Where did all the men go?

One thing I have noticed since “discontinuing” my old blog and starting this new one is that there has been a subtle, but very distinct, change in my readership. All my readers now appear to be female (well, at least the ones who leave comments on a regular basis)!

Part of me doesn’t mind this at all. I don’t really have any good friends of any gender in this town, unfortunately, (besides my husband, of course) and I really miss female company given that I spend nearly ALL my time with men. It’s nice to come here and feel like I’m part of a little female community.

On the other hand, I never really set out to write exclusively for a female audience, and it’s kind of depressing that all the men have disappeared. It disappoints me to think that they were perhaps only interested in my last blog because I was much more open about being a sex worker, and they were hoping to be titillated. I have definitely noticed that other “out” sex worker bloggers also tend to attract more male readers who, it would seem, are either johns themselves or simply voyeurs. Some of them still leave intelligent, articulate comments (paying for sex, or fantasizing about it, doesn’t make you a moron, after all), but it just saddens me to think that it takes the mention of sex to draw men into a blog which would otherwise be “women-centred”.

Fuck it, though. I can’t write anything else about this topic because an “Air” song has come on the radio and a huge wave of melancholy has washed over me. I don’t remember the title but what I do remember is falling in love to this song. I remember the great wine, the great sex, the plumes of smoke from a joint rising up into the darkened room as we drank each other in, and listened to the music.

There were so many songs I couldn’t listen to after that relationship was over because the pain wracked my body when I did. It was awful because a lot of them were by my favourite artists. The only way I could “reclaim” these songs was by forcing myself to listen to them and “desensitizing” myself.

I guess I forgot this one. And here I am, eight years later, aching all over again.

The sad thing was that it wasn’t love. The sex wasn’t great. It was passionate, yes, but there was so much missing. He was an incredibly emotionally distant man, and it was the most abusive relationshp I’ve ever had.

The even sadder thing is that falling in love with him was such a heady, intense experience, and nothing else has ever come close. How depressing that the most important moment of my emotional life was actually a love affair which took place mainly in my head.

Maybe it’s good all the men have gone. Clearly, I can’t be trusted to make good decisions about them.