Archive for the '1' Category



i think this needs to be a song…for all my POS people everywhere!


Will it bring us closer or will it be how I lose you?

Forgive me, I still like to believe it doesn’t exist

that I can love you like everyone else

I was so scared to break it to you after we kissed


please just hold me closer

the last person tried to use it to put me down

said if they knew they would never stick around

it damaged my being and my whole

“Keep Spreading the Love” he said.

cutting my soul.


It’s more complicated than you think

you ask me to confess

I feel my heart sink

I walk like you, I talk like you, I dream like you, I fuck like you..I wanna fuck like you…I want to fuck you.


You are only damaged goods

you can pass at the party but you have a secret you should be ashamed of..

Or so they say

but anyway

guys are dogs and women lie so lets just assume so it’s no surprise


I just want you to see me for me

not create an indentity out of whether or not I have an STD


I hope to God you just don’t give a damn

and we can swallow each toher whole and you can love me for who I am…


obsessive crushes on service workers!

Me and a guitarist are going to do a cover of this very soon!  But I watched the video and it totally reminded me of ME and my addicition to retail sales, valet, restaurant, bar, bellhop guys.  not to mention Bic Runga is one of the only decent Asian pop music artists with true musical talent…



When I was a kid growing up with 2 older sisters, I wasn’t allowed to sing along to the radio songs that we listened to commuting home with our parents from San Francisco.  “Jeff-“was my nickname,”DON’T SING.” or “Jeff, No singing.” and it was a deep supression for me as I found solitude in singing from an early age.  I remember wanting to be a singer from perhaps age 8, trying to lip synch with popular songs, watching Solid Gold and Soul Train.  But for some reason, my sisters hated my singing.  I have never been allowed to sing more than a chorus around them, less I ruin the song so I’ve had to just sneak a few well tuned verses which satisfy the exhale of a held breath around a ridiculous sibling rivalry that still exists.  In my adult years, I’ve “made” my sisters come watch me sing, so they have been aware for sometime now that it’s a serious part of my art.  When I was 12 my dad bought me a karaoke machine.  That was the best gift ever.  Growing up in a town full of Filipinos I was raised informally by a group of karaoke gorillas who always had show and talent shows with their newest Multi sound tracks of the latest pop songs on minus one casette with the horribly translated English lyrics.  Somehow, I managed to sing throughout my child years.  I started performing at talent shows at age 12, and did perhaps 2 or 3 more solos in high school.  I took classes and audtioned here and there but never really focused entirely on it until after undergrad.  My first job as a topless dancer was meant to be prep for my future career on stage.  I started taking voice and music lessons and performing with band workshops at Blue Bear in SF.   While I was a little Brit pop mod girl I always wanted to sing for ethereal pop bands and would write some emo lyrics but it never went anywhere..I didn’t even perform or want to perform very much at that time of my life, but I was still singing with people and their guitars in dormroom parties.

Everytime I feel like someone is reluctant to let me on their stage, someone makes a face because i have raised my hand enthusiastic to fill an open mic slot, every time someone makes a questionable gesture of approval or disrespect and Listen, I’m just trying to tell you something: YOU SUCK- vibe it reminds me of my sisters and how my singing has not been entirely validated.

I can honestly say presently that I am PUTTING MYSELF OUT THERE.  I am trying to sing at least twice a week on stage in LA with a live band.  I have achieved that much this week.  I have to just keep up my live improvisational skills and my musianship will come around!  I haven’t had the ability to practice with a piano player because they charge $40/hr, so these days I am just going up with a chart that I’ve not recently rehearsed with any musicians or heard and usually it is the first time I am performing it, and it is in a venue filled with at least 20-50 people.  It is NERVE WRACKING for me.  There are some great singers at all of the open mic places I’ve been going to.  But I may have exhausted my little map of them all because, remember I tried to dine and ditch at one of them, so I think I’m not too welcome there anymore and last night…..

I was so crushed out on this Jazz Club manager.  mexican alt boy with tatoos and a nice stocky body.  A motorcyle rider perhaps.  I don’t know.  Someone who visibily looked like they exercise is such a plus after being bound to somone who doesn’t.   He never conversed with me or gave me a chance, but he DID give me his phone number and he DID talk to me briefly once.  he then decided, I guess that he wasn’t interested.

His touch and flirtations were completely intoxicating.  I was so enjoying feeling that way about someone again.  It would have been nice if I could fulfilled at least SOME of my fantasy.  I had made it SUCH a big deal all over Facebook and another website made it a Q&A on the blog for this film called The Line! Should I wait for a while if I really really like someone and not FUCK them right away?  was the question.  I swore up and down that me and this manager guy would be dating soon or at least go on A DATE.  but it never happened.

the night I asked him for his number, he was touching my shoulder and my back everytime he interacted with me as my server.  Calling me honey and sweetie.  my favorite endearments.  He was extremely sexy to me.  A new Mexican to replace my old one, except one with a cool job…My God, I craved it. Everytime he touched me I wanted to just devour him right there in the restaurant.  Which is why when he gave me his number I thought for sure we’d be fucking in only a matter of days.  But nothing like that happened.  He gave me his number on accident I suppose.  I used to do that.  I would give someone my number and then give them the run around rejection instead of rejecting them right off.  I don’t think I ever did that after high school tho!  I guess sometimes, perhaps you aren’t sure.  Or one slight thing can ruin a first impression and you turn around the other way RUNNING.  I’ve done that once.  I idealized this guy to the point where when I met him finally he was reality was sooo disapointing I was embarassed I even pursued it.  I couldn’t explain it to him.  It was strange.

His name was Angel and I was indeed hoping he would be that, but he like the other Mexican guy from Radio Shack that I bought my phone from were both unattainable for some reason.  Radioshack said he had a girlfriend.  I saw him today.  He is still so cute.  The problem with pouncing on all these local retail boys is that if you live in town, you still have to run across them again after they reject you.  I didn’t feel so rejected by him though.  He’s nice to me.  All you can do is hit on someone and see if they hit back.  And if not, then no harm usually.  I did really really like Angel though.  I was so into the heat of the way he touched my back and kind of whispered in my ear…”Do you have another card? this one’s been rejected, honey.” LOL>>>

I said,”Are you in a relationship? Can I get your number?” NO ambiguity there, right?  I’m not trying to promote myself as an artist, since he was the booking person at the Jazz Club I was singing at…I dreamed of marrying him and owning a club with him.  Hilarious.

