Lounge Access

 Making it to Gold status and finally obtaining Lounge access has changed travel life for me, forever. No more revolting loos, queuing with coughing travellers, screaming babies or holding my breath for the stench. I don’t know how I arrived at this point in my life - lacking some patience and becoming a hygiene freak, but all the same here I am, I’ve matured into my ‘comfort’ stage of life. I had no idea though, the doors to something a little more exciting were opening.

There are other benefits to being a Lounge member asides from the nice loos of course - comfortable seats that accomodate my generous booty, free flowing wine, snacks, and most importantly of course: hot guys in suits. 

This particular journey was a trying one, even in the comforts afforded by the Lounge. I try to make it to the airport with reasonable time - so I can access the Lounge, feed myself for free and slow my heart rate before making the next uncomfortable leg of the journey in the sky. I made it, just - only to find my flight delayed and the Lounge unusually busy. Desperate for my next caffeine hit, I queue at the coffee station for my skim flat white, trying to stay chill amongst the self importance of busy business people who seem unused to being made to wait. There’s a little bit of jostling so I head to the back of the waiting herd to find peace. Spilling out the back, I make eye contact with a guy doing the same. We grin at each other, acknowledging the absurdity of the crowd we find ourselves amongst - two people floating to the quiet in the shouting chaos. I wait until I hear my name - I wince a little, hearing my real name yelled across a room of client-looking people makes me so uncomfortable, but I take the risk for my precious, milky caffeine injection.

I find myself a cushy seat near the window, by sheer luck. I set myself up with my iPad - the thing I use to manage my entire life, and get down to doing some admin and journalling. Sipping my (pretty awful) coffee, I notice a familiar face in my line of vision - it’s the guy from the back of the coffee crowd. He is on his laptop, deep in his own world. I look closer at him this time. Hmmm, he’s pretty hot actually. In a tailored grey suit, no tie, shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, revealing some curly hair and the hint of a chest tattoo. There is definitely something about a professional looking man with just a little hint of ‘bad boy’. I smile to myself and keep writing, sighing my way through another flight delay announcement.

I fetch myself a wine, what else is there to do, and return to finish journalling. I hear a laugh and look up, Coffee guy is laughing at something on his laptop. He looks up to make eye contact, embarrassed to realise he was laughing out loud. He mouths ‘sorry’ through his smile, and I return his smile and mouth ‘it’s ok’ through the noise of the lounge. Slowly though, people are filtering out as flights gradually leave - I guess some must be actually leaving on time. He points at my empty glass of wine while holding his in the other hand, and mouths ‘another?’ I nod and smile, and he comes to fetch my glass. Nothing strikes me as odd here, it’s not like he has to pay for it, however the next time I see him, he’s sitting next to me, laptop in hand, and two glasses of wine. Hmm, ok, I seem to have made a friend.

Justin, he says, holding out his hand for a shake. I’m very unused to hand-shaking so I awkwardly shake his hand and introduce myself, real name of course. ‘Lounge folk, hey?’ He says, with a laugh. I agree, and ask him what he’d been enjoying on his screen. The chat flows, and so does the wine. Another flight delay announcement, his flight to a different destination isn’t until a bit later. He tells me he is always early just to get some work done in ‘peace’, though today that might have been an unfortunate choice. I feel like he is flirting with me, but I never can really tell. I’m feeling some heat in my cheeks, his hazel eyes are alive and sparkling, his hair is light in colour but thick and his cheeky smile feels genuine. It’s nice to relax into some new company who I don’t ‘have’ to entertain. It’s becoming clear he is trying to make an impression, and for once it’s nice to just be in a moment and not stress about expectations or being polished. Someone is entertaining me, for a change.

Justin brings more wine and some cheese and crackers. I’ve long forgotten my journalling and could really line my stomach at this point. As he sits down, he places his hand on my knee. I’m in a shorter length summer dress, and the unexpected skin on skin contact gives me an exciting jolt. I smile and touch his leg in a light 'Thankyou' gesture as I dig into my cheese. 

From here, not as much talking ensues as you’d expect, for what happened next. I wash down the cheese with more wine, aware of his gaze, and in that moment, I knew I had an opportunity I didn’t want to miss. How long has it been, since I did something spontaneous, since I used my sexuality in a way that wasn’t just to make money? Do I still have it in me? I look up at him with the best flirty, wordless smile I can muster, and in a blur of a moment, I realised we were going to fuck. A business party behind us had been chatting and groaning about the delayed flight. Justin strains behind him to ask one of them, ‘hey mate, can you look after our stuff? We just have to go to the counter’ and with a nod from the guy behind, and a wink to me from Justin’s cheeky face, he grabs my hand, so naturally as if we had always been a couple, and we hastily walk/skip our way to the facilities. 

I’m grateful as anything in this moment firstly that the crowd had dissipated so we wouldn’t be seen by a queue, secondly that this was a nice lounge and not any other average bathroom on the planet, and thirdly that I had the foresight to grab my ‘miscellaneous pouch’ (just ask me for a nurofen, nail file, pawpaw, tissue or condom, I’m your girl) from my bag. Leading me into an oversized shower cubicle by the (sweaty now) hand, he shuts the door and turns to me. ‘Are we really doing this?’, he asks, and I look at the floor for a second and look up rather coyly, before giggling a response ‘hell yeah we are!’.

We are all whispers and gasps now, not wanting to be caught, though the element of risk is certainly adding to the atmosphere. He’s kissing me urgently and grabbing my ass over, and then under my dress. I paw at his chest and his shoulders, taking off his suit jacket in a surprisingly elegant motion and unbuttoning his shirt so I can see his fit, heavily tattooed chest and grab at his hair. God I love chest hair. I would love to tell you this was an eleborate fuck fest but we worked with what we had and this situation felt somewhat urgent. His hand finds its way inside my thong and I’m wet, I’ve been wet from the first flirty look he gave me in the lounge. His fingers inside me while I stand, I’m riding them back, pleasuring myself with them, as I wrestle with his belt, Gucci? and the complicated way his pants seem to undo. I feel so alive, grabbing for this stranger’s very, very hard cock. It’s thick to the touch and I’m already imagining it inside me as his fingers work their magic fucking me. I’m torn between waiting to cum now or fucking him like I so want to, but I draw it out for a bit while I stroke him, he’s softly moaning, the excitement of the impulsivity is clearly getting the better of us both. He shifts to pull back his hand, but I hold it there because I’m starting to cum. I scream without a sound, just squeezed air and release, and he has to use his other hand to stop me stroking him, so he doesn’t lose himself right now too. We hear people coming and going from the bathrooms outside, which only adds to our arousal.

