Archive for the 'exotic dancer' Category


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.  


Goddess Martial ARTS

4:30 in the afternoon, just woke up. 9 hrs of sleep, 5 hours of dancing hard. I even stripped down to my stripper dress which looks like a long tight shirt on the dance floor and endured the open judgment of Japan on my 41 year old ‘oh my god did is she wearing any panties (i was, but its a stripper dress so its hard to tell) and actually dancing in a public place?’ Good thing my party mate was a gaijin dude and he was not at all embarrassed. I kept thinking how the soul of my mother was yelling at me even though she isn’t dead. “NOBODY DOES THAT IN JAPAN!!” It wasn’t about exhibitionism or being too drunk, it was about the fact that I wanted to free my legs and my thighs and do some SERIOUS DANCING and my long skirt was getting in the way!    I used to be a stripper so fuck you, I don’t give fuck. All these Japanese guys were confused. They are always confused by me. I’m glad I wasn’t dating one of them, I probably wouldn’t have done that so I could save face for his family or something silly. But I was raised American and I don’t give a fuck, and even in America I don’t give a fuck, and even in big bad ass LA, I do some crazy I don’t give a fuck SHIIIIT and no one can figure me out.

I like doing energetic experiments like this, the kind that TEST AND CONFRONT your role as a woman in society. This is my brand of MARTIAL ARTS. This is the energy of my performance art testicles. I love that I can get away with it. Walking the lines of being punished as a whore in any given society. And i built these guts because I WAS THAT WHORE. I WAS THAT STRIPPER.

But NOW I KNOW I AM A GODDESS. AND because I’m so POWERFUL IN MY BODY and ENERGY AND MIND NOTHING. BAD. EVER. HAPPENS. I defy judgment, rape, violence and gravity. Because I know you would fuck me if I let you, but if you only had the guts like me to step to me to even dance, but you don’t so I laugh at you even though you are laughing at me behind your covered mouth.

Perhaps if you know about Burningman culture, it can be described as something close to that, its not because I’m American or Japanese or Chinese or queer or whatever…because EVEN IF YOU WALK AROUND SHIRTLESS at some FESTIVALS in America you are told it is wrong, beaches in LA it is illegal. So, it isn’t because I’m gaijin or American.  This culture/strength was in me BEFORE I went to the playa, and it runs in my blood even though I’ve stopped going. But, at least there, there are 1000s of other warrior goddesses dancing with me.

OUR BODY EXPRESSION IS OUR TRUTH and you can try to create social norms or legit laws to control me but it doesn’t work.  Another example, I am SUPPOSED TO WEAR A BRA.  But why?  Because YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE or have a reaction to my nipples.  I have disagreed with that my entire adult life, so for most of my adult life, I have refused to wear a bra.  In Japan, tattoos are not illegal but if I don’t hide them, I can’t swim in the pool where I do laps.  So i conform.  If I MUST CONFORM in order to access equality then I will.   But if you want me to conform because you want to convince me to subdue my blatant inequality then FUCK YOU.  My nipples aren’t hard because I’m horny or because I desire to fuck you.  I mean FUCK YOU and YOUR SOCIAL CONDITIONING.  (whatever country that is inherited from).

Sometimes when I get bored of having the male gaze on my chest, I avoid shirts that bring out the protrusion of nipple flesh, but most of the time, I do what i feel like doing and wear what I feel like wearing.  Some women actually hate me for it, but I don’t lose any sleep over it.

My millennial Asian American sister Anni Ma is in a groundbreaking lawsuit that I always wanted to do to change hypocritical society.  She gives a middle finger to the “put a shirt onners” and even tells “so called radical festival authority figures” if “Would they like to talk to her lawyer about their request to cover her chest?”  Of course, It would take the next generation of feminist to finally push this stupid hypocrisy through, and so I am watching to see if she is successful in American courts, but in my eyes she has already made profound changes regardless of what the outcome of the case is.
Continue reading ‘Goddess Martial ARTS’



I’m not attracted to penis photos.  Throbbing hard cock photos showing how long and hard and thick a man’s unit is? No.  I don’t know why it is, I guess it’s what it really feels like to be queer when you say, this basic thing about the opposite sex does nothing for me when I LOOK at it.

That is to say, having it pounding inside of me is a whole different story.  And sucking them, I love.  Yes, I do.  Giving a blowjob in a condom and having a man come inside my mouth in a condom is the best feeling ever.  For those very special and few men in my life, swallowing their ejaculate is a sign of love and commitment to the act in my eyes.  This is much more rare, than the condom blowjob, which I feel like I have to love in order to do it as often as I do.  Even in relationships I barely swallow.  Thus, the reason why I could never be a porn star.  My porn star friend likes the taste of cum.  You have to like aspects of your job, it’s really important if it’s the basics of the job and happens every day that you work.

