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Things In Common: Opening A Takeaway And A Body Rub Business



Check out this carrot I found from a farm nearby!


Because I’m about to open a Korean takeaway business and just for fun, I came up with an impromptu list of:

Things in Common between Opening a Takeaway and a Body Rub Business:

Market Research: You have to do market research for both the takeaway and happy ending biz. Who is your competition in the area? How many other businesses already offer the same thing you’re going to offer? It doesn’t matter if it’s a bowl of rice or a hand job, you need to know who else is peddling the same goods you are.

Menu: Both menus offered at the takeaway and the hand job joint should offer varied price points. You want to be sure to capture every budget walking in through your front doors. Items on the menu should be fresh and tasty and satisfying at both establishments. However, the bigger the menu the more work involved so everything extra is extra. Ka-ching.

Insurance: Everyone knows there’s insurance involved when it comes to opening a takeaway business, but you’d be surprised that there’s something called insurance in the body rub business too. It’s not your conventional plan you purchase and sign, but very unconventional indeed. Any body rub girl in your employ can never be trusted completely, especially under pressure. You must train them on what to do should the cops appear and break down the doors and bust the place, let’s say, for example. And in order to work in the business, each girl must bring in her passport or driver’s license for photocopying and safe-keeping in some safe in an undisclosed location. Basically, it’s insurance for the business that the girls never rat them out, or at least make them think twice before doing so.

Marketing and Advertising: This is key for both the takeaway and the body rub business. How and when, even down to hours of the day, must be planned in advance. It’s not like hand job shops will be tweeting publicly, so most sex businesses run on shadier arenas for advertising (i.e. Craigslist, hotel bedside magazines…). Sometimes, hiring a programming nerd to run your online advertising is your best bet. Balancing cost-effectiveness with good old-fashioned word-of-mouth, or hand, and use of technology is key for any business. In 2014 the possibilities are endless, and still some archaic, retro even.

Delivery: This is all about cost-effectiveness and nothing else. As a business owner, If it’s not “worth” delivering for free then you shouldn’t do it. Takeaways offer free delivery all the time because nobody wants to pay for delivery anymore. You’d think there’s no such thing as delivery in the body rub business, but there is. Most established sex businesses have a driver on-call for “outcalls” by which a working girl is taken to a client (lots of cab-taking too). But there’s always an extra charge to the client. That’s where a Korean takeaway and body rub biz really differ. Delivery is at a premium for hand jobs, and the client will pay anywhere from $50-$100 more for the request.

Safety is a whole other level of crazy, and worthy of its own blog…

Always dishing,


Pubic Hairs Are Yucky Apparently


To call my little Noah precocious would be like calling me blunt.

He’s not yet 2 years old, yet he remembers everything and recalls it at his whim. When he helps me clean and vacuum around the house we sometimes run into tangled balls of hair, my long hair from my head. Noah picks these hairballs up and growls before saying in Dutch, “etsje vuilbak!”

This means “yucky garbage can!” and Noah then proceeds to throw the hairball away in the nearest garbage can.

Two days ago I had an appointment with my gynecologist Dr. Martens, whom I love enough to have blogged about once, and I prepared accordingly to the unwritten but stressed rules. I did not have my period, I did not fornicate the night before or morning of my appointment, and I made my vagina gorgeous and lovely. To me, gorgeous and lovely means sparkling clean and waxed or shaved and very trim.


I actually got one answer to the question, thanks to a credible someone, as to whether or not gynecologists care about the gorgeousness or loveliness of patients’ vaginas. No.

But I welcome more surveys!

It’s not like I go all-bare down there because I’ve tried that before and never liked it. I prefer to leave some pubic hair in the right spot proportionate to everything else. Why am I sharing this besides the fact that I share too much as it is already?

Because two days ago I came home from my gynecologist’s appointment all checked-out in good vaginal health. That evening Noah was brushing his teeth before bed time, and he pointed to the bathtub telling me he wanted to take a shower. Specifically a shower. Noah only takes showers with papa. He’s never taken a shower with me. It’s not a rule or anything but more practical. I always just give Noah his baths. I don’t often get in the bathtub with him, and when I do I don’t take photos. My focus is his safety and fun. I get out first and towel-dry off while he continues to play. In the past I’ve been naked once or mostly naked other times but not really naked naked. Most times it was out of convenience so I could dry off quickly with less clothes to have to throw back on.

