Subs, sex and money

I've been feeling a little bit stale the last few days. Of course, I'm not suggesting in a physical sense, it's not like I've stopped showering and left my hair to go lank or other parts of my body to go crusty - gross, sorry. In the writing stakes though, I just feel like I've come to a bit of a stand still.

After the pressure, adrenaline and all round fun and excitement of writing up my Big Commission and submitting it, then writing another (apparently) stellar feature for Adventure Bike Rider magazine last week, I now feel a little lost and in limbo. Currently there's nothing else major lined up and that makes me a little apprehensive. I need to get my teeth into something else HUGE.

Freelancing is sort of strange in that way, because when you get a gig it's all like, "Hurrah, this is ace, I've got a job for at least a month. Something to keep me really busy," and you know you've worked so hard to get the commission in the first place that it gives you a real high when you get the go ahead.

A month later, once is all done, written and submitted, then you find yourself back at square one facing exactly the same battles. It's this area of being self-employed that I sometimes find the hardest - staying that motivated and dedicated all of the time and I have days where I'm like, 'Ahh fuck it. Can a story just land in my lap today please so I at least earn something?' That rarely happens though.

There has been one little project that I edited together and worked on for the Vibrations Direct blog: an interview with a male submissive. It was really interesting to talk to him, like this is a guy that literally dedicates his whole being to his female dominant. He's not one of those chaps that pops off to a Mistress on the sly from his vanilla wife for a little bit of slap and tickle, he literally lives in service to her all of the time. Puts my sub tendencies into pitiful perspective. The interview is here if you'd like to take a mo to read it. http://www.vibrationsdirect.co.uk/blogs/blog

The rest of this week will be dedicated to getting my second big commission. I've got a few ideas to write up and pitch, then fingers crossed at least one of them will get the go ahead.

I think I'm feeling particular pressure because I have to move house in a months time. Inevitably this means finding money for a deposit, another months rent plus paying the rent on the place I'm already in, agency fees and then the overall cost of the house I'm moving to is really pushing my budget to the maximum. To say I'm shitting it and a little bit nervous about making ends meet is an understatement!

That's not to say it's not do-able (hello Mr Estate Agent if you ever find this before we sign the contracts). It just means I need to get my head down and really start pushing myself, even more than I am doing. If my fella heard me say that he'd probably ask, "How?" as he thinks I work hard enough already, bless. There's always more that can be done though and it's that extra bit more that I need to do.

*Sigh* I wish earning money as a writer was easier sometimes, at least for the next month or two.

Cheers,
RoseC (soon to be writing whore as will take commissions on anything!) -x-    

Just a love machine

We sell a great number of amazing, titillating, vibrating, sexy, powerful and alluring toys in the sex shop I work in. There is literally a huge number of gadgets and lingerie to satisfy on offer, but for some people this just isn't enough. Some people see past the designer dildos, the multi-speed vibrators and instead make it their sole purpose to come into the shop and use The Love Machine.

It looks a little bit like this.

The one in the shop doesn't look quite as modern as this, I couldn't actually find the one we have on google images. Testament perhaps as to how old it might be. That's by-the-by though, the point is that people - ok, mainly men - walk into the shop specifically to use this contraption to get their 'love' or 'sex' rating thinking that it tells them the truth. If they hit a 10, they're assured they're gonna get laid that day, or if they get a two or three they claim they don't understand, ask me to explain and then throw an explicit or two at the machine when they believe it's just told them they don't have a hope in hell of pulling because they're 'a wet fish'.

I first spotted this phenomenon when an Asian chap brought an older gentleman friend of his into the store. They spoke for a moment in a language I didn't understand, but by the tone you could infer he was saying something along the lines of: "You put 20p in there, put your finger on there and it tells you how sexy you are and if you're going to get your end away."

"Really?" asks the older chap sceptically.

"Absolutely, just do it, here give me 20p," inserts into slot and forces his friends finger onto the metal pad.

At the point the machine kicks in and makes some god-awful noises that you only hear at gyppo carnivals just before the rides are about to start. It lasts about a minute. The whole time the gent stands frozen, his finger on the pad, not sure what the funny, little pink machine is going to do next.

"OOOOHHHHHH, AAAAHHHHH! 10! YOU GOT 10," (I assume) the younger man declares excitedly, obviously happy that his friend will be getting his leg over that evening. The older man casually shrugs his shoulders as if he knew this already. What a playa.

This must bode well for the younger man, who takes his turn next. Clearly the love machine is on fire today and everyone will be having sex. Hell, London may even become one big orgy before sunset.

Sadly, it's not to be. The younger chap only scored a five. Head down, disappointed, he probably won't even make it off the bench. They promptly leave the store.

People who like to play this game often get agitated if they don't have any 20p's and ask you to change a pounds worth. We're not allowed to do this. Upon telling them we're often met with disgust that we've now scuppered their chance to get jiggy.

Well, actually, no we haven't. It's a fucking game, it's not real. It goes on pulse rate, it's ridiculous. It's about as accurate as a mood ring telling you you're suicidal even though you feel like a ray of sunshine. If you really want something satisfying then why not take the time to look at, or even buy, some of the actual, good sex toys that we sell. Stick your dick in that and I promise it'll be a lot more satisfying than discovering a lie from the love machine!

Thankfully, most people that play in groups realise it's a gimmick, a bit of fun. The false hope is supposed to be laughed at as your nerdy friend scores a nine or 10, but the stud gets a meagre three.

I once told a man that it wasn't real...well he did ask!

Venturing in with two other male friends they were dressed smart, nice cologne and clearly about to hit the town. Up they step to the machine, two of them with serious looks on their faces as their sex fate was about to be decided. The third chap, who must have had a bit more going on upstairs, turned to me and asked, "Is this actually real? Or is it a toy?"

"It's just a toy sir, a bit of fun." We both laughed, but I could tell he died a bit inside at the disappointment as the laughing stopped and he relayed my message to his friends. I felt like I'd killed some sort of mythical sex fairy.

They left, and I only hope they managed to roger some girls just to prove how wrong the love machine was and they didn't need it's backing to get a shag.

To a point, I guess it's a confidence booster for some chaps, if they know they've got a 10 behind them. So for all it's fault and intimidating noises, long live the falsity of The Love Machine.