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Angela St. Lawrence is the reigning queen of high-end, long distance training and Femme Domme phone sex, providing esoteric depravity for the aficionado, specializing in Erotic Fetish, Female Domination, Cock Control, Kinky Taboo and Sensual Debauchery. To make an appointment or speak with Ms. St. Lawrence  ...

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Archive for the 'Rhetorically Yours' Category

Sneaker Porn

Tuesday, January 13th, 2009

Sneaker Porn

or

What really really really gets me hot.

or

What I bought myself for Christmas.

 

Adorable or what?  Designed by Marc Ecko, I just had to have them.  Surely you can’t blame me … right?  And you can find them here.  We will not mention the fact that I have seven shoe boxes piled in the corner of my bedroom waiting to find a permanent home in my closet … seven pairs of shoes which I somehow kept buying in between all the holiday shopping.  I’m a bad girl!  But I know you like it.

So if you have a Sneaker Fetish (not to mention Stiletto, Boot, Sandal, Peep Toe, etc. etc. etc.) … Oh, yes, I’m most definitely you’re girl!

Incidentally, Mr. Ecko is a pretty interesting guy, living his Post-Modern American Dream.  Quite inspiring.  Plus, he’s cute.

xo, Angela

Rain of Error, etc.

Sunday, January 4th, 2009

First off, I somewhat, but not quite, stole the title from Salon’s and Tom Tomorrow’s This Modern World, which you really should just go see for yourself (2008 Year in Review  PART 1:  GOODBYE TO ALL THAT and PART 2: THE END OF AN ERROR).  Go ahead.  I’ll wait right here. 

Secondly, sorry I missed ringing out the old with you  … you know, like we did last year?  I thought I’d shake things up this year.  Instead of my usual quiet and sober non-working evening at home, I actually worked.  Not only did I work, but I did so while drinking champagne.  I even dressed up seriously sexy in red lingerie and stockings.  Which, despite Phone Sex Mythology, is something PSO’s rarely do. I mostly prefer the comfort of cut-offs and t-shirts to latex and leather when I’m hanging out at home, thank you very much.

Even though alcohol has never been my drug of choice, I must say that I’d quite forgotten just how divine pink champagne tastes.  Not to mention the yummy-licious halo-high I get when drinking it.  And so I buzzed right along, straight through the evening and into the New Year, chatting, dominating, laughing, teasing, spanking with a few regulars and healthy sprinkling of adventurous new callers.  I seem to remember someone barking for me and another climbing atop the famous Angela St. Lawrence Party Favor Perch to serve at my guests’ every whim.  But it was all in good fun and keeping with the holiday spirit and all that … dontcha know?

Best of all:  No hangover!  I hate hangovers!  One of the reasons I’ve never taken to alcohol so much is, I do believe, the hangover aspect.  And to have to deal with one the very first day of the new 365 would have been a serious remora [ <—- remember that word ]. 

A major thank you to the special caller who was there at the stroke of Midnight reminding me to take aspirin before tucking myself in.  Remembering hearing that loss of fluids significantly contribute to hangovers, I added a cool bottle of water to the mix and woke up New Year’s morning just fine and dandy.  But it was, after all, the first day of the New Year.  And so I took it off.  And then I took off every day since.  Because I can … I don’t answer to "the man," after all.  And because even though this Holiday season was — in many ways — quite magnificent for me, it’s like a vacation isn’t it?  It just kinda-sorta wore me down and I needed some "me" time.

***

So … I’ve been being quiet.  Which is not something I do very often:  quiet and leisure time with no endless lists or looming tasks hovering at my elbow.  Well, actually, the lists and tasks are ever-present … I just shoved them out of my elbow’s sphere.  Soon I will pull them back, where they will just crawl up my elbow, arm and neck and right back into my brain so that I — once again — get busy, busy, busy.  Just not yet.  I am available for calls, just laying low.  You gotta look harder and know where to look when I’m flying under the radar like this.  I’m thinking maybe Tuesday will be soon enough to jump back in full time, full force.  Tomorrow I have dinner plans which I must honor.  It’s a post-Holiday thing.

***

And here’s why I detest the paparazzi-fueled plastic fluff passed off as news these days.  I am reading a piece about John Travolta and Kelly Preston’s simply tragic loss, and aside the article I read …

RELATED PHOTOS:  Gwen Goes Christmas Shopping, Kate’s Christmas Tree, Nicole and Baby Harlowe Out and About.

