Archive for the 'romantic sex/relationships/LOVE' Category
Today I killed a clown, or did a clown kill me? I was feeling so fucking great waking up with someone holding me again, wrapping their arms around me and kissing me and kissing me and kissing me. Someone massaged my shoulders and made me breakfast again one morning…I was doing everything better. I wasn’t seeing this person or talking to him every day. I wouldn’t allow myself to spend all day in bed love bonding with orgasms to fuel the toxic formula which has been proven to be the downfall of most codependent relationships…
[If you treat me like shit] I will NOT love you LONG TIME. Nope. Definitely not. This I know from experience, especially if someone causes me so much pain in such a short period of time. Luckily all this stuff goes in vicious cycles, so if you missed it the first time it hit you [me] in the face, rest assured it would come around again and again and again and as you kept trying so hard to juggle all the balls, they kept being thrown at you and all of them falling faster than the music, faster than you could chase after them down the hill, onto the freeway, lost forever….
I found out today that I have codpendent tendencies, but no, I am not a hopeless codependent. I am becoming less and less so with every romantic partner. They are following a vicious cycle, but they are coming in and out of my life like acid rain storm clouds. Messing up my atmosphere and then it clears up faster and faster and faster disappearing into another bright and sunny Los Angeles day. Rinse. Repeat.
Love and Sex addicted I am not. My counselor is always suggesting I go to meetings of different types. I look up the definitions and read the meeting descriptions and laugh. the funny thing is that once I stopped using weed, the sex between us changed. it was sooo amazing the first night and then it was decent, but he still needed to be trained. It was the intimacy/cuddling/affection and passionate kissing is what I live for everytime. It’s what I turn my phone off and drive across town to get even for a little bit. Even if it means sleeping on a mattress on the floor in a messy 23 year old’s room in his mama’s house. I had temporarily quit using marijuana for most of this affair, which was related to me catching a cold and wanting to have a different relationship to substances of my own accord. Now that I look back on it, that’s how I should have seen that he was an addict. Because he was in no way trying to respect my desire to try to be sober, trying to get me to break and give in to using weed every time we saw each other. It was pretty easy to resist as I was determined. Even when I told him it was for the future baby (not his necessarily). This is why he didn’t drive. This is why he had a broken collarbone and a broken heart. I only went back to MaryJane tonite but I don’t feel guilty about it. I knew I would break down and use when it was “absolutely neccessarily.” I felt stronger instantly. It was Maryjane or the clown. And I chose wisely.
This affair was short but sweet sixteen days, because we went through all of the same bits and pieces faster for some reason. He flaked on me again. Twice in a row, the second time was the last time. He was unapologetically drunk again and I did not desire to pick him up and make things better with his alcoholic embrace. The last time was to fix my pathology and this time would be to appease his, and I was able to refuse it much easier. An obnoxious drunk is easier to turn down than a slick romantic abuser manipulator. If he had called me up drunk telling me that he was sorry he didn’t mean to hurt me, he needed help or some other smoother story like my other abusers were able to come up with other than the sorry pathetic one he presented I may have gone to pick him up instead of cut him off.
I did not imagine that he was massaging his female friend’s shoulders in front of me the other day. She was low key challenging my worth, even asking me where I went to school. (I have a Master’s Degree actually, I told her). I didn’t like the situation at all. I felt like I was amazing artist Frida Kahlo watching her asshole fat ass non deserving but talented husband Diego Rivera paw her sister in front of her (“I know I don’t believe in monogamy, but I know I don’t feel good right now”) It challenged my views on open relationships and non monogamy even though me and the clown were not yet in an official relationship he knew that I liked him and should have talked to me about her before touching her in front of me. Jealousy and pain. Too much too fast. Do they do this on purpose just to see if you will still be there after they shoot daggers at you?
He actually told me that he wanted to keep fucking me and stop kissing me when I told him I had herpes. I burst into tears and cried so hard all day that my eyes hurt at night. (you cannot automatically get herpes from kissing/fucking someone with herpes, even if they have an outbreak on their lip (tho of couse MORE risky indeed as any open sore is), but it is especially not risky if they don’t though the “always contagious” and “even condoms won’t protect you” doctrine is still prescribed by some doctors and sex educators). I don’t even get those big open sores that you often see on people’s lips. And condoms don’t protect you when your making out with someone, that is the reason behind that statement.
I did not use weed to feel better that day. I called him and asked him to make it better, to kiss away the pain he had caused.. I do not kiss my clients because I want every kiss I give someone to mean something. I want commercial intimacy and personal intimacy to always be different and mostly but not always something special. It makes making out with someone as exciting as it was when I used to do it at an 8th grade dance at times. I don’t have the strength to fight the whore stigma anymore these days. I really really don’t, even though when I wear my fancy sexy whore revolutionary outfit it appears as if I do. And I do on the outside. A trained warrior. Just not on the inside. I’d been through too much lately. Had a shit of time internet dating on several sites, so I had literally just given it up before I met him. He was like a godsend when I met him at a Burningman party. I stumbled into someone I had been looking for on the internet in the “real world.” The first day he made me cry so hard was the first time I asked him to make things better in his embrace. “You need to make it better.” I cried, knowing that that was just a band aid solution and that I was willingly following an unhealthy relationship pattern that was too familiar to me. I am a survivor of relationship violence, so I will always have a tendency to seek comfort in asking the violator to heal me when I can. And of course, he did, gave me a colorful lollipop to cheer me up (in one hand, and a can of Modelo beer in the other) when I picked him up and kissed me passionately, holding my face like I love, filling me with hot flames of desire, making me feel whole again as I rocked my hips towards him. Later that night as we were walking to the protest (it was awesome that we were both activist/artist types), he was laughing while I was telling him about my feelings from the day and I guess I punched him pretty hard in the chest to stop his laughter. I didn’t think that I did but he acted pretty wounded. It’s likely since I’ve returned to martial arts and he made me cry earlier that I could have hit him harder than I thought. But this is another codependent trick, to flip the blame on the victim. (An ex abuser has started an argument based on the fact that I “accidentally grazed him in the balls on purpose”) Now I am the abuser. I have been the person to hit my boyfriends in the arm or chest (the way you may have seen teenage couples fight) or make violent motions towards their face without touching them to express my anger and desire to tear into them for the pain they have given me. This is still violence I know. I know. If a man did this to me it would be equally problematic. Now I am the one who should apologize profusely. Good trick. Do it again. Again! Again! Again!
But the later offenses weren’t fixable with an apology or an embrace. I had seen it before and I had walked away before. Except the last time it took me 2.5 months and way, way more damage than this little affair had caused.
