I re-wrote a previous post of mine as a cause and effect essay for school. I have edited it for grammar and some content, and think its a better read than before.

 

18 October 2016

Cause and Effects of the War on Sex Trafficking

Hollywood’s contribution to causing this war can be most obviously seen in the movie, “Taken,” in which we see a beautiful innocent girl kidnapped and sold as some kind of sex slave. Then Lifetime picked up the torch, creating made-for-television afterschool specials about human trafficking, watched by millions. The stereotypes sex workers have been fighting against for years are easy to accept, to pick up and embellish, which of course the media and politicians wasted little time in doing, although this is not a new issue. However, the hype was encouraged, the media became outraged, and stopping this horrific crime became the darling project of political activists, prostitution and pornography abolitionists, police departments, and religious groups around the globe.

The war on sex trafficking has become a modern day crusade, with politicians and lawmakers riding into war to fight a battle that is often of their own creation, and driven by ideals that are rooted in personal moral values now being forced upon others. These people have created an industry that may have begun with good intentions but has grown into a monster. This is not to say that trafficking and exploitation in the sex industry does not exist, it certainly does, but this so called war has forgotten or willfully cast aside the variable that is individual human thought.

This war has created a rescue industry hell bent on “saving” women that may not in fact need saving. These crusading knights in shining armor arrest those they claim to save, and then label them “victim”, ignoring any opposition they may attempt. As a woman, this is a direct violation of the rights my sex fought so hard for, to be treated equal, to be assumed unless proven otherwise to possess the mental capacity to be aware of my own victimization, or lack thereof. The war that police and anti-prostitution activists claim is saving women from coercion and exploitation is itself coercing and exploiting these women, yet believing itself justified, because the women in question are not viewed as human beings with capacity for individual choice, but as victims.

This over-hyped crusade has created even more dangerous working conditions, and has imprisoned hundreds if not thousands of innocent people in our country alone, simply for being associated with a prostitute, and has denied millions of women’s rights as citizens of this free country.

The police and the prosecutors are potentially wasting hundreds of thousands of dollars of taxpayer money and distorting facts while trying to find the elusive “victims” of a crime that is being grossly over prosecuted: promoting prostitution (which can mean profit of any amount being in the possession of anyone other than the sex worker, or providing any assistance whatsoever to the sex worker, including transportation). Boyfriends, friends, anyone that a girl might have depended on to be able to call in an emergency, are now being charged with a heinous crime, which in turn causes the sex worker to work alone, or without any resource should she run into a dangerous situation.

Police departments around the country receive grants from the federal government to fight sex trafficking. So it stands to reason, that when they don’t find any “forced against their will” prostitute victims, they make them up, so that they won’t lose funding. Many women are not forced into prostitution, they are willing and want to do this type of work, and some go out of their way to do it. It is a vast sum of fast, easy money, and you don’t need a degree or a green card to earn it.
But the government has created an enticing incentive for a demographic that is often preconditioned to accept victimization, especially when it can be so obviously beneficial. All a girl has to do is say someone forced her to do it (a favorite excuse since we were children, but not a valid one until now) and she can avoid criminal charges. This is often the beginning of the end of an innocent person’s freedom.
For example, if an illegal alien is the “victim”, all she has to do is lie and, based on the U.S. anti-traffic prostitution laws: She does not have to go to jail or be arrested; she gets to stay and live in America; the U.S. government will provide her with housing, food, and education;
she will be considered a victimed refugee, and can become an American citizen.

And for the independent, self-sufficient, smart, working girl in the world, trying to stay safe as she tries to put food in her belly, there is no one to whom she can turn should a client become violent, without putting that person at risk of prison. She cannot give her mother money for groceries or to help her pay rent, without jeopardizing her mother’s freedom. She must drive herself to any appointments, alone, or risk the other person in the car going to jail. If she does not want to risk the danger in driving alone to a strange man’s home, she must still receive her client somewhere without anyone else present, even another working girl, or risk the other person potentially being charged with a crime.

Prostitution is already the second most dangerous job in our country, second only in death rate to a convenience store clerk. Yet since this war has become nearly a hysteria, whatever minimal security may have saved her in the past, is no longer a viable option if nobody she knows is willing to take the risk involved by any association with her. So how long until the sex industry takes first place?

The effects of this war continue to grow, and the coercion and injustice is unceasing. Its underlying causes are truly tragic, and those involved should be punished accordingly, but there absolutely must be a better way to investigate and separate them from the rest. This modern day crusade is a clear violation of the freedom that our country stands for.

