Four Zero Two: Spring

I've been away far too long. The world outside my rooms has been unrelentingly awful for so long that I've forgotten what it's like to want to go out into the world. I'm still here, mind you. I'm the aging figure who's sitting here on a spring morning listening to Rihanna do "Disturbia" and trying to think of reasons to do anything at all.

The one thing that I've found intriguing at all here in the blighted year 2026 is that when the fighting began in the Persian Gulf, some of the best news coming out of Dubai was in Twitter postings from FMTY girls. The high-end escorts in luxury hotels managed to post accounts of what was happening-- missile strikes, exploding drones, panic among the tax exiles --that was more informative and more clear-eyed than anything the newsfeeds were carrying. I had to nod my head at that. Of course the FMTY girls knew more than the talking heads on al-Jazeera or the Western press. Of course they did. I did admire that, and I was glad to see them finally getting some respect for their knowledge of the world. 

I've never met an FMTY girl, and there's no way that I could ever afford to see one professionally. I'd be terrified even to try. I'd never be good enough a potential client to make an FMTY girl feel like I was worth her professional time. But I do admire them as a class.

My understanding is that most of the FMTY girls at Twitter are slightly older than the usual sort of escort. They seem mostly to be just over thirty, and they seem to have a disproportionate number of graduate degrees-- M.A. degrees in Finance, Sociology, or Psychology are fairly common, though I've noted a couple in the sciences as well. At least one-- someone whose Twitter and occasional newsletter I do follow --is a serious devotee of History.  They also seem to take their role as a companion seriously. Many seem to pride themselves on having a high level of conversational skills and on having spent time learning about a range of conversational topics. Well, those have been the skills high-end geishas in Kyoto have learned for centuries, and I admire them just as much as I admire the FMTY girls at Michelin-star restaurants in Manhattan or London Town. 

Companion seems to be rather a niche thing these days. I could never afford a Michelin-star restaurant, and I lack any of the social markers that would make me welcome in one. A lovely, well-dressed, elegant young woman with an M.A. in Comparative Lit. or French lit., someone who enjoys conversation and is skilled at it-- I have no idea where I'd take someone like that these days. And I have no idea what I'd say to someone like that in any case. I used to say that if a girl was going to go to bed with me, it would be because I'd talked her into it. My sole real social (or sexual) skill was conversation-- being able to tell stories. That was my key asset-- telling stories. These days I wouldn't know where to begin or what to say. I'd be very sure that I'd have nothing at all to say to either a high-end escort or a civilian girl who was knowledgeable and good at conversation. I'd feel like a stammering idiot (or worse, a rube) every time I opened my mouth. 

I don't have anything to say to lovely girls these days, and I'm no longer clear on what I'm socially allowed to say. I'm terrified (and exhausted) by the thought that any well-educated girl or any skilled professional would see me as a waste of her time. She'd think that she'd spent time and effort learning a whole list of things, and here she was was with someone who was obviously a rube and an idiot, who could never appreciate her skills. Yes, I'd be thinking, I'd love to hear you talk about, e.g., neurobiology or evolutionary psychology or Persian architecture. I'd really love that. But I can't say anything at all that won't mark me as a waste of your time and skills. 

I can hold the attention of a classroom or a lecture hall filled with students. I've done that. I know that I can do that. I'm good at that. But I have nothing to say to anyone across a table, let alone across a hotel bed. I'm not someone who can attract a companion in either sense of the word. 

Spring is an empty time this year. The world outside my rooms is bleak enough, and there's no one reaching out from there. My phone doesn't ring, and lovely girls aren't sending clever or flirtatious emails. Phone sex is no longer a thing in the post-pandemic world. There's less and less incentive to go anywhere. I have nothing to say to a lovely girl on the next barstool or cafe table. Even if a girl-- a civilian, a non-professional --was enthusiastically willing to take me to bed, I wouldn't risk it. I wouldn't risk her disdain. I wouldn't risk becoming a stammering idiot. 

In other news, I don't have any stories right now for those of you out over the aether. I wish I did. Karley Sciortino seems to have revived her Slutever blog (or at least created a new version of it on Substack), so maybe she'll have stories of her own to tell. Since the legendary Debauchette has long since vanished, Karley Sciortino is the only person writing about sex in any sort of digestible way. I suppose I can read her revived blog and see what she has to say, but...here in April of a blighted year, there's no one else out there to read, and I lack any and all ability to experience things that would make stories of my own.

