Archive for the 'porn' Category

13
Nov
10

You look Familiar…

Greetings to all my readers, my lovers, my former lovers, and most of all taking a moment to acknowlege ALL MY FUCKING HATERS. FUCK YOU AGAIN but THANKS FOR READING MY BLOG.  Hope it teaches you a little something or two.

I’m not going to post all or even most of your comments, I’m at best going to paraphrase them for my own purposes but I am definitely not to glorify your abuse.

I know the internet and text message technology allows you to spew hatred very disconnectedly and without feeling much consequence.  All I can say to you from inside of me, if you are hating and thinking abusive thoughts about me understand that I spend many evening preparing for our next meeting in person.  3-4x a week I train to defend, punch, kick, eye gouge, headbutt, take painful blows and dance circles around the average unassuming DICK like yourself.   There is an inner MONSTER that all sex workers have.  She is the spirit of Aileen Wuornos that has been wronged too many fucking times and YOU might just happen to be the final trigger, the final tipping point into that 5150 land of no quick return…Do you REALLY want to trigger my inner Aileen?  REALLY?  You call me a crazy bitch (or some variation of that phrase) to try to break me down, but it’s you that made me this crazy bitch.  (Men who argue with me ALWAYS call me crazy.  Why?  Because rising up against masculinity to them IS crazy.  You as a BITCH thinking that you can DO SHIT, IS CRAZY, according to them).

I was fearless before I even knew I could fight.  Now I am even more ready for you if you ever decide to act up in person.

I just imagine me biting and tasting your blood in my mouth and not stopping because you are screaming…

You think it’s fucking bad to deal with a bitch who has PMS? try a bitch who has PTSD…

Who am I talking to?  A few different MEN actually.  Its scary that there’s so many people who actually wish bad things on me for telling my truth.  For showing my belly and thighs with a short tight skirt, for being a size 11 and not size 7 or 3.  For demanding that I HATE MYSELF.

No, I’m not pregnant.  I’ve never had a child, but I stand ready to have endless baby making sessions with the next person that comes to me bearing true partnership and love.   (You think I’m joking?  I’m not!  Wall to wall unprotected sex with my future baby daddy in some beachfront Condo please please please…) *ps. this does not declare my heterosexuality but I’m sure I want to make a fuck/love child not a turkey baster one 🙂

Am I FAT? I'm sure that's not what she is thinking...

When I was a teacher, I was 7 lbs lighter than I am now and students would always ask if I was pregnant!  Everyday!  Girls would ask it so often, that I had to make it a CLASS RULE that I included in a handout!  4 years older and looking back, I only WISH I had the body I had then!  I just figure that the Renaissance figure that was popular back in the day that allowed women’s thighs, hips and bellies to express themselves in any direction they wanted were all en vogue.  I have a pear shaped figure even when I am the ideal body weight.  This is why students would ask me if I was pregnant back then, even that I was thinner.

It is truly a sad state of things, the amount of FAT OPPRESSION I am enduring by these misogynist abusers.  I am FIFTEEN pounds overweight (according to current Beauty Standards as defined by the mainstream) and I get name called every obese vocabulary word combined with the derogatory for prostitute as if I were THREE HUNDRED pounds overweight.  FAT OPPRESSION is a tool of the SEXIST PIG to keep you silent about who you really are when they are usually the ones out of shape and sloth like.  I actually don’t care that much about being overweight.  Okay, sometimes I do.  It’s pretty hard not too isn’t it  But not enough to get a lap band or go on a crystal meth diet or even a Raw Food Molasses Lemon concoction diet!   But,  it’s really the OTHER PEOPLE that care way more than I do.   I don’t like being out of shape when I am.  I often can see my body change when I go out of town away from my martial arts training for 1-2 weeks.  I’ve seen my arms and legs seem bigger after doing Krav Maga for 10 months.  It is the other people that MAKE me care.  It is the other men that DEMAND that I know that I am NOT HOT, not fuckable, not worth their money.  And if I were fifty pounds heavier, then the rape jokes would come I’m sure.  “You’d be lucky if someone raped you.” (there is a great chapter on this in the Yes means yes anthology)

“Of course you fuck fat guys!  You are fat!”

“Anger Bitter Overweight Discount Hoe”

comments from 2 different assholes, I said I wasn’t going to glorify their abuse* but I’ll just keep it brief.

I have a body like my mother did at my age.  Look to your parents to see how you will age.  She was a hot hostess with a rocking body in Japan in her 20s.  I was a smoking hot 125lb stripper who graced the cover of 2 national San Francisco magazines in my 20s and my dad still says,”You were gorgeous? When?”  (My dad is great with sex worker rights, but horrible with how to talk to the ladies, which is why he has never dated (or gotten laid) after my parents divorced.  My dad also thinks that I am fat.

All I know is that in ten years I am going to hate that I didn’t enjoy my body more when I was 34, just like I hate that I didn’t enjoy my body more at 30 because all my students kept asking if I was pregnant.

I wonder..(really, I really DO wonder) HOW MANY hits of mine you could actually TAKE of mine before you hit the fucking ground?  Then will you say that I am weak?  Have you EVER had your face stomped on by a PREGNANT LADY?

Would you like to volunteer to be my human punching bag in an upcoming performance?  I fantasize about having you stand there and just take my hits while laughing and taunting me.  It would be the ultimate belt test…and a true test of your MANHOOD Don’t you think?  I do, tough guy.  If you want me to set up a cage match and even take BETS on how long you can remain standing as I attempt to lay you out in 5 hits through facebook, EMAIL ME NOW (mariko.passion at gmail).  Let’s take this to a performance art/youtube level motherfucker, I’m ready.  I’m obviously not afraid to put my vulnerabilities out there for the public to consume, ARE YOU?