I went to (my best friend that died at 26) David’s burial ground and held my palms out and stared into his gravestone, hoping to channel his love and support, hoping like I have many times before to get his ghost to appear and talk to me for a few minutes. I needed a friend bad. I needed a lover and this floppy clown came along. It was super fun for a while and taught me so much about me. It was because I was more sober I was able to see his addictions with a clearer lens. But I am no classic codependent, and he was a classic case of a borracho payaso drunkard. Big clown shoes and sad story of time and creative potential wasted, lover after lover of his gone lost and walked away in sadness and anger before me and after me too no doubt…Promising talent, dedicated to his craft and a heart with the potential to shine a room full of children or make even the smartest, sexiest female in the room take him home. But he clearly had no self esteem only self hatred that filled his belly which was not fat with food. not fat with love. Addicts make it so hard to be loved but they want and need it the most. I know this because I have fallen in love with too many of them, except that they were closet addicts able to hold up a facade much better than this clown so our affairs would end up being longer. No mas. Where is my self efuckingsteem? I still have it apparently. I would rather be codependent with Maryjane than an alcoholic. What I was proving to myself lately though was that I wasn’t a drug addict, I could exist without cannabis medicating through traumatic times, through the triggers, through the sadness. But tonight, I took comfort in her vapor and through the steam cloud I was able to dry my tears and open my eyes and see again. I am going to use weed differently. I am still committed. I am going to love and do relationships differently. I already have been. I mourn for the loss of him and placed his number on my wireless carrier block list. The familiar block list that I put all my ex boyfriends and lovers so I do not have to cave into them calling me in the middle of the night with sweet promises, even if they talk of them after the pain has subsided months later….I will not go back.
Yes, I am a naive child spirit that still wanders lost in the body of a 35 year old woman, but apparently I am not as vulnerable and desperate as I look sometimes. I did do better this time, So send out the clowns.
it’s official. i hate sex work right now. and i think i have for quite a while now.
but i am not trying to “get a job” either. I am working hard on my art, submitting proposals, actively seeking new opportunities on a full time basis, doing the work to become the artist I want to be, as Gandi would say. I wish that I wasn’t such an idealist, i am so suprised it hasn’t been burnt out of me. I remember this feeling of nausea, of hatred of each day…of the impatience at the same shit on a different day.
2 bum calls and one Black guy who had such scary energy I was super glad I got out of there when I did and not a second sooner. He was the kind of man who looked like he wanted to kill me but couldn’t find a reason to. I shined all my golden light into him but he never received me. He was evasive and didn’t want to answer my questions and he had the death look in his eyes. This death look is what you see when you think someone could kill you. You may have seen this gaze in a lover or a partner’s eyes before. I’ve seen it before. Nothing that I could say, me the master of de-escalating myself out of violence over and over again, was going to make this guy WARM UP to me. And that was what made me nervous. I did not want to have sex with him. I upsold the sex so he wouldn’t do it. The truth was I was sick to my stomach of Asiaphile Black dudes with their Asian fetishes and varying annoying personalities. I did a hand job/body rub with one and then actually turned down his money because I just would not allow myself to sit through a situation where I would feel molested for money again. At least not in such a short period. Is it their racist imperialism? Or is that I can’t stomach faking it more than once. I’ve concluded that that was part of it. I actually kind of HATE regulars. And the guys that I am actually attracted to, I just end up trying to date or discount and so it doesn’t really last long either way. But fucking the same dude that I didn’t like the first time gets super hard for me pretty quickly. I remember doing mushrooms with one of my sugar daddies who insisted saying “I love you” to me all the time and I literally started vomiting. It was a great way to get out of having to be close to him or have sex with him. I chose to hang out with my best friends instead of make $1500 a day. They thought I was crazy. They were worth more to me though. I know more than ever since doing so much sex work what in this life is PRICELESS and what is not. I knew i couldn’t stomach him anymore is why. Throwing up was the last resource I had. I used that money well. But it’s gone now. I launched my solo theatre show with it and funded a cabaret.
This Black guy wanted me to be his personal travel assistant, around the world rubbing his shoulders, Thailand, Japan. Bleah. That would be my equivalent to sex slavery. I can barely work a regular job with a boss., let alone be a sugar baby for longer than a week. My true colors shine through and I throw off their patriarchal (they usually can’t help it, they’re in their 50s) shackles and usually walk out with my last donation liberated and relieved.
I drove to this tweaker’s house 30 minutes away and the way he talked to me was so cold. He did not care that he had wasted my time. He didn’t have weed, or a beer to offer me, nor gas money for my time. He wasn’t going to give me shit. just a bongful of shit. Bleah. No thank you. I just gave that up for the last time, nasty horrible fucking shit. I won’t even try it for kicks like I used to. Sometimes I would do it just to see if it would do anything for me. I would take it in a few hits and marvel about how I felt nothing, compared to a few hits of smoking a bong of weed. I was boggled by how much power it had over so many people! I use it as a tool of hopeless self injury when I have done it, not in the ways of how many tweakers use it. I tried to understand the mind of a tweaker but I could never do it. I am too strong and healthy. Never again. The vultures they call you to partake, they have no intention in paying you. Just getting you high and fucking you to death. I’m so sick of all the toxic drug addicts. I am no longer content to just take their money and exploit their addictions, because this becomes my addiction too. It’s a form of codependency that I have…and I am trying to kick it…Because the nature of SEX WORK includes dependence on money, it a really hard addiction to kick, especially in my personal economy when love and money are in constant need.
When you are doing sex work with a partner that you despise and you hate every second that they are intimate with you, it feels like you are being molested. (I have only been date raped so I can only imagine this is what it feels like). Me, the survivor is always trying to push myself to the limit, to the edge….I have pushed myself for nearly 5 years now and now I would like to be done. I have danced with the devil and burned in the belly of the beast, fought off its invitations, corruptions, and henchmen. I have seen my potential and realized some of my dreams with this work. I have fought hard to create normalcy and justice for myself, for other sex workers who hated me, for those that never knew. I’m done. But i’m just done in my head, because as you know this transition can take months or years. I did almost transition in 2009 when I was on probation, I quit one of my agencies and had a hard time of going indy and faced the famine which led to the nearest I have ever come to suicide in my life. I have NOT truly considered it since but i often use it as a reference point so it concerns people sometimes. I was on probation, had just lost my teaching rights and just ended a horrible relationship and quit swop-la the first time.
My facebook friend Wendy Babcock recently died. They said she committed suicide but I don’t believe it. She was alive and well when I was “talking” to her through her facebook posts. She was actively writing, being interviewed, doing activism and reaching out to me. Not the kind of person who is hopeless, depressed or suicidal. Perhaps we don’t really know what suicidal really looks like then. It scares me. She was born on May 29. We have the same birthday. When she died, a part of me died too. She was a valiant sex worker activist in Toronto, Canada. She and I had just connected on how negative I felt about sex work and she was a thread of hope and support for me in this time when I do need it and continue to need it.