‘Fuck that was hot’, he whispers in my ear, before kissing and nibbling at it. He removes his hand and sticks his used fingers in my mouth in a rather dominant manner and I suck them clean, to his pleased surprise. I follow the theme and fall to my knees, enveloping him in my mouth, ‘careful’ he says, ‘I’m so close’… I push him to the back of my throat and just keep him there for a moment. ‘Fuccccckkkkkk’ I hear him say under his breath. Slowly he gets used to me, holds the back of my head, gently, almost gentlemanly, keeping the hair out of my face, and he rocks inside my mouth. He’s whispering all manner of sacrilegious words, I do not remember them all. I lick and suck at his smooth balls, I gently worship his cock, not too urgently, knowing how close he is and wanting to still feel him inside me. ‘Now’, he says, ‘we have to get back soon’. I don’t want it to end, but I grab a Durex from my little pouch and roll it on, with such speed I could see he was a bit impressed. The little chair in the shower looks like a handy prop. I turn around, put his hands on my hips for a cute little bear hug before lifting my dress, bending over and hearing him gasp. ‘Oh my god, that ASS’ he says, maybe a little louder than he should have, and I let out a gasp of my own as he bends down and softly starts to rim me. I fucking love being rimmed and his tongue is bringing me to heaven and I beg him, ‘please, you have to fuck me’. Pants around his ankles and his belt clinking against the floor, he pushes inside my pussy and starts to fuck. 

Fucking when you are this aroused, when you’ve cum, when you’re this wet and cock hungry - nothing feels quite like it. He fucked me so urgently, so desperately, I could’ve cum again (and I have cum again, many times with the confused memory) if the nature of the situation hadn’t meant this was a quickie by every definition. Even with the condom, I felt the heat and pulse of his orgasm. I felt his knees soften and heard the faintest, strangled whimper behind me. The sound and feel of having a stranger cum in me, here, unexpectedly, stayed with me for many orgasms to come. I felt used in the best kind of way, in that moment. I turn around, and kiss him, and we both giggle. We have to separate, he needs to go to the Lads and get rid of the evidence, and I need to fix my face in the Ladies and put myself back together. He checks the hall like a skulking criminal and we both sneak out to our respective bathrooms. 

I arrive back in the lounge first, the business fellas behind us are packing up and didn’t notice me. The flight is finally being called and I have to go. He’s not back yet and I feel like such a slut but I’m not missing my flight! I wait, because hell, I haven’t even got his number! A minute passes and he’s still not here, so I put my pouch and iPad back in my bag and make a beeline for the exit. Thanks hot coffee guy I think, I’m off on tour! 

I’m still in Lala Land when I disembark, I float out of the terminal still damp-knickered, with my luggage and hop straight into a cab. I take a breath and turn my phones back on. I notice a Beem pop up on my Petra-Phone, PING, for $1000. I raise an eyebrow wondering who that’s from. I open the app and read the message attached. ‘Thanks Petra for the ‘coffee’, Justin xox. FUCKKKKKKK. The elation dies away, and my heart finds itself in my throat. I reread the message, heart pounding, ‘Petra’…. HE KNEW. HE KNEW IT WAS ME. 

My phone, PING, another Beem, another $1000, ‘for the next round of coffee in Brisbane, Justin xox’. My head is spinning, I feel like an amazing personal moment has been taken away from me, I feel sick. All the hotness dissipates into anger and confusion. PING, another $1000. What is happening? ‘For the hottest ass in Australia, whichever name she uses, xox’. I never got his number and I have no way of responding. I am sitting in the cab gobsmacked. PING, PING, PING, PING the app announces for each $1000. I look out the window and let the moment settle in my mind. He has crossed a boundary, the biggest one! But this is definitely the most expensive quickie this man will ever have and the most money I’ve made from 10 minutes and an orgasm in my life. PING. Holy shit.

Several months later, I sit in the lounge, the memories now faded and far from my mind. New Tiffany sunglasses sitting on my head, about to leave the Brisbane sun again for adventures further afield. I collect my skinny flat white with minimal drama this time, and find a vacant seat by the window. I open my updated iPad to journal and tap my Apple pen against my forehead in thought, caffeinating and getting ready for a long travel day. PING. My brow furrows. I look up, in the direction of my phone, seeing a notification for $1000, and catching the gaze of an attractive hazel-eyed gentleman just across from me, with just the hint of a tattoo visible on his chest.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web and wishlist: petrafox.com.au

Beem: @petrafoxbne

Sex and Fear (not candy)

 Questions about safe sex I think are a normal and acceptable part of sex work. 

    I think it unsurprising that clients might have questions about the risk level of activities that might take place. For two reasons - firstly, I think safe sex discussions are and should be normalised as part of chat when you are going to get intimate with a person, but layered onto that, people are also approaching the encounter with all of the rhetoric society has thrown at them about sex work on their mind - there is often an assumption that sex workers are ‘unclean’. So questions seem natural to me, however it’s important to learn the difference between reasonable discussion and stigmatising or offending the sex worker in question. This isn’t actually, at the gist of it, a blog about safe sex, I think that topic has been well and truly covered, but there are some tangential issues around the discussion that are worthy of putting a spotlight on.

    Recently I had two uncomfortable encounters in the enquiry stage that made me think it worthy dedicating a blog to it. As a sex worker, I consider it my job, to manage risk - I largely do this for myself, as I care for my health and my business. I am my sole means of income - if I am unwell, the business is not operating. I am also polyamorous and partnered and have other people to consider. So for those simple reasons, I manage risks as best I can. This means that condoms are used in the bedroom and I get regular testing. But for the most part, I don’t overthink it - it is all very automatic for me now and I don’t dedicate a lot of time to thinking about STIs unless it’s in an educational sense. I don’t know if it’s good luck or good management, I presume both, but in my long career I’ve never had a positive result, however I acknowledge that every time I go to bed, a risk is there and so I keep myself responsible in the present moment so I don’t have to fret about that later.

