Archive for the 'burnout' Category


Why don’t you just go back to America?

27545397_10100724331346657_2807881275576558963_nCertainly I am a miracle manifestor.  I just looked at my accounting for the year I decided to move countries to Japan.  This was the year that I crashed my car, fixed it back up and then a couple of months later the transmission died finally rendering it good for only parts and metal for $1000.  Upon receiving that $1000 I used that money to buy a ticket to Seattle, Alaska and Tokyo.  ONE WAY.  No turning back.  I didn’t have a car in Los Angeles for 6 months before I moved to Japan.  I worked on bicycle as a delivery person and ran my Tantra business.  Nothing was going to stop me after buying a plane ticket that I wasn’t going to waste.  I not only manifested miraculous money when I first arrived in the country, I was able to keep this streak going with just a few amazing well paying clients from both Japan and the U.S.  When I am adding up the numbers last night I am actually shaking my head wondering how the fuck I even got to where I am now.  One month, I had two clients paying $2000 and I lived off of that for two months inclusive of traveling all over Japan to places that I had never seen and places I can’t even afford to get to today.  Today I am working my ass off as a contract teacher for several different schools.  I spend hours on trains roundtripping from my home to far off classrooms in shopping malls and community colleges.  It feels like full time but its not.  It feels like I cannot work any harder, but to the Japanese worker, this is nothing.  Anything less than 60 hours in one office is not respectable.  I can’t pay my rent this month.  Some guy is going to knock on my door, but I probably won’t be at home because I’ll be at work.  I am currently waiting for just ONE Tantra client which is what I need to live alone in Tokyo in this small apartment that I manifested as a result of doing what I love, living in my purpose and life coaching.  When I got this apartment, I set my standards at a certain point.  No more sharehousing and shitty roommates.   I can have the lifestyle I want here.  In fact, my rent is cheaper in Tokyo than it was in rent controlled LA.   But the months since returning back to Tokyo in October have not been so good for my Tantra business.  I have found a way to post ads on craigslist that don’t get flagged.  I tried to post on the local hobbyist board but got hated on by all the providers and hobbyists there because I’m not doing what they are doing.  I am getting some emails from craigslist, which is another miracle because since CL stopped posting erotic service ads over ten years ago, it is impossible to post anything that sounds like it could be prostitution, although if you go to the casual encounters section most of the ads there are workers.  This is what backpage in America has moved into, using the personals as their sex work classifieds since’s ads also got shut down.  And I finally fucking figured out how to use bitcoin to pay for my ads and bitcoin also crashed so now backpage is no longer even accepting btc.  My miraculous 2016 turned into a 2017 year of uphill acclimating to the Japanese way, culture, language, laws and loneliness that after a while is no longer called that, it is just called normal.  Loneliness implies that you are wanting or longing for something, and at this juncture, I wish it would get better, but I am not crying out for it to get better.  I remember nights before I met my ex boyfriend in 2015 when I would be crying about being lonely and wanting a boyfriend.  And then for the next six months he came into my life and turned it upside down.  “You can do better.” I/they said.  “There are so many people who will treat you better.”  Ha, even he said it to my face in the first three months of our relationship.  Pretty much from month 2 he was already planning for our break up but holding me in his dysfunctional web just to torture me until he could find someone better.  So now, it has been three years since that time, and I am still single.  Where is that “better someone?” I wonder.  But I don’t wonder too long because I just try not to think negative thoughts and plague myself.  Instead I float into my night slumber saying the words,”I love you.  Thank you so much for coming into my life.  I’m so grateful for you.”  and I have great dreams usually.  I have been coached to do so many things to manifest the things that I have.  When things are not going your way, it is so easy to think all these sayings are just cognitive dissonance to cope with the fact that maybe you actually won’t get everything you want in life.  Tony Robbins says, you always get your standards.  Raise your standards.  I did.  I broke up with the ex.  I moved into this apartment.  These were great decisions of my life that I still don’t reget.  It took 10 months to heal from that but I learned so much about myself and what I don’t want.  But it seems like dating since then has just been an activity for temporary, somewhat satisfying companionship.  At 41, I no longer seek to “get laid,” especially as a Tantrika because having a spiritual and soulful connection is the only thing that opens my heart and legs at the same time.  It feels like the last 25 people that I have talked to or who have tried to woo me, I have not been attracted to.  There has been nothing, not even a spark, just a decision to not settle.  I don’t want to work on a relationship that I go in not liking.  Why don’t you just go back to America?  Some people have said to me.  I not only view that as quitting but its actually not practical for me.  I gave away all my belongings to move countries.  I gave up my apartment, my 11 year accumulation of super cool stuff, all my art work and equipment; my former life style.  And, if I left Japan now, I still would not be fluent in the language, nor would I really know the culture well enough because I’m limited by not speaking the language, and Japan takes just one year living in and also an entire lifetime to really understand.  I speak Japanese better than I ever have in my life.  I’ve gotten my mother to email me in Japanese, I’ve talked to my relatives that I wasn’t in contact with for 28 years.  I talk to them in Japanese.  I decided that i LOVE both America and Japan.  Because LOVE is complex, love doesn’t give you what you want, you work to sustain and understand it constantly.  It shouldn’t feel like work, it should feel like a flow.  Neither country is without its flaws and aggravating qualities.  I could learn Japanese elsewhere, but I know me, I won’t study if I don’t have to.  Living in Japan, I’m constantly motivated by my humiliation of confusion.  The societal exclusion of half passing, half speaking plagues me everyday.  I try to fit in but at the same don’t care to fit in to their stupid reindeer games, but I want to fit in well enough to have the option to play them.  I won’t leave until I do.



