Hotel Bliss Guest Blog

AND THEN THERE WERE TWO - CHAPTER TWO

Dearest Readers, This is chapter two in our guest blogger, V.’s, serialized blog about her and her man, and the women he introduced her to. If you missed Chapter One, CLICK HERE. Enjoy!
XOXXOXOXO BLISS WARRIOR

As I traveled beneath the London streets towards Gemma’s dinner invitation, the cautionary ‘Mind the Gap’ announcement at each Tube stop suddenly resonated in a new profound way. A commonplace subway platform safety warning took on a whole new dimension. And then when considering those three words as it might apply to the body of a female, well my mind really began to wander. I was fidgeting and acutely aware of the upholstered subway seat against the backs of my thighs.

Because of the extreme expense of UK cell phone plans, texting is very big. Meaning I hadn’t actually heard Gemma’s voice since we had said our goodbyes four days prior. I only had the crafted phrasing of a few text messages guiding me into this unaccompanied encounter. Plus, most Brits even cloaked in an aura of general formality will after the briefest of connections sign off using an ‘x’ so at times it can be difficult to decipherer an intention.

At this point I knew by now what Louis’s ‘x’s’ meant by their number and if they appeared in lower or upper case. Even a mix of lower and upper case revealed a specific meaning. Louis was still away.

Was I heading towards a date or being blessed with a new friend, or both? Again, useless analyzing. I was meeting Gemma at the home of her friend where she stayed when in town- a place where I would eventually live, but that’s another story. His name and work were familiar to me but I had yet to meet him. Perhaps he would be home, perhaps not. In the end did it really matter? These thoughts, thoughts, more thoughts circling each other…

The subway service in London ends at midnight.

Finally I reached her stop and made my way out of the station and onto the street. My heart pounded as I found the house. I took a deep breath and rang the bell. There she was, smiles, hugs, bright eyes, and her spicy perfume. Awkwardness and a strange familiarity surrounded us as she led me into the kitchen. We exchanged benign pleasantries as she poured two glasses of ruby red wine. She reminded me of a pixie- tiny, bright, intense. After a tour of her friend’s home (he was out) we made our way to into a beautiful garden. Blooms, trees, and couple of statues looked on as we sat ourselves down on a sun bleached whicker bench. The air was soft and slightly cool.

Our conversation turned to common-ground, Louis. Gemma wanted to know our love story, so out it poured. She confided that for the first time in their five year long professional relationship, I was cause for him to reveal his innermost personal feelings. Being such a private man, she was stunned when Louis opened up to her. Apparently his heart and body hadn’t been hit so hard (no pun) in many a year provoking an immediate need to talk to someone. I blushed. Blushing is not something I tend to do but while unlocking such sexual freedom within me, his place in my heart apparently could now inspire deep crimson to creep into my cheeks.

Our conversation became one of shared secrets. Our loves, our pain, our sexual pasts and present as well as the challenge of current romantic entanglements. With her own revelations she was placing her trust in my hands so I would know with absolute certainty that I could trust her and that in that knowledge nothing I chose to reveal would cross her lips to another soul unless I so desired.

I have steadfastly come to believe that anything made for the cinema or stage only wishes it could come close to the true life stories which, if we allow, unfold before us everyday. The more we opened ourselves, the closer our bodies naturally moved towards each other. Because our conversation flowed so freely I hadn’t even noticed this until she got up to get more wine and the coolness of the air touched the warm place where her thigh had been resting against mine.

With full glasses in hand, she returned to the garden and the smooth skin of her leg rejoined mine. The talking continued as if we couldn’t say it all fast enough to one another and then in an unconscious move I felt her fingers on my neck as she rotated the clasp of my necklace back to its rightful place. With the light touch, tingles erupted throughout my body. Here’s the thing, a touch to any part of my back or neck will send my cognitive mind directly to a ‘time out’ and I sink into the warmth of sensation.

