.
How will this final summer in Montreal play out? What will my connection with Hugh become? The anticipation of our third date is starting to feel like that of our first. We’ve built a beautiful friendship in the preceding months, but the distance has been tough in terms of my desire for him.
Summer is fading fast, while it’s also just beginning. The biggest question of the moment… Do I reply to the text from that sexy engineer/gymnast asking if he can tie me up?
After all, he did tell me he’s been practicing.
Swing Baby
We’d driven until the road would go no more and all we could see was the sand and the Pacific Ocean. He’d shared about his hope for his last relationship and how it would have created space for multiple partners, yet even though his ex was bisexual and he considers himself queer, they ended up defaulting to the monogamous norm.
It can be tough to stay focused on the present while writing about the past. Being up North, my focus was solely on Mr. Wilderness. The way I managed my time did not permit me to share with you. Thinking back to that night on the beach in Mexico with BBLA, it feels like a lifetime ago when in fact it’s only been weeks since I was breathing in the saltwater air. I’ll see his posts on social media and briefly I’m reminded of our fun; how he had me on the sand, my jeans around my ankles, bent over while he ate me from behind.
We’d driven until the road would go no more and all we could see was the sand and the Pacific Ocean. He’d shared about his hope for his last relationship and how it would have created space for multiple partners, yet even though his ex was bisexual and he considers himself queer, they ended up defaulting to the monogamous norm.
BBLA was charming in that beat up, surfer-artist kind of way. His shoulder-length hair bleached out from the sun and the ocean water, his skin tanned from a lifetime spent outdoors. The night ended back in my apartment with him asking me to stick my ribbed dildo in his ass. He asked with such conviction that I didn’t take it slow. It wasn’t until after the sex ended that he revealed it was his first time trying something like that. I left Mexico a week later and didn’t see him again. Can you still call it a one night stand if you’ve texted and follow each other on social media?
Leaving BBLA in the past, I look now to the future. The more open Mr. Wilderness and I are regarding the nature of our relationship, the more I see the need to be transparent about our way of loving each other. In the North we are an anomaly; living in a region with more land, more farms and more animals than people, means that we’ve decided to ‘move slow’ when it comes to sharing the fact that we are in a committed, non-monogamous relationship. After all, we wouldn’t want to be pigeonholed as ‘those people’ in the way everyone refers to our neighbors as “the swingers,” insert eye roll here. My only question about our neighbors is, “How cute are they?”
The answer? Stay tuned.
Sex Marathon
“I’ve never had this much consistent sex in my life,” the words passed through Mr. Wilderness’ lips as he smiled. We lay in bed naked, still breathing heavily after the countless time of pleasuring each other.
“I’ve never had this much consistent sex in my life,” the words passed through Mr. Wilderness’ lips as he smiled. We lay in bed naked, still breathing heavily after the countless time of pleasuring each other. He’d invited me to stay with him for 2 weeks, which eventually turned into an open-ended invite. Our journey North three months ago kicked off in the way you’d imagine. 5 hours into the almost 7 hour drive I leaned across the cab of his truck and unzipped his jeans. Feeling him harden in my mouth really gets me going and it was only a matter of moments before I couldn’t take it; I had to have him right then.
Pulling his pants lower, I climbed on top of him sliding his cock deep inside me while doing my best not to block his view of the road. The truck maintained a steady speed and I moved slowly, savoring each pulse of pleasure until I climaxed. It was the fourth time we’d made love within 24 hours, but the first time either of us had fucked while driving. Still breathless and exhilarated, I returned to my seat and proceeded to suck him to completion. The beauty of driving on a single-lane highway on a Wednesday? I think only 2 cars passed us.
Now we have 2.5 weeks remaining until we’ll be apart for two months and my desire is stronger than ever. Desire for sex, desire for intimacy and desire for love. Three months of a continuous sex marathon took my body to new pleasure heights. Discovering this new uncharted territory is both wild and exciting. My orgasms have become so long I almost feel guilty… almost.
The real question is how will I manage in Montreal this summer with only 1 date night a week with Hugh?
Two For One
Finally our time came and the handsome kiteboarder arrived on my doorstep.
We matched shortly after I arrived in Mexico and had cute banter over text before setting up a phone call that left us both ready to meet in person. The polyamorous Kiter had been coming down to these parts for over a decade and stayed about an hour and a half from where I was. Between us it seems like every weekend was accounted for with out-of-town guests stopping in; he’s here with his wife to-be, a partner for the last six years, but his girlfriend of a year came down for a week, then my sister dropped in unexpectedly followed by my third date with Mr. Wilderness.
Finally our time came and the handsome kiteboarder arrived on my doorstep. We had fun and good sex… Not the kind where you can’t keep your hands off each other but the kind where you both have great orgasms. (Mr. Wilderness and his ability to get hard again and again immediately after orgasm has totally spoiled me.)
Things took an unexpected turn at dinner. We drove for ages down dirt roads towards the ocean to find a hidden gem restaurant. I joked that if I had not suggested the place and knew it was hard to find I’d think this was the part of the date where he kills me. **
Finally we arrive at the most lovely of Baja places, everything about the spot was perfection. In my attempt to find the damn place I’d called the number on Google which turns out to be the owner’s cell phone. How do I know this? I know, because after dinner the owner who had been flirting with me handed me a napkin with his number on it and invited me to come back on Monday evening for a karaoke night. When he hadn’t heard from me by Sunday afternoon he reached out, as he had my number from my desperate navigation attempt.
Naïve I was thinking this hot LA man was just trying to fill his venue with people; after a few messages it became abundantly clear that he had other intentions. When I didn’t make it to karaoke, he asked me to join him for tea and a sunset once he returned from Mexico City later in the week.
Bold is a man who asks you out while you’re on a date, especially when he doesn’t know that both parties on the date are Polly. I like bold. Let’s call him Baja based LA Artist or BBLA for short.
Next stop? Tea and sunset.
**(violence is very real and it’s always important when meeting someone for the first time after an online match to be smart and safe. I always have my location shared with someone near by when meeting up with a stranger.)
Art of Sext
It has been a hot second since I’ve taken time to share about Hugh. Dear reader please do not for one second think it’s because things have faded. My Montréal based beau is very much alive and well, living his best polyamorous life. In fact his other lover will be joining him this very weekend for a night out at one of the many sex club experiences the city has to offer. Am I jealous?
“Tonight as you fall asleep,” my heart skips a beat as Hugh’s message lands on the screen of my phone. It has been a hot second since I’ve taken time to share about Hugh. Dear reader please do not for one second think it’s because things have faded. My Montréal based beau is very much alive and well, living his best polyamorous life. In fact his other lover will be joining him this very weekend for a night out at one of the many sex club experiences the city has to offer. Am I jealous? Only that I won’t be available to join them.
