Uncategorized

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~

Advertisements
Standard
human right, human rights, human trafficking, prostitution, sex industry, sex worker rights, Uncategorized

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

Standard
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

Standard
human right, human trafficking, sex industry

my first letter regarding human trafficking as it is affecting me personally

Wrote a letter to the News Tribune and the Seattle Times today- if you happen to give a fuck about the sex industry, read it. Let me know what u think~

My fiance has made mistakes, and plenty of bad choices, as have I and millions of people every day. On April 8, Lakewood police organized a prostitution sting that resulted in the arrest of Steven Webb, my fiance, for the crimes of human trafficking & promoting prostitution. 47 years is the sentencing range he is looking at, and he’s 44 years old now. The rash and impulsive panicked lie of a 21-year-old scared to spend a week in jail has already cost him 7 months of his life. In exchange for saying she was forced to work by a pimp, she was given special treatment and allowed to go free. She had an incentive to allege force or coercion to avoid charges herself. Faced with the alternative of jail time, obviously such a practice openly encourages the creation of fictional stories about imaginary pimps. Or, to quote a Denver post article, “Prostitutes often avoid charges if they cooperate”.

This is not a case where any force or coercion was involved, nor is there even a hint of evidence that he ever received a penny from any of it. There is clear evidence and sworn statements that both alleged victims voluntarily and independently engage in sex work. These have been ignored, with the prosecution going forward with not the slightest hesitation. Other cases across the country have been dropped because it is the ethical obligation of the D.A.’s office to pursue only those charges which are supported by the evidence. The evidence in this case, the only evidence, was the alleged statements the Lakewood police detectives claimed were made by the alleged victims.
This begs the question. Why? 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. That’s one theory, anyway. And a scary one.
Most (if not all) of the women I have met were not forced into prostitution, they were willing and wanted to do this type of work, and some went out of their way to do it. It is a lot of fast, easy money, and you don’t need a degree or a green card.
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 they have to do is lie and say someone forced them to do it (a favorite excuse since we were children, but not a valid one until now).

For example, if an illegal alien is the victim, all they have to do is lie and , based on the USA anti-traffic prostitution laws:

They don’t have to go to jail or be arrested
They get to stay and live in America
The U.S. government will provide them with housing, food, and education
They will be considered victimed refugees, and can can become American citizens.
The police and the prosecutor’s 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. Boyfriends, friends, anyone that a girl might have depended on to be able to call in an emergency, are being charged with a heinous crime, while the real criminals are free. Police are so determined to justify their actions that they openly refuse to believe people who claim they’re not victims and are just trying to make a living in today’s post-recession world. To claim insistently that all sex workers are simply brainwashed and manipulated by pimps is another paternalistic way to deny her collective voice. It is a common accusation and a subjugation strategy that has been used before and against many groups. It is eerily similar to women being accused of being manipulated by the church to be deprived their right to vote. Why can’t I just be an adult involved in sex work of her own free will?
What so many well-meaning people don’t seem to understand is that the “tough-on-crime” approach being applied to sex-trafficking is not legitimately helping sex trafficking victims, or any sex worker at all). Arresting an adult woman for prostitution, and calling it a “rescue” (involuntary rescue?) does not justify perpetuating the exploitation. If someone with a badge says she does not have the ability to make decisions for herself about sex , whereby the oh so humanitarian government steps in to “help” you realize that you are whatever they tell her, with added threats of criminal charges if she dares to proclaim her independence, how exactly is that any different from the theoretical “coercion” and “exploitation” from which she was supposedly just rescued? Exploiting a person for a good cause is still exploitation.

This is unconstrained and misplaced enthusiasm fueling the decision to prosecute a case in which the so-called victims have submitted signed declarations for the defense, effectively destroying the very basis of a case where by definition, there must be a victim.

People suspected of a crime have extensive due process rights in dealing with the police,and people charged with a crime have even more extensive due process rights in court. The decision whether or not to charge a person with a crime or dismiss them is possibly and probably the single most important event in the chain of criminal procedure, and it rests solely with the prosecutor. The unsuspecting boyfriend of any working girl could have his whole life, in a matter of moments, reduced to a prayer resting on the whim of an office that has become permeated by a culture of self righteousness that leads inexorably down a road where a conviction rate serves as a proxy for real justice.

Cases like this are a thinly disguised witch hunt , an unethical and unreliable narrow view of the sex trade, and leaving legitimate sex trafficking victims wide open and unprotected.