I am trying to date men and women on various internet dating sites with very little luck. I am experimenting with telling them I am a sex worker on the second date. I don’t blast it in my profile. I used to just say, fuck you, i am a sex worker, love me or leave me!!! but the kind of men I attracted were just losers and abusers so I thought I’d try a different approach…
last nite someone stood me up and I knew it was NOT about me but it just bummed me out hard because I have been working so hard on creating these loopholes, revising my profile, trying to ease someone into the idea of dating a sex worker, testing the boundaries by talking about porn, hiding the true details, accentuating the minor into major to cover up the sex work…
there are still good days and good clients. great clients and good times to ease the pain. thank the universe for that. Unlike my stripper days, I am older and wiser and I know how to take good care of myself better…but it is still hard. I am single and dealing with this on my own. It is sort of unfair to bring a new romantic date into my chaotic mix because I am really negative and emotional…it’s hard not to just unload on someone that I want to just hold me…
I think my reverse escorting days are done too. I tried to make it work time and time again, but in the end, it never did. It was just a long, drawn out, unpaid or low paid session. I was never their girl. Never qualified and they let me know it. In Gun Hill Road, the trans woman character (who is not a sex worker) has a lover that just fucks her but won’t take her out to restaurants or movies. Sadly, I could identify with my last lover that I would find myself gushing wetness under every month. twice a month at most. I knew it was abusive. But more self abusive though. I was complacent in going over there and indulging in what he was offering. I do not blame myself at all because I WAS better off than alone.
I still stay in their arms if they’re decent and willing and we are exchanging good energy. I ended my 9 month unhealthy affair with the above mentioned former client turned lover who was really just a PnP addiction. It was just a little bit of money, lots or orgasms, affection, and a little bit of drugs. I trained him to go from 0 to hero in 3 sessions. I used to hate having him go down on me and soon i begged for it. 9 orgasms was the most I’d had in perhaps ten years! Do you blame me? In my 30s, the combo of sex love magic stays in my body and warms my spirit for a good 24 hours afterwards. I don’t remember being that conscious of it in my 20s of even having the kind of relationship I have to body and energy as aI do at 35.
Gay boys and hookers PnP for the same reason. Toxic people, mutual loneliness, trying to live up to beauty and sex machine standards, remnants of past trauma and the emotional deficit collide. he didn’t call me for the last time and I wanted to injest him for the last time until he cut through my veins and caused every muscle in my body to hurt and tense up in soreness for over a week. And then I blocked him from being able to call me (My wireless carrier allows you to do that now! I wished they had this service when the crazy white trash girlfriend was texting me cussng insults once she found out i was fucking her man).
I did a cathartic sort of Amy Winehouse-esque memorial ritual the weekend she was found dead and I learned that I was stronger than letting your addictions kill you. stronger than drug addiction. stronger than sex work. stronger than rape. robbery. arrest. racism. conspiracy theories. mental illness. rape culture. pimps. I’ve learned my lessons and it is time to move to a different chapter.
All my single ladies! yes, you the ones that are not in a primary pair bond, who do NOT find themselves hugging someone close to them at night before they bed, who do NOT wake up to a lover looking at them, begging them for morning sex…who do not get the intimacy they need because they’ve decided or not decided that they are better off alone, happen to be single or escaping a horrific partner…do YOU KNOW what I mean when I say that sometimes we “get paid to get ours?”
This is more true than EVER when you are not overloaded with the sex of a primary cohabitating relationship like the kinds that I have found myself in in the last 3 years. I’ve lived with two different guys for 2.5 years total. I made a point to make the sex in sex work quick and utilitarian. I had no motive to orgasm, except when I was hired by couples or I was pleasantly suprised. I was getting taken care of at home, and because of the nature of the relationships that I was in, it was almost a requirement to save most of your enjoyment and enthusiasm for the guy that waited for you outside of your show to drive you home and fuck you to prove that his shit was better than any trick he drove you to see.
It’s been a little over 3 months since I broke up with my last codependent abusive guy whom, I admittedly had fallen in quick love with for 3 months. This is what strung the noose of his abuse and made it so easy to overtake some of my will over the insane course of events and lies that he spewed in such a short period of time. I am a hopeless sucker for romance and attentive compassion. Him being an experienced textbook abuser had all of those tools in his belt but it’s false promises didn’t hold me for longer than 3 months. I have very low tolerance for being called out of my name repeatedly and treated like trash and contrary to popular belief it wasn’t THAT part of the relationship which kept me, it was the promises of love and romance which my heart still believes in despite all his abuse.
REVERSE ESCORTING: Since becoming a single lady again, I have to find a way to fulfil my need for orgasms, sexual pleasure AND intimacy without a partner to get these things from. Sex work is not the only outlet that I have but, when you are as busy as i am and work for a demanding agency, it is not only convenient but sensible to make the most out of the dates that you have to go on.
I barter for perks. I have always tried to enjoy my job. As much as possible. If they have a nice soft bed that is seemingly made of clouds, then I might be encouraged to spend more time there. If there is a hot tub with a whirlpool, a steamroom for my asthma, room service dinner with wine, a Laker game, a sunset island cruise, a waterfall over a sparkling swimming pool that we can sunbathe and swim in naked…and you can make me cum? wow. then i am yours! how exciting for me that I am getting paid for all of this as well! fuck yea! i love my job! i’m exclaiming on the inside as I roll around in the 600 thread count sheets and down duvet on the canopy bed overlooking the ocean…
It’s been over 3 months since I’ve had a lover sleep in my bed and roll around all day with me. It was a gray and fiercely rainy day in Los Angeles. Client and I were coming down from partying the night before. (him more than me…i had gotten some sleep) I proposed that he come over to my house and spend the day with me for free. Strangely, at first he turned the offer down, even making a dramatic “Just drop me off” charade before jumping back in my car. He was offended that I charged him for ONE HOUR and gave him 23 for free? Puhlease boy, get back in the car, I said, and easy enough as it was to get him to go to the ATM to get my donation was it easy enough to kidnap him back to my place to fulfil my need to be cuddled in my come down with affection and sex while the gray hours of Sunday passed from outside my bedroom window. I wasn’t going to beg. I was preparing myself to allow him to be dropped off. He was STILL a client in my eyes, although an adored one that i had created a special bond with, since he had helped me get my car engine fixed last month. I was careful not to let this client slip too quickly into freebie land. My rate steadily goes down every time we see each other and I know that it will be over soon unless I am willing to convert to real dating status, which because of our differences is probably not really possible. As your escort, I stay neutral and try to remain likeable, as your real girlfriend I make you put up with who I am for who I am and I am unwilling to make changes to lots of things for any partner’s needs, demands or insecurities. “if you want me to turn my phone off and just be with you, then you HAVE to donate, babe.” I said.”I don’t have the luxury to lay in bed all day and not work..” If he had left me then, I still would have laid in bed all day but instead be lonely and probably not have enough energy to go out on calls.
