The Beauty In Her Darkness: A Story of Addiction

The Beauty In Her Darkness: A Story of Addiction.

The Truth About Prostitution: How Terrible Is It?

 

Hollywood movies and popular media sometimes glamorized the concept of prostitution. It can make it seem empowering, simple, and like an easy path to wealth. But the truth is, prostituion is an ugly, vulgar, humilating job that no woman should have to be subjected to. No one in their right mind would willingly want to do it. There’s a reason 95% of streetwalkers are addicted to Class A drugs- it’s to get out of their heads and to dull the shame from what they’re having to do. True, most of them do have a choice, other than young girls who are pimped out by charismatic older guys, but once you are in the buisness, it seems impossible to break free. It’s a fact that one makes quite a bit more money than they would at a normal, minimum wage job, but is it worth it?

 

            First of all, it does not equal job security. Because one day, inevitably, you will be old, faded, used up…good looks don’t last forever. It’s the young, pretty girls who make great money, not the overweight or graying or strung out. Sorry, but you know I’m right. What if somehow you have an accident and end up paralyzed, blind, or very physichally scarred? What then? You won’t even be able to make enough to pay your hospital bills, much less to live on. You won’t get unemployment or any kind of compensation for your loss. No matter how beautiful or physichally fit you are, you will not be guaranteed a job. Don’t make a career out of something so superficial. They say men will screw anything…but many of the men I know are picky, choosy. They don’t want anyone diseased, or anyone unattractive. You can start out young, but the game is up by the time your forty, earlier for most. There is no stability in life as a prostitute.

 

            It’s degrading. There is nothing more humilating than catering to a bunch of older men with strange fetishes or young guys who think they’re hot shit and expect special treatment. You will have to leave your comfort zone. As if it’s not bad enough to be sleeping with people you aren’t attracted to, you’ll have to do things you would never otherwise do, just because you need the cash. You’ll learn to deal with it- anal, swallowing, foot fetishes, creampies, licking anuses- they’ll all happen eventually, whether you try to enforce your boundaries or not. You can say you’ll never do anything so vile, but when you really need the money one day…well, who’s to say you won’t give in? You’ll feel shame and despair over the loss of your dignity, and hardly be able to look at your reflection anymore. You’ll feel used and abused, sick at heart with the knowledge at what you have become. These men don’t care about you. They barely know you. You’re basically just a blow up doll to them, and your feelings are generally not their concern. Even if you like sex, even if you’re not picky about your sexual partners, you will come to hate what you do.

 

            People seem to forget that not only is it illegal, cops take prostituion very seriously in most places. You can have to pay heavy fines or do stints in jail, or even prison. And it will be on your record for everyone to see, which makes it harder to find another job later. It’s easy to get busted. All it takes is you catching the cops attention, and they’ll wait till you slip up. Maybe it is just a misdemeanor in most places, but do you really want to go to jail? With today’s internet, your mugshot can be found easily on a google search. Think about future relationships and friendships that will be affected by the knowledge that you were once a working girl. Even if you don’t get caught, you are breaking the law and may reap the consequences. Prostitution is illegal for many good reasons- it’s dangerous, it’s not taxable, it’s a quick way to spread STDs, it’s immoral, and many girls get forced into it by human trafficking and sex slavery.

 

            Society as a whole will judge you. They will cast their frosty gaze upon you and exile you. No, people, for the most part, do NOT understand why you sold your body. Prostitutes suffer a great deal of hatred and dislike for their proffession. Think of the wives and girlfriends of the men that go see these girls. How hurt they are when they find out. Would you want someone you love paying someone else for ‘companionship’? And, if you work as a prostitute, it makes your own personal relationships very hard. There’s two types of men who date hookers- pimps, and guys who hope they can get past it and change her. Most of these relationships are not lasting, loving relationships. Because, guys will not understand. They will be jealous that other people are sleeping with you, day after day. Your family will likely disown you, or at the very least criticize every choice you make. People do not look well on prostitution. It’s the oldest profession…and the most terrible.

 

            The biggest reasons are obvious- risk of STDs and pregnancy. Both are always possible, no matter how careful one tries to be. AIDS, Chlamydia, Herpes, Syphillis, HPV…don’t let it happen to you. It’s embarressing, and life threatening, to catch a sexually transmitted disease. There are so many out there, and 40% of prostitutes are already infected. As for pregnancy…how would you know who the father was? How would you raise a baby in that envirorment?What if you gave your child HIV? It would be cruel no matter what the outcome was. No child wants to know their mother was a whore.