(Inspired by the one who had the nerve to say

I take “WANNA BE martial arts and yoga” LOL)

A former Wells Fargo Bank robber was one of my clients the other night and he took me to eat a seafood plate at Denny’s  (that’s how GFE I really am, take NOTES).  He let me SHOCK HIM with my stun gun!  I didn’t do it for too long and I didn’t hold the gun at his throat like I would to a perpetrator trying to rush me and follow up the shock with several groin kicks and punches just like we train in class.

“It feels like you just stabbed me in the chest.” He confirmed.  He was a crazy man indeed.  Entertaining clientele as always.  I hate banks and especially have a bone to pick with Wells Overdraft Up the ASS Fargo.  I was glad to hear that he had gotten away with robbing them 3 times without even using a gun.   We talked about our Bonnie and Clyde fantasies.  He could have been dangerous.  Convicted felon.  Former bank robber?!  I wasn’t scared, fascinated.  I like meeting people of all walks of life.  I like my job.

He was massaging my back when he told me he robbed banks.  I had to turn around and face him so I could read his eyes and his energy.  His intentions…my safety.  I read that he was cool.  He was so happy to be with me, I felt safe.  “But that can all change,” I said snapping my fingers and looking in his eyes,”Just like THAT.” I said recalling the two times I had been robbed by male clients.  He told me he didn’t even use a gun when he robbed them, so I figured he wasn’t going to pull a gun out on me.  We were at his mom’s house and she was pattering around in the kitchen getting ready for work, so I just felt like he wasn’t going to flip on me at his mama’s house.  The two men that robbed me did not use guns.  One said he had a gun and I just believed him.  The next person who tries to rob me is going to be attacked by me NO DOUBT.  I pepper sprayed my 2nd perpetrator 3x while he stared without blinking at me walking backwards out of my house.  His reaction was psychotic or drug induced indeed and I didn’t think to kick his ass in my own house, I just wanted him out.  I am pretty sure today if that happened things would end much more violently.  I WILL NOT ALLOW MYSELF TO BE VICTIMIZED AGAIN IF I CAN HELP IT.  The 2nd time I reacted better.  The 3rd time is the charm!  (Well, not for them).  I don’t even care if it isn’t in the context of sex work.  It may very well NOT be.  I feel the same way.  FUCK YOU FOR THINKING I AM EASY PREY.  I WILL DIE TRYING TO SURVIVE THE NEXT ATTACK I SWEAR.

DO NOT TRY TO USE THE CONTENTS OF THIS BLOG AGAINST ME.  If I have posted it here, I am already aware of it and you aren’t telling anyone anything they couldn’t read for themselves.  (I know I suck dick for money, I know I have herpes, thanks anyway). I’ve processed it through writing and posting and so throwing it back at me is pretty fucking stupid of you.  I’m not even going to give you an E for effort.  I’m not TRYING to sell a sexual fantasy.  I don’t put my best photos up here on purpose.  I know about the imperfections.  I’m putting them up there so readers can understand the reality of a sex worker.  This is not an escort blog for the boys.  I have one of those on my work website and it pains me to try to write in such a way that holds back so much of who I truly am.  This is a skill that comes naturally to most people.

Lots more people are reading this than I originally thought.  I had an escort call through my agency and met a man waiting for me outside his apartment building.  He was extremely cordial.  He recognized me immediately.  “You have a blog, don’t you?” he asked.  I felt a tad reluctant to admit at first because I wasn’t sure if this was going to HELP or HURT my business as an agency girl.  LOL.

LOTS of issues here.  In escorting, I try to stay as neutral as possible so I can appeal to everyone potentially.  “Can I get my donation and then I’ll talk about my blog.” I wink.  It turns out he’s a huge fan.  He thinks I am awesome and super hot and he respects me for my writing and all this great stuff!  I am laughing while we are rolling around on his bed because I have arrived there under the guise of another fake picture which rings the agency that I work for on most nights.  Here is some random internet developer who I do an outcall in Los Angeles to, who is already familiar with me and my blog (which is based on my real life events) before we EVEN have sex!  “You went to New York right? You had a threesome for your birthday?” he said!  I was laughing my ass off (LMFAO)! Tooo many things like that have happened during my agency work in LA lately.  It’s become a small small city to me lately based on this and other coincidences.

This blog is NOT really made for most clients (he was the exception).  This blog is anti-patriarchy, anti-sexist, anti-racist, radical feminist shit and the average escort client in LA is simply not that demographic, go figure.  Some dickheads have a PROBLEM with me for telling my truth but this blog isn’t made for THEM.  Hobbyists haaate me.  Submissives want me to dominate them and spit in their mouths but get angry when I say I need a donation for that kind of treatment!

This blog is made for ME first and foremost, so I can get my issues and pain off my chest through writing it out because I have to FAKE IT TO TAKE THE MONEY TOO MUCH SOMETIMES(I played a board game for tips with a diehard Glen Beck fan for hours!) so I gotta put the words on this blog so I don’t go crazy from keeping all my good stories to myself.

I arrived at another escort agency client’s house.  I climb the stairs to his bedroom, the guy says, “You look familiar.” Here we go, I think as I smile.  “Do you go to the Standard Hotel? In Hollywood?” he asked.  There was only a very limited times that I actually get to go out and enjoy club nites for just me so it’s easy to remember.  “Ah, yes, I said. I know you.  How are you?”  I had taken his drunk ass home when he sat in my booth as I was eating at the diner at 3am.  “Yeah, you never called me back.” I said.” Too bad for you, $300 please.”  PAYBACK TAX.  Of COURSE you have to pay me!  But if you had not been an asshole you might have gotten a few free lays out of it and maybe some good company, but oh well.  I decided not to hit him up for the $200 tip at the time of this call since we had been together before.  A pity fuck indeed.  I did not have to be so nice.  The sex was mediocre as I remembered it the first time.  We exchanged numbers, but I haven’t called him again for a freebie.  No thanks.  LA: smaller and smaller every day.