    Now I am pretty experienced, and so I think with years of practising good management and having a pragmatic and scientific understanding of these things, that anxiety isn’t there much for me any more - I know if something is to happen, the sky will not fall, for the vast majority of illnesses, medicine will help and while uncomfortable, life will go on. However, it’s true that for some inexperienced folk, the thought of catching an STI is so terrifying, it can make them not want to be intimate at all. Lest of all with a sex worker, who they calculate as taking risks all the time. I think it’s important for people in this situation to consider, that a person who works a ‘risky’ job gets very good at managing that risk very quickly. I am much more capable of managing a safe sex encounter than a person who might be inexperienced or not as well informed - I have all the incentive in the world to make sure this goes well for both of us. I consider it both of our jobs to keep an encounter safe - you must also be self responsible, and consent to particular activities is for you to give - you can say no, slow down - you are driving the train in a paid encounter. With inexperienced folk I do take my time to explain what I’m doing and why, so you’re more informed in the future and can have safe sex in other encounters more confidently. 

    If I assure you of my ability to risk manage and explain that safe sex will be practised etc, and that does not abate nerves, the picture starts to look different. There is so much information out there about STIs that it can be daunting and intimidating. I think being armed with information can really help some people with their anxiety, where to others it can create overwhelm and fear and it’s possible for this to move into very real medical anxiety. Rational concerns are really healthy, however if fears, even with best efforts to discuss prevention etc, linger and become something that prevents you from trying intimacy at all, there is nothing I can do or say at that point to remedy that, it is now beyond a risk management problem and now it’s psychological. 

    I am not shaming anyone who experiences this level of anxiety, in fact I do really understand it. When I was young I had tokophobia, a word I didn’t know at the time, but it means a deeply held fear of getting or being pregnant. I remember being a young person who would take a pregnancy test after every intimate experience, no matter how safe it was. They weren’t cheap either, I was spending hours of my pay when I was in relationships double and triple checking that there hadn’t been an ‘accident’ because we are so often told ‘condoms aren’t 100%’. I had also had it well and truly drilled into me as a ‘gifted’ student that a teen pregnancy would ‘ruin’ me and my life. I was told repeatedly that a pregnancy would have me kicked out of home. A pregnancy was, as a woman, apparently - the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and though I loved the experience of sex, I was constantly overthinking afterwards, fraught with so much guilt and anxiety that it kept me up at night. 

    We actually had a pretty good sex education program at my school and I’m thankful for that, but there was enough other messaging happening at home and by teachers to put the fear of God into me, It wasn’t ‘hey, here’s how to control your reproductive destiny’ it was ‘don’t you dare get pregnant or your life is over’ - which is a horribly oppressive thing to put on a young person. And STI messaging isn’t that different. STI’s are the boogie man of sex, particularly for cis-men where pregnancy might be less of an immediate concern (I mean it takes two people to tango but that’s a different conversation). The AIDS epidemic was before my time and a lot of people’s time who came to see me, and while it is really important for safe sex messaging to exist and a lot came out of that, that ‘fear of God’ does an awful lot of harm to people’s relationship with intimacy. The messaging, left from an era of very real fear of fatality, is that sex can kill you. It is absolutely no wonder that people have deep seated anxiety associated with sex, many of us have been conditioned to view it as akin to base jumping or dumpster diving rather than a really lovely part of normal life. 

    So, I get it. I don’t want to invalidate anyone’s fears around STI’s and I could spend all day trying to alleviate those fears from a practical safe sex standpoint, but really what’s actually going to help you if you’re experiencing a deep fear which is holding back your sex life, is to firstly recognise that as very real anxiety (and anxiety is not bad or unusual), and understand that that needs to be approached differently, and separately. If you harass a sex worker for continued assurances or promises, you won’t find them because you’re not addressing the root cause, and you will come off as stigmatising the worker and not be met with much positivity. Sex workers are not unclean - we are informed, smart, and savvy, but most of us are not psychologists, nor are we responsible for you.

    There is some homework to be done, for a lot of people, to recondition themselves around intimacy, and there are professionals who do just that and as someone who has received this kind of therapy I just really, really rate it. This recommendation  stands also with people who have anxiety around intimacy for other reasons - that might be trauma, it might be ‘religious guilt’, it could be any number of reasons. And you’re not weird, society has done an absolute number on all of us with confusing, even traumatic messaging around intimacy. My job starts when you’re in the room, I hold your hand and we find a safe space at your pace to explore that and make it a really positive, affirming experience for you, so you can be open to intimacy and all those lovely pleasures and feelings into the future. But the work leading up to that, to get you in the room, needs to come from you. It comes from recognising the anxiety and addressing it, whether that be with a psychologist, from sitting with and recognising your feelings, educating yourself further so you can be better prepared, or even talking to friends or safe people about their experiences too. The first step in reclaiming ownership of your relationship with intimacy starts now - with you.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Beem: @petrafoxbne

Gifts: wishtender.com/petrafox

A Good Egg(x)

 I’m writing this about someone that isn’t around anymore, and that’s a bit sad actually because it’s a lovely story about a person who changed my life in the best way. 

I sort of hope one day they’ll fall across this post and recognise themselves in it and feel good about that. And even if they don’t, I think it good to acknowledge the beautiful people we cross in our lives, I think too often we dwell on exes in a negative light - where perhaps they played a role in something bigger, leading to where you are now. Often in sex work we have muddled stories about our loves, but I hope I can offer a glimmer of hope to those feeling it impossible to find the love they deserve.

I met James on Tinder, isn’t that how the greatest of romances start? I hadn’t been in Australia very long, and I found his thick FNQ accent really shocking and his overwhelming obsession with camping and any sport that has a ball, somewhat counter to my usual tastes. I’ve never met someone more Aussie in my life. He was loud, eager and our first date was an absolute disaster. I made the mistake of mentioning my sports history to him and he was pretty determined that I wasn’t going to get away from our date without him having seen me in my cricket whites. His loud abrasiveness was somewhat at odds to what I usually go for. I couldn’t have left fast enough - and yet, there was... something. You know, that unexplainable something? He was so open, so happy - so LOUD, I figured I just wasn’t used to it. We kiwis tend to be a little more guarded, a little softer I think lol.

And this is why I let my instinct run my life. Sometimes people aren’t what we expect, and while that might initially put us on edge, I think it’s so important to let that little voice inside have a say - it’s usually right. And it was. At some point I found his exaggerated accent and gargantuan laugh endearing and he became a really important relationship in my life. We were polar opposites in nearly everything. Asides from a love of fucking and progressive relationship styles, we had next to nothing in common. And yet for years we couldn’t stay away from each other - and I have learned that stuff in common is more of a bonus than an essential, for me. 