He continues,“I want to lie you on your stomach with your fingers on your clit thinking of me behind you, massaging your lower back, squeezing my hard cock between your cheeks. As your pussy starts to drip, I slide inside you, pushing deep and filling you up. Letting you feel all of me throb as your pussy contracts to welcome me. As we fuck I start playing with your ass, massaging it until it’s succumbs and lets my thumb slip inside. I finger your asshole and ready it for my cock. You’re so close to orgasm as I take my cock from your pussy and slide it deep into your ass; I grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back off the bed so I can see your face and watch you. I keep my weight pressed heavy against your waist, your fingers still moving hard against your clit as I move back-and-forth, sliding in your ass until we both explode in violent orgasmic release. We collapse together, my weight pinning you down sweaty and heavy in unison. Exalted.”
Ummm… Yes Hugh, I can absolutely lie in bed tonight and cum fantasizing about savagely hot anal sex with you.
We’ve found ourselves after only two in-person dates in a long distance relationship that goes well beyond Sex; although with messages like these the anticipation and the desire is strong and I feel almost bad for the poor people who will be my neighbors in Montréal this summer.
After more than six months apart Hugh and I have some serious making-up for-lost-sex-time well overdue. For now, our weekly FaceTime’s and lengthly written letters continue; the sexy texts are creating an intense build up and I explode again and again to his written words.
Keep the sexts coming Hugh.
Truths Don’t Have to Hurt
To be truly honest means I must participate in the destigmatizing of shame around the subject of childhood molestation.
When I started this blog back in 2010 it was because people were pleading with me to write it. The very same friends who I would recount details from my wild nights with would coax me, “Everyone wants to hear this, you must create some thing!” So, I did and at the time it took off. Sooo I Met This Guy fill the void in the time post Sex In The City and pre Girls.
Without much effort promoting the platform the readership skyrocketed, media features were published and then I got bored and my actual fashion career began to takeoff. There was barely time to live the life let alone write about it.
Now I’m faced with the self inquiry, “Why am I doing this again?” No one is asking me to write and the readership is a fraction of what it used to be… Honestly a podcast would be the more obvious medium in 2022. For Christ’s sake even Carrie got that right in the SITC reboot and no I haven’t watched it (or Girls for that matter).
So back to the question, what am I getting out of this and why am I taking precious moments of my day to create?
The exhibitionist part of me takes an immense amount of pleasure knowing a part of you gets off reading about my sex, but you already knew that. To be truly honest is to reveal some thing I spent my entire life to keep hidden, even from myself.
To be truly honest means I must participate in the destigmatizing of shame around the subject of childhood molestation; a word that even as I write it on this page (yes I hand write all my first drafts) refuses to be scrawled smoothly.
I continue to share my journey exploring polyamory with the hook of sexual pleasure because for me, being able to flaunt this pleasure is my way of reclaiming something that someone tried to take away from me when I was much too young to be experiencing that kind of sexuality.
Every time I put pen to paper and re-count the glorious ecstasy I share with my various partners, it’s my small victory over those who tried to victimize me. I do not share this because I want your sympathy or because I need you to understand who I am, but because perhaps you’ve been struggling with some aspect of life.
Perhaps you need to know that bad fucking shit happens and it does not need to break you. You have the power to rewrite your story, heal and live for yourself in the way that you see fit. If there is one thing you take away from my ramblings, I hope it’s the strength and confidence to ask for what you want, embrace your sexuality however that manifests for you and accept nothing less than the orgasms and endless pleasure you deserve.
Now, let’s get back to the sexy stuff.
Third Date
His boldness to pick up and meet me for a journey such as this was a huge turn on and the trip could not have been more perfect. Mr. Wilderness had me swooning in ways I’m not used to.
His white rental truck pulled into the driveway of our Casita and I was instantly aroused. Who am I kidding, I’d been anticipating his arrival since our second in-person date which lasted three nights only four short weeks earlier.
Our third official date stretched for 10 nights and 11 days as we explored the beaches, mountains and cities along Mexico’s Baja California Sur Peninsula, as well as exploring each other. It was not the first time I’d traveled with a new beau, however usually one of us was working and it was never for such a lengthy time.
His boldness to pick up and meet me for a journey such as this was a huge turn on and the trip could not have been more perfect. Mr. Wilderness had me swooning in ways I’m not used to.
Perhaps it was watching him “handle” wild horses that were disturbing fellow travelers on the hidden Beach of Las Palmas; or perhaps it was the unbelievable sex inside a cave that ended in a massive climax just as the tide began to rise and the sand floor washed away beneath us? Either way, I was left with a full heart, a body that craves his touch and an overall satisfaction and simultaneous need for more.
Who really is this man? How can he keep up in an 11 day sex marathon, prepare absolutely delicious food and maintain engaging and mostly meaningful conversations for days on end?
I’m taken back to the feeling of waking up with his hands against my bare skin, his tongue between my legs, orgasm after orgasm as he continues to get hard again and again without a break. He’s about to turn 40 years old, but we fuck like we are teenagers. When I’m with him none of the others exist.
There is a small part of me that is waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, this is his first exploration into non-monogamy and he has a date with a lovely sounding woman next week. We all know the importance of proximity and this other woman has me beat when it comes to that.
Will he fall for her? Will she be open to non-monogamy? I refuse to be concerned for what the future may or may not bring; that said, I’ve compromised my non-monogamous values in the past, before I was truly committed to this truth. If he isn’t committed the same could occur here.
It will be six weeks until we are together again and my mind will wander, recounting this never-ending date again and again as the desires I have continue to build. This distance is an aphrodisiac in itself.
In the meantime there may just be someone waiting in the wings and for now, that will have to do.
Enter stage right, The Kiter.
Lovers For Days
It’s been a while since I’ve taken a proper lover, could this sexy man from the East Coast be it?
I’m sitting in the garden a few hundred feet from the ocean; the morning sun beats down gently on my face, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach is infused with 1950s jazz softly humming over what seems to be an antique speaker or perhaps an old record player. My soul is both calm and relaxed but also on fire. Mr. Wilderness arrives in a few days and there is a new kind of excitement at play as I anticipate his arrival.
I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone before his visit, but the universe had other plans.
After the first night with Lover Boy there was a part of me that desired more. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a proper lover, could this sexy man from the East Coast be it?
Just as the night before he stood next to the red truck to collect me, only this time as he opened the door and offered me a lift into the cab, he pulled my wrap around a Pucci skirt to the side to reveal that I was naked. He licked my pussy right there for anyone to see.
We drove down the pitch black road that separated our places; for a desert the road was more jungle than not. He also had on nothing beneath his shorts and while he drove I leaned across the console and did my best to fit all of him in my mouth. Nothing like a little jungle-head.
