Cuddle Irish - my last professional cuddle

{I had a short stint as a professional cuddler in 2019. I thought it would be an interesting way to add a little income to my life. It ended up being a hassle, but provided some incredible stories! Including my last client, a famous Irish actor! Just as I was losing interest in the endeavor, a “concerned citizen” found me online and took it upon himself to report me to Cuddle Comfort. They booted me off the site. This was my last cuddle appointment.}

8 p.m. in Los Feliz

I was psyched to get a cuddle closer to my hood. I pre-gamed at Messhall; home of my favorite Penicillin in Los Angeles. Unfortunately, because it’s winter in L.A. and below 70º they had the heat on blast. I was dying. It felt like heaven every time the front door opened.

Finally, it was time to go, and I needed air. He booked an hour on the site, but we made plans via text for two. I hit the bathroom before I left for a little Frank. I gargled mouthwash in my car and spit it out of my door in the parking lot. I always find this move amusing and keep meaning to document it somehow, but it’s probably best kept on the pages and the confines of the pavement.

I began the seven-minute drive. He lives in a boujee neighborhood. He told me to park in his driveway and text him. The street was curvy and narrow, and I almost passed the house because it was dark and unmarked. It didn’t look lived in. I pulled in and text him: “Am I in the right driveway?”

His response, “I’ll tell ya now.”

I stepped out of my car and heard a voice, “Yep, right spot!”

“Cool, I’ll be right there,” I said to the shadows.

I grabbed my bag and walked towards his voice. He apologized for the darkness, “There’s supposed to be a light sensor.” I detected an accent. He was standing on stairs leading to the lower part of the house. I stepped down and around the corner.

“Hi, I’m ____” he said.

I recognized him instantly, “Hi, I’m Kit.”

Are you fucking kidding me? How is this possible?

Now look, I’ve met a lot of famous people in my life. Between my years as a stagehand for Bill Graham, stripping at Mitchell Brother’s, working at Sound City Recording Studios (plus others around L.A.), the famous musician I dated (and should have married), and living in Los Angeles; I’ve hung out with more than a few celebrities. I’m not a star-struck gal by nature, however, I did not expect to get booked by one via a fucking cuddle site! He led me into his house (the downstairs portion). A gorgeous, old Hollywood gothic joint. I’ve met so many stars with this type of home. He led me to the screening room. It was huge. Super high ceilings with dark wood beams. A huge fireplace to one side. A fantastic chandelier and a screen that covered the entire back wall. He was watching the NFL playoffs. Which surprised me considering where he was born.

He was in a white T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Earlier that day, he said he had just arrived from a long flight from Europe and that he might fall asleep on me. I joked that I’d keep him up. Later, this would be a running joke. I kept him up. I changed in the guest bathroom down the hall. I asked how long he’d been living there (after complimenting the house), he said fifteen years. He asked if I wanted anything to drink—this is the weird thing about him being famous, I know he’s sober (has had issues with booze/drugs) so I said no thanks. I had my Yeti mug in tow filled with ice water. I wanted a drink, but that’s why I pre-game. 

I joined him on his huge sectional couch. He was curious about me. Asked how I got on the site, and I swear to fuck I’m such an idiot…not there ten minutes and I blurt, “I’ve been in the sex industry almost thirty years.” As the words were still in the air it hits me, I’m supposed to be thirty-seven. I laughed and said, “Shit. Right. I’ve been doing this since I was seven…fuck…obviously I’m not thirty-seven.” He laughed. I’m so stupid. He didn’t seem to care. It wasn’t until the following day when I revisited his profile that I saw his age preference was marked 25-45, plus Google told me he’s younger than me. My buddy Erin remarked that “he didn’t seem too upset.” Well, yeah, in the moment, what man is going to be upset with a scantily clad woman with big natural jugs?

We were in the crux of his couch and unfortunately, part of the sectional wasn’t attached so it kept moving around. It was annoying but I did my best. Real talk, he’s hot as hell. I’ve never had any real celebrity crushes, but this dude is off-the-charts good looking. A little more so in his youth, but weren’t we all? I noticed he’d put on a bit of weight and his hair was different. I wondered if it was for a role. Anyway, the chemistry between us was nice. Granted, I can create chemistry with a carrot stick so…

It wasn’t long before his hands were on my tits. I mentioned extra dough for extra when realized I forgot to collect from him for the session. He said he had […] amount (our two hours plus tip), but that was all the cash he had on him.

“You can Venmo/Cash App me,” I said.

He gave me a look.

“Ok, I got it, next time.”

No paper trail when you’re famous. At least that’s what I figured. Who knows, he could just be cheap. He had enough cash for shirt off. I pulled his off over his head after mine. You can’t beat flesh on flesh. Especially with a foxy actor. I used to do it at the club all the time, as most of you who’ve read my memoir know.

We talked and “cuddled” for the next hour or so. He was getting a good lap dance. I was working my ass off. I was having fun, but I was working. He was obsessed when he heard about my relationship with The Texan. It came up because of my travel schedule, which is on my profile. And since I seem incapable of lying, I told him it was for my ten-year client.

