how it started

Do you remember how lonely you felt riding in the passenger seat hair blowin out the window at 3am on a Thursday night, driver was some guy you met about 2 hours ago, whole head tatted like and running from the law. . you got a few weeks before you’re gonna return to university yeah you’re just a sophomore in college, didn’t grow up like this, wasn’t raised like this. . looking at yourself in the flip down mirror, pupils like gaping black holes headed nowhere how did I get here?  Wanna call someone, Idk who maybe my dad or that boyfriend that said he loved me but I lied to too many times . . just wanna call someone idk anyone and hear that I’m loved. One hit off that pipe and I’m gone, left a little piece of me on the streets that night.

Fast forward bout a year later. I got sober through 12 steps but really only had to take 1 step and His name is Jesus. He knew me but I didn’t know Him yet. I thought I did but I was in a taking relationship, just thinking how much I could get like and blaming when things didn’t go my way. . I piled my plate sky-high with coursework and goals for the future, a relationship that was abusive, got reclusive but the voices in my head were louder, demons from the past. Yeah they wanted me back, but I kept pushing, still fighting, until I ran out of money. Curiosity killed the cat well it got me, and I met a young woman at the right place at the wrong time sitting in the cubicle head noddin’ to the floor.. she was high. I knew. Everyone staring as she stumbled to the bathroom, I followed her to help her. But her demons helped themselves to me and I helped her get a ride home but then I got her number. Mistake #40. Hit her up just to chat, meanwhile scheming and curious about what she did at night. She took me. To the strip club we went first thing they asked was let me see your tits and I showed em. Didn’t care .. who was this girl? Backstage we went, centipedes slithering up and down the spiritual walls then I was trying out. It wasn’t hard just take your clothes off how hard can it be? Try to be seductive with it, just move around and be sexy. I did and stared straight ahead at nothing but a spot in the wall, over the tops of greasy heads, I couldn’t look em in the eyes. Quick grab the dollar bills on the stage and try not to slip. See how many lapdances you could get, or better yet a VIP. Wait are they allowed to touch me there? Oh well they payin me more so why not let em go to second base . . pretty sure its not legal nor is it comfortable . . but the money is what I want and need. Next thing you know im craving drugs, and that girl has heroin so off we go . . money goes quicker than it comes and im lost in the vortex of sin.

Round 2

I watched them walk into Starbucks and order their lattes. They just seemed so…normal. Polo-sporting, middle-aged matching jewelry set-wearing, “dear”-saying normal. And then there was me. Little old me who takes the shuttle to the courthouse for her internship, dressed in a pant suit, acting like she didn’t spend last night taking provocative photos in a school girl outfit. Yesterday was my last day at “the office”..and thank god. Now, I can actually rest before a late-night of escort work. This intern-by-day, slut-by-night thing is exhausting. I told myself that if I was going to do this double-life thing, I had to give each life a fair amount of time, energy, and effort. But, as I rushed into work without brushing my hair or teeth, I realized the foolishness of that idea. I am fortunate, now, that since both my internship and summer class are over, I have more time to devote to my midnight madness. The only thing impeding on my success is a boyfriend who asks an awful lot of questions. I told him that I work as an event staff host, working various/random events across the southern region of the state. It works because I actually am hired for a security staffing company, but I can pick and choose when I work. So far, contrary to what my boyfriend believes, I have worked a whopping one shift.

Conner got mad that day. I took the shift trying to lure myself back into a healthy part-time job. You know.. like the girls at Starbucks or Target who have more respect for themselves. So, I spent the night standing on my feet for 6 hours working with a group of people who probably just got their GEDS. I tried not to talk about law school. I made about $70. I missed two client calls and $500 I could have made in 2 hours. I called out for my shift tonight and Friday so that would not happen again. Connor gave me this long spiel about how unprofessional that was since I negledted to tell him I picked up the event shift until 4pm. I guess I did not think he would actually get a call, since the last three days it was dead.

