By Kendra Holliday | October 29, 2016
You’re always hearing jokes about Roman Showers, but have you ever met someone who is really and truly into them?
I have. Let’s call him Puke Boy. And let’s ask him some questions.
TBK: What is the proper name for your fetish?
PB: Emetophilia. That includes anyone turned on by vomiting, even themselves vomiting.
TBK: What’s your preferred term for it?
PB: Probably “throwing up,” “getting sick” or just plain “vomit” when talking about a hot girl doing it, but probably “puke” or “barf” when talking about me or some dude doing it. I believe the actual act of throwing up on someone is called a roman shower.
TBK: What do you like about it?
PB: Although I am not into S&M and hate for a girl to be in pain, I am conflicted as the tender side of me wants to console her and make her feel better, while this perverted primal instinct inside of me suddenly awakens and is very interested. I actually get more and more aroused as her nausea builds. She’s trying to fight it, but she’s really helpless as there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Some soft moans as she clutches her stomach as she wishes it to either stop or just hurry up so she can get it over with.
Then there’s the waiting around and anticipation of when things are gonna get started, and a chunky sour burp signals it is imminent. She says “Oh no, I think I’m going to throw…” Just then the climax arrives and she opens her mouth and the warm thick liquid flows out of her mouth. No more words, as wave upon wave comes over her. Spasms grip her tight little body as her last meal is forcibly expelled. She’s able to get some breaths of air in between belches and some gurgling noises that come from well inside her. You wonder how such a petite girl could make such a deep sound. Soon the waves of easy flowing vomit turn into empty retches as now just a long string of drool hangs from her mouth. Before you knew it even started, she is finished and collapses on the floor, exhausted and relieved for the time being…
Part of it is probably how this is a pretty embarrassing event for people, and it’s not too often we can’t control our bodies. Something also about the fact that the vomit is from deep inside her, that this is deeper and more intimate even than having sex. The vomit was once food but has now been changed by her body to kind of become “part of her.”
Another emetophile describes it as his way of “consuming” her, and I agree with that too.
Note: I have no cannibalistic urges and have no desire to actually eat any part of her body.
By Kendra Holliday | October 28, 2016
I told this story last night at Dirty Birdie story hour at The Monocle in the Grove…
Have you ever wanted to wake up, chug a bottle of red wine and devour a bunch of French pastries, and then throw up all over some guy?
OK, I admit I haven’t ever thought of that before, but when the opportunity presented itself, I decided to go for it.
I’ve never been The Bulimic Kind, but I’ve always wondered what it’s like to puke on purpose. I feel like I’ve been needing to binge n’ purge lately – a ritualistic, symbolic gesture.
My partner Matthew was very much opposed to the idea – he was concerned for my safety.
But I really wanted to take on the challenge, so he respected my decision. He’s an extraordinary man to put up with all my crazy antics, let me tell you! After all – he’s not my father, but he is my Daddy! 😉
The Roman Shower scene took a lot of planning. Puke Boy (read my interview with him here) stopped by the day before, bearing gifts from Whole Foods and the local donut shop.
My hurl was going to be classy, people! He was going to taste all of this secondhand, right from the whore’s mouth.
I started preparing for the elaborate, gut wrenching ritual right at 9am. I was nervous – would I be able to pull it off? I made up my mind that I HAD to – I was going to MAKE myself puke, and that was all there was to it.
A Fear Factor Challenge.
I had fun playing ULTIMATE HEDONIST – I put on some music and danced around with the donuts and wine (the ice cream – ironically, vanilla flavored – was a suggestion from sorrybeautiful). I felt like a naughty girl playing hooky from school.
By Kendra Holliday | October 23, 2016
You’ve heard of Whiskey Dick – have you heard of Whiskey Balls? Have you SEEN Whiskey Balls?
Remember this guy? David R.
He has a really interesting hardcore hobby, very sexually creative and fun to fuck with.