I needed him as much as he needed me. We fulfilled a purpose of intimacy for each other and it was wonderful. It was exactly what I needed and wanted. I gave him the ultimate girlfriend experience without the usual barriers and rules. We kissed a few times. I kissed his head while I held him. I am very affectionate. I LOVE TO LOVE.
I allowed him to do things to my body that only “real lovers” get access to. (Anal and kissing) I allowed him into my bed. He is not the best lover in the world, but we have a great emotional energy that connects between us and allows us to exchange sexual and intimate energy often without penetration because he always has coke dick.
I tried to have sex as a release with one of my new drivers (even though that is totally against my rules), which turned out to be a mistake. I ended that one as soon as possible, and even though he was not a client, the sex was too much like a job. He was out of my place as soon as he came in. I gave up on him, “You can just cum now..”I said giving him the tap on the shoulder sign. The guy had worked as a stunt cock in some porn videos recently and he seemed totally opposed to foreplay which didn’t work for me. Ironically he had a problem with the fact that I had herpes, when little to his knowlege alll porn star girls end up getting herpes because they don’t test for it in their work clearances. He was willing to eat their pussies without a dental dam but not mine? Puhlease.
I LEFT WRITING THIS POST TO MEET W/ A CLIENT..Innocent 20 year old newbie. His first time was a rip off and he was really really trying to get me to say exactly what I would do for how much. I had just gotten nearly arrested in front of a Starbucks in LA by the same newbie routine but this guy seemed to fit the characteristics of not being a cop but i was still nervous about verbalizing words of prostitution. Even as I alluded to them, I waited nervously for the back up vice squad to come rushing in, even though it was 1:30am and I knew that vice busts don’t usually happen so late at night. (they like to start them early because it takes so many hours to book a girl, typically they try to set us up at 10 or 11pm).
I was doing a lot of cuddling and massaging because he was so intent on getting a full hour of whatever it was that I was offering, so I had to extend my usual routine. Admitedly the massage part of the routine is usually only 20 minutes and the sex part is about 15 minutes, my shower is 5, closing banter is 5 and we’re both out the door in LESS THAN AN HOUR in a typical date. It’s always PAINFULLY obvious when you get the guys who need you to spend all SIXTY minutes on them because those guys are the ones with the least to contribute to the chemistry. This is why reverse escorting techniques are often needed for single girls like myself. The typical escort routine can seem a little rote and impersonal even if it is cordial and there is a genuine energy exchange.
The massage part is essential because it makes it easier for two strangers two have sex with each other without much introduction. Skin on skin and breath on back and neck are the best motivators for erection, connection, orgasm…I’ve never formally studied tantra but I believe that this is what it is for me and my client and how I practice it.
For me, it has to be that i feel enticed by the personality of the client, he has a wonderfully luxurious bed, maybe there are drugs involved which help to ease the social awkardness (or sometimes create more) OR he is hot and I would probably have fucked him for free, or there is just a distinct energy that nurtures that part of my soul that NEEDS mutual intimacy as much as he does. Not everyone sends that energy out, so it doesn’t always reach me. I am not pursuing these men like I would be in “regular” dating situations so if they decide to not provide for me, it is not a big deal usually because I was initially there to provide for them, and, to get paid to do so. Reverse escorting is still a pride game. The ball is still in my court for as long as I can hold it there. Sometimes when I proposition for a second or extended date, even if it is for FREE, they reject it. The real girlfriend experience is not part of their desire. GFE just means unprotected blowjobs and kissing to some people I guess, even though that isn’t THIS provider’s definition..I try to snatch it up in the moment where it lives. I still get paid for my time, but I give free extensions if they are willing to please me. I am extremely tickled at how my new website states “Flexibility with my rates depend on how good of a time i am having” LOL truth spoken but still vague. I love it.
The 20 year old and I did not have a genuine connection. It doesn’t work with everyone. He was ready to leave after he had an orgasm, which is what they usually want to do, which is fine fine fine with me. This left 10 minutes to spare. He didn’t want to try to come again. hey, really no sweat on my part, I said. I don’t actually include “multiple pops” in my rate, i’m just doing it because i’m trying to give you a good newbie impression really, I thought. I even got him to tip me!
I had to save up nearly $2400 ($1800 + rental fees) to rebuild my engine which recently died and I hustled like a hooker on crack for weeks to attain that goal with the help of the agency bookings and my own private clientele. When I finally reached my goal and I was ready to pick up my repaired Sasha Gray (the name of endearment for my Gray sports coupe that fuels all my girlfriend experiences ala Sasha Gray in the GFE titled movie) and return the rental, I asked my last client who was a young whoreaphobic but cute client if I could just sleep over for a few hours which I did. I convinced him to cuddle me in his arms and I knew that I was breaking all his stereotypes with every word and breath that escaped my mouth. “it’s all in your mind…”I said,”I’m just like any other girl…” He had made some sarcastic comment about “oh, the prostitute knows about safe sex?” and I responded,”why would I NOT know about safe sex? it’s my job.” I reverse escorted him for the nite but knew he wouldn’t be calling me again. His shame and stigma would prevent him from doing so. I had worked soo hard to save up so much money for the repair on top of my regular rent and expenses that I just needed someone to cuddle me until it was time to pick up my car at the MINIMUM. What I could have used was a bunch of soft kisses while saying,”I’m so proud of you baby, Congratulations. You’re such a fucking awesome hustler.” He gave me a couple of orgasms instead and his dick felt amazing inside of me so I let him have sex with me way more times than the average John..We both got our monies worth, sort of.
Rihanna has become one of my heroes of late. Eminem has always represented all the guys I’ve ever dated, so it’s fucking brilliant that they decided to do this video together. He’s a great artist. Amazing lyricist. A known abuser and now recovered drug addict. Always the image of a great and loving father. A crazy alter ego that has violent and misogynistic thoughts on every album. On this song Eminem forces Rihanna to sing the role of her victimhood in a way that soon may become more of a verb more than her own name. The archetype of a triumphant and Glamorous Survivor. “Tougher than a lion.. no pain is forever, Yep you know this.” The one we all want to be once the bruises (if there are physical bruises) heal. “She Rihannaed through that situation..” I just heard one of my ex boyfriends’ names being used as a verb by way of another boyfriend I am attempting to ex out…”I Jimmyed that relationship so I could stay at her house another week.” he said. (which means he freeloaded rent and board off of a girl he was dating in exchange for mediocre relationship moments). Ah, the oh so familiar financial abuser that too many “independent women” seem to pair up with. I think Ne-Yo wrote that song for those guys, rather than as a fucking compliment to any women. It was dedicated to all the free loading men that Beyonce and Destiny’s Child in Pay My Bills talk about..
