Archive for the 'brothel' Category

26
Dec
09

A Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers 2009

Reflecting After A Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers

2009 seemed like it was filled with trauma and violence of non physical proportions.  Lots of drama with the escort agency job and the boyfriend.  I quit both in July and stepped down from directing the non profit I founded for sex workers in LA.  My relationship to my own surprise, officially ended when the cops at my door were asking me the question,”Are you still in a relationship with this guy?” I was the one who called 911 to get him to to stop knocking on my front door incessantly when he wasn’t supposed to be there that day.  I was trying to exercise my space boundaries and my right to not pick up the phone when my boyfriend calls when I didn’t want to talk to him.  If someone doesn’t pick up the phone and you just come over, then you are unwanted.  Go away.

I even Facebooked it almost at the same time as it was happening: If you call the cops on your partner, does that mean the relationship is over?? I didn’t know the answer then, but it answered itself by surprise and slowly over weeks to come.  One day, all of my phones were ringing and there was an incessant knocking (banging? It felt like banging, but I don’t remember..) on the door.  I felt like my boundaries were literally being attacked in my own home and either I am just a post traumatic stress disorderly who is triggered to calling 911 too easy or I felt like I needed help with a situation that had gone too many months out of control.  No one was willing to step in and help, not my friends, not his parents…I just wanted this man out of my house and I didn’t know how else to do it.

We haven’t seen each other since.  But, if I hadn’t called the cops, he’d still be living with me.  I’d be blogging about wanting to break up  and he’d be in the bedroom, watching Southpark.  I had asked him to move out and it took 4 months.  I asked to give me space and he was banging on my front door calling all my phones trying to “give me something/hang out another day.”  I called the cops on him, and they cuffed him in the back of their car.  It was sad and frightening.  I would have more regret had the xboy not subsequently been such an ass between then and now to make me not feel sorry for what extreme measures I needed to take with someone who was so blinded by his own definition of  “love” that he simply could and would not respect my boundaries.  We’ve talked a few times since and every time he’s disrespected and offended me each time more. He still has some of my stuff that he holds onto like the hope of us getting back together but our conversations make it very easy to never talk to or allow myself to be sucked into a place I felt stuck in for over a year.   He owes me money for back rent and he has a cheap PC laptop of mine, but instead of continuing to let him take cheap shots at me so that we could be drawn into the same pattern of fighting and fighting, I said, “Keep it.  Fuck you and your mother (he loves his mother lots).” I proceeded to cut him out by letting go of the stuff, the last thing he had to hold me. Although I didn’t really want him to keep my stuff which I couldn’t really afford to replace but would have to, I needed to be the one once again to be the bigger person and let go first.  It’s just stuff.  I don’t want to love or hate this man anymore.  I don’t want to fight about the same things.  I don’t want to raise a baby man.  I need an adult in my life who will support me, emotionally, financially and spiritually and he was not it.

As an agency girl, I work side by side with escorts who hustle hard, EXPECT you to tip high and DON’T believe in having sex for money in most cases.  Sometimes, if you are lucky and tipping well, a hand job or a blow job may be in order.  The average agency girls can be a ruthless hustlers, shameless liars, rip off bitches, good at running in heels, and usually roll with drivers who are thugs and ex parolees ready to mace a fool for wanting his money back.  It makes a decent amount of cash most times and some of the time, it really isn’t that bad and it can be quite exciting, fun and lucrative.  Sometimes, guys play along with our game and don’t complain.  Other guys would call those guys suckers, but they get the best end of the deal, if they just pay the toll.  But then there are the guys who pay the extra tip money and still get ripped off because their girl doesn’t do nothing for her money. It’s a damn shame that most agency girls have no appreciation for the art of sex work.

What makes me unique to the agency scene as far as I’ve observed out there, is that I actually fuck.  Funny how, what made me unique in the stripclub stripping scene was that I didn’t do anything in the private booths EXCEPT STRIP!  I was so whoraphobic as a stripper!  Now,  I am an upsell prostitute.  This is subject to change, however because I have recently been observing that it is much easier to just join the shameless/ruthless club than it is to be the hooker with the heart of gold who feels sorry for the johns who don’t get laid when they pay $500.   Some of the agency calls that I do, I look around and I am the only one actually fucking or sucking and I’m a tad bit embarassed!  Most of the time, it’s just easier for me to screw them, and screw them as fast as I can for the most money possible.

