- Getting stared down when entering a hotel. When you’re all done up in heels and a dress, standing by the lobby all by yourself, everyone knows what you are.
- Urinary tract infections...
- Having to ask “I don’t mean to be awkward or rude… But could you please take another shower?” - Because I guess washing under the skin is so hard..
- Bad breath… & Terrible kissing
- Very large clients (doing the splits whilst trying to mount the penis of a fat guy isn’t an easy task)
- Wondering when the guy’s gonna cum after nearly an hour of fucking, sucking, and wrist work...
- Dirty talking. I never understood it. I try not to laugh and cringe at the same time.
- Awkward moments between when a client finishes and when he’ll be out the door? Or when I should say “well, it’s time for me to get going!"
- Roleplaying. This leads back to dirty talking. I once agreed to a roleplay where I had to be this guy’s 12 year old daughter, and I enslave him to be my fucktoy. I guess he was just a pedophile dealing with his fantasy in a ‘normal’ and ‘legal’ way. That was the first and last time.
- Clients bailing on me. You could’ve told me before I got out of bed, showered, shaved, put my face on, curled my hair, and chosen my negligee... Not 10 minutes before.
- When I get asked for selfies....
- This doesn’t happen much to me, but when I was pimping I’d get heaps of clients trying to bargain for a girl’s rate. Some of their excuses were that they’re students and couldn’t afford much. I’m sorry… I don’t think there’s any Donate-Some-Pussy charities out there.
- Kissing and cuddling. I have clients that love doing that for hours. The most mentally draining part of the job. I guess that’s the ultimate girlfriend experience.
- Receiving head. Most men don’t know what they’re doing. I’ve achieved the ‘O’ before, but most of the time I would rather give than receive.
- Asking for unprotected sex. Now this astounds me...
- Dating. Probably one of the hardest challenge. Do I hide my profession? Or let guilt get the best of me, confess, and cross my fingers hoping he’ll accept me… Or get ready to be dumped?
- Telling men that you’re a hooker. I mean in everyday civilian life when you’re out and socialising. I get asked moronic questions like how much I’d charge to take me out, would I fuck them for half price, and then get sexually cracked onto in every single way. Being open and honest has its set backs. Common sense tells me to just say I flip burgers or something… I know, and I should.
Sunday, 23 November 2014
It’s A Hard Knock Life
Even though I enjoy this job, it’s tough being a hooker sometimes. Here’s some shit I have to deal with.
Monday, 10 November 2014
KACHING CHING
ARGH I love money. I love the security and the freedom.
This job buys me so much freedom. I can afford to be lazy. I marvel at the fact that I don’t have to haul my ass up every morning for measly pay. I can sit around all day thinking about my next type of security.
The future is a scary, I don’t know what’s in store. I look back on my life sometimes, and map out the jobs and occupations I have been, and how far I’ve come. Money had been a struggle growing up. I really wanted to get a job as soon as I was legal. I worked at Dominos for my first job, that was alright. Then I was at Mcdonalds, which was horrible. But when you’re a kid, you feel grown up and independent for earning your own money. No matter how shit the job and pay is.
After I turned 18 I became a stripper (you could read all about that in my other blog). Then I became a pimp. The highlight of pimping was giggling at the lovestruck email/messages, and perverted requests from sexually frustrated men that wanted to get their dick wet. Telling people I’m a pimp was the coolest shit ever. But at the end of the day, it was just a mundane office job. In this case, an agency. I didn’t even get to keep the money the girls handed me! That’s what a true pimp does right? I was simply a ‘connector’. Connecting the girls to their clients.
The REAL pimp was keeping an eye on things while doing lines of the coke around the office. We also have a madam keeping an eye on things, whilst liaising with one of her boyfriends.
Being envious of what my fellow hoes were making, and seeing how most of them piss away every dollar they make… I was pissed. I was pissed that I could be making what they’re making, and be putting away a shitload! Taken the plunge I did, and haven’t looked back since.
