shae, courtesan

I’ve had a different feeling the last few days. I’m not sure I can explain it, and I’m afraid in doing so it will be misunderstood. But I’ll try to anyway.

I have often written about the historical figure of the courtesan in European Renaissance societies. I won’t go into that again — I wrote about it here and here. Simply put, a courtesan was a kind of escort/slave in royal circles, accepted by those societies as having a legitimate functions that included companionship, conversation, creative arts, offering visual entertainment, and providing sexual pleasures.

I have obviously been fascinated by the role of the courtesan, and you might say in more colloquial terms that I have “wanted some day to grow up to be one.”

Well, now I think I “be one.”

I am, of course, Amanda’s sex slave, literally and fully, and also her friend and lover. All of those “relationship roles” were in fact the nature of a Renaissance courtesan in the royal courts long ago.

I am also a “companion” to Kevin, his escort and sexual companion. This is by proxy of my courtesan-ship to Amanda, a lending of me to another. This sort of social and sexual sharing was fashionable in courtesan societies.

I would mention as well our neighbor friends, John and Patricia Miller. Even though I have no submissive relationship with them, they are aware of most all of my slave life, and I am shared with them visually and conversationally. They are in a sense some of the side figures of our “royal court” who witness the life of my slavery.

And now there is Master McKenna. Much remains to be known about him, of course, but it seems I will be something of his surrogate slave-in-training. Again, this is in keeping with a courtesan’s variety of life experiences and uses.

Like courtesans of a previous era, I am now the property of a number of people in different forms and functions.

This is the different feeling I have now. I have stepped into this neo-courtesan life. It’s not a bad feeling. Like I say, I have kind of wanted to grow up to be one. I take a kind of pleasure in the idea of it.

No, it’s not a bad feeling, but it is, for sure, different.


After my last visit with Kevin, I had returned to Amanda saying that next time I needed to bring more lingerie to wear with him.

He likes me in chemises and the occasional babydoll, elegant styles not see-through, fabrics that drape and shape my curves. Last time he had said something about this. I realized he prefers seeing me in lingerie during the day not just at night.

With him, I needed to think of lingerie as my “always” wardrobe.

I mentioned this to Amanda, and in her newly assumed role as my pimp, last week she took me shopping. I came here to Kevin’s with a lingerie outfit for each day of this week.

He has worked mornings this week, coming home early afternoons to find me in lingerie and heels. “Always ready to be taken to bed,” he says, “even in the middle of the day.”

Each new time with Kevin is a little different. The character of his sexual need, I am finding, changes with each visit. Last time it was like an extended date, with him taking me out on excursions, even a picnic lunch one time. It was a slow woo.

This time we have not had day trips and, with the exception of the Labor Day party, he has kept me in the house. Whereas last visit he was slow and gentle, this time he has been impulsive and urgent. Perhaps he feels because he has me fewer days this time, he has to get his shots in, so to speak. Which is fine. I am to be what he wishes.

I have wondered about paid companions and how their relationship with a regular client changes and evolves over multiple times. What is the relationship she has with him?

I don’t presume she actually loves him, but are they like friends, friends with benefits? When he calls and says he’s going on a ten-day trip and he would like her with him, is she excited to be with him again or does she feel apathetic about him, perhaps enjoying the travel but not so much the man? Does she feel that ten days with a man she doesn’t care about is way too long?

Is she like I am with Kevin? That is, not “in love” but loving, comfortable in his company, and feeling safe with him? Does she also long, as I do for sex with a man? Does she dream about a man’s cock?

Or is that just me.

I confess I like being “kept” — by Kevin in this arrangement and also by Amanda in my slavery to her. It is the submissive nature to want to be kept.

I think in another life I could do this kind of work, being an escort or companion. What I could not do, I don’t think, is the random sexual business of a prostitute, because it is so un-relational, at least as I imagine it.

But being an escort or companion with regular clients, men you get to know and maybe like, that seems like something I could do.

Mostly I think I just like being kept.

sunday night

It is the briefest of moments.

