I saw a show on MSNBC about sexual slavery in America. These women are forced to have sex with random men. Some wanting desperately to escape but are afraid to ask for help. And here I was, young, from a loving home, in need of nothing, in want of nothing but I chose to willingly sell my body. I had a choice, I had options and I chose to make my body my own prison. My heart grieves for these women and children who do not have power over their own bodies, who do not have a choice like I did. Why do women choose to sell their bodies when they do not have to?
Casual sex was my “gateway drug”. Because promiscuity was second nature to me, the thought of escorting was not too far off. When I met the man that formally introduced me to escorting and amateur porn that lifestyle was the farthest thing from my mind.
The night I met him I wore a zebra printed lace back dress. I was totally overdressed for what was supposed to be a house party.It was all star weekend in Arizona and boyfriend at the time was 23 and wanted to go to the club so I had nothing better to do than accompany my best friend to a house party she got invited to as we were both only 19. We walked into a dimly lit apartment and there were only men.
Unfortunately I attracted the attention of Mr. X, and his brand new BMW attracted me. He asked me casually to take a seat in his new BMW, and of course as vain and as shallow as I was I did. He told me that we could make lots of money together, I would train “bitches” and they would be staying in this apartment complex that he and his cousins were renting out. I just agreed as he scooped me into lap. I was confused, but I didn’t ask if he was talking about prostitution. In my post Memoirs Of a Human Waste Can, I mention that Mr. X told me it was “promotional modeling that he was really talking about,” when I asked him if he meant prostitution. He said that he was just providing the clients, all we had to do was go out with these men to lunch or an event. Maybe them him a lap dance or two, he wasn’t making us have sex, but if we wanted the extra cash the choice was up to us. He didn’t like the word prostitution he preferred escorting, and he was not a pimp he was a businessman, an entrepreneur. He wanted me to call him daddy, and he called me bitch.
I walked up the apartment stairs, and he introduces me to his cousins and some men, and they say to him,” You always get the good looking ones.” Foolishly I laughed. I admit I was impressed, these men drove expensive cars, they looked expensive. He then gave me something to drink as he snorted a line. I go back to the event of the shutting window, watching this whitey tighty wearing old man thrust me, and having to lick his nipple so he could “finish”. I felt coerced,I said no, he shut the window, he removed my tampon, I did not fight back, I lay there and pretended to like it, until I could no longer stomach the thought of being trapped underneath this hairy man with a gut.
But I went back to Mr. X, just not right away. I promised my boyfriend at the time I would never go back to those apartments again. In fact, I was so frazzled that I called my boyfriend frantically after Mr. X did his business. I just wanted to go home. I got lost, I was bleeding since Mr.X removed my tampon because he liked it “nasty”. Eww. So my boyfriend drove to get me because I got lost. I was afraid to tell him what happened. I remember getting so drunk at his apartment, was it rape if I only said no once? if I never fought back? if I moaned? If it wasn’t violent? I couldn’t tell him because I was afraid he would leave me all I could do in my drunken stupor was scream and cry and crawl towards his front door. And to this very day this same man takes care of me, I was fortunate to meet him.I was lucky he could overlook my past and love me in my entirety. But that’s another story.
Then, my boyfriend and I broke up for a duration of time. It was suggested to me, by men and women alike that I go into the occupation of phone sex. So I registered online at this sex site, I put up a picture, and a little description. I changed my number that day, because the job offers would not stop. The emails would not stop. I did however, get in contact with one agent that said he worked down in Florida. He said I could be the next Lacey Duvalle. I was young, tight, and I wanted to succeed. He told me about wearing butt plugs, to get used to having a penis up my butt. He said those paid the most. He asked me if I liked sex, and I said sometimes, then he said, “If you’re getting 3000 dollars an hour you’re going to like it.” He wanted to send me a plane ticket down to Florida. He told me don’t cut myself anymore because my scars are not attractive. He had a director from the most ghetto porn production company call me, and that is when I knew, I could not go through with doing pornography. Being pummeled by multiple penises does not and did not appeal to me.
I started cutting myself again and I went back to Mr.X. He was like a daddy, but I already had a father, an amazing father. So he took me to this club which I was under aged for, to “work for him.” Sure I made tips walking back and forth with drinks. I even met a wanna be celebrity whose name is not worth mentioning. I remember a man pulling out a picture of a girl sucking his dick on his phone and showing it to me. I remember gunshots and standing in the elevator in case I had to make a quick escape. I was drunk, I was high. I remember one of his cousins hitting on me and being asked to leave the club. Then he left me with a group of girls who kept telling me how much he cares, because he was looking out for me. I was still high when we got back to Mr. X’s apartment, the girls were doing lines on the table, and I walked in the bathroom. There was this DJ, a well known Dj, but he was really tall and really wide. He cornered me in the bathroom, I was scared, and luckily Mr. X told him to let me out. This massive man, wanted me for the night, he told Mr. X, he would pay him right now if he let me go with him, but Mr. X said no I belonged to him. Somehow I ended up in a room with another one of Mr. X’s cousins who was making passes at me. Mr. X got angry, he thought I had sex with his cousin, so his cousin had to leave, and I was to be supervised in a room with one of Mr.X’s assistants. Then 3 more girls came in the room. And at 5 in the morning Mr. X came in the room, and us 5 girls, with Mr. X’s hand across all of us slept on the same bed.
