dancing bears and fuck-me shoes.
I’ve got a migraine that could cut glass. They say TMJ is a sex worker’s affliction, what with all that temporomandibular attention we give to a man’s cock. Me, my TMJ is all compressed stress. I’ve been clenching all day.
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So, the press found me. Well, they haven’t found me, but they’ve found my blog.
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The other day I was tipped in shoes. Four pairs of Jimmy Choo, Louboutin, Valentino. I don’t like to receive gifts, though I appreciate anything that makes me less obliged to shop. Four pairs of sky-high stilettos designed less for walking than fucking, architectonic, sexual, designed to adorn pedicured feet and a pair of splayed legs. He asked me to try them on, naked, which I did. And like the dancing bear that I am, I walked back and forth and back and forth, my center of gravity launched forward in those hobbling things. Shiny black peep-toes, camel-colored sling-backs, ultra-high, ultra-red patent leather pumps.
All I could think about that night was how badly I wanted to get in a car and drive. I don’t want to be here right now.
I once had a client who wanted me to walk around his townhouse naked or nearly nude. He always requested that I make several wardrobe changes, a wardrobe consisting of translucent silks and quarter-cup bras and garters and stockings and many, many, many pairs of very high heels, and sometimes a riding crop. And a lace-veil hat. Sometimes I had the urge to imitate a prancing pony, or a bear on a tightrope, or a walrus clapping its flippers. I didn’t.
Some of the media requests I’ve been getting want me to rat out my own clients. They want to know if I fucked Spitzer. Given the option, I’m sure they’d also have me stride up and down the hallway in a pair of fuck-me pumps and a quarter-cup bra. I’m not alone.
I’ve got a headache. I want to get out of this city.
aw geeze miss…. if ever there was a time to be in paris hey?
i’m sorry this happens to you and those who share your profession… tragic result of a nation founded on puritanism but that doesn’t make it okay…
i don’t know you other than from here and yet i kind of want to give you a hug an di kind of want to offer you a night out of drinking and silliness… (in comfortable shoes natch ;>)
I’m sorry to hear it too.
Want me to go beat ‘em up?
You have my sincere apologies if my comment yesterday contributed to the “bad climate”—I think it completely sucks that you can’t just go about your own personal business, and I hope the media lays off quickly. I think the fact that Spitzer is busted is fabulous, but only because he is a damn hypocrit, that was my only point yesterday. The side-effects caused by the lovely mainstream media and the effects on the women involved, all sides, definately suck.
Sorry again if I came off in a negative light yesterday.
Oh no… Nichole – you weren’t negative at all. I’m just referring to the climate here, in the city. There’s a little too much attention on some of us, so I feel like I can’t say much.
im going to london next week – hop in my bag!
Once again, come to Detroit! :) Check out the Contemporary Art Institute of Detroit (CAID), the Museum of Contemporary Art in Detroit (MOCAD), and the newly renovated Detroit Institute of Arts. A frugal and relaxing vacation.
shit. i keep forgetting to write my name in
im the one going to london.
argh. interlopers, be gone!
Fuck ‘em. The media that is, and figuratively only…I hope your world settle down so. Because I so love your blog…
’soon’ – as in, settles down soon. I can’t type – or my brain just isn’t functioning correctly…
You mean you don’t always wear CFM pumps?
I am truly crushed.