02
Oct
09

Pimps and Vultures

Settling into my office chair, medicating and trying to make sense of the anxiety and apathy I feel this afternoon.  I cashed a check from one of my few regular rent paying benefactors and turned in a partial payment to my property manager.  I’ve been paying the late fee and paying 60% of my rent on time for the last 4 months.  Sometimes it takes me up to 2 weeks to make $300.  Somedays I go for 7-8 days without income.  Last month, I paid the rent with the money the guy who crashed into my car gave me and a $175 focus group.  And it wasn’t in full or on time.  Yesterday I think I threw in my minds towel.  I hate not being able to afford to eat a small pizza and drink wine at a restaurant that I am trying to clammour onto the stage list to sing a song with the combo that has been hired for that night’s jazz open mic.  I go to venue after venue trying to get on stage this way, and it is never guaranteed.

I got caught trying to ditch the pizza and wine bill last night.  I played it off like I was going outside to take a phone call but the waitress caught on and ran after me.  “Are you going to settle your tab?” she said.  “Oh, my bad.” I said reaching into my pocket for the last $20 bill I would have for who knows how long.  I felt inclined to steal from the owner who was heavily flirting with me and had comped me a house cock-tail while I waited for my turn.  It was what I needed and more.  I would love to just be holed up in some room somewhere with some dude doing lines and getting wasted instead of try to figure out whether I would ditch my restaurant tab so I could fill my gas tank and get home from the Valley.

The restaurant owner was also a vocalist.  It was like he knew what I was about, pulled his chair up next to me and asked me what I did…I always accept propositions, especially from potential tricks.  And if they sing and own restaurants but are still sleazy then I automatically try to work them.  Heterosexual and in your 40s, flirting with me is like stoking my hustlers fire and begging me to ask you for money.  I used to be sooo good at ditching the bill when I was younger.  Not that I’ve done it a lot.  Especially not in the ten years that I’ve been doing sex work, it seems like money has never been so scarce.  I was embarassed a bit that I got caught, but the residual feelings just turned into anxiety which woke me up at 6am…How bad are things in your life when you have to steal food? But I’m stealing access to the social network which makes me feel and be normal instead of the gold digging thief that I just proved myself to be.  But I was hungry, there was a 2 drink minimum and I needed the wine to calm my nerves before going up there.  And driving home with your fuel lite on means that you need gas like you need food.  But you could do nothing and stay home.  and not sing.  and not drink and not try.  that’s what fake sister would say.  Or real sister perhaps.  The I love you card idea did NOT go over well.  It was a disaster.  My sister who lent me money is only really capable of that.  She does not want to dialogue with me in any sort of emotional way, became attached to her significant other at age 17 and has been able to be more involved in that family and now her own instead of ours for almost 20 years.  I asked her to say one positve thing about me.  She said,”Nena (her daughter) says you make nice presents and she lets us play games on her phone..” I was talking about how she always made me feel like a pathetic loser earlier.  I said,”I know that the kids love me, but can YOU?”  and if it wasn’t one or two word answers as her response, she said,”Stop texting me.  I’m watching D (her son’s) game.”  No reciprocation.  No support.  Yes, she gave me $500.  But that’s the kind of loving supportive environment I was raised in.  That’s the relationship I have with money and love and survival and why I have become the urban geisha.  All of the most famous ass kicking trailblazers in entertainment have the need to find LOVE from an audience or a greater entity than their family.  Michael Jackson said “I just wanted to be loved.” in his tapes.  Jenna Jameson.  Madonna.  All of them had dysfunctional emotionally blind parents who never acknowleged their gifts so they had to go above and beyond them to prove to themselves and the world that they were worth loving…

When I was losing my virginity with my first boyfriend, my mom let him stay at my house almost every night.  So did his mom I guess, come to think of it.  My sister’s boyfriend’s were also always at home with us and my mom was at work always late at night trying to raise the family.  For that I give her the credit she is due, but her lack of interest in what her daughters were doing with their romantic and sexual lives during a crucial period in their development has also had a huge impact on who I am.  My mom is bad with setting boundaries, she never told our boyfriends to go home.  It’s no wonder I have a codependent boyfriend addiction today.  Some people think that because a mother or father did “their job” by birthing and raising you that they deserve unconditional love forever.  But I’m a big one on reciprocal love.  I love those that love back.  This is why I have Scarlot Harlot, my whore mother.  She talks about emotions and has mentored me out of the darkness, lent me money and far more than my real mother would ever dream of.