The sky was still light but stars had begun to glow through the waning daylight. Darkness was almost ready to eclipse the blue and I turned my head to look directly into her eyes. A moment passed and then another, utter stillness. I wasn’t even aware that her hand had slipped under my shirt until my nipple hardened to meet the tip of her finger. Her lips found mine while her finger continued to just barely touch my right nipple. The slowness of our kiss allowed me to taste the wine on her tongue and step inside her energy, to truly feel her, Gemma, her essence for the first time.

My hand had slightly parted her legs and so, so gently I took my fingers all the way up her thigh. Then we heard the front door close- Marcus was making his way out to greet us…

XOXO
V
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IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BLOG, YOU MAY ALSO ENJOY READING THESE TRUE TALES WRITTEN BY OUR FABULOUS GUEST BLOGGERS:
FROM JUNGLE JANE:
A GIRL’S FIRST VIBRATOR: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
GETTING HER NUMBER: A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
A BABY BI-GIRL SHARES HER STORY
FROM DAPHNE:
PLAYING WITH GENDER: DAPHNE STRAPS IT ON FOR HER MAN
TIE ME UP, TIE ME DOWN: A BI-GIRL SHARES HER FIRST S&M EXPERIENCE
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HOTEL BLISS TESTERS: ARE YOU NOT ABLE TO LOG ON? SOME GIRLS ARE HAVING TROUBLE LOGGING BACK INTO HOTEL BLISS. IF THIS IS HAPPENING TO YOU, PLEASE E-MAIL ME AT BLISS@BLISSWARRIOR.COM. ALSO, IF YOU GO TO THE SITE ONLY TO FIND A WHITE, BLANK PAGE, THAT MEANS CHRISTIAN IS FIXING THE SITE AND IT SHOULD BE BACK UP WITHIN 15 MINUTES. XOXOXOXOXOXOXO BLISS
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Serendipity

Lila is a tall, stunning blonde with a pervasive air of innocence and society about her. I would expect to meet a woman like her at a charity brunch or other philanthropic function. Instead, she is sitting in my livingroom drinking coffee and talking to me about becoming a prostitute.  

She has been considering taking this path for most of her life, but really feels like the time has arrived. She talked to me of tarot readings and meditation that all pointed her in this direction.  She spoke of her visit to see an escort two weeks before the birth of her child simply to experience the kind of loving connection she couldn’t get from the man in her life. She was so beautifully spiritual and giving even in just discussing her hopes that I just wanted to hug her and not let go. What a shining soul! 

But as we were talking, I felt a bit of despair. I hoped that the business wouldn’t hurt her heart. While it is probable that she would reach the point where she had a nice group of gentlemen regulars,  it would require kissing a lot of toads. And though her hope was to work with special needs individuals and women, I just didn’t know if that market was going to be large enough to meet her needs. Luckily, she came to me. At the very least, I could warn her about the pitfalls and be there to hold her when it got to be too much.

I sent her home with a required reading list and a laptop to borrow until she could get hers repaired. And was feeling the enormity of the mentor role for the first time in my life.  I had to protect her. I had to help. If she was set on this path, I wanted it to be as positive an experience for her as it has been for me.

The next morning, I met a prospective client for coffee.  I was somewhat surprised when Stephen walked up and introduced himself. His shirt proclaimed “I’m not gay, but my boyfriend is”.  My curiousity was piqued to say the least.

I quickly learned that he wasn’t seeking my services for himself. Stephen was in the awkward position of seeking a female companion for his good friend James.  The difficulty lay in the fact that James is severely physically disabled. Stephen was sure that he had been given an impossible quest. Even one bad experience would be devestating for James. He had to find the perfect woman for the job.  I was impressed that he would show such care for the well-being of his friend. The second time I’ve talked about sex for the disabled in two days? Sounds like a message. . .hmmm.

So, I sit listening to Stephen wax poetic on the type of woman needed. . .polished, lovely, firm and in charge, yet fully loving and supportive of exploration and growth. And as he’s speaking, my mind is dancing and goosebumps cover my arms.  Even the physical description fits. What a perfect match!

When I contact Lila later to see if she would be interested in meeting with Stephen to discuss the possiblity. Her reply email came so quickly that it left skid marks in my inbox.

 ”this really gives me Goddess bumps

i can’t imagine a finer thing to do than to meet this man and explore. 

