This time last week I was mulling in silence and preparing myself for a journey that I had underestimated in benefit. These benefits now seem like a rolling awareness with new insights finding me, every damn day. It seems so, anyhow.

Parts of my body still ache from the hike in the bush. My feet still feel tender and blistered, and my body is exhausted enough that I am sleeping better than I have done in Months. 

Key points that have stood out to me this week has been my love/hate relationship with money. I’ve been trying to pin down where my fear around money comes from and what propels it. Keeping locked away in this stressful state as I claw through my days dreading to know how to survive with it.

Then the nail got smacked on the head with an almighty clunk: PROJECTION!

Yes, there I said it.

The realisation for me is and this is now the story I am choosing;

I am not afraid of money, but I feel the fear that other people have for issues surrounding money, which triggers me into believing that I too should be afraid. 

Here are some of the things that I am constantly now aware of hearing from other people that I choose to look at with my new hearing ears;

How are you going to pay for that?

Don’t you want more?

I know how much you need the money right now.

If you want money you need to work harder. 

I don’t have any money.

I’m really struggling right now, times are tough. 

….stretched so thin. 

Well, yes. These are a few of the golden lines that I have noticed in the language of people around me. Without realising I had become to have such an unhealthy attitude towards money, therefore was unable to value what the positive aspects of having money can be.

When my perception shifted and I realised how this projection of other people’s fear was affecting me, now I fully view money as a tool to help create abundance and gratitude.

The extension of what this has meant for me this week in terms of perception and realisations is something I think that will take some extra time to mull over.

If my fears around money are influenced so strongly by other people projection their fear, what other fears do I have that are also a result of other people.

My body?

The way I look?






Sisterhood on the Bibbulmun Track

So I took off on an Adventure on Friday 31st of March, leaving behind a shitstorm of stress, uncertainty, and crap. Yes, March wholeheartedly was unintentionally loaded like most of 2016 was. While March did deliver some great days, great moments the reality is it was a tough slog to absorb and I was glad to be getting far away from it.

A few months ago I’d been contacted about going on a retreat where I’d be taking photo’s throughout the event and doing a mini- photoshoot group session for the group of ladies who attended. After attending Nerida Mills retreat last year, there is no way I’d pass it up! Though, once again I had no idea what I’d be getting myself into, in the best way possible.

I’ve been doing retreats now for a little over a year and one of the things that attracted me to this one was that it presented with a physical challenge that I have been aching to dive into! Hiking!!! The Wyld Women Nature Walk Retreat offers women the opportunity to get away from the hustle and bustle and take part in walking some of the beautiful Bibbulmun Track here in Western Australia. Yes, all my boxes were ticked!

One thing I have noticed in the year I’ve been going to retreats is that a very organic occurrence of sisterhood emerges out of these experiences. Whereas before, I was Prudent about my interactions with women and spending time with them was something I did not seek out, as I do now. There’s something incredibly magnetic for me, in finding this happy place where total strangers gather and can share and support one another in the most beautiful ways.

It’s a new thing for me and something I am grateful for.

We walked a total of 20km on Saturday, weaving, climbing and dragging ourselves through the thick Dwellingup landscape. It was stunning, sensational and simply exactly what I needed. On our journey we shared our stories, got to know eachother and enjoyed what the land hand to offer. Through this, friendships were formed and bonds were made and at the end we were exhaustedily happy. Our trek gave us space to connect with eachother, nature and ourselves. For this I am entirely addicted! I want more!

I’m hungry for more connection! I’m invigorated to seek out more sisterhood and connection. I absolutely can not wait to explore the truths that I have come to realise about what I want, who I am and how to implement some of the lessons I came to learn over the weekend.

There were moments of self-realisation, raw emotion as well as strength and the balance of vulnerability. Tapping into the things that triggered a whole range emotions and being apart of or being privy to other people going through that emotional rollercoater is powerful.

Women creating safe spaces is vital to sisterhood and what I continue to learn for myself is that women are vital to me. Knowing women is crucial to me being more of my innate self. I don’t think there is anything quite like the love and support we can give and receive when we’re open to it. After this weekend, I’m more convinced than ever!!!



WPC: Dense


I walked 20km on the weekend, through the Dense Bibbulmun Track in Dwellingup, Western Australia. Here’s a few snaps from the lush forest!

Darkly Ramblings

I cut her. Cut her freshly and watched it transform the delicate features of her face. Her mouth twitched as I drew my dagger of insults across her chest, marking her as I had many times before. A rogue wisp of hair that clung on her cheek, held there by the salt of her sweat dislodged itself as she gasped for me. I watched it as it moved freely with the rise and fall of her breath. I contemplated her, on count… counting each wicked thought as I counted her breath.

Everything on the inside urging me, tempting me to draw the curtains and play in the light with her. It was the want of seeing her bruised, battered and broken that drew me in even if part of me knew better. I wouldn’t be able to handle the kiss of the light, illuminating the handfuls of fat the slathered my waist. Illuminating the sections of myself that were full, and diseased. Yet, she always seduced the hunger in me, to have myself undone. She seduced the anger in me, and I usually have always won. It was my Expectation that I would continue to resist and so would she.
There is no need to restrain her, but I always do. I bind, knot and pinch sections of her skin as I subdue her from taking the lead. Her body bubbles, forming odd shapes that deform her so very very well. It satisfies me to see the ties cutting into her so sharply that her body begins to seep. She’s all bent out of shape and I wonder if it would satisfy me more if her tongue suddenly found itself detached, and laying on the floor.