“That’s the nature of outcall escorting work. You’re on call. It’s not up to me whether you get calls or not, but you have to be ready when you do. ”

I finally got a second call Wednesday night. After a long work day, I drove 50 minutes to my agent’s house. He took forever to arrive. I waited and waited, my paranoia at an unhealthily high level. I kept looking over my shoulder as headlights flickered through my window. Was I waiting for Connor or doing a drug deal? The anticipation, the fear, the anxiety–it all felt the same. My body probably thinks I’ve relapsed already. Conner could sense it when I got in his SUV.

“You been drinking or something? You keep asking all these questions that lack common sense..”

My questions actually were not void of common sense. I was just being extra cautious, as I usually am. I asked if this was a new client, if Conner gave him my name, what his likes/dislikes were. Pretty standard and appropriate if you ask me. My agent in ___ did not always give the client my name yet, so, no, that was not a stupid question. The drive felt longer than normal because Conner kept using passive aggressive jabs to reiterate the fact that he was mad. I know Conner, I know.

He dropped me off at this nice condomium residence and I walked across the parking lot to meet the client, Trevor. He looked a lot more attractive for a man his age than I expected. Caucasion, well-groomed, slender. I followed him up the long hallway to his door, trying to make conversation. Usually I assume my alter-ego rather quickly, but for some reason, because he was attractive, I got a bit nervous… like he would have higher expectations. When we walked inside, I saw a glass of wine on the table. Oh no.. is he going to make me drink? Shit.. shit.. fuck. I asked for a water.

We sat on the couch and spent an awkward 5 seconds staring at each other. Conner reprimanded me later for this, but fuck Conner. This client wasn’t giving me anything to work with.

“Do you want a massage?” I pepped up, reaching for my massage oil.

“I would love that,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. Perfect ..breaking the physical touch barrier. “Here.. or in the room..?” He asked in a rather shaky manner.

“Whereever you’re comfortable!”

I followed him into his bed room. He took off his shirt and laid face down on the bed. I climbed on top of him in my summer dress, wondering if I should just take it off. It kept getting in the way dammit. After some conversation, I found out he was an attorney. Great.. another one. Are all my clients going to be attorneys? I told him I was in undergrad and thinking about law school. I did not tell him I was actually in law school right now. He didn’t need to know that. But thinking about my experiences lately, I wonder. If I become an attorney, will I grow up to be old and lonely like these men? He just seemed so sad… spending $500 just to get intimate with a girl. He wasn’t even bad looking! Apparently, he recently got divorced. Why?! I am sad just thinking about it… seeing how lonely these men are.

When I went down on him I pretended it was my boyfriend. I tried not to inhale. I felt gross. Finally, I climbed on top of him and we did it girl-on-top. Please cum fast.. please cum fast. I did not know if he wanted dirty talk or not. He just seemed so.. respectable! Like.. what if I interned for this man.. how could I do that after screaming daddy daddy fuck my tight pussy..? I couldn’t. The words would not come out. Plus, I did not want to scare him. I just said safe things like, “Ooh that feels good”, “Don’t stop”, “I like that.” I hope he did not think I was boring. Like I said, he was not giving him any leeway.

Afterwards, he was more talkative. I guess a good fucking does that to a man. He wanted to cuddle. I was happy he still wanted to embrace me, but I really didn’t want to cuddle. He started to kiss me and we French kissed for a bit. Ugh.. This is the hard part.. Kissing and letting them eat you out. I don’t know why.. maybe because it feels like the sacred part of sex that only a couple should share. Plus I don’t want some old geiser’s floppy tongue circling my clit or sucking on my labia. UGH!!! Kill me now!!! I guess the GOOD thing about kissing is that its totally appropriate to close your eyes. Still.. you have to take in their scent.. I had to think about money again. That worked.

Back at it

I started shaking, but I didn’t cry. I knew what I was getting into. You might think I learned my lesson. Or maybe that escorting was something I only did when I was high. I had a justifiable reason then. Right..?