You have two choices.  You can be REALLY evil or somewhat evil, which in this game is not really seen as evil AT ALL.  OR, you can be successful as a high class independent escort just like some how to book tell you to do.  Many women work the review boards and are very successful.  There are madams with exclusive Tiger Woods type of clientele and there are agencies like the ones that I work, so many different ways to work, all of which are not accessible for all.  I used to think it was all just a matter of changing numbers on your website which would be the secret to making 6 figures in this business.  But it’s much more than that.  Just think high roller and you will meet high rollers! Some of us are pretty happy making $500 a night regularly and other people scoff at that amount.  Some escorts make $500 a week!  Everyone wants to charge $2000/nite but how many of us actually do?  I have only made steady regular profit off of agency escort work.  Late nites, longs shifts, bait and switch, upsell tipping, quickies and stacks of cash. But because it is a feast  or famine profession usually, the average middle class sex worker is never wealthy, usually not a home owner but usually RICH in time flexibility and control of a certain level of job freedom that is usually only attainable to people who make six figures… Yes, I wanted to be Eliot Spitzer’s whore but I couldn’t make myself into “that girl” even when I put my mind to it.  It’s not how much you make in a night or an hour, but how much you make in a week, a month or even a year.   Freedom to travel and take time off for your family or for your own self preservation is WEALTH.  And most wealthy people don’t even have the luxury of schedule that sex workers have.

I guess I feel sorry for the agency tricks a little, and I figure I don’t mind having sex for money, so if they tip me at least $200 over the show fee, they can usually have 20 minutes of sex with me.  This deal is not only a rarity in the agency escort world, it is generous.  I feel I am preserving the sanctity of prostitution but no one knows or appreciates this..

Most girls take the tip, hand it out to the driver (who gets 30%) and then she proceeds to do all of nothing for the guy.   I have recently been feeling like I want to be more cruel!  I give A LOT of myself to a good amount of ungrateful tricks who just as well deserve to be burned once in a while.  Why am I so nice sometimes and so mean other times? I wonder.  I have gone back to the car to fetch condoms when I already had the money and tips in my purse.  I went back to the guy who was in the house or hotel room to finish the safe sex that they paid for upfront when I could have just as easily driven off into anonymity and not looked back.

This is what I do as an agency girl a lot of the time.  So I suppose, in the end good karma equals out with the bad karma and you get a neutral year.  If I was just a do nothing girl, I wouldn’t have a bag full of safer sex supplies which would be used as incriminating evidence against me to prove that I was a prostitute.  I could simply avoid the risk by not doing it at all, just pretending and resisting every time. I did actually do that very thing for a while, before I turned out as a full service worker.  I did it sort of slowly..I think it only took a couple of weeks or months into the work, one handjob, one blowjob and then the dramatic missionary position deflowering of the non whore into the wild shameless asian jezebella that she is today!

2 girl or multiple girl shows with an agency are a nightmare almost always.  2 girls who aren’t even bisexual or sexual for that matter, usually in a roomful of horny dudes who think they can do a line up for $100 each guy, I suppose they deserve to be ripped off even if that was what the booker on the phone told them.  They paid $500 for 2 girls to show up but they didn’t have tip money to keep us there so we ended up leaving after about 5 minutes.  Our ex-con bouncer distracted them while we went down the elevator and then he was unable to extract any more money out of them of any significance to get us to do anything with any of them.  If you don’t have tips for an agency girl, she is leaving as quick as she came in.  And you don’t get your money back.  That’s right fools, my bouncer just got out of prison for voluntary manslaughter.  It seems completely counter to my feminism, as many things that I do are sometimes, but I felt safe with that guy and it felt good to have a bouncer type for once, when usually I attend my escort calls alone with a security person I hire to stay awake with me and monitor my check ins to addresses that he gets by text message.

Naturally, the agency deal makes some guys mad.

They tell me to get my clothes on and get [the fuck] out of their houses.  One guy stole my cheap Boost mobile phone in exchange for the $300 that I refused to give back.  My job is the same as the drivers job when we hire drivers.  Don’t get hurt and don’t give refunds.  It’s scary as fuck sometimes taking the heat as a female from angry testosterone charged blue balling male gorillas but most of the times I deal with it by not responding verbally and just turning by back and heading out towards the exit.  No argument.  They wouldn’t understand my position at this point anyway.

Look, it’s just a job for me!  I just work for them!  They TAKE 66% from ME.” I try to reason with some of them.  “So in a way, we’re both in a bind.”  A somewhat overly- intellectual response for the situation, certainly not one other girls use, but true enough to work.  It does work most of the time.  They then say,”You should work for yourself.”  And then I say,”I do.  But you know, the economy is really bad.  If you want my direct number you can have it and I’ll only charge you $300 flat.”  This tactic works well for me too, and I have gotten repeat clients using this line.