What came next, pun very much intended, was out of this world sex. At one point I was upside down, my warm cheek pressed against the cool tile floor, ass in the air, my hips barely grazing the edge of the mattress. He was so-fucking-deep it was almost too much… almost. After the fourth or fifth orgasm (I lost count or perhaps the capacity to count) something happened.
I was on top, riding him hard when I started cumming; the intensity of the pleasure kept building stronger and longer and over a full minute later I was breathless, collapsed on his firm chest with his arms around me. “That was the longest and strongest orgasm I’ve ever had”. Truly, it felt like it would never end, “I think we may need to be lovers,” we looked at each other both still hungry for more.
He kissed me, “I’m not ready to let you go,” he smiled and slid inside me again. His words and actions aligned as he made me come once more before we parted ways.
He was Miami bound and we knew it would be months until we’d reconnect, but something told me he would be worth the wait.
Until then Lover Boy.
Unexpected Encounter
We were both breathless, he had me screaming so loudly his travel partner came in, concerned the neighbors were going to complain…
I knew he would be fun from his photos. Dating apps can be a blessing while traveling and with this match the universe was smiling down on me.
We were to meet Friday, but ended up connecting Thursday on account of a last-minute guest showing up at my Casita; a fortuitous upset to our plans as the lustiness of our fun had room to grow. He was in Mexico for two weeks and we met for dinner just two days before his departure.
He was waiting for me, standing next to a red truck and as I approached I knew I would kiss him immediately. His soft tongue slid inside my mouth and I bit down on his lower lip.
Let’s call him Lover Boy.
He took me for what can only be described as life-changing coconut shrimp tacos. As he fed me a piece of shrimp I proceeded to suck the sauce off his finger; the look on this man’s face said it all. It was not long before we were back at his Hacienda.
He slid the straps of my jumper down, revealing the black lace bodysuit that screamed, ‘I like to be bad’. He stood naked, freshly showered with his massive cock fully erect. Lifting me onto the bed he ate me aggressively, ass, pussy, clit, sucking so hard I nearly lost my mind.
After hours of orgasms he finally let himself go, “Thank God for condoms or I’m not sure I could’ve lasted”. He’d taken me for 2 hours before cumming himself.
We were both breathless, he had me screaming so loudly his travel partner came in, concerned the neighbors were going to complain (I think we all know that he wanted to get a glimpse of what all the fuss was about).
Personally, I don’t mind. It’s hot that the sex sounded so good he was inspired to watch. It’s too bad the travel friend wasn’t my speed or I would’ve asked him to join.
Do you like being watched?
Longer Distance
Eyelids gently closed, half awake, half asleep; the thoughts of the last week flooded my being with prickles of pleasure. There is no space, there’s no time, just touch.
I laid with my head resting against the back of the seat on the first flight of the day. Eyelids gently closed, half awake, half asleep; the thoughts of the last week flooded my being with prickles of pleasure. There is no space, there’s no time, just touch; I was transported back to those moments, his tongue pressing on my clit, softly licking me, the tip of his tongue pushing inside me making me crave all of him.
Mr. Wilderness had made the 6-hour drive South and when he stood at my door, his smile, that look in his eyes and the firmness of his kiss, I knew our time together was going to be intense. He has a gentle strength that is undeniably sexy.
The timeline is an absolute blur, but this man took me again and again until every time he slid inside me it was pure orgasms. Anyone who has read my previous affairs knows I can be a bit of a DOM (to say the very least) but something about Mr. Wilderness allowed me to fully submit and the pleasure that ensued was like nothing else I've ever had.
Now aboard the second flight of the day with 3 hours and 20 minutes until we’d be touching down on the coast of Baja California Sur, I put pen to paper. While crossing the snow capped mountainous terrain, I imagine him naked in his sauna, hand on his cock, wishing my legs were wrapped around his waist and our bodies sweating, unable to pull apart. Only a few hours until the 'summer' sunshine will once again grace my skin and only a few weeks until he’ll join me… Life is sweet and those videos he captured of us are even sweeter.
Like the intensity of my orgasms, my feelings for him deepen with each interaction. The image of his cock sliding inside me while I'm bent over the bed flashes across my phone screen and I'm grateful that the man seated next to me is fast asleep (all though who knows and who honestly cares about the people seated behind me). It's hard not to watch this over and over. This man can make love to me and capture the sexiness on film; I'm falling hard and I don't want it to stop. Four more weeks will pass before he lands on Mexican soil... not that I'm counting.
First Date
The door opened and as he turned towards me our eyes locked; lust at first sight.
The door opened and as he turned towards me our eyes locked; lust at first sight.
Even more handsome in person, the electricity between us made my breath catch in my throat. As we sat across from each other at dinner and I began to see who he is as a human being, I was taken aback.
We are in a city that neither of us live in, yet both pass through regularly enough… I genuinely thought this would be one night of lusty fun, but the more he shared, the more intrigued I grew. What was happening!?
As we stood on my front doorstep the next morning, our lips locked, tongues hungry, unable to pull away, I knew he felt it too. My pussy was dripping, begging for more even though I’d had four orgasms just hours earlier. The smell of his sweat and the feel of his skin burned into my memory, to be played on repeat. Just as I’d asked he woke me with his tongue between my legs. The softness of the hotel sheets engulfed us as I lay breathless, head on his chest unable to tear myself away. Not only had he taken me to one of my favorite restaurants, but he had made the fortuitous decision to also book himself a room at the right hotel.
The cold winter air stung my bare legs as I walked through the front door and the whisper that came from the universe moments before we had met now reappeared, bringing a smile to my heart.
"You’ll either never see him again or he’s the one," the words echoed in my post sex haze and I craved more of him, but not just physically. I have no idea what mother-nature means by 'the one', but I'm excited to find out.
Now, weeks later and two phone dates in, I sit in Costa Rica, sipping sparkling water while watching the sunset after an hour of virtual sex; my heart is calm and quiet. I am not in a hurry. With two weeks until we will be together again physically, I’ll savor the moments leading up to that just as I will the moments we are together.
What comes next is the most unclear, yet I’m excited to find out. His quiet strength, connection to himself and understanding of the world are charming and endearing. I want to know more.
Let’s call him Mr. Wilderness.
Actions But Also Words
"Cigarettes and monogamy are deal breakers," my long nails clicked as I typed this into the description field of my dating profile. Still uncomfortable with labels, this at least felt more authentic and genuine to who I am and the type of relationship I am seeking.
"Cigarettes and monogamy are deal breakers," my long nails clicked as I typed this into the description field of my dating profile. Still uncomfortable with labels, this at least felt more authentic and genuine to who I am and the type of relationship I am seeking. After all 'deep connection and hot sex' may attract the wrong people.
