Archive for the 'rape/sexual assault' Category

23
Nov
17

#Metoo and three and four…reprogramming the Matrix you are running in

17880652_10210868124692387_453721393325343523_oI mark the end of my time as an escort at 4.5 years ago now.  When I recap the story that I speak to audiences it goes like this “I was chasing a drug addict client down the street with a stun gun the week I met Destin Gerek, the life coach who got me into Tantra.”  The longer version of that story which I spare the public is that this same fucker once pushed me against the wall and pulled a box cutter on me and whipped his dick out and tried to masturbate on or for me just weeks before me chasing him down the street.   He had been calling my work phone for fake appointments stalking me with a phone number blocker so that each time I blocked him he could call with a different number to repeat his behavior, which happened at least twice before the stun gun chasing incident.  This last incident of running down the street after him, i was taking matters into my own hands because I knew that was the only justice i might be able to get, and I was determined to try to end the madness “by any means necessary,” which was the whore revolutionary mantra inspired by Malcolm X and other revolutionaries.  And yes, I did actually boldly go to the police, to the exact same station that I spent the one night in jail for prostitution to report this man, but it didn’t go well, because all I remember is storming out and jumping in my car to try to find this man by cruising the street clandestinely on in the vicinity the attack just occurred.   I had been seriously training in Krav Maga for over 4 years at that time to help disperse misogynistic energy and protect me from the cycle of violence that I was in.  I had earned a confidence in my physical ability to hold my own.  How did I begin taking Krav Maga for the first time?  A poorly screened client and I had an altercation at my house where I was massaging him, I sprayed him with pepper spray and he didn’t falter, he backed slowly down the stairs (which I should have kicked him down as I have a neck breaking staircase, but as I said I’m not naturally a violent person and I was too scared and traumatized to do much more than I did). He slashed the tires of my car in front of my house to let me know that he had returned once, but thankfully that was the end of me and him.  This was probably more than 7 years ago now, but just recalling it still brings chills to type.  And taking Krav Maga surely helped put me on a strong kick ass warrior path until one of my favorite instructors tried to pull my pants down suddenly during a fight drill in class (i did file admin charges on him with the school’s high ups, hold an admin meeting with all of us after that incident and I did NOT quit the school or training, i just never took his class again).  So while all of the things that have happened to me while I was a sex worker are bad and difficult to recall, there were things that happened to me that could have happened to anyone, and are in fact all part of the same disease that our society is fighting off collectively in the light right now.  I have never been a violent person.  But some things, especially if repeated can bring out the MONSTER in me, or anyone for that matter.  These things that channel the Aileen Wuornos spirit to gnarl its Kali Ma destructive force at all of the collective perpetration of all goddesses in the world.  You want to be the next person to violate me, you need to know that I will reflect your bullshit back at you in SOME FORM and not wait ten years to do so to speak my truth.  

It took its toll on me as a warrior in the battle, as a victim, as a survivor, as a student who looked up to her favorite instructor, as a 15 year old office worker, as a 17 year old, a 19 year old and more, yes me too, yes me three and four and more. There are so many incidents of sexual assault and violence in my life that I don’t even count individual incidents or people because it doesn’t serve me or anyone to do that, it is all one long continuum that did not stop until I made a radical spiritual evolution and jumped out of the matrix that I was in and received a new program from the Universe.  Very much like Neo, as he comes into consciousness and gains more martial arts skills but still his enemy Agent Smith multiplies and becomes stronger and seemingly invincible, I felt like I had no choices so I dove deeper into the depths of fire because I was so sick of living in this pattern of repetition that I felt I had no control over (even attempted seemingly suicidal decisions, put myself in death’s way, tried to become a drug addict myself but it didn’t take to me) before emerging into peace. AAEAAQAAAAAAAATFAAAAJGI4YzVlZmUzLWZkZmEtNGZlNS04NzZlLTFkNDUzYTE5NjZkYg

Realizing my power was not about making my physical body stronger or my warrior aura more protected or indifferent, that was me as Neo, trying all the ways I could muster to impossibly to bend the spoon.  ‘Do not try and bend the spoon, that’s impossible. Instead, only try to realize the truth…there is no spoon. Then you’ll see that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.’

 

12
Nov
17

The R word, The N Word and the V word: Verbal Ammunition hurts people, people don’t hurt people! Hurt People Hurt People!