 

If someone were to ask me a year ago if i would be quitting soon, doing something else, i would have responded in the most decided and confident voice i could muster, something arrogant and defensive and wildly overboard in the interest of preserving the image that I worked so hard for. I am still, as i was then, very adamantly pro-hooker, but i don’t think that its fair that in order to keep myself above pity, above judgement, to guard myself from being hurt by the contempt of society and not give any room for them to criticize, it is necessary to oversell the benefits and never ever let on that you may love your job, or aspects of it, but that sometimes you just don’t fuckin like anybody and your attitude sucks and your hair just wont curl right.

Its called having a bad day. I hear the postal workers don’t handle them well, I have seen a thousand movies and heard as many songs all about people having bad days, so it seems to be something that happens even to the darlings of Hollywood. And most of the time, if an accountant is asked about her job , she may answer that it depends on the day. As will probably most retail or customer service employees, yet nobody thinks any worse of them for it.

Yet for a prostitute, even if she answer’s that she loves it, they will think worse of her for it. Why would you do something that is so intimate with strangers? Why don’t you value yourself? And my personal favorite, You are better than this!

OK first of all, my idea of intimacy is probably a far cry from what that person consider’s “the norm”. I’ve had friends who’ve said that their issue was they werent comfortable enough with their body, and to many people, it would be impossible to let strangers see them in all their glory, but hell strippers do it too. I also think that this relates to the idea that as whores, we must be insecure little sluts with daddy issues and low self esteem. My own family favored this one, and I have to take a moment to address this in particular.

The truth, the cold hard honest truth about this job is that if you have low self esteem, this may not be the best forum to deal with it, unless you are ready for some harsh realities.. The truth is that when you open your door to a client and he looks you up and down, and says nah, too fat, never mind, and walks away, and you are standing empty handed and in full hooker gear and at least a good hour of time spent getting ready going down the drain, along with the added time and lost money from this and all that is on top of the fact that you were just treated with all the tenderness of a farmer with a milk cow.  Or the endless text messages from some asshole who hates women telling you your disgusting, you are nobody but a ugly worthless whore, and how dare you not want to suck his dick for 20 bucks. Then, on the darker side, there are the rapes, the almost rapes, the guys who take back their money when you’re not looking, the one’s who “left it in the car’, the ones who leave you with less dignity intact than the last one. If , that is, you do not have enough confidence in yourself to brush all that shit off, and keep it pushing, because there are plenty more in line waiting for what the other guys didn’t want, and anyway that is why you just learn to avoid those ones.

 Intimacy is different, i think, for each individual person and based probably off their own needs  in their own lives. The idea that sex is the one big  “official” intimacy, to me is insane. Do i enjoy sex? Sure. is it something that involves emotions, to me? No, not unless it is with someone i love. The massage therapist who loves to give his wife back rubs, is not being less intimate with her because he also provides a service for a fee with those same hands. An actress who performs a heartfelt drama, filling the screens with passionate kisses and scenes of love, is not even questioned about it when she leaves the set with her real life love.

So what i do, is not so different, then. It is providing a service, one that i am good at and one that involves acting, and dressing, and putting my mind, my body into a block of time that is paid handsomely for.

Last but not least, I am not a slut, and find that idea insulting, and degrades my entire profession with a nasty and untrue stereotype. The truth; once upon a time, i was a slut. I ran around fucking everybody who asked me, and those who didn’t, and even tho i pretended that i was cool with it, i noticed how they treated me differently afterwards, and i remember thinking that i had done nothing to deserve that, but playing it off. Always afterwards, feeling sort of dirty and wishing i’d had the courage to say no. that is the worst feeling, the lowest self image, the absolute most humiliating experience imaginable, for me. So, now that i am comfortable with saying no, have gotten accustomed to the money, the hours, the independence, the travel and variety of everything about this job, to be accused of being a slut is completely unfounded. I don’t steal husbands, i dont automatically have sex with every single male person who speaks to me. If a husband does come for a visit, he is promptly returned to his wife. A few dollars the poorer, but with a smile and a renewed enthusiasm for life, that doubtless the wife is better for as well, although im sure she doesnt know it. I don’t want to keep him, and i definitely am not an all you can eat buffet, and not all money is money i need.

Is a successful romantic relationship with a hooker even possible?

 

            About a year and a half ago, my very very best girlfriend and partner in crime (crime of course being whore-ing) met and fell head over heels for a man who seemed great for her at first and was super into her. She stopped working because he apparently disapproved, fine, that’s her business, and I didn’t ask a lot of questions. We still hung out, but she never came around me without him at her side. Now, I am completely open and frank about my work, and most of my friends thoroughly enjoy my raunchy and sarcastic anecdotes or recaps of a particularly funny client or session. Everybody laughs, it’s just fun. And she and I have some spectacularly funny memories together that we used to laugh about and retell over and over, but we couldn’t bring them up in front of him, because he’d think she was going to become a whore again. Eventually, he convinced her to break off all contact with me, because I am a whore and said whore things and might be contagious, I guess. Anyway, I know this situation is pretty specific to the people involved, but I mention it because when he finally stopped being such a prick, he and I talked, and he seemed shocked to learn that I actually agree that a relationship is unlikely to survive in an environment like this and wasn’t trying to hijack his relationship.