Two days ago I was in a bikini. It was bed time and I had things of my own to do but I decided a bath with Noah would be fun! After we brushed our teeth we got in the bath.

For fun I took a photo of us in the bathtub together and I later uploaded it on social media. Social media is just fancy talk here. It really just means Facebook and Twitter to me.

BathtubI uploaded the photo asking if any other mommies wore bikinis in the bathtub with their kids. I should have been more specific and detailed or written a blog instead. I should have rewound 30 minutes before the picture was taken to explain a few things, but that’s all shoulda coulda woulda when it comes to social media.

But this is what happened…

I’d undressed Noah while running the tub with water. I got down to my bra and panties and took those off too when I heard growling. I looked down at Noah who was growling and pointing at my groomed spot of pubic hair, and he said “Etsje!”

He called my pubes yucky! He growled at me! He thought I had a gross hairball stuck to me!

I gently told Noah that it was not yucky and that it was okay. I smiled and said it’s okay, it’s mama’s hair, about a dozen times. He didn’t seem convinced. It’s not like he’d never seen me naked before and it’s probably not the last time Noah will see me naked but he’d never associated vacuuming dirty hair into the garbage can, with my nudity, before.

But as precocious as he is, I didn’t believe Noah was ready for any kind of body parts talk yet. He’s not even two! He just needed to know that there was nothing yucky going on. So I threw on the bikini and we played in the bathtub. There’s plenty of time for talk later, just not at 21 months of age.

My mother was always naked with me in the bath. My father never. I never knew any other way to bathe until I was old enough to bathe alone. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Being naked with my mother and her naked body taught me so much about my own body later growing up, and now.

I never thought I’d wear a bikini in the bathtub with my son until it happened. If I had a daughter I probably wouldn’t wear one. But who knows?!

With Noah, it was a conscious choice on the spot but only after I laughed at myself. Here I’d thought I’d trimmed enough to make my vagina gorgeous for Dr. Martens yet Noah still found it yucky. You can prepare and read-up all you want on what your toddler might or might not do, but there’s nothing like the real thing. You have to laugh. You have to trust your gut whether or not you’re right or wrong, and learn from your mistakes and triumphs too, it’s one of the toughest parts of parenting. The uncertainty yet obligation to make split-second decisions.

Just because I blog about sex and I’m open about sex and my sexual history and the fact that I was sexually abused as a child, doesn’t mean I wear my vagina hanging out in public. It doesn’t mean I won’t wear a bikini in the bathtub with my child if I think it’s the right thing to do in the moment. I’m all for nudity when it works and improvising when necessary. I’ve never been a mom before so I’m the teacher and student at the same time every day.

When I uploaded the photo and asked what other mommies did, it was neither an invitation for judgement nor any indication of judgment on my part. I don’t need reminders that Noah came from inside me because even if he hadn’t and I’d adopted him, I still would have put that bikini on two days ago.

It was just a question not to be taken so seriously!

Or was it?

Always dishing,




Stop the Sexual Stereotypes


For fun this morning, I read an article on Nerve called “Some Wildly Innacurate Sexual Stereotypes Based on Which Country Your Lover Is From” mostly because OneChicklette told me to. But I’m easily amused by all articles revolving around sex anyway, especially ones around stereotypes.

The article started out with this quote, collected from Reddit in the first place:

“People often switch to their native language at the moment of climax.”

I can’t speak for all people and I’m not bragging, but I have actually watched a lot of men come live in real life because of:

– my healthy sexual appetite, and

my adventures in happy endings past in hand jobs.

Had I never run a body rub business I’d still have a large sampling enough of international penis to make educated guesses and generalizations. I can say that men, no matter their sexuality, climax in the language of Grunt. I don’t know the intricacies of what sex is like in the small bush tribes of Africa, but I know everyone grunts.  That’s the native language of sex, grunting to various degrees

As for the rest of the inaccuracies and broad generalizations? There are questions of size and girth and circumcision and pubic hair, but there’s no way I could responsibly make sweeping suggestions about men and sex and geography. Just like having sex with me isn’t representative of what sex is like with all Korean or Korean-American women. Hell no. I’m special.