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…The thing that has stood out to me most, the thing that I was also guilty of was that self determined sex workers HATE being called victims, unless it is them doing the victim name calling on their own situations.  It is really hard to think straight when you are recovering from trauma.  In fact, I know that PTSD is rearing its ugly head out of my wounds when my memory freezes in the same way my body does.  My sense of direction is worse than usual (which is normally not the best) and sometimes I find it hard to find the words and names of familiar places, I find it hard to find my keys or even the keyhole which the key fits in the door of my apartment.  This usually goes on for a few days after the incident and I thank my body for being the harbinger of consciousness around sexual violence in my life again and again so that my brain catches up to what my body knows as the truth.  

What I mean by the first statement is that once we are clear that sex work in and of itself is not a victimizing situation then we can explore the further depths of the trauma that occurs when one is doing work that is criminalized, stigmatized and often residing at many of the darker alleys of the sexual activities of the majority of men and women who participate in it.  Once you are not using the rescuing paradigm then we can talk about the lack of rights that people in the sex industry are afforded in both the legal and illegal sectors.  But it gets more complicated than that IF YOU ALLOW YOURSELF (and are ready) TO GO THERE.  It is easier to go with simple sound bites and hashtags and mantras such as “It’s not your fault” “theft of services equals rape” “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” and my personal non favorite “MEN ARE TRASH” and so on that on the surface seem to be the solution, but the solution has a long trajectory.  The sex worker movement, like any other oppressed identity movement also has its own sound bites which I knew very well having been in the forefront of it on a global level for multiple years.  Soundbites and PR crafted responses are designed to take the emotion out of the incident,  but as Uma Thurman expressed so eloquently regarding the recent Harvey Weinstein allegations,”I don’t have a tidy soundbite for you…because… when I have spoken out of anger, I usually regret the way I express myself, so I’ve been waiting to feel less angry, and when I am ready, I will say what I have to say.”  

The whore revolutionary (the old me) often and fearless spoke out of anger and rage against the machine and rage against my perpetrators that I knew that I probably wouldn’t press charges against because there was no institutionalized structure in place to support such allegations.  We can witness how hard it is for established wealthy celebrity females to go up against a more established male counterpart in an industry as mainstream and accepted as Hollywood.  I used this blog as my bullhorn and way to heal and process out loud during and immediately after I’d faced sexual violence.  The more years that were removed from traumatic incidents and the way that I did my work allowed me to see that in sex work, when there is violence or non consensual sexual activity (such as stealthing removal of a condom or theft of services) it is always violence but whether or not it is RAPE is something I often did not take the time to ask myself.  And when my body is screaming the answer, when I am dropping my change clumsily on the floor at the cashier counter, I KNOW THE FUCKING ANSWER! Or…I know one answer, the one answer that helps me feel safe and soothed in my times of seemingly death defying moments of anxiety and anguish.

When the brain is settled, one’s decision to use the word RAPE has the same verbal ammunition potential as using the word N**GER in many situations so we must assess its use carefully.  I started to use the word sexual violence instead.  “I have experienced a continuum of sexual violence both in, out and before sex work.”  (my sound bite which has been consciously crafted to deliberately not sound like “I was raped continuously when I was doing prostitution.’ for various reasons mostly political but also encompassing my desire to NOT CHOOSE personally disempowering language.  And the DIFFERENT choices that I have made since then are what I want my current writings to focus on.  Does our verbal ammunition do more damage than was done in the original incident in question?  Are we or can we even be conscious of the effects our words have?  I thought calling any theft of service a RAPE was my path to empowerment, but personally it was my path to insanity and an endless cycle of violence mostly to myself; and unsurprisingly because Aileen Wuornos was indeed the mother of prostitute insanity and violence who died without ever getting any of her needs met.  

29
Oct
17

When Theft of Services Equals Rape and When Reframing is Better than Blaming and Going Aileen Wuornos on a Motherfucker

Amidst the #metoo incidents of Hollywood sexual violence I am working as a Love goddess in Seattle, doing my best to fundraise some lost income and property that got stolen out of a car in Los Angeles because I was negligent. It’s my third time to work as a Tantra practitioner in Seattle, every time I have come, it’s been a great, profitable and life changing experience. And again it did not fail me. I was fortunate enough to see more clients in two weeks than I had the opportunity to see in Japan all year since, in Japan, I don’t get to have the same type of business model as I used to when I worked in the U.S so it is always a great opportunity to brush up my skills and work on lots of new seekers bodies. I’ve been working as a professional goddess for over four years now, evolved and inclusive of the seventeen years of total work history in the field of sexuality. 7 of these years I was an escort and a self proclaimed whore revolutionary sex worker activist. In the seven years that I worked, fought, spoke for and rallied with fellow sex workers I became immersed in the ideology and framework of the movement and it became the passion that woke me up in the morning and fueled me through the sometimes grueling and dangerous profession that I called my job. I have since then been extremely happy to have moved beyond all of it without entirely closing the door to how it formed me as the LOVE WORKER that writes this blog now. I tell my seekers that call my phone that Tantra is not just a catchphrase i put in my ad, and i that love is not just a euphemism for fuck or happy ending, i actually genuinely, spiritually, fully engage in LOVE MAKING and sharing with clients which usually does not include intercourse or any of the standard acronyms of prostitution that many men on Backpage might be familiar with (GFE, BBBJ, etc).  And amazing people pay me great money for it as well.  But, because of my vast history, i’m aware of what they might be referring to and can lovingly redirect them to a referral who would better serve their needs.