         Jealousy and trust issues, which most of us have, to some degree or another, are like a pool of gas, just waiting for someone to flick a cigarette and set off the alarms.

This is on my mind today because I received an email from a long-time client requesting my services and had to turn it down, the response that is the direct result of a relationship that has been unable thus far to maintain anything resembling healthy status whilst one of us (namely, me, obviously) was giving blowies to strangers for money. I persisted in my chosen profession through hell and high-water, insisting on my independence and indignant at the lack of confidence in my professionalism until finally my ego took a step back to allow reality to sneak in.

I have been with my fiance for almost 5 years, and except for maybe a month or so in the very beginning, and a few memorable situations since, I have a firm rule that he is not to be anywhere in the same building when I see a client, preferably he is not to even know anything specific that could set his thoughts on a course for disaster.

Not that he’d admit it, not for a long time, but for my fiance, the reality of the girl he loved with some stranger sweating and pawing at her had become a problem very quickly. He would be angry and mean towards me when I came home from working, accusing me of being emotionally invested in clients (i paraphrase of course) or allowing inappropriate activities (like kissing or not using protection, both sacred to a relationship but also mandatory safe hooker practices). I told him in no uncertain terms that he should find himself a hobby and to stay out of my business. I was convinced he was just being controlling, I resented his intrusion in any capacity, and we had a very rocky relationship for a while.

Gradually though, after seemingly endless discussions and observations, and some instances where I was put in his shoes, I was able to finally accept his point of view and even understand it.

He asked me to create and post an ad for him to escort, for ladies, to which he received a resounding negative, because…well.. MINE…. and finally, after finding out about a girl he’d been around, who had been basically a sugar mommy type “friend” and I in my jealousy and indignation was ready to destroy him, a girlfriend of mine suggested I take a good long look in the mirror first. How was this really any different from what I do? Well, obviously, I am there during my dates, so I know that it’s just business, that is the difference!

The simple truth is that, in my experience, knowing that the person you love is touching someone else, and being touched by someone else, no matter how clearly you understand in your rational mind the in’s and out’s of the business , it hurts a little, and part of you wants to rush in and scream MINE!

I have read about and seen examples of marriages and other romantic relationship that seem to be successful and have lasted for years, and I applaud everyone involved . Obviously, these people are superhero’s, and so I admire without any hope of achieving same.

These days, I am not working, and my fiance is overjoyed. I get it, I really do, and so I guess my final opinion on the subject is that any  romantic relationship with a hooker has the potential for longevity, however the degree of contentment probably depends on which person is the hooker and which one just has to quietly know about it.

undercover angels

when you feel alone and work is overwhelming 

just remember that you're a part of someone's 

best memories. no dialogue just your presence, 

in exploring somewhere new, a reassuring smile 

and support you gave, or in lots of laughter and 

sun. it helps the days feel worth more, even if 

today felt like it didn't count, it did. you exist in 

so many ways you can't measure.

i read this somewhere on Twitter the other day and copied it because it is inspiring. In a profession as demanding and exhausting as providing fantasies, its a sweet reminder that it isnt all for nothing, or even all for just sex.

Obviously everyone is different, but I accepted many clients who’s needs were more than just physical, and those are the ones that to me are so rewarding, and they prove that my services are more than their tawdry reputation.

I believe that there is a value inherent in a willing encounter and time spent with a girl that can make someone broken feel whole again, even just for an hour.

 

 

The Truth about Tricks

 

The Truth About My Clients~

I am often asked if I am ever attracted to my clients, or what I would do if they showed up and were ugly or smelled.  The truth is that the vast majority of my clients were in fact relatively normal, average attractiveness and most often in their 30’s, A few who were obviously or openly disabled, mentally and /or physicially, and many who were simply lonely.  And without exception, if anyone had the audacity to arrive unshowered or rude they were either offered the use of my own shower, or asked to reschedule when they would have time to clean up before meeting.

I advised potential clients in my ad and on my website that I expect and demand at the very least the same courtesy and consideration – hygenically speaking- as I would show them, specifically brush teeth, shower, use deodorant. The issue of “consent” that was sneered at as a joke in the blog I was reading is, to me, where my power and control over my own body is asserted and acknowledged and the decision to give said consent is by no means guaranteed nor should it be expected. The “purchase of consent” issue, which I have seen mentioned a few times recently aside from that blog, assumes that it is morally and in all other ways just not possible that consent given in company with a fee can be valid. This is supposedly because the girl is not consenting because she wants to, she is submitting her body to be used at the whim of a stranger because of the money…. to this I can only shake my head. I’ve worked fast food, retail, and I have had customers yell, insult me, hell at burger king some kid threw a giant cup of soda at my face through the drive through window. I hated it, the money sucked, but I had to eat and pay rent just like everybody else. The exploitation, the violations, humiliations, degradations, those are not an inherent part of this kind of work. Myself, I do not allow anything that would cause me to feel that the client is either in control of the session or disrespecting me or my rules.