James had a big heart, he had time for everyone in his life and he was loved by everyone in return. Often when we imagine this quintessential ocker Australian bloke, there’s some negative stereotypes with that - and James didn’t live up to a single one of them. I meet very few people in the leftie stereotype (nerdy, introverted etc) who are as open minded and progressive as he was. Hence, dating a sex worker was entirely a non issue for him, even though he hadn’t known any before, and he set the standard for me, for how I expect to be treated regarding my profession.

When you’re a sex worker, dating is more interesting to navigate. I think I have had mostly positive experiences which I know is quite unusual, but there is still a fair bit of emotional labour involved in disclosure, questions and potential awkwardness, or nastiness. In the past I had felt ‘grateful’ to be loved while being a sex worker. I remember in my marriage feeling like I should count myself lucky that someone would have me. And while I was loved, it was often very much ‘in spite’ of my work - hooking was considered a pesky thing they had to deal with, to be with me. At the time I believed that was enough, even though I never got asked how my day was, and had restrictions placed on how I worked to keep them happy. I often get the feeling many in relationships with sex workers feel they are owed something - a gold star, a medal - even a free pass to cheat… But I was grateful still, to be loved. 

James was not the first person I dated after my marriage but the first that really held my interest. I remember almost a feeling of suspicion, about just how easy it was to disclose my work and discuss it with him. He didn’t treat me like I had two heads, it wasn’t the most interesting thing about me to him, but he was also happy to hear what I had to say about it. I waited for the catch, it didn’t come, but something else happened. 

Every day, James asked how my day was. It’s a small but huge thing for me, as in the past, people didn’t want to know. If I responded about my day and said I was busy with clients - he would congratulate me?! James thought that my succeeding in sex work was a wonderful thing. He became my cheerleader. Every photoshoot I did, every blog I wrote, every big booking I did - I gladly shared with him and he would praise and cheer me on. I would excitedly tell him about a new fetish I catered for or when I landed interesting clients and couples, and he knew I was queer and was so happy for me when I embraced it in my work and advertised specifically to women. If you’re a person that didn’t grow up with praise and have never experienced it, it was kind of mind blowing?!  Having someone not just accept my work and my identity but embrace it with this positive energy - I had never felt ‘lighter’ or more supported. I simply didn’t know this could be possible. This is a feeling I wish I could bottle and share. 

His positive influence on my life really altered my world view. I thought to myself - women in other professions, doing their ‘girl boss’ thing, receive a lot of praise and support in their lives from their partners. Why shouldn’t I? Being shown that it was possible to receive these lovely messages, that other people take for granted, made me realise that there was no reason that I should have to compromise on how I’m treated, simply because of my profession. My profession is not everything I am, but had so greatly hamstrung my expectations in relationships. For years James was effortlessly in my corner, whether I had a good day, bad day and everything in between. No-one (other than my Dad, but he deserves his own book) in my past has done more for my confidence and self esteem than he did. Sometimes when you’re an online person with plenty of followers and showing your ass - there’s hate and trolling. I’ve copped a bit online in the past and I sometimes think, that if someone hadn’t shown me my value with such determination for such a long time, being alone in this country - I may have believed it. And I also know that perhaps I would have accepted poor behaviour in other relationships, if I hadn’t been shown differently. Knowing what I want and what to advocate for is integral to navigating a love life alongside my job - I don’t have the time to waste on anything less. Being polyamorous, this bolstered worldview has been essential for me to form the connections I want in my life and find love that suits and supports me. In alternative lifestyles sometimes people lack the history, knowledge and confidence to form the connections they dream of, and I can look back on my history and pinpoint exactly where I found the boost I needed to make it work and fall in love again with a sense of security.

I hope everyone in their life, has a James. James was not the love of my life, but he was an important person on the path to finding it - he was good for me and helped steer me along this path with confidence and self assertion, build my business in the direction I felt I deserved and most importantly, helped rebuild belief in myself after a life tinged with trauma and complicated romance. I do believe not every good love has to be forever, life pushes and pulls us around and we have to make the most of the time we have. When I look at where I stand now in my life, I can’t help but feel gratitude for good men who set that standard, because too often I have been exposed to the bad and could easily lack all faith - but the good ones? They can be life changing. In a lifestyle full of John’s, I truly believe we each deserve our James. 

(No offense if your actual name is John).

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web and wishlist: petrafox.com.au

Beem: @petrafoxbne

The Adventures of Pooh

Content warning - POOP

People have been fascinated with butts since the dawn of time. We laugh about them - the way they look, how they move, the sounds and smells they make. Also though, people are really, really, sexually attracted to them. As someone who is significantly bootylicious - I can attest to that. People wanna hold it, touch it, lick it, smack it, bury themselves in it. People also want attention paid to their own butt, because it can feel so uniquely good. 

It's a really sensitive area, the clitoral map extends to the anus, and for people with a prostate - it can give next level, unreal pleasure. Psychologically/kinkologically (if that's not a word, it is now) it can also give people satisfaction in terms of feeling submissive. I have been fucking butts since I learned you could fuck a butt, and I enjoy and am turned on by dispensing a thorough butt-fucking. However in the last 4 or 5 years, I haven’t been doing it quite so much. I mean part of that is that I live in a state where I can’t openly advertise services, so people don’t know it’s on offer so it falls by the wayside. But also, at some point I think I’ve lost patience for people who are completely unprepared for the activity, and the occasional aftermath. I think alot of that boils down to a lack of butt education. 

I remember Jenna Love (of Somebody You Love podcast fame) once commenting ‘If you knock on Pooh’s door, don’t be surprised if Pooh is home’, which is an amusing quip, but the reality is - that door IS an exit and sometimes Pooh makes QUITE the appearance. He’s not so cute and cuddly in person, and that's no jar of honey he's offering, I can tell you that much.

I am going to attach a link/infographic at the end of this blog for people who want to learn how to prepare, as someone has already created this great resource better than I could. With time, I have developed a sort of philosophy, that if you want someone to get intimate with your body, it pays firstly to learn to be intimate with it yourself. The comfier you get with your butt, the comfier other people are going to be playing with it. Not every person requires clients to douche, and while I find it unenforceable, it definitely adds to the overall pleasantness of the experience when someone presents their ass to me in pristine condition. I find the best way for me to really paint this picture is with a story. 