Or just like I’ll ignore people who ask if my “Korean vagina is slit sideways horizontally and not vertically like Western vaginas,” or ask if I’m “submissive and docile in bed because Asian women are known for being passive not dominant,” or if I’m “tighter” because I’m Korean. I’ve refrained from ever dressing-up like a little Japanese school girl come Halloween simply because if I do then “they” win.

Asian stereotypes are all the rage.

The article goes on to say, “No one culture can be reduced to a sex act, and no one partner speaks to a whole nation, but, man, we do have our habits.”


I agree 100%, however, I will share some personal and business experiences in my sex life:

– I have run into enough black men with small penises to know that not all black men are hung like horses. I tried to tell my mother about this but she insists she doesn’t need to know about penises anymore after my dad died years ago. His was the one and only penis in my mother’s life. So sweet.

– I’ve never personally been in the presence of an Indian man with a large penis but I have seen very small ones.

– I once had a German boyfriend who asked me if I wanted to have sex with him and his German guy friend in front of his German guy friend, with no warning or prior mention of possible future additional sex partners. I actually told my mother about this and she now thinks all German men want to have sex with their girlfriends and guy friends together. (This German boyfriend also liked scratching me a lot during sex. Not enough to draw blood but just scratch scratch scratch the entire time)

– I once dated a Jewish guy who stuck his thumb up my butt the very first time we had sex, while he was taking me from behind doggy-style, with no warning or prior mention of possible butt-love. I told my mother about this one too and she now thinks that bald Jewish guys are all obsessed with buttholes.

– I slept with a Croatian guy once and he sweat so much I had to insist we move the sex into the bathroom right in the shower and kill two birds with one stone. My mother didn’t get to hear about this one because she thinks I only went to Croatia for the nature parks.

– I had a French fuck buddy for a while and he liked it when I crushed his limp or erect penis and balls with my feet during sex and it took a lot of flexibility and acrobatics on my part sometimes. I ran into him years later, in Paris, with another Korean girl on his arm, and all I remember is wondering if she gave him the same play…

– I once had a guy from Spain who’s limp penis was so cold I couldn’t bring myself to arouse him because it felt like an icicle in my hands. I told my mother about this one and she now thinks men from Spain have bad circulation problems.

– I once almost had sex with this one Chinese guy but his erect penis was so alarmingly small that I just couldn’t. I felt horrible, but I’m not a mercy fucker. I’d rather get up and leave than have sex with someone because I think I have to, or it’s owed to someone.

– I’ve had sex with all kinds of Americans, from the boy-next-door who cared about my orgasm before his to those who wagered real bets using sexual favors or those who only cared about body-building and took so many steroids that their sperm was more like water than jizz.

Then there’s the Italian guy who loved getting bit all over his body to the point of having visible bite marks the next day…

I really could go on but I’ll stop there. It doesn’t matter. They’re just stories even in real life. No stereotypes unless you’re my mother.

Thankfully I’m not my mother, and neither should you be when it comes to sex and sexual stereotypes. Discard them. Sex is like music in its language.

I don’t recommend everyone partake in such a large sampling as I have but I do recommend keeping your mind and sexuality open, married or not. I happen to be married to a Belgian man. I can confirm that he does not climax in Dutch but in Grunt.

Always dishing,


Kiss Me Where I Pee


I’m tackling the blowjobs blog today despite disliking the fact that I’m giving Anne Breslaw and her Cosmo dick sucking rant any more attention than I already have. I’ve figured out what my problem with her rant was. It was a rant. I agreed with the underlying points to her blog when I actually found her points. But all the bolding and italicizing, exclamation points, and ROFLcopter stuff made me want to tune her out as a reader and a woman. I should have said this the first time around but I didn’t. I didn’t say a lot of things in my first blowjob blog. If that first blog was a blowjob it would have been a bad one. I can admit that thanks to a certain someone.

I’ll try to right myself through this blog without beating around the vaginal bush or distracting you with ALL CAPS and crazy punctuation.


I watched the film Don Jon last night thinking it was going to be a great film. It had its moments but at the end of it I was grateful for only one thing…that half the script revolved around blowjobs. Perfect for this blog! The movie is based around a fictitious but very real everyday Jersey Shore-type family where the main character Jon Martello (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt who will always just be “3rd Rock” to me) can and does bang a different girl every night, and easily.