I had another Skype fantasy session with him the other day. I had to get into character: I was a sadistic FemDomme doctor who tortured him sexually and threatened him with prison if he didn’t comply with my harsh demands.
I prepped him for our session by taunting and tasking him all week over email and text.
He had to comply with a strict supplement and milking regiment, and if he screwed up, he was put on orgasm restriction and made to punish himself.
WARNING: Awesome pics of penis and testicle torture ahead…
By Kendra Holliday | October 16, 2016
Since I’ve been back from Tantra Training, I’ve practiced the Tantra Awakening Ritual with several of my friends and clients.
But get this – you can also perform the ritual solo!
To learn how, you can read Barbara Carrellas’s book Urban Tantra: Sacred Sex for the Twenty-first Century.
It’s actually super easy to do, but it helps to be coached through it your first time. I read Barbara’s book thrice before I went to her workshop, and it was only there that I was able to “get it,” with her walking me through it.
Tantra is like the City Museum in St Louis or House on the Rock in Wisconsin, or many other exotic and unique places in the world – it’s hard to explain it, you just have to experience it for yourself. And you can experience it WHENEVER YOU WANT, FOR FREE.
Tantra is about energy, being present, and opening yourself up to a deeper level of consciousness.
Awakening is rousing, getting in touch with parts of yourself you have buried or ignored. This can be spiritual, mental, or physical. So often we feel disconnected from our bodies, we’re so in our head thinking and worrying so much. REPLACE THE FEAR WITH LOVE.
Rituals are tools that help us focus our attention.
The first time I did the solo ritual, I was in a roomful of people, which might sound like an oxymoron, but we weren’t interacting physically with each other. We all lay supine on the floor separately, and Barbara encouraged us to breathe deeply, go with the flow, and make noise if we wanted to. Having other people’s energy present made it more intense – I heard heavy breathing, crying out, moaning, sobbing… I myself felt great tingling and waves of emotions, and then cried cathartic tears afterward.
Naturally, I wanted to try it at home by myself. Ideally, I’d like to schedule this self-care weekly. You can knock it out in 30 minutes, or you can turn it into a more elaborate ritual.
For my first solo ritual at home, I chose a planets and elements theme.
By Kendra Holliday | October 11, 2016
One of the things I LOOOOOOVE about my “job” is that I get to explore roleplay and role reversal.
This is super therapeutic for both me and my clients, because we are dealing with a patriarchal cesspool and it is EXHAUSTING us.
So, it’s nice for me to take control and power, and for the man to surrender and get in touch with his submissive side – all consensually, of course.
I take great pride in being a fantasy facilitator, a safe haven for perverts. We like to work the kinks OUT.
I’ve played with plenty of remote control vibrators meant for a woman to wear tucked in her panties at a party or bar and for her partner to control, but I haven’t been able to reverse the role – until now.
Of course butt plugs can be worn by any gender, because we ALL have assholes, but for the purpose of this review, I will focus on the man butt in the receptive role.
I had a session scheduled with a darling male client the other day, and he is joyfully creative. He has allowed me to explore things new to me – to ME! – such as the NutBuster and the Humbler (if you don’t know what those are, google them, or beg me for further explanation).
So it was with great delight I was able to surprise him with a test drive of the new b-Vibe trio remote control vibrating butt plug.
This thing is fucking awesome!!! Very deluxe and powerful.
Here it is, next to the Magic Wand for size comparison:
Might be intimidating to a beginner, but a good size for optimum placement and FEELS.
I love that the charger cord is labeled “b-Vibe“, so I can easily find it among my box of sex toy charger cords. Believe me, it can get confusing.
You can plug it right into any USB port to charge it. Two hours of charge = one hour of play.
The remote has a big watch battery:
The plug is very well designed, made with body safe silicone, a flared base, and lights up all fancy when it’s turned on (it flashes when it needs to be charged):
By Kendra Holliday | October 3, 2016
My friend Joan Price introduced me to Galen Fous MTP, the author of this book, and right away I could see why – he’s a Dominant father in his 60’s living on the west coast, and I am a submissive mother in my 40’s living in the Midwest, but we have SO much in common!
