To Eat a Whale

I saw a whale, a minke whale.  I saw this whale in the sea, and then I saw the whale (presumably not the same individual) in the supermarket.  It was frozen, and minced.  Some strange part of me felt compelled to buy it, taste it.  To know what this massive creature tasted like on a plate. 

According to some I have met it is very tasty, juicy.  I read a leaflet saying that although billed as a traditional Icelandic dish only 5% of Icelanders regularly consume this large sea mammal.

It is not possible (again according to the “meet us, don’t eat us” campaign) to kill such a large animal in the difficult conditions of the ocean in an ethical and humane manner.  I can well believe that.  How do you kill and drag a several tonne animal out of the sea without causing it to suffer?  But also there must surely be an element of suffering in the ending of life of all animals slaughtered for food. 

The whale has at least been free in the ocean.  I sincerely doubt that the whale could ever be domesticated and raised within confinement.  It’s life has been shortened.  But it has known the freedom of the earth’s oceans.  Compare this now to the cow, confined within a farm where the only consideration for it is how to make it fatter quicker.  That is not a life to aspire too. 

Consider also the food for each of these creatures.  The cow fed on the soy bean, growing in the tropics destroying the forests there by the acre.  The whale fed on the smallest creatures in the sea. 

Eating both these creatures is destroying the world and the way it functions.  But which is worse I could not tell you.  In each case an animal dies, an eco system is upset. 

But I can tell you the whale tastes like the most juicy tasty steak you will have ever eaten

Back to the Hustle

So, after a number of weeks in the wilderness it is now time to return back to work and try and fund the rest of my travels.  Next stop is Berlin, a good big capital so should be able to pick up some work there in the 3 weeks (maybe a little less) I’m staying.

I have already been emailing a few people.  Have an interview to do some scantily clad cleaning.  That sounds pretty hopeful.  So fingers crossed.  That feels like a real blast from the past.  Have done similar work before and it can definitely be really fun. 

Also have been emailing a few people about photo shoots, so maybe one off those will work out OK.  So often there are time wasters though.  Is a massive pain in the ass. 

Even if nothing does work out, should be able to make it back to the UK where I have some definite bits of work lined up.  Is always a reassuring feeling.

Names and Titles

For the past few weeks I have been volunteering in the Wilderness (hence the minimal blogging happening).  Whilst there volunteers came and went.  Including one who’s given name is the same as the name that I use whilst working. 

I didn’t tell her this,  I think maybe that would be a strange thing to say to someone: “your name, it’s the one I use whilst getting naked on the internet for strangers”.  It felt strange to say her name, to hear her name, to see her name.  For me it had entirely different connotations, meanings. 

In my everyday life I use the title Ms.  I don’t like to be referred to as a Miss, it makes me feel like a child.  To my married friends the use of Mrs can be very important.  To trans friends the use of the correct title is important.  How other people refer to and name us is important to each of us.  It explains a little about use, who we are.  If we use a nickname, have an unusual name, if we are fussy on the pronunciation.  All these things explain a little about who we are.  

Everything has names, names that are given by the people around them.  Plants have names and contained within them are the stories and the culture.  And this is surely wiped if plants are referred to using only the clinical and  scientific binomial or latin name.  Although this is the universal, the shared name, so that communication about the same plant is made easier.  But the local history and culture is wiped away.  In exchange for this useful universal understanding we pay with the loss of the individuality of the story.

Names change things.  Sometimes I doubt the name I have chosen for my work name, sometimes I just use my normal name.  Maybe I will find my stage name (or it will find me) and suddenly everything will somehow become easier.

 

Reykjavik on the cheap

Currently I am in Iceland, the land of perpetual winter (and currently perpetual light), more specifically I am in Reykjavik: the capital.  It’s a small city as capitals go, the entire island has a population of roughly 400,000 (less then the half million who live in Plymouth, U.K.) so it never was going to be large.  Iceland has a reputation of being expensive and in many ways it is.  But I am doing it for dirt cheap (because I am eternally poor).

First accommodation, camping is the only way to go cheap, at 1400kr a night/person it works out around £6/7 which is ok.  The city campsite is a short way out from the city, next to the hostel (so when the bus from the airport stops there – get off, unless you like long heavy walks).  At the campsite is free cooking facilities, free showers, toilets, water etc.  Also is a free shop, and in the kitchen free food baskets.  The free food baskets work on a leave and take system.  Any food you have left over leave for the people in the future.  Alot of people have gone out and bought salt before finding this store, there is a lot of salt. 