He is inside me, thick with the swell of lust.

I am wet for him. I know I am just his woman of convenience, yet I can’t help myself. I want him. So I am open, cavernous. Hungry. Juicy.

His body lies atop mine and his hairy weight slides back and forth across my smooth skin, rolling my breasts and rocking my naked flesh. His mouth lies beside my ear and he whispers to me directions — “slow,” “easy,” “let it come” — and I almost laugh at this dominant man who cannot help but issue commands even during sex. Even this he must control.

My arms are draped over his shoulders and my hands cling to the back of his head. It is as if I loved him, and maybe I do in some way. Maybe I love all the men who fuck me like this. Perhaps I just love anyone who makes me orgasm, as he just did moments ago.

I suppose it’s not befitting a prostitute, to love the guy. Or is it more of a prostitution to not only give the guy your pussy but also your heart?

He changes his angle and his cock pumps me more, now gracing my clit every other stroke or so. I close my eyes.

He thrusts himself farther in. His balls slap me underneath. And suddenly he stops, holding himself there.

It is the briefest of moments.

And then, from a rock solid standstill, he erupts and gushes his semen into my deepest places. It is warm and thick and demanding. It coats and marks me. It claims me.

I am Kevin’s once again.

I am such an easy lay.

Kevin time

I have been at Kevin’s this weekend. This will be a shorter stay, due to Kevin’s own work circumstances, so I’ll be going back to Amanda tomorrow afternoon.

This time life with him hasn’t been so urgent. My first week with him in this new role as escort companion was busy, so to speak. It was as if he had to get his money’s worth for the time I was there. He got his fill of me by filling me with himself. Literally. But it was social too — we had several outings with friends of his, which perhaps was about him showing me off, which is nice but tiring.

None of that is a criticism, just a true observation. In fact, on my first night with him that first week, he took me out on a date, and he was charming and lovely. He wanted to reset “us” in this new reality, and he did. But it was quite a week.

This time is more relaxed and less driven. I think Kevin is realizing he’s not paying for me by the hour and that he will have ample access to me through the year ahead. He’s got plenty of time to have me as he wishes. Maybe I have helped relax him about me as I have settled into his arms in a new way. Truth be told, I like him.

I find that travel brings out in me a measure of life reflection. This is true for me especially on plane trips, as if the literal act of rising above the clouds prompts a view of one’s life from a higher perspective. But it also happens when I have a long drive in a car.

Thursday afternoon behind the wheel coming here, my thoughts and inner dialogue (sometimes said aloud in the car) navigated my sexual tale of two cities.

After an hour, I spoke a self-affirmation: I am a woman who is highly sexual and I don’t need to apologize for it.

After another hour, I acknowledged, out loud to my empty car, that my life has resolved itself into two sexual lifestyles — slavery and escorting. I proceeded to explain to myself why that is, why I have landed here, why it is OK.

Which precisely is apologizing for it.

My coming out to my mother in the fall seemed to quiet my need to apologize for my submissive life in slavery. If she could accept me in that, then I didn’t feel I need to explain my sub life to anyone. Of course, a lot of that had to do with Amanda’s mom-wooing skills, but even so, my mother’s acceptance changed my apologetic.

Around the same time, of course, I became an escort to Kevin. Which is another thing entirely. So here we go again.

This is a new inner argument.

I tell myself I’m not an escort really. I just play one on TV. The TV of Kevin’s mind.

I remind myself I am not doing this for money. I am doing this out of my obedience to another as her slave. In my former Baptist morality, this would have been an interesting discussion question in Sunday school: Which is worse? To have sex with a man for money or to have sex with a man because you’re obedient to your lesbian lover?

In my current “Shae” morality, sex is good, important, and why it happens might not matter. Yet, some part of me feels wrong about the money part of this, even though I don’t get money from it. Again, I personally am not paid, but I am paid for in some arrangement between Kevin and Amanda. Still, I feel like I’m paid for this, for sex with Kevin, and that I am nothing other than, in fact, an escort.

