SMUT STAND REPORT: Oct. 14, 2014 (New Orleans)
SMUT WHILE U WAIT, OOPS
WHEN: 4 hours (9:45pm-1:45am), Oct 14, 2014. WHERE: mural fence next to the Art Market, Frenchmen Street, New Orleans. OUTPUT: 6 custom works, including a fast, rough blowjob leading to a belt-wielding smack-down; a gay three-way that started with a two-player Rusty Trombone; and another straight scene that involved doggy style but had to “be connected, somehow”.
I do not mind saying that I was feeling a little fragile as I was heading to Sidewalk Smut last night. A challenging personal situation had emerged, and although my billet hosts had been very kind when I leaned my forehead against the kitchen wall and started crying—they brought me a whisky and ginger ale from the bar around the corner and sat and talked me through—I was not feeling at all sexy. Not that I need to BE sexy when I write this stuff, but I need to feel like the bits in my psyche that are sexy and confident are at least somewhere near the surface, in order to meet my clients halfway and interact with them on the right level. Also, when I’m tired, physically or emotionally, it is just much more difficult to bring the necessary focus for the consultation. I don’t know what it is I am picking up when I do those interviews, but I need focus to do it. BUT. I generally subscribe to a “fake it ’til you make it” approach to life, and I also know from experience that the process of just doing it, you know, chopping wood and carrying water, needs to happen. I have no time for downward spirals. So I dragged my ass out, and let me tell you: I am very glad I went. Oh, the healing powers of sharing filth with strangers!
The flow of the street usually brings me a nicely varied stream of customers, and last night was no exception. I guess I just felt it more strongly than usually last night, like, I needed to remind myself of the extraordinary range of human sexuality and personalities, that there is beauty in all the differences. (Am I sounding a little woo? Maybe. I don’t care. I take my comfort where I can get it.)
I love the different styles that people have in communicating with me. Some step up, rip open their ribs, and just dump their libido out in a giant sticky heap on my desk; no hesitation, all “here ya go, make something out of that, please!” Other people start out shy, or more pedestrian, but as we get to questions that really tap into their pleasure, or their awareness of things that are going on in their sex lives now, they just open up, like sensual flower-people, and even in the dim streetlight, I can see their faces flush and the smiles get a little softer around the edges, and they start to hold my eye contact better, and it’s BEAUTIFUL. Last night I got a tough-ish guy and his slightly biker momma-ish lady, and they opened up to the experience by the end like WHOA.
Often with couples, one person starts out guarded and skeptical, with their partner bringing the enthusiasm. My one gay male piece was like that last night. I got more information from the man initiating the commission, while his partner stood there vaping away, a slightly superior tilt to his eyebrows. When that partner walked off after the last question, the primary customer leaned in and said, “I don’t know if it’s helpful, but he and I met through mutual friends at a threesome.” Um, YES, that is helpful information! I do group sex stories rarely; I don’t like to do them, mostly because my policy against using proper names makes pronouns particularly tricky in scenes involving more than two people. For these guys, I went straight into it, rimming and Rusty Trombones and a show-offy doggy moment, and the skeptical partner was so impressed that he tipped me another $20 on top of the commission.
The final client of the night was one of the more open ones, a youngish off-duty taxi driver. First of all, he had witnessed two other customers receive their smut, readings and all, and had seen their pleasure, so he really wanted that for himself. Secondly, he was stoned and feeling the serendipity of finding me there. He was supposed to have been on duty that night, but “something told me not to,” so he just called out sick and got stoned and wandered Frenchmen Street until he ran across me. He was feeling the seductive hand of Fate, was the idea, I guess, and who’s to say?
He mentioned, as an addendum to the interview, that he had stopped watching porn 10 weeks before, and was finding sex to be different like WHOA. He was noticeably more interested in the personality of a girl than before, he said, and he craved chill emotional connection. Doggy style and mysticism are not incompatible, apparently.