2017: My 1st year of Japan residency comes to an end

s-New-Years-card2017 comes to an end at midnight and I am putting Kabuki Kumadori makeup on my face.  The Japanese tradition of visiting a temple at midnight with crowds of people who pray at midnight silently as the year changes from rooster to dog.  I sat in lotus in my Tokyo apartment, and rang my healing bowls, focusing inwards and honoring my own body temple.  I was preparing myself for a burlesque performance at a nightclub in Shibuya that I have been to a few times.  A place where there were going to be familiar faces and friendly people and most importantly free admission because I knew one of the DJs.  I didn’t feel like spending lots of money or pushing past obnoxious people as New Year’s Eve in all big cities around the world are guaranteed to be, especially not through Shibuya which is a Christmas shopping crowd in America every single day.  As I walked towards the club from the train someone pulled me back from my backpack straps aggressively.  I was starting to feel the acid that I took so I didn’t feel like talking English or Japanese.  I was assessing what he wanted and if I needed to be alarmed or just remain blank as I was.  “Hey, can I take a picture with you?” the young Japanese asshole asked.  I really wish I could have the same responses to tell someone off in Japanese in these same situations as I do in English, but in general in the last five years, I’ve not really been a confrontational person, and Japan has truly made me quieter and less confrontational on top of holding a walking meditative stance as a Tantrika.  Thegoddess deescalates by reflecting calm.  26172487_10213003257389370_1062889378776343392_oDude clocks me as a foreigner because of my costume, because a Japanese person would not dare wear something like what I was wearing.  A women’s summer yukata, kimono over jeans and a sweatshirt in the winter and a male actors makeup scheme, but that was exactly my point in presentation.  I wasn’t going to try to be Japanese or fit in tonite, I was going to be 2000% Mariko Passion for the first time in a great long time in Japan.  If i was in America, they’d think I was dressed like a geisha because that’s the most popular kimono association foreigners have about Japan usually, which is why I hate being called a foreigner.   I often don a gender queer presentation when I feel like fucking with mainstream society.  I do it in Los Angeles and I do it in Tokyo.  It is a reflection of fearlessness and a return to my inner I don’t give a fuck.  In Japan, everything is about what everybody else thinks about you.  Your success in business and social circles has to do with how you carry yourself at moments when you think you aren’t being watched, at moments when you should have a right to act as you feel is natural to do, it is a Matrix that is enforced by the mainstream here, deeper and more restrictive than any American society in existence.  If you don’t feel that in Japan yet, then you are still obviously a tourist enjoying Japan.  Being a resident alien is something totally different.  The vacation is over.  You better get to where you need to go and not get lost because you need to show up ten minutes early and stay late and be happy about it.   Realness and the oppression of women and everyone who doesn’t act like a right acting 100% “normal” Japanese citizen hasn’t stripped away your enjoy-ment just yet. As a tourist, ometenashi is still being bestowed on you as a guest in the country, you aren’t being constantly treated like you are invisible or that you need to apologize for your own existence at every moment.  My sisters and I could never understand why my mother carried such a heavy burden of caring about what everyone else thought before herself, even fifty years after she had long left Japan and become an American citizen with suitable English competency and 3 Americanized kids, her Japaneseness was still deeply ingrained in her.  The culture you were born and raised in never leaves your consciousness I suppose, and that was my biggest problem in Japan.  As a hafu Japanese, I am able to blend half the time when I want to but most of the time conforming doesn’t suit me anywhere I go in the world and the artist in me wants to free myself of my shackles, which would often happen even in the so called land of the free.  