He’s the worst case scenario asshole that Ms. Breslaw and me and many of you, male or female, would hate to give a blowjob to. He’s the neanderthal meathead sex addict who pushes your head down to his probably shaved balls expecting you to wrap your your mouth around them, knowing full well he won’t reciprocate with any pleasure if at all.

But assholes love getting blowjobs because all men love getting blowjobs. If I had a dick I would love getting blowjobs too. What’s a dick for if you can’t do at least a handful of things with it? You pee with it, fuck with it, get handjobs and blowjobs…slap it in someone’s face if you’re lucky enough to find someone who’ll let you, so you can both laugh your asses off about it?

Too much?

This blog isn’t about how to give blowjobs because there’s Google for that, and you’re already on the right track if you’re Googling how to give one or give one better, in the first place. But let’s just say for argument-sake that we all agree that all men love blowjobs. Let’s stretch a little further and say then that blowjobs is a form of currency into the world of men. Other forms of currency may be home-cooked meals or thoughtful gifts and gestures and lots of the same things that women love too, just like women also want blowjobs except for women it’s called being eaten out or cunnilingus or oral sex or “Kiss Me Where I Pee!”

If we all know, gay or straight or otherwise, that blowjobs are loved by men then we shouldn’t write dick sucking rants. We should use our minutes of dick sucking or not dick sucking more wisely. We should see dick sucking as an investment of sorts. Rants like Ms. Breslaw’s are the worst case scenarios, like Jon Martello, and we can all find a happier medium I’m sure. For example, I’ve admitted that I’ve probably sounded like Ms. Breslaw at some point in my life versus where I am now in my dick sucking life. The first time I ever gave a blowjob was when I was 19 and I was horrible at it. The last time I gave a blowjob was Monday and I’m close now to receiving a Master of Fine Arts in Fellatio, if there was such a degree.

All my blowjobs in between have been many and in varying degrees of skill on my part. But it’s not even about how good or bad you are at it, although the deeper and gag-free your throat the better. There are some men I never should have blown and some men I shouldn’t have blown more than once anyway, and then those whom I loved blowing. The difference? It was in how much they gave back.

Sure, Ms. Breslaw, we women don’t have “clits in our throat” so it’s not like a dick in our throat is like a dick on our clit. But it’s not like we have clits on our fingertips or palms either and we still put our hands all over our lovers during foreplay and all-play. 

If we women are supposed to be more empowered in controlling our destiny, then we should be able to acquire cunnilingus without ranting or pulling a knife on someone and demanding it. For example, when my husband Davy and I first met he was always very giving and superb in his delivery, but I still wanted more oral sex. So I told him. It wasn’t easy but it went towards my own personal investment anyway. I’ll tell him again if I ever want to, knowing that Davy’s open to my greediness but also telling me whenever he wants more of this or that during sex too.

That conversation should always keep going…

But before I ever got married I once (often) had regular booty calls who didn’t give back and eat me out enough, and I told them too. I even had one guy who NEVER ate me out once, and I told him about that too. That’s the first step to getting more oral sex. You may not always receive but you can always ask! If you can’t ask or won’t ask because there’s a dick being shoved in your mouth, then you need to figure something out.

I’m talking about telling and talking and not demanding and ranting, because who wants to feel forced into taking mouthfuls of genitalia?! Some of my past sexual partners responded well to my asking for more oral sex, considering I was blowing them without them ever having to ask me, and some were just assholes. These assholes just looked at me like I was speaking Korean or Vaginian instead of plain English. Those assholes didn’t get any more blowjobs from me and were discarded by the wayside with the rest of the booty-called-no-more pile.

As a woman, telling everyone how angry you are about desperate women who’ll say anything to feel loved and needed, including declarations of how they love to give blowjobs, is a surefire way to scare eligible dicks away. Let those desperate women do their desperate things and worry about your own dick sucking and receiving. Or write blogs that apply to more than a certain demographic that I’m clearly not a part of. I admit I read Ms. Breslaw’s blog because of the catchy headline but only reread it for the purposes of this blog.

There will always be people with emotional and sexual baggage, including myself, but blowjobs don’t have to be extreme one way or another. It’s your sex life and your privacy and intimacy that no blog could ever touch or fix or break. Sex is currency, whether or not you believe it is, so you should treat it as such because it gets more complicated than just blowjobs, eventually.