I wonder if people recognize me when I walk through the city…I have very distinct hair colors and tattoos and style of dress…They may have been an agency client and are embarrased cuz they paid $500 to have sex with me for 20 minutes but most of them have actually great memories of our time together once they get over the money part.  I don’t rob them of their money.  They give it to me with a desperate smile on their face very willingly.  They paypal me from their computers, I drive them to the ATM (sometimes), they write me checks with the drivers license and work phone # on it…they are consenting tippers accepting of the agency fee that they got hustled into paying.  “It’s a tax on both of us really,” I say,”But if you call me again, you won’t have to pay it!” I smile.  I wouldn’t get repeat clients from my agency work if they were all dissatisfied and disgruntled.

This blog is for others like me, sex workers and similar souls who I may be speaking about, educating, coming out and marching for.  I speak my words and music for you.  This blog is not intended to get me escort clients, I don’t escort or dominate under this name at all.  I work for 2 agencies and I work for myself so it would be really really difficult for you to try to hurt my business in such a way that would be crippling as I have multiple names and identities I use at any given time.  What does it matter anyway?  Half the time I try to not even exchange names.  Unless I decide to pull them into my reality.  Then they get the personal phone number and my “real name.”  (Priceless).  Suprisingly with usually a 2 sentence recap, I can remember everyone who I’ve been with, even if I don’t know their names anymore.

Mariko means CHILD OF PURE TRUTH.  It’s really my Japanese name.  I speak the truth using this name as a blogger, a writer, a poet a singer and an artist.  I created a name where I COULD candidly talk about being a sex worker without fear of losing credentials in the “real world” or have anything I say as an activist affect my profits as a sex worker.

You cannot be so candid in ANY business and expect to gain business.  It’s just a numbers game.  Staying neutral is obviously to your advantage.  Trying to agree with everyone.  Having something to talk about with former meth factory manufacturers, gangsters, bank robbers and other criminals as well as hold your own with the Glen Beck/Tea Partiers, hedgefund bankers, and litigators of the world.

I realize also in putting my video on the change.org petitition with its 1,869 views that there are a lot of WOMEN with a lot of strong viewpoints about me.  I have created myself as a target of judgment and criticism for the anti-prostitution movement through the petition I created to make advertisers verify that the escorts are over 18 and not being forced or held against their will.  Many SEX WORKERS who are well known in the twittersphere and in the sex worker literati circles were VERY OPPOSED to my petition.  The amount of opposition surprised me.  For some reason, I didn’t expect it!  It was exciting to see which sex worker rights advocates were actually unafraid to endorse and which ones (Scarlot Harlot, my whore mother and mentor) were afraid to outwardly sign it.  “If some sex workers strongly oppose,”that could be a good reason to look it over very closely,”Scarlot said but I realized something that I knew already.  With policy, it is really rare that you would be able to PLEASE everyone so in order to be effective it is a strategy of picking battles.  We saw this happen with Proposition K in San Francisco.  Not nearly did all the sex workers agree with the wording but we all came out to help pass it anyway.  It was drafted by a woman that many sex workers don’t really always agree with online and in person.   There were some labor disagreements between the people that actually acquired the signatures to get the measure on the ballot and actually 2 separate sex worker parties endorsing the measure.  We managed to look like a somewhat unified whole and achieved 41.3% of San Francisco’s yes vote that year even though there is usually sever infighting in SF sex worker politics and very little real policy ever gets passed as a result.

I did the petition to start a better dialogue at change.org about sex work and sex workers rights.  I made myself the sacrificial lamb so they would stop being so ridiculous on that site.  I did hope that it would be a good enough idea to be implemented by at least the local LA Weekly paper of which I am a weekly adult classifieds client.  Craigslist adult section shut down in the U.S.  Backpage in the U.S and Craigslist in Canada were soon to be shut down as I write this.  I felt a true urgency to do something to SAVE my source of revenue.  I felt threatened and unwilling to let the LA Weekly cave in to anti-prostitution campaigners without an outspoken sex worker like myself advocating for herself!  That was the goal of the petition, but people still find reasons to HATE.  And that has taken a toll on me for sure.  SOME Sex workers on bound not gagged love to jump down my throat like a big dick every time I write something, and that is pretty disturbing and disheartening to me as I feel that I would and almost have died fighting in the whore revolution for the rights and lives of bitches who could give a flying fuck about my advocacy or efforts.

Get a real job! I don’t feel sorry for people like Mariko Passion.  They take the easy money route (of sex work????!!) by using their body to make a “quick buck” and don’t want to work like the rest of us!  And even some religious anti-porn crusaders hitting my youtube with very strange comments about repenting and finding salvation through new jobs…? Retail?  Restaurant work?  I felt like I was listening to a witch hunter from the Crucible movie.  anyone who thinks sex work is easy money, has obviously NEVER done it.  It was pretty insane.  Keeping up with micromanaging their comments and non sequidors has been overwhelming and I’ve just given up in the last two weeks and just left their last words up there without a rebuttal.  I didn’t start this campaign so I could argue and micro manage people’s skewed moralities.  The petition quite likely will have no impact on the sources that I aimed it at, but it did get my face and the sex worker rights agenda front and center into their website which is what it so DESPERATELY needed if it were really a site about creating CHANGE.

What pains me to DEATH almost about the “real job” comments is that I have worked 60 hours or more a week as a high school teacher and as the founder and director of SWOP-LA which I ran and ran and ran for 3 years with very very little pay.  What constititutes the real of the real job?  Running SWOP as a harm reduction/HIV program was very very real to me.  It was so real looking that people that I sat on panels and committees with probably had NO CLUE that I afforded MYSELF a place at their tables BECAUSE I drove around LA all night long “sucking dick for money.”  I’ve had lots of jobs.  None of them EVER paid me what I was worth until sex work.  Now, if I was in Canada, I would have gotten $20-30/hr for running an organization like SWOP-LA but we are in the U.S.  Harm Reduction work usually pays $10-14/hr to start, part time with no benefits, and just like teaching, if you are directing or leading a non profit yourself, you will likely volunteer 20-40 hours of unpaid time to the cause.