 

            All that being said…and I’m sure it wasn’t particularly well written, I’ll admit…I just hope young girls, really anyone, even men, think before letting themselves end up posting on backpage or working the streets. It doesn’t end happily. I’m 18, and I do work as a prostitute, and have for the past year. I hate it, I’m ashamed, and obviously, I realize it was a poor decision. Think before you end up like me, or like the millions of people already living this way. And I want others to know the truth about what this life is like, all the risks and downsides. “Easy money” doesn’t equate to “easy life.”

http://www.lapalomatreatment.com/blog/prostitution-and-drugs-go-hand-in-hand/

http://r-wareness.blogspot.com/2012/08/95-of-women-in-street-prostitution-are.html

        

Life of A Prostitute: Every Day Is A New Hell

TheVoiceOfTeenageProstitution

“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…

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The Beauty In Her Darkness: A Story of Addiction

The Beauty in Her Darkness: A Story of Addiction

 

            I barely knew Fallon, but something about her has always touched my heart. Maybe it’s because of that underlying sadness hiding in her hazel eyes…maybe it’s the realization that me and her have a million things in common. I don’t know if we were ever really friends. They say she doesn’t have real friends, just people she uses, for her nefarious purposes, but I’ve never believed she was that manipulative. I only met her a few times, for fairly brief periods, and her story is not mine to tell, but this is what I know of that pretty, frail girl I met last year…

 

            My best friend was the reason we met. She had recently started college and Fallon was one of the new friends she met in her Culinary class. My best friend was also my worst enemy at times, and she hadn’t had many friends besides me in high school, but I was glad she had met someone new. Fallon was extremely thin- thinner than me, despite my bulimia, and she had flawless alabaster skin and hazel eyes behind wiry glasses. Her dark mahogony hair was cut short, in a pixie cut, with a long ponytail in the back, and I couldn’t held admiring the uniqueness of the style even if I secretly wished she would grow it out. Me and my boyfriend were living at a hotel, as we had been for a couple of monthes by then, and I had recently started working as a prostitute, a fact which my best friend had already informed Fallon of. I felt ashamed, and prayed that this pretty girl wouldn’t think less of me. I wanted her approval, and I wanted to be her friend also. We hung out a few times, with my BFF and my boyfriend, and she got me smoking weed, something I rarely did before. I was more of a drinker, at that time a very heavy one, and I was fairly intoxicated many of the times I saw her.

 

            Fallon had a good job, as a cashier at Petsmart, and was taking culinary classes at the technichal college. She had a boyfriend who obviously adored her and looked at her with pride in his eyes. Her grandparents paid for her to have her own trailer, and she had a nice car that they had also bought for her. One day she let our friend drive it, and it got wrecked, when me and my boyfriend were in the backseat, but her grandparents bought her an even better one, and no one was seriously harmed. Her life seemed pretty together…she was very intelligent, outgoing, sweet, and easy to get along with. She had one secret that not too many people knew; she was in love with a girl, Victoria, who lived a few states away, and she blushed and giggled whenever they were texting back and forth. She wasn’t really a lesbian, but she did say she was, more than once, and she would go on and on about Victoria, a fact that my friend and I were both slightly envious of. Fallon had tried many drugs, and smoked weed frequently, but I never got the impression that she was a junkie. She seemed so together…I would never have thought she could fall so hard.

 

            Fallon’s friendship with our mutual friend faded, after a few arguments and too much drama. Fallon wasn’t a giver of too many chances, and she had had it with some of the threats and lies she dealt with from her. But me and Fallon stayed friends and still spoke, and I developed a crush on her. She made out with me once, when we were at Ron Jons with a couple of her friends from work and my boyfriend, and I would have loved to take it farther, or at least to hold her, but she giggled after, and I knew she was mostly doing it for show. Fallon did whatever she felt like, whenever she felt like it, and she always had fun with every passing day. She was more alive than anyone I ever met.