We’re both completely out and open about our kinky and creative sexualities. We both went through hell and almost lost everything when we came out with our stories (his outing was forced by his ex; mine was more my choice). We both persevered and are now fully integrated and have a career in the field of sexuality.
Galen’s book is called Decoding Your Kink: Guide to Explore Share and Enjoy Your Wildest Sexual Desires.
As I read his book, I was amazed at how much it mirrored my thoughts on sex and our unhealthy society.
We both subscribe to the King and Queen archetype, and to the beauty of rituals. Galen points out that rituals are tools that help us focus our attention. Natural and innate, rituals are all around us – seasons, rhythms, holidays…
By Kendra Holliday | September 23, 2016
I’m 43 years old. Here is my life trajectory so far:
1973: I’m born in North Dakota. Brrrr!
1974: My family moves to Dallas, Texas.
1975: Who the hell knows.
1976: My brother is born.
1977: Um, Elvis dies?
1978: My sister is born. My brother throws up. I remember my first dream; I’m kidnapped by Captain Hook and held hostage with Raggedy Ann and Andy. He cuts off my foot and it looks like SpaghettiOs.
1979: My family moves to St. Louis.
1980: My baby brother is born, and dies two days later. My mom tries to kill herself several times, and when that fails, she burns his name into the back of her hand with a soldering iron. She is never the same again. A very dark time.
1981: Life still sucks. My mom is a complete wreck.
1982: My brother is born. My grandmother dies.
1983: I get molested by an older, adopted brother. It SUCKS. I get sent to therapy, and I don’t know why. I think I’m being punished. I am a victim.
1984: I have my first lesbian encounter. It’s hot and naughty. I’m 11.
1985: My baby sister is born. I drop her on her head, but don’t kill her. Skeptical about god’s involvement, I become an atheist.
1986: I hit puberty and middle school, and lose all my artistic talent and confidence. My family is poor white trash, and I am branded a zitty nerd. It sucks.
1987: My mom keeps getting crazier and crazier. It makes me crazy, and I attempt suicide. I spend time in three different mental hospitals. I lose my virginity to a 24 year old creep with a mustache because he keeps badgering me and I finally give in. It sucks.
1988: My moms tries to kill herself again. I put pressure on her slashed, gaping arms as my dad calls the ambulance. She gets hospitalized a lot, and OD’s, and gets shock treatment. I fuck around and feel very confused. It sucks.
By Kendra Holliday | September 21, 2016
BLACK LIVES MATTER.
I am serious.
We love to fetishize and FEAR black men, women, and transgender people.
Escorts, bulls, trannys, hookers, hos, bitches, pimps, thugs, drug dealers, robbers, rapists… we subconsciously and consciously wallow in projection…. painting our dark dreams… casting shadows. So much guilt and shame surrounding racism.
And often guilt and shame and forbidden thoughts give us that taboo thrill we need to get off.
We need to channel that powerful energy to something positive.
SEX not DEATH.
PLEASURE not PAIN.
Our country is deep in the throes of non-consensual power exchange. Consensual power exchange is the core of BDSM, which can be a healthy outlet for acting out fears and healing. Non-consensual power exchange is ASSAULT and ABUSE, which can be deadly.
Please do your part to end needless suffering.
I really don’t know how to reconcile all this grief and death and turmoil.
2016 has been a real test of strength.
I know this in my heart.
But it’s still hard.
By Kendra Holliday | September 13, 2016
As a follow up to my post Can Creepy Men Be Cured?, I offer these quick thoughts on how to activate a woman, as opposed to repelling her.
Offer good male energy. Stand out among all the men who fall short.
Be a giver, not a taker.
Exude sexy confidence.
Be mature. Don’t be eager. RELAX. Keep your pants on for longer than she’s expecting.
