personal musings, prostitution, relationship, sex industry, Uncategorized

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.

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personal musings, prostitution, sex industry, Uncategorized

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.

 

 

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essay, human right, human rights, personal musings, prostitution, rants, Uncategorized

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”.

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personal musings, rants, relationship, Uncategorized

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

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personal musings, rants, work

banging hookers in cars….

Oh Emm Gee! I have been doing this job for several years, and always lived in hotels. Now that I have a home, I can’t work from here. My mother-in-law would never in a million years allow that (my fiance of course wouldnt either, but he’s in jail so he doesnt get a say ) so I have been pulling car dates from the parking lot of the ampm by my house. Not proud of that, but it is what it is. Paying for a room for one little date is rediculous and expensive, but explain that to a trick! These cheap bastards want to get upset about  paying an  extra 20 bucks so that I can borrow a room from a friend, but then complain about a car date( whatever happened to everybody’s sense of adventure? ). I am not typically too keen on car dates myself, I have been a “track star” in my early years and I feel like I have earned my place in a comfy incall location, answering phone calls and prebooking mulit hour and therefore rather lucrative appointments with gentlemen who can afford them. But I have been caught in one too many stings by police and in the interest of staying my happy ass out of jail, decided to move home and severely limit the advertising (which is to say, not advertise at all and work with repeat clients only). Clearly, this is not working out how I planned, hence this rant about cheap bastards with no sense of adventure or respect for the time and energy put into getting myself both “date ready” and into a proper location….. I am not, of course, referring to the the more upscale clients, the ones who are interested in an evening, or a “girlfriend experience”. Those gents would obviously see the need for some kind of lodging expense, given the length of time and the sensual sort of roleplay involved. But guys, if you are calling a hooker for a 15 minute (if that!) bang-fest and you are bitching about a hundred bucks, do not think you deserve to do so in a presidential suite!

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personal musings

“darlin, stay with me…. cuz you’re all I need” …

That is the only line i know from that  song but it keeps replaying and replaying relentlessly in my head, in this endless loop, and my stupid feelings are playing right along with it. And now I’m in this horrible place where I feel like a shitty mom (darlin, stay with me) because my kids just want me around and I have left them so many times when i really didn’t have to, just to get high, or to prove something to my boyfriend( my boyfriend?!?!) who had no idea, and would have been horrified to know I had done my kids like that. Yet they still love me, and want to be with me, even though I have nothing. My parents have everything a kid needs, but they want me (cuz your all I need).

For 4 years I have been in the streets. Maybe compared to a lifetime, it doesn’t seem like much. But I have lived a lifetime in these 4 years. My world has flipped and turned around, wiped itself nearly out and started back at nothing, over and over and over. Not a single person in my “clique” (and by that i mean every single person i know and speak to at all,even my fiance) has known me longer than 4 years. My life now is so different, everything about me has been affected by these streets and this game.

The Game.

I didn’t even know there was a game until 4 years ago. I had no idea that the criminal element was so well networked, or had so many “career” options (hustles) to choose from, nor did I have the faintest idea how naive and vulnerable I was. My outlook on the world was somewhat cloudy, but I still felt like in the end, people were not truly “bad”, and that if you just gave someone a chance, and showed them you’d trust them, they wouldn’t burn you.   ~ I know. Don’t judge me.

My world has always been a sort of iffy place, with shadowy corners and some really shameful secrets lurking in some really awkward places, but only once have I felt the utter despair and emptyness that is all around when you love the hell out of someone and they are gone forever. I remember it clearly, and this song playing in my head is raining buckets of emotions into that place inside me that does not have the coping skills needed, and will swiftly shut itself the hell down. Enter emptiness. U know, that bone-deep stomach ache that makes it hard to breathe or talk and you can’t function at any sort of normal level because your brain is on a high that is NOT fun at all, but like a cracked out highlight reel of all the bad shit you’ve done up until this point…. or maybe its just me. Anyway, I feel like that song is exactly how I feel, and I don’t want to be alone. I miss my fiance. I miss my kids.

And it makes me ask myself, as I start to wax poetic about how they are all I need, why, if that is true, have I put everything else that doesn’t mean shit into all the time and all the places in my life where they should have been?

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