It had been less than a month since Hugh and I met. After our second date, which happened to be the night before I left Montréal for the winter, we decided to stay in touch and see what grows; grow indeed we did.
Weekly FaceTimes, sexy texts and deep insightful emails strengthened our bond. Remote, yet flirtatious lunchtime orgasms kept things spicy, but long distance is always tough on physical intimacy, most especially when you're in your home town and staying with family. With 2 weeks before I departed for warmer weather it couldn't hurt to see what else the universe had in store for me sexually.
Boom. Match, poly man. And again, match, another hot young-ish polyamorous man. Basically the second one was my age.. but we all know I have an old-man fetish, so let's leave it that he is young. I met the first one for a date in a nondescript coffee shop where we were the only two there, unless you count the barista. After ordering coffee, which neither of us has much interest in drinking, we took a seat by the ever-classy electric fireplace. His hand grazed my knee as he told me how beautiful and sexy he found me. The feeling was mutual and I could see he was as hungry to devour me. With nothing on underneath my navy satin skirt I guided his hand to feel how wet I was as I leaned in to kiss him. He got me close with his fingers and then got on his knees in the middle of the coffee shop and ate me until I came.
He was fun, but based on the fact that he and his wife are not open about being poly within their circle, I knew it would just be a lusty encounter and didn't have any intentions of seeing him again. Hot sex? Check. Deep connection? Hell no. Next!
Young-ish poly man was freshly married and had only been open with his wife for the last 6 weeks. After chatting further, with a healthy dose of flirtatious texts thrown in for good measure, it became clear that they are in a very experimental phase of their relationship. As I am not a science project nor looking to be in their social experiment, I'm clearly running my own here, I had to pass. NEXT! (Too bad though, he was pretty cute.)
I was done with all the back and forth messages from boys and toys. Later that week when I matched with a sexy and charming man from up north and he asked me to dinner I happily accepted, knowing a night of fun with a handsome stranger would not take away anything from what Hugh and I have been building.
There is a hotel in my hometown where I have spent many nights locked up in their most glamorous of suites having multiple orgasms with multiple partners. It's dark and sexy and each of the rooms are different; if you've ever stayed at The Hotel Fort Garry, you can take pleasure knowing that I've probably cum all over your sheets. Don't worry their laundry service is topnotch.
When this handsome stranger, and would be dinner date, told me he normally stays in a hotel when he visits, I knew even before meeting him that if he was the kind of man that would book to stay at the Hotel Fort Garry there was exactly a 0% chance that he'd be sleeping there alone. Until Saturday...
And Then There Were Two
Why does everyone who isn’t “hetero“ or “monogamous“ have to “come-out“ as themselves? We can often get so caught up in the labeling that we lose sight of who the person is and what they stand for, instead focusing on who they fuck and their lifestyle choices.
Anyone who has read my ramblings knows that monogamy isn’t my style. That said, I've been resisting putting a label on myself until now. Part of me feels like I shouldn’t have to. Why does everyone who isn’t “hetero“ or “monogamous“ have to “come-out“ as themselves? We can often get so caught up in the labeling that we lose sight of who the person is and what they stand for, instead focusing on who they fuck and their lifestyle choices.
We matched on an app. I was drawn to his handsome smile, athletic pursuits, international background and his use of the word polyamory. After one or two messages he inquired, “You read my profile? You saw that I’m Poly?”
To which I smiled and replied, “Yes, it’s one of the things that attracted me.”
It was more than just the labeling that had prevented me from embracing the word polyamorous. I want a family and that for me includes children; I’ve been struggling to see how ethical non-monogamy works successfully with children. There are almost no media examples and I personally didn't know anyone achieving this. Yet here is this man; he is smart, charming, kind and confident with two children, a primary partner and a commitment to openness and honesty. He knows what he wants and there is a clear structure of what works when it comes to additional partners.
We sat across from each other, the seafood restaurant in the Old Port of Montreal was nearly empty on this Friday afternoon. I'd just spent 4 hours at Scandinave Spa and was beyond relaxed from the thermal cycle. A light dusting of snow was sprinkling down, evaporating as it made contact with the pavement. Our eyes were fixed on each other and the tension building all week from our messages was thick in the air. Part of me wanted to clear the table with a sweep of my arm, lean across and pull this man towards me; I should have, but I didn't.
We stood on the cobblestone street after lunch and with the glow of the white Christmas lights sparkling in the sky above us, he kissed me. Shivers ran down my spine and through my being. A kiss like that could only mean one thing and I’d spend the next 24 hours until our first dinner date fantasizing about the way his tongue would penetrate me… Let’s call him Hugh.
P.S. After he read this draft he responded by saying, “I'm pretty sure you kissed me…” but given that he clocks in at over 6 feet tall and I’m just a touch above 5 foot 2 inches, I beg to differ.
Lovers
Why is there an expectation that a life partner should be able to tick all of our boxes? Or why are we expected to compromise when we could have it all, just not from one person? Is the the sacrifice of our own needs and desires supposed to be the foundation of longterm partnership? I don’t believe so.
I’ve yet to experience getting everything I need from one individual. We don’t expect our friends to give us everything, that is why we have more than one friend. Why is there an expectation that a life partner should be able to tick all of our boxes? Or why are we expected to compromise when we could have it all, just not from one person? Is the the sacrifice of our own needs and desires supposed to be the foundation of longterm partnership? I don’t believe so.
Six weeks back I met someone. He is smart, handsome, intelligent, kind, respectful and I melt a little more with each kiss. He is generous, worldly, a healthy amount of ambition, and what society would consider a true gentleman. Even though he is more conservative than I’m used to dating, I like him.
Sex. I told him I wanted to move slowly, but maybe that was a mistake. I tend to make relationships about sex. This time it seemed appropriate to get to know the person before getting physical. Now, I’m not sure that was the best move. His conservatism seems to be a roadblock and my inner sexual deviant is not pleased. Let’s call him The Conservative.
So what is a Chloe to do?
Enter, new lover. Tall with badass style, this handsome French-Swiss-Ethiopian man had me swooning hard. He liked the hiphop music playing off my phone and “staring into my mysterious eyes,” the words rolling off his tongue in a unique French-German accent. Let’s call him 007.
“You have the sexiest accent,” I was taken with each word and he grew sexier switching between the French, English and German dialects he was raised with. After taking two puffs of a freshly rolled joint we kissed in the front seat of his car.
First dates in Covid times truly take me back to high school. The heel of my boot was resting on the dash. Like teenagers we were parked down the road from my apartment. His hands running along my shin and up my inner thigh. He pushed his fingers inside me and then pressed his now wet fingers along my clit massaging me until I begged to feel them inside me again.
His kiss, rough and rugged, firm and passionate. I reached between his legs to feel how hard he was. Grabbing his cock with one hand, I placed the other on myself. With his fingers inside me and mine teasing my clit, we worked together until I let go in orgasm.