 

            Unfortunately, I almost led her down a bad road, the one I was on- the road of a teenage prostitute, which is not what I wanted for her. I needed her help with a favor, and she went behind my back, and met up with a client of mine, and for a few weeks was in the business, sleeping with people for money, just like me. I knew she was better than that, and I felt guilty when she told me. I didn’t want to see her get used up and jaded. But she quit just as quickly as she started, right before she was supposed to work a call with me, and I didn’t hear from her for some monthes. I texted her, hoping and praying for a reply, but eventually gave up. Wherever she was, she wasn’t thinking of me, and there was no point in trying to reach her.

 

            Two monthes ago Fallon texted me. She needed me and my boyfriend to do her a favor- to buy a nasal decongestant from a pharmacy for her. Apparently, it’s an OTC medicine that people can only buy three times a month. Why? Because it’s used to cook chrystal meth. So since I didn’t have an ID, she needed my boyfriend’s. She had apparently already bought her amount for the month, and her boyfriend’s, and gone through other friends as well. I suppose I was pretty low on the list, having never been in her orbit much too begin with. Despite the feeling of being used, I talked my boyfriend into helping her. At first, I had no idea that the stuff we were getting for her was used to make meth. I personally had no idea how meth or any other drug was made, at least not at the time. I still have little knowledge about the process. Anyway, her and her new boyfriend came and picked us up and we got her the stuff she needed, and gave her some gas money. She looked thinner, withdrawn. Paler than before, with dark shadows under her eyes and highly dilated pupils. She showed me her thin arms, covered in scars and in track marks from shooting up. My heart jumped to my throat seeing the change in this beautiful girl. Upon talking to her more, I discovered she had quit her job at Petsmart, dropped out of college, and no longer received support from her grandparents. She had been in trouble with the law, for something, and she had lost many of her friends and the place she stayed. She was still bubbly and outgoing, but she was tweaked, constantly, and obviously far gone.

 

            I was torn- and have since remained such- because part of me wants to save her, hold her close, and help her get away from her addiction and from her drug dealing boyfriend who was clearly bad news and slightly crazy. The other part of me envied her, that she remained high, every day, far above all the problems and pain that the rest of us have to suffer. She offered to let me shoot up some, but I didn’t. But, it pains me to admit, the only reason I didn’t join her in her drug induced demise was because my own boyfriend forbade me doing so. I longed to feel whatever she was feeling, because even if it was fake, she seemed happy. Still, I know this road all too well. She isn’t the first friend to fall into that old familiar pattern of drug use. I saw her once more after that- her and her boyfriend came over, seemingly too hang out, but ended up doing the final processes of cooking meth in our bathroom, and then quickly left. I haven’t heard from her since, and I doubt I will. She was talking of leaving this town, her and him starting new somewhere else. But I’ll always wonder what demons haunted her so much that she would wander down such a dark road. I bet her grandparents are dissappointed. She had everything, and now…now what? They won’t stay together, or even if they do, it won’t be enough. But she’s beyond my help, soaring above me until she finally collapses.

 

            In my heart, Fallon has a place, even though I know so little about her. I’ll always remember the taste of her kiss, and the way she sings along to the radio in her car, loudly, not caring how she sounds. She’s scattered, all over the place, out of control, possibly a little crazy…but she’s so beautiful to me. If she ever needs a friend, I hope she knows I’ll be here. Waiting patiently.

The Whore’s Boyfriend: Our Dysfunctional Relationship

The Whore’s Boyfriend: Our Dysfunctional Relationship

 

            I’m not sure if I believe in love or not. Depends on my mood, I suppose. I was in love with someone else when I met my boyfriend of the past year and a half, and it took me a long time to get past that. I was a junior in school and was recently recovering from something that, to me at the time, was pretty tragic: I had ranaway from home with a boy who I absolutely adored, and then we had almost been killed by my ex boyfriend and his friends. When J started talking to me, it was through Facebook, but I had seen him at school my freshmen year, when he was a senior, and I had also caught glimpses of him at parties I attended with my previous boyfriend. We became friends, and he made me laugh and helped to take my mind off things. He was definitely in the friend zone at first…I wasn’t ready to enter another relationship yet. Then my grandma, who I was closer to than anyone on earth and who had practically raised me, passed away. It was expected, but it still sent my world crashing down. But J was there for me, and he spent time with me and my little sister, helping us to be happy even in this devastating time. I began to develop feelings for him. What amazed me about him was that he never tried to seduce me. He never even hinted at sex. We kissed sometimes, but he never pushed me. In fact, I decided to try to get him to sleep with me, just to test him, and he usually rejected me. It irriated me, but it made me respect him, too. Over time, I cracked his willpower, and he did sleep with me even though we weren’t dating yet.After though, I was upset and grew angry with him, refusing to speak to him for a couple of days even as he begged me to talk to him, but then I realized how irrational I was being, and resumed our friendship. The night before Christmas
Eve that year, I asked him out, and we began dating, to the irriation of many of my exs and his family. I don’t think I was ready for a committed relationship, and I acted very immature sometimes, but he put up with it. We argued quite a bit, but we always made up, because he was too stubborn to just let me walk away. I noticed soon that he had a volatile temper, and would lash out if provoked too much, which scared me because my ex had hit me a few times, and I didn’t really want to go down that road again.