If your cash flow is weak or one-sided and you’re suffering, then it’s ultimately up to you to balance that out, and the sooner the better. If you just want more head than you’ve been getting then open your mouth more, and say something.

Then we’ll talk more…

Always dishing,


Sexual Wellness on Amazon


Since I’ve been asked so often and recently about my collection of sex toys, I decided I’d share just a few that have crossed my path and that I’d recommend. Incidentally, Amazon categorizes such items under “Sexual Wellness.”

Love it. I mean if Amazon carries it, it’s gotta be okay right? Here we go…

The Screaming O Soft-touch Bullet Mini Vibrator 3+1 Speed

I bought one of these just for fun years ago and I loved how small it was. You can carry it around in your pocket or keep it in your desk drawer at work…not that I’ve done either of those things with mine…


Lelo Ina Vibe

I’m a big fan of all things Lelo but this Lelo Ina Vibe is pretty much the Goldilocks of Lelos…fits just right. Many of my girlfriends concur even though we’re all different sizes on the outside. It pays to pay for quality.
Kinklab Wartenberg Pinwheel (with leather sheath)

If it’s your first time riding the line between pleasure and pain then I’d recommend you try some light pinwheel action. The more pressure the more pain/pleasure, if that’s what you want.


If you have some recommendations of your own please feel free to share below!

Always dishing,


How Much Money Does a Body Rub Girl Make?


How the hell would I know?!

Just kidding…

Let’s say hypothetically that more than one person has asked me, “How much money does a body rub girl make?”

This would be my hypothetical answer:

The underground sex business in New York is run by men just like most things underground, and sex-related. Sure women also run sex businesses and we’ve seen them burned at judicial stake madam after madam. The men who run sex businesses never seem to get caught or if they are we never see it on the news.

Sure women pay for sex and sexual favor just like men do, but men spend exorbitantly more for sex. Whether the man is married or not or gay or not, they make a conscious decision to pay for sex or sexual favors. With sex clubs and peep show sex shops closing left and right, in just my lifetime in New York, it’s not like those patrons just disappeared. They just went underground. They pay and get their relief from temporary sources of pleasure and it doesn’t even have to involve actual sexual intercourse. Some people can separate sex from feelings and some can’t. I am not judging anyone here but simply being cut-and-dry.

I’ve been asked several times now how much a body rub girl can actually make, let’s say in one 8-hour shift, not including tips…

The short answer is a lot.

The long answer is it depends on a lot of things like what percentage she gets for each client, and:

– How attractive she is…

– How sincere she comes across…

– How many “regulars” she has…

I’ve known girls who barely had time to eat a meal during their shift, and others who struggled to bring in repeat clients. Body rubs are available in standard 15-30-60-minute sessions.

Without breaks or meals, the MAXIMUM amount of money a body rub girl in Manhattan could make in one shift, roughly, not counting tips in her take is: $1280.00.

Without tips!

But this never happens. It’s pretty much impossible. But a few have gotten close. And also there’s rarely a night a girl will go home with nothing, so…

Anywhere from $40.00 to $1280.00 would be “how much money a body rub girl makes” in one shift. Hypothetically.

What would you be willing to do for $1280.00? Hypothetically?

Always dishing,



I Had No Fear


FacebookI take so many blog topics thrown at me on Twitter I decided to go with a Facebook request for today’s blog.

I was never technically a madam because I never ran a brothel. My girls never had sex.  I’m okay with “mamasan” but I was never called a madam. There is a mark on my About Jun timeline in 2005, and it says I “Started a sex business while returning to work in banking, in the same time frame.”

This is true, but “sex business” is vague.

I ran, for a period of time, a high-end private body rub service. What does a high-end private body rub get you? Essentially, if you can afford it, you get massaged by a college-aged naked girl of your choice of any color and then you flip over and get a hand job at the end. Depending on how much time and cash you have you can spend as much time as you want with your body rub girl, but there’s never any sex or any kind of penetration. It’s not a brothel. It’s a body rub studio. No full service. Period.

Who gets these body rubs?! What kinds of girls give these body rubs?!