I sang and he barely paid attention.  I talked to him on the phone and he really seemed not as interested as he was when he was talking to me the night I asked for his number.  That was only a week ago.  Just the excitement of that pursuit kept me going high on just that: a touch of my back and a kiss on my cheek.  Talks of going out on Sunday..I CAN’T WAIT TO FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF YOU.  I drooled.

I’m not sure what happened.

I decided I would go back to the Jazz Club and practice another jazz standard with D’s band.  I’m not sure if she resented me because I was not finnancially able to tip her band that I used to sing with or what.  She, like so many other smiling church goin Black women I meet in LA smiled and pretended to like me, but inside her thoughts were different.  She was in charge of the open mic list, the upcoming showcases which featured a singer who sang 6 songs with the band and some publicity.  The key would be for each singer to bring at least 10 people.  This was the name of the game in LA.  You MUST have a following of at least 10.  I am still working on 3.  I am friendly and meeting lots of people going out alone to these places.  This is how I felt brave enough to ask Angel for his phone number.   When I see someone I like, I usually go after them and just ask them out.  It’s straight forward and cut to the chase.  Male or female.  I’m in your face and seeing if there is ANY chance…usually.

I guess she never liked my voice or me or something.  I had asked her for a showcase slot and she smiled and said,”We can talk about that.” I’d seen her offer a January showcase to another male singer who I’d befriended last week.  he was decent but nothing spectacular.  He was supportive and was one of the many people that I’ve met just waiting for a chance on stage with others doing the same thing as me.  it’s been pretty neat to have this comraderie, but sometimes it’s hard to see what is real and what is fake.  people in LA will say to your face one thing but really think another constantly.  Everyone in the room got a chance to sing 2 songs that night, including the seemingly homeless guy with an on pitch but not too pleasant voice.  There were 2 of those singers.  perfect knowlege of musicality and tone but no style and not an intersting voice.

Me, I am PASSION.  i am tipsy from my glass of wine and the marijuana cookie half I’ve just digested.  i feel rejected from the club owner as he makes it very clear to me that he is not interested in me.  But he does his job, and serves me a meal.  And again this week, as he serves me, he is flirtatious and touchy and I am lustful all over again.  Does he touch all his customers like that?  Is he just an amazing flirt?  Am I just lonely, horny and frustrated by a service employee USING his flirtation to hustle me?  It’s my turn to sing.  “I Got you under my skin…I got you deep in the heart of me..” so true.  All these songs were so romantic and I was soo romanticizing an affair and beyond with this man.  “I said to myself this affair never should go so well.  But why should I try to resist when darling I know so well, cuz i got you, under my skin…”

It wasn’t perfect.  But it wasn’t horrible.  People were encouraging as they usually are at these things.  He didn’t pay much attention.  Too bad.  I love serenading my lovers.  i think it is the most romantic thing.  In my previous art life I was an asianprincess karaoke cowgirl on a rockng horse and I would serenade people to Patsy Cline tunes and croon them to love me while they sat on my horse Dakota.  Although I have busted the cowgirl routine in 2009 at Whoreapalooza and other events, it’s not the main thing I’ve been working on perfecting.  Jazz and soul singer performing has been much of my focus.  Trying to work with musicians and sing without rehearsal and memorize all lyrics and chord changes.  It’s been so so hard to have the guts to do it.  But i’ve done it.  I’ve forced myself to be brave.  Sometimes, it’s taken some Henessey, but most of the times I am ready to be in front of the crowd of people confident as if I’ve sung it a thousand times.

After I do it, I feel great.  I’m buzzed and I walk down the street singing and make it to my car slowly so the Hennessey can settle into a workable sobriety..  A cop rolls by me as I am singing Tyrone into the deserted 1am Santa Monica Boulevard.  I look like a bordello girl with my corset and 7″ Rick James boots.  I see him do a U turn and he rolls by me slowly.  “I’m a singer.” I say, sort of proud that I could even volunteer that type of story and that it wasn’t a story.”Just came from singing at this club down there..” I said before he asked anything.  Friendly.  I’m going to go with friendly.

“I had to come back around and check out your shoes,” the cop said. He was kind of handsome.  I was kind of drunk.

“yes, do you like them?” I said smiling trying to avoid any further questioning or anything unfriendly.  How funny.  Do I look like a streetwalker, officer Trick?

meetup.jamSinging to me is a deep breath exercise, a deep release and healing movement that connects my heart and my soul.  At it’s best it hits 5 out of 7 of your chakras and can take you to a place as high and intense as an orgasm.  At it’s minimum for me, it’s a pleasant way to distract myself while dealing with all the complexities of life.  It’s a form of self pleasure.  Musical masturbation.   It connects my brain through my writings and helps me meditate into a  state of introspection, bliss, happiness and other emotion.  It has been my therapy and healing tool through trauma and my best friend’s death.  It’s why Tori Amos and Sarah McLaughlan’s music and I have such a deep relationship… Hearing a singer hit a sweet run or sweet note is the best thing for those studying their instruments by watching live music.  I’ve been trying to just up the anty and throw myself out there full time in this.  I am not making as much money as I was in the past so it’s been very very difficult.  2 drink minimums can be challenging.  Having the prestage first time song performance jitters and needed a $10 drink is sometimes a challenge as well. TWICE I’ve missed my chance on stage because I was in the car or the bathroom practicing my songs.  you don’t even get a chance to really practice before you go on.  you have to stay on deck, and in the restaurant or bar waiting for the moment when the MC gives you the mic and the band and you better rock out.  Last Tuesday i sang Erykah Badu’s Tyrone for the first time ever with a band.  I’m not sure if the guy who runs it likes me or not.  He alwasy greets me and then runs away.  I have to chase after him to confirm my time on stage.  He is flirtatious with all the singers who go on his stage.  But even though I know that you aren’t supposed to fuck with the musicians, because they are always trouble, singers ALWAYS do and it gets them into trouble.  But I guess all you can do is live it, try it, fuck it. and then recover and keep singing your songs..

the closing song was supposed to be me.  There had already been a host of amazing jazz musicians that had come and gone.  Some of the singers were great and others were so so.  One great Asian man Marvin Gaye who was sooo soulful and jazzy scattastic.  I was truly impressed with how Gaye he was!

