ring ring baby

“The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off”
Jean Cocteau

Love me or leave me, spank me or squeeze me, but send Mz. Conduct your questions: guttergrl69.hotmail.com. And now, you generous sorts can help my survival fund by tossing a few bucks my way through Pay Pal www.paypal.com through this email.

A transformation of slutty feminist power has hit me like a brick in the butt. In my attempt to survive, I have considered (and been offered) a wide array of jobs in the sex industry. I’ve come to realize that I am not a prostitute in the general sense. Sure, with my phone sex job, I’m a voice whore, but I’ve found that it’s damn near impossible for me to be blinded by money enough to perform sexual acts with someone I am not attracted to. Although I admire the women that can do this, and I definitely have a certain respect for them when their full self esteem is in place, I’m not one of them. The fact that they can control their duality as a sex worker is amazingly fantastic.

My latest endeavor as a topless housecleaner has proved to be part play and part work. It’s interesting to me how many men feel powerful to have a bare breasted char girl come and clean what really isn’t dirty. They watch me lustfully, as I bend over in my heels and skirt, and wipe invisible crumbs from their counter. It’s not so bad to share the knowledge that they can never touch me, only themselves, and feather dust my way through their wifeless homes for an hour or two every now and then. I do feel the need to do a good job at whatever I do, and if the customer is happy when I leave, I’m satisfied too. So, I’m a voice whore and a dust whore... but I’m in control. I can live with that.

Last night unveiled another sick puppy on the phone sex line. Watching mommy in the shower is one thing, but when you want her to show you the inside of her vagina, that calls for a dip in a bucket of steamy feces, a straightjacket and a swarm of bees. Gumby in a gasmask, I so wanted to hang up, but it was such a long damn call and well, a girl needs her rent money. After that call came a voice note saying that the next caller wanted a virgin. All I said was, “Hey there, how are you tonight?” and they hung up. Apparently I can’t even pull off a virginal ‘hello, howd ya do!’

My roommate, the Distinguished Deviant, remains fab! I get up in the morning; my coffee is made, the dishes are done and the lawn is mowed. Can’t beat that with a single-tail whip. Of course, he adores me and we feel as if we’ve known each other forever. The Distinguished Deviant swilled his Pabst Blue Ribbon and lit a ciggie as he prepared to meet his starving artist comrades at the Loiter’s Lounge. I fixed his rumpled tie and smoothed down his collar. It’s like we’re an old married couple already.

Greedgirl had a birthday bash the other night. The night was sweltering, balmy and mystifyingly dark, with the renaissance of a new moon in the sky. I dragged the Distinguished Deviant, the Yum Yum Boy, and myself (all scantily clad) to the big Victorian house. It was her royal princess-on-a-pillow party after all. Greedgirl sauntered down the winding staircase, making a princess-like entrance in her black, leather corset, sheer, purple, ballerina skirt, pink please-me heels, and her tiara... of course! Scads of cocktails and adoration were had by all and the haunting voice of Aimee Mann in the background made for a seductively sultry evening. We girls admired and kissed each other’s nipples and worshipped the beauty of the boys we brought. Greedgirl gift-opening-time revealed her squeals of delight as she opened; chocolates, books, make-up bag, pink leather flogger, and all sorts of princess purrrfect presents. One of my gifts to her was a snatch-shaped, strawberry and champagne scented bar of soap. So dirty, yet so clean!

The Yum Yum boy and I had big fun all over town; from drinking every alcoholic beverage known to man, guitar shopping, sand castle shows, watching Harold and Maude and True Romance, digging through old magazines at an ancient little bookstore, to making out in every public place imaginable. While walking in the sun, all over the city, we waved at the horse drawn carriage full of kids. They screamed that they liked the Yum Yum Boy’s hat and my wild dress. We decided that we make a wild and beautiful couple. He’s graced me with the most romantic of gifts; a cobalt blue, hand blown water pipe, a two-page poem that made me cry a freakin‘ river, and two dozen mega fragrant roses. And nobody, and I mean nobody, has ridden Mz. Conduct -- and Goddess of Guttersluts knows, there’s been a zillion -- like that cowboy. We are swirling in absolute naughty bliss and wankers on a Wheat Thin, I’m hankering for it!

Dear Mz. Conduct,

My husband and I have been married for over ten years. We have two children together and it seems our entire married life has revolved around them. Lately, my husband and I seem to be arguing all the time and snapping at each other in front of the kids. I don’t have any clue why all of a sudden this is happening. I know you’ll ask about our sex life, and I think it’s okay, but we’re both so tired at the end of the day that we just don’t get around to it more than once a week. I want to make things better. Where should I start?

Southern Snapper

Dear SS,

A decade of raising kids can be taxing, I know, but you absolutely have to make sexual time for your marriage to survive. Be creative, and do what floats your libido boat, whether it’s a romantic weekend alone at the beach or role-playing; hooker and john night at a trashy motel or whatever. You both have to sit down and hash it out.

There may be suppressed anxieties within both of your worlds, which neither of you want to bring up, even to yourselves. When you ask your husband why he thinks this sudden bickering is surfacing, really listen to what he’s saying. Try to read between the lines as well, but be careful not to read too deeply, as you don’t want to read things that aren’t there. Be sure not to bring up the past and stay in the moment and be careful of what words you use. You don’t want to lay blame, but you do want to solve this, so agree that you want to find a solution and work on it until you do.

Sex is extremely important to connect with your loved one. It’s not just the prolonged penetration... pumping, writhing, sweaty, hot bodies tangled into a pool of inordinate lust... lord love a lap-dance, I’m drifting off into reverie, sorry... but the intimacy of touch is also an important connection. After a long day, it’s hard to instigate a wild romp in the sack if you’re both exhausted. I’ve been in similar situations. To solve it, I would slip a note to my partner to meet me in the garage in 15 minutes. My man and I would scuttle our way through the power tools and cobwebs and climb each other like monkeys in a mosh pit. The sheer spontaneity and need for stress release made our sporadic sex all that much better. Mommy and daddy can take showers together once in awhile too. That soap on a rope never looks better than when wrapped around a pair of slippery, wet, ankles, honey. My point is; talk about how you will solve this situation and then follow through with it... all the way to heaven and back. Now, thank you very much, I’m as moist as a snack cake and worked up with esoteric escapades to spring on my own boy!


Dear Mz. Conduct,

Let me ask you this; If a guy comes over to my apartment for the first time and he adamantly doesn’t want to pet my beloved cats, not because he’s allergic, but because he simply doesn’t like them, should I ever let him pet my real pussy?

Befuddled Barbara

Dear BB,

Garfield in a garter belt, you’re freakin’ looney! On the other hand, I have to admit that if a boy I invite over and he doesn’t like my dogs, it does clue me in to some negative things.

Sheesh, there is a human factor involved here and non-animal lovers are hard for me to understand personally. You can compromise though. A suitor can at least pat a critter on the head and eek out a bit of respect for your love for the beast and you can try to respect the suitor’s indifference to the varmints and not make a big damn deal about it. If you can get by with him not smooching your feline friends and only slathering your koochie kitty with love then so be it. Purrrr where it counts.

© All rights reserved Kim Alvarez