The Ones for Whom I Seek
On Lesbianism and My Desire for Female Companionship
Introduction
After I finished writing The Role of a Whore: A Warning Against Sexual Malpractice, I stepped back from that article with a strong sense of accomplishment, which I believe fundamentally arose from two points. Firstly, by virtue of that article, I had successfully rendered mobile and self-contained my commentary about an entire ecosystem of female pathology that had been irking me for quite some time. Secondly, and perhaps most significantly, that article systematically captured the framework of my relationship with men in the context of plying my trade in the world of legalized prostitution. Granted, I had already made mention of my embodied sexual passion for men in previous writings, but the allegory of the Green Ajah from Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time series contextualized my sexual thirst for men generally in a way that deeply encapsulated my intrinsic sense of purpose within this field of prostitution and sex work more broadly. However, this theoretical framework operates as a component of a much larger conceptual ecosystem of sexual desire for which my body is a conduit, which is why I want to use this article to pick up where The Role of a Whore functionally left off.
On Female Intimacy and Sapphic Desire
Leading up to the time when I began writing this article, I was scrolling through Substack as an alternative to the endless torrent of brain-rot on the other social media platforms, and stumbled upon a Note by diana that read as follows:
I cannot wait to have a girl friend group of 4 to 5 girls so that we can have dinner parties, be so close to each other, watch each other grow, live in a cottage core home, have a garden for ourselves while we romanticize life, make preserves, open a café and flower shop, and bake forever.
The content of this Note is extremely telling in a number of different ways, but there exist two layers in particular that one must traverse in order to fully understand the significance of the expressed sentiments contained hereinabove. The first layer is simply the face-value of the Note itself—viz. contemporary women are starving for feminine connection with one another. The intimacy that women can give to one another is qualitatively unique, and the sapphic implications of this should not be difficult to understand. I am by no means the first individual to suggest that female sexuality is much more fluid compared to its male counterpart, and if that is indeed the case, one has only to scratch at the surface of the cottage fantasy that diana elucidated above to behold the seeds of female-to-female sexual arousal contained within. The second layer extends the vision of the gemütlich cottage by considering the conditions that such an ecosystem would require to even exist in the first place. To be sure, the list of necessary conditions for such a thing are extensive; however, the one most relevant to this missive is the requirement for masculine frame, allegorically captured in the Green Ajah’s relationship with their Warders, which I already expounded upon in my previous writings. Specifically, any environment that can facilitate the intimate feminine communion that diana describes requires the custodianship of a competent man (or more realistically—men in the plural) who desires that such a cottage—whether literal or metaphorical—exists and endures. However, this understanding is one that came extremely late to me, because from the beginning, my primary arousal pattern always occurred with women, which is precisely what I wish to discuss in this article, but not without first acknowledging the somewhat awkward fact that female-to-female intimacy, whether sexual or otherwise, requires masculine vested interest in order to be stable against antagonistic external pressures or even internal collapse.
This is a detail that I believe most women miss because the image of the sororal cottage and its allure is exceedingly powerful, particularly when sapphic sexual arousal becomes an explicit component of the vision. The female form is nothing short of exquisite, its voluptuous incarnation serving as something that I not only wanted for myself, but also wanted to sexually devour, much in the same way that a man would wish to have his way with a woman. In a certain sense, this sits at the core of my affinity for men and the sexual burdens that they so often carry. My sexual desire for women operates on a fundamentally separate mechanic from my sexual desire for men. The former is almost transcendent—a spiritual yearning that whispers to me that only through a woman and her body, I can access something fundamentally important about my own being, and thereby successfully embody it within my own life. In previous writings, I mention how men who possess enormous ambitions also contain within themselves equally commensurate libidos. The sexual act is a reflection of their desire to impress an immortal image of themselves upon the fabric of reality, and consequently, their unyielding erections are fueled by the same persistent fervor. This is the framework in which my sexual desire specifically for women operates. Bringing another woman to orgasm is, for all intents and purposes, an endorsement of life itself, and when I am the one to accomplish that, it is as if the Great Chain of Being itself endorses my own striving for eternity, for it is the sensuous female form that brings forth life into the world.
