So my tarot reader told me that I might have a man coming into my life. Oh jeez. It’s so much easier when I can just live life as the A-sexual organism I am right now. Doesn’t she know I’m a Sagittarius???? I don’t DO balance! So… this celibacy started three months ago, after the last time I tricked for some drugs. An extreme if there ever was one. So naturally, I swung to the other end of the pendulum and just stopped having sex altogether. That should fix everything….riiiiiiiiighttttt? hmm. So, I mean… if I didn’t end up with like…. a guy that didn’t make my skin crawl… how would I have sex again? With feelings? Hmm. Yes. Haven’t done that in awhile. Sadly. I imagine it will kind of be like having sex for the first time sober after a long time of drinking. I know this isn’t every sex worker’s story, but for me it’s very easy to just shut down and sort of be a shell while mentally I’m somewhere else. It’s more easy in fact than mentally being in a moment with someone. There’s a lot of pressure from the Sex Worker community to NOT reinforce stereotypes, but the reality -scientific reality- childhood trauma puts an individual at greater risk of being re-victimized later in life so it’s no coincidence a significant number – NOT ALL, but some- of Sex Workers have experienced childhood violence.
I think what sex work gave me though that I really carry with me into the dating world is the almost instantaneous ability to read someone and size them up: are they dangerous, a closet weirdo, a nerd, loser, douchebag, cheater, etc. not to mention what they probably like in bed. It’s a survival skill. And if I didn’t already have some of it, I surely do now.
Today I was a fucking bitch. My dog crapped on the sidewalk and I – gasps of horror- didn’t pick it up (because I had no bag.) I know what you’re thinking, this bitch cunt slut whorebag sure has it coming. How dare she! Some prick face proceeded to follow me and harass me… “You better pick that shit up. You inconsiderate bitch. Jesus what a fucking bitch!”
what have I done to deserve your wrath, oh lord of the dog turds? And furthermore, why is this like my third time in the past month getting flipped off and/or called a fucking bitch by a rando male? Of course onlookers do nothing. Why would they? “June look away. That there’s a private matter. She probably really is a fucking bitch anyways. Keep walking.”
why are we so fucking chicken shit as a society? Why DONT we interfere? Of course there’s the standard danger rationale. But I think a big part is people are afraid to form quick and concrete opinions- such as one has to in dangerous situations. Academia teaches us to think through so many different alternatives that we have become a society where we are afraid to look “wrong” to outsiders. So instead, a large portion of us just stay neutral. Both sides, no side- Switzerland. But having no concrete opinion or stance doesn’t help when clear cut wrongs against marginalized portions of humanity are taking place. We can’t be afraid to piss some people off, get into debates, arguments, or even offend people.
I think people don’t usually help when they see someone being harassed in public because; A. It’s an inconvenience and ; B. It takes the guts to stand up in front of people and publicly disagree with something, which could incur backlash. But I feel men have a special obligation to stand up when there is a woman being harassed or hurt in public because they have male privelage so I think they should be held to a higher task. And maybe a guy might actually jump in to help the next time some cock monkey calls me a fucking bitch in public.
driving fast. The tire treads whisk water from the ground like an old woman sweeping her kitchen. My mind… It wanders…
I walk into his hotel room. I don’t know him, but he sounded ok when I screened him on the phone. He pushes me onto the bed and pulls my dress up
rain pouring, tires swimming
i feel loved. He touches my body all over, kisses me everywhere. Connection, humming together. Bodies melding. He even held me. Talked to me. Asked me every kinda question about me. Who I am.
metallic tinkling of rain… wheels skidding on pools of rainbow colored water… And faster I go… to the unknowing void
kiss my lips. And I die inside.
the rain wet my head. And I waited for the door to open…
Like many marginalized communities, there is divisiveness within the Sex Worker community. “Don’t say negative things about sex work!” “Don’t reinforce stereotypes!” And one of the biggest no-no’s for us… “DO NOT under any circumstances reinforce the views of the anti-traffickers!” But this kind of zeal isn’t helping us and here’s why: no ones life experiences live on the extreme end of the pendulum. Or at least very few people. And the Sex Workers’ rights movement in their totally justified desire to be heard and understood, is positing itself as the antithesis of the anti-prostitution-anti-trafficking movement. But this is just silencing many sex workers experiences who may not fit into the movement as fully empowered.
integrating the experiences and voices of those who have been forced into Sex Work or may have felt force at some point is just as important as getting the voices out there of workers who made the choice (mostly) themselves. Because c’mon fellow Sex Working brothers and sisters, let’s get real, no one chooses to go into sex work without having some kind of constraint on that choice. Typically a financial one.
But why is it we are so divisive as a community? Why don’t we want to hear and accept the stories of violence, rape and force that do occur in sex work? Defensiveness of our movement plays a part. One thing I have also noticed is apathy in our community to violence committed against us and a disinterest in making grassroots changes to better things. I have seen many key members of nonprofits just kind of shrug their shoulders in bitterness like oh well, if I had to endure violence you can too. There is a lack of community in a big way, and a lack of willingness to trust each other and help each other. Which makes change very hard. Surely I understand this. In many areas of sex work, you can’t trust- people lie and cheat you. But I think if we could find a way to build more ways for Sex Workers to come together and build community- especially in smaller cities. There are so few Sex Worker driven organizations. So let’s start really examining how we are relating to others in the movement. Victims of trafficking have a lot to lend to our cause of workers’ rights. And in the end that’s what it’s all about.
I am the Madonna and the whore. I am the line that divides them. I am the empty space between them. And no, I’m not Catholic. I’m a retired Sex Worker… and a sex addict… and a recovering addict. While sex working, my sexuality was mine, yes, but on loan to the world. There was my external sexuality, worn like a cape, like a mask…a farce just for work. Like many of us have to do for our jobs. I never have been an emotional person. I can’t help it, my family is comprised of German immigrants. we’d rather smack someone in the head with a rolling pin. True story – my grandma. Anyways I digress… all the sex working began to uncork my bipolar mania which unleashed a lot of the sexually addictive behaviors. I became a sex worker at a really dark time in my life when I was fired and felt useless, unworthy and unproductive. Sex Work gave me an instant boost to my self esteem. It allowed me a lot of freedom, independence and pride. But when the sex addiction collided with the bipolar implosion, that’s when my life took a nosedive. I started using the craigslist personals to hookup with guys, never even knew their names. multiple guys per day. I had one sugar daddy but he started creeping me out after awhile so I gave him the heave-ho. Then I started pursuing adult films and dated some porn directors who were abusive with me. Not a great experience at all. My sex addiction eventually lead to drug addiction as most addictions are comorbid, and I began sleeping with guys for drugs. This was pretty much the low point for me. the point where I felt like I had lost myself.
When one’s sexuality has been put through the ringer like this, it’s hard to have a solid footing. I sort of feel like the lost land of Atlantis. I’m not sure where I am, what my boundaries are, or to whom I belong. For me all I know is taking the time to sit back and absorb what has transpired is what is right for me at this time. Then I can truly know my rifts and valleys.