With feminists like them, who needs patriarchy?

One sex worker activist local to LA but whom I have never met said that my petition didn’t speak to the “average sex worker.”  This confused me.  Did she believe that I was above average or below average?  I can’t really think of a sex worker who is more average than me.  I call myself “upper” working class!  My clients are UPS drivers and warehousers, gaffers and tweakers from all over LA who happen to be awake between 10pm and 6am.  I don’t have any race based restrictions (i.e no black guys) no weight restrictions, I take crack heads, coke heads, drunks (within reason)!  Massages start at $175.  I’ll smoke weed with you and let you buy me a fish dinner at Denny’s (if you let me practice stun gunning you in the parking lot!).  I was a craigslist, am an LA Weekly and backpage escort and virtually stay away from review boards unless I have to use them.  I am not sure what is not average about me?

This MAY be because I am an artist and I make people suck on my tampons on stage?  That’s certainly not the average sex worker’s routine, true.  Confusion.  The vocal opposition is about not wanting to trust the media outlets with our age verification information.  This is the kind of verification that outlets like That Mall and Eros.com have in place.  These women advertise at these outlets but are screaming online their opposition, urging other sex workers to NOT sign my petition blindly.   My petition was even mocked on her twitter.  “Guess who is NOT going into any advertising office and giving them my ID?” she tweeted.  She also has NEVER made her presence known in any sex worker activist events that I had ever been to, including December 17th in LA where she lives and works or anywhere else for that matter so I’m not really sure if her opinion of my work is all that valid anyway.  So much for sex worker solidarity.  It pretty much goes along with the rest of the Angeleno attitude of “It has nothing to do with me directly so why should I give a fuck” attitude.  I knew that sex workers were an impossible group to gather in this city unless they were gathering around eating carrots and ranch and talking about nothing during a review board mixer aimed to get them more hobbyist clients.

Another leader for SWOP-LA the chapter of SWOP that I founded and ran for 3 years has finally emerged after leaving the organization dormant for almost a year!  I am grateful to pass the torch as always.  We tried to do this with SWOP-LA’s second leader Ofelia Corazon, but she was unable to take on all that running a SWOP chapter in the big apathetic city of LA requires.  I feel no disappointment.  I was dying to step down.  And when she said that she wasn’t going to run it, I certainly knew I was not going to take it back from her.  It was out of my hands and would lay dormant for up to a year, I indeed focused all my energy, as promised on sex worker rights channeled through my art and music and have never felt sad about not being on a 3 hour conference call since.

“You look familiar…” they say.  Maybe you’ve had sex with me, I immediately think, but I really honestly don’t have sex with that many people.  I tell the HIV counselor 10 a month just to make the “counseling” session that happens before the test easier for both of us to process through.  That 10 includes all client sexual interactions in total which are not all intercourse, so in reality it’s not that many partners.  7-10  sex partners a month for a prostitute aint much ( I don’t think).  Gay men have that many partners during a dry spell.  Internet connection must have been down at their house or something to warrant only 10 guys a month!  If I worked at a brothel it would be 5 a week or more but most of my job is driving driving driving and hustling, negotiating, making nice, defense defense defense.

I’ve actually spoken in front of and educated farrrr more people in LA and beyond than I’ve EVER had sex with in my lifetime.  Just in 3 years I may have interacted with 500 students who are all over 18 now and roaming the world and Facebook trying to say hi to me when I least expect it.  (I’m friends with a ton of them and yes, they know).

My face and body are the subject matter of my entire breadth of artwork, which now has spanned 11 years since 2000 when I started doing self identity pieces after college for  my first exhibitions.   How can I not yet be used to people putting me up and down and making comments about what they believe that they see in me?  I feel like Obama must feel right now.  I know I am good.  I know I am talented.  If I weren’t, I would not have gotten this far, but damn the amount of people’s criticism is hard to stay on top of.  Plus, I have JUST survived a majorly verbal, emotional and finanncially abusive relationship with a crazy person.  My self esteem is slowly coming back after being shook up and taken for a ride.

Do I look familiar because of my art?  Have you seen any of it around anywhere?  Are you one of the 1,874 viewers that has seen my youtube channel?  Maybe you have and my confidence won’t believe that my art is really going anywhere because in my isolated world I don’t feel the pull of anyone’s encouragement from all those views and hits.

36B-28-38, 34 years old. that's not what I tell clients who are buying a fantasy but thats the body i've learned to LOVE so fuck you. LOL

What I realized after meeting my blog fan/agency client was that there are a LOT of people that I don’t know reading my words and hearing my voice that don’t comment.  I spend many many more hours brewing a blog entry before I publish it nowadays.  More careful indeed. There is at least ONE ASSHOLE who has the time to read 7 entries and leave 200 word verbal abuse tirade because his partner is passed out cuz he already abused the shit out of her (or him?) and now he’s fucked up pouring over the internet and hasn’t had enough feeling like a pseudo dominant shithead.

Thank you again, for those that support and inspire my words, my art, my hard work and what I’ve stood for tirelessly for over 12 years now.  Whore Revolutionary since 1998.

04
Oct
09

The Vulture vs. The SuperWhore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hops in my car and he pays me.

“You got any other drugs?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#2 HOE COMMANDMENT

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

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

31
Aug
09

ANYTHING LESS THAN THE PERFECT VICTIM

is absolutely unacceptable..

“Why are you sitting there drinking Naked Juice?“she said.

Don’t one of those cost like $4?”