Divine Initiation: Commencing my Homosexual Encounters
Although I have had multiple sexual encounters with other women by now, the pinnacle of my sapphic experiences remains one that predates my entry into prostitution. For the purposes of this article, I will use the name “Charlotte” to refer to the woman in question. I first met Charlotte, of all places, in the context of the Protestant church. I was in high school at the time, and she was somewhat older than me. We were by no means close during this period, but we each at the very least knew of one another’s existence. Her stature was somewhat taller than mine. Charlotte possessed a striking physical appearance that arose from the tripartite juxtaposition of her fair complexion, short black hair, and blue eyes that exuded the coolness of an untouched mountain lake. The power of seduction is one that she embodied naturally and wielded liberally, which ultimately cultivated a pattern of reckless behavior on her part as the years wore on, but also fueled the magnetism that drew me physically to her. The one who facilitated us becoming closer many years later was actually the man she was dating during my final year at university, when I myself had just reentered the civilian sexual marketplace—a man who, or the purposes of this article, I will refer to as “Steven.”
Unlike Charlotte, Steven and I had been close friends for multiple years by the time I started participating in civilian hook-up culture. He was an extremely masculine man whose interests lied in guns, combat strategy, world history, and loose women. With few exceptions, the women with whom he had sexual intercourse were the ones who had developed entrenched social reputations for being sluts, the kind of women who broadcast clear signals that they were consistently aroused and desired rough and even deviant sexual activity, and Charlotte was no exception to this framework.
Due to the proximal social connection through Steven, Charlotte was within my orbit when I started using Tinder to match with other women. Despite my inherent sexual proclivities, acting upon my desires to have sexual intercourse with other women was, at this point in time, still new territory for me, and thus a certain degree of apprehension was simply unavoidable. When I shared these sentiments with Charlotte, she mentioned that she had previously had sex with women before. This passing comment triggered an avalanche of inquiry on my part with regards to the procedural details of female-on-female socio-sexual interactions and their default expectations. By way of example, I distinctly remember at one point asking Charlotte how sex works with another woman, because my intuition at the time told me that the lesbian sexual activity that occurs in pornography was an insufficient representation of what I could expect. How do two women decide who goes on top, when to switch places, how to move, what constitutes foreplay versus the primary sex act? In keeping with Steven’s selection bias in romantic partners, Charlotte became visibly aroused by my direct questions, which culminated in her expressing her desire to show me the answers to my questions rather than simply tell me. However, because she was in a formalized committed dating relationship with Steven, she had an obligation to first procure his explicit consent before we engaged in any sexual activity. To the surprise of exactly nobody, Steven gave his assent when she eventually broached the subject with him.
On one hot summer night, my friends and I gathered around a fire at Charlotte’s house, drinking beer and chatting away the time. At most, there were no more than ten individuals attending the social gathering. At least two of them were openly homosexual men, and the only women in attendance were me, a devout Protestant fundamentalist, and of course Charlotte. The happenstance of the seating arrangements were such that I was sitting directly across from Charlotte, but next to Steven who was busy chatting with the others. At a certain point in the evening’s festivities, Charlotte looked at me from across the fire and said, “I really want to kiss you right now.” Within seconds, she had closed the physical space between us and locked her lips upon mine, confirming unambiguously that hers were the softest that I had ever kissed up until that point. Within seconds of our oral contact, Charlotte parted her lips and inserted her tongue into my mouth, which I of course eagerly received. For a solidly unbroken sixty seconds, our mouths danced with one another, the rhythm of our tongues increasingly lubricated by more than our bilaterally amplified passion. When Charlotte finally pulled back, the communal chatter had fallen completely silent, everyone’s attention squarely focused on the two of us. Immediately, the Christian zealot, who had immediately broadcast signs of extreme discomfort from the moment Charlotte verbally expressed her desire to kiss me, promptly stood up and declared that she had to leave, which was a course of action that earned her the bemused laughter of the homosexual men in attendance.
Later that night, after everyone else went home, I decided to stay behind with Steven and Charlotte, since they were the ones hosting the evening’s social convocation. Unfortunately for Steven, he had imbibed so much alcohol that, once he made it to the bed, he fell into stupor that rendered him completely unaware of his surroundings, which meant that he, throughout the duration of the rest of the nighttime hours, was completely unaware of the fact that Charlotte and I had stripped each other completely naked right next to him and escalated our increasingly feral French kisses to outright oral sex. To this day, I can still clearly remember the intricate sensory details of how Charlotte spread my legs apart and used her tongue to ardently osculate my vagina, moaning into the saturated hole that had up until that point only known the fervor of a man’s erection. Despite the supreme softness of her lips, and the tenderness with which she digitally penetrated me, the orgasm that overtook me was both swift and powerful. We fell asleep in each other’s arms right there next to Steven. Suffice to say, he was simultaneously amused and frustrated with himself when he woke up the next morning, having realized the events that he had entirely missed, but his frustration was to be extremely short-lived.