I sang “My Funny Valentine”.  I sang it out because I had so much anxiety and emotion over the little lust infatuation affair of my Angel that I belted it out.  After I was done, D the organizer sang it right after me in the same key as if to show me, THIS is how you sing that song.  She never gave me a showcase slot.  I talked to the really good jazz pianist who was friends with the Asian Marvin Gaye.  All of them said to me, keep practicing.  Listen to more Ella Fitzgerald.  I guess it must have been horrible.  But not that bad.  Surely better than the acoustic guitar bad Blue brothers duo or the homeless guy?

I have been practicing acoustic songs with a Turkish guitarist.  He is always reminding me of my tone and pitch problems.  This is why consistent rehearsal with musicians is so essential.  Musicians don’t want to work with you unless you are good and have your shit together.   I have auditioned for a few pro cover bands and they have so far not been impressed with me.  Some of the singers who have come before me though have been super duper American Idol impressive so it is a bit discouraging for me to even think I have a chance for the same role..

My stint at that Jazz club is over for now, I think.  Perhaps I will go back there in 6 months when I have 10 friends who come to shows and I can sing the jazz standard the way it is supposed to be sung.  maybe then my Angel will grace me with his Halo juice and not get on his cell phone in front of me and show that he is making plans so don’t try to stalk him by staying late after the club closes.  but in thinking about her and his unspoken messages, and that they worked together; I felt it best to not return for a while, if not again.

I AM A SOUL SINGER.  I sing from my soul.  The words that come out are the way that I can process some of my experience, my pain, my love and loss.  I NEED to sing, like I NEED to dance and write.  It is an essential element of my art that I’ve been seriously studying between running non profits and getting Masters Degrees for the last 10 years.  But the latter said, I’ve ALWAYS put other things BEFORE it.  And I’ve always pushed to have the spare time and MONEY required to pay rehearsal musicians or to buy software to make a band in a box or to pay vocal coaches to teach you new things.  I think I am starting to experience the tip of the grind in LA and I am trying to stay motivated and not be too discouraged by all of their fake bullshit or snubbing me out.  What if people DON’T like you at all?  What is you are horribly off key and people flinch when you sing?  What if you forget the words?  It’s all part of the club.  I sang the back up vocals for Single Ladies with the band and an amazing lead vocalist last Tuesday.  That was so much fun.  I hope I did it justice.  I jumped up to the guitarist microphone and took it from him.  He obviously wasn’t going to sing the background vocals to Single Ladies being a dude and all.  After the Funny Valentine fiasco (which was at a different club), I wondered whether this singer thought I was out of line, or I was ruining this amazing singer’s song.  I tried to grab the mic and do it again on a different song, but the organizer of that night grabbed it back from me.  AFter the Funny Valentine fiasco, I remember him grabbing the mic from me more clearly.   Was he trying to tell me I suck? Don’t sing?  I did have a lot of fun both nights.  I LOVE to sing.  But you have to do better than that if you are going to make it as a singer in LA.  Having fun is for karaoke bars.  This is about skilled music making.

Singing has always been therapeutic.  It’s been my way to survive pain. It comes naturally to me to sing the blues of old country western crooners or the neo soul licks of Erykah, Ledisi, Aretha. to sing it out.  how else to ignore someone that you have a crush on in a crowded bar that he manages?  I saw it ending before it began, but I hoped at least I would get some good sex out of it first!


The Vulture vs. The SuperWhore

Like a Hollywood movie, this episode seems to have a sequel which takes place the very next day!

I went through my now sold iphone’s phonebook to look for names of old regulars that I could do a desperate begging to and see if that would work to get more business, even though that has never worked in the past.  Although, it does work with the one regular law firm benefactor that is keeping me afloat barely but regularly..we’ve become good friends and I am completely honest about everything except the sex!  He’s easy.  He is not a vulture, he is like a savior for me right now.  But, his 2 appointments are not enough to pay for too much in the month so the trolling through the old phonebook still has to happen.  There was one old regular drug user fuckhead that I dropped because he was becoming more trouble than he was worth.  He would always text me incessantly while he was coked out about 100 stupid questions that I would try to answer because putting up with him was a good injection of cash, and he was always so high he was impotent so we would explore different ways to sexually please him.  Mostly by sticking most of my gloved hand into his ass which because he was high as a kite most of the time was like 102 degrees in there!  This is something I never hear people who fist people talk’s like a frigging  oven inside the human body, it becomes too hot for the hand and you actually need to pull out so that you can cool it.  Or at least I do.  But I had fun.  I like anal domination.

As a favor to him, I decided to screw his friend for a mere $150.  A fraction of what I would get from my regular Ass Slave, Kenny.  Big mistake.  His friend was immediately too buck wild for me to control and it just became too much of an ordeal as soon as it started.  he was the one who tried to stick in my ass instead of my pussy, on accident, like 3 times.   I get the feeling most escorts like their sex easy.  It’s the porn stars today that need to be super fuck machines.  Escorting is barely about being a fuck machine.  Sex is like 35% of it actually.  I like my escort sex as a receiver to be EASY  and QUICK. (when you see a lot of people it’s usually about preserving your body.  A wear and tear issue).  Unless I like the guy and am having lots of fun.  Or there’s a girl involved, then there’s no clock!  Mostly,  I am a big fan of the 35 minute hour.  I know I am not in this work because I like sex.  I am in this work because I am regaining power from times I was assaulted, one night standed, sexually harassed or otherwise disempowered.   And I believe all sex workers have this in them too, because 1 out 3 of us have been sexually assaulted by 21 but most of us more.   I am here because I like to be in control sexually, and to experiment while the ball is in my court, when my experimental time is compensated.  I LIKE TO LIVE, IF ONLY TEMPORARILY IN A WORLD WHERE FEMALE SEXUAL POWER IS NOT ONLY POSSIBLE, BUT COMPENSATED.  WHERE WOMEN FUCK LIKE [MEN]..out the door without a second thought of the name of the person..  I am also here because I like making money off this work (even if I’m not lately..).  Because I want to feel the power I knew that I had and make him pay for it.  I like to fuck but only when I like you or when I am sexually deprived (like now!), but I wasn’t really having very real sex with clients during the 2 years that I was the busiest AND had a live in boyfriend.  Client sex was always quick and easy.  Boom.  Shower.  thank you.  Door.   Personal sex is totally different.  I’m actually submissive and more passive.  I’m tired of working.  I like to lay back.  I like to GET fucked.  And if you can’t FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF ME when I need you to, then I am totally and completely bored with you, because I’ve no patience for another pathetic penis in my week.  (I sleep with more men than women, not by choice but we’ll use that organ..)