 

The attractive factor is a non-issue, honestly. I consider myself to be a professional, and to me, what I provide is escape. Fantasy. Sure there are plenty of  guys who literally just want their dick sucked in the safeway parking lot and that fine if thats what you do, but the value a trick places on me and my services is set by the value i place on myself first. I love the transformation in the whole persona of a man who suddenly feels desirable or funny, who for whatever personal reasons was lacking confidence when he walked in, and leaves with his chin a little higher and a swagger in his walk. I don’t pay much attention to height, weight, hair color or the size of his dick. I make conversation, I soothe nervousness, I tell corny jokes and I play and flirt, and my “services” are my personal skill set which I take pride in and provide with enthusiastic energy, because the more they enjoy it, the more money they want to spend! Its free enterprise, America! Besides, some of the most interesting and generous people I have ever met were decidedly ugly and or fat, but their manners were a delight and their appreciation was genuine.

This industry is so wonderfully diverse and the options to individualize your service are endless. The major misconception at work here I think is the belief that any man with enough money has automatic permission, which could not be further from reality. I reserve the right to cancel or terminate at any time and for any reason, but especially if there is the smallest amount of disrespect or agression. I learned over the years to pay attention to every detail of a clients initial contact so as to be able to make that judgement based on a short conversation’s tone and manner.

The other misconception I’d like to comment on right now is the idea that we are homewrecking/husband stealing/in any way interested in your significant other after he’s gone. It’s a job, and there is no more emotion or attatchment involved than if I were cleaning your house. I put on my character as I open the door, and as it closes after he departs, my mind whispers “end scene”. I count my money on the way to the shower and by the time im rinsing my hair I couldn’t tell you his name if you paid me.  Numbers saved to my phone rarely had names attatched , only whatever quick descriptive nickname I could come up with that I’d hope would actually remind me who he was. My contact list has always been thick with “tall guy with beard”, “cheap ass trick” ” fat guy, skinny guy, 2minute guy, awesome vibrator guy, weird hawaiian shirt guy.

The idea of monogamy I believe to be a myth, and I know more about men than any woman has a right to. See, they don’t care a thing what I think of them which results a lot of the time in a raw and unguarded honesty. Yes, so many are truly douchebags, one comes to mind who’s wife was actually in labor and kept calling his phone while he was with me.  Yes, I finished the session, and told him he should be ashamed of himself and not to contact me again. I do have some female loyalty!

But men, truly, just need to have some kind of release and female contact in their life.

My absolute favorites though, the ones I actually have some respect for, were the sweet, gentle, loyal gents, still deeply committed after decades of marriage, who love their wives and would never ever leave them, even though sex is no longer a viable option, and so come to me for a faint bit of comfort and having gotten it go back to their daily lives renewed for a while longer, loving without bitterness, without resentment.

 

 

whore

I know what it feels like to feel nothing at all

To feel everything and nothing and blindly  just keep running

I have danced on weightless clouds of joy, soared on the beautiful wings of a lie

Tiny bits of nightmares creep into the sunshine, spilling pain into the warmth on my face

I have been that girl, the one I never thought I could be

The insults and degrading words, eyes and hands of hate and disgust

I know what kind of empty is the only way to survive

I am everything and i am nothing, tough enough to hide my fear

My strength is unrelenting and my will to survive will conquer

I have fallen, been beaten, stripped of who I used to be,

But i am still here. Harder, colder, i have become what you created

I am a monster, i am a savage, i am a renegade

I am a whore

renegāre meaning to renounce; from Latin re- + negāre meaning to deny.

Renegade…I love the way it rolls off the tongue. I enjoy the state of being….Renegade. It makes me think of a wild and rebellious woman, maybe an outlaw in the wild west, the reckless beauty that is the stuff of legend, or is at the very least, a source of fierce independence, strength of body, strength of mind. The definition of a renegade, the dictionary definition, was perhaps the inspiration behind the term being applied by pimps to label an independent/unrepresented hooker. Webster’s defines a renegade as a  traitor, deserter, betrayer, dissenter. Any outlaw or rebel. Well, I would tend to agree that in the mind of some chauvinistic pimp, a woman with the audacity to promote her own body as a means of financial gain, would need to be discredited as a traitor, to dissuade her from being imitated.