I think I definitely like good looking pussy more.  I look at Jenna Jameson’s pussy for instance and I think, god, I’d love to eat her pussy…I have porn mag pages in my kitchen w/ naked women and pussy all over but since I was 19 I stopped fantasizing about penis or men’s 6 packs or their hard bodies on my wall on in my bed.  I would think it had to something with being sexually assaulted multiple times, but that started at 17 and by 19 I had already had my trust violated a number of times by men and still had these underwear photos showing guys in their 2xist underwear on my wall when I was in college.  I remember one guy commenting on them, before he broke my heart, used me for sex and gave me the hard lesson that “dating” for most college guys did not mean monogamy.  Was it all of the bad experiences that created a cognitive behavioral BLOCK?  Is it possible to make someone GAY or straight by showing them pictures of dick or pussy and seeing if there is a reaction?  Can you get the sensation of excitement back once it is gone?  If this were true then all the “Straight Washing camps” for gay kids would have worked right?

So what’s yer problem then lady? Says the obnoxious rude male stripper.

i feel nothing when i look at these guys, maybe anxiety and the desire to leave the room

I’m not attracted to male strippers.  The male ego is something that I detest.  But at the same time, perhaps it’s a love hate thing because I DO tend to get into these abusive relationships with machismo Latin guys.  So I hate this thing about them, but then I find myself drawn to it, comforted by aspects of it.  I can only think that the aspects of contrast are the things that I am most attracted to.  I like being kissed softly on my forehead when a man greets me.  I like being called sweetie by my boyfriends…

Male strippers don’t usually do those things, they’re all show, all physique all rock hard in your face thrusting, “dancing”..

So if you have someone like me who is attracted to being fucked really hard, but not physically attracted to the male physique it’s kind of a hard nut to crack on me, you see…

The male stripper troupes ala Chippendales and The Men Down Under are all showboys FULL OF EGO.  These are guys who lift weights in front of the mirror at the gym (not at home) in front of others to be SEEN worshipping themselves.  These are guys who have mirrors in their bedrooms so they can watch THEMSELVES fucking you to turn themselves on…

One of my clients turned free date (I know, I have to stop dating my clients, but I’m busy, it’s super easy, convenient and why stop when the ball is in my court?) was an EX male stripper from Seattle.  One of the best in the U.S or the state, he supposedly “invented” a certain move.  Sounds cliche, like “Blue Steel” in  Zoolander, BUT IT WAS TRUE.  He really talked this way!  He would start to go off about these credentials and I would laugh or change the subject.  He was 5’6″, total napoleon complex,  had a reseeding hairline and hadn’t stripped for a decade or more (like me) and was now focusing on being a real actor like everyone else in LA.

He paid me for sex.  This makes him a client.  He was an obnoixious asshole that crossed a line with me, which relegates him down to the title of TRICK.  (Client is a respected term).

He had just gone on a getaway trip w/ a Filipino widower to some tropical island for the weekend, where she was paying his way for his non sexual companionship to look at property that she was going to buy.  All the women he dated were Asian.  He was an Asiaphile complete w/ a colonizers mindset.  “Oh, they’re so cute, I want to just collect them all!” he said referring to my friends in a video together…WTF, are you part of the conquering  crew of Columbus or what?  Why I kept giving him more time with me was really beyond me.

He was telling me about his trip w/ Pinay Diva Heiress and we were talking about what women want in a male escort.  He was agreeing UNTIL the point where I told him that I should get him up on a panel to talk about being a male sex worker cuz lots of guys ask me how they could do what I do but for women.  At that point he started raising his voice and going off about how he was NOT a sex worker, he didn’t have sex, he was not a prostitute, not that he thought anything badly of it.  He was going to be a GREAT actor someday, blah blah blah.

“Okay, you are SHOUTING.” I said.” You need to calm down.”

I was about to go into a restaurant to eat.  He was still barking somethings as the waitress came to my table to take my order and I put the phone down to order.  Perhaps I hung it up.  Probably.  I didn’t really care to continue getting shouted at nevertheless and that was my KNEE JERK reaction to him.

This would happen in my previous relationships.  I don’t usually shout back and forth.  I hang up.  We can continue this conversation when you are calm.  Maybe I get it from my mom.  She loves to hang up on me when things get heated.  Or before they get heated.  She just loves to hang up on me.  This is why I barely called her in my adult life.