One time me and this girl Britney from the agency had a show in the Valley.  There were about 5 guys in the house and they had just given us $500.  It became apparent that they didn’t have tips.  Britney told me in the bathroom that she was going to take off.  I told her to go.  I thought it would be fine if she left and I stayed because I would be able to make more money off of them because I offered sex.  This was so not the case.  AS soon as big brother found out that Britney had left he came storming out of his room in a half sleep rage, shouting curses at us and demanding all his money back.  “THAT BITCH IS NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE UNTIL I GET THAT MONEY BACK!” He was like an angry gorilla beating his chest and tearing through the house.  I immediately put the stack of cash on the counter and headed out the front door as he chased me and verbally assaulted me the entire way.   “Is your fucking driver outside?” he demanded obviously all coked up and wanting a piece of another man since I wasn’t giving him much to fight.  Sometimes I DO man up with them and face their anger with my resistance and I ask them to STEP THE FUCK BACK.   Sometimes I talk back to them.  Sometimes I steal their money and their drugs from their counters and their pockets when they’re fucked up and passed out and treat it like a pirate treats booty.  YARRR, FUCK YOU PAY ME!!  They call me fat and pregnant and tell me I’m a bad person and I try not to let it get to me.  I smoke away the stress and anxiety when I get home from a hard nights work and my then boyfriend never understood why I just couldn’t go to sleep when I got home.  I’m not using the girls in the office enough.  I have been taking the guy’s abuse alone at times when I didn’t have to.  But it’s so very hard to think so fast all the time.  I think that I may have come up one night, then I get out to my car and there is an $44 ticket on my car for prohibited overnight parking in a completely residential area and no posted signs anywhere.

Is it more violent to feel as if she HAS to be a gold digger in order to meet her basic survival needs?  To have to meet clients who don’t pay you professional rates, but gold digger rates which usually requires more time, overnight stays, etc.  A girl who wants to get a bill paid usually means a cool $100-150 not the $300 an hour that you might be used to.  I have charged up to $1000-1500 for an overnighter (low end for some VIP escorts) but now taking whatever came my way, I’ve had strangers sleep in my bed for $200 and endured their company for way longer than I would have like all in the course of doing what some call ‘casual prostitution.’  Some don’t even call it anything.  It’s just a way of life.  Especially in the low income neighborhoods.  “You tell him,’If he wants the pussy, he needs to give you some MONEY.’ These are words I’ve heard the ghetto daughters tell me they learned from their mothers or aunts.  Ex-husband with benefits usually means a bill or two gets paid for mom AND the kids.

Is it more violent for me to endure the anger and resentment of men who feel like they are being ripped off and lied to once I tell them that I am an agency girl and that they have to tip me at least another $200 on top of the $2-300 they just paid in order for us to have sex.  Some guys don’t get mad.  Some of them don’t blame me.  They tip me.  And we fuck.  And everyone is happy.  Those are the shows that I live on.  Believe me, I DON’T like to be in confrontations with angry dudes who are almost always bigger and stronger than me in their homes.  (Or maybe I do?) Some get mad though.  They don’t get a refund.  My job is to not give the money back or else no one gets paid for dealing with the bullshit transaction.  Once you step in the door you feel entitled to something.  Such is the demented power dynamic that occurs in most sex work, in my experience (but also why I have done it for so long—for the love of power and the healing it brings).  I am superwhore and you can’t fuck with me.  You need to pay at least  $40 just for making me go through the trouble of knocking on your door.

I reluctantly sucked the dicks of 2 Black college boy clients that I would rather not have earlier this year, just to appease them.  I felt like I wouldn’t be able to leave safely without doing something.  I remember trying to bargain with them with the line,”Look, we all went to good schools here..”  They were treating me like a bitch and I got up and went for the bathroom to assert a sudden exit.  I wished I had left earlier.  If it were me today, I would have used the office girls to deflect them not my oral sex skills.  It’s hard to think when you are naked and trying to make a quick exit out of a gated condo.  My boyfriend remembered this incident later one time when we drive past their gated condo complex.  I felt loved somehow that he remembered how badly it affected me, that morning I stayed up smoking weed til 8am and when he mentions that we should still kick their asses, I am almost in tears because it makes me feel like he gets it…

Last nite I used the bitchy cunt appointment booker to call off a client who wasn’t going to tip and who wouldn’t let me leave with his show fee.  He was holding my Hello Kitty purse hostage. An older Indian guy with a show fee of $200.  I knew he wasn’t going to have any more money and that $200 was a fortune compared to prostitutes in India!  I broke the news early.  He tried to kiss my lips. I get up and ask the office to call the client, an emergency tactic that I have to say, I’ve never used but would like to use more after last nite.  I wasn’t really that afraid.  The exit went smoother than any other I’ve had recently.  The old man was small enough for me to knock down if I had to.  Whatever she said to him made him give back my purse kindly and let me go after he heard what she had to say to him.