In order to book an appointment, I require a small deposit to show me that the seeker is serious. This time, upon suggestion from another sex worker, i try to use G**gleWallet to accept my deposit. I usually require just $50 which goes towards the session and I didn’t think twice when the client wanted to send $250 instead of $50. I get an email from G**gle that says,”$250 is being deposited into your bank account.” which means to me as a business owner that I can feel safe to facilitate a paid session.

I saw him the next morning and collected the balance in cash and proceeded to create my 2 hour of magic and love. There was nothing suspicious or ingenuine about this client, we had a beautiful session, I tapped into his God energy and everything ended in a beautiful way.

Sometime in the next day, I am checking my bank balance and realizing that the money hasn’t hit and then I call the company to check and see if there is a delay for some reason. Ggle tells me that the sender can actually cancel the payment even after the email that they sent me has been sent. They tell me that this service is not a safe way to collect money from strangers off the internet and that it should only be used for friends and family (as if friends and family never rip people off).

7 years of being a vengeful, righteous whore revolutionary rose up from the fire of my root to the top of my consciousness and i remembered all the times as a sex worker that i had been ripped off and shorted by escort clients. I was mostly surprised that i was being confronted with these feelings when the way that i had constructed my life, the decisions i made, the clients that i chose and who chose me, the work that i did, the vibration was supposed to be all different now. But, I had gotten ripped off in a similar way from a Tantra coaching client in May whom i had coached for several hours too long for no promised pay received. My live work roommate in Seattle had just talked to me about a time when she was working in New York City and a similar thing had happened and she had “felt raped’ and couldn’t work the rest of her tour because she just felt extremely depressed and violated. I had just read a blog by Lily Fury explaining why she had recently created a devastating fundraising fraud upon the sex worker community all in an attempt to get a bad client blacklisted for what she felt was rape and not theft of services. “he was a client who had shortchanged me (that is, had raped me) when I was desperate after just getting out of jail.” Sex workers and women in general have righteous anger and history about rape and sexual violence not being named for what it is and not being punished equally or justly, so it seems in retaliation to the systems that have failed and ignored them, many of them seem to have started using the words theft of services and rape interchangeably. Since leaving the sex worker rights movement about two years ago to focus on spiritual sexual self growth and other community frameworks, the thing that has stood out to me most, the thing that I was also guilty of was that self determined sex workers HATE being called victims, unless it is them doing the victim name calling on their own situations. (To be cont)

26
Aug
16

Japanese Men-Stop Giving Me a Bad Impression part 3 (more Hiro Factor)

I came to Tokyo with an open heart and an open mind.  But in the 3 months that I’ve been here Japanese men have given me some pretty bad impressions.  Last night, Im walking around Shibuya without a bra because I hate wearing them and can only handle about 8 hours in them. i am reminded that i’m not allowed to do that in Japan. Showing your tattoos is a stretch enough but no bra as well is more than anyone around these parts has ever seen so boldly in public.   Hiro walks up to me as I am wandering around looking for my next adventure and asks if I want to have a drink. I’m happy when a Japanese person is so bold, and the last time this happened the guys who did this turned out to be NICE GUYS. Real HEROS. They helped me try to find a hotel when I got into town late at night and most of the places available did not accept women in their hotel and the others were way too expensive. We chatted and laughed and language exchanged, they shook my hand and bid me sayonara as I walked alone, completely unoffended and unmolested up the stairs to my love hotel room.  They were both Japanese men who just approached me on the street to converse about my tattoos.