He then texts: I don’t appreciate being hung up on.  It’s rude and I don’t care for it…Please don’t call me anymore.

Wow.  I thought.  That’s how you end your “romantic” affairs with people?  That really leaves no room for growth on you, the offenders part.  Of course, he would think that I was the offensive one for hanging up on him, but it’s just a boundary that I have with men.  I don’t sit there and take abuse.  No mas.  No violencia por favor.  Solo pasion y amor.   Ironically this guy was a Spanish speaker and technically Latino although he looked white and passed as white in Hollywood and actually thought that the fact that I thought he was white was a compliment, like he “fit in.”  (Oh, I have white priviledge?  That’s a good thing, right?)

For some reason, I wasn’t thinking that I would stop talking to him that day, but since he put it that way, and asked me to not call him anymore, I thought about my last words to him.

Me: You are a trick and a whore and you know it.  And that’s why u mad at me..

Zoolander: Cause you say so? That  makes me that? I don’t fuck for money but I’m a whore, makes a lot of sense.

I was ready to just eat my tempura udon alone in peace and drop him without ANY sad thoughts.  I tried to reason it out and tell him that stripping WAS a form of sex work before he started shouting, and definitely going to an island with someone as a male companion was ALSO a form of sex work, whether or not you have penetration or intercourse makes it a more obvious form of sex work but strippers who think that they are BETTER than prostitutes because they DON’T fuck are clueless, as are those ACTORS and ACTRESSES that think that the ways in which they SELL THEMSELVES is somehow BETTER than how the average escort sells herself are also living with a false sense of superiority, thinly covered by a latex condom.  I think the last thing I heard him shouting before I hung up was,”I was one of the BEST strippers in Seattle, I’ve been a stripper wayyyy longer than you Mariko…” CLICK.  Oops.

Actually, being a whore is not an insult coming from me.  It’s an HONOR.  If I call you a TRICK on the other hand, I’m just throwing the fact that you have a COCK and you have to PAY for your pussy in case you forgot and thought you were better than “all the other guys.”

Oh men and masculinity.  What to do with it.  Capitalize on it, that’s what!  Otherwise, it would simply get the best of me I think.

I took this as a sign of success for me actually.  I won’t let guys who date me raise their voices at me for no good reason.  I hang up on those guys.   And if they want to break up with me or cut me off for their behavior then goodbye goodbye goodbye.

(I also found out in my last relationship that I won’t let men threaten to kill or hurt me, even if they are wasted or “just kidding.”  I break up with those guys immediately as well.  Premature I love yous are a form of emotional abuse.  Name calling and Verbal abuse is also not tolerated more than once, even if the words are coming from a high rolling sugar daddy giving me lots of cash…)

It’s good to know that I’m not just automatically jumping back into another pattern unaware, although I did talk to this fool for about 2 weeks…He did fuck me really good and I think that’s what I kept him around for.

He didn’t want to be called a trick or admit that we met because I was his escort once, but everything about how he wanted to interact with me was keeping himself in client status: impersonal and distant.  This is why when things ended it was super easy to not miss him.

We had never kissed.  The second time we fucked I made him cuddle me a little but it felt like such a stretch for him.   He didn’t kiss me, he didn’t want to sleep over.  Its as if he wanted to keep himself in DICK ONLY status.  It was fine for me for the time being, but wouldn’t be for long since, I am not a huge fan, as I’ve mentioned of just DICK.

I told him the next time he wanted to do that he would be REQUIRED to sleep here.

HIM: Ha.  We’ll see about that. He said.

I wasn’t kidding.  I have strict rules about free sexers treating me like I’m an escort.  Very strict rules.  There is no hitting it and quitting it without paying in my “real” life.  I need intimacy and affection, lots of it.  If you are willing to give this in all the right ways, then I will be delivering my pussy to your door, but if not, then you find me saying rude comments about how I should be charging your ass for this.

This is not a joke, this is real.  This is what I have learned in all 13 years of hustling in this game as a SEX WORKER of different occupations, stripping included.

There are women out there who will act like a prostitute for free, but not this one.

I am approaching 35 and feel so content with the knowledge I’ve gained since being that naïve girl of 19 hoping that this dude would call me, wondering why he didn’t call me, etc.

I was the “perfect” match for his ego I suppose.  I hated male strippers.  I always have.  When I was 22 for one Christmas my sisters and their boyfriends and I went to a stripclub in San Francisco, and one of their boyfriends bought me a lapdance.  God I think I was in heaven in that $20 lapdance room full of womens bodies grinding…I was a new baby stripper but also a baby dyke and this was my coming out to my family party in many ways.

