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Angela St. Lawrence is the reigning queen of high-end, long distance training and Femme Domme phone sex, providing esoteric depravity for the aficionado, specializing in Erotic Fetish, Female Domination, Cock Control, Kinky Taboo and Sensual Debauchery. To make an appointment or speak with Ms. St. Lawrence  ...

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Archive for May, 2006

Versace, PhoneSex, and Tankini

Friday, May 12th, 2006

versace.jpg

This is gonna be a weird, wicked and extremely busy weekend. Mother’s Day on Sunday, shopping (tomorrow) for presents for said mother for said day, taking calls (I gotta make da cash–at least once in a while.), writing one or two book reviews for sex kitten, finishing up two columns for sex kitten, watching King Kong (on pay to view tonight) with a dear friend and exchanging my (cracked) Versace sunglasses.

That’s a pic of the cherished Versaces up there. Aren’t they cute? And they simply are a must-have when driving my convertible.

I was going to run a Phone Sex Special this weekend. But it wouldn’t be fair to my clients to do so when I know I am going to be in and out. And these personal matters just need to be dealt with ASAP.

So what I think I will do is offer up this:

Catch me this weekend for a regular-priced call (15 min. minimum) and I will do another with you this week(6/15 thru 6/19) at half-price. How’s that sound? Hey, I try to make this fun for all of us. The least you can do is appreciate the effort. And –FYI– my prices are going up in the very near future. I’m overdue for a cost-of-living raise. So get the deals while you can.

Topics up for discussion:

* cuckolding

* tease and denial

* forced cock-sucking

* Taboo and dirty

* forced cross-dressing

* humiliation

And remember boys, it’s only a fantasy. Don’t try this at home.

Oh, if you’re wondering where I was all day yesterday, I went shopping and hit Victoria’s Secret.  Summer is almost here and I am a swimmer.  So I was in the market for a new tankini.  The price was right (big sale), and I ended up buying three. In fact, I got a few other things (nighties, panties) with the money I saved on the swimwear.  Pretzel Logic, my love.  It works for me.

Wanna see? Ask nice and I might show you.

When I Grow Up

Thursday, May 11th, 2006

….I wanna be Maureen Dowd. Or her assistant. Maybe her maid? I’d settle for washing her windows, in spite of my acrophobia.

And here is one of the many reasons I adore this woman:

The Incredible Shrinking Y

Why, oh Y, are men so insecure?

The darlings have been fretting for some years now that they may be rendered unnecessary if women get financial and biological independence, learning how to reproduce and refinance without them.

What if nature played a cruel trick and demoted men, so they had to be judged merely by their appearance, pliability and talent for gazing raptly at the opposite sex, no matter how bored?

New research on the Y chromosome shows that my jittery male friends are not paranoid; they are in an evolutionary shame spiral.

As Nicholas Wade wrote in The New York Times: “Although most men are unaware of the peril, the Y chromosome has been shedding genes furiously over the course of evolutionary time, and it is now a fraction of the size of its partner, the X chromosome. The decay of the Y stems from the fact that it is forbidden to enjoy the principal advantage of sex, which is, of course, for each member of a pair of chromosomes to swap matching pieces of DNA with its partner.”

Wade said that biologists in Cambridge, Massachusetts, had made a remarkable discovery: “Denied the benefits of recombining with the X, the Y recombines with itself.”

The ultimate guys’ night out. Simply put, the Y chromosome figured out a way to save itself from extinction by making a difficult hairpin turn and swapping molecular material with itself.

Self-love as a survival mechanism: the unflinching narcissism of men may send women into despair at times, but it has saved their sex for the next 5 million or 10 million years.

But, according to Olivia Judson, science’s answer to the sensual British cook Nigella Lawson, men may need more than narcissism to survive.