“Ten years? Wow.”

“Yeah, it’s basically a marriage…even though he’s married.”

“He’s married?”

“Yep.”

“He must do well…have a lot of money.”

I paused; the remark caught me off guard. I smiled, “He has money.”

We talked about our childhoods. Cocaine on my gums, whiskey on his. His children. Parenthood. He had a sizeable schlong. Yes, I was touching it outside of his pants. At one point I made him get on top. His dick was peeking out of the hem. I love that. He wasn’t pushy but asked if we could do more.

“Sorry, love, next time, when you have more cash.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t pout, thank fuck. We continued. We were in a lot of positions that were less than fabulous for my mid-drift. He kept touching it! I couldn’t help myself, I had to talk about the elephant in the room—I made fun of my belly.

“I love your stomach,” he said, “I think you can tell.”

You love it or you think there’s a baby in there, either way, he was sweet. It was strange having football as our background. Music and dimmer lighting would have been better (and scotch), but that’s the way the cookie crumbles. I didn’t feel like making a fuss over it.

I got up to pee at one point. I was planning on taking a documentary photo in the bathroom—I thought it would be cute to have bathroom shots from my cuddle sessions—but that was when I thought I was seeing Joe-schmoe. I didn’t want to grab my cell phone in front of him, I wanted him to trust me. I doubt he would have noticed, but we all know I’m a freak. He was just sitting back down when I returned, “I set your money by your purse.”

“Thanks, hun!”

He was super into pheromones (like me). His armpits had a unique man smell. I’m all about that shit. Not anticipating this, I smelled sugary sweet; not uber human. He licked my armpit at one point. I’m sure he got was a tongue-full of deodorant.

“I won’t wear any perfume next time” I said. I have this awesome smelling hippie soap I could shower with and leave it at that. He’d dig it, I could tell. I removed my booty shorts so he could smell my pussy through my underwear. He liked that. I didn’t remove them. It’s interesting how I give both more and less to famous people. I always wonder if stars appreciate this or if they’re annoyed by it. One will never know. I guess I will if I hear from him again. I let him get naked. Why not? He had a dirty mind and a huge dick. We discussed our fantasies; we both love creampie. He said he especially liked the idea of filling a woman with his load, but it’s been advised he not. I imagine he’s had enough pregnancy extortion's. He mentioned he’d only been on the cuddle site for a short period and only one other session. She kept her clothes on. It was strictly platonic, “nothing like this” he added.

I stroked his cock with zero intention of finishing him, but come on, it was there, and I was having a good time. Did I mention we were making out like crazy? Good kisser. A little overwhelming, but otherwise good. He wanted to suck on my tongue, and I’ve never understood that move. He was dying to fuck me. I wasn’t having it. Money, yes, but also, he was super intense. I could tell it would be a whole thing. Honestly, I was happy to have money as my excuse. And my consent, of course. There’s no doubt his cock would have felt amazing, and the creampie would have been a dream, but I couldn’t do it. My panties stayed on the whole time. Famous people are used to getting everything handed to them. He praised me for sticking to my guns.

He went on and on about filling me up and going down on me. Drinking my cum and making me squirt (quite the assumption). Our time was nearing an end. I was straddling him. I told him to stroke his cock. I wanted to see him come. He asked me to touch myself. I pulled my underwear down enough for him to see my pubic hair and the top of my cunt. He asked if he could taste me on my fingers. Sure. I put two in and let him. I wasn’t sure he was going to come; he’d held off for so long. Let me rephrase, he didn’t seem close to coming, but sure enough, he did. It was worth the wait. He came buckets. I was certain I’d see him again at the time. Now, a couple days later, I think the probability is high that I won’t.  

As I got dressed, he left the room, came back with British pounds.

“This is all the extra cash I have. If you’re cool with it, it’s yours. Thank you so much for your energy.”

We hugged. I told him I wouldn’t bug him; I’d leave the ball in his court. I made the ascent up the staircase. Once outside I realized something and called out, “Babe, shit, I’m sorry. I think I left my little jacket…I wouldn’t want you to think I did the leave behind.” He laughed and left to grab it.

“Thanks, babe,” I said.

“You’re welcome, love.”

I got in my car and waited until I was down the street to call my friend to tell her. It wasn’t until yesterday that it hit me: What if his kink is surprising unsuspecting women on the site, watching them freak out and give him everything? I did the opposite. I stand by my decision. I rubbed one out this morning thinking about him filling me with all that cum. I wanted to text him to tell him. A naughty little text. I didn’t. My pride is substantial. My friends think I’m nuts, but what else is new. They’re in awe of my restraint. In truth, my ego couldn’t take it if he didn’t respond.  

† I never heard from him again and I never reached out. He was also my last cuddle. A man I had spoken to on the site found my website (I’m not sure how…maybe from one of my photos) and reported me; I was banned from the site. Talk about going out with a bang!