Four Zero One: Accounts

 I've been away from this blog for far too long, and I apologize for that. The Year Twenty-Six has begun, and it's likely to be just as blighted as the Year Twenty-Five. 

I began this blog so that I could have a place to discuss issues around sex, romance, gender, and courtship. I hoped in those days to be find interlocutors and correspondents with whom I could talk about things like the evolution of erotica as a genre, or the tales we tell each other about sex, or about the social structures of sex. I do remember a time a dozen or so years ago when there were sex blogs and blogs about the semiotics of sex, a time when there were first-person essays out there on the web where people wrote about their own lives and adventures. That all seems very long ago and far away now. 

Now I can understand why no one seems to feel optimistic about sex. It seems that most people are just burnt out these days. Politics has become exhausting, the economy is precarious, and tonight we're keeping one eye on the newsfeeds in preparation for a new war in the Persian Gulf. Sex seems to have devolved into polemics, and seduction and flirtation have been replaced with misogyny and rage-fueled puritanism. 

I have no idea what happened to the idea that sex could be about adventure and fun. I have no idea why and how stories-- telling stories, living lives designed to produce good stories --fell out of fashion. I have very few ideas as to how it's become so dangerous to talk about sex or romance. I do miss the days of the early Noughts and the early 2010s when pleasure and adventure could still be valuable and valued.

It's been a very long time since any lovely young companion has sat with me over drinks and laughed and told me about her adventures. It's been a long time since flirtation has been regarded as a charming social game, and an even longer time since seduction has been regarded as a kind of art form and a game both parties could play and enjoy. It seems that all seduction and flirtation had been reduced to a glum (and grim) set of late-capitalist maneuvers. Crypto scammers posing as "dating coaches" tell us to do "negging" as a way to humiliate women and bully them into joyless sex. There's less and less sense of play, delight, ritual, and fun out there.

I don't want to leave this site, and I do want to be able to talk about sex in its social and aesthetic and literary forms. I keep hoping that I'll be able to exchange thoughts here with a gently raised eyebrow or a knowing smile or a sense of puzzled yet amused irony.

I hope that we're not all so burnt out that we fall into bitter and exhausted puritansm. 

Four Zero Zero: Dining

I don't know why I do this to myself, but I do. 

I've been at Twitter looking at posts by lovely FMTY girls. I'll never be able to afford a companion at FMTY level, but I will look through companion / escort Twitter sites and sigh over what I might be missing. Yes, yes, I know that I'll only end up feeling alone and depressed, but there's something in me that enjoys pressing my face to the window of the expensive restaurant or the high-end shop. 

I have followed links to several FMTY girls' websites, and the finances of having a companion are far beyond me. One very lovely girl in Toronto listed her rate for a basic dinner date as $CD 1850, which is about $US 1300. That doesn't include the dinner itself or the hotel room or a tip. It also doesn't include an introductory gift-- say, a gift card for maybe $US 250 at a high-end spa. The cost of the rendezvous would be far beyond me. I don't begrudge the Toronto girl her fee or the auxiliary costs-- a skilled professional is worth her fee, and what used to be called Girlfriend Experience calls for a great deal of skill. I don't begrudge the FMTY girls their fees, but I am very aware that they inhabit a world beyond my reach.

What have I learned from the FMTY sites? I've learned that there are restaurants-- e.g., Aulis in London, Octavia in San Francisco --that are suitable for an evening with a skilled companion, and I like knowing small things like that.

One of the FMTY summed her perfect life in a Twitter post: Small circle, overdressed, living privately, handwritten letters, intentional purchases, coastal walks & ritualized routines. 

I love that vision of life. I could so easily imagine offering up her fee plus tip and gift for access to a life-- to the vision of a life --styled like that. 

FMTY girls pride themselves of being "companions", as being able to offer a client a vision of a life where the client is valued: It rules getting to explain to a silver daddy who’s been in boss/dad mode for the last 30 years that’s he’s actually really, really hot now. I love being the bearer of glad tidings.  