___

His face is pink and dripping with sweat, his back arches, presenting his tight tushy high as I pound into him with controlled enthusiasm from behind. We’re on the floor and I’m grabbing his hair, holding his head to meet my gaze in the mirror in front of us. He’s been begging for this treatment since our last session, and finally his fantasy is coming true. He’s in ecstasy as his hole is stretched by my small but realistically soft, fleshy dildo. I love watching it disappear inside his lubed ass, and I’m wet myself, as his high pitched yelps and groans sate a drive deep inside me. I’ve attached a suction dildo to the mirror and make him lick and suck it, never letting go of eye contact with me. When he gets too lost in the sensation and loses concentration, I spank his cheeks and scald him, to go back to sucking that dick like the little slut that he is. I’m having a grand time being in control, and his fantasy is going exactly as he imagined. We prepared and wrapped up his cock, which is just as well because as I fuck his cute little hole, he can’t help himself, he gives himself a couple of little tugs and cums - loudly, muffled of course with his mouth stuffed with fake cock. He leans back into a little spoon position, both knelt on the floor, sweating, speechless, spent. His dick is still pulsing, we watch it for a moment before we make a move to unglue ourselves and tidy up. The time, with me inside him, has begun to engrave itself in his memories - an unforgettable first time, being my anal slut. Until now, an unspoilt, perfect horny moment to savour. 

It is in this moment as I feel my strap start to slide out, we both notice a smell. I look down and muffle a gasp, I don’t want to embarrass him, but he has smelt it too. He moves forward a little too quickly, unmounting ‘my' dick, and it becomes apparent that there has been... an accident. The stench is unavoidable, I can't hide this from him. Shit has made it down my inner thighs, we had put down a towel thankfully but some has made it to the carpet, the lower parts of our bodies are a horrific scene - much like the expression on my clients face. He is mortified. ‘Oh my god oh my god oh my god’, and I watch the joy from our session disappear from his face and his memories - to be replaced with this. Nothing I can say can undo the shame he is feeling, and god knows I can’t disguise the SMELL. 

He runs bow-legged to the shower, close to tears. I am still sat on the floor, working out how to move from my position without smearing the existing mess further. I’m running through the logistics in my head because I do have another booking this afternoon and I have no idea how I’m going to clear the mess, smell and mental image of the room before me.

I do my best while my client is in the shower. I knock to check on him, he takes a while, but he needs that moment alone. I go to my own bathroom and throw everything and myself into my shower-over-bath and try to wash off the filth and alarm  - I can’t make this worse for my client by having it apparent how affected I am, mostly by the smell. I don’t consider myself a squeamish person at all and I’m an adult who understands accidents can happen, but I also can’t help that I have the olfactory system of a bloodhound which is currently not feeling like much of an evolutionary advantage. I feel a little unwell, actually.

I come back to the room which is still heady with stench, and my client is clean but clearly upset. I desperately want to erase this for him and I hold him, but he is stiff and won’t look at me. He apologises profusely and I reassure him that we all have a digestive system and sometimes shit literally happens (he doesn’t laugh), but I can see that the joy he experienced moments ago has gone, and this is forming as a traumatic experience in his mind. Shame runs deep and no amount of rationalising a natural body function is helping with his embarrassment. He wants to disappear through the floor, you know, if there was less poop there. 

———

Obviously there is a sort of innate visceral response to this scene for most of us, we all know what poop looks and smells like, and aside from scat kinksters, most would agree it’s not a particularly delicious ingredient in the bedroom. The point of this obviously isn’t to create shame, it’s more to accept that it can be a byproduct of spontaneous, unprepared anal, and I think it best if you want the experience of a good butt fucking to be a pleasant memory and not tinged or replaced with other complex feelings about your bodily functions, to prepare. And I would greatly appreciate that also, because while I care about my clients and want them to feel as safe with me as possible - I do not enjoy activities that involve poop, and I also don’t love doing poopy laundry (or setting it on fire) - I have thus far avoided as much of that as possible by not reproducing, and I have no intention of making plans to do it repeatedly for my grown clients either. If we have met then you know I'm a diligently clean and house proud person, so it is ideal if my space is respected as much as possible by those who spend time in it.

I understand, that this can be a little complicated. I have clients, friends and family with health conditions that mean digestive stuff can be a bit unpredictable, and I also know that private bathroom time when you co-habitate or have children can be it’s own logistical struggle. All we can really do, is our best, and it isn’t just for my benefit, but also so that the hot first half of that story is the memory that forms for you from our time together, and not a more complex set of feelings like the second half, when shit goes south.

How to clean your ass: a resource

https://howtocleanyourass.wordpress.com/

Aforementioned podcast :

https://www.somebodyyoulove.net/

(I write from experience but would never embarrass a client by writing about an individual session).

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne

Crushed

     I’m a romantic at heart, I think crushes are wonderful things. 

I think that crushes are in themselves lovely moments of appreciation of a person – that’s all though, moments. And I think it important to be able to live in those moments, breathe them in deeply, get the high from them, and breathe them out again. Because a crush simply is just that – a moment. It’s a projection of shallow affection on a person who may or may not accurately reflect the movie reel happening behind your eyes as you gaze at them. 

We’re human, and particularly in this profession we can fall victim to a false sense of attachment that happens when we cum and we cuddle together and all the oxytocin is a deafening harmonic roar trying to torture and trick us into bonding with our mate. Too often it’s perceived of us as sex workers that we are cold and a little dead inside because we separate attachment from intimacy in favour of money. I like to make self-deprecating jokes about being dead inside, but sadly while that might make my life easier, it simply isn’t the case and I do from time to time come down with a crush. And it’s a wonderful thing I get to enjoy in relative safety, a perk of the job, unless I let the oxytocin chorale ruin my rational thought and completely and utterly fuck things up.

 

I may be, as someone once called me, a ‘Boundary Queen’, but it’s not because I feel a need to keep clients at arm’s length, I don’t think of them as lesser or bad or undesirable. Sometimes in fact they’re very desirable, but I’m familiar with the varying bad consequences when it all goes wrong. I keep my eyes open, it’s through my own experience and the many peers who I care for and their experiences, that I set rules for clients, and rules for myself. But did I mention I’m a romantic? I’m not an impenetrable fortress, and along came someone gorgeous, worldly and wonderful  who got under my skin and I gave myself advice that I sometimes give friends - ‘is love worth a chance?’. Sigh. 