Lately, however, since being single and getting kicked off of internet dating sites that I was getting laid on for selling webcam services to ugly dudes I’ve had to make my client sex my sex life.  I make them work me and they are the luckiest clients I’ve ever had because i am really insatiable for once because….It’s all I get for days.

But this fool was a girls worst nightmare.  Coked out AND potent!  Oh no!  They have a saying that the less money you get, the harder you have to get fucked, and often it is true.  After borderline violating me he would call my phone offering money and trying to see me again, but I never wanted to see him after that for any money.  I jumped out of bed when I could make a good exit, locked the door and jumped into the shower.  I could hear him grumbling and complaning.  Drug users are either unable to ever cum or unable to get erect.  Of COURSE you prefer the latter, because for some reason they pay better and are easier.  All you have to do is digest their mindless questions and repetetive chatter.  This vulture accepted that I was leaving and it wasn’t uncomfortable or dangerous which is why he was confused.  He was talking about “If you got a boyfriend or if you’re under 18..hey I ain’t mad at you.”  That was another line that this vulture just drew.  This guy was over 30 fucking 17 year olds.  I have ALWAYS detested that.  When I was 15 my 25 year old boss tried to sleep with me and date me when I was just trying to be his friendly co-worker, I thought.  He didn’t get me, but he tried really hard to court me at 15 like I was such a hot item.

The vulture would call and try to dangle promises of money for me, i would still not give in.  Because my caller ID had been cancelled, screening calls was harder.  Every time I would be confronted with him, circling over my head, the offer, the juggling of power..I imagined how he would prey on those underage girls who may have run away for the night because they get into a fight with their parents and he swoops down gives them drugs and alcohol and fucks the shit out of them.  Roman Polanski in a Latino tweaker.

My finnancial desperation makes me vulnerable to all kinds of pimps and vultures…Good thing I still know how to defend myself even when I am at rock bottom.  I would rather be flat broke and home alone on a Saturday night than in a fucked up situation.  And pimps hate me when I am unhappy with them and the work.  I am not profitable, so they fire me.  I got kicked out of Bella’s brothel after one week.  I get fired from office jobs for not engaging in Starbucks banter AND I get fired from massage parlors and stripclubs.  I am not a conformist, even as a sex worker.  I am certainly not a harem pony gawking over one guy with three others.  This has hurt my money I’m sure, but the ONLY way I have profted is when I was totally in control, if not disproportianately so, with their consent of course.  And years of this has healed me.  I walk down the streets of LA without a bra (cuz I hate them and my boobs are small) and without fear of men.  If they look at me, I look at them back and then they usually look away or say hi.  I might wear a look that says ” Yes, you know what I’m about..I know you have a dick and to me it doesn’t mean shit,so, what?”  even in glasses and sweatpants.  Working girls make eye contact back usually.  Matching the gaze.  “Go Ahead.  Ask me what my name is.”  The superwhore eye contact is an amazing language.  Try it when you drive by the boulevard at night.  If you were wondering if she is a working girl, you will be able to tell if she makes eye contact with you as you drive by.  Works everywhere you go.  It fascinates the shit out of me…

So I call Analboy kenny and he pretends he doesn’t know me.  “Wrong number,”he says when I call.  Later that night I’m getting a series of crank calls, but I don’t answer my landline anymore because that is the main number that most of the creditors call on.

My tutoring client is a Korean graduate student ane she cancelled on me, so once again I had no money coming in, gas light still on.  A weed client calls!  (I’m not a big pot dealer (so don’t come after me!), someone fronted me some of his stuff and it kind of acts like my social security check..It is not even the type of marijuana that medicates me (need indicas only), so I just sell it off.  This weed client is a tweaker.  He thinks that I don’t know but I have been around 3 years of drug users and late nite escorting so I am well versed in the signs and behaviors.  He is a nice tweaker, if there is such a thing,  a student.  He buys my mediocre weed and it helps me have that $20 in my pocket every week but I usually try to hang out for the obligatory 20 minutes talking politics, philosophy, whatever.  He’s too broke to buy sex so this will have to do for him.  and me.

kenny calls back and pretends to be friendly.  He says that he’s moved 40 minutes north of LA and that he had a bunch of coke and his friend was there..He is talking the way a DUDE talks when he is in front of his BUDDIES.  “I’ll just give you a buck fifty to hang out with my friend.” he says,”You did it before right?” he laughs.  “You don’t have to do much, just hang out and party..”he says.  This is usually what we would do anyway.  kenny was easy, but Vulture was not.  You would think, as an escort that I have to put up with this kind of crap all the time, but really the specific type of banter that goes on before men date or gang rape or the language that is common in rape culture scenarios is NOT something that I call normal or really tolerate for long in my sex work.  Many many of the men and groups of men that I fucked with were reasonable, humble and not vultures, even in groups.  There was a lot of crap to put up with, no doubt but fear and anxiety were not common or normal.  This is why I did it for so long.  To find this out.  To dance with rape culture, unconscious exposure therapy to try to make sense of the world that I feel was given to me.

All of what the guys that talk like this is just a FANTASY to them as well.  I once tried to have sex with 2 guys at once, the way they do in the porn movies because after seeing a double penetration so many times, you are actually conditioned to think that you want to try it!  And while I say i’m not in this work for the sex, the benefits of being a sex worker who is enticed with way more than usual combinations of sexual situations than the average suburban bachelorette party girl has its advantages.  So I did a DP for about 2 minutes before guy#2 gets flaccid and taps out.  “Uh, you guys go ahead, I’m gonna go chill in the other room..” he says and since my ULTIMATE goal is to make money over pleasure or experimentation I let him go.  There goes my porno gang bang fantasy.