Though I rarely say it, WTF?  First of all, how in the hell is any of that crap related to the fact that these parents lost a beloved child?  Second of all, and let me say this very loudly,  WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I GIVE A SHIT?  I mean, who reads this stuff?  Who cares about someone else’s Christmas tree or shopping or whatever?

Run!  Run, I say!  Run to the latest Frank Rich column in the New York Times, in which he runs down the low down on the Bush presidency.  You might not agree with his viewpoint, but at least he writes about things that matter and he writes it well.

***

And remember that word I used earler?  r – e – m – o – r – a

About that … 

MEANING:
noun:
1. Any of several fishes of the family Echeneididae that have a dorsal fin modified in the shape of a suction disk that they use to attach to a larger fish, sea-turtles, or ships.
Also called sharksucker or suckerfish.
2. Hindrance, drag.

ETYMOLOGY:
From Latin, literally delay, from remorari (to linger, delay), from re- + morari (to delay), from mora (delay).

NOTES:
"Demur" and "moratorium" are other words that share the same root as remora. They all involve the idea of delay. Remora got their name from the belief that they slowed ships down by attaching themselves to the hull. Remora’s suction power is so strong that, in some parts of the world, lines are attached to their tails and lowered into the water to fish for sea turtles.
Remora eat scraps from the fish they attach to. But they don’t just get a free ride and free food. It’s a symbiotic relationship as they, in turn, remove parasites from their bigger buddies.

USAGE:
"Ryder has been a remora to the Heathers but boils over and, with Slater’s crucial aid, kills one kind of accidentally."
Ted Mahar; High School Confidential; The Oregonian (Portland); Sep 3, 1999.

So now you know about that word, which I got in my daily email, A.Word.A.Day with Anu Garg.  You can sign up for this FREE newsletter at Wordsmith.  It is so worth the cost of admission and you even get cool quotes, such as the following:

All the arguments to prove man’s superiority cannot shatter this hard fact: in suffering the animals are our equals.  ~~ Peter Singer, philosopher, professor of bioethics (b. 1946)

What a treat, what a deal, what an indulgence.

xo, Angela

So this crate was under my tree …

Thursday, December 25th, 2008

 

Merry Christmas From Me

Wednesday, December 24th, 2008

Nescient Kink

Sunday, December 21st, 2008

On Reading Poorly Transcribed Erotica

by Jill Alexander Essbaum

She stood before him wearing only pantries
and he groped for her Volvo under the gauze.
She had saved her public hair, and his cook
went hard as a fist. They fell to the bad.
He shoveled his duck into her posse
and all her worm juices spilled out.
Still, his enormous election raged on.
Her beasts heaved as he sacked them,
and his own nibbles went stuff as well.
She put her tong in his rear and talked ditty.
Oh, it was all that he could do not to comb.

***

Back in September I promised more Essbaum.  And I just — almost just, but not quite — had forgotten about it.  But then, earlier today, I received a gentle reminder from a dear constant caller and reader in the form of this review of our preceding call:

*****First, Ms. Angela dressed me in hot cloves–including a D- cup brazier, seemed smockings, and a set of open-towed heals. My clock was so hard and I was so clothes to organism that I nearly screened! But she didn’t let me comb.  Instead, she tweezed my hard deck and started pinching my nippers.

By then, it was all I could do to keep my stiff election in my pantries. Then she began calling me "her dirty grill" and telling me she wanted to see lots of hot Jews flowing from my pirates. When she said that, I tried to hole back but I couldn’t do it any more. Seamen gushed from my peanuts and I went totally limb.

She said I could call again after I improved my English.

Which — in context — is very funny.  I mean, you do know it takes a very smart and witty man to write so stupidly, don’t you?  I’m wondering if the Phone Sex Window Shoppers who read it will actually get the humor in it.  But, never mind … it still tickled me pink and purple — and even red, white and blue.  I really do have the best job ever.  What’s a girl got to complain about when good guys like this keep showing up?

This particular Essbaum poem can be found at No Tell Motel.  But visit Harlot Poems (the greatest domain name ever) for up-to-the-date dish on the most lovely, always sexy and super-smart Ms. Essbaum.

xo, Angela

A Bob Dylan Christmas