I am of different subcultures and nations, gender expressions and desires rolled up into something that shouldn’t be figured out.  I asked the promoter on New Years Eve if I could jump up on the poles they had at the club and dance for people all night.  He wasn’t going to pay me but I still needed to let him know because I was dressing up and probably showing more of my body than most people in the club that night.  I still had 6 inch red stiletto stripper heels and I didn’t forget how to dance in them with shameless confidence that no born Japanese girl without tattoos and sex work experience could ever imagine in her wildest dreams and that’s why most of my fans that night were women.  I was releasing sexual frustration out on Japanese society.  To me it was unfathomable that I couldn’t date who I wanted and capture the attention of men and women in a big bad metropolitan city like Tokyo.  Was everyone just a silent salary man throwing up on the train in his man purse?  I had dated a few Japanese men as my mission to learn the language so I have gained my frustration through experience.  I’ve chatted with women and non Japanese residents on dating sites and tried to date them too without great luck.  I continue to daily remind myself that the romantic relationship I have already created for myself is on its way.  This night was about dancing my kimono off and channeling all my pent up sexual frustration trying to survive in this society, being grateful for all that I am and all that I have learned.  The release had nothing to do with getting laid.  I can get laid in Tokyo if I wanted to have a little Japanese dog humping my leg and call that sexual satisfaction which was nothing close to the Tantric unions that I was fueled from.  Kekko desu, I pass.  The way that men nanpa in Japan just doesn’t make me want to move or open, so I am often alone here.   I want to worshipped as the goddess that I am by a god, by the reflection of my own greatness, but I seem unable to find them in Japan.   But, for once, tonite at the club, I was basking in the light of my glory, honoring my body temple, giving others permission to be themselves and showing them how to do it.   Interestingly enough in the U.S, nipples and alcohol are illegal but not in Japan.  But because Japan pushes everyone’s emotions and sexuality into a small box, and everyone is effectively controlled by their ties to jobs or family, most people do not step out of line out of fear of losing one of those connections and being shunned into further invisibility than daily life can be.  Japan has one of the highest suicide rates in the country, and though I came here with a dream and i made it come true, the reality of daily life and the matrix web wiping the smile off of my face after some time of being ignored and not seen for weeks and then months.  You are not special in Japan.  No one is special in Japan.  ONLY Japan is special, and if you can force yourself to be part of the whole, then you can access that specialness too, conditionally.  I have meditated back into alignment finally after the funeral of the eldest sibling of my mother reminded me of these family ties that bind in a way that you can never escape, in a way that you can never be independent or make mistakes, be adult or even be your own person.  It is an immense amount of pressure to hold.  If you jump in front of a train to kill yourself, your family will be sued by the Tokyo government for disrupting everyone else’s working schedule probably until they also die, and yet these kinds of suicides are the most commonplace occurrance.  It’s made me rethink staying here, but still I know that it was the law of attraction and positive vibrations and determination that got me all that I have in Japan and it will be that same determination which will bring everything else that I desire to fruition, so it is my job to radiate that my needs are already met and breathe that in as real.  I am beyond nationality and gender.  I am not a slave to the matrix, I am just dropping in.  


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..


a call to the community..answered?