 

I personally prefer the original meaning from Spanish renegado; from Medieval Latin renegāre meaning to renounce; from Latin re- + negāre meaning to deny. Renegade, renegado, or renegare, all have an implicit theme of rebellion, independent thought or actions, and the willingness to be scorned, ignored, or attacked in defense of your independance, and your unwillingness to be victimized, or manipulated.

      My personal experience is rather limited on the subject of pimps, mostly because, I think, they don’t really like me, or they figure I’d be too much work to keep in check. There have been a few who thought they might throw a line or two in my direction, just fishing. There have been none who came back a second time, at least not with any serious intent. I mean, I can’t be entirely positive, of course, but a girl learns to be on guard for the treacherous little fucks, or they will pounce when you are unaware, and then your future gets a little sketchy.

        Me personally, I have one very solid, unwavering, immutable reason to not mess around with a pimp, in any way, shape, or context. Girls like me, we don’t last long in male dominated situations, especially masochistic/chauvinist types who demand abject subservience, obedience, and believe that their’s is the only functioning brain  and therefore the only brain that is needed.

        I had a pimp once. It was a rather short lived experience, but not entirely unpleasant, mostly due to this particular gent and his particular preference for me. I thought of it as a game, where I was the  porcelain doll, who was to be petted and admired for being pretty and good. I would do “me” things like take off with the car to renew my driver’s license , and show up 6 hours later in a new outfit without my DL, and everyone would tell each other how badly he would beat me, which presented me with a new and exciting challenge in my acting skills. I played the game, and I played it superbly. I was ever the “star”, driving “daddy” and his pals around, always sweet and when in trouble, always contrite and in desperate need of “daddy” to explain to me what I had done wrong, and how ever could I make it up to him? Ugh, the retelling is making me throw up in the back of my throat just a bit.

        I was entertained for the most part, never really doing anything productive which did not do much to foster any warmth from my “wives-in-law” who saw me as a lazy mooch, just living off of their work, and getting away with it because I was pretty and good. They hated me. However, it all came to a crushing end one sunny afternoon in spring, with the whole “family” assembled haphazardly in the living room upon our return from some seedy chain motel, everyone talking at once about some non-sense that one girl had done. I could not tell you for the life of me what it was she had said or done, but what spewed forth from his mouth offended me on an intellectual level that had heretofore been unmolested.

           He starts yelling, at all of us, in general, that we are absolutely neither required to, or expected to think. That why any of us would assume that our brains were of any use whatsoever was a mystery, that we should quit attempting the use of our own brains and for any decisions or thoughts needed, we should be grateful to be able to defer to him. I paraphrase, of course, his grammar was atrocious.

      In a righteously indignant fit of anger, I stood up, looking in horror around a room full of blank faces and vacant expressions. Not a single one of them seemed angry, or even mildly offended. That total want of any will to be an intelligent, self reliant human being was astounding. I hadn’t even considered that I might be the only one to whom this was a game, an acting exercise. My own opinions, thoughts, and feelings had been casually disregarded as part of a group of non-thinking, brainless, empty bodies, unworthy to contribute thought? This was unacceptable to me, it went against every belief, every standard of decency, and every aspect of who I believe myself to be.

 

            My feminist notions were  scandalized in the wake of this blatant attack on my until that point uncontested belief that as women, we were stronger mentally and intellectually than men.  The propaganda necessary to condition women to accept this total dehumanization is astounding, and can even be conveyed in such a subtle manner that they are drawn in and caught without any idea what sort of monster they serve.  I agree wholeheartedly with any group working to end what is nothing less than a disgrace.

Do not misunderstand me- I am not singling out pimps.  The anti-prostitution rescue crusader’s attitudes towards prostitutes, and their determination to label any woman in the sex trade a victim, is that not also dehumanization? Is that not also a disgraceful lack of basic human rights, to further degrade the group of people that you claim to be rescuing? Is it not also exploitative to gather up women and force them to assume the necessary roles to further a cause that dismisses their choices as a deluded product of someone else’s propaganda?

 We are human beings. Intellectual beings, with brains that produce independent thought, whether the choices we make are morally distasteful or totally incomprehensible to society’s social norm’s, we should be afforded the right to be treated as equal to any one of your “crusaders”.

Reminiscing, my humble beginnings…

I clearly remember the first “date” I went to, as a hooker. I was terrified, but not for the reasons you may assume. I did not know what was expected for $200, I remember I kept asking if there was some sort of price list I should know about, and on top of that I was not the requested girl for this particular client.

Let me back up a teensy bit. I had gotten myself into a bit of a mess, criminally speaking, being the resident of a house that had recently developed a small criminal enterprise that had, shall we say, not gone as planned, and necessitating myself and my best friend/roommate at the time, and another girl finding alternate housing for a few days. Unbeknownst to me, the 3rd girl, let’s call her Lacey, had thrown all three of us at the mercy and generosity of a pimp. Supposedly he was a friend of hers, and had offered to get us a room at the hotel that his girls were working out of, all the way in Tumwater. Now, we were from Puyallup, a good 30/45 minute drive, in the middle of the night.