How lucky i am to have you here right now.

In wonderment

Lila”

Blessed Be! After talking to each of them, I just know that they are looking for each other. And I was lucky enough to be an instrument of their meeting.  Stephen and Lila will meet. And they will work together to help James explore his sexuality in any way that he can. And I have the feeling that Lila may have just found the niche she was hoping for.

Coming out of the Compliment Closet

I’m carrying a pile of dirty plates into the dish area at the restaurant and a group of girls I work with are blocking my way. One of my male coworkers grabs two plates from me, “Let me get this for you.” After I set the rest down, the girls are still talking. I overhear them complaining about another girl we work with who is on the floor talking to a table. When the girl walks in, the others fall silent. It’s always like this; there is always one girl who is on the bad side of the rest for the week.

In college, I learned that girls are socialized to cooperate. Our childhood games, like playing house, are collaborative and involve reaching compromises. We are taught to be social and nurturing. My professors may be satisfied with that description of female behavior, but my coworkers and my high school friends tell a far different tale. When we grow out of pigtails, we enter a world in which competition vies with cooperation in the form of temporary alliances and enmity.

I brought this up to ask a simple question: when was the last time another woman complimented you? When was the last time a woman looked you in the eye and sincerely admitted to admiring something about you? When was the last time you complimented another woman? When was the last time you did it without comparing yourself to them (i.e. I wish I had such smooth skin as you do)?

I love to notice details about women. How the shade of a blouse brings out the color of her eyes, how lovely the necklace she’s wearing is, how silky her hair looks, how sensual her perfume is. I notice how graceful she moves, the notes of her laughter, the shape of her hips. Yet somehow, giving a simple compliment feels taboo. Even with your closest friends. It feels almost like too much intimacy; that I am showing a weakness or baring my heart.

How many of us only hear negative comments from other women? How does this help our self esteem? How does this help us empower one another? How can we have any sort of sisterhood when we have nothing good to say to one another?

How do we break away from this?

It’s time we invest in our self esteem enough to allow ourselves to like other women without fear that we will like ourselves less.

It’s time to come out of the “Compliment Closet” and stop being afraid of saying nice things to other women. We’re afraid they’ll think we’re coming on to them or we’re weird. We’re afraid of rejection or of our own words being used against us, but something has got to change.

I urge you to compliment one another sincerely. If you don’t feel it, then don’t say it, but if you think the shade she dyed her hair is amazing, say so. If you find yourself admiring her strength or passion, say so. Don’t be afraid of seeming silly. The genuine smile that lights her face is worth the risk.

Try to find something nice to say about every woman you meet. You don’t have to constantly be saying it out loud, but keep it in mind. You may assume your friends know you like them. It may be that they don’t know that you think that they are a great friend. Or maybe they just want to hear it. Tell them how lovely they are and how much you appreciate them. The positivity that you radiate will be reciprocated.

I say this as much for my benefit as for yours, and I am so grateful I now have a community like Hotel Bliss that exudes such positivity and admiration for one another. I hope we can maintain that attitude as we grow. I get perverse pleasure from quoting a Puritan but we are a city upon a hill. You ladies are shining examples for me and for others, so let’s show how wonderful, uplifting, creative, beautiful, and ethical bi girls can be.

What to get an escort for her birthday

I’m sitting in the shade on a pleasantly hot afternoon. The condensation on my glass of whiskey is making a small puddle on the glass top of the bar that Dani and her man Bart have set up on their patio. It’s a birthday barbeque for me and Dani.  I’m surrounded by the people who know me best. My chosen family. Each and every one of them knows my secrets and would protect me with all that they have.  They know that my work takes so much out of me, in spirit and love and energy. They know I’ve been feeling a bit of care-giver burnout.  And every one of them is making sure I simply enjoy myself for a change.   I’m in the most comfortable space I can imagine.