The Shibuya HIRO is now walking quickly up this street and I’m asking him to walk slower and wait for me in Japanese.  When a dude doesnt stop and wait for me when we are supposed to be walking together is going to be my new indicator of the Hiro factor. I follow him up the stairs to one of these very popular private karaoke suites that you can rent by the hour all over Japan.  I hate singing karaoke recreationally but since I agreed to the drink I’d participate in it I supposed. He speaks no English so I was excited for the opportunity to try to learn more Japanese.  it didn’t take too long trying to get through the first Alicia Keys song I chose which I sounded badly singing that he led my hand to his erection, trying to feel me up, down and sideways and now i’m doing my sex worker defense skills which look like me trying to sing while grabbing his hand and making sure it stays away from anywhere I don’t want it, and of course that’s when he puts it on his dick. A REAL FUCKING HIRO.  Have we been in this room 10 minutes perhaps?  He lays back and rests his head on my thigh. I place my head on his forehead and gaze at him with loving, nurturing energy trying to calm him down, a failed Tantra Ninja attempt. He’s unable to control himself and starts to put his hands down his pants. I get up and and pull my phone out of the wall CONSENTO (the Japanese word for wall socket is consento but most Japanese Hiros dont really understand this concept of sexual consent as its totally screwed up in Japan worse than in America, just watch 10 min of Japanese porn or anime porn and you’ll see just how NO, STOP, DON’T!! mean YES! YES! YES! to anyone watching, mostly HIROS. So I dont want to confuse the guy by saying Stop or trying to negotiate the boundaries in any way. I tell him I’m leaving. he opens his arms and tells me to come sit down with him with a smile.  NOPE. LEAVING. i say. For a few seconds he is actually chasing me around the table in the tiny room. i open the door of the room and rapidly walk, in disgust disappearing quickly through the crowded sidewalk weaving up the footbridge and making quick turns through thick Shibuya crowds in case he decided to follow me even though I knew he wasn’t because he had to pay for the room.  I stop to lean over the rail of the footbridge and stare at the traffic and bright lights, crazy Shibuya streetlife.  I take several slow deep breaths of calm and slow myself down. I am more disappointed than traumatized when this happens now.  I pull my bra out of my bag and put all of its ridiculous uncomfortable binding straps and padding back on my always erect but not horny nipples.  Maybe this will buy me some peace so I can pass out on the hour long train ride I have back to my suburban room.

03
Sep
11

What Goes Around Comes Around

In the last month or more since I wrote my last blog, I am finally blessed with a come up of my previous luck of the summer.  I don’t love the work like I used to as times are a changing, but at least I am not hating every single thing that I have to do for it and there are steadier calls and some better clientele who aren’t trying to fuck me over at every turn.  I know when it is down down down that the pendulum swings and it will soon come back up, but it had been a long summer of bad, economic recession and vultures flying low and clicking their teeth in anticipation of me slipping. I am still working on transition, but I am not naive to think that this is going to be a quick process.  I have made steps toward re-integrating myself into the working world, paid for my own criminal background check so that I could make sure that my misdemeanor charge was showing as dismissed as I had fought for.  The funny thing about expunging your record is that even though you may have gotten any of your previous charges dismissed, the person reading your background check still gets to read what the original charges were alongside the original sentences which are usually set extreme to scare you out of thinking you have any chance of getting off easy.  My original charges read  “7 days of jail, 18 months of probation, HIV test report and stay off Craigslist erotic services section.”  WOW.  Try applying for a teaching job with that even though the final lines say clearly “probation terminated on good behavior and case dismissed.”  Starting this process indeed made me teary eyed, but I feel similar to the process of representing myself pro per (as my own lawyer) in court and fighting for the dismissal would be an interesting exercise in seeing exactly how hard re-integration can be for someone like me who is supposed to have a wealth of so called choices.