So this surprisingly generous “pimp” rents us a townhouse, for the love of God, with his own money, and we all three settle in to chill, but I am called into his room (of course, he left his already secured money-makers at their own room, and moved himself into ours…how cozy!) to discuss the money he expected to be repaid for his generosity. I assured him we would do our best to pay him back, and he told me very courteously and very firmly that he didn’t care if we wanted to ho or do whatever hustle we were skilled at, but he expected his money ASAP, because nothing in this world is free.

I ran back to the bedroom that my girlfriends and I had moved into, and told them what he’d said, imploring them to pack up and leave, because I felt like I was being singled out, and would end up being required to do the paying back. They both brushed me off, saying I was being paranoid, and that we were going to go out boosting the next day and would pay him back together, no problem. I clearly remember sighing in defeat, and telling them that I had called it, so whenever the time arrived that I ended up selling my ass, for the record, I knew that that’s what would happened.

As luck would have it, our boosting adventure the next day resulted in a near arrest as we ran from Walmart security, and very little to show for ourselves besides some clothes and toiletries, and a pizza my best friend Jolene had scammed out of Dominoes for free.

Our benefactor had by then paid for a second night at the hotel and he came over to chat while Jolene and I munched our pizza and cheesy bread. He brought up the money we owed, and asked how our day had gone. Our reply was of course that we had nothing to give him. I remember thinking that he was being surprisingly pleasant considering the amount we now owed him, as he again brought up the idea of one of us simply pulling a date, and having it done with. Jolene was horrified at the idea, stating firmly that if that was going to go down, it would NOT be her. Leaving, of course, only me, as Lacey had left to go back to Tacoma. I agreed, however, that if it came down to it, I would take one for the team, as the idea did not really bother me at all. I had done it once as a teenager, with a guy I’d met in a yahoo chatroom. He’d paid me 50 bucks, which I thought at that time was amazing, to be paid for something my slutty ass would have probably done for free, just for something to do.

We ended up riding with our new buddy into Tacoma that evening, and on the way back he received a phone call from one of his girls. She had a client, a regular, that wanted to see her, but she wasn’t feeling well, and wanted to cancel. This girl was the complete polar opposite of me in every way; blonde to my brunette, short to my tall, petite to my thick/curvy, white to my olive complexion….experienced, to my vast lack thereof, but I was offered the chance to make $200, if I wanted to. It was more than we owed, I hadn’t had a cigarette or anything to eat all day long, and I was encouraged and flattered and assured that the gentleman would not  care once I was standing in front of him. My biggest fear was not knowing what to do- what does a $200 date entail? Is it like a blow job? Sex? I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of some guy not only accepting me instead of an itty bitty blonde, but paying me that much money? So I figured, what the hell, don’t knock it till you try it, right? Go hard or go home!

They dropped me off ( in jeans and a tank top, no time to change) with my cell phone and a condom in my pocket, and instructions to answer the phone when they called to check on me, even if I had to answer it with a dick in my mouth (which I thought was a joke, but was definitely not…safety is number 1, apparently). The client was a little confused as I explained that his date had run into some personal issues and had suggested me instead. He kind of shook his head for a second, looked me up and down, and said “ok, you’ll do. At least you’re pretty.” He led me upstairs and down a carpeted hallway to a little candlelit alcove with a bean bag chair. I told him I was told to expect 200, and he replied that he’d give me $100 now, and then the rest after, since he didn’t know me. I figured that sounded reasonable, whipped out my condom, and started to get undressed, but he stopped me with a gentle nudge down to my knees, putting the condom on himself. I had never given a blowjob with a condom on before then, but I must have done pretty good because about 8 seconds later, he was done, and asked me if I would be ok with just another $20, since he was finished with me and I’d only been there less than 5 minutes. I agreed, hoping that I wouldn’t be reprimanded for coming out with less than the $200 I’d been told to expect. I didn’t have a clue how that would play out, having had my only experience with pimps either via hollywood movies, or some predatory masochists masquerading as good samaratins, pretending to help me as a homeless 16 year old, and trying to force me to work for them. But that was a long time ago, and this wasn’t exactly a deserted dark alley in Hilltop. Nor was it Hollywood, as the only pimp-ish thing about this particular specimen was his tendency to call everybody ( females anyway) Bitch. Like literally, he’d say it in the most casual, non inflammatory manner I’d ever heard, as if it were the most normal, mundane way to address a woman. When he said he called his own mother Bitch, he said it so smoothly I was inclined to believe him.