Following this initiation into lesbian sexual activity, I functionally moved in with Charlotte and Steven for the next fortnight. It was a time spent partially clothed—if not completely in the nude—and in a state of continuous physical intimacy. I was still a student, and neither Charlotte nor Steven were employed at the time, so the environment of the time that I spent with them somewhat resembled a retreat or even a honeymoon. The first time the three of us actually climbed into bed together, which was both naturally and necessarily initiated by Charlotte given dynamics at play that will momentarily become clear, was enjoyable but also extremely representative of the sexual activity that unfolded during my time with them.
For starters, she required every light in the bedroom to be off, as well as the window curtains to be completely drawn in order to block any extraneous moonlight from trickling in, thereby leaving the three of us enveloped in completely visionless darkness. Additionally, there was never any point during my sexual forward with them when Charlotte allowed me to perform cunnilingus on her, despite the fact that she would liberally perform the exact same sex act on me. Regardless, despite the self-imposed vision loss, Charlotte and I still managed to locate one another, our mouths locked together in a now familiar oral embrace. Steven had come up from behind and started simultaneously penetrating us both with his fingers. When Charlotte noticed that Steven was touching me with his other hand, I detected within her a tinge of discomfort, but the moment seemed to pass, and she continued to kiss me. However, within a few short moments of Steven fingering the two of us, Charlotte pushed me down to the mattress and once again began to penetrate me with her tongue. In response to this, Steven mounted his girlfriend from behind and began to savagely impale her with his erection while her face was still firmly planted between my legs. This created the euphoric sensory overload that still to this day causes me to look back upon this experience with such fondness. The bed frame shook. My vagina resonated with the increasing volume of Charlotte’s frantic moaning, and in no more than sixty seconds, I was orgasming directly into her open mouth. It was a sensation I had never felt before, accompanied by a cavalcade of sounds and intertwining energies that simultaneously contrasted and complimented one another with a level of intensity that was almost too much to handle. I had metaphorically teleported to the doorstep of Dante’s Empyrean—the highest concentric rings of Heaven, blazing with light both divine and pure, emanating from the seat of the Creator. It was not long after this that Steven and Charlotte achieved their own sexual climaxes between themselves, at which point the three of us collapsed onto the bed and fell into deep slumber with our bodies interlocked.
I recount this story for several key reasons. At the most basic level, I simply wish to provide a more thorough overview of my sapphic desires, to which I have only been able to casually allude in the context of my previous writings. At a slightly deeper level, I also want to contextualize my incentives for aligning myself with Erotica Sinica’s business model by explicitly commenting on a consideration that may not be intuitive, but is nevertheless extremely relevant information for a sex worker to understand, particularly if she is considering conjoining her business with Erotica Sinica’s infrastructure in the same way that I have done.
The Mirage of False Opportunity
To be sure, in previous articles, I have hitherto already remarked upon the value-add proposition that Erotica Sinica offers to sex workers in the context of strictly sterile business considerations—ranging anywhere from the intricacies of the Starlet Training Program, to the logic of a Mandarin-based porn production studio, and the massive marketing implications of the two operating in tandem—and quite extensively so. However, my enduring desire for lesbian sexual connection should at this point make one thing abundantly clear—my entry into prostitution was by no means a decision made only upon financial considerations. Although I have emphasized this point in the context of a sexual desire for men, this article is my first attempt to explain that my sexual desire for women plays an even larger role within this decision-principle framework, which brings us directly back to the female intimacy cottage envisioned by diana that opened the entire discourse contained within this editorial. Her description is an exceedingly robust representation of what I originally thought I could obtain by entering the sex industry in arguably the most official way possible. And yet, four years in legal prostitution have repeatedly demonstrated that it is essentially impossible to organically stumble upon a fellow prostitute who is simultaneously:
Truly bisexual,
Refrains from faking orgasms or even sexual pleasure more generally, and
Is consistently concerned with the question of what’s best in any given set of circumstances.
However, even more outrageous than this is the fact that #1 by itself is shockingly rare to encounter in the field of prostitution. The devastating nature of this realization extends far beyond mere disappointment. Case in point, the following is a story that I have mentioned in previous writings, but it is worth reproducing here in order to illustrate the immense chasm between the sapphic cottage that I first hoped to find and the actual reality that awaited me in the Nevada brothel environments.