I’m not sure why the boyfriends that I started to get after 22 became tumultuous. (GREEK CHORUS: Because you became a sex worker, LOL! LOL!) I’m not sure why after being single for 9 years did I fall in love with someone who was so similar in both beautiful and fucked up ways as this other first love of mine who was a closet heroin user who i spent 10 months with in the Mission District of San Francisco trying to heal, love and mentor when I was 23. Different illnesses and issues, different people, same manic cycle, similar beautful lies… I hear myself in Rihanna’s voice as she talks so lovingly about Chris Brown and his future. She wants him to just “grow up and learn from this experience.” She still loves him. Love doesn’t go away right away. she says and I know this so well. An abuser is often the adult victim of child abuse or assault and the other partner often feels sorry for that little boy inside the man that lashes out at her while she tries to mother him. Repeating the cycle of the abuse between the childs parents and the tension between the abused mother and son.
I wasn’t beat up and left in a car before I was supposed to attend the Grammy’s but I’ve been deeply entrenched in other forms of relationship violence almost all of the relationships that I’ve had for the last 10 years. I would throw ‘benign’ objects (like a bag of fast food, a large soda; separate occasions) at one of my ex boyfriends to get his attention and wipe the stupid blank look off his face when I told him to get a job and pay some rent, for instance. I’ve had another someone I was in love with threaten by text message to do a drive by on my house and set my kar on fire…I told him if he was going to do that he should be the one to pull the trigger [so I could look in his eyes while I died for “love.”] but I knew it wasn’t a serious threat, it was a twisted thought from a very lost person.
I never thought he would do it, but the fact that I have, like Rihanna heard what it sounds like when this person that you think that you are in love with tells you that they are going to kill you [if you stop loving them].
* * * * * * * * * *
I was the one who demanded that Jimmy and I go to counseling together but soon realized that because I was the one instigated physical violence, I was therefore the ‘abuser’ and they wouldn’t see us together as a couple while ‘physical abuse’ was occurring in the relationship. So I quickly learned to control my physical reactions and started to use my voice and just scream my frustrations at him, which did not come out as words but aimed to be a vocal assault of some sort to get him to stop his behavior and see that I was becoming enraged. One time I remember gesturing punches towards his face that were controlled enough to not touch his face but show that I wanted to physically assault him because I was so angry. Things got better over time. We learned how to work better with each other. But I was unhappy for 8 months having this roomate that I didn’t want and couldn’t seem to get rid of before I finally called the cops on him. One day, he decided to get something and he wouldn’t stop calling and knocking on the front door when he arrived uninvited. I was trying to create a new space boundary since he had finally left my house. He had finally packed up his stuff to move out after pleading with him for months to leave. but he was back on a day that we weren’t scheduled to hang out and I didn’t feel like letting him in or answering his phone calls. I have 3 phones and a front door and he was blowing up all of them. In a panic I called 911 and they arrived after almost 40 minutes and 2 calls. I didn’t really feel that he would hurt me, but I had just been pushed to the point of police intervention by this guy after months of warning him that I would do exactly what I ended up doing. I asked his parents for help with the situation and they shook their heads and told me to call the cops and that I allowed this to continue and they couldn’t help him because he was an adult.
I firmly believed that if someone is knocking on your front door and they won’t go away that you have a right to call the police to ask them to go away. “Are you still in a relationship with this guy?” officer 1 asked.
“yes.” I said, “but he is not supposed to be here right now. I want him to leave and he won’t.” I had told him that we would stay together in a relationship but he would agree to move out, and I believed that we really were going to be able to do this.
“We don’t police people’s relationships ma’am.” officer 2 said. “someone has to go to jail nowadays, people’s lives are changed because of these calls.” It was a hard call because it wasn’t exactly a DV related 911 call, but it was. I don’t remember how I finished my conversation with them to close the door, but I remember seeing him in the back of the car in cuffs while they searched his car and crying at the sight of what I had just done. I was on the phone with my therapist while looking out the window. That was the last time I saw him. He didn’t return to my house, nor did he return a suitcase and laptop that I had basically let him use during the duration of our relationship just to add insult to injury. He was pissed I called the cops on him so he decided to keep $600 worth of my stuff.
It all occured when i was brand new to Facebook last year. The open ended “What’s on your mind?” was too much of an open space for me to not pour out what was happening from my desktop to reality. I Facebooked it while it was happening without caring about other people’s triggers or discomfort. “If you call the cops on your man, does that mean the relationship is over?” and someone’s response was,” no because when he gets out its gonna be the best sex you ever had and then some!” it made me laugh. you somehow have to find light with these things, and there’s no one better than the victims themselves to make a joke out of a serious matter. I’m just going to call the abusers the victims too because even punching the drywall beside someone’s face is a sign of your victimhood. It is abusive. It is a sign that you are unable to control your anger. You are a victim of your rage and your demons. Your lust when you end up having that make up sex. Your weaknesses when you go back to them. But I have learned so much with every fight that I have endured, and I can truly say that I can fight stronger and better and not allow myself to retaliate and stoop to the level that would lead us into that raging bullfight that is in the video which ends up in unprotected drunk sex spawning a devil unplanned retarded baby. At some point you learn not to take it there, and for some people, they NEVER LEARN. “If he EVER lays a hand on me,” the high school girl feminist proclaims,”I’M LEAVING.” But may she learn that it is never that clean and easy and more often than not, they DON’T hit you with their hands to cause the most abuse.
Eminem’s recent video truly reveals the complexity of relationship violence from what seems like a young addicts perspective. It is a paradigm I am too familiar with having fallen in love with people with addictions OR who might as well be drug addicts because they act that way anyway without drugs. Yes, we still live in a sexist patriarchal world but the reality of domestic violence has changed since the Battered wife image of the 80’s and 90s that Barbara Walters is still polishing the framework for. Eminem’s video and lyrics reveal that complexity. He has a phone number on his hand that she sees. She gets so raging mad that she SPITS in his face while he holds her down. I realize mostly that in these situation that there is ALWAYS a back and forth. He says something. She says something worse. He does something to spite her. She does something manipulative and vindictive to spite him. Sleeps with a co-worker or best friend. Texting a working girl in front of your girlfriend because you know that they will call back or text to get you into the fight that you secretly ask for. This is how Rihanna and Chris started brawling. Over another woman’s text message. Psychological WARFARE. Another woman’s voice, even if she is no real threat but a created threat by a manipulative and demented lover. This is how the 21 year olds girlfriend found out about me and I about her. I called his phone and she answered. this is how she got my phone number to harass me. Dirty, grimy immature antics made only from the insane minds of people so enraptured in the madness of their own NON LOVE that they can’t stop to think about what they are actually doing. Some of them, who were born and raised in abuse need to be told better.