But we’ve been drinking for hours now. The sun is starting to sink, and I’m feeling the heat and liquor. I ask Dani if I can lay down for just a bit. She leads me into her bedroom and pulls back the covers while I strip off my pants. I climb between the cool sheets and she tucks me in and places a sweet kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll come wake you in just a bit.” she says, as she’s walking to the door.  But as she opens the door, there stand Lia and Jane. These two are my partners in crime. And though Dani offers to shoo them away, I tell her to go ahead and let them in.  My girls are always welcome.

They come to the bed, one on each side, and stroke my hair and face, kiss my fingers, ask me if I’m feeling ok. I assure them that I’m just laying down for a bit. Recharging.  A look passes between them. A sly smile. They peel the covers down to my waist and encourage me to let them take my tank and bra. “To make you more comfortable”.  And they are right. I’m more comfy without them. Especially when Jane runs her hands up from my bellybutton to gently stroke my breasts. They are such dolls. Being soothing, kind, loving. And I’m feeling like the most loved being on Earth. 

After just a moment, Lia and Dani leave me to Jane’s tender care and go back to the party. I’m thinking she is going to just tuck me back in and send me off to a lovely nap. But that isn’t the case. It’s isn’t long before Lia and Dani are back with company. They’ve brought Bart, Olivia and Steve, and Carl.  

Now, at this point, instinct kicks in and I reach down to pull the covers up. While every one of them has seen me naked before, being the only naked person in a room with 7 other people can be a bit uncomfortable. I’m feeling exposed. And vulnerable. But Lia and Jane won’t let me pull the covers up. They each gently take an arm and pull me back down on the bed.

“It’s ok, sweetheart, we’re here” Lia says as she leans down to press her raspberry lips to mine. I look up, switching my glance from one to the other. Then I scan the faces in the room.  Olivia and Steve have their arms around each other and are smiling wickedly at me. Carl’s face is a mixture of concern and excitement. Dani is holding Bart’s hand.  And they both look fiercely protective.  And Dani says the magic words. . .

“Lola, honey. Say the word and I kick them all out. Nothing bad will happen.”

I could have sent them away. I could have refused the gift. But as I lay there looking up at the people around me, I realize that not one of them would ever disrespect me, much less hurt me.  So, I lay back, relax, and just let them take charge.

Lia and Jane each take a seat beside me and continued to stroke my hair and face, occasionally straying to caress my torso and shoulders. Olivia steps up to the foot of the bed and pulls all the covers off onto the floor to expose  me completely.  She hooks her thumbs under the tiny strings on my hips and pulls my black thong down my legs. She spreads her blonde curls over me, her forehead on my pelvis so her warm breath washes over my pussy. She teases me with it. Alternating between that warm wash of air and cool streams, stroking me as though her breath were fingers dancing over my labia.  It is maddening. And wonderful. I can’t help myself, my hips twitch, aching for her to touch me.

That one little movement seems to be the signal. Suddenly, almost ravenously,  she pushes her tongue into my folds and takes a long lick. And everyone in the room descends on me like a flight of angels. Dani is the only one who does not join in. She stands in the background, watching, hovering, ready to eject anyone who makes a wrong move.  Safely in the arms of my dearest friends, I surrender the last of my cares and let them take me away.

They touch me, they stroke my thighs. Six pairs of hands dance over my body leaving bliss in their tracks. Mouths on my breasts, nibbles on my hipbones, gentle pinching for my nipples.  Other heads and hands replace Olivia’s.  And kisses. . .a hundred kisses.

It isn’t long before my hips are a foot off the bed, my back is arched and my panting and small moans fill the room.  Jane, who understands my hunger better than anyone, brings me a cock to suck. . .I think it is Steve kneeling there by my head.  But by this time, my senses are so overwhelmed that it could be any of the men present. What is important is that there isn’t a single thing I could desire that they will not bring me.  Carl, Olivia and Bart are at the foot of the bed taking turns licking and sucking and nibbling at my pretty pansy while Lia and Jane dance attendance at my breasts.  Lia pours her Cape Cod over me and starts a frenzy of licking.  Again and again, she pours drinks over me for everyone to lick.

At that moment, Dani yells “Stop!” and the entire group freezes. We all look up at her in concern; a tableau of debauchery just waiting for her to tell us what is wrong. She sways her sweet ass up to the bed, puts one knee next to my hip, and declares “That is mine!” before leaning in to slurp the puddle out of my bellybutton.

