Today I had a very polite and lovely client with a very special request.  “had i ever cammed on the toilet?”.  Whilst i have cammed going to the toilet (father i really hope you have not continued reading my blog – unless you really want to know everything about my work? in which case go ahead), I have never cammed on the toilet.  We agreed i would try, i thought i needed a poop.

I went to the toilet room, i assumed (assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups) he wanted to see the actually toileting.  He didn’t, he wanted to watch my FACE.  I love people and their little quirks.

So i spent a few minutes on the toilet, trying to do a poop.  And i mean really trying, getting in a good straight backed position, pushing, breathing, etc.  It never happened, though i did do a wee for him (was that an overshare? whateve’s)

He gave a lovely tip, and we went our separate ways.  Lovely work

Although i now keep farting – i totally blame this guy for this.



Posted: May 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

Recently my father rang me.  This isn’t an unusual thing, he often rings to share whatever he is up too.  He rings when he is bored.  He rings to check I am alive (though not to check if i have all my fingers and toes – that is something my mother rings about).

This time he started the conversation with the ominous phrase “I read your blog”.  This surprises me, he found it via my twitter.  He said that he didn’t want to follow me on twitter due “to not wanting to know” any dark and sordid parts of my life (he didn’t use that phrasing).  In the same way when my mother found my diary and read ALL of it, he refused.  Well he decided to have a quick look at what i was twittering, and therefore what I was blogging.

He was concerned, as I guess many fathers would be after reading my blog.  The things I blog about, the work I do, are not the things a father dreams of when he thinks of the future for his daughter. 

I reassured him that I did this of my own volition, that I was happy, and this resulted in me having great freedom over my work, my time.  I am my own boss.

Still concerned, he offered me an allowance.  I turned this down, although now I feel foolish for doing this, surely if I had accepted I would quite literally be a “lady who lunches” supported and un-needing of work.  However I value my independence too much, often being told that is one my greatest flaws (I disagree with these people). 

He isn’t going to tell mother, which is good. Because she would dislike me doing this deeply, there is much of my life that mother is unaware of and it is probably best for all that it remains that way.  There is still much that father doesn’t know about my life, but he definitely knows more (and now he has read my blog even more) then mother.

He finished the call with a reminder of internet safety, of needing to keep things seperate, how easy it is to find people, homes, addresses, private details etc on the internet.  I told him I knew this (of course – it is very easy to do).  This reminded me of how he had told me the importance of school, etc. and the way I could only agree, and be reminded to actually listen not just agree.

The Sugar Baby Sonnet

Posted: May 19, 2013 in Uncategorized

The Sugar Baby Sonnet.

Sugar daddy, bring home your sugar.

I now have a sugar daddy, married, professional.  And seemingly slightly trashy.  Heavy with gifts and sweet words.  He gets off on our age difference (he’s older then my father), the secrecy, the naughtiness.  I enjoy the attention, the plain ridiculousness of the situation at times.  

I’ve never, before, been with someone that much older then I.  The sex is alright, nothing to write home about.  His fingers at times a little brutal, I have to tell him (more then once) to be more gentle with them.  I was left with a nasty case of cystitis, it’s cleared up now.  Just another “gift” from him.  

It feels an easy relationship in many ways.  I know what he wants, his virility, his maleness, his youth, his desirability to be confirmed.  Each of us needs a way to prove we are not going to grow old, to dispel our mortality, allow us to live forever.  This is his.  I am his elixir of Youth.


Couldn’t help but think of this when i went to meet my sugar daddy 😉

Video  —  Posted: May 17, 2013 in Uncategorized
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Monthly Holiday

Posted: May 9, 2013 in Uncategorized

Working as a camgirl, once a month I take a weeks holiday.  It sounds pretty decadent doesn’t it?  Why do I take this holiday?  I take it because of my period. 

I have had numerous discussions with friends about how i, and they, would love to take the whole of that time of the month off in other jobs, in this job i am practically encouraged too take it off.  Although you can work on your period and make extra money from people who are into that sort of thing, but there is extra mess.

Periods make me miserable, tired, in pain.  I don’t feel like doing anything.  I just want to curl up and relax. 

In other jobs I take a load of painkillers and try to get by, generally get shouted at by the boss, and give evil eyes to everyone who looks my way.  not so great in customer services. 

Of course not working for this week is also frustrating as i am not getting paid.  And i don’t do any work.  I get out of the flow of working, which isn’t great.  And the fact i can get away with not working for a week a month is because i am quite privileged in also receiving my student loans, meaning i am not relying on my job in the same way as many people are. 

I’m lucky and happy for so many reasons.



Posted: May 4, 2013 in Uncategorized

Sexy waitressing for poker players, all pay is tips, all a bit flirty, all a bit fun, how hard can it be???

well, quite hard work. 

First I was informed that tips could be up to £200, which is quite a sum.  This was blatantly not true i soon realized.  A poker game where that sort of tip quantity is available probably has around £2000 on the table, at least.  This poker game had around £300 on the table by the end of the game.  Of course my tips were therefore low.  The host informed me that normally tips are more forthcoming, around £50, so why, in the interview did he tell me a much larger number???