I didn’t know anything about any of this either, but now I do. I’d joked in the Big Brother 4 house that if I won I’d “open a brothel, but a classy one.” I was 1000% joking, but then I did win. I returned home and spent the last year of my dad’s life together with him, and relied on some of my BB winnings as a cushion. After taxes what’s left of $500,000 is more like $270,000, and there’s no clever CPA loophole around it.

My father died a year later and by then I’d invested most of what was left of my prize money, in a condo near the Grand Central. My mother was broken and terrified and my brother was still in college. I had a good salary and bonus that year, at a global bank on Park Avenue, but I needed more money. My mother wasn’t all of a sudden going to sprout full-time working panties overnight, and her mental state wasn’t good enough to work anyway.

I put on my Cancer crab shell, and focused on making money so my mother would never worry. I turned to Craigslist, which I’d done before. I clicked on random “gigs” ads but none of them paid enough of anything. So I roamed over to “Services” and further to “Erotic Services” which doesn’t exist anymore, by the way. I called a number listed for a job called “phone girl” assuming it was phone sex stuff, which I’d done once before for Christmas money. A woman answered, and I assumed a woman would answer. No more assuming anything from that point on.

It turned out phone girl was really “just a receptionist who books body rubs for clients on the telephone.” If I booked appointments I got a percentage of the cash coming in. I was asked if I’d ever done this before and if I had a problem with it and I said no and no, and I was basically hired. The next day, after working on client presentations and sitting in on quarterly investment meetings, I packed up and headed to the “body rub studio” to meet with Craigslist Woman.

I was so calm walking into a random apartment in a random midtown high rise, in my long wool coat clutching my LV Luco bag on my shoulder, and I was calm introducing myself to two very clean but suspicious looking people. One was Craigslist Woman, and the other was a slim Asian guy (Craigslist Woman’s “assistant”).

I got a lot of information, and had to regurgitate as much as I could for them. They asked me if I wanted to be a body rub girl, and not a phone girl, and I stupidly asked if they meant I’d have to give body rubs. That’s what body rub girls do they’d replied, laughing, but I wasn’t offended. I was flattered, but I said no thank you I just want to make some quick cash answering phones and booking appointments.

I had no fear. I had not mourned my father. I had not confronted my mother about her mental illness. I slept a few hours a day every day and threw myself into some mourning craze through making money. I kept it all a secret.

When I wasn’t working or putting in overtime at the bank, I was giving my sexy voice and booking appointment after jerked-off-penis-appointment. The sex underground in New York City is open 24 hours a day, and we worked in 8 hours shifts just like any other 24-hour business. I made good money. My mother didn’t question my financial support because she thought I was just doing better off than I really was.

Just a month later I was a body rub girl, and voluntarily. I wanted to open my own place, and I couldn’t do that without knowing what each girl goes through in that compact room identical to every other body rub room in the studio. I needed to touch and smell what the hell was going on, and how girls managed to cheat the house out of money. I studied and slowly built an infrastructure of my own.

I got to know all the girls, from having been a phone girl and then as one of them, and I hand-picked the girls who’d come with me when I left to open my own place. I had no fear. I didn’t care. My father was gone and I did not accept it, and instead I threw myself into something he would tell me to stop doing.

I did end up opening my own body rub service.

I had no fear.

Always dishing,




In Sex We Trust


Recently, a reader asked me to blog about “trust in sex” in terms of building and maintaining it. It’s a big topic, and so at my request the reader provided me some context. I’m not licensed in sex therapy so I can only speak from my personal experiences in my Pandora’s Box full of sexual experiences so far.

This blog is not about trust in sex during a random lay on a drunken Saturday, but trust in non-random but steady and maybe even monogamous sex. Let’s say you’re in a new sexual relationship, gay or straight, and all the senses are being piqued. You’ve seen and heard, tasted and smelled, and touched your way to a point where you both want to be with each other for a long time…chemistry is great but should always be a catalyst to better sex:


1. Never fake it.

2. Think about sex. Your sex life must evolve with your love life, and I appreciate the reader’s question because she gets that. She and her new-ish girlfriend think about sex, which is great because thinking about sex is as important as having it.  Trust in sex is easier said than done but not as hard as people make it. If you stop thinking about it and talking about it, then you’re no-pun-intended fucked. If you think about it too much in relation to your partner, then balance probably needs to be met outside the sex life first.