The office calls the client and usually says that they are recording the conversation for the police when they just asked for prostitution services.  They know where he lives he says and that he just needs to let me leave safely and quietly without refunds or altercations.  I’ve been in a room where the booker has made the guy pay me $100 as a cancellation fee, even when I was definitely not the girl in the photo that he thought he called.  I’ve seen bookers make a guy cry!  LOL.  Everyone has their niche power position in this industry.  I could never be a booker even though technically I’m part of the same fucked up system, but really WHO ISN’T part of some fucked up system in order to survive and profit?

I quit working for this agency 9 months ago after doing it continuously for about 3 years while running my non profit during the day.  The last straw was when I thought this jack ass had taken the money he had paid me out of my purse.  I looked in the pocket it was supposed to be in my purse and I thought it had gone missing!  I told my boyfriend/driver to go back to the house and told him we were going to confront his ass and that he didn’t have a choice that he would have to have my back on this one.   He was by now aware of the theory I hold of robbing a sex worker is equivalent to rape and that I took being robbed very very seriously.  I expected my boyfriend/driver to have my back if/when I ever got raped or robbed on the job. We confronted john, fairly calmly and he denied ever taking the money, which we of course didn’t believe him.  My xboyfriend threw in a little threat from shadows and the poor john picked up some of his fireplace pokers to defend himself!  We ended up keying his car and almost threw a brick though his window.  After we drove away, I discovered the $300!  Oops…

I have been hustled by a client, one new years eve.  He said he was going to get his car out of the garage and then he went inside and locked me out!  I ended up kicking his truck door in a few times and took off when I saw a neighbor switch their light on.. that wasn’t an agency job.  I shouted crazy recordable psychotic evidence into his voicemail.  Very amateur.  I was a lit fuse!  Remember that robbing me is like raping me in theory, except that getting done over by customers occasionally is definitely an inevitable cost of doing business each year.

I needed to get out of this work.  I felt like I was ready.  (Wrong).  I felt like I wanted to have strong boundaries towards a work situation and exercise my right to choose other ways of working safer.  It wasn’t sustainable.  The violence from poverty is a different violence and in looking at the stacks of cash and weed on my desk now, when 2 weeks ago I was in the food stamp line for 3 hours waiting with the rest of LA county poor folks.

The drama and danger of this job is just like working on the streets but indoor.  (Similar to indoor and outdoor basketball?  No more similarities between street fighting and professional wrestling)  Except, no regulations, no protections, no rights.    Confrontations and quick get always are part of the job.

I didn’t like that I had my xboyfriend key up his car and it turned out that he didn’t deserve it.  He just thought it was funny and felt no remorse about what he did.  I felt bad of course.  I quit agency work for what I thought would be good, but it turns out that it only last 8 months before I had to come back.  My car was impounded and I needed $1500 to get it back.  I wasn’t going to do that at $10/hr.   The negatives of this life seemed to outweigh the more glaring negatives of being unable to pay basic survival expenses and watching your livelihood burn down like a house on fire trying to be controlled by a small 12oz water bottle.  Being a gold digger who can’t pay her rent and needs to ask guy “friends” to help her do that IS pathetic.  And she is usually truthful about this.  She lets these guys know the situation and they leave a small donation not because they are paying for a service, but usually because they feel like they are getting the better end of the deal and it shuts the bitch up and gives them what they want.  I realized that it was the opposite of the sex worker that I had always been.  Especially the opposite of the agency hustler.  Take no shit girl.  Steal your weed when you turn your back girl.  Kick your door in if you try to rob or rape me, kick in your car door, make your life a psychotic whore’s revenge story…

Independent escort work can be just as dangerous and bring equal shady characters who are just as ready to disrespect and fly into a rage, but the added drama of the agency girls who work with you assure situations that can only exist in the classic 2 girl agency scenario that is a regular occurance for most girls who work together.  I refuse to do 2 girl shows after that incident, except that I just did one the other night, which I knew was a recipe for disaster.  You have to assert yourself and tell these bitch ass bookers “NO.  FOUR guys and 2 girls with just 1 driver is not safe.  Especially when you know that you have to ditch because she plans to ditch and even though you might hoe, she doesn’t so you have to do what she does, unless there is a way to separate in different rooms.  And the other scenario of sex work I’ve also had a taste of has been brothel prostitution.  The customer is always right.  And your co-workers are also scandalous bitches.  Some can be nice, but none can really trusted.  Is getting Tabasco sauce poured on your laptop and then getting kicked out of the brothel for “lying about it” violence against sex workers?  Brothel life gone bad looks like a jail cell and that has to do with the systematic violence that allows brothels to operate the way that they do legally.  It works like a cult or a gang does, playing favorites and pitting the workers against each other, hoping they break each other down…

After leaving LA to go to the brothel to earn money where there wasn’t any in LA, I arrived home and found the agency that I worked with for over a year.  I left that life because the violence and risk was too much for me to handle and I was holding up my relationship and a non profit with this income and I just could not do it any longer.  Especially when other crazy sex workers are constantly being so ungrateful and bitching me out and blaming me for various things, pulling me into their violence, acting out on me..