When I got my Master’s Degree from Graduate School, only my dad was present.  No one really cared or gave me credit for getting another degree or being a teacher.  It did not matter to them whether I was a teacher or a prostitute, so it’s not like I did it to rebel.  I got into the sex industry as stipper because my mother kicked me and my sister out of her house because we got tattoos.  My tattoo was of a magic wand and barbed wire to commemorate the pain of her rejecting me after I told her I had been sexually assaulted.    The family preferred me to be a teacher, I guess, but they didn’t really care either way.  Losing my apartment here and moving home to my sisters house to live with my mom would be the equivalent of emotional death to me.  I’d rather explore other options, like stab myself with an HIV+ heroin needle.   When I am out of pot and in the throes of depression, I have those thoughts.  My therapist says that they aren’t real plans but after having a pimp come to my house and try to hustle my soul, I think that no one really knows how thin the line is between sanity and insanity, between living and dying.  I work in the AIDS grocery handout program as part of my punishment for my prostitution conviction and I get to see all the people in LA dying and living with AIDS.  They stand in line weekly to get their “neccessities of life.”  Meat, milk, cheese, toilet paper, shampoo even.  It is more generous than the food stamp program that non AIDS residents get for sure.  I concur with them how great it is to have these necessities.  Being broke too I am so grateful when I can finally get money to get MY neccessities of life after going without for days.

I am in PURE  survival mode and getting away with it without getting caught was pretty much the name of the game as an agency escort, of which I spent my last 3 years in LA doing.  I’ve pulled twenty dollar bills out of the pockets of assholes that claim they don’t have money to tip me, and even though I was the wrong girl, I felt DETERMINED to get mine.  (think of the M.I.A song “take your money”).  I had gotten dressed and showed up goddamit.  These guys OWED ME something for my time.  And if I could get it, I would try.  Some of them begged me to hit them.  I put my foot in the door of his condo and he put his fingers on my middriff and pushed me back.  “Yes, I am putting my hands on you…what are you going to do about it?” I fancy he says…

FUCK THIS DRUG ADDICT UP.  He’d make a good punching bag.  Do it.

I am officially sick of always being broke.  This has to be the longest streak I’ve gone without caving in and going back to the agency PIMP or going back to the not solving anything with my pathetic codependent boyfriend (living off the avails without working=pimp) or even worse with a real Black PIMP from the LBC.   And every other day I am getting hit hard by the parking ticket police and/or by overdraft fees.  Taxing me.  STATE PIMPS.  Banking pimps.  City of LA pimps.  There is NO way to do community service in LA to work off your parking tickets.  If you can’t pay the $80 ticket, it doubles in 21 days and then caps off at $120.   I pay them so much more than I make and they are so good at keeping simultaneously poor and dependent on what they have.  (A bank account and the right to park and drive in the city).

I have a parking ticket DISORDER however.  I have no idea what is wrong with me.  I wish I could cure it.  I wish I could get a parking space by my house, that MIGHT solve the problem.  I was just sitting at my desk finally daring to look at how much I’ve accumulated in just ten months of driving and parking with anxiety, depression, frantic panic attacks (usually caused by getting tickets)..I currently owe the city $1100.  It is insane.  I could have gotten my wisdom teeth which are impacted and aching on my jaw everyday extracted.  If you are too poor to pay th original fee, you will be taxed TRIPLE. And eventually when you get 5 tripled tickets that you can’t pay then they drive around with a metal boot for your car, so you are forced to pay the tickets to get the boot off. Your choice?  Not drive or leave LA.  If the bank decides to fuck up your account by holding onto one charge just long enough so that your account overdraws in their favor, they will gladly hit you up with 5 overdraft fees in a row.  Too broke to pay your bills?  PIMPS LOVE THIS.  THEY ARE VULTURES.  Preying on the weary and the hungry.  Brainwashers and Liars.