In the vast majority of circumstances, prostitutes are not individuals who care whether other people gawk at their bodies. The reason is extremely simple—viz. women who are bothered by such things are not the ones capable of withstanding repeated lineups to be explicitly selected for sex on the merits of one’s appearance. As the familiar aphorism goes, “it just comes with the territory.” However, when I was working at one of the larger brothels in Nye County, there was one instance in which a group of prostitutes were seated around the dinner table exchanging stories about workplace threesomes, which, in the typical nomenclature of the brothel world, women will usually call “duo bookings.” During this conversation, one of the interlocutors, who I will call “Debbie” for the purposes of this article, was recounting one particular duo booking in which the other prostitute with whom she was working exhibited enormous enthusiasm for the primary lesbian sex act—i.e. cunnilingus—which apparently caught Debbie by surprise, proclaiming to her audience at the table that she felt somewhat violated by her coworker’s fervor, despite the fact that it was a threesome that the client had purchased, which in turn unleashed a response from the women at the table that I found to be incontrovertibly horrifying. The comments ranged anywhere from “I would never go down on a woman,” to “I won’t even kiss another girl—it just grosses me out,” but no matter what the particular phrasing was, one common denominator was clear between all of them—viz. they were universally disgusted by the idea of female-on-female sexual contact.
A Brief Digression
At this juncture, a point of clarification is probably warranted.
As an isolated consideration, straight women working as prostitutes in a brothel environment is by no means a problem intrinsically; however, the nature of the work does place upon them certain obligations regarding professional ethics particularly in the context of group sex. Specifically:
Any straight woman working as a prostitute who is on the verge of paid group sex—like a threesome—has a professional responsibility to inform both her duo partner as well as the client about the status of her sexuality.
If the other individuals participating in the group sex agree to the sexual boundaries that the straight woman requires, then of course all is well, but critically, this is only possible in the aftermath of explicit and preëmptive disclosure. Naturally, this creates two distinct failure modes, which I internally refer to as the Sin of Omission and the Sin of Commission.
The former can occur when a straight woman keeps her sexuality a secret, usually motivated by a desire to make the sale, and results in putting the other woman in a sexually precarious situation due to a lack of information, which is exactly what happened Debbie’s duo partner—who unfortunately had her reputation battered—but it can also occur when a straight woman does inform her duo partner, but does not disclose the facts of her sexual orientation to the client, which is tantamount to robbing him of an authentic experience for which he is paying good money. By contrast, the latter occurs when a straight prostitute actively misrepresents the status of her sexuality—again, usually incentivized by the sale—which then typically results in contaminating the experience with female-on-female induced sexual disgust.
The table discussion between Debbie and her coterie of whores was not one in which I participated. Although I too was physically seated at the table, I remained completely silent throughout the proceedings, a wave of psychological insecurity washing over me. At the time, I had transferred to one of the larger brothels in southern Nevada, in large measure, because I wanted to experience more duo bookings with a wider array of beautiful women. However, after that horrifying exchange, my sexual aspirations for the brothel environment collapsed, and consequently, I became increasingly guarded, fearful that my bisexual proclivities would ostracize me from the group as a direct result of the other women feeling uncomfortable, particularly in a setting where everyone is perpetually half-naked. One must understand that, in female-dominated spaces, female sexual discomfort can escalate into extremely acrimonious and even bellicose situations. Case in point, once in my civilian life, a woman who was a complete stranger to me even threw her drink in my face after I—upon her questioning—verbally admitted to having sexual attractions toward females. The viciousness of female group behavior is not to be underestimated.