Be grateful, but not groveling.
Show appreciation and respect. Cowboy Ethics.
Know how to be a gentleman. Know how to be a rogue. More importantly, know WHEN to be a gentleman, and WHEN to be a rogue.
Learn how to worship, as well as ravish.
If you watch Game of Thrones, you’ll get this joke I’ve seen online: “Ned Stark in the streets, Oberyn Martell in the sheets.”
Or, even better: “Podrick Payne in the streets, Podrick Payne in the sheets.” 😉
Strive to be a King, a Warrior, a Magician, and Lover, as opposed to a Tyrant, a Bully, a Fool, and a Loser. (A loser is someone who has lost something, such as their mojo.)
Don’t be entitled. Be genuine.
The other day, when I wrote someone to confirm our session, instead of responding with the usual grunt, “yeah I’ll be there”, he replied, “I cannot wait to see you today! Your beautiful mind, body, and energy will be on my mind until I get to see you!”
Upon reading that, I was immediately activated and turned on for our session.
By Kendra Holliday | September 13, 2016
Dear Kendra, I don’t know about you, but I know a lot of creepy men. What makes a man creepy? Can creepy men be cured? Or, once a creep, always a creep? Have you ever met a creepy woman?
All right, readers, I want feedback from YOU – tell me about an encounter you had with a creepy guy. What made it creepy? What are the qualities of a creep? Can creeps be cured?
Here is what I have to say on the subject – I hope reader input will help shape my understanding of this unfortunate issue.
Being in the sex industry, I’ve met A LOT of creeps. Here is an example:
A few years ago, a man contacted me through this website. He wrote me a couple emails, then met me at an event I advertised – I was part of a sex fair that was open to the public. He seemed nice enough, and asked to meet me for coffee.
I said sure, so we met for coffee. At coffee, he asked me tons of questions and got this weird look in his eyes. He got excited from all the things I was sharing with him. He walked me to my car and asked if he could get in with me so he could ask me a question.
A huge red flag went up, but I said sure, BECAUSE I’M AN IDIOT. (Since then, I have tightened my security and have read The Gift of Fear, and consider it required reading for every woman.)
We sat in the car and he turned to me. “Can I kiss you?”
Disgusted and horrified, I sputtered no. I had NO interest in this guy. He was creepy. What made him think I wanted to make out with him? (Answer: I gave him the time of day. Other things that lead men to think you are interested in them: Eye contact. Smiling. Laughing at their jokes. Being polite. Being female.) At least he didn’t lunge at me.
He whined a bit, then took his leave. I’m very lucky nothing bad happened. I appreciate that he asked and respected my reaction. NEVER put yourself in a closed space with someone you’re unsure of.
Later, he showed up for one of my TBK get togethers. He circled the party, stared, and kept to himself. His behavior made me uncomfortable.
After that, he emailed me two or three times asking when I was going to have another get together.
I’ll tell you when: NEVER. Or if I do, it will be invite only.
It wasn’t just him that put a damper on the party for me – there were two other creepy guys there who drank too much and crossed some lines.
OK, so what made this particular guy creepy?
By Kendra Holliday | September 5, 2016
It was a sunny afternoon, and golden light was streaming through the window.
Matthew had me up on the table in the middle of my dining room. When I bought it, I made sure it was sturdy enough for fucking around on.
I was nude, lying on my back, legs spread. He sat in a chair at the head of the table, with a bottle of lube as a condiment.
He was in one of those supremely confident moods. (what else is new?) – always a good skill to have when doing a scene like this.
Looking down at him sitting up straight and proud with his fists planted on either side of me, he completely reminded me of an arrogant King about to tuck into a celebratory feast.
I felt like one of those Turduckens – you know, a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey.
Except I was more like a bitch stuffed inside a whore stuffed inside a slut.
Which I guess makes me a… slortch?
