A letter to not say "I've fallen for you".

The client leaves, and the first thing I want to do is write to you.

Send you a WhatsApp. Tell you about it.

It was an okay session. Not the best, not the worst. He was one of those clients who's relatively easy to please—doesn't leave you drained. Actually, he's one of the ones who likes to bottom. So in theory, it's easier.

Sometimes I admit my penis is weird. In the sense that I'm still discovering what exactly turns me on. Sometimes I think it's femininity, or the other person's pleasure—those are qualities my body reacts to, hardens for. But not always. Today, he had feminine traits and was enthusiastically showing his pleasure. At the beginning, while I was doing the massage, my dick got hard and I thought, Oh, good.

Because it can be uncomfortable when you've been hired to top and your body doesn't cooperate. And although I have techniques, ways to stimulate myself, to auto-eroticize so the other person doesn't need to carry that weight—it's always nice when I can get a natural, automatic boner.

Today, when it came time to penetrate him, it was relatively easy. But then the erection didn't sustain itself. It got semi-flaccid. Luckily, he's an experienced bottom. He contracted his anus skillfully, and I don't think he even noticed my penis wasn't fully hard. He had this ability to draw it in, hold it there, keep it from slipping out. I could penetrate him with my snake rather than my wand, if you get the analogy.

The client was satisfied. I enjoyed the penetration at points, but honestly, most of the session I wasn't particularly aroused. It wasn't unpleasant—just not electric. He enjoyed it a lot, which made me happy because even though I'm good at pretending I don't give a fuck, I'm actually a praise whore.

Anyways, the hour was fulfilled—actually, a bit more. I told him gently. He said he wanted me to cum. I told him:

Oh, friend, for that we'd need quite a bit more time, and our hour is already up. Because I can keep going and going—I have a lot of control over that—but the time was up, and I don't even like coming anyway.

For some reason I felt like sharing this with you.

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When he left, the usual routine:

• Strip the sheets. Take them to the basket.

  
  

• Tidy up. Disinfectant wipe across every surface touched. Order. Arrange. Put things back.

  
  

• Then the shower—super important after seeing an in-person client. Intentionally cleansing yourself of their energies, letting the water wash them away.

  
  

• At the end, blow out the candle you lit at the start of the session. It's the beginning of the ritual, and it's important to close energetic and mental spaces.

And so, my friend, that's how it goes.

While I was cleaning up, I had this first impulse to tell you everything—to write to you, send you an audio. My second impulse was silence.

The arguments from the Green Healers Student Book came to mind: the importance of embracing the void during the post-sex magic process, honoring your true self with silence. Because what happens inevitably, as part of the tantric process, as part of generating energy through sex, is that your whole body becomes energized—all of it. New circuits being created as you do what you do. Or old circuits, energized and more powerful than ever, ready to take control of your life again.

In that sense, it's dangerous to feed the ego with conversation. A thing I always keep in mind.

But I'm in bed now, falling asleep, making the effort to write, to capture these words, to leave a record. Yes, that's how I am. It's bizarre.

The Fantasies

I imagined you right now...

asking me something,

a finger on your lip,

biting it seductively...

And I said YES!

I got a little lost

Oh, darling. So many things I want to say, and at the same time—will I ever say them? I don't know. Maybe not.

I also think these letter might never reach you. There are things that make sense to share, that I feel moved to share. And there are things I feel moved to share that don't make sense—that would feed a type of dynamic I don't want to create.

An exercise in restraint and essentiality.

You're quite a challenge.

But I like it.

I find that very compelling, to say the least.

I think of you constantly. Part of writing this letter right now was to show you a little of what it would be like—or to imagine you're here beside me. That instead of writing this to perhaps send, perhaps archive, I simply come into the room and lie down with you and start telling you. And you're probably asleep, or maybe there's not that much time to talk because once I'm back in bed with you, there's only space to kiss and enjoy the fusion of our bodies.

That's the fantasy.

The Other Fantasy

Another one, so there's a record:

You and me making content. Fucking all day in front of the camera. Selling that content or doing streams. I don't think it's that far-fetched—otherwise I wouldn't have given it wings to grow. But I was a bit afraid to speak it into existence because of the weight of reality.

I suppose I don't want to be rejected.

I think of a ton more things—the logistics, all the security measures. I have the impression that as a transvestite, I don't need the same precautions. Transvestites have less value than a "bio woman" (which is how you'd inevitably be read, despite you also being a crossdresser, in a sense). Maybe that's my own insecurity talking. Maybe it's just pragmatism, and the judgment is accurate. I don't know.

But the contrast is: with you in the scene—regardless of whether I alone am at less risk, whether that's reality or not—I don't want to take any risks. I want to protect you. And so I start thinking and planning how to land this fantasy while keeping you safe.

I also wonder how interested you actually are in doing sex work the way I do. I get the impression that you are, but I might be misunderstanding you. We are in mercury retrograde after all.

The End, For Now

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Are you done yet? I ask myself.

I don't know. I don't think so. But sleep is overtaking me, and this is as good a moment as any to end this letter.

Thank you for your attention. Truly. That's all.

P.S. Remember at the beginning I was saying my dick is weird—or rather, hard to understand? Sometimes I think it's connection that turns me on. The feeling of connection, which is strange. I won't go into detail now, but I think my dick is weird because a couple of slightly awkward situations come to mind where I felt it hardening after an intense connection moment, but the erection wasn't appropriate for the bond.

I finish writing this random rambling and wonder: Isn't it like that for everybody?

Who knows for sure?

I guess I'll just have to keep observing my erections and making correlations. Maybe I'll start asking people 🧐

LOL.

P.S.2 Apparently that wasn't all 🤣🤣🤣