“Come up,” I said, wanting more.
“No, let the anticipation build,” he smiled and I wanted to smack him across his handsome face, “Tomorrow?”
“Wednesday,” I replied as I got out of the car, and as he had said just moments before I looked him in the eye and repeated, “Let the anticipation build”.
He laughed and we both knew there was no way we’d be waiting until Wednesday.
The One & Done
I am an addict, he was my fix. The ongoing sexting for hours and days on end; playing out endless fantasies, sexual and other, only to let the chips fall where they may.
He asked what made me reach out and I’d told him I wasn’t sure. Hindsight is 20/20 and denial runs deep. I knew why I reached out. I knew what would unfold. And I got exactly what I’d been looking for. Torture, punishment and pleasure.
I was seeking a connection to the past, to an unknown that had tempted me so many times before. The One, an apple in my garden of eden, combined with the voice inside, my serpent, begging me to sink my teeth in and eat my heart out.
I am an addict, he was my fix. The ongoing sexting for hours and days on end; playing out endless fantasies, sexual and other, only to let the chips fall where they may. I hung on each vibration of my phone, while he gave me almost everything I needed from afar.
As time passed it became clear we were spinning. His actions straying so far from the words he speaks. And just as soon as it began it ended. There are no pieces to pick up. Nothing is broken; there is nothing to break.
Empty is my heart, flat is my soul. There is nothing for me with him. The One who got away? The One who was never meant to be? The One I’ll never have. The One and done.
The wild nights we’ll never have. The potential explosion of dynamic energy that will never be set off; the power that could have been. The mind blowing, earth shattering sexual tension dies on each unfulfilled commitment, each call never made nor answered.
Onward.
Now, how do you tell your new partner that when you say open, you really mean open, without scaring them away before things have a real chance? This new man in my life is delightful though I worry our commitments to living outside societal norms may differ in more ways than one.
While I adore how he holds me down by pressing his arm across my throat while I cum... I feel as though he’s not as experimental as I’ll eventually need him to be. Time will tell. For now I’m taking the discovery process slow. Getting to know him more than just sexually but also personally. Is this what they mean when they say adulting?
Lucky No. 3
I’ve said before that my attraction to both men and women can leave me wanting more; so that Friday night in the East Village, three days before our official dinner date, I rolled the dice and I played to win.
ACME. 3:30 AM. Need I say more?
Between the moments spent entertaining my guests at the pool party he’d been flirting with me. He was a friend of a friend and one of the most handsome and charming people I’d met. The super sexy British accent that rolled off his tongue was music to a particular fetish of my ears. At 6’5”, even in my highest of heels, he towered over me. His killer smile and sense of humor had me wanting more.
Amidst the chaos that is hosting an event, he managed to ask for my number and I was glad that he did.
A few days after the infamous bash, it would be featured along side Jay-Z and Beyonce’s Magna Carta album party as a soiree that was not to be missed, he’d asked me to have dinner with him at a sexy little spot in Tribeca. I was excited and annoyed to have to wait an entire week to see him. Monday was so far away and in New York, an entire lifetime can pass by in a week.
I wanted to see his gorgeous face. I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I got wet just thinking about sitting across the table from him. Even though things with The Colombian were still ongoing, at night when I laid in bed to allow sleep to come to me, I would make myself cum fantasizing about him. Let’s call him The Big One.
I’ve said before that my attraction to both men and women can leave me wanting more; so that Friday night in the East Village, three days before our official dinner date, I rolled the dice and I played to win.
ACME. 3:30 AM. Need I say more? Anyone who has been to the underground club below this delicious restaurant knows it is a place for good drinks, great music and sexy people dancing the night away. Personally, it’s the place where I went to play and often left with more than one person. The Colombian and I had been drinking dancing and taking drugs. Even though I was enthralled with her every move, I couldn’t help but notice The Big One texting me.
She glanced over with her dark, devious eyes and told me I should invite him to join, so I did.
Because New York isn’t actually the city that never sleeps, ACME closed its doors at 4 AM and as we stood outside the front enterance taking drags of a shared cigarette, The Big One walked up. He was just as handsome and dynamic as I’d remembered. The three of us pilled into a taxi and headed up the west side to a friend’s party. The Colombian was eyeing us both on the ride and I could tell she approved of the pairing.
I didn’t know it then, but the next 48 hours were about to get very wild and very public. His hand was resting on my thigh and I wanted nothing more than for him to slide it upwards so he could feel just how badly I was aching for him, my pussy dripped wet. I wanted to feel his hands and her lips; I wanted to feel it all.
We arrived at the apartment, pilled into the elevator and they both began to kiss me… the game had begun and it seemed everyone wanted to play.
Bi-Bi-Bi
She stood tall at 5’ 8” with hair so dark it was almost black and it fell just below her slender shoulders. She was dynamic, fiery and wild. We spent many nights causing trouble in Manhattan; dancing, drinking champagne, and mercilessly teasing the men who watched us kiss, but we always left together.
Oil on Linen By Gideon Rubin
“It’s okay not to be gay,” she said and we both cracked up in laughter.
“Lesbians never go for bisexuals,” I said, feeling a tinge of resentment as I sat in the cold metal chair, gazing at the smile of my beautiful neighbor. The air was fresh and crisp and her backyard was overrun with luscious greenery.
“It’s because we think they are curious not committed,” my neighbor concluded.
I’ve never been one for labels, unless of course we are talking about beautifully crafted luxury goods that last the test of time. That said… I’ve always been attracted to men and to women. Growing up I didn’t see bisexual representation on screen or around me. I was raised to respect all people regardless of their sexual orientations, but was not exposed to people who were anything but heteronormative in their approach to life.
As a young person, I pursued relationships with men, as that was constantly being projected onto me. No one asked, “who do you like?” They asked, “which boys do you think are cute?” Because of this projection, it just seemed easier to explore relationships with boys, even though my first kiss was with a girl.
Oil on Linen By Gideon Rubin
Even in 2020, bisexual people tend to be underrepresented on screen and in life. We are often seen as gay, when with a same-sex partner and hetero when with a partner of the opposite sex.
I sleep with men and women. I date men and women. I want to be in a relationship and I don’t see why I have to choose between a man and a woman.
As much as I’m in it for the human being, part of me feels like when I’m with a man, I’m missing out on being with a woman and the reverse is also true. The solution?
Well, long term I have not a fucking clue, but my ex boyfriend and I had a very fun solution for the short term.
But before I had an ex boyfriend, there was The Colombian and she was my first real connection with a woman that was more than just sex; she said she wanted me to be her woman and I was exactly that.
