Life is a choice..

or so the rhetoric goes..

I turned down a trick last night. (I call them tricks when I am purposely trying to disrespect them) I could have made part of the cash that I desperately need for the rent but I didn’t.  I didn’t even consider it even as broke as I am.  He was not an agency trick, he was an independent deal who was a friend of a drug using regular that I used to have before he cut me off.  or did I cut him off?  He was the same as they all were..manipulative, abusive, demanding, annoying annoying..annoying.  but he was one of my bread and butters and why I am suffering so much right now is to be able to have the strength to turn down all the negative aspects of sex work and preserve my remaining sense of self.  Sounds good in theory doesn’t it?  Well, that was his friend..not him.

This one who called me last night got a special deal one time and I endured it for at least 2 hours because he was a friend of my regular.  I gave him 2 hours for a dirt cheap hourly rate and he still complained.  Drug users are the most annoying because they are so fucking whiny and hard to please.  But ONLY really dangerous if they can actually fuck.  Drug users who have functional erections are the enemy of the bottom sex worker (anal/vaginal receptor) because they usually wear you RAW and will complain and complain for hours while they do it, telling you every 10 minutes that they are “about to” cum but they never do.  In fact I had to finally jump up, jump into the bathroom, lock the door and say,”that’s it, you’re DONE NOW. I’m leaving.”  When this dude woke me up in the middle of the night, I envisioned what it would be like if I saw him again. the thought made me grimace in my sleep.  Usually I wouldn’t answer the phone, but because my call forwarding is disabled cuz of my brokeness I can’t screen calls as well…He is a predator to vulnerable girls like me.  He has preyed on others before I know it..He never wants me to come over, he always talks about “swooping me up” in his car, and there is always “a buddy” involved.  He lives far away and swoops up these girls and does drugs with them and fucks them to they can’t walk the next day…thus is the difference between trading sex for drugs or money and sex WORK.   Some of us have the privilege to even call it and run it like a business and make it sex WORK.  But even us sex workers sometimes cross over to the other side very easily.. His world is the underground.  the trade.  the street.  No review boards, no hourly rates, not even always safe sex or respect of boundaries…Just drugs and sex for hours, and maybe a couple hundred dollars when you get dropped off.  For my girls in the row, it’s probably $20.  It is the devil knocking on my door, banging on my bedroom window while I am sleeping.  (thanks for reading this, writing it has helped me hold my ground.)

On the other hand, drug users who are SEXUALLY CASTRATED by drugs have been my “favorite” because they just require you to listen to their annoying high as a kite banter and play with their body in erotic non penetrative (for you that is) ways for hours on end.  And since they are high and their erection doesn’t work, they always want to be fisted or fucked in the ass with a strap on, which is actually my favorite fetish!

And they are throwing their money at me like I am a stripper in a rap video and all I have to do is listen, nod my head, order room service and ride them around like a donkey in the hotel room while we do lines (of course I’ll do some, to earn trust so I can have this venture but I haven’t been doing them for 3 days straight like he has) and drink mimosas.  Easy.  (I think this way of making money is one of my fetishes too…in phonesex we call it finnancial domination..this is the same, but subversive and over the course of hours not minutes…

Last nite this trick calls and I am reminded of how long of a “one hour” session it really was and how I have avoided his calls since the last time because he “accidentally” tried to stick his dick in my ass while we were fucking vaginally MORE THAN ONCE.  Those are the shadiest accidents by guys who can only have anal sex by these “accidental” slippages.  In my book it’s a sexual assault or at least a violation of my body boundaries which is an automatic ban from my life, personal or professional.  (I just remembered also that he revealed to me in our conversating that he fucks girls under 18 and he is 35 or something! Yuck.  I always hated guys like him with a passion for some reason, even though that type of age gap is totally acceptable in a lot of other cultures, just not Western).

I don’t have anal sex with paid clients because it’s too personal of an experience (It hurts, it hurts, then I cum!) to share with clients because I don’t like to be vulnerable to them in more ways than I am already.  I don’t even really do anal in my personal life as I’ve gotten older.   Yeah, I can do anal…for about 7 minutes, then after I orgasm the pain becomes just pain and no pleasure so you need to get your cock out of me or else I’m going to be mad.  But, it’s still something I will do with special personal lovers only.  It used to be easier, but now it just hurts.  Go figure.  I like to watch in awe on Redtube, but know I could never be a porn star.  Not in this life.