I have a new roommate.  She recently turned 18 and ran away to my house.  4 years ago she was in my 9th grade classroom and since I have remained in touch with those kids who have remained in touch with me, P and I were able to support each other in this time of mutual crisis.  She just left a 1 BR apartment shared with 2 families and 3 or 4 kids under 13.  Being in a living room all to herself is probably a luxury.  She has 2 jobs (that actually PAY the rent) and a high school diploma which is already worlds ahead of what my ex-boyfriend came into the equation with.  I have kept in touch with her peripherally through text message updates and perhaps annual outings.  She and I had a connection since she was a 9th grader because within a week of meeting me, she told me she was bisexual and that she wanted to be a stripper.  I NEVER told her that I was a sex worker, or that I had spent 3 years as a stripper and never revealed to her or any of my students that I had done sex work.  I gave her a book.
Lily Burana’s  “Strip City” books_feature-11413because it was comprehensive rights based, realistic and entertaining, and, my dad had given it to me, so it seemed appropriate.  Knowledge is power for everyone, especially those that have the intention of getting into the sex industry at a young age.  She never did become a teen prostitute, or an unwed mother or chola gangstress.  She was always  a leader, a cheerleader, a model undocumented student citizen who would probably never on her own be able to afford college as long as she would have to pay International student tuition for her college educaiton and have no access to Federal Student Aid…

We are not romantically involved in any way.  In fact, it’s been quite interesting for me all this week.  In the same week that I had re-entered the high school classroom, this time as an unpaid volunteer and tutored a few students she called me wanting to move out of her house.  Since I am on the verge of not paying my rent next month, it could NOT have come at a better time.  It would be refreshing to live here and have the other person PAY RENT for once.  Really Refreshing.


Mommy Fiercest, Nina Hartley and me! 3 generations of sex worker leadership (okay, me and Mommy are only 5 years apart, but I think I aged like 20 years running SWOP-LA

In the week of my big meltdown, another Phoenix rose from the ashes that was SWOP-LA.  She goes by Mommy Fiercest and I met her doing outreach in Mexico City at the AIDS International madness conference.  I don’t remember of course, because that conference would bring EASILY 100 individuals to your booth EACH DAY.  She joined SWOP-LA and has slowly been participating in various events with me as I drove myself to burn out..The handover was simple and beautiful.  Like a president changing office.  Ha.  Almost.  But it’s really been quite smooth and i am so relieved to hand over the keys.  It will be a true measure of my success if she takes it makes it bigger than I did.  Or if we get some grant money to pay people to make it bigger and more present than I ever could self funding it with my prostitution.

I am back to unplugging the laptop and webcamming with callers in private in my room.   P shows no interest in sex work and in the last 4 years that I have known her has tamed down quite a bit as far as her outward sexuality as she has gotten older.  You would think that that would be the first place that the average undocumented female worker would go.  But I guess that’s my warped perception.  So how do you change over from being a open whore in your face artist back to a reserved responsible adult role model trying to educate a young person.  You don’t.  Why?  Because she is 18 now and she’s not my student, she’s my roomate!

We have a very pure relationship actually.  I tried to be very compartmentalized while I was a teacher.  I was very serious about my work.  I ran a Gay-Straight Alliance in a South Central and it went over fine for the most part, no fear.  I never would imagine being attracted to my students nor did I talk to them in detail about my personal life.  That was the golden boundary for most teachers to stay sane: your personal life, especially sex life is to be ignored as if it did not exist.  You don’t need to go there with them.  period.  Just smile and say you are a virgin.  and leave it at that.  In fact, when I was teaching, I politically chose to identify as GAY and be the GAY TEACHER because I wanted to appear somewhat off limits, and “asexual” to most students, especially the young men I was trying to teach about sexism, homophobia and misogyny.   I didn’t even like the word BISEXUAL because it had the word SEXUAL in it every time you uttered it, and that, suprisingly is NOT my main objective every moment with everybody, despite the whore that I know that I am.  When teaching high school, I felt and perhaps still feel that the more ASEXUAL you are the MORE POWER YOU HAVE.  Not like creepy or like the asexual chemistry teacher who was too unattractive and unkempt even to hire a provider type of way, but asexual in a secret file but still there way, like with most politicians, but not as hypocritical.   Because unlike with adult men, SEXUALITY is NOT a bargaining chip that wins you access or privileges.  With your young male students, its the other way around and I wasn’t interested in abusing my power with anyone in ways that it had been abused with me.   With young male students, the power dynamic of sexual advantage is very much there for them already with the girls that they are actually or just talking about “deflowering” or making babies with.  As a female adult in their lives, I had the thankful advantage of being exempt from that realm of teen sex drama, because I had already gone through it once, thank you.