She stood tall at 5’ 8” with hair so dark it was almost black and it fell just below her slender shoulders. She was dynamic, fiery and wild. We spent many nights causing trouble in Manhattan; dancing, drinking champagne, and mercilessly teasing the men who watched us kiss. Her lips, soft and light, her kiss deep and passionate. Even when countless men tried get in on the action, we always left together.
Until one night, a few days after my July 4th pool party years earlier; that is when everything changed.
Oil on Linen By Gideon Rubin
In Conversation: Elizabeth Waterman Part 2
It’s fun that we have movies like Hustler and that we have celebs like Cardi B and Amber Rose and that is all great because it creates awareness and celebration of strippers, but you have to remember to give credit where credit is due.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Reflection in mirror, 2017.
A dancer does her makeup for the night at a nude club in Long Island City, Queens.
After years of photographing backstage and behind the scenes, portrait photographer Elizabeth Waterman has thousands of images accumulating for her Dark Angels project. I wanted to know, how has Dark Angels evolved from its conception?
“A couple years into the project I started photographing the strippers in their homes. I focused on that for 6 or 8 months and that was an eye-opener and really interesting,” Elizabeth tells me. “As a portrait photographer, I feel like when you are comfortable and you have a rapport, that's when you have moments where you get a great photo. As much as it’s about them feeling comfortable, it is also about getting me comfortable being there. Sometimes I am the uncomfortable one!"
Elizabeth’s shift to shooting their personal spaces allowed her to open up communication; sharing with them, talking with them, seeing their homes and even becoming friends with the girls.
“It is these moments where you get more interesting pictures. All of my photoshoots are about building relationships to get the picture. You don’t just take a picture of someone, at least that’s not how I take pictures,” she confesses.
Given the length and complexity of the project, it’s safe to assume there were surprises along the journey. For Elizabeth, the biggest shock was discovering the common creative threads that were so closely intertwined amongst those who crossed her path. “I really had no idea that so many strippers are different kinds of creatives,” she exclaims and continues. “There was a girl, Charlie is the Bronx, she was also an actress; Mona Marie, who danced for Snoop Dog’s videos; Danielle was a script writer. There was a dancer in Long Island City who was supporting herself while being in a pretty successful band. There was a wide range of creatives; burlesque dancers at Jumbo’s the infamous LA strip club, and many of the Miami girls were influencers producing creative content for themselves as a brand.” Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised by this as she is drawn to shooting artists and wound up photographing more of them without realizing it at first. “A lot of them really do enjoy their job. A lot of them are there because they like to party and they have fun; that is their lifestyle and they are into it. I didn't expect that and it is really cool,” she shares.
Spending so much time around sexual entertainers must be educational on a few different levels. I wanted to know, did she herself learn any seduction techniques to take home to her own bedroom (or wherever she likes to have sex)? “Yes. Fucking totally. Are you kidding me!?” We have a laugh and she continues, “One of the reasons I got into this project was because I wanted to get more in touch with my own sexuality. I am drawn to how expressed they are sexually. I wanted to be more like that.”
So what was the biggest takeaway? “One thing you learn is that you have to have fun. The girls have fun; they are providing entertainment. There is a dancer called Jalapeno and she would hold a beer bottle between her ass cheeks and have guys try to throw stuff in it. Other girls would do handstands and land with their crotches onto people's faces. You realize, stop taking yourself so seriously and have fun with it! I laugh more now when having sex than I ever have. Laugh and have fun. It’s just sex,” says Elizabeth.
Elizabeth also really discovered the power of flirting and femininity. She tells me, “Your feminine power is like a fucking rocket and it’s your birthright. You’ve got it forever; it’s yours and you can use it or not and it can be fun to use. There is no harm in that.”
Some of you are experienced veterans when it comes to a night out at a strip club. For those of you who think you know, and those looking to discover the scene, Elizabeth breaks down strip club etiquette.
Rule No. 1: “Ultimately the main thing is to tip; you need to factor in bringing money to tip the girls. If you want to go and you don’t want to spend a lot of money, and you want to sit and watch the girls on stage, you still need to bring money to tip them on stage,” she says very seriously. “In your brain when you’re going to the strip club you need to add on at least $50-100 dollars in tip money as part of the cost of the experience,” she breaks it down bluntly. The takeaway? Bring that cash money. “It’s fine if you want to tip the girls on stage and be more modest, but you need to tip. If you want to do lap dances and you want to get into a VIP you need to tip more significantly and you need to think about it as part of going out for the night.”
Rule No. 2: “Respect the girls; everyone, be it a stripper or not, wants respect. They don’t want you to touch them when you are not supposed to. They want you to listen to the rules and enjoy yourself and have fun,” she says and then adds, “Ask permission when you are getting a lap dance, ‘can I touch your boobs, can I touch your butt?’ Every club has different rules, every state has different rules. They’ll fucking tell you.” Remember party people, you’re buying a service, you are buying sexual entertainment. They are there to serve. According to Elizabeth, “Ask for their opinion! It’s okay to ask, ‘what should I do, what do you recommend? Which dance tricks are you really good at?’” Bottom line, they are experts so treat them as such. Let them be the sexual entertainers that they are!
Elizabeth Waterman (c) In your face, 2017.
An experienced Bronx dancer gives a club goer the dance of a lifetime.
What is Elizabeth’s ultimate goal in creating the Dark Angels project? “I personally got such a kick out of when the girls saw the images of themselves from the week before. The girls were blown away by how beautiful and amazing they looked. It changed their perception of themselves. Any good portrait should do that; any good portrait should show that person in a beautiful way that leaves them with a different experience of who they are,” says Elizabeth.
“I’ve had dancers say, ‘wow you’ve really captured our world.’ If I can have dancers look at this book and feel more beautiful, more recognized and more elevated, that would thrill me. I feel like I’m indebted to the dancers more than anything else and I would want them to have that experience,” she says proudly.
If this work can contribute even a subtle shift in other people’s perceptions of strippers, Elizabeth will be pleased with her contribution to the shift in the cultural understanding of something. “There are movies that shift the way people see strippers. There are also articles and there is a shift happening to the perspective and I want to contribute to that,” she says. Her goal is to have people be accepting and respecting strippers, while dismantling negative stereotypes. The hope for Elizabeth is that her work will allow people to come to further appreciate strippers and put a higher value on female sexuality in general.
For Elizabeth, this work is centered around creating more value around feminine sexuality instead of deteriorating it. “This is a beautiful thing, this is an asset, this is monetizable, this is valuable; don’t fuck with it,” she says with confidence.
Elizabeth started out wanting to capture something special. She wanted to see this world of strippers and learn to be more sexually self-expressed. She tells me, “I wanted a new adventure. I was so curious and I wanted the thrill of being out late at night and I wanted to push myself. In another life I would be a stripper. I think that world is so cool and I saw some part of myself in it that I had to go explore.” We are so grateful that she did as the images are beautiful, thoughtful, fun and sexy. They are sexual without sexualizing, they are glossy while still being raw.