I hate the word CHOICE.  Hate it. Fuck choices when it comes to work.  Choice is a continuum.  And for me, so is sexual assault.  I have been violated so many times I stopped counting because it would just be disturbing.  I have been violated so many times that I have accepted that I am a permanent warrior enlisted in the gender violence war.  And that is not my choice. But ‘Choice’ is the dominant paradigm that sits in opposition to FORCE.  forced sex work.  forced prostitution.  sex trafficking.  slavery.  Choice is also a word thrown around in the PRO-CHOICE movement.  This same pro-choice camp also so often fails to notice the lack of choices available to poor, marginalized women of color in regards to reproductive options and sex work is a part of that.   They are all for women being pro-choice with their bodies except when it comes to “choosing” to do sex work.  We sex worker rights folks are aware of the FALSE DICHOTOMY between force and choice.  But still sex workers talk about choosing sex work because it sounds good.  Connecting sexual abuse, drug use/addiction and sexual assault to prostitution sounds awful, pathological, typical.  How can we make these connections without these attributes?  Those sex workers may believe that they have the choice to do sex work just as simply as they choose to eat candy in the morning (or not) or fast food at night (or not).  Perhaps I feel like it is not a choice because so many times I have had to go to WORK and suck up my feelings time and time again and it was far from what I would have chosen to do with my time.  The nature of the SERVICE INDUSTRY particularly ones with BOSSES or SUPERIORS is that when you don’t want to do it, it will always feel like slavery.  This is true of housekeeping, childcare, farmwork, garment work, office work or anything that has a naturally submissive aspect to it in order to earn gratuity above minimum wage.  For me, it started when I was a stripper hating the repetetive monotony of my job.  I had just gone through my first major breakup of my 20s with a guy I was in love with and going to work to be chipper and sexually entertaining to the world and other men was the most difficult thing ever.  It was at this point when I started to medicate with marijuana on a daily basis in order to create a positive facade over the hatred I had for the job.  In the beginning of the healing I would dance on stage and go in the private rooms to cry.  13 years later I still medicate depression and anxiety with marijuana on the daily but now I don’t feel so bad about it.  Using weed is not just a result of being a sex worker, nor is my depression or anxiety but I definitely can be fond of eating a half of a pot cookie, smoking a bong (in the past, I vaporize now) or heating up a vaporizer to deal with anything in my life that I have to go out and do that takes strength.  This included going to grad school, student teaching and regular teaching.  Marijuana allows me to reach a level of seratonin balance that life doesn’t.  I have a deep and intimate relationship with MaryJane.  She is my mothers nipple to nurture my cries in an empty apartment at times when I am bawling hopelessly on the floor.  She is also just a way for me to push out the negative voices and replace them with positive affirmations about the big picture: the beautiful sunny Los Angeles day, the awesome music, the delicious food, the fact that I have many talents, that I am an intelligent analytical being, a writer, a singer, a funny joking child like spirit that deserves to live life to the fullest.  Maybe I choose weed over heroin, alcohol or speed or other substances that close down emotions and thought or maybe I am just choosing to live.  Is that a choice?  I don’t even know anymore.  I think so.  I mean, I know I have potential that is greater than being a junkie or commiting suicide or even relegating myself to a full time “normal” job.   The word has been used in so many negative connotations (mostly in my choosing to do sex work) that I don’t even use it anymore except as a necessary part of sentences.  Let’s just say I don’t use it fervently.  I don’t believe that work is a choice in America or anywhere in the world.

Mostly because I truly believe that I have been attracted to sex work and have stayed in sex work for as long as I have to unravel and discover my power struggle with sexism, rape culture and patriarchy that was NEVER my CHOICE.

My first sexual assault was a date rape on the beach at 17.  A naive teenager is getting drunk at a youth hostel with backpackers in the their 20s.  One of them asks me to go to the liquor store to get more drinks for the rest but instead I found myself laying in the dark at a secluded beach in Honolulu, Hawaii the sight of my first taste of what it meant to not understand the intentions of men.  As Tribe Called Quest would sing,”Classic example of..a date rape.” It wasn’t physically violent so [all my]  perpetrator[s] probably thought it was consensual.  I don’t remember who he was, only that he was some white surfer dude and that I knew exactly at the moment of penetration that this was not my choice.  There were many more after that.  The worst was from the first boy I ever fell in love with at 16, my best friends brother.  This assault would tear my best friend and I apart for many years and create a rift in our relationship that was only fully healed when at his funeral when he died (heart disease at only 26)  I had to face his brother again for the first time since the assault and be cordial. It worked out. We hugged and I was able to forgive him. David helped me from heaven or wherever he was. Then, another backpacking incident in Northern Australia, a vulture asks me to come to his room to get a massage and naive 21 year old adventurous me thinks that he has innocent and therapeutic intentions. NOT.  Because of that incident is the reason I attribute to why I feel I get so much out of the sensual massages that I give men.  Sensual and consensual they come so easily in my hands.  It is more than them ejaculating.  It is like the power blood gives vampires.  A refill of my power supply that had been depleted by trauma.  A refill of my power supply that had been depleted from the sexism of that day walking down the street before I came into my power or dealing with the privilege of men of that given time in my school, in my dating life, etc etc.  Melissa Farley and her clan love to hear stories like this.  It makes them hard, gets them funded, makes them look smart, makes them feel that I fit the stereotype.  The big difference is that I am empowered in the end.  More so than not.  Otherwise I would not be in it for as long as I have.