Golddigging for sugar daddies on the internet will attract real pimps.  You can find them in the adult gigs section of Craigslist looking for their bottom (#1)  bitch..”Be in charge of the other girls.”  Pimps come in all colors and are usually MALE, when i refer to them.  Having a healthy distrust of Black male “clients” in the sex industry is generally a good idea especially if they are talking about spending money on you.  Real Black clients with money don’t front like that because of the pimp reputation that is already laid down.  Silent rules like DON’T do dates in your own hood, or going into bad neighborhoods. There is no anti-racism in your protective plan.  Just stereotypes and plain reality of your chances of survival.  I once took a bachelor party gig in the hood.  I wasn’t the dancer, I was the “security” LOL.  The dumb bitch I booked to dance did such a shitty job for all 12 of these Black guys, she nearly got us killed, but instead they stole back the money they paid us and none of us got paid.  But no one does Bachelor parties in the hood for a reason…the stereotypes are usually true.  This dancer was Black and she was too scared or lame to dance for them…that’s when you know you’re in trouble.  MOST Black sex workers don’t like Black dates.  If it isn’t because they know that there are a lot of Black pimps and they are already loyal to one, it’s because Black men have the rep of not tipping and being really really demanding for $1.

Legally, anyone who profits off of the avails of prostitution could be charged with pimping.  In that case, I was technically a pimp.  Therefore, every business a prostitute frequents could be her pimp.  Female management, madams are pimps if they EXPLOIT, LIE, BRAINWASH, IMPLANT FEAR, PHYSICALLY OR SEXUALLY ABUSE/ASSAULT, MANIPULATE WITH DRUGS OR OTHER DEPENDENCY, and INDULE IN HEARTLESS CAPITALISM UNDER THE FACADE OF SOMETHING MORE BENIGN (“democracy” or “eradicating terrorism” “protection” or “home”) or even NOBLE.

Stripclub Managers, their goon security, their entourage of VIP bitches, their illegal stage fees are all part of the biggest LEGAL non Black pimp game in the U.S.  Holding girls in the dressing room while management beats up a customer is PIMPIN.  Telling a stripper to come up to his office so she can work off her stage fee is PIMPIN.  Stage fees period are pimp shit.  Making a stage fee so high that a stripper HAS to fuck in order to pay it.  Lying Sack of shit mafia lawyers.  And it happens in every club across the U.S..PIMPIN SOOOOO EZ..

Not all sex industry managers have to pimp.  But some always do because they can.   Like those posters you see of home loans in Bank of America and Wells Fargo Banks.  “We’re Here for You.” they say. “We’re more than just your bank..”they say.  Yeah.  I say.  You’re my fucking PIMP.  You are a brainwasher and liar and you are TAKING MORE MONEY than I’m making in overdraft fees.  You are hindering my survival yet I am dependent on you.  And if you are the bank backed by the Federal Reserve and the Presidents word then pimpin IS EZ and it is done on the backs of those that can afford it the least.  And then there are the pimpable.  the vulnerable.  the addicted.  protective armour and boundaries were beaten or raped out of them, made weaker by addictions…the hopeless codependents looking for someone to lead their way even if it means taking all they make in exchange for housing and paying a little attention to them, enticing the carrot of love in front of them…

Pimpin can also be a deadbeat boyfriend who makes a girl work in prosititution before his lazy incompetent rock star with a habit or aspiring mafioso plan can make some money to pay the rent or bills.  A manager who directly profits off of booking his girlfriend.  My exboyfriend may not have really like that I was a sex worker, but he lived off the avails, and at times was employed as my driver, my errand boy who would make a little money every time I made money, so he could not complain about anything.

