I am a hooker. Prostitute. Hoe. Slut. Whore. Jezebel. Skank. Call girl. All of the aforementioned names and more. And that doesn't even begin to paint the picture of what really went on (and could theoretically still be happening).
A few short weeks ago, I checked my bank balance at the neighborhood branch in the hopes of having enough money to pay for groceries. Guess the Gods weren't aligning in my favor because my balance was $-331.47. Yes, you read that correctly. Negative three hundred thirty one dollars and forty-seven cents. And this was after I deposited my meager paycheck that can be seen as nothing more than a pittance for those crazy or dumb or idealistic (probably a solid combination of the three) to actually work for a campaign.
What's a girl to do? I left the bank in a furious rage and went home to weigh my options. I knew I needed money, and fast (Ramen noodles and PB&J sandwiches can only last so long). Plus, as always, there is/was bills to pay. I had two options, viable ones-at least. One thing you have to realize about me (if you haven't already) is that I'm too proud for my own good. I could never ask for money from friends or family. It would be weak and I'm better than that. That gave me the choice of either leaving GCI which has become my new campaign family or obtain an additional source of income. So I started scanning Craigslist for odd jobs and noticed a couple enticing ads under the most sexually explicit of categories. Most were in search of a mere place for said male to stick his dick in, and...as grotesque as this is/was... I was/am interested. I know... I have no semblance of self-worth and don't regard sex as something special. For me, at this point, it's merely going through the motions towards an obvious end.
And... fuck... I answered one. Only one. It was looking for a girl to pamper, if I recall correctly, and offered a substantial donation for services rendered. Just what I needed, right? Something I'm good at and an easy way to land some cold hard cash. So I exchanged emails at first with the guy (let's call him Patrick) and he seemed articulate and overall legit. After some desperate soul-searching, I decided I had no other choice but to see him, and off it went.
After leaving the GCI office one day, I took a cab (how delightfully decedent of me!) to his office with one mission: do the dead and land some much-needed dough. But the second I saw Patrick, I kind of melted. He was hot. Not like Johnny Depp, wanna fuck your brains out in the middle of Times Square with my grandmother watching hot... but in a more complex way. He seemed almost desperate for me to just give him a blowjob. It was adorable, but pathetic. The quintessential dichotomy needed in my book to be able to manipulate someone. And manipulate away, I did.
I feel like I should probably say that I didn't mind giving him head. In fact, it was the first time in a long time that I felt powerful. In control. Desired. And we all know what a glutton I am for that sort of attention (or any attention, nowdays).
So a few days later, I text him and offer up a more lucrative offer. He accepts. Same sort of situation, except this time Patrick took me out for drinks at a pretty swank bar. Nice of him. But... I guess that's when the trouble started. We started talking. Like really talking about our families and pasts. Things became real. He has a kid, a wife, a perfect upper-class life. And I don't. Nor is/was there a place for me in his, I guess.
Anyway, I got an email from him today that it's over. I guess that's ok. Except that in the email, he referred to me as damaged. I'm not. I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing to myself, literally selling myself.
And while I'm a little peeved at Patrick for not having the balls to cut it off face to face so I could see the crinkle in his eyes as he smiles in the most genuine of ways, or at least via phone call so I could hear his bell-like voice... I'll be ok.
I'm a tough kid.
PLUS...
The way I figure, there's not much left worth selling.
And, I know you're going to read this and freak out. How could I do this? How could I let this happen to me? In truth, I always knew it would someday. It's the ultimate FUCK YOU to my past life, the one I've been running from since birth.
Don't judge. You know you're not that shocked. And if you were me, you'd be doing the same things.
2 comments:
Hey, when you told me something awful happened I was thinking you got hit by a bus or something. Don't worry so much about justifying your behavior. It's totally normal.
xoxo
Hell, I don't know many women who haven't at least considered it, even though most would probably deny it. Porn, stripping, selling it - it's one option that we're always pretty damn sure we have. Or, maybe it's just us "damaged" girls, lol.
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