For a full hour, my friends shower me with love, liquor and pleasure.   And as they leave the room later, each one kisses me tenderly and wishes me a Happy Birthday.  

I’m used to being the giver. I’m accustomed to taking care of everyone around me. I have never in my life been showered with that much unadulterated acceptance and love. For one hour, I was the client.  And as I tell this story now, I’m getting misty just thinking about them and the most beautiful, loving birthday gift ever.  

Tales of a Dancer - “The First Installment”

  She put on black slacks, a dressy, low-cut, sexy shirt, and pulled on the black high heeled boots.  The flat-iron clamped on each clump of already-straight black hair.  Each one had to be in place.  She needed this.

  She carefully covered each blemish on her face with the pale base make-up.  Her eyeliner had to be straight.  Her lips had to be red.  Her eyelashes had to be curled.  If she didn’t get this, where would they go? 

  He had told her she didn’t have to do it.  But she knew she did.  He was visibly angry at himself for allowing this to happen.  Why couldn’t he do more?  Why couldn’t he get another job…maybe two?  Why was she being so stubborn about this?  But he knew she needed to do it.  It was the only way.

  She held her breath and tried not to think about it as she gripped the steering wheel. 

It’s okay. You can do it.

  Her very christian childhood prohibited sex, petting, or even talking intimately before marriage.  Kissing was to be EXTREMELY limited and reserved for those who were engaged…and now it had come to this.  How could she? 

I mustn’t think about that.

  She pulled into the bare parking lot in midday and was a little ashamed, hoping nobody had seen her turn in the driveway.  The gold on the handle of the giant wooden door was beginning to wear from use.  She pulled it open and stepped into the dark lobby.  The young, thin girl at the front desk looked at her blankly. 

“Yes?”

  The vibe was not a friendly one.

“I’m here for an interview.  I called on Friday and was told to come in today.”

  Of course they weren’t going to give her the job over the phone.  It was just contract labor, but what if you were ugly?  What if you were fat?  They had to see you before they gave you an answer.

“Hold on.”

  She picked up her cell phone and called the Manager.

“There’s someone here to see you for an interview.”

  Even the doorgirl was pretty.  Very exotic looking.  Half black, with a very light complexion.  Much thinner than the interviewee, something she noticed right away.  As a little girl she’d been very thin, but around 4th grade she ballooned out.  It had been hard to keep the weight off ever since.  She wasn’t fat, by any means, though sometimes she felt that way.  Still, her stomach wasn’t ‘flat’, and she was very self conscious about it.

There’s no way I’m going to get this.

“He’ll be up in a minute.”

Great.  Just in time to tell me I”m disgusting - “how could you even think I could get THIS job?”.

  She peeked a bit through the narrow entry way, trying to get a first glimpse of what was inside.  So dark.  A couple of men, older, dressed nicely.  No girls in sight.  Oh, but there was one sitting with a younger guy. 

Oh god.  I’m going to have to wear something like that.  How am I going to cover my stomach while I sit?

  A man in his thirties showed up in the doorway.

“Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Chris.”

  He noticeably looked her up and down, assessing her value.

“Follow me, please.”

He didn’t tell me to leave.  

  When she entered the giant room, she looked towards the stage.  Quite large, with one pole close to the front rounded edge.  A girl was exiting stage right, where there appeared to be a backroom that another gal was coming out from. 

  On the other side of the room was another, smaller stage that was freestanding.  There was one brown pole, the paint worn away from use, directly in the middle and it was surrounded by other poles in a cagelike manner.  It was empty.

  The manager led her into a small, lit room at the back of the club.  She could only assume this was to better see her figure. 

“You’re very pretty.  Have you ever danced before?”

“No, I haven’t.  I’ve waitressed alot.  I even bartended a little.”

“Have you ever been to a strip club before?”

“No, sir.  This is my first time.”