Violence Against Sex Workers is the Green River Killer and the Canadian pig farmer but, it is the serial killers and Barb Wires within us that boil with rage like the movies Highway and Monster that fight to the death for decent human treatment and living wages (or donations).  It is the agencies, pimps, brothels and management that police and the government defer to to control us.  It is the criminalization of our very need to earn a living in a sexist world.  It is the anger I face everytime a guy yells at me for not fucking him for $60, it is the anger that tests me to kill a man when he puts his fingers on my chest and pushes me out of his door…It is the violence that is acted out on ourselves, punishing ourselves with drugs and bad relationships repeating the cycle of destruction on our selves, taking out our rage on our community members and co-workers.  There were so many conflicting feelings that filled me as I reflected this December 17th.  But, aside from this blog, I don’t think I have ever really yet had a space to sum it all up..

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..

30
Aug
08

Burnt Out

I have returned to LA where I am back to worrying about money, as the whole brothel experiment has actually cost me money instead of made me money. Reading about different things that have been posted on BNG about my posts, including one other former fellow sex worker activist trashing me and a brothel hobbyist review board owner. I made the mistake of trying to post on another review board. Legal or not, don’t I realize that I am not a hobbyist’s girlfriend experience? I don’t do bareback blowjobs,  I don’t deep french kiss, I don’t live and die for the customer satisfaction of the client in exchange for ratings, and I DEFINITELY NEVER GIVE REFUNDS.  Anyway, I’ve realized that in my anger about the situation, I’ve revealed too many personal details about folks and used inflammatory words against brothels which could be easily used against our movement, which is what I have been working to change for the better. Pimps who are not abusive are offended, sex workers who have worked in brothels are offended..

But how can injustice be published in a way that holds people accountable?

I think when looking at situations that we don’t have direct experience in, we have just minimized conversation about it because we didn’t want to talk about what we didn’t know. But once I have experienced and I know what wrongdoing is being done, I speak out about it.

Do I get 15 minutes of FAME like the dickmouthed Nevada brothel board owner says? Doubt it. I get nothing. I went there to make money and experience new environments. I got the latter in ways that were worse than jail (and I’ve been to jail) and I lost money trying. Am I asking for sympathy? No, I’m asking for justice. I have re-edited my blogs to omit personal names and details and try to address some of the concerns of critics around the picture I found of the brothel from google image search, but at this moment, I don’t feel like taking my blogs down and censoring my experience which may be beneficial to someone who may be on her way to trying out the Nevada brothels and has time to read some blogs about other people’s experience.  If you are set in your mind to go and do something, nobody’s blog is going to really stop you because you will probably think it’s just their opinion.  This is what happened to me as I read Amanda’s blog.  I was scared, but I was already committed.

26
Aug
08

Freedom, Independence and Autonomy

as I drove along the open road the next day away from the brothel, away from all the bullshit I had endured, every tree, every mountain, every cloud seemed to reach out and give me a hug or a high five. I got out of my car and took a photo of myself: free, independent and in control of my body and sex work once again.

25
Aug
08

Cautionary Words from a Brothel Survivor::but still a sex worker activist

Sitting in a motel head spinning from what just happened. I had just been kicked out of B’s brothel. While I was in my room with a customer, someone had opened my laptop and poured tabasco sauce all over the keyboard and trackball pad. Mostly the latter, which was good because only the spacebar is the most damaged. I ask the people in the kitchen if they had seen anything. They all acted dumbfounded. I go to the living room. Lisa gets up and starts to get angry for me. “who the fuck spilled tabasco on Passion’s computer?? That’s some SHADY ASS shit right there, you BITCHES.” She is moving through the house asking everyone for me.

The computer was open to the post page I was writing, entitled “DAY 7: military and 6th grade classroom detention.