An FMTY girl posted this: “I think we were rival Samurai in a past life” is my new favorite pick-up line. Yes, I'd pay to have someone say that to me. 

I look through the FMTY sites and sigh over photos of dinners and spas. I sigh over witty lines. I sigh over the idea that I would be worth a professional deploying her skills. I sigh over the hope that I'd ever be someone who could appreciate a professional's skills. I sigh over the hope that a skilled professional wouldn't mind teaching me about the tasting menu in a star restaurant. 

I do this to myself, you know. I keep my face pressed to the glass far too long on empty nights.

Three Nine Nine: Jouissance

 I'm still thinking about fantasies. We're living in a time where sexual fantasies have been pushed aside as a topic of any importance. The world seems to be burning down around us, and sex is the last thing on anyone's mind. I haven't found any new active blogs devoted to fantasies or sexual memoirs in, well, easily a year. 

People are presumably still having sex, but no one is discussing it. Even the FMTY Girl websites are now largely devoted to travel and restaurant critiques. Blogs devoted to sexual adventures seem to have gone silent. Erotica sites seem to have vanished one by one. What are people actually doing? What sorts of adventures are now on aspirational lists? Is anyone writing about fantasies and dreams?  My God, there are even reviewers of "romantasy" books at BookTube complaining about anything "spicy" in novels. If anyone wants to talk about sex on a tropical island, they're not talking about sex on the beach or on a moored sailboat-- they're talking about the Epstein scandal and prosecutions.

It's become harder and harder to even construct fantasies in my head. I have no idea what fantasies-- what genres of fantasy --are still acceptable. I have a glum suspicion that the age of seeking adventures with lovely partners has passed.

Let's think about erotica in the here-and-now. Let's think about fantasies. How does one go about constructing fantasies these days? Is transgression still considered exciting, or are transgressive fantasies regarded as a sign of not so much "depravity" in the older, exciting sense as they are a sign of criminal predisposition? 

I'm male, and I'm both cis-het and no longer young. I have no idea what fantasies I'm allowed to have. According to The Discourse online, am I allowed to have fantasies at all? Male fantasies and any male indulgence in the Solitary Vice have been regarded as pathetic and contemptible for a long time now. Is there any way for a cis-het male to admit that he has any sexual fantasies? If so, what raw materials is he allowed to use?

Sexual fantasies are I suppose like any other sort of story-- they need to be crafted, polished, thought out, and reviewed. I've written academic papers for publication, and each one of those has been carefully outlined and crafted. Why would erotica be any different? But in the here-and-now, how does one admit to using any specific sorts of source material? Wouldn't citing one's sources mark one as a target for derision and moral outrage these days? The question remains: what are we allowed to desire, or even imagine desiring? 

If you're reading this out over the aether, tell me if you think sexual fantasies are still...doable. Tell me what you think we're allowed even to imagine desiring. Tell me if sexual fantasies are still worth having here as the republic decays and late-stage capitalism burns the world down. 

Three Nine Eight: Social Construction

 I've been thinking about fantasies lately. I'm not actually having fantasies, mind you. What I've been doing is thinking about the concept of sexual fantasy. Here in the blighted year Twenty-Five, there are questions worth exploring. What does The Discourse tell us about--

1. Who gets to have fantasies? Are some of us-- male, cis-het, white, over 30 --allowed to have sexual fantasies any longer? 

2. What fantasies are acceptable these days? Who sets the terms for judgment? 

3. Is it only cis-het male fantasies that are seen as problematic in The Discourse? Do women despise cis-het males for having fantasies?

4. What is it that conjures up particular fantasies? How do we choose (do we choose?) the fantasies we do have? 

5. Can we ever admit to having sexual fantasies, let alone try to enact them with a partner? 

6. Can you still discuss your fantasies, even with a partner? Is the answer different for women? 

7. Why does it seem that any fantasies and/or kinks are nowadays regarded as acts of aggression or as an admission of being a pathetic loser? 

I'm an aging Pale Person of Penis. I recognize that in the lands of The Discourse, my sexual performance is instantly seen as inevitably (or inherently) "mediocre". I recognize that any fantasies whatsoever that I might have will be instantly categorized as misogynist. There's no away around that.