Now she stood before me. I marveled in her twisted form. She would never know the control she had over me as it was the sight of her that made me slender and restricted. The sight of her seized my impulses. I tried my best not to make that particularly obvious and took a moment to observe her dilemma, before reaching out to fondle one of the many mounds of breast she now wore for me.

My senses were overcome at her extraordinary ability to still exist. Though for everything I always put her through, I always found her on my front step, more beautifully decayed each time. It made me love her more.

I stood as close as I could to her, letting the scent of her fear travel through me and watched as her body seemed to sing as it stood. Was she swaying for me? Inviting me, to demolish her more?

The cuts were not so deep, but they creamed red fluid quickly, as I started to open her up. Seeing her so, flooded me with pride. I wanted to lick the wounds I’d made but stopped myself. I didn’t know if I deserved to if I’d ruined her in all ways possible before being able to consume her. To be able to take her into me in the most intimate ways, drinking up what she leaked, saving her from spilling onto the floor.

Perhaps, it was her that did not deserve to be inside me.

Her body was an atmosphere I felt entitled to disturb. I sunk back into the moment and stepped away from her as she sought out to stroke my hand. It tore my insides apart from waiting any longer, and grabbing her wrist, I shoved the tenderest part into my mouth. I felt the perfect crush of porcelain skin on the juice of my tongue. I felt her between my teeth and running down my throat as I gorged. I feasted and when I was completely full of her, I let her lay on the cold concrete like a beautiful chaotic mess.

Her hair was no longer beautiful or sleek but dirtied with blood and scum. Her legs twisted as if they had no bones, and for a moment her body looked like a haggard sack, usefully for nothing but filling with rubbish. Bits of her body seemed blue to black with bruises, perhaps from the events of yesterday. I had taught her a lesson for tempting me and calling out for me to play in the light and strapped her body to the front gate of our house. Everyone had had their fill of her, filling all her holes with all sorts of wondrous treats and grabbing at her mounds of flesh. One of the beings that used her up adoringly doted on her with their belt. Nothing was more beautiful.

I crouched down extended out my hand to stroke her broken face and was surprised to have her cheek nestle into my hand. Why would she not disintegrate already? My fury erupted, energised by my hateful core and I hungrily declared war. I snatched myself away from her and crushed her fingers under my heavy stomping feet. She shrilled and I reigned in ardent desire to destroy her.

The sound of her voice filling the air challenged me, and as a reward to myself, I molested my hand into her mouth until I grappled her tongue into my grasp. The wet slimy muscle was pulsating between my fingertips and it lulled the feral in me. I snatch this girls voice from her body in a swift, raging flick of my wrist. A stream of veins, red and organ sailed the wind as I set them free.

Her eyes drew up and caught mine for only a moment. Those brilliant circles of white and forest green, dark pupils caught mine and stopped me in my thoughts.
I’d lost my temper in the moment that was already moments ago… My tender touch had turned…I slapped the sweat off her cheek and smirked to stop me from letting her in. I didn’t stay to watch, just smirked and sighed. As if disappointed, anything to hide my intoxication and turned my back to my corner to watch.

Watch her wait. She would. She always does.

Fuck being a Valentine….

It’s that time of year again when “they” sell love in the form of gifts with the promise of passion and romance. Where lonely hearts are thought to seek desperate solitude in lonely boxes of chocolates and trashy romance. Perhaps the flirty singles are bidding to make dates and hook up while their friends judge with jealous and self-righteous opinions.

I have Lukewarm reservations about Valentine Day and no, I’m not some scorned woman who secretly needs romance. I have plenty of what I need throughout the duration of my relationship to need not focus romance on one specific day. I don’t need a dead flower to throw away, or another box of chocolates. (I have a steady supply, always.) 

I am, though, a romantic. I think. It might mean something different to me, however. I prefer passion that is a slow burn, with short bursts of fire as if being exposed to oxygen. I guess I’d have to, right? I’ve been in the same relationship for 13 years!

I’m fascinated by romance, whether I am watching it portrayed in movies or TV shows or if I’m soaking it up through the pages of stories I read. Often it brings me questions to see how my perception of love aligns.

Do I have an all consuming love?

Is love bound by time?

How does my partner make be better or worse?

What do I have to offer in my relationship?

Who would I be without this person in my life?

Do I have enough intimacy/passion/desire/lust?

Am I enough?


and maybe also…

How the hell did I get so lucky?


So, Fuck being a Valentine…. and just be you.

Perth Boudoir Photography

My day (night) job…


Sometimes my work includes taking photos for people who do not want their faces or defining features, like tattoos visible. I occasionally get asked about this.

“Why don’t they have faces?”

Well, the truth is they do have faces. The purpose of working with me as their photographer is that I can offer a safe, comfortable place to have photos taken that is discreet. Why? Because sometimes the people in front of my camera need or want privacy.

In case you haven’t clued in yet, I work in the Sex Industry. I’m a receptionist at a reputable bordello in Fremantle and I love my job. I’m not exactly in the closet about what I do. So some of my photography clients come to me because I can take gorgeous photos for them with my own Aesthetic style which suits their needs. I offer boudoir style photographs that are not “typical” of being “tits and ass”. (Not that there is anything wrong with tits or ass, I quite love them.)

Something that came up recently with my boss was the discussion we had on the style of photos which pulled more attraction for advertising. I’m a real stickler for wanting things to look neat, clear and pretty. However, it seems that a growing trend is the selfie image, even when it’s blurring and awkward looking! (Go figure, right?) So something I’m having a bit of fun with is trying to work my way around using our standard iPhone camera and being able to take photos that *I* like and suits what the boss wants as well.

So, in case you want to be nosy, you can see some of my Boss approved iPhone photos on .

(The image above was taken for a private client and not with my iPhone)