It is not a great difference — my being an escort or my being a slave. In both I submit, albeit in different ways. In both I am objectified, reduced to my physical attributes. In both I am used.
I have long thought that the most important “skill” of a slave is to find personal value in being used. As a slave, I am good at this. In being an escort of sorts, I am still learning, though much seems to be a transferable skill.
Kevin’s sexual need is immense, and my value is to be a container for it. I am a bucket, not just for his sexual liquid, though certainly that as well, but also for his manhood. It is as if he empties his man-stuff into me and that provides him capacity for more of it to fill him again. Where testosterone and manhood and male ego all come from is a mystery to me, but they come from somewhere, and they reload him with fresh juice.
I really believe I have value in being this container for him, as ignoble as that sounds. I find satisfaction and purpose in receiving Kevin’s manhood in all its forms, willingly allowing him to fill and coat me with himself. I find there is an art in doing so without creating emotional complication or relational obligation.
But this doesn’t mean I do so without feeling. Kevin wants to know I thrill to him, that after he has pounded and emptied himself into me, I feel his use of me. He wants to know I experience him deeply.
Again, some of this is just the natural attribute of being submissive. But some is also learned. Frankly it is hard, when a man is inside me, for me not to love him a little in that moment. What that is, I don’t know — perhaps the love of being used.
What I have had to learn is to understand that “love” for what it is, know what it isn’t, and to let it not become a complication or obligation for Kevin.