 

            Like I said though, I was in love with someone else when me and J first got together. An azured eyed pretty boy, who was almost killed because of me and whose mother had relocated him to Vegas just to keep him away from me. I didn’t realize then that this guy had played me and lied to me, and we started talking again. I had always been honest with J about my feelings for this boy, and he knew how much love and anguish existed there. (This boy was not the guy who had hit me- that was the guy who attacked us when we ranaway.) Anyway, I went all the way to Vegas to see him, leaving J heartbroken, but soon got caught and sent back home. Me and J ended up back together, although I had to see him with another girl for awhile first, and all was fine. He was really romantic, at times, making picnics for me up on the hill and renting musicals for us to watch. He tried to be nice to my family, and cooked for us sometimes, and we were together almost everyday. Then the summer came, and I started drinking alcohol, to mostly drown my feelings and so I didn’t have to admit that I was a failure for dropping out of school. Me drinking eventually led to me being thrown out of my house, and J tried to help me, but his family detested me and he too ended up homeless. Then I found out about backpage, and a million other awful things happened, but I ended up being an escort and we lived in a hotel together. When we were homeless, we had broken into an abandoned house and stayed there, after having lived with friends, but we were caught and arrested, a fact which was well publicized online.

            Me being an escort has always put a strain on the relationship. What kind of guy is okay with his girlfriend sleeping with other guys? I know he didn’t want me to do it at first. I know it bothers him almost as much as it does me. I also know, that he likes the money. Yes, there have been days when he has forced me to work, even though I didn’t want to, but that hasn’t happened in awhile. The night we got busted though? He was mad at me and was getting a client there to punish me. Too bad we both ended up in jail. Every time we have an argument, it’s the first thing to get thrown up in my face. “You fuck thousands of guys, of course I’m not attracted to you,” “You’re just a whore,” etc. All kinds of hurtful things that he swears later he didn’t mean. He handles the texting a lot, and the pricing…I wonder how he does it. The thought of him with another girl is impossibly frightening to me, and knowing he’s as possesive and jealous as me, I don’t see how he can do what he does. He makes it harder on me though, barely letting me drink, not letting me ever hang out with clients as friends, not wanting me to have guy friends even my old ones, keeping me away from drugs (although that one may be a good thing), and often cursing out people over text, just because he loses his temper. Still, we go on dates and we play videogames together and take silly pictures and we tell each other most of our feelings and try to stay in love.

 

            There’s a dark side to him, too. He can be very verbally and physichally abusive when he finally explodes. I never know just when it may happen, but I always end up in tears,begging him to stop. I believe he loves me, and that he genuinely is making an effort to stop that behavior, but I’m always walking on eggshells, worried that he’ll lapse back into that cruel nature of his. I can be hard to live with at times, but so can he…we’re both pretty messed up people. No one would believe what a monster he could be if they just saw us together 99% of the time, but he can be pure evil. He virtually blacks out, and flips, and although he apologizes and usually calms down fairly quick, I do worry for my life. It hasn’t happened in awhile, and no matter what you tell me, I’m not likely to leave, but I’d be lying about my life if I didn’t explain our relationship truthfully…he’s a big part of who I am.

 

            Sometimes I do leave. I always come back. How can you say he doesn’t love me, when most of the time he struggles to make me happy, nurtures me when I’m sick, and puts up with so many things I do wrong. I believe in our relationship, at least to some degree. It’s not perfect, but it’s the only thing I really have to hold on to anymore. At least he knows me inside and out, more so than anyone else does. I’m not sure we’ll be together forever, or end up married, or what. I’m smart enough to know how unhealthy this is, and still I choose to stay. Just another sad part of my warped little world…

Typical Day In My Life…More Mundane Than You May Think

A Typical Day In My Life

 

Not nearly as dramatic as you may think.