I brought a student in to the office for repeatedly calling me “sexy” instead of my name and used his harassment, and other student’s essays about homophobia and date rape as the basis of my Master’s inquiry paper.  In some strange way, escorting has just been this ongoing and continuous exploration of male privilege and where the seeds of that first begin to grow.  It is something that I have probably been exploring my whole healing life…

So living with P these days, being an all out urban geisha and web cam mistress during the day in my home office, it’s been interesting.  I have to learn to recompartmentalize again.  I am fortunate that I have found amazing women to help me in my struggle, to answer the call to lead without having to be nagged or pushed to do so.  I am old enough to be her parent, who would have had her when I was 17 and was now struggling to support us with my dying sex work jobs.  But instead she is helping me.  In ways that my partner could not even do after 2 years.  Crazy isn’t it?  And this happens to me because I am that overcaring mentor and open door give you my cell phone number type of teacher sometimes.  It paid off this time.

A university singing/speaking gig was cancelled in new york.  That would have given me a $1000 to pay rent AND travel and visit friends I haven’t seen, have some paid art R&R inspiration alone time…but NO.  CANCELLED.  So I started to work on generating new material to send all the other campuses that I haven’t even started to talk to yet.  I got that gig from this blog, I think.  I haven’t even really begun any publicity on myself as a touring artist.  I guess running SWOP and being in the relationship for the last 2 years were more than enough for me to deal with.  But I guess I had to do all that.  I’ve been thinking so much about my life process lately…

I have been finding hope and value working in the adult school classroom because students are motivated, diligent, QUIET, and there is no lesson planning.  You are proctoring, mentoring, managing and motivating.  That’s the job.  Lots of correcting and filing.  It’s everything that being a day school teacher is minus the hard parts.  It even pays more.  So I’ve been excited to report to my therapist taht things are looking up.  I even showed up on time for the first time in 5 weeks today.


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.


Sex, Survival and Sacrifice

It was about this time exactly last year that I was feeling this frantic and hopeless.  So I try to tell myself that when I think that it is something that I cannot survive.  Last year, I broke up with the same boyfriend, kicked him out from living with me without paying rent and subletted my apartment (to 3 crazies who ended up trashing it in less than one month) and decided that going to the brothel in Nevada would be the solution to the lack of income in LA.  A true migrant sex worker.  Migrating to the legal side of the fence for supposed safety and maybe some fortune, but none of which came to fruition..

Well.  The same thing is happening this year.  I was hoping that my life wouldn’t repeat itself exactly and that by one year later I would have been in a better place with my music or art career, but none of that has come to fruition really.  It has to do mostly with the fact that I am the unpaid director of a non profit that does too much with its non existent or minimal budget.  My latest project has me mentoring elderly street workers who are using crystal meth.  Me being as open as I am with helping people I have drained myself with the trauma that is the daily reality of these women.  One of them calls me nearly every two days with some emergency.  “Some group of guys is doing drive by paintball and pellet gun shootings of the transgender workers in Skid Row and my girls keep getting assaulted”. One of them calls me in crisis every week, sometimes every night.  I’ve had to stop answering my phone, but she still calls.  She’s in the depths of a crystal meth induced psychosis so doesn’t always make sense.  Her voice is going in and out because she’s done so much that she’s lost her voice.   She has told me that she’s been raped at least twice in one month.  “I’m out here working without condoms!  I need you to come here and bring the girls condoms!!!” she says trying to manipulate me to care for her like so many others have done to me…but I won’t budge this time.  I can’t.  I am overwhelmed like a peace worker in war torn Africa trying to get a grip.  I feel that Skid Row, sanity and self care are on the verge of being lost and that I could quickly become her.  She is a ghost of who I could become if I just allow myself to give up or get engulfed in the flames further.  I am the napalm drenched child screaming and crying about her burns running from the fire bombed jungle in Vietnam…

But I just asserted my boundaries with my codependent boyfriend and I am just burnt out on what I can do to help people.  All I can do is refer people to other services.  I am not a life saver.  I am not an ambulance.  I am NOT even a rape crisis counselor or a trained mental health worker even…but she wants me to play all of those roles and I can’t.   I give her phone numbers and referrals and she doesn’t do anything with them.  She only wants to keep banging on my door.  This is the same thing that the ex-boyfriend did when I wouldn’t let him back in the house.  He and the street worker that blows up my phone have the same mental ILLNESS called dependency disorder.  I learned its traits at the conference and when it was totally laid out to me it made me feel so much better!  I have cut both of them off, but they are still circling me like vultures on fire, still calling, still knocking…still crying for their mothers that abandon them.