I was sitting on the floor, trying to get SUPPORTED.  This woman really doesn’t care about what I put in my stomach.  I had been coming to this anger management group which has been politically retitled “Rage Resolution” because anger, they think can be not managed but resolved.  This Black woman was about 10 years or so older than me, had done sex work, drugs and more but of course, because in my report back to the group that I was still broke..she erupted into her criticism on what I chose to eat for dinner that nite: a Cliff Bar and a Naked Juice.  $3 drink, $2 bar=$5 total.  “Yuppie” nutrition and meal replacements that are NOT available for consumption in a good HALF of Los Angeles grocery and convenience stores and most definitely not available in stores in East AND South Central LA.  No one would spend $5 on a bottle of protein and a chunk of calories that looked like a piece of turd but filled you up.  They would rather spend $6 on a Carl’s Jr meal with fries and a big drink.  (Cuz it makes you feel FOOL!)

But it wasn’t about the implied yuppie foods it was the fact that I was even EATING at all and daring to call myself BROKE.  Because if I was truly broke, I wouldn’t have food to eat at all.  (You could live in Aaaafrica! or Innnndia! or Skid Row! they say, but even if you came from those places or lived there now, they would NOT care about you more or less).

I shouldn’t have $10 to pay for a group full of mostly court mandated clowns who would use the 2 hour group to put their 2 cents towards strangers on how they should think and live their lives.  I was there voluntarily.  In fact, including the group I have clocked in 5 hours of therapy THIS WEEK.   I am soooo privileged.  I am eating.  I am soooo privileged.  I have money to medicate with marijuana.  Even if I don’t spend a lot of money on it, but rather sell it off to other friends so I can get mine for free.  Even if I trade sex or companionship with lovers who grow or growers who love so I can stay medicated on my transitioning sex worker budget.  Nope, that’s not good enough for THEM.  Because then you are a drug addict and they can put you into a little box and throw you and your ideas out.  Even if you have a medical prescription people will still say “medicate” as if it is a joke.  And this is also partly a joke in the medical marijuana community because our “medicating” sometimes looks like it’s fun, but that’s only if you are looking at half of the pictures.

351_5194

They wan’t you starving, bleeding, and DEAD.  But as you walk in zombie form around the world, dying they look at you and don’t feel anything different.  They don’t give you money, love, blankets, shelter.  They won’t get a gun so you can shoot yourself.  Just leave him!  Just get off your medication!  and then once you do and you are feeling the pain from that  They will just look blankly at you as if you are not their problem.  And then they go on with their miserable pathetic lives.  But they’ll probably say some ignorant comment first and call your suffering melodramatic.

The same woman who had her comment about my dinner also burst into laughter after I talked about my car/rape symbolism.  and she was a sex worker and a woman of color who used drugs all her life.  Did that make her an ally?  Hell no.

I should have kicked her ass.

My therapist knows that I medicate with marijuana.  It was one of the main interview questions that I ask them when I decide whether I can pour my guts out to them safely.  Don’t try to stop me from doing sex work.  Don’t try to stop me from smoking weed.  Those things are immutable and inflexible until I decide that they are.  I am not here to work on abstaining from any of those things…(I have already gone through a cycle of therapy trying to do that “unsuccessfully.”  I am a harm reductionist, not a 12 stepper).  One time the last 3 whiteboy roomates that I had at this “bohemian” warehouse tried to pull a marijuana intervention on me.  To appease them, I attempted to stop smoking for 3 weeks.  At the end of 3 weeks, when I broke down and told them I was going to start smoking again, one of them said,”Oh, You weren’t doing that for us.  I thought you wanted to do that.” or something…I don’t even remember but I’ve been high everyday since then AND if I see those fuckfaces in this city I don’t even acknowledge their presence.  If you want me to live my life without my medication, then WHAT do you propose you will provide me to replace it?  Oh, right, that’s not your problem.  Deep breathing and meditation? Yoga?  Walking?  Journal writing? Singing? Dancing? Art?  Activism?  Yes, yes, drug counselor..thank you.  I do all those things while medicated.  If I weren’t medicated, at times, I doubt I would be so profilic and functional.  I’ve cut back on alcohol almost “as a drug” because it makes me black-out after too many.  My first date rape at 17 was under the influence of alcohol and let’s just say that I have not really gained the trust back in how “people” will act towards “drunk girls.”  (You can even go to your free internet porn channel and it’s actually a genre of porn that you can watch (rough sex with a ‘drunk and stupid’ girl), and I have to confess because the way that I was raped was nothing as sexy as that, the clips actually turns me on while it disturbs me as a whole but I’m not on a crusade to ban its distribution or existence.  They also have Japanese Hentai porn which is the same as it’s always been Japanese schoolgirls getting raped and forced to LOVE it: also designed to stimulate and if you watch it long enough, the sounds alone will turn you on!).  Those directors are like, hey, who said Rape was about power?  We want to put the SEX back into rape!  And they and their all male video crew give each other high fives, and they slap about $600 cash in the hands of their consensual victim and she is happy too.  Because she was probably a survivor and needed to re-enact her shit too and that’s why she enjoys scenes like that…

There was a time that I used to only be able to hit the stage WASTED.  I would down a few shots before stumbling on, and then I would wake up throwing up and miserable..crawling to my bong to ease my alcohol poisoning.  But of course, if you don’t drink or smoke weed all of this might as well be in Korean.  It’s why I love Amy Winehouse.  She’s a beautifully talented trainwreck that everyone criticizes.  I probably love pot as much as she loves alcohol.  But we are raw like Billy Holiday, going through our pain and singing our pain away on and off stage.  This is not JUST a music video, this is our lives…So don’t tell us NOT to get wasted because you are not the director and producer of OUR LIVES.  But, sometimes the drugs and escape mechanisms can kill us too…that’s why I picked marijuana as well.  Maybe I’m not as suicidal and self destructive as I think I am.

When I was a student teacher at one of the most rough at-risk school in LA, and I would come home and cry every nite and then some nights had to be strong enough to go to class at night to complete my Masters Degree.  I did it all with the help of Mary Jane…She held my hand and walked me to class and kissed me on my forehead before I went in.  That’s when I was living with the aforementioned roommates…sneaking a bong hit out the window of my own room!  Even though, some would easily say prostitution or sex work is the REASON I medicate, I would say that teaching high school was also a continuation with that dance with men, misogyny and male violence.  I wrote my Masters Inquiry on it actually based on a teenage student who insisted on calling me “sexy” instead of my name.   I was challenged in different but sometimes equally or more violent ways as a teacher, I witnessed a “race riot” or fight of about 20-30 students and about 10 riot pepper spraying school police first hand so I’m not sure sometimes, if people say that teaching is safer than sex work.