“Why do you see guys like that?” All the better than thou sex workers would ask me. “It’s sooo bad for your self-esteem.” she said.  BECAUSE BITCH, I don’t have a choice!  Guys like that pay the best.  I don’t have the luxury to only work during the day, or to only take sober clients, or clients I am attracted to..This is a capitalist and cut throat business, especially in LA.  It is a race to the bottom to be the most profitable here, (not unlike the current national healthcare system) unless of course you have the privilege of being that $1200/hr girl, who gets 1 client a week which most of us don’t.  And all those high dollar girls, I just have to wonder how much business they get..  I have never made any stack of money where drug use, hustling, cutting short, upselling, bitching out and sometimes being ruthless was NOT involved.  On a good nite, it would just be mellow and easy drug users.  Easy to please ones.  Good [not bad!] coke…

Cocaine is so unpredictable, but I can sometimes sip it like tea and still keep my head on.  And when that doesn’t work, pop a valium to get to sleep.  I am a pro functional drug user, I believe with no major addictions. (Yes, I am “addicted” to marijuana, but I believe it is a medicine).  I can hold on to some drugs for a rainy day rave and not do them for months.  Cocaine and outcalls are like amos and andy, I think..or ebony and ivory.. this only applies to workers and outlaws on the street level, of course, not in that VIP jetsetter no drug using world that I know nothing about.  Drugs and drug users have simply become part of my job.  My day (non profit) job AND my nite job.  I have no judgements, only know that I do not want to be like some people that I see throw their lives and savings away on extravagances like me..(but the me is not even a person, I am a status figure of their inflated imagination as they try to live out their Scarface fantasies).

When I was younger, I hated it.  It was a shot of depression and anxiety.  Sometimes it can be like that still, thus keeping valium handy is like having pot handy on other drugs…but most of the time it’s just like a shot of Espresso after a long nite of driving around LA county..

When the whole Eliot Spitzer thing dropped, I immediately raised my rates.  I can be that girl.  Why not?  I thought?  We’re both hos and we’re both aspiring singers who sometimes fuck important people for money…$500/hr from now on!  But uh, that didn’t work so well for business for long…And you girls who do have the privilege of making that because you have a good “manager” or are accepted in the review board elite cult system then AWESOME.  Set me up on a threesome date with one of your clients, and make us both some money then, dammit!  Quit making me feel bad..

I woke up in tears this morning and prayed to [non demonational] God because this seemed to work a couple of days ago when I left my entire purse with my only working cell phone and wallet full of useless cards and the only $20 I had to my name in the parking lot and the security guard turned it in with no losses whatsoever!

“Are my only “choices” to survive to get sexually abused and retraumatized by both my sex work and my social work?” I asked,”Are these the best ‘CHOICES’ that I have?”

I have seen first hand the effect of people who make those kinds of “choices” everyday.  Did they actually reason that getting hit by a car so that they can qualify for disability would be better than they are at the present moment?  They have actually unconsciously reasoned that getting HIV would at least get them SOMETHING which is better than the NOTHING that they thought they had at the moment…

It’s really hard to even blog about this because I know that people who are reading this will be thinking that I am saying that ALL sex work is sexual abuse, but those of you that read that have done sex work or at least are reading my entire blog and not just this entry might understand…

“You need to get a [straight] job.  We can help you with your resume when you come in.”  said the Rape Crisis Counselor on the hotline.  I HATE BAD COUNSELING more than anything in the world!  And since I’ve done lots of therapy already, I know what bad counseling sounds like!   Sometimes, though, it ends up being bad counseling because you haven’t taken 3 sessions to explain to your person your philosophy on sex worker rights.  The intake appointment for this place takes a week to get and more than once I’ve been totally aggravated by their hotline counselors as I reached out for help in LA.  My regular therapist only charges me $21 per hour, but I can’t even afford that for as much as I need it so I’ve reached out to other sources.. “You have choices..”she kept saying.  At least he is graciously letting me build up a tab and he never never says something like “you have choices” to me…

Sex worker transition is the ugliest time in life, and I’ve actually been here before so I know what those fucking job choices look like.  It looks like my ex-boyfriend with a criminal record daily sending 100s of inquiries and letters on Craigslist with no avail.  Going to interview after interview with no hiring.  I know what the fuck my choices look like and they ain’t pretty. The choices I see are death, insanity, self destruction, homelessness, dependence, trauma, drugs, jail, or become the victim of violence…those are the choices that I feel are available to me at this moment.

I did the same thing.  Bachelors Degree from a UC school.  No one would hire me.  100s of resumes sent. Selling cars, bussing tables, occasional sex work to stay afloat.   I called it survival sex then too.  I was barely surviving, living with my mom..and then I went to grad school.  and became a teacher for a little while.  But it took all of that in order for me to get my first real salaried job with benefits.  But I quit that because I was overworked and unhappy at the end of every day and couldn’t wait til the day that I would quit after getting my degree…It was very different getting out of stripclub stripping for me though.  I was entirely a different person.  I wanted to turn my back on sex work forever because I thought that that was the right thing to do.  It had to be a stage in life, not something that you would do forever.  There could be nothing else for me that I would like once I retired from stripclubs.  Then I met Scarlot Harlot and Robyn Few and the rest is history…

Back then I was so overjoyed and happy the day I graduated and made it through another system..primed and ready to return back to a life of activism and full time whoring.  That was my choice then.  I don’t regret what I have done.  I have seen the world and talked and sang about lots of issues with thousands of people…

At this point the only choice I have is to sit glued to this computer every moment of every day looking on the internet for ways to make money…It is SO SO DEPRESSING.  I almost lost my mind the day I left my purse in the basket.  I was frantically crying as i drove back to the grocery store in the middle of South Central LA and there was nothing missing.  If I lose my purse, my phone and what little I have…I feel like I would just lay down in the parking lot of the grocery store and not ever want to get up until the cops took me away..or no one.

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