“You DON’T say those things to someone that you JUST SAID that you LOVE.”
“SPEAK TO ME LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE.” (I just saw a book with this title on this topic at the bookstore)
and this really IS a new concept to them. One that they can learn if you can teach them fast enough (and they are willing to learn).
I don’t let lovers or friends make a joke out of me as a regular habit. Hard love and cruel jokes= humiliation to me. I grew up as the youngest child and black sheep and am still treated like a 2nd class citizen in some ways by some of my family so I will not tolerate a relationship where I feel like someone’s little sister. A little humor is healthy, but constant and subtle degradation through mockery, passive agressive comments, passive aggressive jealousy, is NOT healthy for your lovers, partners or children, it adds up and spills over like a symbollic cup of violence disguised as a slow poison like the syrup of sweet Coca Cola.
I love the scene in the Eminem video where the two are sitting in the aftermath of their own destruction bonding on the light energy of their broken and dysfunctional love. I’ve felt that glowing energy between myself and the most beautiful and worst liars that I have ever loved. I believed that our love was the only true thing about the mess we were in. “Love is blind.” Rihanna says.”FUCK LOVE. Look at your situation from the 3rd person and see it for what it really is.” Great advice. Now applying it to your own life is the harder part. Only someone whose experienced a violent love like hers could even understand that love energy can exist and glow even in the ugliest and most brutal relationships sometimes. Everyone else is probably so judgmental. The abusers that I have known (physical, verbal, finnancial, chemical) have all had a magical romantic gift, charming and endearing a promise of a perfect love that lasts for a few days, a few sweet emails, until BOOM. explosion. and it always repeats. The 21 year old that I had blogged about before that was cheating on his girlfriend to have an affair with me was an abuser. I could sense it. I was part of his abuse, I was the other woman, and at first I was laughing about it. She was psycho and irritating and perhaps I have gained such a hard skin about insults via text message because I ignored so many of hers. This 21 year olds cock WAS magical and magnetic though. I do remember the magnetic power I had to turn away from with all my might. This is coming from someone who is totally not dick centered, not entirely attracted to genitalia but I knew a good thing when I felt it. It was quite possibly the best dick I’ve could remember having, but I BROKE LOOSE FROM IT without much damage!
EVERYONE has a QUICK solution to it and an opinion. No one understands but those that are in it that it is a longer process than we would often like it to be, but “just getting up and leaving” is sometimes just not a reality for most of us. Rihanna said she went back 8 or 9 times. The abused and hurt child desperately needs to have the abuser apologize and caress their wounds and tell them that they did not mean to do the things that they did.
What are your boundaries and how long will YOU let someone go before you pull out the stops on your relationship?
Has anyone ever stolen money from you? Spit in your face? Punched a wall beside your head? Crashed or smashed your car? Used a traumatic part of your past as a verbal assault during a fight? threaten to call your probation officer with lies about you? “joked” about cutting off your dick if you cheat?
Snoop Dogg has a song about the manipulation that goes on with the new DV laws called, “First one gets to the phone, the other one’s going to jail..” The urban reality of relationship violence, hip hop, people of color and probation officers is sung about in a humorous way..A LOT of the Black and Brown community is on probation or in jail or prison so this form of institutionalized racism helps to use domestic violence to further tear families and relationships apart. Or does it help to protect the victims by giving them ammunition to shoot back at their abusers?
Eminem’s video reveals well the cycle of violence told through the push and pull and the back and forth of the whole thing. I know for some reason that I am a red hot magnet for men and women with major trauma issues because I have my own and that often leads to the kind of relationships where people have to work out through acting out until they understand how to communicate in all the ways that they lacked as a child. I am better now because I’ve burned in those bedrooms. I think I know how to walk away. I just wonder why no matter how far I walk I seem to keep encountering these classic romantic turned abusive characters that are out of these pop stars music videos. Is it because I am so fucked up and labeled a wreck myself that I just can’t stay away from them, or could it be that relationship violence is more common that those of us that are so judgmental would like to admit. Are YOU guilty?
An agency no show had brought me to the Wall Street area of Manhattan, a business hotel that had, like most other financial districts nothing else going for it at night except suits in bars and ladies of the night like myself seeking out their wallets. This would have been my 3rd call of the week, which for me was a lot as this national agency usually only booked me on 3 calls a month while I was in LA. If they were able to keep me this busy in New York City, I reasoned that I would definitely be able to relocate to the big apple and take a bite. I had gotten one indy call off of backpage as well and was already doing better than I had even expected. I had left LA with only about $300 in my pocket with a rent bill upcoming that would either be able to be paid or put off upon my return home. This is how I travel and work usually. I don’t know how it comes together, but somehow I make it work until I get back home to LA to grind out the losses. I knew that I would have friends to crash with, about $100 on my one credit card and the emergency plan was to ‘gold dig’, bar cruise and ‘internet street walk’ (find free internet posting opps to try to hustle a little, and I do mean a little (never more than $100 at a time) money for survival cash which resembled what I was doing that night I was in the area. I had to do this in Miami a couple of years back when I extended my trip there after a harm reduction conference to try my luck working there. Yes, I did place an Eros traveling ad and it did absolutely NOTHING for me. So what is the back up plan when you live on cash and have expended all of your emergency credit card money (which for the last 2 years has been at an available credit of less than $300 at any given time since I did my own personal bailout on all my credit card debt).
My landlord was used to my rent being late. Sometimes, I’d pay the $50 late fee and other times I’d just quietly ignore it and wait to see if they said anything about it, but often they never did. I’d lived in the same apartment in South Central LA now for about 5 years this October and even though I loved how big, sunny and all to myself it was I had been feeling like leaving LA for somewhere with more opportunities for a radical sex worker artist like myself to get her big break. I left San Francisco for LA for growth opportunities and the challenge of the huge city that LA indeed is. In these 5 years I did manage to get a Masters Degree from UCLA, teach and triumph in some of the roughest student populations and become the overworked and unpaid director/founder of the LA chapter of SWOP, which is pretty much not active anymore after I burnt out and stepped down last year. I also managed to be robbed for the first time as a sex worker, arrested and jailed for my first time in LA and then 6 months ago, robbed for the second time as a sex worker in my own house; this time using the event to be the catalyst for my current obsession with Israeli martial arts, yoga and boxing training.