I can buy nice things I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid. Like my cute little laptop.
Decked in pink and plastered in girly stickers (I love anything that’s pink and adolescent. Yeah never want to grow up).
Back when I was 10, I discovered the internet after my bro bought a computer. The internet was such a fucking exciting thing! I’d spend hours chatting and trolling randoms on Chat Avenue until my brother would kick me off. Then I'd go and make myself a paper laptop and start typing away to my imaginary internet friends. If my 10 year old self could see me now..
I was a wannabe ‘scene kid’ in the Myspace era that adored Jeffree Star, Audrey Kitching and dreamt of having pink hair. Now I take a $300 trip to the hair dressers to maintain my pink mane. I also think it’s really wild that professional & serious businessmen are willing to see a pink haired hooker. I took a gamble when I got into the game (the escorting business) that no one was going to take me seriously, and wouldn’t survive long in the business. Especially when you’re advertised as a ‘High Class Escort’. Surprisingly it turned out.
I guess I don’t have many things I want to have. I own a few designer labels that was gifted to me, and those are nice but that’s not what gets me going. I’m more of a Vans and Doc Martens type that likes to roll around in dirt while on a psychedelic journey.
This job buys me so much freedom. I can afford to be lazy. I marvel at the fact that I don’t have to haul my ass up every morning for measly pay. I can sit around all day thinking about my next type of security.
The future is a scary, I don’t know what’s in store. I look back on my life sometimes, and map out the jobs and occupations I have been, and how far I’ve come. Money had been a struggle growing up. I really wanted to get a job as soon as I was legal. I worked at Dominos for my first job, that was alright. Then I was at Mcdonalds, which was horrible. But when you’re a kid, you feel grown up and independent for earning your own money. No matter how shit the job and pay is.
After I turned 18 I became a stripper (you could read all about that in my other blog). Then I became a pimp. The highlight of pimping was giggling at the lovestruck email/messages, and perverted requests from sexually frustrated men that wanted to get their dick wet. Telling people I’m a pimp was the coolest shit ever. But at the end of the day, it was just a mundane office job. In this case, an agency. I didn’t even get to keep the money the girls handed me! That’s what a true pimp does right? I was simply a ‘connector’. Connecting the girls to their clients.
The REAL pimp was keeping an eye on things while doing lines of the coke around the office. We also have a madam keeping an eye on things, whilst liaising with one of her boyfriends.
Being envious of what my fellow hoes were making, and seeing how most of them piss away every dollar they make… I was pissed. I was pissed that I could be making what they’re making, and be putting away a shitload! Taken the plunge I did, and haven’t looked back since.
I can buy nice things I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid. Like my cute little laptop.
Decked in pink and plastered in girly stickers (I love anything that’s pink and adolescent. Yeah never want to grow up).
Back when I was 10, I discovered the internet after my bro bought a computer. The internet was such a fucking exciting thing! I’d spend hours chatting and trolling randoms on Chat Avenue until my brother would kick me off. Then I'd go and make myself a paper laptop and start typing away to my imaginary internet friends. If my 10 year old self could see me now..
I was a wannabe ‘scene kid’ in the Myspace era that adored Jeffree Star, Audrey Kitching and dreamt of having pink hair. Now I take a $300 trip to the hair dressers to maintain my pink mane. I also think it’s really wild that professional & serious businessmen are willing to see a pink haired hooker. I took a gamble when I got into the game (the escorting business) that no one was going to take me seriously, and wouldn’t survive long in the business. Especially when you’re advertised as a ‘High Class Escort’. Surprisingly it turned out.
I guess I don’t have many things I want to have. I own a few designer labels that was gifted to me, and those are nice but that’s not what gets me going. I’m more of a Vans and Doc Martens type that likes to roll around in dirt while on a psychedelic journey.