 

            It’s about 4 PM and I’m just waking up. I usually stay up late at night, I love night time better. Definitely a nocturnal person. I lay back down for a moment and cuddle up against my boyfriend, who’s starting to open his eyes now also. I consider going back to sleep, but with a resigned sigh wake up and face the day ahead of me. The first thing I do is go clean up whatever mess my black lab puppy and my orange tabby cat have made in the hotel room. Usually there’s plenty of stuff chewed up and broken, because animals are extremely difficult and messy. From there I vaccuum, take the trash out, feed the pets, and spray some air freshner, then I go take a hot bath and shave everywhere, wash my hair, and go put on my make up and get dressed. I come back out and fix me something to eat and come check my Facebook and my email. For most of the day, I sit at my laptop watching Netflix, writing poetry, photoediting pictures, and reading fanfiction. I listen to music a lot…that’s my main coping strategy, and I love all types, though my favorite band is Marilyn Manson. Sometimes, I pace relentlessly back and forth across the room with my Mp3 player in, something I have done to help me think since as far back as I can recall. I talk to my little sister on Facebook, and ask how she is, and sometimes give her and my aunt a call, because they’re the only family I have. And then, often, a client will text, or if no one does, I’ll post an ad on Backpage after carefully looking at some of the other ads and prices to know what to say in mine. I try to be careful not to say anything too sexual or notable, but enough to lure in people to get the money I need for rent, food, and whatever else I may want or need at that time. Eventually people will text, and ask questions, or I may see one of my regulars. They text when they’re here and my boyfriend leaves the room to go wait outside and I put on something sexy and readjust my make up and light some candles as I wait for the knock on the door. I look through the peephole, preparing in case there are police there, and then I open the door with a big fake smile on my face and exchange pleasantries, and names, before sitting down on the client bed and telling them to place the money on the table, if they would please, because many people try not to pay if I wait till after to ask for it. Most of them are nice; some of them are anxious; some are very rude. Usually it starts with kissing and both of us stripping naked, but others rush right into the deed and finish fast, leaving as soon as they are done. Others like to prolong it, as much foreplay and talking as possible, before me sucking them and then putting a condom on so they can sleep with me. I’m very quiet during sex normally, but I have to fake moans and screams of pleasure for these strangers, and do things however they want them done. I sometimes have to pretend to orgasm also, because they have this idea in their head that I should be enjoying this, too. Then it’s over, and they get dressed, and some of them will sit down and try to talk. A few tell me I shouldn’t be doing this, that I’m a sweet girl and deserve more, or they try to rag on my boyfriend, who many know about, and say he should be working and providing for me. I smile politely and speak respectfully to them until time is up and they leave. Then I lose my smile and rush to the bathroom to brush my teeth and soak in the bath tub, mourning the fact that I have to do what I do. My boyfriend comes back, walks in to the bathroom, and gives me a sympathetic look, asking if I’m okay and if everything went alright and whether they paid the price they were supposed to. Sometimes he gets in the tub with me, and we talk and he holds me and tries to make me feel better, but I do pull away from his touch now and then, because some days, I just hate all men, even him, and never want to be touched again. Sometimes that’s the only call for the night- others, this process is repeated a few times. Then I turn the TV to Cartoon  Network, and watch Family Guy and American Dad, and sometimes pour a mixed drink composed of Vodka and a fruity mixer, and go back to being on the laptop or listening to music. Then around 4 or 5 am, my boyfriend and I are both ready for bed, and we cuddle and sometimes have sex, and then I take Benadryl or Nyquil to help me sleep, because I’m always restless and have trouble falling asleep. That’s basically my day. I keep the room clean all day, and my boyfriend usually cooks dinner around 7 or 8 PM, and I sometimes walk my puppy on the beach or go to the playground and play on the swings, even though I’m too old for that. On special occasions or when we have spare money, we go to see a movie or go shopping or mini golfing or hang out with friends, few that we have. The most money I have ever made in one day is 880 dollars, but that is very rare. I pay 200 a week to stay at the hotel I’m at, and have to hide my cat so I don’t get thrown out. And we spend about 200 a week on food and stuff, also. The cost of living is expensive. But my life, despite some parts, isn’t really all that abnormal. Is it? Some days I don’t even work, if I don’t need the money or if no one wants to come by. I even go to chuch some Sundays, unbelievable as that sounds. My point is, I’m still human. I may have an alcohol problem and work as a prostitute, among also struggling with bulimia and my sometimes unhealthy relationship with my boyfriend, but I still do a lot of very mundane things as well. One day, I hope to fit in with normal society again…I don’t think I’m too far gone just yet.