3. Talk about sex, but don’t be all-talk. Milestones in relationships be it having “the talk” or moving in together, or getting engaged or first makeup sex, whatever the milestone is in private to you and your partner…make sexual exploration a part of that too. If your relationship is advancing on the outside, then inside your sexual relationship should be advancing in trust too and not staying stale. Not staying stale doesn’t require anything scandalous or extreme, and it’s stupid to think you can go from hot hair-pulling thrusting-sex with your partner to a fetish orgy where they drop candle wax on your genitals. Don’t ever pressure yourself or your partner to go somewhere without talking about things first. Grab a sex toy catalogue and go through it together, or pop into a shop and buy something new, or take the initiative to find some porn online that YOU like…show and tell…talk. Light a candle and play puppet show with your body parts. Whatever. Don’t tease about “what you’re going to do” and never do it.

4. Trust yourself. Be honest with yourself and let your sexuality in sex be less about how you look naked, and more about how good you’re making your partner feel while getting your orgasm on too.

5. Trust your partner. If you’re having trust issues in your relationship, then they will surface in sex. If you fix your trust issues, then you can be honest again with your partner and trust that they care about making you come in new ways.





I was asked about mine and my husband Davy’s “trust in sex”. Our short and sexy courting period was documented here in the papers and we still get a kick out of it. We met on a beach vacation and married six months later, and we realize we’re not the first or last couple to take such plunges…which we’re open to sharing with you sometimes like today. On this vacation in the Dominican Republic, Davy and I separately realized then told each other that we wanted “this” not to end. We were in a bubble of new love that smelled like cocoa butter and tasted like rum under the Caribbean sky, and we were having sex anywhere we wanted and when. Then out of nowhere we received a note at the front desk from another couple staying at the resort. They were Australian and tanned and friendly with us at the casino once or twice, they didn’t know anything else about us but they wanted to have sex with me and Davy is what the note said.

Talk about having to talk about “advanced” trust in sex early on…

Davy and I just happened to have an extreme situation on our hands, but you don’t have to. Maybe you don’t even want to. If you’re wondering if we had sex with that couple? We didn’t, but we did get drunk and run into the ocean naked with them just for fun. Neither Davy nor I have “perfect” bodies but it didn’t matter because a 3 a.m. skinny dip with strangers was our decision made together.

We learned early that we could laugh and talk sex out, and do what we want now and save other things for later. In all things we do sexually we do it in trust.

Always dishing,


Sex Break


Screw spring breaks and smoke breaks. My husband Davy and I took a sex break last night, and I’ll explain to you now what a sex break is since I made the term up myself for the purposes of this blog. A sex break is when a couple takes a break to focus on sex whether it’s having sex or talking about it or watching it, really anything as long as it pertains to sex. I’m not omitting single people, because you certainly don’t need to be in a marriage or relationship to take a sex break.

The sky is blue and I am the probably the last person who needs any more time devoted to things sexual in nature, but sex is important to me as a woman and a wife and a mother. Becoming a mother doesn’t mean your sex life should die, and as a wife your sex life is in your hands 50-50. As a woman your sexual satisfaction is in your hands 100%.

Sex breaks require spontaneity. Depending how big your real or imaginary balls are they can manifest themselves in dirty little quickies at home or taking in a burlesque performance, or experiencing Wasteland with 4,000 other naked people . So with my Noah tucked away for the weekend at grandpa’s, Davy and I could have gone to the movies or poker night or a number of other non-sex break venues. We chose to pack a bag of check out Acanthus, a private erotic club less than an hour away from our home. With no expectations, and happy we could do this kind of thing together in the name of research and pleasure,  Davy and I were ready to cough up roughly $150 for our entrance…


I’ve never been to a sex club before, though I came close once in New York, and I certainly didn’t expect the entrance to a sex club to be right off a main road with a billboard and lights. It felt strange sitting in the car waiting to get into the parking lot of a sex club but when in Europe…

Davy and I arrived at Acanthus right before dinner service when it was still light and warm out, and we sat in one of the many swings around the perimeter of the well-kept grounds. We watched all the couples arrive to Acanthus just like those who’d arrived before us had watched us. Everyone was dressed casually, with the occasional street-walking outfit among the crowd, and after dinner and drinks and dancing we’d all be changing into lingerie upon midnight’s toll…

We sat having a drink and laughing and making up stories about everyone who was there, just like we would have if we were sitting at McDonalds except instead of a convenient drive-thru there are a dozen different rooms to treat as your play-place. There was even a “cinema” at Acanthus, where you could watch porn on the big screen on a mattress of your choosing.