The reality for MOST MEN is that they cannot do what porn stars do.  This is the reality for many women too.  I will be the first to admit to you, unless you are an escort client that I cannot legally talk explicit details of sex with, that I do not give PORN STAR EXPERIENCES (listed as PSE on review boards, even nastier than GFE).  I don’t go ass to mouth, I don’t do anal for dayz, I don’t do uprotected, I won’t eat your ass without a dental dam and I don’t like to blow bubbles with your semen..Sorry.  After watching all the porn that I do, I don’t really have a desire to be a porn star.  It seems more demanding than I am willing to be.  But for them it seems so easy and natural, so that’s why they do it and I don’t! when I wanted to go into porn, when I was 23, in Jenna Jameson’s day, it was easier physically, glamorous even.

Being a superwhore is more a state of mind versus how freaky the sex you are having or how much money you are making…but don’t get me wrong, the MONEY IS ESSENTIAL. This is why I am having so many problems with vultures and pimps.  If I was already making money they would have no power.  Annie Pannie was a sex worker I also recently mentored, 62 years young, powered by crystal meth and a superwhore always, even though she only made $10-20 per date.  She was insane but a true inspiration in small doses.

A 50 year old rocker woman just TRIED to pimp or madam me.  She showed me the garage to the apartment complex.  “You can park in the maintanence spots, they’re always empty.” she said.  “There’s my red corvette.” she said pointing out a 2005 or later model red corvette.  “It’s like my 5th one..”  I was viewing her 2 bedroom incall.  It was dirty like the last space I shared with the borderline disorder masseuse that I hated.  I am not the cleanest person at all but these bitches are always filthier than me.  Dirty toilet.  Never dusted.  One cheap unfluffy towel.   “I make sooo much money on Fridays.  I love it.  If my friends want me to go out, I tell them, ‘it better be worth $2000!’ and I listen to her tell me how her main advertising sources are Craigslist and Cityvibe.  I have worked Craigslist through an agnecy for almost 3 years and I know what people are paying and the type of clientele that she sees.  You cannot make $2000 being straight up and not doing the hustle that we were doing.  Collectively, my old agency was everywhere at once.  We were doing incall and outcall in every suburb of LA county with drivers to drive us.  That’s the only way you COULD do it and never with just one body in one place.  No one person makes that much, just being incall for $200 a pop without tipping.  That’s 10 guys in 12 hours!  Not even brothels try to promise that, although they would wish it upon you.  You could make half that at best running around all night, and in this economy it’s even doubtful they’re making 1/3.  No one is making $2000 on one Friday nite off of Craigslist and Cityvibe.  but I let her talk her talk.  I would have to see it to believe it and she was the one asking me to work for her, so if she had the clientele she said she did I would give it a try.  The next day we were supposed to meet at around 5 pm turned to 7:30 turned to 10pm.  When she finally picks up the phone she says,”Oh hey sweetie..Do you have a credit card with $5 on it so we can place an ad?”  WTF?? “No.” I said,”Sorry.”  I hear a voice in the background like a woman is at her place, probably another prospect. “Well, do you have a friend who does?”she says,”It’s only $5.”  I am so glad I am home cooking a meal instead of over there at that ratbag’s apartment.  “I’ll call you back.” I say hanging up Ms.Red Corvette that probably wasn’t even hers.  Jesus.  If you are trying to pimp me, you have to have MORE than me, not LESS.  Why would I give someone a part of my income if they didn’t have their shit together TIGHT.  My old agency had the pimp game tight with CUNT BOOKER BITCHES who would even make money being the voice of “me” demanding $100 cancellation fees from dudes that called a different picture off of Craigslist.  And sometimes these guys would hand me $100!  (Of which cunt booker would take half) and that was the kind of typical agency hustle that would happen.  If it weren’t her, then you would have some goon driver to back you up.  I never did it that way, I preferred to endure all the verbal and possible physical confrontations myself.  Exposure therapy.  or something else I haven’t processed yet.

I tell Kenny I am going to deliver something first and I’ll call back to get the address.  It took about 30 minutes for the anxiety attack to come on…I imagined attempting to have to tell Vulture no and how irritating and potentially dangerous that could be.  I imagined just getting fucked up and putting myself in a risky sexual situation because my life was so depressing and perhaps I might go home with some money…Drugs would be nice..Money would be nice.. but vulture, he would never be nice.  And vulture + kenny would not be nice.  They would be irritating and annoying, and I would be high on drugs, far away from my house.

I facebooked my process.  Insatiable pull to do something risky.  self destructive.  I wanted to go there and make money and come out ahead.  I did not want to let those fools get to me.  But I was having a PTSD attack and starting to feel sick to my stomach.  I was smoking bong hits to calm my nerves.  I finally got the nerve to get up and get to my delivery.  I resolved that I was not going to see kenny and vulture.  While almost to my delivery spot, a car came out of nowhere and I almost hit it 10 minutes away from my destination.  This is how I know it is what I call a PTSD becomes unsafe for me to drive because I start to dissassociate, to leave my body.  I usually come back pretty quick, but its better if I’m not driving.  It’s scary.  Your body is trying to protect itself but it doesn’t do a good job of it when it’s in this mode.

I get to tweakerkids house..”Hey,” he says and I’m glad to see him.

He hops in my car and he pays me.

“You got any other drugs?” I ask.

“Yeah, [thought you’d never ask] You wanna come in?” he says.

He’s chillin with a Latino 20 something, smokin a little meth and watching music videos, nothing too crazy…

I need to decompress my thoughts with someone, anyone.  Facebook helped a bit but I could tell I needed more…The idea of the proposition of going to see Vulture and kenny actually sent me into a post traumatic anxiety attack and I didn’t even go over there!  It was the prospect of having to face someone that had violated you again.  I’ve done it before and i don’t like it, although in my case it was at a funeral and it worked out well but still clearly my body did not like it judging from how much I was freaking out.