Now the aforementioned Black pimp both IS and is not an urban myth.  As I’ve mentioned not all pimps wear hats and gold teeth (but some DO! FOR REAL!).  Some are even female.  Bella of Bella’s brothel and her daughter were exploitative pimps.  They loved to make the street workers NEED the brothel.  The same thing is happening with the current legalization movement in Nevada.  The brothel owners create a hysterical public outcry against “illegal prostitutes” so the the only viable option would be working in the “safer” and “cleaner” brothels.  All brothel owners ARE pimps.  Most of them men, one woman.  Dennis Hoff is a pimp.  Bella’s daughter showed me pictures of a bruised beat up worker who had gotten beat up by her trick once she dared tried to go “independent.”   Hue Heffner and his girls next door?  This fool is pimpin so EZ that he and his girls are socially acceptable to most middle American bachelorette party girls watching in envy as Kendra gets married to some football player..

So recently I talked to a Black pimp from the LBC who lured me in as a trick with money that he wanted to spend on me.  As soon as I call back the number the person who picks up hangs up.  This happens twice.  I give up. Then he calls back the next day and leaves a message, talking about his phone was messed up.  After the second time I decided to tell his sorry ass off on his voicemail because I was already at the end of my rope with internet time wasters as it is.  He tried to pimp me on the phone by trying to make me feel sorry for him, saying his wife died in a car accident and he hadn’t had sex with anyone for a year since she died!  He was trying to get into my soul,”What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” he said and even as I spill my guts to you on this blog, I didn’t tell him shit.  “Why are you so mean?” he said steady trying to move forward on me.  I was entertaining his dialogue as an enlightened hoe I guess, trying to lure HIM while he was trying to lure me into his spell, hoping that there would some money at the end of the rainbow.  At that time my internet connection was shut off so I couldn’t look up his name or phone number and see if anything came up.  The next morning he says he wants to come over and because I am desperate and need money, I agree.  Then at the last minute he changes his donation to drugs.  He has morphine and vicodin and now he is a medical student at UCLA he says.  Oh, then when you come over can I see your student ID?  Of course he had none of this.  When he comes over in his Black Mercedes Benz with the tinted windows and the child seat in the back he shows me the bottle.  I kind of knew they were vicodin but he told me they were oxycotins which have a street value of $80 a pill.  I didn’t have the internet so i couldn’t look up the code on the pill..He was here already and I needed money or product, because I currently had nothing.

I broke the #1 hoe commandment:

DON’T GET PAID IN JUST DRUGS.  Either get some cash or nothing.  Know the street value of what you are trading. (Are you having unprotected anal for a $25 bag of speed?)  Get the cash equivalent.  Tricks that try to play you like this are just trying to use you and make you their dependent or sell you drugs or both. Dealers can break you off because it’s cost is nothing to them, plus they get pussy from phenes for free…but that’s NOT you, right?

I’ve run across major drug dealers and trade sex for drugs AND some cash usually.  It’s a barter system.  I sell it to the next crack head I see for triple.  But I’m careful.  Last thing I need is a drug possession and sales charge.  I tax it triple and never carry it on me, that’s the only way.  Women who hustle drugs are usually hustling sex too.  The two games are intertwined for women.  Why? Because pussy IS power.  and weakness.  Once, I got about an OUNCE of OG Kush from a pot dealer who was also a former owner of a revolutionary bookstore.  I sure wished he would have been a regular customer, but most of the dealers that I’ve happened upon don’t return my calls or pick up once I call again.  I believe they were either trying to sell me just drugs hoping I was a phene or don’t want anyone to know where or who they are.  Having seen first hand the shitty deals that try to go down when people are not doing SEX WORK but are TRADING SEX FOR DRUGS ONLY is never the cash equivalent.  Once you are in a place where you JUST trading, then you’ve probably got a habit and are probably hanging out with TRICKS who have NO respect for you, your safety or your boundaries.  And that’s how prostitutes get so ragged and fucked up by drugs.

This pimp was no different.  Everything he said was a lie, and he was a racist Black fool with an Asian fetish.  But I humored him because I wanted money from him.  Not ongoing sugar daddy money for I knew by now that he was a pimp, as he asked me to come live with him during our first phone conversation.   LOL, When I actually think about it I don’t think the Black equivalent to sugar daddy really exists.  There are ONLY Black pimps who are usually the manipulators not the manipulatees, which a sugar daddy usually is.  Unless you count Russell Simmons!  When he walked towards my house he kept looking behind him and he looked out the window several times while he sat on my couch.  I fucked him for a bottle of vicodin.  $60?  not sure, because I didn’t have internet but whatever it was it was more than I had before he came over.  I snorted a line and it gave me a buzz, but he hurried me to the bedroom saying he had to leave which didn’t give my body enough time to digest it.