 

When someone falls for you first as Petra, or whoever, instead of building something with a person from scratch, you have to start with a dismantling. It’s a reintroduction, you’ve fucked, you’ve held hands, twizelled hair, enjoyed a post coital glow and a contortion of bodies. You've shared a lot without really sharing much at all. You don’t even know their name. You have to reintroduce yourself not as the exotic name that you chose to embody your highest self, you have to say ‘Hi, Kia Ora, my name is actually something my parents compromised on but neither of them actually wanted and I’m not sure it embodies anything other than disagreement and ‘fuck, really thought we were having a boy’’. There is nothing glamourous here. Trying to strip back layers of branding, performative happiness and lack of trauma to someone who has you on a pedestal is difficult and quite awkward. You hold a lot of space for a person, and now suddenly you've got to share yours. 

 

And it goes both ways. Client and provider bring their best selves into a room, each wanting to make an impression, for different reasons. I remember once having a beautiful single-acting client who I enjoyed myself with a crush on, who I later saw at the market with his wife and children – oops. What happens in the room is very present-time – the world outside doesn’t exist and we can be whoever we want to be, and that’s one of the great things about it. But if we cross lines into the personal, you then have to wade through and find the threads of what’s real and what’s not and knit together a new version of events. And once we let someone in, it can be very hard to get them out gracefully when it turns out we weren’t such a great match after all. It’s always been difficult for me to open up to people and if it isn’t right, then someone being under my skin feels less like a warm fuzzy feeling and more like dermatitis. You try to hold on to the explosive feelings from the start but begin to realise it was a spectacular creation of a moment in time, and not built on anything tangible. A crush. A product of a time, place and my professional ability to create chemistry with people.

 

Unbuilding the skyscraper of a pedestal I was on was brutal for me, but also for them. I felt like I could always see the silhouette of a hulking great podium reflecting back every time they doe-eyed me. A lot of that admittedly was my issue, having a sort of imposter syndrome for my own persona, I felt I couldn't live up to that more polished version of myself - 'Petra'. Trying to tear it down led to an inelegant implosion which took them down with it. The truth of it is, as a provider I had a responsibility to set professional boundaries, particularly with clients who are mentally and emotionally vulnerable, and I really hurt someone when I crossed that line. I also hurt myself. A wonderful, kind, generous client and enjoyable crush became a destabilising force for me and ultimately any good I had done for them in my professional capacity was completely unwound by the damage inflicted by our brief chaotic relationship. 

 

I have beaten myself up about many mistakes in my life and thank goodness for my therapist, but I have arrived at the conclusion that while I have regrets around how I handled this situation, I am still human and I don’t think I'm wrong to want to believe that love can be found anywhere. I’m sure it can. But it stands as a lesson to me about why boundaries exist in this work and that it’s not such a bad thing to be a ‘Boundary Queen’. I think I do have a duty of care to clients to protect both of us in this vulnerable position we find ourselves in. I'm not inexperienced, I do in fact know better, now even more.

Crushes are wonderful and I am a warm-fleshed human who may indulge myself in delightful crushes from time to time, but I try to remember and to remind you also, that we are viewing eachother through a present-time lens. Where I am Petra, and you are John/Jane, our feelings are moment-specific, intangible, safer, but magical, nonetheless. 

 

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne

Animal Kingdom

 A few or more years ago, tired of relentless enquiries who obviously hadn’t read my ad or put any care into their enquiry, I added an extra question to my contact template on directories: “What’s your favourite animal?”...

There wasn’t any real depth to this choice, I just wanted a way to separate the serious enquiries in my inbox from the rest of the fluff. Besides, everyone likes animals right? Worth a shot.

Years later, this question is still there, as it turns out it has been an exceptionally useful tool. As I predicted, it did help me weed out unthoughtful enquiries and timewasters. I don’t think I can understate just how prevalent an issue timewasters are in this industry – from silly through to nasty, there’s an entire population of people out there passing the time by annoying escorts. But, I think it’s been much more than just that.

 

Asking a wholesome question in a context that many would assume to be quite sexual, elicits a number of reactions. Just yesterday it even prompted an abusive response – that’s fine, that means I weeded out a nasty person in the process. But mostly, it gives me just a little insight into a person, and likely them a little about me. I’ll be honest, 8 out of 10 clients simply say ‘cat’ or ‘dog’, which is pretty fine because domesticated animals are adorable, and obviously I have a cat I’m rather crazy about too. That doesn’t give me too much insight really, but these clients are often still excited to show me pictures of their animals when they show up – so we’re instantly bonding which can only be positive.

But there’s also the weird little nerds out there just like me who come up with something pretty cool or random – (some I’ve even had to Google!) and I think it says a lot about a person who takes that moment to really mull over the question and respond with intention. I think while domesticated animals give you a sense of home, wild animals give us a sense of the world, so there’s a wonderful curiosity in people who give thought to un-bonded animals. That little question tells me so much about how a session will go, just that extra minute of thought by that person about a Mantis Shrimp or Platypus shows 100 times more commitment than the ‘you available babe?’’s filling up my inbox. 

 

Sessions are predominantly about the client and their needs, but finding common ground with a person makes it quite magical. A large portion of clientele, not just for me but in general, are male and perhaps Engineers or IT – people with very different minds to me. Therefore, finding common ground early on is always helpful, and quite fun. I am no Engineer, and I have zero knowledge of video games and the like, but if I can find a nerd who wants to talk animals – we have lift off! Something about being in the company of someone passionate about animals, sort of makes me feel safe. It just seems to be an attribute of good people – that ability to care selflessly for other creatures. I know for sure I’d never be comfortable opening my home (or my legs!) up to anyone who responded that they hate animals – that kind of psychopathy isn’t going to vibe with me, honestly.

 

I understand I sound a little crazy, it’s bizarre to be a sex worker talking about, now writing about animals. You’d be mistaken to think I’m vegan, I’m not – I’ve never found the balance of my innate hedonism and ethical consumption (working on it). But I think it important nonetheless to have things that make us smile. A memorable quote from one of my favourite movies ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’ of Federico Fellini - “never lose your childish enthusiasm, and things will come your way” says everything – animals always make me feel joyous, even when things are difficult. Just recently I had several difficult months in my own life, and so made a concerted effort to see Quokkas on Rottnest Island when I was in Perth, and it really reconnected me to that childish, earth-connected part of myself that sometimes I lose sight of in my busy, city life. 