Los Angeles was the city where I became a full fledged full service escort. (My second hymen had been broken!) Los Angeles was the place where through being an agency hustler, I found a way to make more money in sex work than I had made since I was a stripper in San Francisco. It is through the money (which is really not a lot considering what people think of as “a lot” in escort income but for someone who has been black balled from stripping in most clubs because of the legal battles I fought and won from former Strip Club employers) It was, and is more than enough for me to live comfortably alone with a 2005 car that I make payments on. Agency work keeps me stuck in LA working from 10pm-6am and driving up to 150 miles a night all around the county. The agency hustle is about posting a fake beauty standard photo that a guy calls and upselling for additional money for additional services after collecting the “show fee” of $250-300 which, little to the knowledge of the unlucky trick literally only gets him a girl to “show” up for the fee. Agency girls only make 50% of the show fee at most (which is my cut of my higher end, national VIP agency) and as little as 20% (!!) or the show fee for my lower end craigslist and weekly paper advertising agency. (They buy out the entire last two pages of the LA Weekly with fake ads and fake pics, and spend $1000s per week to keep us more than busy during the 10 hour on call shift. You can start at 8pm but I don’t).
LA is full of wanna be stars in the making like me, but unlike me they are “real” actresses who are afraid to get fully naked in a mainstream film shoot without a tan colored bra and panty set so that they are not misconstrued as being an actress who ends up wayward and strung out in Porn Valley, Hollywood career gone and ruined just because a nipple was flashed at the proverbial half time show of their lives. I got cast in a talk show that featured myself and an up and coming comedian who were supposed to pretend to be a couple and talk about our fabricated sex lives. I told Mr. Funnyguy that I was a prostitute and he freaked out. He told me that he couldn’t do the shoot because he was afraid that it would ruin his career! Within 10-15 minutes of picking him up from his place, I was dropping him back off in his Hollywood apartment because he didn’t think that an unpaid role in a TV pilot would be worth “ruining his reputation” (as a comic? Was he Bill Cosby?) Welcome to LA LA land where you can be a Pussycat Doll but never dare being a singing prostitute. Nor can you be the fake girlfriend of some stupid comedian in a TV show that probably wasn’t even going to see the light of broadcast. A few months back, in my first and only experience at a Sunset Blvd comedy club I was totally mortified by how hookers, Asians, faggots and transgenders were used as “comic” relief. I’m sure Mr.Funnyguy was one of those comics who would rather degrade me through some joke on stage about me and my people than do himself the honor of pretending to be my boyfriend on TV.
I had found a brightly lit sex toy/adult magazine shop in downtown Manhattan and stopped in to buy some lube which had just run out in my work bag. The African clerk hit on me, but I told him I would only do him if he had enough money upon which he took no offense that I had priced him out and we had a friendly enough conversation about Jenna Jameson’s new deluxe sex toy for $135, which he ran to get batteries for just to demonstrate in the store for me. Since first becoming a sex worker 13 years ago, this interaction between strangers who clearly were sizing me up as a piece of meat, I would castrate them instantly by propositioning THEM firmly and flirtatiously, returning their gaze like a seasoned pro that I am. A counter attack from the supposed prey comes as a surprise to the average heterosexual male. They look at me and I look back at them. They hit on me and I quote them a price. Whore power in action. They usually go away or stop looking at me after that. Problem solved.
As I was leaving I passed by a very good looking white guy in his late 20s who had just gone next door to use the ATM at the adult store.
“Hi there..” I said seeking this one for a free vacation fling and not seeing him as a client. He was pretty hot to me. A pretty good find for bumping into someone at the ATM of a sex shop. (Red Flag?) I follow him into the strip bar called Pussycat Bar and it’s a go go stage of topless strippers who are 10 feet away from the customers at the bar, separated by the bar staff. Bullshitty strip club standards according to most patrons (and dancers actually). I was killing time doing nothing in Manhattan, waiting for the next call, trying to get laid, scanning the club for potential clients. Me and Mr. Ad Agency (I’ll name him) have a round of drinks. I even pay for the first round, with the verbal agreement that he would do the next round. (Red Flag #2? WTF am I doing buying a GUY drinks??) I tell him that I used to strip in my 20s, and do my usual demand of dollar bills from him so I could try to tip hot girls in their cleavage. This is what I always do at stripclubs. No such thing could occur at this place because the distance between the bar and the stage. I dare not spend my OWN money to pay other sex workers whenever possible, and if I can’t do this, then I’d prefer not to go to a stripclub because there is NOTHING worse than someone who watches but doesn’t TIP. The only way to really tip the dancers was to make dollar bill balls and throw them at them. I felt like this was disrespectful but whatever, it’s all cash counted up at the end of the shift. The girls laid on the stage motionless and non chalant until you tipped them at least $1. It sooo reminded me of my days as a stripper at the Crazy Horse in San Francisco. It’s a great thing to work at a club that allows the dancers to be demanding on the patrons and not force them to be all customer oriented when there is no reward for them. At the club where I spent the most time, if no one was tipping we were allowed to lay without dancing on our sides, bang our fists on the stage, yell at customers who dared to sit at the stage, order them to sit somewhere else and more! The stripper is always RIGHT motherfucker. Fuck YOU. Pay me. LOL. Those were good days at the Crazy Horse..The club had mostly young women of color with attitude and I loved working there! Agency escorting carries a lot of that same female superiority complex, which is why when people talk about sex workers as powerless victims, many of us know from experience that it really depends on the stage and the setting. Many times, the opposite is true. It must be why the industry attracts so many wounded women who can finally revel in the power that was rightfully theirs to celebrate in the first place. I suppose I choose work that embodies this power exchange on purpose, it has a certain story because I am replaying my own story. I owe much of my healing and strength to being able to safely play out scenes, set strict boundaries, play with the edge of these boundaries and “date” hundreds of anonymous men to practice my spellbinding powers and/or verbal defense/survival skills on.
I roll up a couple of ones and throw them at the girls. They snap into autopilot dance. I was alone in Manhattan, just took the subway to Wall Street for a no show looking for adventure and the guy sitting next to me was really hot. This was better than any internet offers I’d gotten on adultfriendfinder so far since updating my profile to Brooklyn where I was staying. I love traveling single and finding adventures. I have never watched an episode of Sex and the City, but I feel like I just LIVE it everyday so I don’t need vicarious adventures through television and movie characters. If I don’t get paid to do it as an escort, I’ll find what I want and need out there usually. Me and Mr.Ad Agency continue to heavily flirt, my leg is between his leg and he’s already nearly started making out with me. My Hennessey cocktail is starting to channel my inner Tupac (which gives me power to do anything Tupac Shakur excelled in: getting laid, being on stage, dropping knowledge, getting thugged out if necessary, etc). I told Mr.Ad Agency that I used to strip after he said,”I really love the fact that you JUST met me at the ATM outside and 5 minutes later you are sitting here having a drink with me at a titty bar.” He was impressed but it was that very whore power that was propelling me through my life journey for the last 12 years. I didn’t know how to operate under any other persona even if I tried. We know that most men want the qualities that we have but either don’t want to pay for them outright or feel offended that they are the ones being hunted for once. Luckily for the purposes of the night, no other façade was necessary, or so I thought.