A different member is a narcissist and has been abusing me unconsciously since we met.  In her passive agressive snidy remarks she reveals to me (and the other genetic girl in SWOP-LA)  that she feels that I have all this privilege as a genetic female and because I don’t know what its like to be kicked out of my house at 11 or chased around the house with a butcher knife by my stepfather who pimped me out  as a boy that I could never understand her pain (neglecting whatever pain we may have felt or are feeling as sex workers, as children, as queers, etc.  To her, the true narcissist, it is never releveant).  She demanded that I pay her $80 parking ticket that  she got when she came over my house to “plan” our last minute presentation, because her parking tickets are my responsibility because I asked her to present.  We didn’t really plan anything.  She did come over at 12:30am the night before our presenation and try to seduce me instead of plan for the presentation which didn’t work.  When I opened the door at 12:30am, she did DEMAND that I park her car, as if I were some valet or something.  She did almost sleep in on purpose and HIDE MY CELL PHONE ALARM  so that we would be late for our presentation..She did say a load of insulting things to me as I also told her, like my ex boyfriend who asked me for money that I don’t have; money that I supposedly owe them to “get the fuck out of my house..” and she said,”I am NEVER doing anything for YOU or SWOP-LA again!  That’s why you don’t have anyone helping you!”  and that was the end.  For her…and for me.  I realized in that breath of hers something that I never would have noticed had she not been a bitch to me like that.  Many many times because of rejection from pushing forward with SWOP’s agenda in LA I have felt suicidal because I felt unappreciated and trampled on, misunderstood and oppressed and usually after some other sex worker bitches me out of the blue I would feel that way again, but I stopped myself and finally noticed it was really and truly THEM and not me and that it was time for me to move on.  I realized a lot at this conference that we went to…I was one of the planning members but I left that committee because of group planning marginalization issues and when I got to the website of the event, every single one of the planning organizations was hyperlinked, except SWOP-LA.  I was not imagining marginalization, it was a fact.  The white woman that planned the conferenece that had so effectively alpha femaled me out the door drove off in her $60,000 black Mercedes Benz with tinted windows.  I wasn’t imagining that she was acting like a pill popping uppity privileged BEOTCH.  She was.  It stared me in the face and I asked myself why I was fighting so hard, and asked myself what it would take for me to not always have to fight everyone…and the answer became clear.  I don’t have to fight everyone. I don’t have to pick the most unpopular cause and wonder why everyone hates me all the time…I don’t have to work for free any longer.  I don’t have to take your abuses.  I don’t need to be your therapist, your mother, your pimp…I don’t even think I want to be your whore for a while.

If you would like to make a donation, and you can please send a check or money order to: 5042 Wilshire Blvd #202, LA, 90036  you can still write a check to SWOP-LA as the bank account is still active, but the funding will go to helping me get my neccessities of life together as I have done all these years for so many others in the community…If YOU are reading this and can help me, please do.

I am barely surviving on a day to day basis.  It is not safe for me to leave the house at this time because I have no money in the bank, no money in my wallet and half a tank of gas in my car.  I also don’t have insurance right now.  I need $150 to get that.  My phone is on the verge of getting cancelled and there would go the internet. I thought at the last entry that I had lost internet, but apparently they don’t cut that off til they cut off the phone I found out.  I also need new contact lenses but I can’t get them because I also don’t have money.  I looked into getting a cheaper apartment which is 1/3 of the size of what I have now but the rental office said that they (like everyone) does a credit check AND a criminal background check that even having misdemeanors disqualifies you.  I  gave back the application and decided that the BEST and only thing for me to do at this point was to fight to stay where I am because I will never find a place like I have let alone any place because of my lack of credit and regular job.  My property manager is down my throat because I am always late..but the apartment next door has had a FOR RENT sign in the window for 2 months now..