By Kendra Holliday | August 25, 2016
Last night my daughter and I attended a school board meeting that featured sex ed.
The school sent a survey out to parents last year. Over 1000 parents responded (I was SO excited to fill it out!), with the majority of parents in favor of updating the curriculum to include important topics beyond pregnancy and STIs, such as gender and LGBTQ issues, consent, and exploring sexuality.
As a result, the board voted and approved the improved curriculum in March. HOORAY! You can read details here.
I’m Co-Leader of Sex Positive St. Louis and I graduated from the school in ’91. My sex-positive daughter is a sophomore now. Needless to say, we strongly advocate acceptance, inclusiveness, and accurate education when it comes to the wide range of human sexuality. We were in good company, with plenty of rabbis, physicians, professionals, sex and health educators, and representatives from local organizations such as Growing American Youth and TransParent.
But some people are having a fit over the change. They think the curriculum, which draws mainly on Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidelines for sexual education, is medically inaccurate. They also think providing information sends a dangerous message and encourages teens to have sex. Let me ask you – did you have sex as a teenager? Most of us did, and we fumbled around and made lots of mistakes. I wish I would have been better informed at that age.
People both for and against the teachings that will promote acceptance and better emotional health attended the meeting.
The people against the change wore white to symbolize purity and innocence.
One of the white people kept repeating the word “pornography” with such passion that it made me want to run right home and watch some! Another white person demanded that the school stick to “education, not indoctrination.”
A mom and her incredibly brave and shaking 16 year old son got up to speak – Andrew Bennett has been getting bullied and slandered by some of the white adults, online and in person.
As they spoke, some of the white people shouted angrily at them and some turned their backs on them.
You can watch footage of them speaking here. The building was surrounded by police and security.
Teen hero Andrew is saving lives by putting himself out there. I can’t wait to see him speak in front of thousands of people someday.
My daughter got to witness adult behavior – some mature and respectful, some not. I’m proud to say the people we sat with exhibited good manners. But I have to confess – as soon as we got to our car, we burst out laughing and repeated the word “pornography” all the way home.
I got compliments on my Planned Parenthood “I LOVE SEX ED” shirt. 🙂
I counsel adults mainly in the 40-70 age range who were grossly misinformed when they came of age. If the next generation gets proper education, then I can be put out of business and bake cupcakes or garden instead. Or, if we choose to remain ignorant, I can make lots of money mucking around in all the guilt and shame baggage.
I prefer the former.
By Kendra Holliday | August 24, 2016
Last week I lost another client. (Please read this previous post about losing a client before proceeding.)
He wasn’t just a client – he was a friend and lover, too.
D and I first met over two years ago – his doctor referred him to me after it was determined he would outlive his initial diagnosis of dying young. Now, it looked like he could expect to make it to middle age. With that startling revelation, he was able to consider pursuing adult activities beyond getting his college degree – sex. A relationship.
But he was behind all of his peers in dating experience, so he needed to seek ways to catch up.
Drastic, unconventional ways. Beyond OK Cupid.
So, we met for a couple of consultations and built rapport. Because of his breathing machine, D was difficult to understand, and he didn’t have the muscle strength to move as much, but his eyes – oh his eyes were so incredibly expressive. I spent many hours gazing into those beautiful, warm eyes.
He used a motorized wheelchair and had a hospital bed. His medical condition kept him feeling cold all the time, so his bedroom would be really warm. I felt bad removing his cozy blankets, but the excitement and passion we shared provided a different type of warmth. Even his cologne smelled warm, like a clean, masculine fire.
At the beginning of each session, D would ask a sex question, such as, “I saw this in porn – is it really like that?” or “Is female ejaculation real?” and we would come up with different themes to explore. We had such fun and educational sessions!
We kissed as best we could around the breathing tube. His body was solid, so I was able to climb around him pretty easily. Still, I always made sure he wasn’t just enduring something or have pain interfere with pleasure.
By Kendra Holliday | August 14, 2016
The experience blew me away. I am a changed person.