I wanted to do drugs to escape these feelings.  I knew that he would have something.  Not my drug of choice but something.  I was seeking safety.  this concept is straight out of a clinical book I am reading to heal myself.  We call it “medicating” even though it is drinking, smoking weed or something else because it is how we have coped.

I hit the glass pipe and watched the white meth smoke make a long cloud…bigger than the exhale of marijuana smoke.  I did that about 7 or 8 times and told them about my definition of anal violation and why I was even tripping.  2 other guys listening to my story and not hurting me.  My weed client and I were used to having intellectual conversations about various things and that’s why he liked me but I’m sure his best friend was shocked by me.  “I’m an escort, right,”I say,”and I’m having this dilemma…” i know it’s not a normal intro to someone but I’m far from normal most of the time. I stayed for another hour, the drugs were weak.  I wasn’t getting that high.  I suppose I was supposed to stay all nite and all morning.  “We can go out and get some more.” he said but i didn’t want to. “I didn’t know you do this..”he said smiling..

“I don’t.” I said.  “Tonight is just crazy. I need something, that’s all.”

I drove away from there, straight to the gas station to make my needle go from E to F with glee, and realized I wasn’t tweaked at all.  In hour later I was in bed.  I thought I set my cell phone alarm but apparently I didn’t press the DONE button.  I woke up late and with an $80 ticket on my car.  the 2nd one in a week.  My therapist tried to blame it on me smoking meth, but smoking meth with them was my harm reduction.  It was the best thing I did for myself in comparison to going to try to fuck with the original proposition of seeing if indeed they wanted me to come over there to just “hang out.”  I texted him before I went to bed “I CAN’T FUCK WITH YOUR FRIEND.”  I didn’t even know if it was a real proposition either, because Kenny didn’t even call again after I went to sleep.  and usually he would call back a million times but he didn’t.  It made me think in the morning that it was all a hoax.  They were going to lead me 40 minutes into a fake address for nothing.

Everyone is so freaked out by crystal meth.  Having hung out with queen of long term use, Candy, the one I was an unofficial social worker for, I should be freaked out by it too.  Having overdosed in the desert and landed in the emergency tent with a rehydration needle in my neck, you would think I’d be freaked out by it too..  But it doesn’t call me to do it.   I do it so very rarely just to triumph over that time I did it in the desert ten years ago.  In total I’ve done it less times than you are probably thinking right now.  The side effects are so major and long term compared to the high though.  For the next two days my throat was soo insatiably dry.  But I didn’t even get high, which what was annoying.  I went to sleep!  My anxiety was gone, and perhaps that was the high.  Like Ridlin for the ADHD kid.  I talked and these boys listened and maybe that was the high I needed.  I had no fear and no regret and that was the best thing that I could have done with the way I was feeling.  In some people’ (like my exboyfriend)’s minds I hit the evil crystal pipe and I was on my way to hell.  To me, I sought safety in it and in these other strange dudes who I was more sure were not trying to hurt me.  And I sat there smoking and educating them for a minute and then I went home calm.  I sit here blogging it trying to explain, but hopefully someone out there reads this and has been through something similar.  It’s called Seeking Safety.  It’s a book I’m reading about PTSD and drug use, but I’m adapting it to marijuana use which I don’t actually see as drug use… I smoke weed everyday and I don’t see it as a drug.  Other drugs I might sell or do with clients when they come around, but I don’t usually seek them.  They fall in my lap.  This particular night, however, I sought them to block my path to self destruction.  It was a substitution reckless for another reckless act, but since i didn’t really get high, it was not that destructive.  I fantasize about being on the border of creating a new sickness, an addiction which countless drug addicts have done to make sense of all in life that is so troubling and so traumatic but not physically visible.  So they create diseases and absesses so the world can see them suffering, or at least if not the world, they themselves can see it.  I am not there.  or even close.  yet.

i  may likely indulge  in recreational/casual and impulsive drug use (like this) well into my late 50s or beyond as long as it is around me.  Meth is just another drug, not more powerful than the others but one I stay away from because of the harsh side effects to my singing muscle (so drastically even after one use)  and my real dreams.  i remember Candy used to call me and he voice wasn’t understandable, the meth smoke had mangled her vocal chords for the week and maybe longer, the words fading in and out with so much strain.  Listening to Whitney Houston’s voice after cocaine is such a shocker.  She was the greatest love of all!  A gold medal Olympic level vocal athlete..and on this tune “i didn’t know my strenghth” she sounds like older Patti LaBelle.  or Taylor Dayne.  Worse.

Sex work does not always have to be risky, deceptful or include drugs.  But for me to usually profit, it had to include one, the other or both.  Right now, I am not advertising, work is slow so risks are cut down,  I’m not on Craigslist cuz they blocked me, I’m not on the corner… or crusing bars in downtown hotels even.  I cut out bad regulars like Kenny (again) but mostly I quit my traumatic and risky agency job.  Independent escorting doesn’t pay the bills for me, unfortunately I only really made most of my money being the “bait and switch” closer who stayed up and drove 3 nights a week til 6am.

I should be rewarded for reducing risk, but instead I am paying the price of retiring from a lifestyle that I struggled to hold on to as long as I could..making money was constantly traumatic like this…that’s why I quit.  this is why I am broke.  If I could work for a real madam or pimp who booked Elliot Spitzer types of clients then I’d be happier.  But there are also risks there.  now you’re in Federal outlaw territory where speaking out will land you tied to a roof with a noose around your neck and suicide note in your handwriting that you didn’t write.  (DC Madam, Brandy Britton)  But I like pure risk free non dangerous clients that compensate well too.  And I feel like I deserve them but don’t know how to get them.  And of course everyone knows what I am doing wrong but me and how I could or should be making more money like them.   Instead I’ve been a hustler on the agency circuit, craigslist hustler, internet whore…Any big money I ever made always included one of us fucked up on drugs or alcohol.  And it usually wasn’t me.  And I don’t feel bad for it at all because if it wasn’t me collecting their money during their blackouts, it would some other bitch.


If you are in it to win it, you MUST remain MORE sober than them.  If you stay slightly in more control than them, you will usually profit triple.  Do drugs to socialize and gain trust but not to get fucked up. If you sell it, don’t carry it on you, cut it down and tax it triple.  (Buying from me is like buying a beer at a football game.  You willingly and repeatedly consent to any inflation.)