Sunday, 26 October 2014
My Nitrous Addiction
I took having a good time to a whole new level this year. I owned a cream dispenser machine (we called it a Bulbinator, as cream chargers are also called bulbs). When I first wake up, I’d take hits. I do it when I’m cooking, in between bites of my meals, during a shower, I even did it once while walking down a busy street.
I have this one debaucherous friend that would take hits while driving. She'll have one hand on the wheel while the other restocks the Bulbinator. She didn't drive recklessly, and was pretty smooth on the road. I’ve accompanied her on quite a few drives. She said something about how soothing it felt driving on nitrous.
We’d rock up at all odd hours of the morning during our sesh runs to this one convenient store that sold bulbs. The Indians would give us knowing looks. They see 3 scruffy looking girls come in with suss looking faces asking for ‘cream chargers please’ I also live very close to a supermarket that sold bulbs. It was a mere few minutes walk, I thought that my life was fucking complete. The employees started recognising me, would chuck me a knowing smile and say something along the lines of ‘haha you’re back for more!’. I always felt a tinge of embarrassment, kinda like when you walk into a shop to buy condoms or something. Maybe I’m just being paranoid about how they’re judging, leering, thinking about what a nitrous junkie I was.
It had its pros and cons. Pros were that it didn't inhibit my appetite or my sleep, it wore off pretty quick, it had a nice taste, and overall it just felt… Amazing. I also got pro at holding my breath.
(A box of Isi cream chargers had 10 in a box, I was using around 240 bulbs daily). Cons were that I started becoming forgetful, confused, constantly mulling about death, and if there was a point to anything. I’d become irrationally paranoid and overthinking weird scenarios in my head, I didn’t want to see anybody or go anywhere, didn’t want to work, and was even too lazy to go out on a bulb run. I wished a 6 pack would materialise in front of me so I could continue watching Scarface.
I have an important client that comes to town frequently. This one time I excused myself to 'help a friend out with a school project for a few hours’, went home, helped myself to a great session, then went back to see him.
It starts off with fun laughing fits, hearing cool echoes, having crazy life epiphanies, nostalgia and bittersweet emotions. Then gradually losing touch with reality and questioning your sanity. It was interesting living in a constant dream-like state. I’ve stopped using it for a while now, my sweet Bulbinator went into the bin to prove to myself that I’m done. But deep down I know it’s not going to be my last time. Maybe I won’t go that extent next time.
I have this one debaucherous friend that would take hits while driving. She'll have one hand on the wheel while the other restocks the Bulbinator. She didn't drive recklessly, and was pretty smooth on the road. I’ve accompanied her on quite a few drives. She said something about how soothing it felt driving on nitrous.
We’d rock up at all odd hours of the morning during our sesh runs to this one convenient store that sold bulbs. The Indians would give us knowing looks. They see 3 scruffy looking girls come in with suss looking faces asking for ‘cream chargers please’ I also live very close to a supermarket that sold bulbs. It was a mere few minutes walk, I thought that my life was fucking complete. The employees started recognising me, would chuck me a knowing smile and say something along the lines of ‘haha you’re back for more!’. I always felt a tinge of embarrassment, kinda like when you walk into a shop to buy condoms or something. Maybe I’m just being paranoid about how they’re judging, leering, thinking about what a nitrous junkie I was.
It had its pros and cons. Pros were that it didn't inhibit my appetite or my sleep, it wore off pretty quick, it had a nice taste, and overall it just felt… Amazing. I also got pro at holding my breath.
(A box of Isi cream chargers had 10 in a box, I was using around 240 bulbs daily). Cons were that I started becoming forgetful, confused, constantly mulling about death, and if there was a point to anything. I’d become irrationally paranoid and overthinking weird scenarios in my head, I didn’t want to see anybody or go anywhere, didn’t want to work, and was even too lazy to go out on a bulb run. I wished a 6 pack would materialise in front of me so I could continue watching Scarface.
I have an important client that comes to town frequently. This one time I excused myself to 'help a friend out with a school project for a few hours’, went home, helped myself to a great session, then went back to see him.
