I've gotten a slew of letters from people wanting sex-work advice lately. So tomorrow, look for a lengthy post answering them.
But today, the new column.
And I just have to mention this...I got a manicure yesterday and got my nails painted a deep red. Now, I think the last time I had a manicure was for my wedding. That was 1999. I am not a girl who bothers much about my fingernails. I think it's a holdover from my days as a lesbian. (Not that I don't know femme lesbians with nails that would put Barbra Streisand to shame.)
I used to paint my toenails, but some of my more enthusiastic foot-worshippers kept chipping the polish with their teeth. I had to patch it a lot, and plus I thought eating the polish couldn't be good for them. So I stopped.
However, one of my good clients, Jet, expressed a wish to see me with painted nails, and gave me a gift certificate to my salon to have that done. So I did. And it worked out so that I went straight from the salon to a session with him, and he liked it, so that was all just fine.
But now I have these red nails. I cannot recall ever having had my nails this color before. It's pretty, but it's sort of weird. My hands look like someone else's. Max looked at them and said, "Huh. Well, that's a different look for you."
I'm very concious of them - I'm sort of walking around with like, jazz hands, because I don't want to chip the polish, although it's inevitable that I will, of course.
I suppose I just want to acknowledge the girls who do this every day - this seems like a lot of work. Wow. I don't know how you manage it. I'm impressed.