“Everytime a client comes an angel [hooker] gets her wings…”

Some sex workers are in denial of this connection.  I’m not.  I see it everywhere I turn.  I saw it especially when I was working with street workers in Skid Row.  So many of those girls find street work and prostitution satisfying because it is a gritty hustle.  Because their Uncle used to take for free continuously now they can not only not be around that abuse but get paid for the same desires that their pervy Uncle once had. And yes, it IS more empowering than being returned home or going back to a foster home at times.  I get it.  Do you?  I like craigslist/LA Weekly/Backpage clients for the same reason.  I attain high class clients occasionally through these outlets, but mostly I deal with working class, younger, drug using guys that I can yell at (if they act up) and never see again.  And they call me for the same reason and I DARE them to try to disrespect me.   Workers can be mean and strict with their tricks and get paid for it.  We prey on their shame of what they are doing.  We get paid for their racism.  PAYBACK in the short term, but in the long term perhaps more damaging.

NOT ALL MY CLIENTS ARE DICKHEADS THAT WANT TO RAPE ME.  Lots of them, most of them are great and fine, average guys that I heal myself and them simultaneously by surviving our transaction with ease and bliss.

In my acknowledgement that I am in the tail end of my sex work career, I acknowledge that I have attained enough of the positive and the negative to move on.  I have pissed in the mouths of men and slapped them around with their own dicks (practically).  I have watched them destroy themselves with drugs throw their money at me in effort to seem manly and as a result their manliness has disintegrated before me.  They’re not nearly as strong as I thought they were before I first started dancing at 22.  From my first day at the stripclub, I wore my 4″ stilettos and was suddenly able to look them in their eyes and see them for what they really were: vulnerable.  lonely.  compassionate.

It was the prostitution world that really helped me see this, as well as being a dominant.  I didn’t finish the journey in the stripclub, as all the stripclubs in America are ruled by pimps that exploit their workers at least to some degree and in the worst case scenarios they mirror the sexism that the mafia has with their harem of girls that one has become familiar seeing in movies.  (“Tell her to go upstairs and see the boss if she doesn’t have her stage fee..”) I have defiantly held my ground in verbal altercations and watched them back down.  Sometimes I have lost and a screaming cussing dude has chased me into my car after I have refunded him his money back.  So,  I have also lost and retraumatized myself in this effort.  Prostitution was the only thing that could have done this.  Stripclub stripping is legal, somewhat safer.  I could have not gotten arrested in a Craigslist sting, nor robbed or ripped off in ways that I had as an escort by staying the stripclub.  It was all a part of my beautiful struggle, my journey that I am still on.

Today is the first week of my 2011 marijuana cleanse.  I try to do it once a year.  Last year it was because my asthma had gotten so bad that I could barely breath without coughing like an old man every morning.  I abandoned my bong for 50 days and then broke down and went back to it without condemning myself.  I have since switched from smoking to vaporizing and have eliminated smoking anything from my life.  This also eliminates most of the social rituals of being a stoner because most people don’t vaporize.  I can’t believe it’s been a year already.  I used to love my bongs so much, now the taste of smoke sickens me.  I caught a cold Occupying LA and going to rallies in front of city hall.  It was the first major rainstorm of LA’s autumn/winter cold.  This rally was also the first activist event that I had really believed could make a difference somehow.  I hadn’t been to a march or rally in over a year, maybe two.  I thought often about supporting Oscar Grant’s case, but I just knew what the outcome would be whether I took the time to wake up in the morning to support his cause or not.  I was right.

Whenever I am sick, I don’t feel like using marijuana because clouding my head with what would normally be euphoria just ends up feeling like I’m just clouding my brain with smog.  So sickness often is a blessing in disguise for me to take a break from a medicine that I am usually mentally dependent on.  I have since kicked my dependence on asthma steroids.  I weaned myself off of them slowly using a herb called Lobelia which I would drop into water and drink to help relieve some of the symptoms.  It was working.  This was a relief to me as the ashtma medication that seemed to work on me the best cost $200 for a months supply.  I knew that this was just a sham from big pharma.  The doctors prescription said I NEEDED it twice a day everyday when because of finanncial constraints I started to use it once a day and then once every 3 days and then..only as really needed. (in addition to Lobelia tinctures).  I was proud of kicking this dependence.  Medical expenses are no fun.  I still owe my asthma doctor $350.  A visit to that clinic was the same cost to me as I charged my clients ($300/hr) yet, it never seemed to even out, it was never easy to pay the bills and buy the needed medicine and I still have a tab with them.  Today I am proud of the fact that I have found St.Johns Wort to help with my depression, Passion Flower extract to deal with my anxiety and I have only used marijuana ONCE in 7 days.  The cold allowed me to not crave and the herbs help to alleviate the symptoms that I often use marijuana for.  I use marijuana as a pain reliever for chemical imbalances AND emotional pain.  When I face difficult situations with people I am often running to my weed supply, driving straight to a dispensary to feel better and be cradled by my familiar nurturer who sings an internal lullaby and tells me softly “Do not worry about what they are saying.  Do not worry about what they do.  This, too shall pass.”  It is like an herbal teddy bear, I cuddle it and it helps me sleep better at night.  Judge me if you will but you aren’t the one who is holding me or offering to come over when I am depressed, you are the one who doesn’t want to hear my bullshit, who can’t hear my bullshit because it inconveniences you, because it triggers you.  So keep on talking your shit, and I will keep using my weed.  I want to have a baby in the next five years and join the ranks of all the wonderful sex working mamas that I know who have succeeded in defying society’s stigma.  This year’s cleanse is not for the asthma, its for the future baby.  Twice already this week tough times have come and gone, I have cried in depression without crawling to my usual supply of painkiller and survived.  I am super proud of myself for this.  Every little obstacle that I overcome I give myself a gold star because you won’t.  and it’s quite alright.