I was cleaning my laptop and girls took turns getting things like paper towels and q tips and I asked ALL of them if they did this as they interacted with me. All were empathetic and helpful. I sat in my room shaking. I did not know what to feel. I was angry but just in shock. I called Scarlot Harlot, my whore mother in crisis moments and beyond. “So, you’re going to leave, right?” she said. I sighed and accepted this as the last straw. “Yes. I said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Start to make plans to exit. Call Sharon in Vegas and arrange for a place to stop on route back home to LA. While I am talking on the phone in my room, bar manager comes in seeming concerned. “what time do you think this happened. When was your computer in the kitchen?” she said. I put the person on hold. “between when I was in my date and 10pm. “I said emotional but not in any tears. I am making frantic arrangements to kick my [trouble making] subletters out early so I could return home.

15 minutes later the bar manager opens the door. “S was just here. She wound back the tape [of the camera in the kitchen] and you were the only one near your computer. No one was in kitchen but you during those times. So I get to ask you to leave. I get to watch you pack and make sure you return the remotes. I get to check you out and give you your money WITHOUT taking the 25% for being asked to leave.”

“Wait a second.” I am even more in shock. “You think I did this to my own computer?” I said.

“I’m not saying what I believe or don’t believe. I am just doing my job.” A TRUE HENCHMEN SPEAKS.

“wow. This whole house is fucking crazy. That’s fine. I was going to leave tomorrow anyway.” I say and start to head to the closet to slowly process what is happening and start to pack. My heart is pounding out of my chest in the way that it does when I am about to get into a fist fight, when I got robbed, when I got arrested by 3 male cops busting through a door…The adrenalyn was making my head spin and my body tremble.

I am now in a motel, unwinding by writing all of you “conscious sex workers” out there who were seduced by the charm of the seductive sales pitch of a manager disguised in feminist clothing, to SLAP YOURSELVES ACROSS THE FACE, because you don’t even have to be similar to Amanda or me to see that labor violations and militant management are not a good addition to intentions to adventure and prosper in sex work settings.

S asked me if I had ever had a pimp in her office, and I was thinking in my head,“Yeah, lots of mostly stripclub managers, but never someone like you who truly believes that they are the total opposite, but are exactly the same evil in a different outfit.” She then showed me photos of the other woman’s face all beat up to scare me out of being an “independent.”

“You wanna take customers to your house and see them on your own??” she said,” You wanna know what happened when B did that a customer damn near TOOK HER LIFE??” waving the photos at me.

The women here are sleep deprived and working around the clock for about $2000-$10,0000 a week for 130 hours of work (emotional, body movement control for 13 hours a day x 10) in 10 days. Most make about $2-3000, which means about $2-300/day. Can you make that much or more as an independent or even agency escort? Many can. In fact, many street workers can make more than that, but there are that come with it the increased risk of arrest and [different kinds of] violence. The legal brothels waive their legal status as their carrot so that you feel like you NEED them to make that money.

Now I know how WAGE BONDAGE (keeping wages until the week’s end to make sure you follow rules), light deprivation mixed together with FEAR conditioning and bodily control by restricting freedom of movement and REQUIRING movement at the sound of a loud FIRE ALARM like BELL every 20-40 minutes does to you. I too was still thinking of staying a few more days,making just a few more hundred in exchange for my freedom. But the tabasco incident happened, which was all the better but still really really dirty and stupid. Amanda’s window to her room opened onto a padlocked and gated “patio.” I read this and still I went. (Maybe we are two very different people with different boundaries..I’ve never worked with Amanda…in fact I don’t even know her that well!) I cleansed my mind to open, even after reading her blog, but still the same, if not worse of the nightmare ensued for me. This and even worse is going on in legal brothels all over Nevada, Australia and more.

I’ve had my period for several days while working there. Today I bled a little puddle on a customer and he wanted a damn refund. The Instead cups sometimes get tilted to spill when a penis is thrusting it. Oh well, he sees blood. He had already fucked me though! I usually tell fools like that to eat my bloody pussy or “Hey,surprise, female prostitutes bleed sometimes. Sorry to break the fantasy for you.” There ARE NO REFUNDS in prostitution! But management gave him a damn refund. This is where the ambiguity of charging for the hour not the sex act comes in handy. In that hour, you can give head or a hand job if you are bleeding and they don’t get recourse because you never promised any certain kind of sex. Well, that’s how I roll anyway. I don’t love all my clients, especially when it means I would have to compromise control over my boundaries during periods or not. In most sex work establishments with fucked up management, expect the customer to always be right. However, in the stripclub that I worked the longest at, working girl was always right. Bouncers would usually take out issues on drunken customers who exceeded a girl’s boundaries, this might seem like a good thing, but, bouncers can easily take this one out of control as well. But this practice, in general, meant that clients were always TRICKS at the end of any argument, and your pussy power was kept intact, in control and in the highest regard. This is not the set up for this brothel,and I get the feeling that most are built on a reputation of customer is always right, which doesn’t always stand in line with sex workers rights.

