Does size REALLY matter? This is a question that I get asked a lot and I talk about this with my girlfriends all the time. I’m sure you all hear the response “it’s all about the motion in the ocean” but is this really true? Do women really not care about how big a mans dick is?
For me, size does matter when it comes to giving head. I have this thing about giving head to a guy with a small penis, I wont do it, it freaks me the fuck out!! But when it comes down to sex I don’t think size matters, it really is all about the motion. Just because it’s big DOESN’T mean dude knows how to put it down! I mean I prefer a big ol thang but there is such a thing as too big.

During my experience as a courtesan in London, I have had the best sexual experience with a dude that had a “small” dick but I have also walked out of a room because dudes penis was waaaayyy to big. I refuse to have my insides mutilated. That’s just my opinion. I know plenty of girls that think size matters it’s a debate that all of us females have and we all have different preferences.

This is a REAL story of a London courtesan.

Gian is a very cool and aloof gentleman that I have seen regularly over the past year. He is very casual and personable although when he visits he does not indulge much in conversation. He is a very attractive man. Tall, dark and ruggedly handsome. He must have been a hit with the ladies and he has a coastal charm about him. I make this assumption because he always refutes my claims of him being a womaniser but his skills are apparent and undeniable. He would be best described as a lover experience, gentle in touch unrelenting like a lover. When Gian comes to visit, I am a write off for the rest of the day. I prefer to just lay about my bed, basting in my juices and relive the experience rather than go back out into reality. Customarily he always brings a bottle of Champaign with him and that is why I refer to him a Champaign Gian.

Champaign Gian always texts me from the office. He seems to have days filled with meetings and occasionally he gets a gap. I know the familiar sound of his engine in the drive and drumbeat of his hurried footsteps on my staircase all to well. Tossing his fringe from his eyes, he breaks into a broad beaming smile as he stoops down to greet me with a kiss. Well acquainted with my kitchen and its contents, he makes himself at home. Fetching the glasses and pouring us both a glass of Champaign, then places the bottle in the fridge whilst looking back at me with an imperial gaze. He is adept in the art of smart casual dress to the extent that at any given point in time, he could have just come from a boardroom meeting or have taken the day off. A very continental, multifunctional wardrobe although I noted that most of his shirts are from London.

A very spontaneous and energetic man, Gian has a permanently windswept look about him. It takes him a couple of minutes for him to adapt from the fast pace of his office to the tranquil yin of my apartment. I would imagine that to a man of his height, my place must look like Lilliput land. Yet he knows his way around like a friend who frequents regularly. I’m always thrilled to hear from Gian because I know that I am going to receive a proper working over. Gian, fluent in the language of seduction knows how to prepare a woman for his grand entrance.

Gian and I, stand in the kitchen kissing and caressing, occasionally stopping for a sip of Champaign. Sliding my dress up against my thighs he presses his manhood against me. His warm breath tickles against my neck as he deeply inhales my perfume and kisses me from my earlobe down to my cleavage. Fighting the fabric of my dress he looks for a path to my breasts but alas the dress is too fitting and Champaign Gian gives up despite his frantic enthusiasm. He moves his hands up from under my dress and grips me tight as he teases me with the mound in his trousers.

I take Gian by the hand and lead him upstairs. He stands and watches me as I undress down to my slip but Gian has no time to wait for me to reveal my breasts. He slides the straps of my slip off over my shoulder and leans down to suck on my nipples. When they are both pert, I begin to undress Gian. One by one, I unbutton his shirt as he kisses me. Kneeling down onto the floor, I release his belt and open his trousers. His proud erection piercing through the seam of his boxers. With his cock in my mouth, I hold his trousers as he steps out of them and casts them aside. Unable to take him fully in my mouth, I caress his shaft whilst sucking on the end of his cock stroking his balls with my other hand.

Gian moves me over to the bed and places me down gently. Opening my legs, he pulls off my panties to reveal my insatiable clit. Gian is a man who understands that less is more and knows how to satisfy a woman without exerting himself. A connoisseur of pussy he gently flicks the tip of his tongue against my button in an upward motion. He mocks me with his tongue, teasing my bundle of nerves until my legs stiffen. As the first wave of an orgasm washes over me, he remains constant with his tongue. Just a gentle flicker over my clit until the banks cannot hold any more and my pussy gushes with my warm slippery come.

He moves me back further onto the bed and turns in the opposite direction, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth as he continues to eat me. Bringing me to orgasm again and again until drops of come are titillating between the cheeks of my ass. We lay like this for some time with Gian controlling the thrust of his pelvis into my mouth, stopping occasionally only to delay his orgasm for me. Gian takes my hand and places it between my legs, gesturing for me to continue as he takes a sip from his champagne glass. After taking his sip he hovers the glass over my open mouth pouring it in as he looms over me, watching me touch myself with approval. I have one more orgasm and have to stop. I am so slippery between my legs now and my body so shaky that I am in danger of stabbing myself in the pussy with my acrylic nails. I gesture a time out to Gian as he goes to freshen up our drinks.