I thought I was done with him after that, because I told him that I didn’t want to have sex with him. So he let me go. Before I left him I was introduced to “sugar daddy” dating sites. I was single, and bored, so I tried it. There I met a man who used to play for the Kansas City Chiefs. He flew me next day from Arizona to Kansas and back in a period of 12 hours. He picked me up in a shiny hummer, and handed me a burberry teddy bear. We stayed at the Hilton airport Hotel. He was fat like a hippo. I blocked the sex out because I was so disgusted. But I did take the cash he left on the bed. He must have been married because every hour someone kept calling his phone.
I went back to Mr. X, why? this time I don’t know. Maybe I was bored. That time he introduced me to amateur porn. It was easy enough. Getting naked for men over the internet, faking masturbation, messaging them, anything to keep them in my chat room. But then Mr. X tried to have sex with me yet again and was successful at it. We had sex live on camera, and all of a sudden my chat room was being stormed with customers. I remember the double sided dildo hiding in the corner of room. I told him to turn the camera off because I could not hide the disgust on my face. I knew he slept with every girl that “worked” for him and I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.Then I think he wanted to punish me because I told him strictly business. He told me that I would have to start turning tricks since I refused to sleep with him. The men were older and wealthy. These were the type of men that lived in gated communities, and had 3 or 4 Mercedes parked in the driveway. These were the type of men that paid the rent and other bills for their own personal escort. He said that I would go and render my services, then I would bring back the money and he would put the money in a pool with all the other girls’ money and he would distribute it out evenly to all of us. That did not make much sense to me so again, I said goodbye to Mr. X.
A few months later his very cute cousin sent me a message on a popular social network. Being bored as usual I decided to meet him, but I told him not to tell Mr. X. He said he could make me feel good, and missing my ex as much as I did, that sounded like a good idea. I got so high, that I woke up backwards on this guy’s penis and I don’t know how I got there. Then there was a knock on the door. Mr. X’s cousin told me to be quiet. I could hear Mr. X’s voice but it was muffled, I think he knew I was hidden in his cousins room but he didn’t come in.
Another few months went by and I found myself back in Mr. X’s apartment. He asked me what I would be bringing to the table this time? He wanted to see me naked and he wanted to sample the product. He said after 23 my looks would start going downhill, there will always be a girl that is younger, hotter and willing to do above and beyond what I was willing to do. After I proved to him that I was serious about making money for him, I left and I never went back to him again.
Shortly after, I met another man off of this sugar daddy dating site. He said he would pay me to have dinner with him twice a month, send him pictures and talk to him on the phone. That was easy enough. He didn’t want sex he wanted companionship. I soon found out that he didn’t want sex because he had a very small penis. This guy was a creep who enjoyed calling me names when I did not answer his calls, I didn’t care about him I cared about the money. He lost his job and could not pay me so I stopped talking to him.
Then I moved back to the place where I was coached in casual sex and met another guy off the sugar daddy site, this guy out of careful deliberation this time. He lived in a mansion located in a prestigious part of Illinois. His house was picture perfect. He obviously had a maid. Leather seats, and fur rugs lined the many rooms in his house. He didn’t cook, I could tell by all the water bottles and alcohol that lined his fridge. He had the most beautiful bathroom, with a steam shower, it was like showering in a waterfall. He got me drunk off of vodka and tonic, we were not supposed to have sex on this visit, but the alcohol got the better of me. I woke up, naked next to him and I thought I could hear other footsteps in the house. I was scared but I had to wait till morning because it was a long drive back home.
That was the last time I sold sex of any kind. The thought of suffering through sex with men just made me sick. This was not therapy. Doing porn, stripping or prostituting myself was not the medication that would heal my mind. I was only making myself sicker than I already was. Selling my body was not the cure for a broken heart, boredom or depression.How many dicks would it take to fill the gaping hole in my chest? How many more men? The men were not the issue I was. The first step to healing is personal accountability. There is life after working in the sex industry, and there is a lot more happiness after leaving it. What I choose to do with what is between my legs does not and did not define who I was, am, and will be.
“Therefore if any man be in Christ he is a new creature,old things are passed away,behold all things become new,” 2 Corinthians 5:17
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