07
Mar
10

whore revolutionary soldier training

WHY DO YOU FIGHT?

Because I live, thrive and survive in a RAPE culture and I will not allow myself to be relegated to an inferior status.  I was born into this battle unknowingly.  I CHOOSE TO FIGHT BACK.

HAVE THEY ATTACKED YOU?

Yes, Many Times

WILL THEY ATTACK YOU AGAIN?

Yes, because we are still divided.  But I have made my mind and now, my body stronger EACH and every time they have attacked.  And the next time, I will be ready to defend, attack and destroy without hesitation.

CAN ANYONE PROTECT YOU?

NO. Ultimately, at the point of attack I will be the only one who can protect me.

WHAT IS THE WHORE REVOLUTION?

A constant RESISTANCE of reversing the roles which dictate that the prostitute must remain the disempowered victim of social control.

I have been holding out on sharing with you all, my blog audience a huge occurence that has influenced my life in the last two months.  I know you think that all I talk about is herpes, but it’s NOT!  ;0

I wrote something on Bound Not Gagged and I’m going to write something on the Yes Means Yes blog too.  check it out!

You know it’s really like being a drug dealer or a gang member in a lot of ways.  you know that you are doing something illegal and that you are in outlaw in the Wild Wild West.  There is cash money involved, risks, violence and drama.   Ask one of your friends who is holding a lot of money and drugs, if they also have a gun in their house and if they’ve ever been robbed.  It comes with the territory of being an outlaw.

That IS the job if you are not an elite VIP escort that only deals with politician clientele and never has to deal with the violence and drama I deal with.  For some reason, my story PLAYS itself out in the type of work that I have found a living doing.  If I was meant to be an Emperors VIP type of escort, surely I would be by now but I’m not.  I decided that I was UPPER working class.  The class between the streetworker without an email address and the high class call girl who looks down on me for doing drugs or taking calls at 4am.

I’ve met “the King of Bel Air” and driven up a windy road to his driveway with the Ferrari and the Mercedes in it.  He wanted me to suck his cock BEFORE payment hoping I’d take care of him afterwards.  “I don’t even take off my clothes without getting paid first.” I said.  “Whose rules are those?”he said,”I’m the fucking King of Bel Air.” and I was like,”sorry King, that’s the way it goes with this game.  Money first, promises later.”  I’m so fucking cocky even with millionaires.  He turned me away because I was an agency girl and didn’t look like the girl in the photo, etc.

Maybe I see myself as sort of teaching these guys something about respecting sex workers.  Maybe I’m just fooling myself too.  What is karma?  I am an agency girl!  Karma is so distorted in this game, but ultimately I feel good when they pay the agency fee, tip me my fee AND have a good time.

Upper Working Class call girls work calls from the weekly papers and Craigslist and make $2-300/hr.  We drive leased cars and rent apartments, live off of credit cards and in massive debt.  We can afford to spend money on Krav Maga training, even though it is something that I wouldn’t have dreamed of spending that much money per month on had I not gotten robbed.  The types of clientele is mostly middle and other upper working class.  Many are also outlaws, fresh out of prison or jail.  the danger is present with all, even the King of Bel Air.

Maybe I like the class struggle I am in in some “sick” way.  I do know that if I could make money with less risks, I surely would but I don’t feel that I can at this time.

I enter the realm of rape culture and I dare them to treat me right.  I don’t attack or provoke them.  Unless you call asking for my tips provoking them.  They do get angry at this point and ask me to leave half the time.  Why do I put myself through this?  Because half the time they just tip me and everyone is happy.  At the end of the week, I’ve made a decent upper working class income and can pay my rent, my car payment and for my self defense training without hurting.