He returns to my bed with fresh glasses and lies down on the bed, resting on his elbow whilst sipping on his champagne musing about my insatiable libido. He looks like a giant Adonis, resting with his one leg outstretched and the other dangling off the side of the bed. The length of his foot, almost the width of the cushion it’s lying on. As he sips on his glass, I lick his cock until it returns to its full hardness. When he is ready, I straddle his hips and slide my dripping wet cunt onto him. He holds my tits firmly in his hands licking my nipples until his grip becomes tighter. His head rolls back and he yells in torment as he begins to reach climax. His hips quiver beneath me as I make the final thrust onto his cock, releasing him. He lies motionless for a while as he recovers.

Once again, I have not delivered the tantric massage that I always promise Gian but time is precious and a massage is wasted on a lover as experienced as he is. As we lay there in a heap, Gian’s phone begins to vibrate. His consciousness returns to the office and all that he must do today. He jumps up and heads for the shower. I just lay on the bed relaxing, drunk on champagne and orgasms. Gian returns with a big white towel wrapped around his waist. I lay and watch as the giant Adonis reassembles his spiffy outfit and runs his fingers through his damp hair. A kiss and a farewell for now but Gian will be back soon.

It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues.

Abraham Lincoln

It’s been one hell of a week. I wish I could say that it’s all been wonderful but that would be a lie. Apart from a few good things happening, overall it was bloody awful. I try to only put good into the universe but somehow lately, the bad just keeps finding me. It seems living the life of a reclusive whore is not enough to stay out of trouble. There is however one common thread or theme that ties all of this weeks events together and that theme can only be referred to as being real.

I received a long winded email yesterday from a stranger that was very complimentary. I’m not joking, like two whole paragraphs just containing compliments. I am a person who uses compliments sparingly. My philosophy in life is that if you over use and abuse kind words, one day when you really need to use them – they may have lost their meaning. I sometimes struggle to accept vast overtures and salutations and if they are not short and accurate, am inclined to question their authenticity.

Perhaps this is a reflection on my self-esteem. I was raised to thank people when receiving a compliment and never to question it. But this tributary email was just so protracted that when I responded, I couldn’t acknowledge the compliments. It felt completely wrong. I merely acknowledged the communication and gave some information that was requested.

This was followed today by another email full of compliments. By now, there is no question in my mind that the situation smacks of insincerity. When strangers give compliments to such an extent as to subjugate themselves before me I have to ask myself what’s the angle? Call me paranoid but is this not another form of manipulation or control?

Some people are in such need of acknowledgement and re-enforcement that they become addicted to this sort of praise. Maybe they need and crave this so much that they become dependent on the person dishing out the accolades. I don’t know, I’m just questioning the situation and wondering what the possible aim of such correspondence might be.

I feel that I am being lured into a sweetly embellished, cleverly disguised game of sado-masochism albeit at this stage a game of words. I’m completely stymied? I don’t really know how to handle the situation so I have simply not responded. Maybe I have cost myself a good booking with a true admirer. I seem to be costing myself quite a few of these lately but the parameters of this engagement are already breaching my personal boundaries and comfort levels. I’m not turned on by verbal acquiescence.

Having started out in clubs and answering my own telephones for the duration of my career, I have grown quite accustomed to insults, being judged and frowned down upon. Has this affected my self-image? Maybe, to some extent but I have pushed on and always at the very least shown respect to myself and the person before me. I have not always received this same respect in return but have learned the appropriate lessons and corrected my business accordingly. I am too old to deny what I have learned and too weary to place myself back on the battlefield. It seems people are just going to accept me for who I am, or move on.

I’m getting to the stage in life where I can acknowledge my floors as a human being but love myself for it anyway. We are all fundamentally floored, that is what life and experience does to people. It cannot be avoided. Like diamonds we are all uniquely floored and those floors comprise part our individual blueprint, our brief stamp on a history that will soon forget us. The only thing we can extract from life is the happiness we derive from it and in the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness we all should be entitled to be ourselves. If we sometimes disagree then we should seek out people that we can get along with.

I did have a very pleasant experience this week dealing with a new photographer who is a perfectionist. Always looking for the best possible light, the best possible angle almost to the extent of removing all of the sexiness from a photo shoot. This woman is genuinely passionate about her work, she enjoys what she does and has learned from experience. Stopping a photo shoot to move a cable so that it doesn’t have to be edited out afterwards. This type of foresight only comes from experience. However painful it may have been at the time, I appreciate her dedication and commitment to my photo shoot.

I would also like to express my sincere thanks and appreciation to my web developer who works through the night and treats my priorities as if they were her own. These are the kinds of people that I want on my team and I will walk to the ends of the earth, until my feet bleed to find them.

PS: Speaking of diamonds. My favourite people, Finweek are at it again. Using sex to sell financial magazines. Below an exhibit of their latest masterpiece.

PPS: Found this funny site

Stuff Sex Workers Eat

http://stuffsexworkerseat.tumblr.com/

We are human after all.

PPPS: Another funny clip I found on the web

Heather Graham Studied The Hour-Long Orgasm

teamcoco.com/video/heather-graham-orgasm

On a more serious note, my man Bill Gates Wants to Build a Condom That Feels Good. That’s Not “Pervy.”

http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2013/03/25/bill_gates_funds_condoms_gates_pledges_100_000_for_a_more_pleasurable_condom.html