I did do a 3 week VOLUNTARY cleanse for ME once last year.  I have done it recently.  But,  I believe I am highly functioning train wreck.  marijuana allows me to medicate the pain but be highly functional.  It is better than alcohol, heroin, other prescription anti-depressents, vicodin makes you itchy, valium makes you forget…(which many people in pain will float to as an option..)

Everyone wants you to leave your bad relationship but they will not be there when you are alone.  They do not even attempt to suggest a replacement for what you cling to that crutch for.   And sometimes, the pain, like the pain I feel from my mother rejecting me doesn’t go away for years.  And once you are a survivor of trauma, the world doesn’t stop being traumatic or get any safer,  so if you have PTSD from previous trauma there is A LOT that can trigger you.  But most of the time the freak outs are few and far between as I have worked very steadily on my healing and nursing my fears.  I usually reserved those outbursts of anger, shouting, and shoving with someone that I loved.  My[ex] boyfriend.  The article in Salon.com talks about the passion and intimacy that fighting really is, and why, to me Fight club is such a gay [homo-erotic] movie.  When I said that in Rage Resolution, the Black man across from me flew into a rage about it! [because that would mean that he was mandated to this group because HE was gay]  I find out later that the GUY that he talks about knocking out cold in a Del Taco was actually a FEMALE TRANSGENDERED woman.

Also on my list, is “do not try to convert me to your religion or ideology” which is what a number of people would like to do with people like me.  But I reflected last night, that I haven’t had anyone try to convert me to any organized religion since my undergrad college days.  I must give off the untouchable sinner vibe that the Mormons don’t even want to approach.  I’m sure people think that “I am as bad as the mormons.”  But I don’t knock door to door, people come to me usually.  They come to hear me speak or ask me questions, and sometimes they violently try to convert me with their rudeness,  or their “interventions of love” but that never works.  The system tried to convert me, but I am still working albeit very little but I believe if your religion is America and American “Freedom” then once you read about and experience who the laws are designed to protect, and once you realize that it isn’t you then you can easier change religions.

I was talking about how the CAR was an extension of your BODY, and your LIFE which is encased inside of it as you drive it.  When I had a Toyota SUV, my car was broken into 5 times.  The 5th time it was completely stolen and gone for almost 2 weeks before it was recovered.  That year was extremely traumatic for me.  I even walked up on a transient guy going through my truck, scavenging around.  I caught him in the act of this, but didn’t kick the door closed on his torso which was halfway inside the scene of the crime.   We had a verbal confrontation and he ran away.  He said he wasn’t the one who broke the window.

I should have kicked his ass.

If I were a “real” man, I would have.  Instead I drove to the class I was going to be teaching and shared my anger with my students.  That was almost 4 years ago.  That poor car was totally cursed.  Three years later, after I got the car back from the impound, I slid on black ice in the Bear Valley of California, crashed into a sideroad boulder and then another truck crashed into me from behind so hard that the back glass window shattered.  Have you ever been in a car that was hit by a car?  It hurts.  Marijuana (eating not smoking) and massage nursed me back to health again.  Considering all of the car accidents I have survived (one time, I hit the center divide of a freeway at 80 mph and walked away) I guess it would seem like a sort of a slap in God’s face to say that I feel so hopeless I want to die sometimes.  I know that I do not have PTSD from just sexual violence.  And suprisingly I was NOT high or drunk on anything when I looked death in the face behind the wheel that one near fatal day (and I’ve been in about 5 other not as major car accidents in 16 years, is that better than the average truck driver?)

ss-485040-carBrokenWindowI felt raped every time I would come back to a large puddle of broken glass, my clothng and CDs strewn all over, amputated stereo wires and receiver guts spilling out of the dashboard.  File a police report.  Are they going to investigate and attempt to catch the perpetrator? No.  They are not even going to pretend to care.  I paid out of pocket everytime.  Just under the $500 deductible but way over my income disposable at any given time.  I suffered finnancially and felt that this act of invasion was out of my control and one of my family members shook their heads and implied me somehow at fault.  It’s hard to distinguish between the car accidents, parking and speeding tickets (which are my fault BUT also the very profitable industry of policing and fining drivers as part of the state revenue that plays a huge role) and the car jack and break ins (which are not my fault and San Francisco is known for). This has been a symbol of all the many times I have been sexually violated and have not used the police to help me “catch the guy” or help me to heal.

I know, I am NOT the perfect victim.  I smoke weed everyday.  I eat.  I don’t have enough of a drug problem for you to discount me.  I am a sex worker.  I have a car. I still have food to eat. I have a laptop that I got from a sugar daddy but that I could sell if I needed to pay my rent.  But then if I sold my laptop, it might make me feel more hopeless, even if it helped me stay housed.  It would be a sad day indeed.  My computer symbolizes any hope I have for the future.  And once I give that to some hustler for half of what it’s worth because I am really that desperate it will be the end.  So I guess, to the critics credit, since I haven’t yet stooped that low, then perhaps I did have an option that I hadn’t yet considered.  But a miserable one to wish on someone.  I chose to forfeit something less tangible.  I dropped my car insurance until I can get more income.  I am driving illegally.  I still have things.  Services on the verge of being disconnected but nevertheless you have services.  VOICE OF JUDGMENT AND CRITICISM: “You need to appreciate your life and all that you have.  You are just an ungrateful selfish piece of shit and you need to shut your mouth everytime you think you want to share your feelings with the world.  Because unless you are the perfect victim, no one cares.  And even if you are, they are just pretending to care, by making comments about your life or maybe they’ll suddenly start caring during your funeral, but unless you are Robert Kennedy or michael Jackson, no one will even know that you are gone.”