Buying food.  It’s not as expensive as you think.  Rice, pasta, potatoes: all easily within a restrained budget.  Gluten free pastas etc. are available and again similar sort of prices to the UK.  And if you’re vegan it’s even possible to get Tartex and Scheese.  Houmous is available but has loads of extra ingredients and flavours and also isn’t as cheap as in the UK.  Bread is quite expensive, though there is a flatbread/pancake thing which is quite cheap and good for a meal on the go, costing only 100-200kr.  The cheapest supermarket is Bonus which is an unsubtle yellow with a pink piggy bank on it.

Food foraging is possible, there are plenty of dandelions, garlic mustard, greater plantain and some chickweed growing.  A lot of plants are recognizable from also growing in the UK and with a bit more of a thorough hunt there may be more things available that are edible.

Shoplifting is easy.  So easy you feel bad that you are doing it.  I have no idea what happens if you’re caught though and have found no Icelandic people it would be appropriate to ask.  This scares me and is putting me off.

What are you going to do on your budget tour of Reykjavik?  Probably wonder around aimlessly, take photos of stuff.  It’s a small place and quite fun to wonder around.  I like looking at architecture, so have spent alot of time doing that.  It’s mainly grey, with bits of bright primary colour.  The graveyards are interesting too,  they are only open during the day however there are a number of opportunely placed benches to climb the short wall, it is perpetual light though – people are likely to see you doing this.

The perpetual light thing is strange,  it can be 11.15 in the evening and you wouldn’t know which if it was evening or morning.  Also means that sight seeing can happen whenever you want, because it’s always light.  Drink coffee, you’ll be fine.

Spend the 1250kr and go to the penis museum, it’s fascinating and hilarious.  Whale penis are HUGE, and also there are strange lampshades made out of horse testicles. 

Internet is available free in some cafes and coffee is a reasonable (at least in this one – a pancake cafe) 400kr.  I have my laptop plugged in, the sockets are the same as mainland Europe. 

It’s interesting to watch all the people walk past, a strange mix of fashion (there are some beautifully dressed people here) and sturdy outdoor wear.  A lot of high heels, and a lot of walking boots.  A strange mix.  There is an incredible shop on Laugavegur full of the most amazing tights and stockings, oh if I had the money. 

Anyhow, I am now going to stop squandering my time in coffee shops and head out and keep exploring.

Treasure Every Moment

Today I had a modeling booking, a few photos in a park, maybe moving on too lingerie later on.  Sounded a pretty simple booking.  My client was to pick me up at a train station and then drive to his home town.  This bit scared me slightly, worried me.  I hitch hike, so strangers cars is nothing new to me, but still somehow this worried me. 

It took longer to get to the town then i expected, nearly an hour.  We chatted.  He talked about isolating himself sometimes, asked me if we could chat on webcam.  I began to worry that I had made a mistake.

The countryside we were traveling through was beautiful, fields, trees, flowers, animals, hills.  The sun was shining.  I decided to take everything in, enjoy every second of that view.  Because I would not want to nothing beautiful to think about if I was to die, if this was to be the last thing I saw I would bloody well enjoy it. 

I was of course being melodramatic.

Everything was fine, and there was no special reason to feel afraid.  Just sometimes I can not help it.  The same thing happens sometimes when I get on a train, leave the house, stay in the house, etc.  My mind can sometimes run away with me.

But meeting strangers off the internet does hold an inherent risk.

And it is something important to remember sometimes, it is impossible to predict what will be the last thing you see, feel, think.  It is important to remember to appreciate the beauty of the world, for one day you will be gone.  

Eat, drink and be merry.  For tomorrow we die.

And I’ve been thinking

Last night I stayed at a friend’s house, sleep overs are great.  And we lay in bed and chatted, later then perhaps we planned to – we were both shattered from our different busy days.

we lay in the dark and chat soon turned to the gloryhole – because it is a fascinating topic.  My friend was curious and I was happy to share, talking helps me understand what I am thinking.  In my previous post I shared the mechanics of the situation yet we talked more about the emotional.

How during the first client I remember thinking, about how I didn’t know what I was supposed to be thinking.  I opened my eyes (I have to consciously decide to open my eyes whilst giving a BJ, I don’t know why).  All I could see was the MDF board of the gloryhole.  This seemed to me a ridiculous view, I wanted to see something better then.  But this image and it’s ridiculousness was all I could see.  Am I supposed to feel something at this point.  what is going on, in  my mind my heart.  Not much really, is there supposed to be a reaction.  Anything?

I think culture, society, everything teaches us that there is supposed to be a response, a negative one.  I don’t want that reaction within me, I don’t feel it naturally.  To me the whole thing felt entirely OK.  But still this feeling there should be something else as a feeling.