The other night Kevin took me to a bar to meet two of his friends from a previous era — Jason and Owen. I had not met them before, as Jason just moved here and Owen has returned home from military service. As Kevin introduced them to me, I was called Kevin’s “companion.” It was obvious what they took that to mean. They were polite and we had pleasant conversation, but I was categorized by them. They learned I live in Denver and come to visit Kevin about once a month. When we were leaving, as Kevin was getting my coat, Owen slipped me his business card and said to call him, that he wanted to “use my services.”

I wanted to have the conversation with Owen that “oh no, you misunderstand… I’m not actually in the business, and in fact I am not paid directly… see, the payment is arranged through another person… not really cash, you see… it’s a different thing… let me explain further…” Once you play that out in your head, you realize it sounds pretty lame and there’s no way of changing minds. At the end of the evening, the see you taking Kevin’s arm, and everyone knows he’ll bed you later, and so you, in any practical definition, are his escort.

I think it best that I learn to accept myself this way, rather than try to develop a clever apologetic for it..

Many escorts, of course, charge by the hour or by the specific sexual service. I don’t know how a woman does that. They have to, I guess, driven by financial need. But I know also there are escorts who charge by the event or the evening, or even for a weekend or week or month, not measuring hourly time or offering a sexual menu, but providing themselves for a while to a man, an experience, whatever that turns out to be. For them, I wonder how many are regular clients, men who are repeat business.

Maybe that’s me and I have just one client.

The conflict, though, is in my mind and my sense of who I am. It isn’t with Kevin. Whatever the circumstances, he has been good with me, and I respond to him, and not really just because I have to.

Tonight he will want me and reach for my hand. He will draw me into him, and my hands will slide along his chest to his shoulders. And he will kiss me, a real kiss, full, soft. And then he will take me.

He is a man of significant sexual need.

I am a woman who is highly sexual and I don’t need to apologize for it.

pretty woman, notes to self


I am to be Kevin’s companion.

I will have a place in his life that is sexual and social and “something other.” I am to be non-submissive to him, except in the context of sex. I will likely be seen by others in Kevin’s world as being paid for what I do.

Each month I am to travel back from Denver for five days with him.

I will leave Denver around noon, arrive Kevin’s by late afternoon. I will return Monday morning.

Kevin is saying on that Thursday or Friday he may take me in to his work and the other day he will take off from work.

Starts in January, but I will be back once in December. Note: will that be a trial run for this, or our old style?

“Something else.” This is now defined as a kind of role I will have with him, various things I might do (non-sex) with Kevin to help him “relax, wind down, and chill out”:

Making him a drink
Giving him a massage
Watching TV with him
Spending time with him in his garage
Taking a walk with him
Etc. Etc.

This is new. The plus is that it gives me stuff to do with him in the in-between times. The minus is that I have never done these things with him before and will at first feel awkward doing so.

I think I need to caution myself not to expect too much. This is relational stuff, and Kevin doesn’t do relational stuff. It will be more about what he needs to relax. Shae, let it happen as he wishes it. And no more.

I’m realizing there really is some transaction at the heart of this. Well, I have known that, but I mean this seems to be a significant deal between them. Otherwise this wouldn’t be happening, I wouldn’t be provided to Kevin to this extent, and they wouldn’t take this amount of time defining it. Curious about that…


  1. For Amanda this with Kevin is a transaction, yes, but it seems she has another agenda in it. I am surprised by the social aspect of this. That Amanda approves of it. What is she seeing in this?
  2. In the aftermath, I am realizing that “companion” is perhaps for Kevin a perfect designation for me. He wants me around, connected to him, but he doesn’t want me too close, in the sense of girlfriend or lover. This gives him connection to me yet distance.

Courtesan. I keep coming back to this word. Old world, for sure, but I like it. Fascinates. Captures the unique nature of a prostitute that is kept also for social companionship.

This is also about Amanda believing I need men, or at least sex with men. I think she over-emphasizes that, though often she just teases me with it. Sharing me with Kevin is safe for her. But there’s still something else in this, in the background.

Amanda trusts me. She knows my heart.