Sometimes I Get Paid to Be Worshipped. And It’s Sacred as Hell.

I can’t tell you how often I fall in love with my clients.

Not in a messy, boundaryless way—but in that soul-deep, spine-tingling way that comes from sharing something real. Something tender. Something holy.

People assume that because I’m polyamorous, I must be dating all the time.

But the truth is? I rarely feel the need.

Because I’m already sharing some of the most intimate, sensual, and soul-stirring experiences of my life—with my clients.

Especially in my Neo-Tantra sessions.

My program unfolds in five levels, each one deepening the layers of trust, presence, and erotic energy between us. It begins with me in the role of giver, fully dropped into goddess worship mode.

And I love being worshiped. That is one of my core desires.

To be seen. Adored. Touched with reverence.

Not grabbed. Not claimed. Not “taken.”

In so many traditional dating dynamics, it feels like men just want to take me.

But I don’t want to be taken.

I want to be worshipped.

And the truth is—sometimes, it only feels like worship when they’re paying me.

Not because the money makes it more meaningful, but because the agreement itself invites reverence.

Because there's an intentional container for presence, devotion, and respect.

In that space, I’m not negotiating for tenderness.

I’m not shrinking myself to seem less intimidating.

I don’t have to wonder if my softness will be used against me later.

I can just be.

Fully.

Radiantly.

I remain fully clothed for the first few sessions —but the energy? It is thick with eroticism.

It’s not a performance. It’s not a fantasy. It’s mutual worship.

And around Level Three, something often shifts.

For those two hours, they’re no longer just clients.

They become lovers.

They become siblings. They become children. They become parents.

They become beloveds and best friends, soulmates and shadows.

Every shape that love can take between two humans is allowed to emerge.

Sometimes, I find myself cradling them like a child, when my hands reach a place on their body that holds old pain.

Sometimes, I’m on top of them, arching and undulating in rhythm with their breath, eyes locked, hearts pounding, skin-to-skin.

And no—there’s no genital touch.

There never is in my sessions.

But still, it feels like we’re fucking.Not physically—but energetically. Spiritually.

Like our souls are weaving together, breath by breath.

Then there are those moments—the ones that really undo me—when they look up at me, and they see me.

Me, in my half-nude erotic glory, body gleaming with sweat, glowing with purpose.

They witness how our bodies look together—how we’ve found these sacred shapes, these intimate configurations—and I see their eyes fill with awe.

Of course, not every session reaches that place.

There are some clients I can’t fully open to.

Sometimes it’s a gut feeling.

Sometimes I sense they’re still guarded, still posturing.

And sometimes, I just don’t feel safe enough to let my own walls down.

So no—not every client is magical.

But when the stars align, and the energy is clean, and the hearts are open?

It is a fucking miracle.

To witness someone begin to process years—maybe decades—of buried pain and unresolved trauma…

To feel their body shiver, not in fear, but in awe…

To feel them letting love in—real love, safe love, non-demanding love—and to hold them as they finally let go?

That is sacred.

I’ve even worked with clients whose bodies were beginning to fail them—who had long been told what they couldn’t do anymore.

And then, in session, something shifts.

Their breath deepens. Their body softens. And suddenly, they move in ways neither of us expected.

Not because I’m fixing them.

But because, for a moment, they feel free.

Sometimes, it’s so intense, I kick myself for not building in more time for aftercare.

Not just for them—for me.

Because I carry that energy, too.

That soft sobbing. That trembling release. That trust.

It lives in my body for hours, sometimes days, if I don’t give it space to move and settle.

The descent is slow and deliberate.

We bask.

We breathe.

We return to our bodies, our words, our clothing.

We debrief—not to overanalyze, but to integrate.

To name the magic.

To give it shape.

To honor what was born between us.

Because this isn’t just bodywork.

It’s soulwork.

And we don’t walk out the same people who walked in.

One client once told me:

“Trusting you helped me trust life again.”

And damn. That landed deep.

All I could do was open my chest, breathe it in, and let myself receive it.

Fully.

Without shrinking.

Without apology.

And I get paid for this?

Wow.

Yeah.

My life does not suck.