Society has taught me to censor myself, trained me to react in a certain manner.  If I don’t react in that manner it’s ok, I don’t have to react like that, I can react in a way that is natural to myself.  I don’t have to oppress myself into society’ idea of femininity and “good” behaviour.

 

International Whores’ Day

International Whores’ Day.

An interesting post about yesterday being International Whores’ Day and the birthday of Sexworker Activism.  Would definately suggest you read, The Honest Courtesan always post some interesting things

xx

 

The GloryHole and other bits of work

I am finally getting around to writing that blog post i promised in my previous post.  I’ve been busy packing etc for my summer away, hence the tardiness.

I arrived on time at the gloryhole (a panel of wood in a door way with two holes in it – money goes through, cock goes through and there it is wanked and sucked),  after many coffees.  I was feeling very awake, this surprised me as I had slept very little the night before (i had been on a coach all night).  I changed into some sexy lingerie, and we took a couple of photos – they weren’t flattering nice ones, it made me sad 😦

And then the waiting started.  This was the part that totally killed me, being not sure how the whole day was going to go, if I would be able to do it. And all of the other worries that had time to go through my mind.  Literally was worse bit of the whole day. 

And then the waiting ended.  The first client of the day turned up.  Said hello, put the money through the hole, put his cock through the hole.  And then i wanked and i sucked.  He came quickly just a few moments.  Was easy, not unpleasant.  Was surprised at how easy the whole thing had been.  The only negative was the awful smelling pina colada lube  – this was literally making me heave.  Eugh.

The day continued, in total there were 5 clients throughout the day.  I received a tip from one guy – he took longer then the others to cum and thanked me for specifically for my patience – the worse thing about this booking was the hair on his penis, it was like sand paper in the mouth.  Another guy was young, typically hansom looking, maybe a rugby player.  He had a wedding ring on, he had cum and gone so fast.  It interested me what made him come to the gloryhole. 

The final client of the day was younger then the others who had visited throughout the day. He clearly had not read the profile, in fact was shocked by the gloryhole when he arrived.  Appeared about to pay in change (seriously -wtf?) before we bent the rule regarding giving out change and took his notes and gave him a note back.  His cock was the biggest of the day, already hard, unfortunately with an annoying and uncomfortable kink in the end of it.  He didn’t take long to come, I let him touch my hand, he clearly wanted more then this, a connection of two people or something.  Next time maybe he’ll read the profile a little more closely.

That evening I had some more work, 2 hours giving a massage with us both naked.  I had specially stole some massage oils for this booking – it would make me look more professional.  i was nervous meeting him, this felt like such a strange booking.  I was so happy that it went well and I stayed safe after that I gave almost half my tobbaco to a guy asking for change near the hotel, an offering to those who keep you safe (not that i am into spiritualism, just sometimes is nice to give something to someone when luck is on your side)

2 hours is a long time for a massage, luckily we got on well and I was able to chatter happily away to him.  Part of the pleasure of the evening I think was living vicariously through my stories,  Some interesting embellishments to my life made for some entertaining telling. 

Now currently i am on my period (have lost a good bit of work recently because of this – wish i was less irregular),  though I thought this would all be fine, my mooncup (google it if you don’t know – literally changed my life) would take care of it all and there would be no leaks.  There was so so embarassing.  Luckily I bled only on to my leg, and excused myself to wee and sort myself out.  The rest of the booking went fine.  Although by the end of it my arms ached so much from working so hard.  Also the room was crazy hot, so was just dripping in sweat – totally grim.  He told me he enjoyed the massage and looks forward to my return after summer to have me come and massage him again. 

 

Nervous

Today I am off to my first payment for sexual services other then just being watched.  I am off to work in a gloryhole, selling blowjobs and handjobs.  I am currently sat in a coffee shop, because that is where all good days start.  I am nervous, I am excited.  Part of me worries that I won’t be able to do it, that I will forget how to give a blowjob (though surely, like riding a bicycle, it’s not something one simply forgets), another part worries that no one will turn up (another, very small part, hopes this to be true).  what do i do whilst I’m waiting?  Have i brought appropriate reading matterial (Derrick jensen and Sylvia Plath) ?  i don’t know.  will surely be writing again this evening.

xxx

I love WhoreCast

I love WhoreCast

This is a link to Whorecast number 9.

whorecast is a regular podcast from some lovely SW’ers in the USA, they invite different people to chat about SW.  I love listening to it, often hilarious, and always relevant and interesting.

This particular episode includes some hugely comic and enjoyable diaries from some SW’ers, you really should have a listen.