dijous, 20 de novembre del 2014

La Tuerka. 8 de marzo ¿Qué pasa con las trabajadoras del sexo? (10-03-2011)



Después de ocho meses trabajando en el sexo de pago, mi mente inquieta necesita definirse y posicionarse. Llevo demasiado tiempo preguntándome cuáles son los origenes y los porqués reales del conflicto que vive la prostitución y el cómo se ha llegado a la situación tan extraña en la que se desarrolla. Creo que el tema es complejo y sigo investigando, y esto me ha llevado hasta este video que me ha ayudado a avanzar.

A los que os sintáis perdidos con el tema u os guste darle vueltas a las cosas hasta el final, os lo recomiendo como base de datos. Preparo un post para mi blog, si alguien quiere colaborar os agradeceré comentarios (que vayan un poco más allá de las bases simples de la cuestión, como por ejemplo que el sexo es tabú...).

Punto negativo del programa: solo hay un hombre y solo hay una trabajadora sexual. Punto positivo: la frase del rapero del final (Nega de Los Chicos del Maíz):"Que levante la mano el que no se prostituye".

dimarts, 21 d’octubre del 2014

THREESOME WITH MAR

A few days ago I took part in a threesome for the first time.

In the experience I discovered a lot of things but what I would most highlight is the connection with the escort that participated with me in this adventure: Mar Fontes.

We totally bonded together in a spiral of reconnaissance , of feeling to make our client enjoy, with the need to uncover an endless number of actions, feelings, sensations and pleasures I've never experienced before.

I present this experience to you as a tribute of our event and with the intention to immortalize it.

If I had to choose a word that summarized it, it will be AMAZING, like this, in capital letters.

We arranged the date very quickly, I was in my apartment when I received  Mar’s call with her proposal; “great!” I thought, and after finishing my errands I hurried up over to the rendezvous point.

We met with excitement, we both knew we had a good connection, but we also had our doubts about how our live development  would be, because it was the first time we were going to try it.

We had the chance to talk for a little while about details while she was finishing preening and dressing in a curious way; in this part I discovered that all of us have our preparations rituals and quirks since there was some details that I couldn’t fully understand, but It seemed to me a pure ritual -precious- and I didn’t want to show her my strangeness - I also have my own and there’s no logic worth-.

While she was putting on her stockings I couldn’t avoid to get a little carried along by the attraction of her endless legs, one of the most brilliant parts of her body from where I started to wish to get lost.
While she was going back and forth she let me be an observer of  the sexiest and most provocative “un-striptease” I’ve never seen. Discreetly I started to observe the perfect roundness of her breasts, how beautiful! …the tone of her skin and the finesse of her fingers started to intoxicate my senses a little. Well, maybe more than a little because it passed through my mind to propose her to start our date without waiting for our client, but I prefered to continue to get carried along by the fascination of every corner of her body that, little by little, she was covering with the most refined and provocative garments ever.

I imagined how she was going to take them off, I rejoiced by having the permission of caressing her skin and I was surprised discovering how my body was waking up slowly and stirring me up without her knowing...or perhaps she did.

Both of us entirely ready waited on the sofa for our client, who was delayed, which gave me a little leeway to come in relaxation, place myself and prepare my mental disposition to the new situation I was going to live through.
There are special moments in the development of this work, and waiting for the person who is hiring us is one of them.
Our concentration and disposition are special, we create a specific climate, nothing else occupies our mind except to satisfy him.
It’s complicated to find that harmony between enjoying and remembering that you are working. I like to prepare those instants before we open the door, to get as close as possible to the expectations of the man who’s crossing it.

Wernher arrived and we invited him to sit on the sofa with us.
After swapping four ephemeral words that we tried to use as a bridge between her arrival and the action development, Mar and him started kissing.
I started to caress Wernher’s legs up to reach his member and confirm that he was hard as a rock.
We started to hang entangled with each other, alternating kisses, grasps and shedding of clothes while Mar and I were dragging him to the shower, thing that seemed difficult until I suggested to get into it the three of us together.
They liked my proposal, considering that the space was quite limited and raised up the possibility of doing some funny acrobatics or stay extremely appeared. Even though I have to say that, at first, Mar looked at me a little doubtful. I think I read her mind: “the three of us there inside, Fosca?...you are completely mad, but it’s great, let’s go!...”and while Wernher and I ate each other’s lips, she soaped up all his body meticulously and with affection, specially the part he was going to use the most.

It was difficult to get in and out of the shower, but at the end we were lying on the bed a bit more relaxed -Wernher was quite shy, he needed his time- and from that stage, an image and a situation stuck in my memory: me lying down with my head beside the man looking at Mar riding him with all her sensuality and vitality from his perspective.

I took one of those mental pictures that can only be saved on one’s memory and I could discern the beauty that men get from having women in that position.

The recorded situation was Mar and I letting the moment take us and without planning it, doing the most entranced fellatio you could never imagine: both of our mouths and tongues going through his member while we were moaning with pleasure and excitement until his orgasm; that was amazing.

Wernher had all the endurance needed to reach his climax when he desired. He decided when he was going to burst to extend as much as possible the experience that he was living.