When I was at university, the key word was supposed to be communication. You were encouraged to tell your partner what it is that you liked or hoped to try, and you were encouraged as well to ask your partner about her own fantasies, kinks, and interests. You were encouraged to explore new avenues of pleasure. Those things are long gone, of course. I'm not about to admit to a partner/companion that these days I do still have fantasies. I'm certainly not going to tell her what my fantasies are about. I'm not about to admit to fantasies that might be found either "problematic" or (worse) boring.

You'll need to understand that in the realm of The Discourse, all sex involving cis-het white males is defined as boring. As a white, cis-het male over thirty, I'm well aware that any fantasies I create must be boring. I've spent my entire life trying not to be boring, but it seems that my efforts must, by definition, be futile. 

Now I'm not going to discuss any of my kinks or fantasies. I won't take that risk. Lovely girls can discuss those things, but not anyone cis-het male. 

I wonder whether kinks and fantasies are nowadays supposed to fit into the Born That Way category. We're rather disapproving of the idea of choice these days. The idea of experimenting with things-- genders, sexual orientations, fantasies, kinks, social presentation --has been largely rejected. Only the authentic counts. Only innate qualities and interests count. Experimentation is regarded as...what? Poaching on the territory of the Born That Way? Lying to oneself and one's partner? 

A friend once told me that she couldn't imagine me ever being too shy or too ashamed to tell a partner what I wanted. She might've been right about that when I was twenty-five, but these days...no. There's no way I would tell anyone-- even a skilled professional companion --what my interests and fantasies might be. 

Next time...next time maybe I'll try to talk about how fantasies are created. Maybe that's an easier topic.

Three Nine Seven: Curriculum

 Yes, I know. I spend too much time reading tweets at Twitter/X by high-end ("FMTY") escorts and trying to imagine myself as one of their clients...or at least imagine myself as someone who could be one of their clients. 

When I read tweets by Fly Me To You girls I do feel a sense of...well...not quite despair, but maybe a sense of anger at myself. Those tweets offer up thanks to some "Mr. B." or "Mr. C." for lovely dinners or exciting weekend escapes, and while I understand that it's politic of the FMTY girls to thank their long-term clients, I keep thinking that I'd never be a client who'd be found worth thanking.

The FMTY girls all agree that the best thing they can hear on a date or a trip is, "Don't worry, it's all taken care of." I can't imagine a girl-- professional or not --ever thinking I'd be able to say that to them. I lack the skills or the knowledge to arrange things myself, and I lack the skills and knowledge to have hotel or restaurant staff say that on my behalf. 

Please note that this is not about money. I understand the power of cash and the (greater) power of the black AmEx card. I understand all that. What I'm talking about is my own lack of any social skills that would cover a date with a high-end escort.

I've written about this before, but it still gnaws at me. What are the skills needed to be a good client? What are the social rules for an evening or a weekend with an FMTY girl? What skills would I need to make her feel that I was worth her professional skills?

Let's not just say "money". I'll agree with Bryan Ferry on that-- "money talks, it never lies". I've said all down the years that I've written at this site that I'm "genteely impoverished". That's still true. I have a flat, and I have the money to buy books and the occasional dinner out. But there's no black AmEx in my life. I don't own a suit, let alone a bespoke one. I have no knowledge of finance or business, and it's been a while since there was a new stamp in my passport. 

Let's not just talk about money. Let's talk about social rules. Every social transaction has its matrix of rules. Every social transaction has its class markers. I'd have no idea what items are on the checklist or how I'd be expected to behave with an FMTY girl.

If you're reading this, if you're out there over the aether, I hope you'll offer some suggestions. FMTY are skilled professionals, and at the high end of their profession. They pride themselves on that, and on their knowledge of the world. Many of them have post-graduate degrees that are at least as good as mine. They have a knowledge of restaurants and food and wines that I'll never have. Several of the FMTY girls whose tweets I follow have multiple languages and know about which spas and resorts are worth visiting. I of course am too afraid ever to go to a spa. When I'm alone, I'm never intimidated by menus and wine lists-- but with a date, let alone an FMTY girl, I'd be utterly paralyzed when the time came to order dinner.

I'd want to be someone whose own skills and knowledge would be good enough to make an FMTY girl feel as if it would be worth it for her to be there with me. I'd want to be someone she'd think could appreciate her skills. I would not want to be someone who'd make her feel...bored. Or contemptuous.