Everyone has PTSD.  The world is so traumatic.  We seek to replay these traumatic sequences and do something about them, to regain control.  And I like a superwhore trying to save myself and the world, could have it no other way which is why I never felt like sex work is always a choice.  I was like one of the superheroes who found out about their super power when animal hairs started growing on their back..and my fate also has been very similar…stripping started to set me free, and real sex for money set me more free.  Smoking meth and going to sleep is not the usual prescription for harm reduction, but I have to say, I am very glad that I resisted all I did and came out ahead without even fighting.


WHORE REVOLUTION song written 9/6/09 Mos Def/Erykah Badu show

To all my female survivalists
A gold digger is a go getter bitches
U need to make yourself feel better By dissing me

But don’t hate the ho

hate the pimp system that created me

This is a shout out to all my fellow mercenaries,
Girls gotta do what they need to do
by any means necessary
we need to rise up and stop depending on these dudes to get free
Start takin back our bodies
Even hos and bitches can be revolutionary
Cuz wouldn’t it be quite extraordinary
If I could finance my dreams without looking
for money to marry

But the reality
is that they want us to be
Their cheap ignorant, girls gone wild for free
while a few good ol boys get rich off of money we never see
hypocritically PIMPING our image and OUR sexuality

If there were a better way than hustlin and shakin your ass at the club til 3
Just to feed a dream and a little baby
If there were some way to keep this music dream alive
Without risking craigslist killers and answering calls til 5
Or manage to finance your college degree
Just to graduate and become an employee
And beg on the phone for your dignity
While the bank won’t cash your check
less u pay them all their overdraft fees
Obama already bailed them out but they still want to take from me??
I might be that poor frustrated bitch who walks into a bank and bombs everybody

Cuz the banks don’t give a fuck if you can’t eat!
And the politicians will smile in your face while you’re
homeless with AIDS, begging for money in the street
Health insurance death panels vote to kill you
and your unborn child just to save them money,
And I know the global imperialist system
won’t ever let us truly be free
And that’s why I don’t apologize
for bein a whore revolutionary

Whore revolutionary
Says my body is MY property
And If I need your protection, boo
Then I’ll make sure that you see,
that you’re just the one driving the car for me
Taking back the reins of my sexuality
There ain’t no shame in this game
Mama taught me to never give it up for free
Smokin trees and traveling the world
Mariko passion: whore revolutionary

you don’t need a man or money to be VIP
just follow me
to the land of the whore revolutionary

You lock me up if I dare to survive and profit
some give it away for free, but i dare to make $$ off it
The system steady recycling bodies of mostly Black Jezebellas
She’s so proud to be bottom bitch, she’s her daddy cinderella
Outstanding warrant, out on bail, can’t pay the fine then take her ass to jail
and her daddy sure do love her so very much
he’ll even tell her so through the payphone in the cell
but he’ll make her do the time
and won’t even pay her bail! (well, fuck that..)


Let em borrow Never buy
always negotiate for the Bigger piece of the pie
Let em rent by the hour; but never rent to own
‘less you like being treated like a little girl even though you grown
Increase the police, they try to keep us down with their laws
to the whore revolutionaries, renegades and outlawz..
Hustling and doing illegal things just to get by
but we just keep keepin on, hustlin til dawn,
keep making our money and staying high


Barbie Jeeps, Blow, Blunts and Bitches: Falling Apart Has Never Been So EZ

A Barbie Jeep AND a stripper pole..WHAT!
A Barbie Jeep AND a stripper pole..WHAT!

I walked in the door and saw a PINK Barbie Jeep and stripper pole and I nearly DIED.  Things were looking up every day.  I really and truly did not believe that it was going to change at ALL.

I’m not sure if things were meant to get better because “the Secret” to life had started to reveal itself to me, or my chants and prayers were finally answered.  I was able to hold out and wait until someone better came along, and indeed this was much much much better.  And I used it to heal me.  to benefit me and give me AND him what I felt we both needed.  It got kind of hard at the end, because when I have anxiety and someone has already made you vulnerable by shining a light into your heart unexpectedly…

“You’re Falling Apart, Aren’t You?” he said.

Was it the coke and the anxiety that results from when I do more than my usual try to stick to limit of 3 lines before the anxiety attacks come on..

but either I must REALLY REALLY be a mess or this guy is fucking deep and introspective as hell.  He was really an amazing client to have ended up with.  I met him at the VIP after hours stripper party.   I wanted and craved this experience.  I needed it.  Escape in a shameless night of drugs and sex.  And I knew that it would only be a few days before it would come my way, it just had to be with right person.  Definitely not the sneaky tweaker anal avenger type.. Not a vulture who would just prey on my weaknesses.  It is a controlled binge, not super self destructive and actually I couldn’t have asked for it to be better except that I woud not have been to sketched out to sleep in his arms all night.  I tried to make it seem like a real date.  Like untimed companionship, until I started to lick his cock and I tasted his pre cum in my mouth.  I pulled back, paranoid.  I realized it had been a long time since I’ve given an unprotected blow job.  Even with my ex-boy we used flavored condoms.  I felt sketched out because of the drugs and the fact that I really wasn’t ready to do raw head with someone yet.   It bothered him a bit, but he totally understood.  He was a really really sweet guy.  This is why sex work has been so much a part of my life for so long, because there are gems like this man that you can be with and give your gifts and they will give back, and it is compensated.  and there is not danger.  no drama.  I paid the rent in person to my downstairs property manger this morning.  It felt like SUCH a relief.  I’ve borrowed money from 5 different friends and family members.  I need to figure out a way to make this work cuz I can’t do this next month.    Things are looking up.  I didn’t think I was going to make it there.  I was unwell.  sick.  like a junkie who NEEDS her next fix.  My fix is money.  Money = survival.  Stabilty.  “You look like a totally different person tonight than you did last night,” he said.  That’s because I have $600 more tonight than I did last night. I thought silently. It makes all the difference in the world whether I have money or not to pay the vital bills like rent and car payment.

“I know.” is what I said out loud.