  Anyway, back on topic. I was walking down the street away from the clients house, calling for the car on my phone when they pulled up. I climbed in the back seat behind the passenger seat where rode his pimpishness, and handed him the money, explaining about the missing rest of the $200. “Listen, Bitch,” he replied in a cool and collected tone, “ you did good. The call was only supposed to be for $80, I just wanted to see if you’d get more. The regular bitch never gets more than $80. I’m impressed.” I was feeling pretty puffed up at that point, and then his next move shattered everything I had previously thought I knew about him, or pimps in general. Even though I owed him close to $180 for the room, he took my $120, counted it, and gave me back half. He told me to consider the debt paid, and get myself something to eat, and my own pack of smokes. I could hardly believe it, I had been on the streets and struggling to save up 2 nickels to rub together, and here in 5 min I had made 60 bucks! I ran into the first gas station we stopped at and bought myself a cup of coffee, a pack of newports, and a bottle of Pringles.

Perhaps it could be considered a “tell”, a small preview or hint of the ferocity with which I took pride in my work, or the independance I guarded with the tenacity of a pit bull and the obnoxiously easy strength and self-assurance of a woman possessed of a priceless bit of treasure, that my most vividly remembered moment that evening was this; I offered some of my hard earned snack to everyone in the car, and everyone thanked me and took a couple, everyone except my so called best friend. When I held out the can to her ungrateful ass, she wrinkled her nose and asked what flavor they were. I lost my temper. After everything that she had received along with me, she had refused to do anything to repay the debt. Which I had not begrudged her, I loved her and did not mind taking one for the team, with of course a base idea that it would be appreciated, at least. My subsequent raging outburst served to provide laughs all around. Perhaps wars over pringles are uncommon within the pimp community. Regardless, I was deeply offended.

“Do you have any idea what I did to get the money for those fucking chips you ungrateful bitch!!! I sucked a dick for these pringles and you wanna act like they are not to your taste? Fuck you bitch, you can’t have any of my pringles anyway.”

Thus began my life as a whore; the priceless unintentional comedic moments, the people I have met and the ones I have refused the privilege, the endless parade of requests and male egotism, from the low life perverts and creeps to the truely classy older gentlemen, those are my favorites, the gentlemen that treat every woman like a lady, no matter her situation. The kindly faced married gents, that have dedicated their lives and hearts to a marriage that is bonded with love and history, romance…but one in which sex is no longer a part. I have grown to respect the constancy and loyalty of these rare men who stand by their commitments, their marriage and family, instead of throwing away decades of love and memories simply because they can no longer fuck their wife. I feel that these men deserve respect and compassion; I have a thoroughly realistic view of the institution of marriage, (though I am still planning to join those hallowed ranks ) ; I know more about men than any woman has a right too, and I am fully aware of the workings of their minds; I have had the opportunity to be whoever and whatever I want to be, to play a role that many might find disagreeable, or difficult, emotionally draining. I agree, this can be all of those things, and so much more. I have the confidence, the independance, the bold self-sufficiency that allows me the security of knowing that no matter what life throws at me, I will not only survive. I will THRIVE!!!

 

And my name is Renegade~

crime victim impact letter

 

Hello, Your Honor, my name is **Karmin** and would like to speak regarding sentencing, and the impact of a crime. At the time of his arrest, I was engaged to be married.. And while my life, my relationship, and the life of the man I intended to marry have been torn to bloody pieces, I’d like to state, for the record, that I still have every intention of making this man my husband, in spite of the valiant efforts of a twisted system to dissuade me from doing so.

 

  These last 13, almost 14 months of my life have been the most stressful and frightening of my life. Stressful because I wanted to fight these lies, and frightening because nobody would listen to me.

Steve Webb may not mean much more that just another name on a paper to a crowded court system, but to me and to the rest of his family, he is everything. He is a fiance, he is a son, he is a father, he is a brother.

He is loved and he is needed.

He is not perfect, his mistakes are not secret, and for those crimes in which he participated, he has faced consequences, and deservedly so. But how long must we all be punished for a crime that never happened, and now one that is a result of that incarceration? This unnecessary theft of almost 14 months of life is a tragedy in itself,

 

The arrest that began it all was literally where it all began. My initial confusion, trying to figure out why these detectives were asking me questions and accusing me of lies . My confusion became utter disbelief 3 days later, after I downloaded the probable cause from the internet, thinking to find out what exactly was going on. But those were not my words, those allegations were untrue, the honest denials I had given to the police were not there but had been replaced.

 As time progressed and I came to the realization that this nightmare was in fact being accepted as truth, and I and my feelings and reputation were defamed and drug through the mud by lies. My disbelief turned to outrage, which in turned was tempered by helplessness and fear, as weeks became months, and my world continued upside down and unsteady.

 I replayed all of those moments between us that his insistance that I stop working, that I needed to come home had been met with my senseless need to thwart any possible threat to my independance. The times that I would yell and scream in stubborn spiteful fury at the audacity of a fiance who loved me and wanted me at home with him.