 

And we too are animals. We are not removed from the Animal Kingdom, we are a part of it. I’m sad to say, we are the parasites in this Kingdom though, as we lose hundreds of unique species every year due to climate change, starvation and habitat decline. These are animals who have evolved over millions of years as part of a delicate, symbiotic ecosystem that we are fundamentally fucking up - just, gone. This is obviously part of a different and larger conversation that I won’t get into, but it cannot be so bad to spend a moment feeling compassion or joy about part of the world that we so often in an urban environment ignore, forget and neglect. I really hope to see many of my favourite species on my travels in this lifetime, because you never know just how long we have them for. Hopefully sloths in 2024! (fingers crossed). 

 

What’s this got to do with sex, I’m certain some are wondering. And honestly, probably not much. But we are socially sexual animals much like dolphins, bonobos and even fairy wrens. Connecting over anything, however obscure is a fulfilment on its own – it’s a flirtation, it’s a bit of dopamine and the start of how we bond. With time and age, I’ve come to appreciate the parts around sex that make it wonderful – the getting to know people, the tension, the touch and just the recognition of how unique each of us truly are. Our central nervous systems respond to this time spent getting to relax in someone's presence and relate to them, it makes the latter parts so much more explosive. 

This one little change that I put in place to make my life easier has in fact brought me closer to my ideal demographic of client and sparked hundreds of obscure, wonderful conversations. I think it’s kept us urban creatures just a little more thoughtful of our wild cousins, even if just for a minute before we undress to our own most primal, animal state.  

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne

Lover's Lens

 ‘I’m so sorry, my boobs aren’t what they used to be’, she says to me, eyes hidden behind falling hair, slowly removing her bra and promptly cuddling her boobs to her chest, shy to reveal them to me - the person she’s entrusted her nudity to.

‘They’re not like yours, yours are all small and perky. I wish my boobs were like yours’ - she’s still clutching her boobs and staring intently at mine, doing a mental comparison, then flitting her eyes to the floor and back at me, eye contact has disappeared along with her confidence.

This is at times the hardest part of this work, it’s that heartbreak when someone shows me their biggest vulnerability - their lack of confidence in the skin they’re in. It’s a hard thing, believe me I’m familiar with it, to reveal your most private physical parts of yourself to someone. To be witnessed undressing, unfiltered, under light - it can make us examine ourselves critically, it can make us want to hide. It can make us compare, and be truly unkind to ourselves. And I think part of that is sometimes that we are witnessing ourselves through a different lens than someone who wants to be intimate with you. 

We drag our bodies around with us all day. Sometimes they feel heavy, often tired, sore or annoying. We struggle and endure with our bodies, we punish it sometimes, and sometimes it punishes us back. Our relationship with our bodies is entirely about function, and sometimes it’s a more symbiotic relationship than others - sometimes it’s all out war. This is our lens to how we see our bodies. But as a lover, this isn’t how we view a body or a person. I'm professionally witnessing all types of bodies, and experiencing people with various relationships with their own physicality, so I’m seeing you differently to how you are.

I can’t enforce positive self-speak with the people I bed, that’s up to them and the work they’re willing to put into that relationship. It does break my heart to witness someone beating themselves up, usually over a perceived ‘flaw’ that I either can’t see or actually really like. What I can do is do my best to make people comfortable in that moment, and tell them what I see.

To me, your body is perfect - because it belongs to you. You’re a person who I like (I assume, else you’d likely not be here), who is kind, who is opening up to me and giving me the privilege of sharing space with you. You’re stripped down, a little vulnerable, and you’re open to a good time. Society has done a number on people, particularly women but also men, by telling us what you should look like, enforcing harmful gender roles, body image requirements, perceived norms, and Instagram really hasn’t helped. Our bodies change, and sometimes we mourn what they used to be rather than adjusting our perspective to enjoy how it is now. We often wish we’d fully appreciated the ‘past body’ when we had it, yet we haven’t even begun appreciating it now. When will you start? The things you may have come to think as desirable in a body often actually lay outside the norm, and setting yourself against those standards is harmful, and not based on any kind of reality. 

Truth is, I love gravity. So your boobs don’t sit up announced like a territorial chihuahua anymore? Great, I am *very* much into boobs that squish, that move, that I can get lost in. You have a tummy that you want to hide? Honestly, I love a tummy - I try not to make people self conscious, but have you felt a belly? It feels delightful! A guy with a belly is nice to ride, and I love to rub them, run my fingers over them, bump my head against them during oral - bellies are sensorily lovely. A belly on a woman is soft, just like her skin and makes her look like an oil painting. Self conscious about your genitals? I’ve never met a clean dick or pussy that wasn’t a good time. Yet, people talk negatively to me about their vulvas - their absolutely normal and delightful pussies, and dick wielders will moan also about their size or shape. Trust me, they’re all good.

I am not a perfect person. Through years of getting my clothes off professionally, I’ve done the work to keep myself in a fairly body-neutral frame of mind, most of the time, and actively give thanks for the things my body does for me. I largely believe that the body is only a portion of what is attractive about a person but it doesn't stop us putting a mammoth amount of emphasis on it. I myself am not immune to having negative thoughts about parts of my body, that other people no doubt adore. I used to be self conscious about my big booty, but I have grown to appreciate that other people enjoy that about me. The little boobs you love, well I used to shove my Mum’s shoulder pads down my bra when I went to school, so that hasn’t always been a friendly relationship. I think it’s important to keep a lens on yourself of that of a lover - how would you see yourself? How have your lovers looked at you when you take your clothes off? I’ve never done a couple’s booking where people didn’t look at each other like they’re a snack - because, well you are. That’s a lover’s lens, and it’s much kinder to you than you are to yourself. If you’re often self deprecating like me, you could shrug it off as bias, but it isn’t that, I believe when people view you intimately, it’s the most honest way a person can see you. We ourselves carry bias by having been conditioned to be so self critical. 

I’m looking at you, your boobs, your body, your self, with a lover’s lens - I’m seeing your beautiful squishy body, the cheeky smile, your lovely belly, chewable earlobes and soft hair. I’m into your body hair, I’m into the gold tooth you hide with your hand, your little feet and features you don’t even know you have. I'm into the things your body does with mine. You have many things to adore about you, and they may be things you view differently, but to me are perfect. Your body is worthy of kindness, and if you can’t give it to yourself, then I’m going to do my best to do that for you, because I promise you’re so much hotter than you think.