I expected to soak up new energy in a new city, new ideas, new people, and learn about tantra. I’ve read a lot about it online, plus I read Barbara’s book Urban Tantra twice – yet I still didn’t have a proper grasp on it. I think tantra is like Burning Man – you have to immerse yourself in it in order to “get it.”
Well, I got all that and more – I met other sex workers, fetish models, dominatrix, tantrikas, and other specialists. I learned about marketing, BDSM, gender politics, and about other cultures.
That picture of Barbara on the right? That’s what the week was like – we were sparkling, ecstatic, and open-hearted.
My NYC escort for the week was my good friend Matthew Stillman, who was also attending the course. He’s like a brother to me – I was so lucky to spend the week with him – it was my first time to NYC and I was so intimidated! I couldn’t have been matched with a better soul – he’s lived in NYC his entire life and was an excellent guide.
We walked all over the place and took the subway!!! Columbia University, Central Park, Brooklyn Bridge… I reread A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on my trip, and found this slut-shaming passage still relevant, 70 years later:
By Kendra Holliday | August 12, 2016
Disclaimer: I wrote this a long time ago, and it never seemed to fit the vibe of this blog, so I’ve never published it here, or anywhere. It ALMOST made it in BUST magazine, but they chose an essay about male strippers instead.
I was in a very different place 20+ years ago, but since I mentioned it in the post yesterday about Jobs I Have Had, I decided to follow up with this. My next post will feature modern positive updates, I promise!
I had this gig was when I was 19 (I’m 43 now). I was pretty much trapped in a bad spot – kicked out of my house, no money, no car, dead end job.
I didn’t know what to do. So one day, a girlfriend and I decided to check out the strip clubs on the East Side. I called a place at random, and asked if they hired girls who had no boobs and couldn’t dance. She said sure, gave me directions, and told me to come in for an “interview.”
So I saved up money for a down payment on the cheapest car I could find, and we drove over there.
It was SO frightening entering that place. It was like a haunted house, but it was in the afternoon, and the building sat on a gravel parking lot in Washington Park like an overgrown mobile home. It was called Mainstreet.
Quaking, my friend and I entered. It was really dark, and we had to go up some stairs. There was a bouncer at the door, a 6’6″ black man named Humphrey who directed us to the bartender, who was in charge. She was very tan, busty, and abrupt, and our “interview” consisted of us being taken back to the dressing room, and being told to lift our shirts. I guess she was checking for scars, or a hairy chest or something.
We filled out an application (the whole purpose being to get in writing that you’re 18), and we were hired.
I gave my employer two weeks notice, and soon it was my first day to report to the strip club. I was SOO nervous, because guess what?
I was on my own.
My friend chickened out. (It’s almost unheard of for a woman to just walk into a strip joint out of the blue and get a job there. Women usually wind up there because a friend they party with or relative works there.)
My first day was TERRIFYING. I was paired up with a sweet-n-stupid girl with bleach blond curls and pink lipstick named “Sassy,” who took one look at me and gave me the name “Glamour.” Can you believe that was my stage name?? Isn’t it SO Seven Dwarfs?
She lent me high heels, and for the first time in my life, I got up on a stage and took my clothes off in front of a bunch of strange men 20 years older than me. Can you imagine doing that right now? Can you imagine doing that as a teenager?
We hustled the guys all day, and I went home feeling very dirty and exhausted. And that’s the way I felt for next nine months. I was in my prime and desired by many, but absolutely LOATHED myself.
The strip club I worked at was owned by a nasty man in his 50’s named Tom Venezia, and his 25 yr old son, Milan Venezia. They were SLEAZY all right, and were involved in all kinds of illegal activity, and had loads of money. Milan thought he was hot stuff, so did his dad. They would pick the hardest, bitchiest princess girls and SHARE them, and of course the “chosen ones” thought they were something else, too. They’d run the bar, like the one who hired me.