Life of A Prostitute: Every Day Is A New Hell

“Life of a Prostitute: Every Day Is A New Hell”

 

           Was the fall from grace difficult? It happened in only a matter of monthes, it seemed, but I guess it began before that. I’m 18 years old…and I’m a prostitute. A working girl. An escort. A whore. To society, I am worthless, and to myself, I’m pathetic. I would say it’s not fair to judge me, but it is. I deserve it. I don’t think I fully knew what I was getting into when this began. I mean, I was 17. It began when I dropped out of high school. Then I started drinking. Then I got thrown out of my house. Then two girls told me about a site called ‘Back Page” and tried to make me work for them. And then, on my own, I became what I am now. I hate myself for it-who wouldn’t?

 

 I don’t do drugs- I’ve tried them, sure, but never ended up getting into that scene. I drink in moderation, and that’s basically it. I don’t do it for the drugs. I do it because it pays for me and my boyfriend to have a place to stay, food, to take care of our pets, to buy shampoo and toilet paper, to have money to go out every now and then. I loan money a lot too, when I have the extra. I’ve never tried to hide what I am- my boyfriend may keep it a secret, but all my friends and family know the truth. I’m not proud of it but I’m aware that this is my life now. I don’t really know how to get out- I’ve applied to so many part time minimum wage jobs, and never heard back. I don’t have a car, I don’t have a high school diploma, I don’t have any work experience…why would anyone hire me? The economy is bad, and even people with full college degrees have trouble finding jobs. I get nagged on about it exponentially,but the point is, I do search. But let’s be realistic- what other job could I get that pays between 140-200 for an hour? That’s…a lot of money. I’m still not used to carrying that much cash. If I worked more, I’d be set, but I only do 1-4 clients a day, and only a coupleof days a week…sometimes,I have plenty of money, but other weeks, I’m on a Ramen noodle every night budget.

 

My boyfriend may hate what I do, but let’s face it- I pay for his cigarettes, his groceries, his rent, his computer, his clothes, date nights…he doesn’t have to work. I love him, and I believe he loves me, but everyone who knows us just calls him a ‘pimp.’ I’ve met pimps though, and He just doesn’t fall into that catergory. I don’t force him to try to find a job, and I rarely bring it up. I wouldn’t want to rely on him anyway. I like to know I can be independent, stand alone if I ever have to. Previously, I dated a guy for two years who paid for everything for me…and in the end, I think I just used him, and now I feel like my love was bought. I don’t want to be a gold digger. Then again…I didn’t want to be a whore, either.

 

Last year, I got arrested and spent nine days in jail. They took my boyfriend too, and it was terrifying. I don’t do outcalls, but four cops showed up at the door of my hotel room, and had plenty of evidence. I went ahead and pled guilty- no lawyer, no bail, nothing. It’s on my record, and it’s very damning. People google my name, and immediantly spot my mugshot. The stigma follows me, stalking me. Jail is the most awful place in the world, and I spend every single day being terrified of going back. It made me fear the police, even though I know they aren’t all bad, that most do genuinely try to help others. I would rather be miserable and free than locked in a cell with a bunch of mean, mocking females and condescending correctional officers. I know my profession is illegal, and I understand fully why it is so. It’s not safe, not moral, can’t be taxed, and leads to high drug use and exploitation of minors. I should nhave quit after my arrest. I probably could have, easier then than any other time since. But somehow, here I am, still humilating myself for older men.

 

I  almost never orgasm for them. When I have, accidently, I’ve cried for a long time after, and felt very sickened by myself. Because, no matter who the client is, I don’t enjoy what I do. Yes, I have some whom I consider friends, who I respect- but I am replused by one and all. It really decreases my sex drive…I don’t enjoy sex the way I once did, and rarely do it for my own pleasure. I have all these guys I don’t even know groping my breasts, tongue kissing me, sweating and panting on top of me…where’s the appeal in that? Some women can handle it…I become an emotional wreck. Some experiences are worse than others. I always take hot bubble baths after every single customer, and try hard to surpress the memories. I see why so many prostitutes are addicted to Class A drugs. How else can you cope? Drinking has always alleviating the pain…but my boyfriend is the one who limited that, who took the outlet away as much as possible, so I wouldn’t just be a drunken mess. What kind of logic is it, to allow me to whore myself out but not let me numb the shame? I’m not just selling my body- everyone who comes by leaves me more jaded, takes a speck of joy out of my soul.

 

One day, I hope to get my GED, go to college, work a job I can actually respect myself for. But I’ll always be branded and scarred by this. It never goes away. Being a prostitute is only glamourous on the big screen. The reality is degradation and misery, a sick vile job that endangers one’s life in so many painful ways. I would never let anyone I cared about go down this path…I would not advise you to do so, either. It can only end in destruction and self loathing. This isn’t a life- this is my own personal Hell.