I am parked in the parking lot of my PO Box.  A small unconventionally dangerous to squeeze in lot with a rent a cop Korean security guy with sunglasses and a nitestick.  There are a TON of parking lots like this in LA.  I’ve been hit in one parking lot (her fault) and been in one other collision which was another her fault while driving this car that I currenly drive which is OWNED mostly by Chase Bank, not me.  I recently got into a smash up that was my fault but because of car insurance, I was covered.  They were covered.  I am very very familiar with filing claims with insurance companies and how long the whole process takes.  I am very aware of how insurance companies create a barrier between the rage that occurs between the two drivers that have collided.  Like lawyers act as a mouthpiece for the convicted so they don’t tear out the eyes of the cop that arrested or beat them up.

We start to exchange information and I have to reveal to this guy, who I’ll call Kumar (cuz he looks like and his about the age of the Indian actor who played Kumar in Harold and Kumar stoner films) that I don’t currently have insurance.  He reveals to me that he WORKS for an insurance company and that he and 3 other clowns were out on lunch.  “Wow.  How hilarious.” I say sarcastically.

“And what are you doing parked in a loading zone?  Did you pull in AFTER I was already backing up?” he said.

“NO.  I was sitting here trying to have a nice day, checking my messages when you BACKED INTO me.”

“Well look, I’ll help you out here.” he said looking at the shark bite in my left fender.  “I can give you $200 cash for the damage then and then we’ll just say it’s even.”

“You mean to tell me that you work in insurance claims all day long as your day job and you’re going to estimate that damage at $200 knowing that NOTHING on a vehicle costs $200 when it’s been hit” I said. One of my mirrors is missing half of the plastic cover cuz I hit it off someone’s fence.  “Replacing the driver side mirror in it’s entirity is like $250.00 from the dealer, I said, that’s why I haven’t done it.  There’s no way that repair of that is going to be $200.  You are totally exploiting my situation.” I said. “But, hey, there’s nothing keeping you here.  You CAN just walk away and screw me if you wanted.”

“How do you know it was me who did that? Maybe you already had that damage? You’re car is pretty banged up”he said.”Like in the same accident that broke your mirror.  And this is a loading zone, you aren’t supposed to be parked there!”

“But you STILL would have hit me, if I was a truck or a car.  So your logic is not a good enough answer for you to not be at fault.” I argued.

“But then if you were a truck, I would have saw you.” he said not getting nearly as angry as me, mocking me..

“Look, I gotta get back to work, so you can either take it or leave it.” he said.

“Are you trying to deny that you FUCKING hit me??” I yelled and I could feel myself boiling up.  “I can’t even talk to you right now.  Just write your name and info here.” I said and sat in my car to cool down else I might try to knock this guy out in front of his stupid clown insurance friends.

I was already unstable and depressed about my finnancial situation, my loss of trust in so called friends and lately because so many people have questioned my right to call myself a survivor, I have been remembering and rethinking about all of the sexual trauma that I have survived in my life throughout the week.  I couldn’t believe this guy was trying to blame me!  It was all so symbollic of male privilege and power that my trigger was flicked and now I was full of rage at all the rapists and men with male privilege in the world.

I wanted to kick his ass.  To knock him out in one fell swoop and jump on his 5’8, 160 lbs body and start punching him and screaming,”What the FUCK do you mean it’s not YOUR fault???” I would start hitting him and not stop…

but I didn’t. On Facebook, I posted an article on the West Virginia rapist, “The father of five children and midget football coach did not testify. But jurors watched a taped interview in which he confessed to picking up at least 15-20 prostitutes and holding a knife to their throats or choking them while he had sex with them.”  He is a handsome Polynesian looking guy who picks up street workers with baby seat in his car.  He is a family man, community member, misogynist and violent rapist and even though he is in West Virginia I feel that he is living in my neighborhood too…

When I watched “Boys Don’t Cry” with my then boyfriend and he didn’t feel moved, and every time he insisted on calling a transgender person by the wrong pronoun, I felt like he could be even sleeping in my bed.

“We take shoving to be a provocation after which one is justified in committing violence. But kids shove. Brothers shove each other. We can shove each other. A shove is nothing. It is just a shove. There is no logical reason why it should lead to violence. It is perhaps technically battery. But the rules and laws around battery and assault, I would argue, are also formed around our the cultural assumptions of a fundamentally violent culture. We all know the dance. Why could not two men simply have a harmless shoving contest? It would be funny. Consider what the shove actually says. What the shove says is, I love you and I want to feel the violence of my love for you by having some contact. The shove says, I want some pain inflicted, will you please engage in some mutual infliction of pain? I need some pain. The shoving says, here, look at what I am willing to do: I am offering myself to you, to be beaten. Will you please attack me so I feel whole again? Here, look, I will shove you again. That is my request. The shove says, “I want you. I want you to beat me.” I beat up a guy and now I feel guilty (Salon) (via melissa)

The dance of violence between men and men is one that men who grow up are very familiar with.  Most men have gotten into at least one fight.  most men fear violence as much as women do but express it through posturing, homophobia, rape, pre-emptive ass kickings..

But women have that desire in them too.  We are raised in a violent culture, where fighting and war are the ultimate symbol of triumph, conquer and revenge: power.  I always move to want to fight with men.   My ex and I got into some screaming raging public fights, and I have even thrown lite objects at him and punched his chest like the powerless little girl that I am.  I loved him, so I trusted him enough to have further outbursts of rage like I had never done with anyone else before…this is the secret language of Domestic Violence that they don’t teach you and that the survivors aren’t allowed to really express.  But when we went to couples counseling once, and the counselor asked me if I had ever hit him and I said yes, then I became the batterer and HE was the victim and we were not allowed to receive services because we did not match their criteria.  Neither he nor I were the perfect enough victim.

but i never have done more than really close posturing and running away from angry gorillas.