Both men who robbed me in a “classic” way were not from the agency.  I did not provoke them.  they preyed on me.  There have been others who have tried to fraud their way into getting free services.  I fought a credit card reversal for about 4 months with as much energy as I would fighting off an attacker who was physically on top of me.  It traumatized me equally as much…

I’m not sure I CHOOSE it, like everyone seems to think because if I had my CHOICE I’d be living the life of Rihanna or Beyonce right now singing and touring and not doing sex work directly til 6am.  If I had my CHOICE I would work for an agency that gave me $1000/hr as MY CUT.  But I don’t have these CHOICES.  So this is the life I live for now.

21
Jan
10

Teaching You a Lesson or Sexually Assaulting You?

I just wrote my first entry on the Yes mean Yes blog site! I am a voice in a chapter on sex workers in this amazing radical anthology called Yes Means Yes.

reposted in part below:

Taking off a condom in the middle of a sex act…it happened to me a couple of times.  One of the most notable ones was one of the last of 4 sexual assaults in my early 20s which culminated in me realizng that I had survived a series of different sexual assaults between the ages of 17 and 22.  This was just the last of 4 that I would allow to just roll over me like a big crashing wave that nearly drowns me and pushes me down, spitting sand and salt but told to just recover and keep surfing. I was urinating blood in the toilet.  I thought it was an STD.  I went to Planned Parenthood and one of their routine questions traumatized me.  “Could you be at risk of being pregnant or having an STD?”  The last guy I slept with that took the condom off in the middle of our sex came to mind.  I had to say,”Yes.” and take the pregnancy test.  It was traumatic at the time, what has become more routine for me now.  Watching Jerry Springer in the clinic lobby bitterly thinking that for sure I felt violated that I had to endure pain and uncertainty because of his irresponsibility. This one was definitely his fault because he took action to violate an unspoken trust agreement between two people using a condom that that condom should stay on during the entirity of the sex act.  It turned out I had kidney stones and that was why I was bleeding internally but the blood in the toilet was so traumatic that it forced me into a path of rape trauma healing of all my assaults, deal with boundary violations, go to counseling and understand PTSD.  I FELT that the guy who took off the condom violated me, and I experienced it physically (through the kidney stones) and emotionally as such and so to me, it was an assault.  Would the police classify it as such?  Of course not.  Does this guy think he sexually assaulted me?  Of course not.

Fast forward eleven years, 3 of the last of those I’ve worked as an escort in LA and beyond.  I have practiced boundary negotiations with hundreds of clients, customers, dates, boyfriends, and whoevers.  Things still happen.  Violations are part of the occupational hazards of this job.  I work with the herpes virus using barriers to protect my clients and reduction of unprotected oral, when possible.  Recently, the client knew that there wasn’t a condom on and continued to have sex with me.  We had used a condom earlier, but the second time he put it in I didn’t realize there wasn’t a condom until about 15 minutes into it.  I stopped to ask and he replied, “there isn’t one.”  I was pissed.  “That’s it.” I said. “We’re done.” I started packing my work bag and headed for the shower.  With more body language I let him know that I was not happy.  While I was in the shower, I wanted to resolve the issue so that somehow I could make it out of there on good terms.  This guy had just gotten out of prison, did drugs and clearly didn’t think that not using a condom sometimes was an issue.  I should be worried.  I told him that.  “when IS the last time you got tested?” I asked.  “They test you when you go to prison.” he says.  He claims that prisoner rape isn’t as common as the movies make it seem and that he never shared a needle. But you and so many too many men I’ve been with think not using a condom on every contact, every time is excusable for the sake of pleasure, or horniness. But, in this case, I believe it is also my responsibility to realize that a condom is not on, even though the penis holder is clearly in an position of power.  I’ll take some responsibility for [you fucking me without a condom].  Just so I don’t have to process what you did like another sexual assault.  He tipped me very well.  I’m not sure if it was because he felt guilty or not.  I must have made him feel bad.  He gave me his phone numbers and said I could call him for anything.  In the end, because I didn’t leave angry, I was able to not feel so violated.  It doesn’t always resolve itself like this.  Unsafe sex is an automatic ejection from the game.  I think though, you should always be aware of whether or not a condom is in use.  And if you are calling yourself a pro you should always be on top of that, literally.

I did feel initially violated but felt like instead of getting angry and calling him a rapist, I would try to gain an understanding about what HIS thinking, if any was….CONTINUE




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