The work is targeted toward people who like art, and each image stands alone on its artistic merit. Anyone who wants to celebrate women’s sexuality and nightlife will be drawn in by this body of work.
In general, but also especially because of the Covid-19 pandemic, there is a lot of movement right now to get workers’ rights for strippers. “Historically strippers have been discriminated against by the clubs in terms of their employment status, and oftentimes there are celebrities that will capitalize on strip club culture but not really credit the strippers or kick back to the strippers,” Elizabeth recounts. “It’s fun that we have movies like Hustler and that we have celebs like Cardi B and Amber Rose and that is all great because it creates awareness and celebration of strippers, but you have to remember to give credit where credit is due.”
The fact is that actual strippers need some help in terms of getting status as employees rather than contractors. “There is stupid shit that goes down, like with Covid the federal loans for small businesses excluded sex workers. It excluded business that present live performances of a prurient sexual nature, like what the fuck is that!?” she exclaims.
“It is not okay for us as a culture to think strippers are cool and great and say we want to be like Cardi B and watch J Lo dance in the movies and listen to Lil Jon rap songs about ‘dancing like a stripper’, but the actual strippers need to be taken care of as well,” Elizabeth is as passionate about workers’ rights as she is about her art. “There are some organizations out there that are doing great work to change laws and provide support for strippers during the shut down.”
Check out and support organizations like Soldiers of Pole. It is run by two women Elizabeth knows personally and a trusted source for creating change and doing work on the ground.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Laughing, 2018.
A dancer laughs in the VIP section of a Las Vegas gentlemen's club.
How are celebs stepping up? “FKA Twigs, a British pop artist was getting a lot of flack for using the stripper culture in her music videos and she responded well and put together a fundraiser on her Instagram to benefit British strippers and that is really great. It’s important to champion that kind of activity where influencers are helping the communities that they are capitalizing on. That should be celebrated and given more attention,” says Elizabeth.
In the post-Covid world, how have things changed in the industry? Elizabeth was just in Vegas and popped into Sapphire, one of the largest strip clubs in the world. They have been able to reopen by doing daytime pool parties. “They were offering cabana services and opening up to a limited degree,” she tells me. “Normally, on a busy night there could be 400 girls working there and there are definitely not 400 girls there now! Maybe 20 or 30 in the pool area. I talked to one girl who works as a stripper and does porn, so she has shifted strictly to porn for now.”
So how does the business side actually work? “In a majority of clubs these girls are contractors and their money is made when a client is there,” Elizabeth explains. “They are there to provide a service in exchange for money, however they often pay a fee to work at the club to cover management costs; they start the night in a deficit.”
If you are mediocre how do you fare? “You’re still going to be making more than minimum wage. If you want to make a career out of it and you’re good at sales and you are strategic, you can do quite well, you can do 6 figures absolutely,” says Elizabeth, “But that's not easy to do. You don't just walk in and make 6 figures.”
After all, this is a business and like all business, hard work and determination are key!
Have fun, play hard and remember, things will be opening up again soon and we want you to be prepared.
Elizabeth’s 6 favorite places to visit as soon as the doors open:
New York
Long Island City, right across the bridge from Manhattan, is one of the classiest clubs around (think chandeliers). It’s all-nude and open till 6 am. It’s going full-blast between 2 and 4 am, when the other clubs are winding down. No booze, but hey, if you want to stay up late enough, they’ll serve you breakfast (they have a full kitchen!).
Los Angeles
You simply must go! It features some of the city’s most accomplished burlesque dancers and contortionists.
On LaBrea, the steamy performances there are on the wild side; the girls even hang from the ceiling! You’ll also see quite a few two-dancer tag-team shows. There’s nothing else like it in LA.
Miami
The stunning, fully naked dancers will leave you more than a little breathless. Many are practically celebrities - some have millions of followers on Instagram. I’ve never seen so many $200 manicures in one place!
New Orleans
Located on Bourbon Street, this place is a kick with its refreshingly wide variety of dancers and performance styles. And yeah, a really, really tall pole. So you can throw dollars from the second story. Who doesn’t want to do that?
Las Vegas
The biggest club in the world. On some nights you’ll witness hundreds of dancers. And if you’re rolling in cash, get a Skybox and you can see the whole club scene from above, (with a sexy lady on your lap!). Nothing else compares.
LIMITED EDITION COLLABORATIVE POSTER
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Limited Edition. Collaborative poster with sex blogger CHLOE IS MY ALIAS.
Sized 18x18 inches.
Features photograph from Elizabeth Waterman Dark Angels project on strippers.
In Conversation: Elizabeth Waterman Part 1
Here is what makes a really good stripper. When you are sitting and watching a stripper on stage doing her show and you’re 20 or 50 feet away, and just from watching them you feel like you’re having sex with them.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) End of the night, 2017.
A dancer in the Bronx celebrates a successful night of lapdances.
I’ve known and worked with portrait photographer Elizabeth Waterman since our early days in New York. Over the past 10 years I’ve watched her develop as an artist, and posed twice for her various projects. We spent a Saturday afternoon a few weeks back getting caught up on her latest series and soon-to-be book. She was at her home in Santa Monica, I was at my townhouse in Montreal; the hot topic was all things Dark Angels. Her latest is a collection of photographs spanning the last 4 years and going behind the scenes and onto the stages of America’s most notable strip clubs. Elizabeth did not hold back about the joys and the stress of gaining access to and documenting this subculture, and let me in on the sexy takeaways that result from spending so much time in a sex-fueled environment.
Her goal with this project is to create something that peers inside a world people haven't seen before and she knew getting access to the strip clubs and photographing these girls was going to be difficult. “It’s not a common thing to do. I started to learn it’s a really political atmosphere,” she tells me. “You are not just dealing with strippers, you’re in an environment with the men and women paying to be there; you have the staff and the management, you have the hosts and DJ and the owner, the house mom and the girls,” she pauses, “there are so many people involved in this pseudo ecosystem.”
The biggest thing to overcome? Navigating the ecosystem in a graceful and respectful way, without being a pushover and making sure you get what you came for in terms of the body of work. From what she tells me, it’s a delicate balance like no other project she’s taken on before.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Charlie in VIP, 2017.
Charlie gives a private dance in the VIP section of a Bronx party club.
“You really have to be cognizant of everybody; they all have different considerations, they all have different concerns. The owner doesn't want you interfering with any of the money being made. The clients usually don't want their photo being taken, the house moms want the girls to be happy, the girls want to make money, and you have to make sure you’re not stepping on any of those interests and everyone is happy that you are there,” she tells me in a very serious tone. “You have to make sure strippers are getting photos for their own use too. I would bring donuts and coffee to the management, because none of them owe you a thing. I would give them little video clips and special content for their social media platforms.”
