the intro...

Hello and welcome to my blog! I’m your hostess, Ladyface.

I'm a 27 year old queer femme sex worker. Between my fancypants day job and my super sexy side gig I spend a lot of time being an attentive, diplomatic Ladyface so this blog is where I’ll let my hair down...I might even curse. Though I curse like a kitten sneezes, which is too say it's infrequent and harmless and still shocks me more than anyone.

I am a sex positive lady and will write candidly about my kinks, my history, my exploits and my daily life (but only the good stuff). And so that I can write as openly as possibe, I'm keeping this space anonymous. All characters are real people in my life but all names are pseudonyms and always will be.




P.S. you can now follow me on Twitter! @1ladyface

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

How to Romance a Ladyface


1. This won't work on all ladyfaces.  In fact, it will probably get you arrested.  Pervert.
2. This post contains graphic and potentially triggering content about rape fantasy.

So, at risk of alienating my handful of it is:

I never know when a blogworthy thought will get caught in the lint trap of my brain, so I end up writing most of my bloggy posts on the notepad app on my iPhone.  It’s awkward, frequently frustrating and really only a small step up from scribbling on the soggy cocktail napkins I napkin-nap from beneath my virgin martinis.*  This is one such thought:

I would really like to one day date a hot transguy or butch woman who cares enough to plan my abduction and gang rape in the woods, on the docks, in a train yard or some other deserted terrifying place that smells like must, rust and decay where nobody could hear me scream and each of his badass friends could use me and abuse me until I collapsed in a useless trembling heap.  Then he would wrap me in a blanket, carry me to his or her truck, take me home and give me me a bath.  And I would kiss his vicious hands as we fall asleep together.  Really universe, is that so much to ask?

I wrote this on my magic phone while waiting in the chiropractors office but when I typed in transguys the predictive text suggested ‘tea huts’.  Dammit phone, way to ruin the mood.  I had just transformed this chiropractors waiting room into the sexiest chiropractors waiting room in the world and you morphed hot transguys into hot teahuts.

I’d much rather visit a hot transguy than a hot teahut.  And if I were to ever visit a ‘tea hut’’ I’d like it to be cool or even chilly but definitely not hot.  Oh, and nicely decorated with a Frenchy Bohemian feel.  Like this:
But maybe a bit bigger and more colorful.  Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.  It could be built out of repurposed windows like a tea-hut-greenhouse but with an old Persian rug to cover the dirt floor, a squishy old wingback chair for reading and writing with the pup at my feet and antique birdcages full of pretty pastries.  Ooo, I like this plan.  So much for transguys, I’m on a tea hut mission!

(though I wouldn’t object to violent sex with a pushy pervert in my fancy tea hut)

*virgin martini (n): water with olives, served up.
**image from the blog of Laura Beth Love (who really likes repurposed windows) 


  1. You're at least the tenth femme I know who has fantasies about being gang raped by a bunch of butches/ftms/genderqueer/etcs. Just an observation. ;-)

    I've never facilitated gang rape, but it would be hot.

    I laughed and chuckled at the "teahut" tangent.

  2. Really? Is that characteristic of my people? I think it would be ridiculously hot. I have set the arbitrary goal of being abducted by my 30th birthday. Now I just have to figure out how to meet the right perverts and make it happen. Another great reason to move back to California: the winter is much shorter and milder down there so there's a much bigger window of time for outdoor play. :) yum!