I looove female strippers though, I’m allll into them.  I am physically attracted to female bodies more.  I love tits and hips and ass.  I love everything about women’s bodies, smells, softness.  I guess because when you walk up to the stage of a female stripper with a dollar she doesn’t lift you up and wrap your legs around her and start mock pounding you against the wall.  You’d think I’d really be into that since I’m into the hard pounding fuck in reality.  Technicalities of attraction are weird, I know.  I am into sexually aggressive females though, and fighter chics do turn me on and maybe if a female stripper did that same move I might be turned on, maybe not.  Female strippers don’t usually do those moves.

I’m on adultfriendfinder again looking to get laid and all these guys have profiles with their cocks.  I put that I am attracted to women too, but of course, solo women are not usually on sex sites looking for pussy, unless they have boyfriends.   Some guys don’t even include their face photos in their profiles or emails.  I ignore those automatically.  If you are the kind of guy who is going to approach me stroking your cock then you might want to try the dudes at the gay spa down the street for a reaction cuz you aint getting it from me.

I like odd physical characteristics of masculinity.  I like to watch ab muscles flex but only as I’m getting fucked really hard.  I like the pulsing of veins on an arm but only as a man finger bangs my pussy…I LIKE men. I just don’t like dick photos.  Or looking at dick. Or talking about it really…This is what distinguishes me from most of the other straight girls.  When they start talking about dick, I can’t relate.  But when I start talking about how much dick I’ve actually had, these straight girls can’t relate to me, only gay guys can, and that’s why I’m friends with more gay guys than straight girls.  This is also what makes me perfectly content being a queer.


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..


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.


WHORE-A PALOOZA 2009 footage!

I am so proud of how this show came out!


Activist Flashbacks circa 1999

I came into sex work activism as an undergrad planning a conference. One of the first people I met were the founders and fire behind the Exotic Dancer’s Alliance and the San Francisco “stripclub liberation movement.” One of the most important things that the EDA did was get A.B. 2509 passed. When AB 2509 became effective. Owners who require the payment of “stage fees,” “commissions,” or “quotas” from any portion of dancers’ tips were in violation of California State labor laws. This effectively set the precedent for any exotic dancer who was ready to exit out of the industry and file a labor claim against any of the clubs that she worked at in SF. Most cases, once filed and processed are awarded in the favor of the dancer/worker.

I came into stripping with previous knowledge on stage fees and fines, as I was mentored by some women who were either retired or about to retire and had already collected their renumerations from previous stripclubs. During my baby stripper days, there was a lot of drama and bickering between the groups of women involved and EDA soon became inactive, and the original founders of EDA became the founders of St. James Infirmary clinic, which is still open now. The EDA and many of the members made a lot of amazing strides for sex workers in SF, but stopped short of a stripper revolution, I believe because of the craziness that ensued between the members of the community. One of the women, whose personal suffering is always made known by herself, spent approximately 5 years showing up at meetings, throwing fits at everyone who didn’t agree with her, and really made it quite difficult for stripclub rights to go anywhere. Most of the women, burnt out on the drama exited the activist scene and are still supportive at heart but haven’t been seen actively involved in over ten years. Occasionally, waves of this inherited drama between the original stripper liberation movement in SF is still visible. One the most groundbreaking moves to unionize the Lusty Lady and then move it into a worker owned cooperative was also filled with horizontal hostility and drama that stunted its development into something that could have been much greater than it is now (I believe it is struggling?) I was burnt out on activism before I truly started! I and many other younger sex worker activists in SF inherited the drama of these women and would occasionally receive email diatribes between them on list servs that we were part of. One day, an email from Stacey, co-founder of Desiree Alliance asserted that “we [then] younger activists didn’t want to be a part of your drama” in so many words and that was a big turning point for sex worker activism in SF. Or, at least, it was a memorable point of entry for me to feel safe to enter with a clean, energetic state free from the baggage collected from all the fighting that had been going on between women that we didn’t even know that well.