Another part of S’s lecture was about how “you will give that customer an $80 party and give him the best party of his life,(meaning you get $40 for fucking) and not complain about it because he might come back when he has more money and give you a $2000 party.” speaking of the girls who complained about a customer only having $80 in his wallet.

Aunt D called us all in to the kitchen and swore up and down that Bellas would never take your money for that kind of thing..we all bleed. She said she gave HALF of his money back because he would spread word to all his trucker friends, so she took money out of her own pocket to keep his mouth shut. But we will never take money from you girls for that..” When I was checked out they charged me $150 for bleeding on a customer. That was my 50%. They issued a refund from my half!! I didn’t argue as I left the office with my measily $600 for 7 days of what I deemed as emotional hell. (this was not even my expenses for getting licensed to be a card carring ho, gas money to get here or gas money to get back. My rent is due again on September 1st and my lawyer needs to get paid by the 5th. BUT, I am free. A sex worker activist brothel survivor. Getting abused by pimps or systems of abusive pimping does cause trauma in the same way that any other domestic violence or workplace violence would, especially if you have previous stuff to deal with. Melissa Farley has bits of truth in her very one sided view, except that it isn’t the sex work itself that was traumatizing, but the way that it was mandated to be done. Bella obviously does NOT understand the concept of sex worker rights. They tried to destroy my laptop, but I it didn’t stop me from writing THIS BLOG to the rest of cyberspace. She doesn’t know that I have successfully filed LABOR CLAIMS and WON against EVERY strip club that I have worked in. So this brothel shit is LEGAL. Great. That means I can get my money back for the sex work I did, and charge you for damaging my laptop and hold you accountable for the rest of your BULLSHIT. Management is ex cop and ex military. She used to dress up like a ho to ARREST guys and now she is literally wielding her power trip on the other side of the tracks in a little family owned brothel in nowhere, Nevada.

I am on my way home. I am not worried about money. It will find its way back to me. I have my freedom. I would take working illegally and getting arrested ANYDAY to being enslaved by bonded wages, (they keep your money til the end of each week, so they can DEDUCT heavy fines out of it as a threat) lockdown house which is like JAIL anyway just more time. I know that this brothel is not unique in the system of legalization and now I know that I am not cut out to work at another one, which I’m sure owners and brothel hobbyists will be more than happy that I plan to not try again. Amanda said that she will try another one, which is great, like I knew before, we are different workers and you, reader are also another person who may feel and experience differently. However, I hope that you can take a stand against abusive, extorting stripclub managers, escort agencies, brothel owners and recognize the difference between abusive pimp and sex work manager. Stand against debt or wage bondage and psychologically abusive work environments. Sex work does NOT ever have to be like this.

Alright drivers, 10-4 good buddy, I’m headin home. Back to LA. OVER AND OUT….

23
Aug
08

Can’t post day by day-but IT SUCKS-don’t come here.

Don’t come here if you value your sanity, freedom, and self respect. Rules have changed and it has become like a boot camp, 6th grade classroom and jail. I don’t feel safe posting here while living and working here. It’s hell and I am really unhappy. Hoping to last until Friday. I cry all the time. Will post in detail later, after I leave as I will probably not return here or ANY legal brothel in Nevada again. Amanda, you were right…

23
Aug
08

DAY 5 and 6: Rules, Regulations and the Red tide..

Yesterday I did about 7 or 8 line ups and still not picked! I would come through to the bar to see if I could talk to the couple of guys that were in the bar, but the other girls would tell me that the guys in there were local firefighters and didn’t have money to spend. They usually come in and try to sleep with the bartenders (who aren’t that hot) for free. What a great hustle that is. I guess it does start to get to you any time you aren’t making money in any sex work situation, when people around you are making money and you aren’t. It also starts to get to you when you can’t even get laid in a whorehouse! So I stayed in my room and got more creative work done. It costs $35 for room and board here (3 non vegetarian meals included).

This house has been full of non stop emotional turmoil since I stepped into it. One of the girls is a street survivor with four kids. The only other way that she has worked before this was with a pimp that she had for 17 years. She just got a phlebotomy degree and I told her it would be great if she started her own business going around to all the brothels in Nevada and doing those damn mandatory tests that they need to get done monthly. I really want her to become an activist and am going to try to recruit her to do some work i harm reduction at the Sex Workers networking event that we are having in Miami. I see her light and hope that she follows me out of this place…

Another one of the girls, who I found out is going to start singing in a show in Vegas 6 nights a week lost her mother TODAY. She was crying too. Yesterday I, too was barely holding it together because I also just broke up with my boyfriend of a year and the lockdown and constant supervision doesn’t allow me to medicate my depression with marijuana like I am used to doing at home. Smoking helps me not get to susceptible to the harsh edge of life’s ups and downs. I can handle life sober, and am doing so here, as well as playing the guitar about an hour every day which is great because I had gone at least 4-6 months without touching it once. I didn’t think that it was too unbearable…until today.