(2 days ago)

Today I woke up trying to think up of ways to bring income into my life…i had been signed up to be on “webcams gone wild” by my neighbor’s daughter who is almost my age.  I had never really wanted to do webcam work for some reason, but now my only choice for money is to go back to agency escorting which I tried with all my might and will to leave.  It seemed like I should be able to stop something that was bringing ill will and danger to my life.  Kind of like kicking my boyfriend out.  again.  I believe that I SHOULD be able to find prosperity doing SOMETHING else besides agency work.  And in my quest to find a “REAL” job, I decided that directing my organization IS a real job, and it is one of the only things that I can do right now with my background check as it is.  I wonder if “escorting without a license” is truly better than prostitution at the end of the day..Sigh.  I spend ALL damn day trolling the internet for money.  There used to Craigslist as a last ditch effort for quick money, but now in their crack down they have blocked all my accounts, my credit card and my ads never get approved.  It is impossible to advertise there.  My self esteem goes down when things are slow and I have all these ads out.  Well, not ads.  just ad.  i spent the little $80 I had on one internet advertising source and it didn’t produce even a return on my investment.  I spent $125 on a different internet website and the same thing happened (Fuck Eros!) .  I start to feel ugly.  I start to feel fat.  People call me fat and pregnant on the web chat.  I quit working with webcams gone wild after 4 hours.  It was like being in a peepshow with Beavis and Butthead.
It reminded me of my stripclub days.  I have NO patiece for jack ass fucks anymore, especially when I took their money as a R.O.B agency bitch.  I just can’t go back to taking all their abuse without getting paid very well.  I can’t.  I was online chatting with idiots for NOTHING.  At least with escorting, you show up and you get paid, even if it’s just $20 that you have to be a bitch to collect, you usually get paid something “for your troubles.”  But stripping and webcam is just like being meat on a stick rotating around (literally in my swivel chair) for them to pick at and then not compensate…

Niteflirt is much much better than anything else.  They take a huge part of what we make and tax us for everything but it is very very sex positive for me.   I get paid to watch porn and masturbate!  How fun.  Masturbation has helped to bring joy into my life where there is none.   It is really the only thing keeping me alive spiritually and finnancially even if that is only $60 a day…People are calling me from my real pictures, seeing me on webcam with my stomach rolls out and all and they usually love it!  I’m having lots of fun with it.  Much different than the webcams gone wild site, which by it’s name is NO WONDER that I didn’t last. (I hate GGW and the entire concept of free titty flashing for horny Spring Break frat guys for free)  I know what I like in sex work now and I know what I won’t  tolerate for any longer than I have to.  And that is primarily what this transition is about.  When you are fed up with your working conditions, do you have the “privilege” to “just say NO?” to them?  Last year, when I got kicked out of the brothel, I decided that I did.  I went back to agency escorting work..gladly.  That was a year ago, almost exactly.

I am a sex worker in transition..Living on less than $40 a day.  Webcam money trickling in and nothing gets deposited on the weekends.  I refuse to go back to agency work, have considered going back into a stripclub, but I can’t seem to think of options fast enough.  I just applied for what I thought was the ideal job recruiting students for this art college in SF and they already responded with a rejection.  I am on the verge of being kicked of my apartment…on the verge of being homeless.  on the verge of losing everything that I worked for.  Today my conservative sister suggested that I not quit agency escorting cold turkey if that was my main was just so she could not “enable” me in letting me borrow rent money. LOL.  Dear Corporate Asian Democrat Suburban Moms…help your sister out!

I stepped down as director of Sex Workers Outreach Project-LA, the chapter that I founded.  SWOP-LA was made possible because I worked 3x a week til the crack of dawn as an agency girl in LA hustling and being an outlaw cowgirl in the Wild West of LA..but because of all the trauma that I have experienced throughout because of being an agency girl AND all the residual trauma of holding the PTSD and the personality disorder abuse of all the sex workers that I have “mentored” over the 2.5 years that I ran SWOP-LA for no pay has finally gotten to me.  If I don’t do agency escort work, I cannot run SWOP-LA because I am counting coins in a jar so that I can buy toilet paper for my house.  Therefore, I am just as bad off as some of the girls on Skid Row: my immediate survival needs are the most prominent before activism and before any other screaming crying sex worker that is NOT myself.  The girls I mentor have their groceries delivered every week and they have $800 in SSI to pay their rent.  I don’t.