I met Carol Leigh around this time and she introduced me to the prostitutes movement. Around this time, I also met Robyn Few and she and Carol and some others were just in the founding stages of Sex Workers Outreach Project. I remember thinking, wow, the prostitutes sure have more energy and direction than the strippers have had in years…

I guess with all of the issues that have ensued around the brothel issues, and other issues around social justice, class and privilege-I have gained some very visible opponents of my own and am starting to learn that taking the heat from any position that you are trying to organize, is part of organizing. Right now, in San Francisco all the sex worker activists have sort of unified around Measure K, the proposition to Decriminalize Prostitution in SF. Women who have sworn to never work together, women who are uncomfortable being in the same room together, have all somehow gotten together to be able to work together, but separately on this very important campaign even if they still don’t really like or trust each other. They know that they must unify their expertise to fight for decriminalization.  I am happy to see this happen, as many of us left San Francisco out of frustration so that we could actually make changes without inherited drama.

I know what my intentions are in the work that I am doing. I didn’t let some bitches’ at the brothel pouring tabasco on my computer stop me, and I shouldn’t let the voice of a hater silence me either, even if and especially if, she is part of the same organizations as I am.

The brothel issue is an interesting intersection between stripclub politics and prostitution politics. I feel, since I have experienced both that a lot of the issues are the same. There are many issues that are hotly debated that all of us from either side are not going to agree on, but enforcing labor rights was the right start that the EDA needed, and I feel that it’s the same tactic that can be enforced in Nevada too. If it is truly legal selling of sex, then we should be able to have recourse for injustice. When we speak of decriminalization, often folks will state legalization as their only understanding. Most of us knew that the brothel wasn’t the ideal model, but we had avoided talking about it in too much detail because we didn’t have representation from the brothels. Former brothel workers who have become leaders in our movement have confirmed that the way that management and girls try to break you down so you can get your stripes and then make your money existed then and as I confirmed, still exist. They have also pointed out to me, however that this is where they and other girls were at and I cannot harp on them for being brainwashed or damaged for doing so.  My words against the workers have been edited to be less critical, I am not apologizing to them for my blogs, but I was angry at every single one of them from the top down and blogging was the only fightback that I had.  No one admitted it, but they were all guilty to me. Management admitted her involvement by kicking me out after it happened, and I was guilty too because I was talking shit about their workplace which I had deemed was bootcamp and jail.  I was losing my mind from the inside out and writing is sometimes all I have to express my pain.  Later, I might write a song about it, but until then…

There is talk of getting current workers involved in any actions or recommendations that we make. I strongly believe that it is impossible to get more current workers than Amanda and I to the table, because you cannot be inside a house and critical of the master at the same time. Didn’t I find that out? Luckily for me, being kicked out and sent home didn’t have the same weight as it does for others who are given the same treatment, but it definitely wasn’t NOT a big deal. The same issue of current stripclub strippers speaking as the mouthpiece of management exists whenever there is some motion to close down the private booths that most of the dancers make their money in comes up. Some dancers have been assaulted in the private booths, and many dancers do full service sex work in these booths so there is a lot of divided camps of anti-prostitution, violence against women, current stripper, former stripper, and more which stops any progress on the issue. Current workers cannot speak their own minds about working conditions and still have a job.  So, no agreements are made and no changes occur.  There are still stagefees upwards of $400/shift and the private booths and full service sex work still thrive and prosper in many SF stripclubs.  Defacto legalization means no rights, and the stripper-prostitute hierarchy is still reinforced by the failure to address the issues in the stripclubs, but I don’t even think they are talking about this issue in their campaigning of measure K, because it might complicate the issue!

Since most sex workers are not protected by union laws, organizing against their employers (and blogging about them) usually means not having a job. And that is much scarier to many than having to deal with any of the things that I blogged about.  These days I am feeling on a strange tipping point with the sex worker rights movement in the U.S.  (I was so happy in Mexico!) Will we see the same shying away from clear cut labor violations because we are afraid of threatening the jobs of those currently working under those conditions?  We clearly don’t have as much power as them, but the EDA didn’t either and they got their resolution passed all the way to the state level!  I would just like to see the same precendent set for the workers in the brothel system.  This way,if workers felt that they could someday muster up the courage to fight for their rights, they had a method to do so.  It took me almost 2 years from the point I picked up paperwork at the Labor Commission to actually do something about it.  (and it took me over a year to get paid).  It is an extremely scary step, and many sex workers who do this are in fear and isolation of exiting the industry.  Sex worker activists agree that the brothel system is not ideal, but are not really working to change this.  But changing this is very very difficult indeed, and I’m sure has been tried by some before.  I feel that it is my duty to at least find out what has been done and if anything can be done in the future.  I have nothing more to lose in the brothel system. I am the perfect candidate.  This reminds me of the case I filed against the former Boys Toys club in SF.  I had only worked there for about 3 or 4 days and I was recompensated $1000 in backwages and illegal fees.  Never underestimate what the power of one and former precedents by others before you can do..

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