Judson, a 33-year-old evolutionary biologist at Imperial College in London who has written a book about animals in a Dear Abby style, or Deer Abby, under the pen name Dr. Tatiana, says the worm has turned. “For a long time, it was assumed that promiscuity was good for males and bad for females in terms of the number of kids they could have,” she explains. “But it wasn’t until 1988 that it really started to become evident that females were benefiting from having sex with lots of males, with more promiscuous females having more and healthier offspring.”

In her book, Judson writes about powerful babes, noting that females in more than 80 species, like praying mantises, have been caught devouring their lovers before, during or after mating.

And then there’s the tiny female midge, who plunges her proboscis into the male midge’s head during procreation. As Judson told the journalist Ken Ringle, “Her spittle turns his innards to soup, which she slurps up, drinking until she’s sucked him dry.”

The Economist recently reported on a variation on the creepy-crawly girl-eats-boy love stories. The male orb-weaving spider kills himself before the female has a chance to.

Biologists now believe that the male orb-weaver dies when he turns himself into a plug to prevent other males from copulating, thus ensuring his genes are more likely to live on. In a new book called “Y: The Descent of Men,” Steve Jones, a professor of genetics at University College in London, says males, always a genetic “parasite,” have devolved to become the “second sex.”

The news that Dolly the sheep had been cloned without masculine aid sent a frisson through the Y populace, he writes, because men began to fear that science would cause nature to return to its original, feminine state and men would fade from view. The Y chromosome, “a mere remnant of its once mighty structure,” is worried about size.

“Men are wilting away,” Jones writes. “From sperm count to social status and from fertilization to death, as civilization advances, those who bear Y chromosomes are in relative decline.”

Perhaps that’s why men are adapting, becoming more passive and turning into “metrosexuals,” the new term for straight men who are feminized, with a taste for facials and home design.

Better to be an X chromosome than an ex-chromosome.

By Maureen Dowd, The New York Times, July 10, 2003

***Someone who knows I am a Maureen Dowd fan sent me a copy of this article a while back. I loved it so much that I used the above quote (Better to be an X chromosome than an ex-chromosome.) as the quote for The Powder Room at Literate Smut.

If you don’t subscribe to The New York Times, the access to Ms. Dowd’s Wednesday and Saturday columns alone is well worth the price. She’s also written two books, both of which I’m currently reading: Bushworld and Are Men Necessary?

Kinky Girls Pray

Wednesday, May 10th, 2006

At least I do.

When asked about my views on religion, I always say that I abhor religion, but love god. Does that make any sense? I am far from Mother Theresa or Gandhi. In fact, I am currently in the middle of a major spiritual deficit; and it doesn’t feel so very good, let me tell ya.

But when I’m doing it right for me, this is kinda-sorta how it goes:

  1. I read daily from a (well-worn, heavily marked and dog-eared) meditation book, Each Day a New Beginning–a gift from Gregory, who you probably will hear about again–which, while geared to the feminine recovering alcoholic, makes a whole lot of sense to me. (Today’s [May 10] entry: To wait for someone else, or to expect someone else to make my life richer, or fuller or more satisfying, puts me in a constant state of suspension; and I miss all those moments that pass. They never come back to be experienced again. ~Kathleen Tierney Crilly)
  2. I try to say only two personal prayers (basically because I think anything else is not a true belief in a higher power/intelligence). The first being Your will, not mine. And the second: Thank you.
  3. The prayer of St. Francis is just the way I wish I lived my life everyday. I fall short most of the time. But I try to find my way back there when I start wobbling.
  4. My other guide is Corinthians 13:4-8 (Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.) I try to remember this and live it. But, again, fall short.

I have many friends that are born-again Christians. They are always telling me, “Angela, God is gonna get ya.” To which I always respond, “He already has me. He just likes me better and says I don’t have to follow the rules.” Which, while said in jest, holds a whole lot of truth for me. Meaning, that I think we all get from here to there in our own special, unique way.

The journey is our life, our adventure–different for everybody. But we all end up at the same place. Which is exactly what I find so cool about this whole “spiritual thing.”