It never occurred to me that my lifestyle choice would affect anyone else. Nor do I believe that it should have.

  I immersed myself in research, writing letters to news stations and the governor, and the department of justice. I created a website, a facebook page, and a blog, detailing this case and downloading every available document online. I tried to explain that my choices were mine, that I am independant  and intelligent, and my fiance had no part in my work. I tried to explain that I am very passionate about what I do, and that I am entirely my own boss. All this to no avail. My letters were ignored, my pages of little interest to anyone but me.

 In a vain attempt at what I had been led to believe was a chance to explain all this to the prosecutor, I described my personal opinions, my awareness of and heartfelt sympathy to those girls who were in fact the victims that I absolutely am not. I stated facts, explained and defended both my choice and whether I am even capable of making it when it was implied that i was not. I was called a liar, and told that not one word out of my mouth would be believed. That the state of mind causing me to believe that I chose this was understandable and probably a result of trauma. I was so far stereotyped that I was also informed that I am no different than any other prostitute, that he’s seen it all, that he knew that I am simply damaged, abused, or the victim of poor parenting.

    To insist that any and all women who trade sex for money are always “victims” who are being “exploited” by men is simply a way to dehumanize women, as it presumes women to lack agency and capacity to consent. I ask you, should I be treated differently, or as someone inferior, by an officer of the law, simply because my lifestyle choice is deviating from that individuals notion of“decent” female sexual norms? Am I so morally offensive as to be unworthy of fair treatment?Is this prejudice and degradation to be expected all around, or just for lowly prostitutes that have the nerve to think for themselves?

  I recently recieved a letter informing me that I may attend this sentencing and speak regarding sentencing  and this case’s impact upon my life. This is the most accurate summary of the crime who’s prejudice and caprice knows no bounds, the crime who’s victim is the man in the defendents chair, who’s victim is the assumption of equality and justice. Who’s victim is my naive illusions of world where liars are ridiculed and honesty is rewarded.

To conclude, my thoughts regarding sentencing are these.

14 months in a county jail is a challenge even if you’re guilty, even if you have a solid freedom date.

14 months in a county jail, fighting for the right to take part in the rest of your life, being forced to acknowledge the fragility of it, the real possibility that even though you were trying to do right, everything can be taken from you, in the blink of an eye.

I personally have never experienced that kind of trauma, my experiences are limited to 3 months at a time for stuff I was absolutely guilty of.

My heart aches for the man I love, and I am desperately impatient to wrap my arms around him. I am ready for him to come home, I am ready for this nightmare to end. I would ask, no beg, that you take a moment to really see us all.

I am a whore, but is it such a crime for whore to be loved?

**I wrote this letter to the prosecutor’s office of Pierce County Washington, regarding the unlawful and unfounded arrest of my fiance, and their charges against him of human trafficking, as well as their arrogant and dehumanizing insistence that I am a victim, incapable of making a concious choice about my own body. He very nearly lost his entire life because of this prejudice and stigma.

#notyourrescueproject

fighting shadows …

I don’t know why  lies are so much easier to believe.

I don’t know why I put pen to paper, or open my mouth to speak

I don’t know why I am asked for truth, while they secretly redefine honesty

I don’t know why I am compelled to play along with that disingenuous and rather vague presentation of assistance and support

I don’t know why we are presumed to be so easily maneuvered into a collapse of our constancy, our integrity,  our very common sense

I don’t know why anybody would steal a life,  and I don’t understand why I can’t steal it back

I don’t know how many memories I have forgotten, in my desperate quest for escape

I don’t know how a battle is fought when the war is born from a lie

My heart, in all it’s cold ferocity, aches unbearably in its lonely confusion  I don’t know why I  can never dance in front of you

I don’t know why God pulled you away, or why I can’t  do anything about it

My  love, I don’t know why I  couldn’t make them understand, I don’t know why my tears  were exploited

I  don’t know why I couldn’t believe that justice  would not prevail

I don’t know why innocent lives are pursued with such deadly intent,  or how simple truth can be so categorically ignored

I don’t know how to explain to my children that the country of freedom or the system intended to uphold it

are a myth. Nothing more than nostalgia, a bit of whimsy,  a dream

Justice.

Right. Wrong. Good. Bad.

I don’t know why such simple principles are so used and abused, so filled with foggy gray areas  and predjuce

I don’t know why it is so difficult to see a person, instead of a paper, or to ponder the possibility that there are other possibilities

Your mother asks me questions to which I have no answere. I don’t know when you will come home. I refuse to even allow myself to consider the alternative.

I cannot even fathom the idea…My own psyche will not allow the idea to materialize…my chest constricts, my muscles clench, my head begins to spin

I don’t know if I want to know how to be strong enough for that