I’m still surprised by the way we develop our willpower whenever we feel free to, controlling our physical urges up to a level that anyone could consider admirable.

The most erotic scenes that you could imagine came one after another. I’d highlight one where Mar and I were completely immersed in our caress and I contemplate Wernher’s face of fascination, being observer of the scene.
I felt Mar’s pleasure when I was going over her wet lips with my fingers, when I put them inside her vagina while she was moving in a rhythmic and hip swinging  dance.

We closed our eyes and we showed a pure ecstasy expression. I celebrated to have that ability to blindly find her swollen clitoris and her most erogenous zones. She let herself be taken by the moment going over to my intimate places, what a deep excitement!

The only negative details of this experience were: first of all, that I got sperm inside my eyes and I can tell you for sure that it hurts as if you had been punched or if someone had poured you gunpowder.
Here you have a rookie who has been told that this liquid is moisturising and it rejuvenates the skin, so she thought that if it had those properties it couldn’t be bad. On the contrary, she was sure it could be good for everything...ha ha...it didn't work like this, your sight doesn’t get better, I almost went blind!

The second negative point: the frustration and anger I felt realizing of all the time lost, all the years I could have had so much fun being part of threesomes, quartets or orgies. But, one  comes from a family who took care about not even crossing through her mind this kind of ideas.
Suddenly, I not only had discovered group sex, but also the sublime pleasure of touching a woman again and let myself be seduced by her. Imagine the feelings that me touching in her private places would produce, thing that I’m ashamed of not being able to guess like when I’m touching a man since I’ve never had a wonderful cock.

And so, with all this emotional concoction I came back home with my eyes red, my body tired and my inside completely euphoric as I never felt before.

I’d love to hear Wernher telling his experience to any of his friends, I’m sure he will never forget that long hour with two tigresses dedicated to him.

Actually the situation was quite explosive, Mar is a hurricane and I’m an earthquake, but both of us are passionate for experiencing our job with a special dedication because we don’t only like the professional side but the happiness of life and sex.

Both of us love seeing our clients leave with a big smile, floating, rejuvenated, taller and more handsome -seriously, I’m not kidding, they go away like this!!- and I think we both bonded with perfectionism in the most important thing from our job: the authenticity.

I finish here my tribute to our fantastic experience and to my first threesome. I begin a path with a woman who never stops surprising me, thanks Mar!



WAITING FOR YOU IN MY NEW APARTMENT

For those who would like a warm date with privacy and peace, I’m waiting for you in my new space located close by the Monumental surroundings -Barcelona-.
Cold cava in the fridge to go with our date and looking forward to share my intimacy with you and give you pleasure.


Here you have my ad to know more details about me:
http://www.girlsbcn.co.uk/escort/gbfosca.html
I leave you a pair of pictures taken this morning, I hope you like it.


dimarts, 19 d’agost del 2014

POEMA DE MEDIO MINUTO

Un verano que no llega,
un edredón que no cuadra,
un martes de domingo,
un odiar los pronósticos,
un pordiosero obeso,
un charlatán vacío,
una novia que no encuentro,
un Pepito Grillo que se rinde,
un buscarme por donde no toca,
un temblor nuevo que no entiendo,
éste es nuestro ahora,
perdidas, cabreadas y un poco viejas,

andan las mil mujeres que albergo.

dissabte, 16 d’agost del 2014

PIM PAM

M'escrius, m'emociones, em captives, em fascines.
Devoro les teves paraules i alhora penso en la resposta que et vull presentar, corro d'un lloc a un altre, miro la pica plena de plats que volen ser fregats fa dies i els hi dono la raó. Els rento pensant en mil coses amb Ménilmontant Swing de fons mentre creues audaç de nou els meus pensaments apartant amb decisió el Max, els dubtes, les planificacions, les divagacions vàries i les meves malediccions cap al temps que se m'escorre de les mans.
Em truquen, em citen, surto cap a Barcelona, penso en tu mig segon més i trepitjo l'accelerador amb el Mark Knofler de fons rient-se de mi. 
Arribo, parlo, somric, observo, sedueixo, petonejo, llepo, cavalco i transformo energies amb un desconegut que m'obre poc a poc les cames i em deixa capbussar-me en el seu món més íntim. 
Marxo, m'impacto amb el contrast de la realitat al carrer, aterro, surto del meu estat de shock, reflexiono, aprenc i torno a casa.
I passen els dies, les setmanes i els mesos i em confirmes que vols seguir al meu costat sent el meu més fidel company de jocs, després d'una primera cita en que vaig pensar que no et tornaria a veure el pel. I em tornes a sorpendre mostrant-me quan preciosa pot arribar a ser la relació entre una escort i un client si els dos ho volen i tenen les coses clares.