“Hmm.  Well, I think you’ll make lots of money.  Here’s how it works:  When you come in for a shift, you pay the doorgirl $25.  That’s what it costs to work here, but don’t worry you’ll make much more than that.  There’s a locker room in the back, near the ladies’ restroom, and it enters the front stage.  The second stage is only used at nights when the club is full.  You will dance two songs on the front stage, the first in lingerie, the second with your top off.  Panties stay on.  Don’t let anyone touch you while you’re on stage.  When the second stage is open you will step down off the front stage immediately after your set, and enter second stage.  Dance there during the next girls’ set.  In between your dance sets, talk to the men and have them buy you drinks, it’s good for the club.  Convince them to go to a back room and give them a dance.  It’s $20 for one dance.”

“What rooms?”

“Come on.”

  He left the lit room and pointed to both long sides of the rectangular shaped club.

“See the doorways?  They lead to short hallways with 2 rooms each off of them.  The last one there by the women’s restroom has three rooms.  When you dance for them, no sex.  You’re supposed to stay 6 feet away from them, but of course no one does that and we won’t say anything.  Just know that if the music turns off, get as far away from the guy as possible.  It’s probably a raid.”

She looked at him oddly.  A raid?

Nevermind, I’ll ask later.

“You will start out during the day shift, until you get the hang of it, and then you can work the night shift.  What is your stage name?”

“Oh, I, hadn’t really thought about it…”

“Dream?  Cat?”

Men.

She looked over the bar, at the T.V.  A commercial came on, advertising a flower shop.

“Rose.”

“Okay, Rose.  Write your social security number down here and we’ll see you tomorrow at 11 a.m.  Make sure you use the sign-in sheet when you come in, and don’t forget to pay the doorgirl.”

An Introduction

You can call me Lola. I’m a sex-worker. I’ve been working in the business for almost a year. I wanted to post a bit about escorts in general before I tell any tales simply because there is so much misconception and revulsion for those of us who take this path.

Hollywood and popular culture will tell you that I’m a woman who was abused. That I’m a victim. That I’m just waiting for my Prince Charming to come ”rescue” me. That I’m hooked on drugs and walking the street trying to make enough to support my habit. . .and my pimp’s habit. Or that I’m just a whore who can’t remember how to cross her ankles.

In my time as a sex-worker, I have met a lot of girls who meet all those stereotypes and go a whole lot deeper into Hell than I ever want to go.  But there is a smaller group that I call home.  We are smart, charming, conversational, witty. . .and loving.  We provide what is called a GFE. . .A Girlfriend Experience. All the good parts of having a girlfriend without any of the drama a relationship or affair can cause.  I spend more time talking and listening and providing a hug and a kind word than I do having sex.  I am a counselor, a friend, a confidante.  

My average client is a man over 60.  He’s either married and in a sexless marriage or widowed and lonely.  They have the disposable income to pay for vacations and hobbies and anything else they want. And what they want is someone who will always be loving and kind and compassionate.  Someone who will greet them with a smile and a kiss, hold them while they cry out their childhood trauma, rub their shoulders and make them feel adored.  Any friend can rub your back, but you PAY a massage therapist to do it right.  There’s no difference, really.  We are professional girlfriends. 

As for me, specifically. I’ve always had a circle of friends who knew they could call on me in times of need.  I love unconditionally and share myself openly with those I love.  It’s just hard-wired into me.  Some of my earliest memories include sitting in my highchair, kissing boys, and masturbating.  Some of you will be sure that I was molested or abused in some way. Trust me when I say I’ve explored that path from end to end and there’s nothing dark in my past.  I’ve come to the point where I just chalk it up to ultra-speedy reincarnation.  Suffice it to say I’ve been a sexual being for every concious moment of my life.  So, I was already living the life-style long before I got paid. It was only a small step for me to start getting paid just for being myself.

So, I’m here to share. . .and break down prejudice. . .and just basically to open perspectives. Feel free to ask questions or comment.

Thanks for reading
Lola

No, you can’t watch!

I had just started dating someone, when I made a big mistake. I mentioned my ex girlfriend. You could see the wheels in his mind crashing to a grinding halt. I blushed in the silence and said, “I’m bi…..” Then I added, “But I don’t do threesomes!”