Her biggest challenge? “In the clubs I had to find a way to make it cool and sexy that I was there, while being totally non-threatening,” she recounts, and again it’s clear that she took this very seriously. “I’ve never had a project before with such a complex environment. I definitely fucked up sometimes. Once I was at a club and the owner thought I was an exposé journalist; she had decided that I was there writing some kind of terrible thing about strippers and I was there to expose them or something. She kicked me out.”
After 4 years in and out of strip clubs I had to ask, what makes a good stripper?
“Here is what makes a really good stripper: when you are sitting and watching a stripper on stage doing her show and you’re 20 or 50 feet away, and just from watching them you feel like you’re having sex with them. Because of how they are moving and acting and how they are positioning their bodies you literally have this experience of having sex with them. It’s like you’re having sex with them visually and when that happens it’s amazing,” she sounds in awe, “It is an amazing performance; a really good stripper can really evoke something.”
We started talking about the tricks and let me say, these tricks are not for kids. “These pole girls doing tricks will do things that will take your breath away. In Miami there are 30 foot poles and these girls will drop 20 feet, like bam! There is a pole in Vegas that is 100 feet and I saw a girl drop 50 feet (drop meaning like she lets go of the pole and then grabs it with her thighs 2 or 3 seconds later). It makes your heart jump. The girls in Miami, they are solid muscles. Mona Marie, one of my favorite girls in the Bronx is a slim little woman, but solid muscle. They are doing splits on the ceiling; they hang off of the pole with an elbow,” she explains.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Into the blue, 2017.
A dancer does pole tricks at an all nude club on Hollywood Blvd in Los Angeles.
We have a laugh at the thought of naked Cirque du Soleil, but I can tell by her tone that it’s not really a laughing matter, these girls are true athletes. “Imagine doing that, no clothes, no protection, just heels. It’s incredible. You see them in the locker room sometimes scarfing down food because they are working, burning crazy calories. They get bruises, it’s no joke, it’s a full contact sport.”
There is no need to go into the negative stereotypes that have been cast upon the world of stripping and strippers; it’s needless to say, we’ve all heard one or two less-than-savoury things. I wanted to know, what misconceptions did Elizabeth have before beginning this project that were debunked for her?
“I’ve always thought strippers were cool, amazing and fabulous; I’ve had friends that were strippers so I never had a stereotypical view of them. I had concerns that they would like me. I thought they would be annoyed that I was there and might not want to pose for a photo and I was really touched and moved with how generous and nice they were.”
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Dollars everywhere, 2019.
A dancer in downtown Los Angeles performs a table dance on a Saturday night.
When it comes to society's misconceptions she tells me, “there are a million of them and probably none of them are true, some of them are based on something but it’s like any group of people doing a job; there is no common norm. Look at any industry, any job, there are things about it.”
Oftentimes people are so caught up in the fantasy they can forget that being a stripper is a job, and as Elizabeth says, “people forget there is no one kind of standard stripper. I know there are stereotypes, but they often don't fit. These are complex people and the strip clubs are really different around the country. There are a lot of different crowds of dancers working there.”
As a female who has spent my fair share of time in strip clubs where the target audience was predominantly male, I had to ask how did being a female photographer in this scenario, taking photographs of women, influence the body of her work? “Most of them had not encountered a female photographer in a club before. I don't know how a man could have gotten into my shoes on this one. I was not there to sexualize them; I wasn't shooting for the club, I was shooting just for myself, my artistic vision, which is one of elevating these amazing women into goddesses and basically worshiping them.”
For Elizabeth that changed the tone of the relationship. She tells me, “Honestly, I probably spent 80% of the project in the locker room; as a man, they wouldn't have let you in. The locker room was where everything happened; it’s where I met them, talked to them and then I would shoot the club performance. It was 90% talk beforehand and sometimes I would talk to them for several weeks before they would say yes and I could shoot them on the club floor. If I hadn't had that access to the locker room, I wouldn't have had a project.”
I’m excited to announce a special limited edition collaboration poster with the artist:
Longterm Lover
“Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
It was just another Tuesday night at The Bowery Hotel. Usually I sat out back on the patio, but tonight I’d been seated in the front section. It was all so very long ago; I cannot tell you who I’d arrived with, but I can tell you that the man I left with that evening would become my lover for a decade and counting.
The year was 2010 and the hotel lobby was packed with the usual crew of glamorous guests and select local New Yorkers given access to this exclusive watering hole.
Music never plays in lobby, making it the ideal spot for an intimate business meeting, catching up with good friends or in this case, meeting the man who would rock my sex life for the foreseeable future. (If you’ve been you’ll know its also a great place to rub elbows with a celeb or two).
His hair was longish, you know, that perfect length and texture where it’s not quite falling in his eyes, but long enough that all you can think about is running your hands through it.
Hours of flirtatious banter ended with the two of us at my East Village studio, savagely making out and smoking pot. The way his tongue entered my mouth made me ache to feel it between my legs. Our chemistry was instant and growing stronger by the minute. He took his time with me, running his hands down my neck and shoulders, kissing my throat and breasts.
All that champagne coupled with 10 years of time passed leaves me hazy on the full details of what transpired, however I’m pretty sure we didn’t sleep together at my place; instead we ended up taking a taxi across Manhattan to his townhouse in the West Village. To say his place was a bit more lux than mine would be the understatement of the century. This was PRIME New York real estate.
His design taste was impeccable (it still is) and I could not wait for him to fuck me in front of the giant floor to ceiling 19th century mirrors that faced each other. The dark, open concept main floor became sexier as I took in all the details. “Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
We lit up a freshly rolled joint; as I inhaled the smoke he stood behind kissing the back of my neck. He lifted the straps of my dress from my shoulders and watched as it dropped to the floor exposing my fully naked body. “I love that you don’t wear underwear,” he whispered as he kissed my ear. Reaching between my legs he stroked me to feel how wet I was. Taking the joint from my lips he took a drag, placed it in the ashtray and led me to the sofa. We spent hours devouring each other every which way; getting higher and cumming over and over. I was 5 orgasms deep and we hadn’t left the living room.
As I sat in the taxi at 5:30 AM recounting all the blissful, passionate moments and I knew I’d be seeing him again soon. Back then it wasn’t clear exactly what I was getting myself into; how often and for how long we would play would become more clear as time passed.
It always seemed like there were at least 3 lovers on the go. Because of this, I used nicknames to keep my lovers straight when discussing them with friends. These are the very same nicknames I use in the blog. The only problem? He never had a nickname. Of all the people, in all the years, my friends only knew him by his first name… Let’s call him Edward.