Gràcies, Pagesot, no tinc més paraules.

diumenge, 27 de juliol del 2014

MADRID

Me he caído de la cama.
Cuando un domingo una se levanta a las ocho de la mañana sin razón como mínimo siente que está quebrantando alguna ley. Parece que el domingo está hecho para vagabundear del sofá a la cama después de estar un par de horas recreándose en un despertarse imposible, pero no soy capaz.
Supongo que ayuda el hecho de haber amanecido con el cojín como única compañía, si no esta historia tendría otro principio, algo así como : “Soy tan parte de la cama como de ti”…
Pero no, aquí una que se pasa el día acompañada ha elegido dormir sola y su alarma interior le ha pegado un par de patadas demasiado pronto.
Me he caído de la cama y he saltado a la calle, y la ausencia de almas me ha dicho que es domingo y que estoy en La Latina, barrio de resaca.
Qué silencio! Madrid se detiene un poco, las persianas me dan la espalda y yo busco una cafetería.
Policía sí que hay, y como soy la única que se atreve a cruzar la calle me siguen con la mirada, creo que no cuadro ni a la de tres en estos paisajes porque no tengo pinta de lianta con mi portátil y libreta bajo el brazo.
Quizás mi búsqueda va a ser más ardua de lo que imaginaba, parece que ninguna de las terrazas que conozco es capaz de desplegarse para mí. Casi oigo a las sillas riéndose al verme pasar a esas horas y  a las mesas plegadas preguntándome: “¿Dónde vas, catalana?...¿Te has caído de la cama?”.

Sí, ostias, me he caído de la cama, pero lo llevo bien, no me toquéis las narices.

Subo la calle Mayor y paso frente al hombre del culo pelado que mira las ruinas. Estoy a punto de preguntarle a la policía por ese tipo, pero enseguida me los imagino comentando entre ellos la jugada cuando me aleje y me cohíbo, ya me lo contará de una forma más impersonal la Wikipedia o alguna página de historia de la ciudad.

Sigo caminando calle arriba, me cruzo con una pareja de adolescentes, él enganchado a ella que se empieza a dar cuenta de que se está llevando un pulpo baboso a casa.
Y aquí está la Plaza Mayor, qué maravilla, ya empiezo a ver que no estoy sola en esto de transgredir las costumbres domingueras de quedarse perreando en casa, no soy la única santa aburrida que no está de resaca, pero sigo siendo la única friqui que va con un netbook bajo el brazo.
Ahí están mis terracitas abiertas, ya me siento un poco menos fracasada. Me meto debajo de los arcos y decido dar la vuelta entera a la plaza para escoger punto de anclaje con café en mano. Me cruzo con un friqui, ahora sí empiezo a sentirme parte de este mundo, él no lleva portátil pero va trajeado y no sé qué es peor.
Y no sólo hay terrazas y friquis sino paraditas de antiguallas y variedades múltiples de objetos que exponen personas que sí que tienen hoy una razón para madrugar.
Sigo adelante y antes de sentarme en la terraza elegida entro a pedir mi café con leche. El camarero está solo y me responde de espaldas y con pocas ganas mientras coloca botellas de agua en la nevera. Ya estaba pidiendo demasiado, una terraza abierta un domingo a las ocho de la mañana con un camarero simpático…y con la Tuna cantándome las mañanitas estaréis pensando, no?
Me llevo el café  con leche de dos euros con setenta y cinco a la mesa y disfruto de mi momento viendo despertarse a la ciudad que me tiene un trozo de corazón robado.
Mido mi fortaleza y mi bienestar en base a mi capacidad por esquivar el cigarro de después del café, me toreo el mono y apuesto por tener una mañana lúcida, pues me quedan pocos días por estos parajes y quiero tener el paladar limpio para saborearlos minuto a minuto.
Escribo y voy alzando la vista a los que comen churros, al hombre del puro, a Felipe III y al camarero de la terraza de al lado cansado de explicar a los guiris que si piden “coffee” tienen que especificar si es con leche, cortado, capuccino…etc.
Termino y doy la media vuelta a la media plaza que me quedaba por recorrer, sin poder detenerme demasiado en las paradas de monedas y sellos porque cada vez que lo intento el vendedor y los que le rodean me clavan la mirada de forma inquietante, supongo que llevo demasiada poca ropa, los pantalones ceñidos y cortos y la pequeña camiseta de tirantes me cubren lo justo para no ser denunciada por escándalo público pero no lo suficiente para pasar desapercibida. Me recojo el pelo, a ver si eso ayuda, pero no funciona y empieza a incomodarme demasiado la sensación de ser como esas reliquias expuestas en las mesas que tengo delante donde todos clavan las miradas. Pensaba que si no me pongo los tacones esto no tenía porqué suceder, pero por suerte no es así, y vuelvo a medirme pero esta vez con los ojos hipnotizados de los vendedores.
Me deslizo por los pasillos malolientes de debajo de los arcos y vuelvo a la calle Mayor, está bonito el día, me duelen los ojos y pienso en la siesta que me voy a regalar para curarlos un poco y pedirle perdón al domingo.
Recorro el puente de Segovia y mientras miro las cristaleras y pienso en los que se rindieron allí por completo me doy cuenta que mi cerebro está pensando en formato relato. Me asusto un poco por la sensación de estar poseída por una especie de apuntador o guionista. Me recuerdo a la tortuga Morla de la Historia Interminable y me digo a mi misma: “-Estamos bien, eh, vieja!...quién lo diría con lo que hemos sufrido…”.