If I were young enough to be callow, if I were even thirty or thirty-five, I could offer my lack of knowledge up as part of the evening-- having an FMTY girl teach me things could be the evening's kink. I'm too old for that now. I'd never be able to ask an FMTY girl to teach me things about the social world. I'd never be able to admit that I don't know...anything. 

If you're reading this, I hope you'll offer me list items. What are the social rules with an FMTY girl? What would I be expected to know and do? I know that I'd always be de bas en haut around her, but I'd at least like to be someone who wouldn't make her feel as if she was wasting her skills-- or worse, that being seen with me would cost her social points with colleagues and/or potential clients. I wouldn't want to be the reason that hotel or restaurant staff didn't give her the service she deserves.

Anyone out there-- what should I learn? What skills should I try to be proficient in? All suggestions are appreciated. 

Three Nine Six: Vibrations

 I've been looking at emails sent to me from one of the higher-end sex toy boutiques. It's midsummer, and they're having a sale. They're offering their products specifically for summertime, with all the romantic and alluring touches they can add. It's odd, of course, or at least odd for me. I can look at their products and feel nothing at all. Everything they make is alien to me.

I'm a mere cis-het male of a certain age. Toys from Good Vibrations or Lelo mean nothing to me. I understand that their products are mean for pleasure, but self-pleasure isn't for cis-het males. There's nothing there that might be pleasure, let alone empowerment. 

There are always arbitrary social rules, and those rules are rarely if ever successfully defied. Males aren't meant to receive pleasure. Cis-het males aren't meant to give pleasure. The male body has no aesthetic potential and isn't designed for pleasure either given or received. That's what the rules tell us, and I've internalized those rules.

Here in the age of The Discourse, there are clear social punishments for any male who believes himself capable of either giving or receiving pleasure. I've spent time these last few years wondering what sort of sex I'm permitted to have as a cis-het male. The word to focus on there is "permitted". To whom do I have to look for permission? The answer is...The Discourse. There are whispered voices out over the aether that let me-- that let us all --know what's acceptable.

We know from The Discourse that cis-het sex is boring by definition, that any sort of cis-het sex is boring and retrograde, and that the sexual performance of any cis-het male is by definition "mediocre". We know that. The whispered voices tell us that. 

I suppose it's not only cis-het sex. I'm hearing over the aether that gay male sex is no less boring these days, and that male performance, either straight or gay, must be disappointing to all parties. 

The Discourse also tells us that there's no escape from that. Learning techniques won't help. Having any of a wide range of fetishes won't help. Fetishes themselves are being re-branded as retrograde and boring. We live now in an attention economy, and what can be worse nowadays than "boring"?

If you scroll through the posts and videos that make up The Discourse, you won't find anything that cis-het males might do or enjoy that can ever be worth a partner's interest, or that might be regarded by the whispered voices as acceptable...or permissible. Nothing new can be learned, and any efforts to play with transgression or exploration are pathetic at best and some cocktail of disgusting and ridiculous at worst. 

Make a list. Make a list, if you can. What kinds of sex are still treated as exciting or worthwhile? What fantasies are you allowed to have that won't mark you as mediocre, unimaginative, un-hip, retrograde, boring?

I've spent a lifetime trying to acquire the skills to please a partner. I've spent a lifetime learning to construct fantasies and scenarios for myself and my partners. I've spent a lifetime exploring kinks and persuading partners to join me. All those things have been cancelled and erased. I no longer believe that anyone experienced any pleasure with me or while experiencing any of the things I had to offer. I no longer believe that I can (or should) have any sexual interests. 

Sex toys aren't for cis-het males. Fantasies and kinks aren't for cis-het males. Sexual skills are beyond the reach of cis-het males. The Arbitrary Social Rules have no patience for ordinary cis-het male sex, and less and less patience for the idea of fantasies and kinks altogether.

There's nothing on the aether or in the quotidian world this summer that says that people like me have social permission to have sex or seek pleasure. There's nothing that makes me think that in all the years I've been with lovers I ever gave or received any pleasure, whether via the flesh or via what goes on behind my eyes. All those things, all those beliefs, have been erased.