Isn’t it just fucking awesome?

***To someone very special: This entry is for you.

I Resemble That Remark

Tuesday, May 9th, 2006

|^^^^^^^^^^^^^^| ||
|…BEER TRUCK……….| ||’|”;, ___.
|_…_…_______===|=||_|__|…, ] –
“(@)'(@)”””””**|(@)(@)*****”(@)

WHEN GIRLS DRINK TOO MUCH

1. We have absolutley no idea where our purse is.

2. We believe that dancing with our arms overhead and wiggling our butts while yelling “Woo-Hoo is truly the sexiest dance move around.

3. We suddenly decide that we want to kick somene’s ass and honestly believe we can do it.

4. In our last trip to pee, we realize that we now look more like a homeless crack whore than the goddess we were just four hours ago.

5. We start crying and telling everyone we see that we love them sooooo much.

6. We get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song plays because “Oh my god! I love this song!”

7. We find a deeper, spiritual side the geek sitting next to us.

8. We suddenly take up smoking and become really good at it.

9. We yell at the bartender, who we believe cheated us by giving us just lemonade. But that is because we can no longer tast the gin.

10. We think we are in bed, but our pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor. (or the mop?)

11. We fail to notice that the toilet lid is down when we sit on it.

12. We take our heels off, because we believe it’s their fault that we’re having problems walking straight.

***

My sister sent me this and a couple of items (particulary 1, 2 & 6) not only made me laugh, but reminded me (fondly) of a few of my nights out with the girls. I am not a good drinker and rarely partake. But when I do, watch out! (and thanks, sis!)

Wankers

Monday, May 8th, 2006

An inside peek:

There is a small but persistent group of men who have no intention of ever doing a phonesex call, yet harass PSOs consistently. I find it underhanded and distasteful, but, since I went solo and began my firsthand experience with the underbelly of the adult industry, I’ve had to deal with it.

We call them wankers. And, actually, I deal with it (them) by not dealing with it (them). Let me explain. The typical wanker’s modus operandi follows two predictable, boring paths:

Vacuous Emails: Emails are nice. If they are honest and sincere, they are more than welcome. Unfortunately, wanker-types are morally inept and usually pretty fucking dumb. Their unoriginal and uninspired missives always trip a seasoned PSO’s wank-dar and she quickly utilizes the PSO’s must-have computer accessory, the delete key. There are basically two protypes.

Email Prototype A is a lengthy epistle–sometimes pages–describing their perfect fantasy. Leaving nothing to chance, they describe such essentials as hair color, nail length, time of day, number of candles (lit and non-lit), breast size….zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I used to write these guys back, asking, “What do you need me for?”  Now I don’t even bother. Oh, and to the wankers out there reading this: Yes, we talk. And we do know that you copy, paste and email that lame-ass crap out over and over and over again. We’re not impressed. And you are not only not as original as you think you are, but are downright lazy. Does your boss know what you are doing all day long on his dime?

Email Prototype B is even creepier, as it’s presented as a sort of Publisher’s Clearing House contest, the potential caller (hold me back) being the “grand prize.” It goes something like this: I am looking for that special girl to do XYZ fantasy. Please write back, describing what you would do. If we click, I will call you and you will make lots of money. I think you can figure out what he plans to pull out and play with, should some naive newbie actually respond.

Badgering a PSO with Instant Messages: Of course, one could argue that a PSO hanging out in chat rooms to snare a client sets herself up for such harassment. Personally, I don’t do chat rooms. I find the level of lizardry there intolerable. And, quite frankly, I have better things with which to occupy myself. Regardless, the gal in the chat room is there to do business.

Said wanker abuses her time with false inferences to chalking up some phone conversation with her. In actuality, this wanker is so tight that he squeaks when he walks. In his everyday life, you can bet he never buys a girlfriend flowers and doesn’t know a lick about foreplay. Yes, I said a lick.

And then there are the good guys. And they are the reason I am still here.