This is dedicated to someone who recently passed away. He was an acquaintance in the local music scene. He told me his secret, that he sees sex workers. He wanted to see me but he couldn’t afford it. If he had never told me that he saw sex workers, I would’ve just hung out with him and probably would have sex with him for free.
I feel terrible. Has this work made me value material items too much? Have I got lost in it all? I was lower middle class growing up and flat out poor from age 18-22. I feel like I have abandoned my true punk roots.
I never know when to say yes or no at the right time
I was never taught to say no
There’s a misunderstanding about acceptance
Inside there’s the primary voice that everyone has. Our thoughts that we know are there
Then there’s that other voice after that. Like another layer of the subconscious. The voice isn’t talking but it’s there. Like a whisper. It’s not vocalized but it’s there. And only sometimes does one realize it. It’s usually dark thoughts. Hidden thoughts. They’re not apart of you. Or so you think
I was a regular girl. What they don’t realize is that yes, I am a regular person
It’s unnerving to tell someone new that you’re a sex worker
I’ve refrained from telling someone I’ve just met about my work in order to see if they will accept it once they get to know me better. Rather than telling them before we meet because they may already have a stigma in their head
I want real love too. I want raw emotions and true passion.
Late night smoking and short trips to the gas station.
3am incoherent eyes, deep sighs
Cigarettes ashes, flies. I could love you till the day I die
A man in his mid sixties says “if this is the end, then I wanna go out having sex”. He was a very large man. Maybe 350 or 400 pounds. He was kind and gentle. Put my payment on the table and talked about things going on.
“I heard we’re going into lockdown”.
“I was walking my dog earlier and thought I needed to change things up a bit”
I’m glad he did, very glad. I put my payment in my backpack and sprayed Lysol throughout my room. Washed my hands and posted more ads.
“I have to make $2000 more”, I think to myself.
My regular job closed down until April so I need to make my bill money.
Isn’t it lovely when you confide in someone about your sex work and they judge you and say it’s disguisting?! I have sex with random gross men for money. Honey!!! I did the same thing before I was a sex worker but the difference was it was for free on tinder! Sweetheart! You fucked me too so are you one of them?
Darling!!! How dare you.
Oh dear! Don’t let jealousy get to you!
My pussy my choice my body my voice applies to a lot these days….
Loneliness eats at my green eyes, don’t be too desperate, don’t find another guy. You’d think they would fill that hole in my chest. Maybe the money would fill it but nonetheless, I’m still lonely. Should I be in a fucked up relationship? Should I let someone in my bed and inside of my head?
On the way up and the front desk lady says, “have a good night”.
On the way up and I’m wondering how I can make everything less awkward. I’m very tired but I drank some coffee before hand. I knock on door 104. Wow hello. It’s quite pleasant. We talk for 40 minutes. We get to doing the dirty which took only 20 mins. Then we talk for 15 more mins. No, I didn’t charge him for an hour and half. I should’ve but eh, it’s okay really. He’s very respectful and was telling me his experiences with sex workers. It wasn’t that I was attracted to him or anything but it was nice to talk to someone about the job and the dangers. Sometimes I’m lonely. A lot of the time actually. I wonder if sex work is making my heart hard. Whatever. It’s worth it anyway.