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne

Imposter Sydnrome

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Whore on Tour

The plane lands, wonderful, I always insist on the window seat and I'm too polite to ask people next to me to move so I can pee. I really need to pee.

I’ve learned my lesson now, half the time we never get to disembark from the rear so I'm strategically right behind business class so I can swiftly get the hell off this germ-riddled hell-tube with the bland muffins and offensive cups of tea. They said we can turn our phones on now, everyone is in a rush to do so, they wanna tell their loved ones they arrived safe, send some little emojis and start on with their journey. My own phone is on, but everyone knows I'm fine, I always am, this isn’t anything unusual anymore - me being off on one of my adventures. But my work phone I leave it for a bit. Let me get off this damn thing and into a bathroom stall first, somewhat urgently.

My feet are on solid ground, I’ve relieved myself and after a painful battle trying to get my luggage (always pack heavy, they’ll unload it first) and drag my two suitcases to a taxi (I’m growing too tired of unreliable Ubers), and now I’m in the backseat with a cabbie who thinks masks make excellent neck-beards, and I turn on my work phone. Welcome on tour.

Ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping. 

Ugh, deep breath.

• Hey Petra. It’s Jake, just checking we are still ok for Wednesday?
• Hey bb
• You available baby?
• Hi, sorry for the late notice but I just saw you’re touring here. My name is Michael, 38, and I’m after 2hours at any time you have left available. Thanks
• Hi it’s Lachlan - about that booking we’ve got, would it be ok if we don’t use a condom? 
• Hey saw you’re in town, wanna play later?
• Hey Petra it’s John, just checking you landed safe
• Hi Petra,  I have to cancel our 4pm, can you transfer the deposit? When are you here next?
• Hey nice pics!
• Hey u trade for ice?
• Nice Tatts, can I see more pics?
• Got an onlyfans? 
• Hey Petra, I’m all set for tonight at 7pm, just checking if you’d enjoy a bottle of Pinot? Peter
• Hi Petra, I wanted to book you but I have covid so I can't (cool sorry bro?)
• Hey it’s Bobby, are you available in Brisbane tonight? (No Bobby, Im away)

My ads have all clicked over to the city I’m now in - I'm fresh meat for the local timewasters.

I’m prioritising now. I’ll address my short notice cancellation first, that’s annoying, replacing that at this late hour will be next to impossible.  No transfer for you Sir.

Yes Peter, a glass of Pinot would go down swimmingly, I’ll send the address details once I’m checked in. He seems nice, good.

Lachlan, I am no longer comfortable seeing you, you scummy brat. Hmmm, debate in my head about returning deposit or not. Annoying.

Ok Michael, you seem nice, let me offer you this 4pm that’s probably too soon, or maybe this time I have left on Wednesday. Fingers crossed.

Jake, yes I’m here, relax and I’ll contact you Wednesday as arranged

I scroll through the others and look at my schedule that’s looking pleasantly plump, I’m going to need every bit of emotional bandwidth to make it through this trip, I ignore the rest. Needy regulars ought not to be texting me without an enquiry, John.

Oh my personal phone. Better send some cute gifs so everyone knows I’m safely here.  A little tweet too. I’m a bit neglectful when I’m away, I sometimes wish there were two of me to keep all these balls up in the air (but that would be illegal wouldn't it, QLD *side eye*).

I check in, hurriedly unpack and shower and put my best face on. I pick up a short last minute booking for 4pm, so I sort of replaced the cancellation but took a little hit to the pocket. I didn’t have time to assess that properly but he paid the deposit. I take a few deep breaths in through the nose, slow exhale, let my nervous system settle in. Push aside intrusive thoughts of wishing I'd had time to buy snacks and soda water. 

This is my terrain, I plant a smile on my face like I’m not exhausted from the chaos of the airports and a full day in masks and sensory plane hell, and open the door.

Hey! How are you? The slow dance before fucking begins. 

Days on tour flow into each other. It’s a battle to stay present and have the same conversations about Covid and how much the climate here is different to Brisbane, but I ask people questions and their differences keep me there in the room with them. I have a lot of new clients this time which means a lot of teaching people what I like, which can be draining, but I learn new likes and kinks from them and I quite enjoy that. I do one of the best golden showers of my life - weird job satisfaction moment. I met a man from a country I had to Google while he was in the shower so I didn’t seem ignorant, and I guess that’s another little work perk - everyone's story is unique. Hell, even the middle aged white guys all have their own oddities, habits and signature cum faces. I leave every morning to make sure I get sunlight and a delicious meal, but I spend too much time inside and spend the quiet hour or so before bed scrolling AirBnB looking at huge houses in the bush and daydreaming of wide open spaces and sunlit picnics. Soon.

At the end of the tour, I’m very ready for home. The rush wears off after those few days, I feel the after affects of nightly wines, rich food, poor sleep and orgasms so frequent I fear the next one will split me right up the middle, leaving me a chasm of dust. 

I’m lucky this tour, only a couple of cancellations. I couldn’t replace a big one which annoyed me, but I still made a healthy packet and I got a lot of lovely thank you texts from happy clients, so I’m a satisfied sort of exhausted. I did a good job and I swell a little with pride. I can now afford a little time to catch my breath when I’m home and if I get sick, I'll at least now have sick pay. 

The trip home is always less stressful with no schedule to work to, I can just let the madness of airports push and pull me like the tide - I’m not desperately trying to swim against it. Even the mask comforts me a little, no-one will talk to me, for a moment there’s no obligation of entertaining or engaging anyone, I’m all alone in here, sans makeup and fucks to give.

My lover picks me up from the airport, they’re full of questions about how the trip was, how was my flight, was everyone nice? I’m all talked out. I feel guilt that my brain is scrambled eggs from coaxing shy people from their shells for hours every day, and all I can offer is a gentle hand hold between gear shifts and a glassy-eyed ‘can we have lots of veges and no alcohol for dinner?’ And we drive in an understanding intimate silence, which frankly, is bliss. I gaze out the window at the sunny green of Brisbane and my heart is beaming with the welcoming hug of home, yet I’m already thinking, where to next?

PETRA FOX

Twitter: @foxandthefeline

Instagram: @foxandthefeline

Web: petrafox.com.au

Tips/Beem: @petrafoxbne