CinemaDavy and I saw people of all ages and stages of gravity, and ultimately walked away grateful for each other and our sexual compatibility and security. If you’re not comfortable communicating on sex, then it’s certainly inconceivable that you’ll ever end up in a sex club with your partner. Everyone we met at the club was there for different reasons but respected each other’s reasons and discretion, and were mothers and fathers and sisters and everyday people.

I’m not recommending a night at Acanthus for everyone, but I stand by my belief that sex breaks are among life’s necessities. Returning to your life after the sex break is the key, and after a very eye-opening night last night i’m back to making baby food for Noah and hosting coffee and cake for my in-laws on this beautiful Sunday.

If you’ve made it this far in the blog then consider yourself having taken your sex break for the day, and by all means take another if you so choose. There’s enough bad news to go around that you deserve a break.

Always dishing,





In the wake of yesterday’s events in Boston, I realize there truly is no such thing as normal. Nothing has been normal in a long time and nothing will ever be normal again, forever, anyway. I hate the word “normal”. I believe we’re now, more than ever, in a perpetual state of normalcy. 

This past Saturday night, my husband Davy and I were but two of 4,000 attendees at Wasteland, in Amsterdam. I was dressed in Burlesque and Davy in Leather Punk. Normal? It doesn’t matter.

“All four thousand of us were there with the sole goal of having fun.”

No. I’d say there were 4,000 different goals under one fetish roof. And this is the beauty of it all. It’s what you make of it. A spectacular pansexual fetish extravaganza where you could do, or not do, pretty much whatever you wanted while exposing as many sides of yourself as you wanted with or without the aid of others. And out of respect to everyone who was there on Saturday, I am only posting photos of myself and performers. Some of the performers below:




Going in these were my expectations, and how they were or weren’t met:


I expected to get in, and I did. The door bitches were incredibly sexy scary checking us from head to toe, even tugging on Davy’s clothes to check for quality. They were gauging his reaction to this as well. But I knew we wouldn’t get turned down, just initiated.

– I expected to feel intimidated, and I wasn’t. As we stood with everyone else, all wearing coats and awaiting entry, Davy and I made small talk with some and exchanged smiles with others. There were newbies like us and veterans too, and we were all about to get Wastelanded.

I expected to see people in more lavish costumes than ours, and I did. There were those completely naked (or with genital rings) and those dressed regal like Frankenstein fetish. Sometimes fur or bondage ropes served as attire while latex masks and chain collars and metal mouth clamps were accessories, for example.


– I expected to see people having sex, and I did. Lots of different kinds of sex (oral, anal, vaginal, or all of the above at once) between people of all shapes and sizes and colors and preference. There were mazes and dungeons, stages and dark corners everywhere for sex. I took the opportunity to sit in one of the sex swings and pose for a photo during the first hour of the party, before all the sex started happening. And the whipping, and other painful things, if you wanted…started happening.

I expected to have some form of sex myself, and I didn’t. Not at Wasteland, I didn’t. I was a voyeur although I did exchange friendly kisses with a couple party-goers, and dance on the back of a “slave” as it lay on the floor. But that was the extent of my exhibitionism (besides showing some skin) at this particular event.

The DJs worked it all night and the stage performances were pure spectacles. Davy and I were in various states of sober and very not sober throughout the night. From 10pm to 4am all our senses were overloaded. It was an experience without judgements.

We’ve returned to Belgium thereafter. Then yesterday innocent people suffered and died, which should never be considered normal. But in my own circle of friends, two babies were born yesterday too. Life must live on.

By today we’re all struggling to achieve some normalcy again good or bad. I’m struggling with whether or not this entire blog is even normal, wishing there was a flip of some switch I could stumble upon. For now, I continue to find normalcy through blogging.

We should all seek to find our own “normalcy”, which I believe exists, but “normal” is an extremely relative word and state of being. 

Always dishing,