One drink is quickly downed and I’m ready to go home with dude hoping he has a nice bed and an impressive downtown loft somewhere so I could have a top grade getting laid in Manhattan experience. I expected no less from this guy for some reason. He explains to me that he has some upscale NBA golf tournament to wake up for. “Hmm,” I said. “If I was the kind of girl who cared about basketball, I might be trying to suck your dick just so I could come with you tomorrow.” I said.
“Well, I couldn’t get you into the event, but I DO like the idea of you sucking my dick.” He said getting closer to me.
“Ha.” I said. “I BET you do!” I said and backed away from him teasingly. I was ready to go. Stripclubs were pretty boring to me after about an hour, unless I was being fed money by some client who was paying me to be there. Then and only then could it be fun for me! I was on a vacation budget AND a mission to get laid which is NOT a formula for giving my money to other sex workers in New York while I was here. Perhaps if I was in Peru or Cuba or Thailand…but NOT New York City. If any sex worker was going to cash in on any situation in this city tonight, it was supposed to be ME. Looking at the dancers laying too comfortably frustrated with the non tipping morons in the bar it didn’t look too hopeful for these girls tonight. Mr. Ad Agency says he is ready to leave and catch a cab home. He is still adamant about leaving alone while still flirting and holding me close. I decide to try to use more of my whore power to get him to take me home and show me a good time. We walk out of the Pussycat Bar together and find a storefront where we can sit for a minute. I am utterly confused as to why he is still resisting me. He has roommates, he has to get up early..meanwhile he is steady eminating sexual energy, flirting with and touching me as if to say,’yes.” I am about to give up, as I know that cabs are plentiful in downtown Manhattan so it would be only 90 seconds before Mr.Ad Agency would be in a cab and gone from my life. During the casual stroll outside, I think that I told him that I was an escort now and how much better and easier I thought that was than stripclub stripping. Apparently, if I didn’t have a chance before I had already sealed my own fate. “Most men place an significant difference between a woman who is a stripper and a woman who is a prostitute.” my lawyer friend/high school boyfriend advised me. This was something that I knew, but I kept getting rude reminders of with incidents like the above. Most WOMEN see that seem difference too, especially a lot of strippers! I was one of those whore-aphobic stripper not prostitutes for years! I understood the significant difference only too well but in the last 7 years I seeked to break down the walls of hierarchy between sex workers by being matter of fact and non chalant about what I did to people who may not have expected it.
“okay, let’s just go over here and make out then..”I said motioning towards a wall still trying to work him. I was stooping lower and lower now.
He is still close to me and smiles with a chuckle. “I don’t make out with hookers.” A large ax has just cut straight from my shoulder blade into my heart and stayed embedded there gushing blood and still pumping around the wound. “But I can kiss your neck…and your ears.” He said trying to get close to my ears. I pulled away in disbelief. His lines were the same lines that I gave clients. I had put my purse down in preparation of pushing him up against the wall with my hips pressed into his, my full lips wrapping themselves around his—I reached down to grab it without saying a single word and turned and walked away from him at that moment. My heart still bleeding as I walked away I heard him call my name but he didn’t try too hard as I didn’t hear any footsteps following me or an apology (of course not). What a fucking moron. Didn’t he know that I was one of those hookers who ALMOST NEVER kissed clients in order to create an intimacy barrier (and spare me from tasting bad breath and dirty teeth of druggies) . If I WAS kissing you, you were privileged and special enough to experience something that so many get so close to having but never even touch? . If you are my client and I KISS you then you are no longer my client. Did he know that if I was kissing him or asking to make out with him that I CEASED TO BE A HOOKER IN MY EYES and that kisses to me seal the idea THAT WE TWO LOVERS ARE GREATER THAN THE EQUATION OF HOOKER AND CLIENT and that my kisses were the greatest gift of intimacy, connection, emotional vulnerability that so many men are unable to attain. NO. He did NOT know. Nor would he ever know. He was a total moron and I did not need to waste even another sentence in his company. I walked straight back into the titty bar bathroom to do a couple of lines of coke. Always the perfect remedy to numb my wounded heart. I loved cocaine for this purpose recently. 2 advil for the bruised ego! I didn’t often need to use it like this, however. I don’t usually let people get to me like that, but when I travel I am more vulnerable because I am constantly seeking and taking chances on an adventure to make new connections quickly.
When I got back from a New York trip that was completely fruitless in any romantic/sexual ways (although I definitely met with, flirted with and talked on the phone with lots of potentials) I REALLY wanted to kiss someone. I was so ready to rekindle my new relationship with my driver turned lover in LA. When our faces are close together a spark is lit and a magnetic energy starts from our mouths radiating through our entire bodies right down through at LEAST 6 out of 7 of my CHAKRAS. His kisses are like miniature journeys through a rollercoaster of BLISS, which are emotional, sexual, spiritual, electric and I imagine his tongue is his cock which penetrates me like an arrow of PURE LOVE. When he is done with me I am completely drained and knocked out, breathless, helpless, CAPTIVE. As a matter of fact, my baby LOVES hookers but I know in my heart that throbs against his when he kisses me deep that he is not thinking about what I do or how I make my money. That is the last thing on both of our minds during our love exchanges.
After he had picked me up from the airport, we had settled into my living room and he was in my office chair leaning his head back awaiting my mouth on his for the first time in 10 days. His face was soft from a new facial and he had made himself look clean and shaven for my return home. The last few kisses we shared marked the beginning of our relationship and was how we told each other we were no longer escort and driver to each other. The homecoming from New York included this important reunion kiss. His face is always so full of loving me when we kiss. I open my eyes to take this in while our tongues are wrestling playfully with each other especially so I can witness his love being transferred between us. I feel and see him love me as deep as he knows how and it is that which makes me burn hotter for him every time I witness this. Thank God that motherfucker didn’t kiss hookers. I have someone at home who does, and he has a hooker who is CRAZY for his kisses.
i think this needs to be a song…for all my POS people everywhere!
Will it bring us closer or will it be how I lose you?
Forgive me, I still like to believe it doesn’t exist
that I can love you like everyone else
I was so scared to break it to you after we kissed
please just hold me closer
the last person tried to use it to put me down
said if they knew they would never stick around
it damaged my being and my whole
“Keep Spreading the Love” he said.
cutting my soul.
It’s more complicated than you think
you ask me to confess
I feel my heart sink
I walk like you, I talk like you, I dream like you, I fuck like you..I wanna fuck like you…I want to fuck you.
NO ONE WILL EVER WANT TO LOVE YOU
You are only damaged goods
you can pass at the party but you have a secret you should be ashamed of..
Or so they say
guys are dogs and women lie so lets just assume so it’s no surprise
I just want you to see me for me
not create an indentity out of whether or not I have an STD
I hope to God you just don’t give a damn
and we can swallow each toher whole and you can love me for who I am…