Feminine Deprivation and Withdrawal
The psychological effects of this experience were both swift and decisive. Policing my own gaze started to become painful. I had paradoxically become a prostitute who could not feel sexually free inside of a brothel of all places, cut off from sexual access to women, trapped behind a barrier that actively prevented me from approaching any woman, even if she claimed bisexuality on her brothel profile page, simply because I did not know who to believe, meaning that any attempt to approach another woman, even in the strictly professional context of inquiring whether she would be open to working together in a duo booking, risked inadvertently transgressing unforeseen heterosexual sensibilities, and thereby socially running afoul of the other women in the brothel. Consequently, I sequestered myself in my room like a Japanese hikikomori, the effects of which were not good for my psychological well-being. I was surrounded on all sides by a parade of very voluptuous and sexually experienced women, who were often topless, particularly around the pool area, but with whom I could not interact on any sexual level, and sexual frustration has never been something that was easy for me to handle—an attribute further exacerbated by the fact that these naked women would repeatedly invite me to join them by the pool, but herein lay the central crux of the issue. The few women who openly expressed disgust at the idea of lesbian sexual activity was enough for me to avoid the risk of being forward with other women in any way, shape, or form, especially since I was still new to that location. Yet even still, as of this writing, I have long since departed from that particular brothel, but the legacy of that experience continues to haunt me, lowering over my head like an inescapable shadow. Anyone who is familiar with me and my work knows that I place enormous importance on precision of language; however, even unto this very day, I consistently find that my ability to speak eloquently quickly evaporates from under me whenever I find myself in the presence of a fellow courtesan license holder whose beauty inflames my sexual passions for her, causing me to fumble my words and trip over my own sentences. Without question, this struggle is extremely exacerbated by the fact that, at the time of this writing, an enormous amount of time has elapsed since I last had sexual contact with another woman—a deprivation that fundamentally compromises my ability to achieve thorough rest and rejuvenation. Consequently, I do not take the initiative to socially interact with these radiant nymphs whenever our tours happen to coincide, but I am already unable to count the number of times when my impromptu conversations with these women—the kinds that require nothing more than a basic exchange of pleasantries when passing by one another in the brothel’s communal kitchen—devolve into a mortifying Laurel & Hardy skit simply because the physical lust that these sensuous beauties engender within me completely short-circuits my ability to speak coherently to them.
Sapphic Vision and its Potentialities
Overall, this ought to provide a more comprehensive understanding of why I am so fervent about helping the Erotica Sinica Starlet Training Program to grow. In the same way I realized that the solution to the brothel expediency problem could only arise from outside the brothel industry itself—as elucidated in my April 11th, 2026 article entitled Yet Even So: An Alternative to the Expedient Business Model—so too did I realize that lesbian sexual companionship, specifically in the context of sex work—the kind for which I have yearned for so long—could also only emerge from outside of the brothel environment as well. To that end, any woman who wishes to enter the Erotica Sinica infrastructure needs to understand that one’s bisexuality is not something that one can force or fake. Furthermore, a woman’s ability to facilitate authentic and legitimate sapphic connection stands at the core of what Erotica Sinica strives to bring to wider audiences, not only in the context of brothel activity, but also in the context of porn production as well.
This, in fact, brings the discussion directly back to the example of Charlotte, which demands a forthright assessment of that experience’s normative value. Earlier, I very purposefully invoked an allegorical comparison to the Empyrion in Paradiso—the third book in Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy—which captures the transcendent sublimity of what sapphic sexual connection is supposed to facilitate. However, my equally purposeful use of the word “doorstep” also reveals a grim prognosis. A careful reading of my first-person testimony should reveal an extremely conspicuous detail—viz. Steven and I never actually had any kind of bona fide sexual contact throughout the entire time that I was staying with them. We might have kissed a couple times for extremely brief moments, but at no point did he ever have his erection in any part of my body. Apparently, Charlotte had made it clear to Steven that she would not permit it. Despite the amity with which I look back on my sexual intercourse with Charlotte, the fact nevertheless remains that she, in effect, had made a mockery of what a threesome is supposed to be, but even more outrageous than this is the fact that this theme has continued through nearly every threesome I have had since that time, even persisting through my career as a licensed prostitute. In every case, the women with whom I shared a man demeaned the paramountcy of the act in some regard, ranging anywhere from sabotaging the act due to financial greed to actively avoiding orgasm because—as I was told by a fellow courtesan license holder who I legitimately hold in high esteem—“I only allow myself to orgasm with my boyfriend.”
To be sure, the supreme folly of an active prostitute maintaining a boyfriend-girlfriend dating relationship will need to wait for another article; but the concluding point I wish to emphasize here is simply this—if Dr. Camille Paglia is indeed correct in saying that “the female body is the prototype of all sacred spaces from cave shrine to temple and church,” then perhaps it is not outlandish to suppose that lesbian sexual arousal and desire is the gateway—nay, the vehicle—to some of the most transcendent sexual experiences that human beings can obtain within this finite life of ours.1
Conclusion
What then would that mean for the growth potential of a business model that was founded upon something so fundamental to our humanity? Any woman who has spent any reasonable amount of time in any subcategory of sex work—whether it be stripping, pornography, or prostitution—knows by virtue of direct observation that the entire sex industry is driven forward by the misguided activities of professional buffoons, completely absent of any philosophically coherent understanding of the ancient forces they are toying with in a bid to establish and maintain economic relevance. The time for foolishness in sex work is drawing to a close, and the future will give way to those who are willing to regard the field with the sobriety that it demands. That is the call, and the women who are willing to take it seriously are the ones for whom I seek.