His answer, “Well then, what’s the point?”

I rarely get a negative response from a man for being openly bisexual. This response really struck me. It reminds me of another, more common response: “Can I watch?”

I don’t do threesomes, and no you can’t watch. And so, the appeal of my bisexuality is lost completely on most men.

Sometimes it’s hard being a bisexual woman. We are seen as promiscuous, attention-starved means for men to live out their fantasies of two girls at once. We are seen as dishonest and that we have it “easy” because we can “masquerade” as straight and don’t have people railing against a bisexual agenda. Yet let me tell you, when a man sees no point and no beauty in your bisexuality because it isn’t serving his own sexual needs, it can make you question the point of it all and whether bisexual women have it all that “easy”.

I’m bisexual, but that doesn’t mean I am incapable of devoting myself to one person.

I’m bisexual but that doesn’t mean I want my intimate moments with the man or woman I choose to love to be put on display for someone else.

If only he knew then how much his comment had hurt me. And how often I heard it echoed in the responses of other men.

That is part of the appeal of joining a website like Hotel Bliss. Instead of having your sexuality treated like a tool for other men, it is celebrated and enshrined for what it is by other women who have been made to feel as isolated and objectified as you, yourself, have felt at times. You are not alone and you are not an object. The beauty and openness you show by being bisexual is amazing. We need more ethical, honest, lovely bi-girls like yourselves in the world.

**New Series** Tales of A Dancer - The Background

  For a short time, my husband and I were so bad off financially that I bit the rope and did something I never thought I could do.

  I became a Stripper.

  It was extremely hard for me, as I was molested as a small child, and thoughts of that continued to come up for me while at ‘work’.  The money was good.  The money was great.  But the emotional trama was nearly unbearable.  So I pretended.  I pretended that I was the journalist for a Bi-girl magazine (Miss Bliss, you helped me do this) and that I was working undercover to produce a new series called ‘Stripper Stories’.  I was so convinced that was my real job, that I even told it as a secret to a new friend at work, and proved it to her by revealing a notepad that I’d packed in my bag to write down important notes.  And write down those notes I did.  I didn’t want to miss anything that could be a great possible story.  When I got home, I’d type them up on my computer - just to prove to myself that that was the only reason I had to dance.

  Since then, I have been able to quit.  I now work at a formal job, and while the money isn’t as plentiful, we get by.  But my notes remain on this laptop of mine, and I’m ready to start my series for real.  I’ve changed the title of the series to ‘Tales of a Dancer’ and I will be making short stories drawn from what I can remember, and mostly my notes.  I will be elaborating on the stories as time goes on, because I only worked there for a few months and I know that my notes will evenutally run out.  But please know that my ‘Tales of a Dancer’ will be based on True Events.

Enjoy.

A sigh of relief: Coming out to my friend

I went to go pick up my check, thinking I would just be in and out. In my case, nothing really goes as planned for me. I end up wandering to see my friend that is working her department. Before I can see her, I hear her lispy voice ” hi chi-chi girl!” ( she calls me that in reference to my new clit piercing). I turn and I blush in her direction. She hugs me. ” I knew it was you, because I saw that big butt of yours.” I laugh thinking about all the gossip I have heard regarding my ass from co-workers. I am not offended. I feel complimented, in fact.

So we both get to talking about plans for the weekend. I remind her of my trip to California. She beams ” you are the luckiest girl I know.” She thinks it’s admirable that my man and I have been so strong thus far in our now two-year relationship. She asks if I have been out lately. I mumble something about working and not having time. I mentioned something weird that happened one drunken night recently. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you have to tell me!” I say ” nah, you really don’t wanna know.. you’ll probably think I am weird or something…,” I trail off. She assure me, and after five minutes of gentle prodding I admit to having a threesome. Her eyes grow large “WITH TWO GUYS?!!!!”

I say no…

She stares a second…

I say ” it was with a guy and a girl, I’m bi.”