Cloud Nine (My Lyrics)

“Cloud Nine”

 

 

A thousand apologies left my lips,

I owe myself the biggest of all.

For believeing in something, that I knew as never real.

Fool that I am, thinking love was anything more than myth.

Grab my poison from the fridge-

You know I need my strength just to stand up.

It’s better to be numb, at least then you can still smile.

I’ve never been good at admitting my flaws,

Neither have you, and truth be told we’re the worst in one another.

A thousand apologies left my lips,

I owe myself the biggest of all!

 

Chorus: Scream at the top of my, at the top of my lungs,

Standing here at midnight, waiting for the next flight,

I’m falling from, I’m falling from cloud nine!

Searching for an answer, praying for a savior,

Standing alone in the dark, here you left your mark,

I’m falling from, I’m falling from cloud nine!

 

Who were you to tell me who I oughta be?

You read my diaries but never read my heart,

How the fuck would you know what I really want?

Light another cigarette and lick my wounds-

We all knew this day would come,

And we all know the reason why it’s for the best.

In time maybe I’ll stop hating myself

For becoming the person you hated.

The photograph in your top drawer is fading,

I know the time has come to whisper farewell.

You couldn’t betray me, we were never really friends,

Were we ever really anything more than a big mistake?

 

Chorus: Scream at the top of my, at the top of my lungs,

Standing here at midnight, waiting for the next flight,

I’m falling from, I’m falling from cloud nine!

Searching for an answer, praying for a savior,

Standing alone in the dark, here you left your mark,

I’m falling from, I’m falling from cloud nine!

 

I used to be impressed by you,

Now I’m just depressed by you!

Everyone on this earth dies alone,

Blinded to how small they really are.

You left me to meet my fate,

Smiled and swore you would come back someday.

I could never hate you,

But I want to fucking tear you apart!

I die a little inside everytime I realize how close we came…

A thousand apologies left my lips,

But I owe myself, the biggest of them all…!

 

Chorus: Scream at the top of my, at the top of my lungs,

Standing here at midnight, waiting for the next flight,

I’m falling from, I’m falling from cloud nine!

Searching for an answer, praying for a savior,

Standing alone in the dark, here you left your mark,

I’m falling from, I’m falling from cloud nine!

Reasons Being An “Escort” Is Unbearable

20 Most Unbearable Things About Being An Escort

20. Worrying that a client will refuse to pay or try to rob you.

19. Feeling guilty for sleeping with another woman’s husband or boyfriend.

18. Terror of catching an STD, particularly one that cannot be cured such as HIV.

17. Having to perform humilating tasks such as allowing guys to cum on your face or licking someone’s ass.

16. Being forced into doing things you normally would not be willing to do, such as anal sex, by men who do not understand the word ‘no’.

15. Having to move around to avoid detection.

14. Competing with other girls for who has the best prices or the hottest body.

13. Knowing you are forever branded and irreparably damaged by the job you are doing.

12. Trying to figure out how to make a committed relationship work while sleeping with other guys for cash.

11. Feeling self conscious about how clients view your body, your room, and your overall demeanor.

10. Constantly having people try to coax you into allowing them to exploit you and pimp you, to make money for them

9. Wasting time on customers who never even show up or come by at all

8. Getting lectured about all the poor decisions you are making

7. Not having a reliable, stable job- if things are slow one day, you’re just out of luck.

6. Feeling you deserve all the abuse and hurt that comes to you

5. Wanting to leave your mind for as long as possible, hating reality.

4. The unshakable thought that everyone who looks at you automatically knows the truth.

3. Being forced to lie constantly to cover yourself and stay out of trouble.

2. Paranoia, the extremely legitamate worry that you’ll be arrested and forced to spend time in jail, or worse, prison.

1. The way society, your family, and your friends judge you, look down on you, and make you feel like you are not worth a damn thing. Which, you know in your heart, you probably aren’t.

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.

“Only those who…

“Only those who risk going too far can ever possibly find out just how far one can go.”- T.S. Elliot