Was this pimp a king in the bedroom like the word implies?  No.  He had a tiny little dick and he was done in 10 minutes like the rest of the good tricks.  He saw a kiddie piano that I had had since my San Francisco days, acquired from a lover I had then.  “I’ll give you $50 for this.” he said.”My son will love this.” and as I knew that he was lying, I really really hoped that perhaps he wasn’t as desperate for SOME cash as I was.  “I’ll give it to you next time I see you.” he said. and for the same reason it was that I let him get as far as he did, he was out the door with it.  I let it go as I figured that if I lost my apartment I would be having ridiculous giveaway yard sales of stuff I’ve acquired from old lovers but never used.  And he had a 1 year old who was crying on the phone while he was talking to me and trying to get me under his spell, trying to make this pimp seem more benign, because he was a Black man who took care of his kids.  I figured that the boy would enjoy it more than me and I was just letting it gather dust.  He would say over and over,”You don’t have to be so mean.  I’m NOT trying to hustle you.” he said looking me straight in the eyes.  and I didn’t believe him, and resented him for trying to play me but in a little way I let him. But I was being mean in order to protect myself.  Femme domme bitch screening a sub.  I was taking on something that I knew was risky but I would try to see if I could get something out of doing it.  I like to talk to real pimps sometimes just so I can confirm their insane thinking so I can write about it in songs.   “Why are you so mean?” he’d say not knowing that it was men like him who made me meaner and meaner every damn day.  All the Black girls in jail bragging about their pimps.  The girl who would “fuck so hard for her daddy once she got out”….for the same reason I worked at a brothel and allowed myself to be pimped for a week, I enticed a pimp to my house even though I knew he was full of shit and traded sex for drugs and a baby piano.  Good work Ms. Passion.  It’s all for art!  at least..

I can be horribly weak with those that don’t respect boundaries and can manipulate a no into a yes like it’s an art.  This is how my exboyfriend stayed in my house for as long as he did.  This is how a submissive got me to buy a PC laptop to do a website that he never did.  Once I got internet access and realized that every single word and sentence that this man said was a big lie I knew that I lost my piano and I had just been had for a $60 bottle of pills.  I thought I had scored some good dope, but all I had was crappy painkillers that sell on the street for $5 each.   But that’s the game.   Sometimes you lose.  And sometimes you play with people that you know are playing you for one round, just to try to strengthen your game, but it ends up hurting you more usually cuz the game ain’t designed for winning.  But he didn’t hurt me.  I’m not a drug addict or as hopeless pimpable as some of the girls he preys on.  I don’t need love from just anyone, especially not someone that I can’t control easily…not that I have to be dominant always, which as you see I’m not, but this pimp was so manipulative..I put his phone number in my phone under SLICKBACK and watched how many times since that day he’s tried to ring my phone.  I’m done with him though.  I fear pathological liars actually and what I did with him went against my 10 hoe commandments and I didn’t even really come up for it.  The pills were weak, nothing to brag about.  And this loser who said he was a former NFL football player now had a belly, was unattractive and a horrible lay.  The little boy was probably bottom bitch’s kid that he “borrowed” for our phone conversation.  Even if I was homeless and living in my car, I wouldn’t live with him.  I won’t even let him through the phone call that I pick up.  I lost the piano.  I don’t even want to hear a false promise to lure myself back  into any sort of contact.  Pathological liar and heartless = scary.  Keep my piano.  I’ll get something for these pills.

Another vulture tried to get me to come over his house in exchange for some kush weed.  Swoop me up and give me drugs and drop me off the next day with $100 and a sore pussy?  Puuuleease.  I’m not that much of a pot or coke head.  I don’t even think pot can tempt you quite like crack or other drugs can like that which is why people don’t call it a drug.  I’d rather steal my dinners than give in to pimps and vultures…but that doesn’t mean that they don’t peck at my body while I lay here trying not to die..


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