Curious Beginnings

Since the wonder years of youth, when horizons are limitless, time too slow, and passion too large to be controlled by the temperance of wisdom, I found myself drawn into the realms of the forbidden arts of professional companionship. From the beginning, my heart beat to a rhythm not yet sanctioned by the world I was born into.

Now, before you venture further, dear reader, know that while there are many references to that Puritan Faith that permeates this country, I do not count myself as a believer nor born again (for a third time). These are merely the artifacts of my rearing, given for context and color. No story is complete without a lesson learnt, and no greater backdrop can color my story than the blood-stained cross, and perhaps even more appropriately, the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

While Linda Carter, Angelica Houston, Barbara Eden, Jamie Lee Curtis and Cher were among my idols and role models (being Southern, my relationship with tradition is best saved for an entirely different story), Heidi Fleiss, Haley Heston– these were the women that fascinated me. The ones whose stories opened the book where my passions met my skills. In the quiet hours, when the moon hung low over the piney woods of the Piedmont and the dew began to gather in the valleys cut by the Chattahoochee and its fingerling tributaries near my home, I would, listless as a hound that caught a scent of a possum just outside the door, spend all night imagining a life I thought I could never lead–that of a professional companion.

My grandfather--a Bible-thumping deacon at every white-washed church from Athens to Alatoona– preached many a-time from his own pulpit of flat oak, linen doilies, and Sterling China on late Sunday afternoons, long after the sun had made our tea strong and sweet and the Pastor had given us good benediction to go about our week.

Paw-Paw was a simple man, wishing for more than he got, in truth. He’d rub two pennies together, praying that they’d birth a nickel. I realize now with the wisdom that age allows, that, over that bitter collard greens and fried okra, he preached at the table, but in truth and more importantly, to himself. His sermons were thinly veiled reminders of the covenant he bound himself to, not of the covenant I would choose for myself. Yet, as a child, they felt like judgements saved strictly for me in the semi-private of his domicile, where his word (not His Word) was law.

These sermons were a warped and worn Victrola disk of my continuing transgressions–sins that in my best recollection, I had yet to commit. In the rare occurrence that I spoke such truth, I’d be reminded that it was Eve who sinned first, and that too was upon my neck. It was by that rope that Paw-Paw and, by extension, the Good Lord himself, hung and then hauled me across the keel of that harshest of morality: the judgement of self-righteous men when power is taken–not bequeathed–and Grace is given according to compliance, not love. Still, it was in this manner I learnt that hard work yields its own rewards, and that mankind may find a sort of pride, if not in the self, then in that greatest of higher powers, to be steward of land, animal, and most of all, skill, knowledge and wisdom.

It was then, with great perplexity, that I found myself flowering into adulthood, truly enjoying the fruits of passion. Not merely for my own entertainment, but the joy of others. With each lover I took, I found myself engaged fully in not mere performance, but the act of Knowing, just as the Good Book said Adam came to know Eve. The more lovers I took, the more I loved, the more I learnt, and the more I enjoyed. It seemed it was a blessing, a talent that I loved more than most could stand. Though I stood in conflict to the realities of my world’s proprieties.

Now, before we go further, you should know that I have a heart as wild as a mountain lion, and that my personal cross is equity and equality. I’m indignant as a mule when rules and laws have yet to catch up to equity for all, happy to ignore them because every one of our Founding Fathers was a deeply Faithful man who did the same to the best of their understanding and courage. (Their courage fell well short, truth be told, but is not to say they had none.) And, in my mind, if they are to be lauded, then too their behavior–the casting of unjust yoke–should be amongst the highest ideals our society supports.

As so, with these ingredients–a passion for living rightly, a mind of keen enough to discern that which is rightly from that which is Godly, and (perhaps, most perversely to my rearing) a woman with an indomitable will–the biscuits of how I came to be are made. My skill and passion in the craft as a companion for making my world seem to revolve around others, my broad shoulders for supporting, ears and mind for listening and understanding, and a heart that shows empathy– what better way to combine them for the benefit of others? And if the carpenter is paid for his skills and talent, what more noble and Godly calling is there than to pursue the gifts given and be rewarded tangibly for them?

After all, when one is good at what they do, they should be paid for it. Paw-Paw’s Pastor oft made the “cow and milk” cliche. But, now I ask, “What is a more honorable telling of it: to hear it as a lesson on Virtue, which once lost cannot be restored, or as one of Value?” If Virtue, how perverse to consider by analogy the covenant of marriage–between two and God–be reduced to  transactional commerce and a bride reduced to mere property, first of her father, then next of her betrothed.

So, clearly, it is a lesson on Value. Why shouldn’t the farmer profit from his skill in husbandry? That is the question at hand, and the pastor says, in fact, it is Godly to reap the rewards sown by skill and time.

Unlike giraffes and horses, our first steps take almost a year. I had a partner whom we both knew I was too young, but we wanted to have fun. She was an amazing, wonderful person who I trusted implicitly. When she mentioned she should tell her friends about my performance, I encouraged her to let them know I was for-hire. She never took to the idea–the concept of being my personal madam to her friends conflicted with her sense of morality and self, but that was the first real person I shared my desire in a real way with.

It took me more than a decade to go from asking to doing. I had to find myself in a period where I knew that my actions wouldn’t have to bear the weight of judgement of those I cared for and whose opinions I valued before I took the plunge and became a professional. A year after my marriage ended, someone approached me for an experience. Details remain between my client and myself, for my clients prize my discretion. What matters is that when our time ended, I felt an awakening. Not mere orgasm, this lingered upon my soul for days after. My skin hummed as though I’d been struck by lightning during a Mid-July thunderstorm. My brain buzzed like a neon sign. For the first time, work wasn’t something that I did. I fell in love with it, and my work finally loved me back.

Now, I relish the opportunities to take a new client into undiscovered countries. To help awaken their senses and deepen their awareness of the mind and body. When you spend time with someone who sees you, time flows like molasses, each breath relished in minutes. Discussions, expectations, and time spent in quality as much as quantity, we weave a safe and playful foundation for future adventures together.

Perhaps you’re curious, wondering where this might lead?

If this is your first time with me, this is where our journey begins — with care, clarity, and curiosity. We’ve both walked a road. We can walk the next bit together.