[[[Before go on, I have to tell you that I have been so very scared to admit this important part of my life to her. She comes from a strict Christian faith background, and we will just say some things she is very close minded about So for about a month now I have been trying to be as discreet as possible on Myspace and such. I knew that when the time came, I could very well lose my new bubbly, vivacious, and fun-loving friend in an instant]]]

” Oh, that’s cool. I have a friend who gets drunk and kisses chinas..,” she says in her slight Puerto Rican accent. I start laughing so hard. Part from the relief of her not freaking out…and for her response. It was such a weight lifted. I felt this rush to my head. I didn’t drive her away after all!! I explain to her how other female friends reacted negatively to this, and how they wanted to know nothing of my being bi.

She grins at me with her mouth full of shiny cute braces ” Are you kidding me girl?, I am curious! I’ll ask you everything!” I laugh some more. She asks me if I like doing certain things to women. I am so not used to being put on the spot like that.

So I wait until the end of her shift, and we head off to our local sex shop. She’s never been. It was a first for the both of us. Two good things came out of it: coming out to my close friend Sheilla, and my new Rabbit toy = D

I was the last to know I was bi!

I was twenty when I finally decided that there was no getting around it. I was unashamedly, irrefutably bisexual. The funny thing was, I had been saying I was bi since I was fifteen. Now, before you accuse me of being the type of girl that would make out with another girl at parties just to get attention, let me explain that I was hopelessly clueless about who I was even when I was staring straight at myself. Until I was twenty, I called myself theoretically bi. I knew I thought girls were stunning, but I had never felt a deep emotional attachment to one.

That changed when I met Jaime. Jaime was a bi girl who was an acquaintance of mine. I was dating a man at the time and they had fooled around. Overcome with guilt, she insisted to him that she had to tell me. Up until that conversation, I really didn’t know her that well. We started talking and I immediately became interested in this delightful and complex girl. After one conversation, it didn’t matter that she had fooled around with my boyfriend. In fact, I was happy because I never would have discovered how wonderful she was otherwise.

Jaime was just as surprised as I was at my reaction. I fell head over heels for her in a surprisingly short period of time. My man became convinced that I liked girls more than I liked boys. I was fighting spontaneous romantic urges I had never felt before in my life. I called her my inamorata.

Now here’s what I valued most about this precious bit of time where I had my inamorata’s affection. I began to look at women differently. I had always had a somewhat uneasy relationship with other women. I found them intimidating, inscrutable, or too catty for my liking. Now, everywhere I turned I found something wonderful in the women around me. Their beauty, their intellects, their hopes and their creativity. They all reminded me of her. I also had far more self confidence because I loved her and I was a woman just like her, so I began to love myself. I looked different when I saw myself in the mirror. This is what my love for Jaime did to me.

After she left and the glittery distraction of infatuation began to fade, I started thinking back on my life. I realized that I had not been theoretically bi for years, I had just been plain old bi in reality.

When I was a kid, I had been interested in other girls my age. In junior high and high school, I had checked out female celebrities and flirted with my best girl friends. At the age of fifteen, I had come close to losing my virginity to another girl before I had been scared that someone might find us out. At sixteen, an ugly rumor circulated that I had tried to have sex with a girl I had harmlessly flirted with.

And yet I still dared to say that I was only theoretically bi. I was half in the closet all those years. I fully admitted I was bi, but still had my own doubts. Maybe I would have sex with a girl, but I didn’t think I could love one. To commit to another girl emotionally would condemn me to a life of bisexuality. There are a lot of places I could go with this discussion, but I am going to talk specifically about self identification.

You can be bisexual and still not incorporate it into how you see yourself.

There are women out there who are interested in other women and want to be loved by someone like them but do not identify as bi. There are women out there who identify as bi and yet still insulate themselves in doubt to help preserve a semblance that they might be normal. Some bi girls may desperately want to believe that other girls are a passing fancy, just so they do not have to face the pressure. It is difficult to be gay. It is getting easier, but what some people don’t realize that it is hard to be bisexual too. It comes with its own variety of intolerance, misunderstanding, and objectification.

I cannot stress the benefits of authentic self-identification. The world may be raging around you but you will be the calm center. Be authentic and live with integrity. There is nothing worse than having to hide the love you have to give and who your heart gives it to.