Client Reviews: The Sweet Gym Bro (8.5/10) & The Douche I'd Actually See Again (6.5/10)
I'm back from Shambhala. It was… interesting. Not sure it's for me, but it was entertaining. And returning meant a mountain of meetings, content creation, projects, and a general feeling of pickiness. My libido was low. My patience for bullshit was nonexistent. So I didn't see a single client until last night.
Two, actually. One last night, one this morning. Here are their reviews.
Client One: The Sweet Gym Bro
Rating: 8.5/10
I'd seen him before, last year, back when I was working in Jailtown. I hadn't saved his number. He doesn't live in town, he told me. When he walked in, he seemed familiar, but I wasn't 100% sure, so I said nothing.
He's very jacked. Hired a massage with a full-service ending.
The Annoying Parts (Because We Start With the Flaws)
There was a miscommunication about the rate for topping. He thought my price for him being the bottom was the price for me being the bottom. He brought less money. We solved it by shortening the session. Annoying. I think my messages are very clear.
He also took twice as long to get here as he said he would, then had a hard time finding my incall. By the time he arrived, I was stressed.
The Session (Where Everything Turned Around)
Once we sorted the money, once he was on the table, something shifted. I let the irritation go. I gave him a deep tissue massage—he had a lot of trigger points, and I could tell that's what his body needed. It was intense at moments. He endured it. He followed my breathing instructions. He surrendered.
This is the kind of masculine energy that genuinely arouses me. Not "alpha" posturing. Shiva energy. Chill. Silent. Grounded. Not silent because he's uncomfortable or shy—silent because he's present. Able to trust my lead without losing himself.
I got so turned on I wanted to finish the massage quickly and get to the fun part.
And the fun part? One of the best bottoming experiences I've had.
Why? He didn't rush. He didn't immediately start jackhammering. I need foreplay—real foreplay, the kind that wakes my body up and makes penetration pleasurable rather than painful. I've mastered the art of giving myself the minimum foreplay I need while I'm still doing the massage, so by the time we transition, I'm ready. But when a client is patient, when he lets things simmer, it's exponentially better.
I've also unlocked a new level of mastery. I have two toys I now use in tandem. I've found a new lube that's incredible. The combination is perfect. I can get myself ready faster, enjoy penetration more deeply, and go for hours once I'm there.
This is significant. In the past, I rarely offered bottoming because I couldn't always guarantee I'd enjoy it. I refused to be penetrated if I was feeling pain. I did that once—Victoria, December 2023—because I needed the money and felt I owed the client something. I felt terrible afterward and vowed never again.
Now I have a formula. I can replicate it. As long as your energy isn't actively repulsive—and you'd have to be a real asshole for that, and those types don't make it past my DMs—I can get there.
Why Not a 10?
If he'd brought the correct amount, arrived on time, and found the incall without difficulty, it would have been a perfect session. The actual time together was flawless. But coordination matters. It's part of the experience.
Client Two: The Douche I'd Actually See Again
Rating: 6.5/10
He'd reached out a couple of times in the past but never made it. This morning, he wrote: "Hey, I want to visit you today."
He came. And I have mixed feelings.
The Negatives
He had a hard time finding my place. I don't understand why—Google Maps, a smartphone, an address. It's not complicated. He called me for further instructions. Annoying.
Then: the matcha incident.
I don't always ask clients to bring me a beverage. I do it when I need ten extra minutes to finish getting ready, or—like today—when I haven't had breakfast and have no time to prepare anything. Before this, only one person has ever refused, and he had a very good reason.
This guy played dumb. Didn't reply. Didn't say no. Just: "I'm here."
I insisted. I never insist. He refused.
Here's a tip, fellas: if a provider asks you for a small, simple favor like bringing a coffee, and you do it, you've immediately set a generous tone. You've given something without asking. I match energy. I'll be warmer, more present, more loving. Refuse, and I get drier. I match that too.
He also brought less money than my rate for what he wanted. We sorted it. I reduced the time. He didn't complain. But still.
The Session (Where It Got Interesting)
Because of his attitude, I had zero inclination to offer the full, healing massage experience I usually give. I kept him on the bed instead of the table. I did a cursory massage around his thighs, started the lingam, and allowed myself to be a little cold. I checked my phone. I made him wait. I never do that. But energy matches energy.
Then I decided: I'm a professional. He's here. Let me give him a good time anyway. I dropped into my feminine energy and got to work.
And here's the thing—he knew how to touch me. He was an experienced lover. Or fucker. Whatever you want to call it. He knew where to put his hands. That's rare, and it makes everything easier. When a client can contribute to my pleasure, I can focus more on his.
His phone rang mid-session. "That's my wife calling. I'm in trouble."
I laughed. Yes, many clients cheat. Yes, there's an ethical debate about my role in that. I have friends who refuse to see partnered clients. I don't filter that way—partly because men are good liars, and partly because I've made my own peace with it. But I won't pretend I wasn't a little aroused by the taboo.
He had a big dick. The blowjob was sloppy and deep. He got very hard—that's always satisfying. He knew how to transition. Once he was ready, he stood up, removed my plug, and penetrated me slowly. No awkwardness. Just rhythm. We were in sync.
My phone rang next. I'd forgotten to put it on Do Not Disturb. He paused, a little freaked out, went to take a pee. I used the break to silence everything. When he came back, I gave him another blowjob. He mentioned his wife again.
It was funny. He was douchey, but just the right amount. Bearable. A little sexy in a way I find confusing, because I genuinely dislike this type of masculinity. Confident. Too comfortable in his skin. White male privilege wearing itself like a cologne. And yet—the back-and-forth, the game of it—was weirdly arousing.
I think I know why. Because he was a little bit of an asshole, I allowed myself to be a little bit of a bitch. And he enjoyed that. He enjoyed me being bratty. There was space for that dynamic to play out, and it was fun.
He left very pleased. Said he'd come back. I told him to bring more money and my matcha latte or I wouldn't let him in. He laughed. "Of course, of course."
Final Verdict
The sex was good. It was an excellent test of my new mastery—I can enjoy myself and get there even with someone I'm not particularly compatible with energetically. The whole interaction was weirdly fun and arousing.
Would I see him again? Yes. But only if he brings my fucking matcha latte. And a generous treat to compensate for today.
A Side Note on Promos
After the gym bro left, I posted a promo on LeoList. I got a bunch of messages. None of them converted into bookings.
I find this fascinating. You'd think a lower price would mean more bookings. In my experience, it attracts more time-wasters. The serious clients don't need a discount to value you.
Still, I'm running an experiment this August.
I've unlocked a new level of ease with bottoming, and I want to test it at volume.
15-minute, one-shot sessions for $120 (restrictions apply).
30–45 minute, two-shot sessions for $220 (restrictions apply).
I want to see how many clients I can see in a day. How many liters of cum I can milk with my booty.
This is the final stretch before September—the official start of my Rising Pornstar Era. More on that soon.
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