My last 3 years as an agency escort was about my dance with sexual violence and misogyny.  I would act and re-enact scenes which begged the collaboration of the dance of violence and gang rape, male privilege and power.  I was literally asking for it or the system in place set us up to have to fight our way our of some ugly negotiations.  I WANTED to have the LAURA CROFT BARB WIRE ending to my next attempted rape.  Whatever it was that they were going to give me was going to be given to me in a clear cut blow.  I would feel their fist connect with my face.  I would fall to the ground.  I would be the perfect victim.  Except that i was a whore and my “friend” had just stolen $300 from him.  I thought for some reason, that I would be okay in a houseful of 5 guys who had just gotten ripped off.  I even told her she could go!  Older brother started screaming through the house like an ape banging on his chest.  He came for me.  “YOU ARE NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE UNTIL YOU GIVE US THAT MONEY.”  I handed my stack of cash out of my purse and headed straight for the door.  He chased me out the house, yelling at me the whole time to continue his little war dance over me as I drove away..

I survived that.  I drove back home from Chatsworth, shook up.  Sat at my desk while the sun came up, while I watched the Latin workers start their rounds on Metro to start their work shift…smoking my post traumatic stress disorder into a soothing enough calm that I will be able to go to sleep for at least 6 hours during the day.

I have worked very long and hard hours on my recovery and wellness from sexual trauma, and for years before I identified as a prostitute I was very focused on sexual assault awareness activism as a platform for my mission to leverage male privilege once and for all!  I did not plan to engage in this dance for 3 years, nor do I regret some of the amazing experiences that I did recreate.  I did educate and empower men, I did provide and satisfy for them and they did tip me excessively on top of the agency fee MOST of the time, and that was why I did it for so long.  I met my sugar daddy by stealing him from my agency, they don’t expect repeat business of course, and that is how the system is designed.  So if I am able to appease their egos enough so they don’t chase me out of the house yelling then we have a great time and everyone is happy for a while..

When people pretend to care or understand it urks me.  I ran from Candy the elderly Skid Row sex worker that I mentored to save my sanity.  I am too unstable to deal so closely with someone else that is more unstable and self destructive than me.  When people say “You aren’t suffering, if you were REALLY suffering you would be like THIS, or THIS or live HERE or look like THIS.  And Candy was all of those things and more.  And also she wasn’t.  She was more capable than most people thought.  She had an apartment and disability income.  Streetwork was her “side job.”  She used drugs to escape the pain and sex work to recreate and seek safety through the validation that sex work provides sometimes.  I don’t think it was about the money.  When I walked side by side with her, I would notice that people either cared for her or they looked at her with disdain and wanted her out of their business.  She was the worker that the rapist in West Virginia would prey on.  She looks “expendible” because her face and body show signs of drug abuse and self destruction, so therefore it would be fine to just off her.  We would be doing her a favor..I came to know why she used drugs to escape and I felt scared of her.  I felt like she was a reflection of who I could be if I changed from marijuana to crystal meth like her.  And if I started to escape with meth for 30 years like her…but without blaming her, I blame others first.  And I think of her when people say I don’t have it so bad because I know her and people don’t rush to help her either, and that was how she came to me, and because she was too engulfed in her pain and her addiction, I couldn’t hang on..Or else soon, we’d be sitting on the sidewalk scantily clad and fucked up, smoking crack out of the same lightbulb and spitting insults at passerbys in the park…

I got the other driver to pay $340 cash on the spot.  I didn’t lose my drivers license.  I didn’t fight him.  I didn’t go to jail with an assault charge.  I came out ahead.  Unfortunately, the money has to go towards the rent instead of the repair of the car or even the acquisition of insurance but I am usually stressing about rent at this time of the month.  Frantic and desperately waiting for the next call to come through.  If I had dealt with it any other way, I would not have gotten paid.  I had thought that money and emotional confrontations with strange men only happened in sex work, but apparently it happens in other situations too.  I am thinking a lot about survival lately.  People are confused with me because I am confused with me.  I have survived a lot.  But not as much as HER or HIM OR HER OR HER!!!!!! Everyone wants to play trauma Olympics or Oppression olympics because they are so wounded…but believe me my pain is as valid in my world as their is in their world.  I pulled over after I pulled out of the parking lot and freaked out in tears.  It was very difficult to keep my cool in that situation even though I felt like he was instigating me to lose it, even though he was completely oblivious.  He was never admitting fault  Even after he paid me, he was saying some “Next time you should…” sentence and I told him to stop talking and go back into his car.  “Even as your paying me, you are not admitting fault.”I said,”that alone can make me want to kill you!”  I’m sure they thought I was crazy.

51PLBjD2QVLI am working on touring and doing some events specifically around sex work and sexual violence.  My story is very common for a lot of workers and I find that it is so challenging to not want to talk about the glaring negatives in our profession while we push towards decriminalization.  I also find it interesting that I have never painted my work as all happy hooker or all victim of rape and serial murder but that both are simultanously true.  This blog is part of the way that I survive the violence that I am asked to hold and not speak about.  People do NOT want to hear about your pain.  And if your pain is not as bad as their pain, then they will be sure to let you know and cause you more pain.

My self esteem is very low and I am having trouble believing that anything matters or that I will live to see any major changes in how sex workers are treated, or how many sexual assaults occur.

I am also interested in the emotional finnancial connection that many women and sex workers have around money and men.  Most people have a very intimate relationship with money and ideology but many women who gained economic empowerment and perhaps surviving violence (from home or relationships) because they were able to not only survive against the odds, but also acquire above their projected or expected means can feel like they are going to DIE when it is SLOW.

I am in this book with 2 other sex workers..It’s exciting to have something to tour with and it was fortunate that Susan invited me to be a part of this proejct without me actually submitting.  And now I am peddling it wherever I perform as part of my SURVIVAL INCOME.  And would you believe that if I dare use that word like that people are all up in my Facebook!




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