It starts off with fun laughing fits, hearing cool echoes, having crazy life epiphanies, nostalgia and bittersweet emotions. Then gradually losing touch with reality and questioning your sanity. It was interesting living in a constant dream-like state. I’ve stopped using it for a while now, my sweet Bulbinator went into the bin to prove to myself that I’m done. But deep down I know it’s not going to be my last time. Maybe I won’t go that extent next time.
Friday, 24 October 2014
I Wish I Was Asexual
Life would be so much simpler if I didn’t have romantic feelings for people. I won’t have to constantly worry about if this boy likes me, or if he's thinking of me right now?
Love complicates things. I think it’s so stupid how we’re raised to believe we must find that one special person to be with. Who cares?
We’re always falling out of love at some point in our lives. How many successful marriages are there in this world? I feel like there’s got to be more to life than love.
Friendships are worth it though. You don’t expect a lot from each other like partners do, all that’s needed is loyalty, care… Companionship.
There’s no ‘ownership’ involved.
What’s with all this ownership bullshit once you’ve entered a relationship/marriage?
You can’t do this/you can’t do that, you can’t fool around with other people, you feel as if you can’t achieve certain goals anymore because you’ve moved in together and so must consider the other person with the things you do.
I believe there’s more than one person in this world that’s ‘the one for you’.
We’re just all too selfish by not letting each other be free.
Can’t we love more than one person? Do people love one child more than their other child?
Maybe I haven’t found that ‘one guy’ yet. Being in only 2 relationships I can’t believe I’m already thinking romance in pointless.
I’ve already been married and divorced, and thought I’d spend ‘the rest of my life’ with this person.
But it turns out I don’t wanna go through the motions like most people.
I don’t wanna have children, settle down, depend on my husband financially while I make sandwiches all day and raise a bunch of kids till they move out and eventually leave me. Then grow old, demented, and wheeled into a nursing home where I'm left to die.
I don’t even know how the hell I’m going to cope when I’m older and no longer beautiful…
Am I going to be like one of those insecure 40 somethings that have to compete with younger girls by getting plastic surgery, not dressing my age, and having to date younger guys to feel whole?
Maybe I’ll get to the point where I finally feel forced to get married and have kids, and live the depressed monotonous life like most people.
Love complicates things. I think it’s so stupid how we’re raised to believe we must find that one special person to be with. Who cares?
We’re always falling out of love at some point in our lives. How many successful marriages are there in this world? I feel like there’s got to be more to life than love.
Friendships are worth it though. You don’t expect a lot from each other like partners do, all that’s needed is loyalty, care… Companionship.
There’s no ‘ownership’ involved.
What’s with all this ownership bullshit once you’ve entered a relationship/marriage?
You can’t do this/you can’t do that, you can’t fool around with other people, you feel as if you can’t achieve certain goals anymore because you’ve moved in together and so must consider the other person with the things you do.
I believe there’s more than one person in this world that’s ‘the one for you’.
We’re just all too selfish by not letting each other be free.
Can’t we love more than one person? Do people love one child more than their other child?
Maybe I haven’t found that ‘one guy’ yet. Being in only 2 relationships I can’t believe I’m already thinking romance in pointless.
I’ve already been married and divorced, and thought I’d spend ‘the rest of my life’ with this person.
But it turns out I don’t wanna go through the motions like most people.
I don’t wanna have children, settle down, depend on my husband financially while I make sandwiches all day and raise a bunch of kids till they move out and eventually leave me. Then grow old, demented, and wheeled into a nursing home where I'm left to die.
I don’t even know how the hell I’m going to cope when I’m older and no longer beautiful…
Am I going to be like one of those insecure 40 somethings that have to compete with younger girls by getting plastic surgery, not dressing my age, and having to date younger guys to feel whole?
Maybe I’ll get to the point where I finally feel forced to get married and have kids, and live the depressed monotonous life like most people.
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