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 15, 2012


Happy Belated Vday readerfolk!  I wrote this on the bus yesterday and then didn’t have a chance to upload it:

I’m stripping tonight and I’m very excited because I got a big red sequin heart hair clip like this:
But mine is not mounted on a headband so I can wear it at a saucy angle.  Ooo la la!
I am grateful that I’ll be working today.  Home makes my heart hurt this time of year.  Inmate 12004 and I met the end of January 2010.  We met on Craigslist.  He had just moved to town and posted an ad looking for queer bandmates.  He was damn cute so I messaged him and just said “Hey, I don’t play anything but let me know if you’d be up for coffee with an artsy queer femme lady.”  We started exchanging texts late that night when I was out bowling and eating tacos with friends.  We talked when I got home.  I was in the bathroom of my teeny studio changing into my penguin pajamas (which he would later make fun of before pointing out that they're actually owls, not penguins).  And dammit, he was right.   I still wear my owl pajamas but now when I wear them I accessorize with glasses and a book.
But back to the bathroom, he was trying to convince me that we should meet up that night rather than waiting till the weekend.  I paused, partially-pajamaed and precariously perched (on the metaphorical fence).  He definitely had the transguy timbre so I knew he wasn't a cisdude, but I didn't know whether he was a safe, sane person.  So I asked him to tell me a story.  He told me about working on a maple syrup farm in Vermont with a bunch of lesbian ladies.  He was clever and funny and charming.  And then we discovered that he was two blocks away.  He offered to come over and I said hell no even though I was wearing my favorite pajamas and had a round bed that was AWESOME for wrestling.  You know, stranger danger.  So I put my dress back on and drove the two blocks to his house.   Again, stranger danger. 
About half an hour into our first night together I remember thinking "Oh my goodness, I'm naked already?!"  (I have limited experience with one night stands)  But then I remembered that it was three am and we both knew what we were there for; so really it would have been strange if I wasn't naked by that point.  
           The next morning I was very quietly getting dressed so as not to disturb him.  He awoke.  This was our exchange:

 Him: Are you a stripper?
Me: No, why?
Him: Because you put on your heels before your clothes.
Me: You’re laying on my dress.

Then we looked at each other with mutual vaguely annoyed befuddlement.  This set the tone for the next year and a half.

We went our first real date that weekend:

Him: I’ve only dated straight girls.
Me: Well, I’m not straight and I don’t do monogamy. 
Him: I’m married.*

(mutual vaguely annoyed befuddlement)

One year later we moved in together.

We fell further and further and our chemistry only got more intense as time passed.  We may be perfect opposites.  If I feel strongly about something it's safe to assume he is certain that we should do the exact opposite.  Of course we continued to annoy and befuddle each other.  

One day he walked in on me shaving my legs in the bathroom sink.  I was perched on the edge of the sink with feet in the warm, shallow water.  This was our exchange:

Him: What are you doing?
Me: Shaving my legs.
Him: Why don’t you do that in the shower?
Me: Because I don’t want to mess up my hair and this sink looks like a birdbath.
Him: What does that have to do with anything?
Me: Everything.  What kind of femme would I be if I didn’t aspire to birdliness?
Him: I need to poop.

(mutual vaguely annoyed befuddlement)

Him: You eat a lot.
Me: You drink a lot.

(mutual vaguely annoyed befuddlement)

A dream I had once upon a time:
Inmate 12004 and I were in bed but he seemed distracted and I didn’t know why.  When I pulled back the covers I discovered what was going on.  This was our exchange:

Me: What are you doing?
Him: Peeling potatoes.
Me: But your hands will be all starchy.

(mutual vaguely annoyed befuddlement)

On Valentines Day last year we were both underemployed and broke.  We had moved our stuff into the two bedroom house we were to share but were living like squatters, sleeping on my old futon in the living room so as not to have to heat the whole house.  Valentines Day 2011:
A very romantic laundry day.
Dinner with jellied cranberry sauce cut into hearts. 

Then we built a fire, dragged the futon in front of the fireplace and had a magical evening.  It was the best Valentines Day ever. 

This year he is in jail.  I know he has to sort his shit out and we both need to have healthy boundaries.  But I will be thinking of him as I fall asleep in a twin bed with a sweet snuggle pup at my feet.  And despite the chaos of the last two years I still want to smell him and touch him and love him.  

If he were sober and I were ready I'd like to think we'd be curled up together with our dogs eating spaghetti and watching Lady and the Tramp.  But since that's not possible** I may as well glitter up and dance the night away.

*That whole marriage thing has since been taken care of and they were already separated when we met.  Home-wrecking isn't really my style.
**this is not possible not just because he's in jail and I'm having healthy boundaries (weird, right?) but also because he's much too much of a tough guy to watch cheesy romantic stuff.  Really, we'd probably end up watching Death Proof or Let the Right One In.  But only if he agrees to cover my eyes or let me burrow into his shoulder/neck/chest at the scary parts.

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