My job consisted mainly of serving drinks, sitting on laps, and generally being a bit pretty and sexy.  People there seemed to enjoy my jokes and company, I think I went down well with the crowd, but i barely got paid.  seriously £30 is nowhere near enough for the evening.

Nearly everyone there was a bit handsy, although i did (of course) keep them within my boundaries.  No hands in my pants thank you.  One person there, younger then the others, seemed a bit surprised at my presence there and didn’t seem to know what to do when I asked to sit on his lap, he was lovely and it was kinda sweet his obvious unsureness where to put his hands.  The poker game was a bit over 2 hours long in the end.

All the guests arrived late, so the game started so late I missed all the public transport back, so I was compelled to stay the night, my host was drunk and sleepy.  I didn’t want to argue about sharing the bed, so we did, which was fine.  Till he work me up at 6.30 in the morning to ask me to stroke his balls,  umm, no, so many levels of no. Who ever wakes me at that time in the morning to ask me to stroke their genitalia is going to get a blunt no.  He seemed a little hurt by my reaction, but accepted it.  Then we continued to sleep. 

He took me for breakfast in the morning, dropped me off, and i waved good bye. 

A long night for £30.  Shocking stuff


I have recently spent some time carefully sewing and creating the perfect french maid outfit.  I need this outfit to do some sexy waitress role-play work for a small group of men playing poker. 

This made me think about the importance of costume in playing a character.  How with the perfect outfit i can transform into someone else, a person who will girlishly giggle (though not to much), perch on laps and wish good luck to these poker players.  And without the outfit i could not do this, i could not be that person whilst wearing my onesie (yes i have one – it’s a dinosaur), or whilst wearing scruffy combat trousers and a hoody.  Like magic the outfit, the disguise (think Mr Ben – god i loved that program as a child) changes me and releases me from the constraints of being me. 

I was watching “Never Been Kissed” recently (i know – i need a life) and in that a character creates their disguise to become someone else, and referenced through out is shakespeare’s As You Like It “All the world’s a stage, … and all the men and women merely players”.  This french maid job really makes me feel that this is performance, these people are paying for a fantasy which we create together.  Although they are also the directors and have the control of the final cut. 

This then brings me on to the importance of Name, when I do my WebCam work i go under a different name,  if i go on stage to do a burlesque show, i use a different name.  Why?  The same reason.  The name is my mask, my performance, my act.  Somehow it protects me (actually it does – from internet stalking etc).  Shields me like plate armour.

i started to think about the importance of name within my last waitress job (in a cafe).  There my shortened name was once again lengthened to my full name, it was strange at first, but then it was reassuring to turn up, take on this name and serve the coffees, beers and food.

But for this French Maid job, they have my real name,  I don’t seem able to get out of the habit of signing my name off at the bottom of emails (more fool me).  So the costume is important, the make up, the wall that i build between me and them.



Posted: May 1, 2013 in Uncategorized
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A friend of mine wrote a thing about gizzum, and the reaction of a person when they are young and sex is new and the awareness that gizzum drips back down is also new.  This piece of writing to me is both horrific and beautiful, reminds me of so many things i felt and thought as a 16 year old, drunkenly discovering the world and stupidly sometimes not using protection.

My friend has sent this piece to me, they said i could distribute and share it, so i have copied it out here,  any comments will be passed on to the writer.

“and then the gizzum dribbled out of her cunt, much like the hair gel he would squeeze in splodges out of the plastic bottle in the mornings before school.  He watched, fascinated, as she sat up and let it run in gloppy strings out of herself onto some of his stained boxer-shorts she held underneath.  He saw her tense and one final blob dropped out without a sound, though he imagined a quiet squelch.  He felt a little disgusted, made an excuse, and went to the bathroom.  He sat on the toilet for a second, doing nothing, and then went back to bed.  Luckily she had put herself back under the covers.

Sliding in next to her, the cold smoothness of her skin brushing against his own, something of that initial wonder and excitement returned, though now accompanied by a sense of comfort.  This was the feminine body he wanted, thank God, not that which had his own scummy dribble falling from crevices of it.  No, he wanted smooth skin, curves, gentle touches.  Christ, how he wanted it.  And Christ how little he wanted to see jizzum fall from her cunt again.  she snuggled up to him, and he buried his face in her hair.”

White Panties

Posted: April 30, 2013 in Uncategorized
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Today I put on new clean white panties,  I will wear them for two days, maybe even a little longer, I shall go for a run or go to the gym wearing them.  I will never wash them.  I will photograph myself wearing them.  I like to call this work.

I am of course describing selling my dirty underwear (contact me if you want to arrange something).  It’s something that I enjoy, it feels so decadent.  Wearing pants, posting them, and not having to do my laundry.

Though it does sometimes make me do slightly strange things, like offering to leave my dirty underwear at a lovers house, which maybe isn’t what everyone does.  This lover had left underwear at mine and I had washed it, because it seemed like the best thing to do, in fact I am getting a small collection of their underwear these days.  I digress.

I like turning my everyday activities into work/pay.