I AM SO BURNT TO CRISP OUT that I think I don’t want to get into a helping profession for at least 6 months…It’s hard not to be so hopeless but there you have it..I’m not sure why life has to be so fucking hard.  Yes, this blog will become a book.  I just have to get out of this mess first.

in these hard times of survival sex dim sum is the only thing keeping me sane

I Facebooked about dim sum as my only comfort food when I haven’t been able to leave the house unless I make money, not being able to buy the necessities of life like prescription contact lenses and toilet paper…  Making $250 on the only call that you’ve had in over 7 days doesn’t really leave you a disposable income to buy dim sum but I need to do it anyway.  It’s the one thing that is keeping me sane I believe: medical marijuana and comfort foods which hurt my survival budget but are also part of it.  To the girls on the Row, it has to do with buying crystal meth so they can get well enough to “have the guts” to work on the streets.  When I was 23 I swallowed a rock of meth in the desert and sent myself to the Emergency Room dehydrated and psychotic.  They had to hold me down to put IV needles in my neck because my veins were too restricted..After working with so many drug users, I can see how easy it was for them to get the way they did, and I can see how much easier it is for them to stay where they are because the fight to stay alive and well has become so so much harder.  There is a tempation to go there, but I’m not sure that I can.  If I REALLY wanted to lose everything FAST, I’d just start heading to Skid Row and buying drugs to waste my life and sorrows away.  How many people in any given city are doing that right now?  Heroin addiction takes 3 days apparently..but like the women that I work with who both do not have teeth because of decades of crystal meth use, some drugs can tie you down for what seems like ever.  I feel that agency sex work/sex work income is my current drug addiction and I am shaking and withdrawing hoping something will come along to ease my pain.

In the wake of my burnout, I realize that I have created oppressions by being a whore revolutionary activist (not that I will ever stop as an activist, just as a non profit director).  I chose to work with THE most marginalized sex work population in LA and in a way I took on their plight, but the sad things is no other healthy human has the capability to truly do that because some of these women and men need professional help, and because their boundaries have been violated so many times they only know how to violate the boundaries of others in order for them to stay dependent and keep that healthy person attached, until they too become ill and are dragged to the gutter alongside them.  And believe me folks, I am in NO WAY SAYING I AM healthy all the time!  I have PTSD just  like them, and in fact am signing up for FREE therapy at the local Rape Crisis Center (the advice that I gave to the one that actually got raped, I ended up taking) so I can deal with the triggering that is happening to me as a survivor myself dealing with all the trauma of all the other survivors in my community.  I decided to flee the burning house.  But I am burned and in pain still.

I have been here before, on the verge of transition.  I knew what this would be like before I did it because transitioning out of stripclub stripping was the same way.  I just never wanted it to come.  I might never have quit my boyfriend, SWOP-LA or agency escorting if I didn’t make the “choice” to not do things that will kill me anymore.  Does God support those choices that I made?  I wonder if more doors don’t open for me like these people who are so jealous of all that they think I have..This other sex worker writes on my wall that I can’t possibly be doing survival sex work and eat dim sum.  But she has NO IDEA how hard it gets for me to sometimes balance survival and sanity. No Idea.  She brags about her social work experience and argues with ANOTHER sex worker activist about whether or not I can use the word survival sex to describe my experience because SHE has WORKED WITH SURVIVAL SEX WORKERS.  I replied that what we think of as survival is sometimes more stable than [we] “privileged, educated so called middle class” workers with cars and internet access.  But I do not have steady income and the neccesities of life (groceries, toilet paper, medication) covered so, in this case, cutting off my Skid Row girls because they were demanding of me more time and resources than I had because they regularly exhaust their own was not happening for me any longer.  I can’t believe this social worker hadn’t learned that it is the most appropriate to let the person USE THE WORDS THAT THEY USE TO DESCRIBE THEIR OWN EXPERIENCE AND HONOR THAT.  Whether they say that they are “trading sex for drugs or shelter” or doing “sex work.”  Sex work doesn’t describe their experience, she says like she knows best which is sort of her type A personality that I have grown to know in activism through our years together in it.   Only someone like her would write this on someone else’s Facebook wall.  I even pulled the white privilege card to fend them off.  [White]Ladies, [White]Ladies, [White]Ladies…When you are done deconstructing what words I can use to describe my experience, look up and give me a nod, okay..?

But truly because of the work I did with SWOP-LA have completely reconsidered certain notions of class and privilege because DRUG ADDICTION, POVERTY and AIDS can strip all of that away quicker than a white man in Skid Row can pick up a shiny quarter that dropped in a puddle of Hep C infected blood on the ground…

What are you afraid of?“says my therapist.

“That all these choices that everyone says that I have don’t exist.” I said.

Blog Stats

  • 114,086 hits
September 2019
« Jun    
Follow Mariko Passion: From Whore Revolutionary to Tantra goddess: Sacred Whore Evolution on