My landlady is dying to evict me.  I’m not sure why.  I’m guessing because she doesn’t agree with my lifestyle.  As if she really knows or should have a say over it.  The apartment next to mine has been empty for 2 months like so so many apartments, business, storefronts in LA.  Welcome to the land for FOR LEASE signs.  What a great time to seize a great deal, if you managed to survive the holocaust and have some savings for a down payment.  This was how I got my live work snazzy San Francisco loft after the dot com era.  My oji-san died and left all of us ten grand.  Arigato Gozaimasu, Oji-san! But that is all just a distant memory, a goal for my future to attain the status i ONCE had when I was 25.  younger than this guy.  but i have barely that right now.  i have a big apartment with a great rental price that I finally reclaimed as my own.  bad credit and no savings.  i NEED to stay where I am at.


I made the pot cookie guy my little ass slut today for a few hours and he gave me a big big tuperware of the most amazing and potent anti-depressants known to self medicating pot patients in LA.  I picked up another side gig, which I have been all about lately.  I have been so broke, that I’ve had to settle smoking low grade crappy weed that I could afford and cut ONE of his $8 cookie in half each day for the last 2 weeks in order to medicate..(all my broke patients reading this throw your hands up!)

I WAS indeed falling apart on drugs in front of my client.  But I was in good hands.  Part of why I as falling apart, was because I was in the house of a 27 year old Mexican American family restaurant business owner, home owner, MAN with a daughter that he didn’t see too much, but that had an ADULT sense of decoration and style that I have not seen in anyone since my ex boy for the last 2 years.  I looked at him in envy as well because here I was 33 and struggling to hold on to a simple bohemian South Central flat.  “Why do you always have to compare yourself to other people” he said (as if he had known me for that long).  and it kept going like that for 5 hours.  We talked about my break up, my meltdown, my stepdown from my organization, my exboyfriend of course, relationships, even talked about MY MOTHER.

I tried to have sex with him escort style, but after he had opened up my emtions like that I found it so hard to even get into sucking his dick.  He says he no problem getting gorgeous women, and he shows me their photos in his phone, indeed they are hot chicas.  I understand it as I am just SO impressed what I see, because I have for so long been trapped in a place where I had to accept 2nd best.  Because I had ever seen an example of an adult around me who had their shit together more than I did that was younger than me and not a sex worker.    And I was also impressed because here I was 5 years older than him and struggling to hold on to less than what I believed he had.  Women fall head over heels for that because there are so many fucking deadbeat losers with criminal records!  There are SO MANY too many of us supporting our baby men and enabling them to destroy us with our permission..Here are the keys to my car honey.  Go crash it, okay?  I love you too.”

I was in Starbucks in the Valley today and in my 10 minute conversation with the cute barista with an edgy look, he tells me he just got out of prison and he’s working as a Bartista to feed his daughter.  he’s so cute and sincere.  Bad boy with a baby face.  and a record.  my favorite, i thought.  “I better stop talking to you before you become my next ex-boyfriend.” I laughed.  I was medicated on cookies.  I felt like my game was on for some reason.  I could feel an incredible sexual attraction between us, that I couldn’t deny but had to tear myself away from.  I am considering driving back there just to have an exciting one nighter with the usual.  And if it is the usual, then it will end up in another 2 year codependent nightmare relationship before the iced grande soy lattes are finished.  He’ll quit Starbucks and soon I’ll be supporting him and his daughter.

Lately I am extremly vulnerable.  Drugs intensify this by 100. But I wanted this.  Coke would be way less self destructive than crystal meth, heroin, oxy or anything else I could try to get my hands on at this point.  The next person who gifts me drugs is going to be my new best friend.  And predictably it was coke, the most common drug of the sex underworld.

photo by Llednor Nadirehs 2009

photo by Llednor Nadirehs 2009

Last nights client said when he saw me last night, “You looked mean”. He said. “Tough”.
“I didn’t want to [get a lap]dance with you cuz I thought u were gonna beat me up!”he laughed, naked in his bed with me on top of him.  We were erotic, drugged up, relaxing,releasing..but not fucking.  Exactly what I wanted to do for the last few hundred dollars I needed to meet my crucial goal to keep my house and pay for my car payment right around the corner of that deadline..

“Really?” I said.”Tough? I said.  “I see that as a compliment.. Escorting in LA makes you tough. U gotta be tough to do what I was doing. But, I can beat you up if that’s what you’re into..shit,” I laughed “I do it all..”

I talked to him for about 6 hours doing lines, drinking El jimador tequila mixed with Squirt, having a drug induced heart to heart in his gorgeous California King Bed with Orthopedic Memory Foam mattress or something like that… The coke was pretty good, I couldn’t hide my pain, especially since he was stripping away the thingly held veil holding my ego together.  He was easily winning me over, because as he spoke to me, I realized that I had not had a mature conversation in bed with a 27 year old man for almost 2 years.

I knew that I was going to indulge in drugs to escape my problems for a day or two..It was just a matter of which drugs, where I would get them, what kind of consequences would arise as a result, and whether or not I even gave a shit about those consequences at all.

In the end I knew that it would only be a matter of days, before drugs would be provided to me on a platter,and I would be paid to do them..

The opportunity came along in no time. I knew it would.  It would either be the next call that went through whenever that was going to happen or probably no later than the call after that. There was once a time when free coke was offered to me twice a week. I wonder why people feel like being so generous really. When I score it I don’t usually share it with’s like buying them dinner with each snort! Too expensive to give for free to me…but I am never one to turn down free drugs (and this has gotten me in trouble sometimes as well).

milk_6I couldn’t do anything but talk and spill my gutts to him as he asked questions and revealed his predictions about me.  and I ate it up.  i think it was because I felt like no one really gave a shit about what was really going on with me.  CERTAINLY NEVER ANY CLIENT I HAVE EVER HAD IN 12 YEARS IN THIS INDUSTRY.  Or maybe because it is so rare when I WILL ALLOW A CLIENT TO TELL ME WHAT I AM FEELING.  Because they usually don’t know. Or they say they care and they really don’t.  Or, like my ex-boyfriend, they can’t at this point in their development, understand.

Barbie Jeeps, Strippers Poles, Blow, Blunts and Bitches.  Falling Apart has Never been so EZ.


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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