Standard
essay, human rights, human trafficking, prostitution, sex industry

Addressing the matter of Human Trafficking …near me

I am a lifetime resident of our county, and am writing to express my concern about the way that the Pierce County District Attorney’s office is handling the issue of human trafficking, and specifically its charges against my fiance. I am involved directly in this case, as a voluntary witness for the defense, and involuntarily as one of the alleged “victims”. The lack of objectivity on the part of the law enforcement officials and the prosecution as a whole is a matter of concern that I feel is a clear violation of the basic understanding that an American citizen has a right to the presumption of innocence until proven otherwise.

The Washington State code of ethics states that a prosecuting attorney’s duty to be fair is as important as his duty to the general public to actively prosecute violators of the law. Charlton, 90 Wn.2d 657. 110

What so many well-meaning people don’t seem to understand is that the tough-on-crime approach to sex-trafficking is not legitimately helping sex trafficking victims (legitimately helping people means paying attention to what they actually need, not threatening them with arrest if they don’t testify against others.) Law enforcement, with the cooperation and financial backing of anti prostitution activists and our elected officials,  have become the new entity that is now also exploiting these women to further their moral crusade. Freedom is supposed to be what this country is about. Not forcing our moral values on each other.

This issue has directly lead to the arrest and charges filed against Steven Webb.  The police and prosecution as a whole, simply refuse to acknowledge sworn and signed statements that both alleged victims are in fact independently and voluntarily working in the sex industry, and that he is not nor was he ever their pimp.  Instead of acknowledging that these girls have the right to decide whether or not they believe themselves to be victims, these officers of our justice system insisted that they must simply be deluded into believing themselves independent. A victim’s advocate for Pierce County Ms. Dougherty, when asked by the alleged victim she is intended to advocate for, why her own statements were being ignored, asked, “So, are you telling me that you are not a victim here? That you do this work voluntarily?” To which the reply was a vehement yes, that is exactly right, and to which reply she then advised this alleged victim that it is the job of the prosecution to prove she is a victim, and any issues she has with that should be taken up with her own attorney.

How is that in any way furthering the rights of any woman in this so called free country? Lawmakers in our own state have stated the opinion that prostitution is an inherent form of gender based violence and they  accuse anybody who acknowledges the existence of consensual sex work of denying the existence of human trafficking altogether. The issue of human trafficking is real but has become contaminated by moral panic and misguided heroism. This may protect a few victims, but how many will they create? It is crucial to distinguish prostitutes who work of their own free will from victims of sex trafficking. And it is even more crucial that in prosecuting these cases, the law is followed to the letter, and that the investigation be meticulous.

A prostitute is not a victim automatically just because she is in fact a prostitute. Abortion is legal because a woman has a right to decide what to do or not to do with her own body. Should a prostitute not also have the right to do or not do what she wishes with her own body? Is the moral high-mindedness in our country so above reproach that human rights are violated without question, as long as it’s a prostitute who’s rights are being ignored? But only when said prostitute has the audacity to declare herself as independent, and therefore having no need of rescue or information or knowledge that can be used to find any real instance of human trafficking.

What actions are being taken to address issues that have already and will continue to be created by the government’s fanatic lack of planning, investigation, or time? The sex worker community, ranging from affluent and successful high end escorts to street walkers and drug addicts, has been given a solid “get out of jail free” card, which considering that the most often targeted and therefore in need of which would be the drug addicts, street walkers, and various others at the lower end of the totem pole, can and does result in a violation of the freedom of innocent lives, being named because of a grudge, or borrowed money , maybe an unrequited crush or one night stand – who knows?

From a girl living on the fringes of society, addicted to drugs, or just trying to survive, handcuffed alone in a room full of cops and facing jail, a lie, even one of great magnitude, is not entirely surprising. Particularly if she knows by her own experience this has worked before. What is surprising, what is disturbing and should chill the average American citizen right to the core, is the enthusiasm with which this lie is received, and the speed with which a subsequent arrest is made and charges filed.

Why was there no investigative police work? Why didn’t they believe another prostitute, the same day, who said it was not true? The information available by simply purchasing a few court documents online is more than adequate to convince even the most casual observer that there is nothing in this case against Steven Webb that conveys even the faintest idea that he should be prosecuted, but more that the state’s witnesses should in fact be investigated for misleading and contradictory statements, and the state itself should perhaps be questioned for it’s foolish reliance on the statements of two girls who allegedly gave two completely different statements and one who obviously stood to gain directly from her statements, and subsequently also contradicted herself, after of course, she was no longer in jeopardy of losing her own life to prison.

Standard
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!

Standard
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?

Standard