New rules and regulations and a house meeting which lasted almost 2 hours. S was chastising the captive audience of 10 working girls and 2 staff like we were in 6th grade detention. It went on for almost 2 hours without any dialogue or debate. On and on she went about how ungrateful some girls were for complaining about the food, or the lack of customers or the lack of money that we made. On and on she went about how some of our rooms smelled like trucker asshole and how we never took out our garbages. She made comments about how if we were on the streets we would probably get arrested 7 or 8 times and we would probably get HIV. The fear factor was definitely a huge part of this lecture. Instilling the fear that there was no way that we could ever find any better working conditions than where we were right now, and if we dared to complain about it, we could pack our bags and try to find better. On and on she went about how drinking and smoking pot made us fat and lazy. On and on she went about how people need to keep their mouths shut about other people in the house. On and on and on… How we wanted to be in our rooms all the time and use this like a hotel. She had said that only one other house had more customers than this one, that was the Asian brothel, and all the girls there were from overseas and had to pay huge debt bonds. It was the most blatant example of how pimps and madams become trapped in that power position where they feel that talking down to, criticizing or literally beating up their workers is the only way that they are capable of listening. I’ve yelled at my students like that a few times, but only for 15 minutes max. This was why this house will never grow and the girls who live here will continue to behave in the same way and the lectures like this will repeat endlessly. Growth, dialogue, social justice and mutual respect are non existent. She used to be in the military, she used to be a cop and now she was a madam. Go figure. Her background is totally evident and well suited for the brothel model of management.

So new rules required us to stay in the lounge or bar during the hours of 11am-6pm. From 6pm-3am Thursday-Saturday we had to be in the bar, Sunday-Wednesday in the bar until 1am. This was incredibly painful for me, except that I had my guitar and could ease my mind on practicing my chords endlessly instead of do nothing, since I don’t smoke cigarettes or like to hang out in bars drinking. I DESPISE 2nd hand cigarette smoke actually, and being in Nevada where there is alcohol served 24/7 and smoking allowed in bars and casinos statewide, I would just have to power through it.

The neighboring brothels manager came over and tried to get into it with S about our girls being on their CB radio time. That was a totally immature scene where she kicked the other woman out even though our girls were in the wrong for being on their radio time. I’m learning that arguing with her is a waste of time, even if she is wrong. Everything is always your fault or your lack of following directions or trying hard enough. She waits for you to get riled up and start raising your voice and uses that as an excuse for why she doesn’t need to listen to you anymore.

I just got a fine for “dirty hustling” a customer, which means simply allowing him to touch you in the bar or during negotiations in your room. The bartender accused me of allowing the customer to touch my pussy, which is complete bullshit because I just got my period today and hiding the big red tide is the whole point of prostitution on your period. In the bar I put my leg between his legs, and apparently that is not ok either. Coming from a stripper background and being that the bar part of this hustle reminds me so much of stripping, it’s hard to imagine that you have to keep your hands and their hands away from you. I wore my “whore” bling necklace to line up and they told me to take it off. Apparently, even in brothels the word whore is not ok.

3 wasted redneck brothers came in and harassed/entertained us while we doing our mandatory bar time. I got one of them for a quickie and another trucker with tattoos like me and got the small hot tub room which was great so I made a little bit of money today finally. No impressive amounts of money yet.

I learned more brothel wisdom about kitchen sponges and make up sponges as tampons you can use and have sex with. On my first day of my period I bleed through most heavy tampons pretty quickly so make up sponges weren’t really cutting it. A taught me how to put the dental floss around the make up sponges to make a make shift tampon. Aunt D was tutoring me on cutting the green part of the kitchen sponge, but thankfully one of the girls that I gave the dental dam to returned the favor by giving me Instead cups which last all day, you can fuck in them and its been tested to be used in the vagina, unlike the first two. When I escort, I cut the string on a tampon and just do hand jobs and blow jobs instead of full sex but I knew that in the brothel I wouldn’t be able to get away with that. Today was full of bullshit. I am dreading the reprimand conversation that S is going to have with me tomorrow where I will have to fight for my right to keep my 50% of the money I earned. My patience is being tested further and I feel like my brain has been sucked back into the brothel cavity where it had been succeeding in resisting. Now it is feeling more like a mix of jail and boot camp. One of my only friends in the house, the only other woman of color, is leaving tomorrow.




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