I am two years sober and approaching my second year of law school. The last time I worked in the adult industry, I was addicted to heroin, broken, barely getting by, and needed a “hustle”.

I currently have a great internship, but I don’t get paid. I am actually paying to work, since each credit costs $1200 and I’m taking 3. Some cruel joke right? Oh, but I’m getting experience. So I work full time while taking a Saturday class. I got a loan for the summer, but due to my irresponsibility, I have $0.00 of that left. I’ve always sucked at budgeting. Frankly, I just like to shop. I like the mind-numbing experience I get walking into Target or Walmart and buying a bunch of shit I don’t need. I like buying makeup and clothes and fitness products. Am I greedy? Or am I just a 21st century girl brainwashed by our commercialized society? Anyway.. I did that and got broke. I hustled both my dad and my boyfriend for money. But neither of them are wealthy, and I am starting to feel guilty taking their hard-earned money. Especially since, while I was supposed to be “working hard” in law school, I skipped several classes and failed Constitutional Law. I did do well in Criminal Law and mediocre in Property. Basically, I just got by. I know I am capable of so much more, but I got distracted. I  valued gym time more than study time using the excuse that exercise would wake me up to study. Sometimes that was the case, and I DO need exercise. It does wonders for depression, but I could have gotten up earlier to workout instead of sleeping through 3…4… 5 alarms every day.  I could wake up at a DECENT time like a NORMAL person instead of 12:00pm, rushing to get to my 1:30pm class. But, I procrastinated, lacked self-discipline, and I gave into my impulsive/animalistic nature. I indulged in a plethora of vices (all except drugs and alcohol).. I guess that made it Ok in my head.. But, I’m really just a clean addict living dirty.. and we know how long that lasts. .

So here I am mid-July, living in a state whose cost-of-living is insane, trying to make ends meet with two sources of income: my dad and my boyfriend. It’s not enough.

And there it was.. smiling, winking, beckoning me to follow it back into the darkeness of my past. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, getting impatient with God, feeling depressed/anxious/bipolar, and insanely overwhelmed, I listened. I started on Craigslist. I trolled over to the gig section looking for a promotional modelling job. That wouldn’t be too hard right? And I would get to work events so I would not be chained to a schedule that I could not meet with school.

I clicked on a promising advertisement and send my info along with a few sexy photos. Some guy texted me within a day. The conversation was fine, but he did not want to talk on the phone. Red flag #1. Then, out of the blue he asked me if I was interested in a sugar baby relationship, that he “didn’t normally do this”, but he thought I had that “cute, girl next door look”. I wonder how many girls you’ve said that to? I texted him.

Actually, you’re the only one.

Whatever.. so I made arrangements to meet. Meanwhile I got a response from a second promo modelling gig. The conversation developed into a “was I willing to do more than modeling” exchange. Ugh.. again? I was like, “Was this your plan all along?” Seriously.. can’t these guys go on seekingarrangment or pick someone up on eros. Why they attempting to bait girls with a promo modelling ad? Is promo modelling even a thing or is it just some gobbly-gook way of saying, “I have sex for money.” Whats your name, I asked guy #2? He told me it was John* with XYZ promotions.

Guy #1 told me his name was Derek, but after talking to him.. he said it was John. “Oh for XYZ promotions, I asked.” “Yes”

Same fricken dude!! UGH I let him know his error, texted guy #2 who was also guy #1 and said, “goodbye John.”

That ended my search for promotional modelling. Now what..?

That right.. escort agencies. I send my info and pics to a few agents until finally connecting with Conner*. I gave him a called while I was parked in front of a Young Peoples AA meeting, which was bad idea #1. He talked and talked and talked.. and I couldn’t get off the phone. Finally, I entered the meeting fifteen minutes late. I felt the piercing stares of alcoholic youth and made my way to the one open chair in the back head down. It was like I created this wall around me after one phone call, one decision.. I wanted to leave.

Everything happened so fast after that. I did not expect to be working already, but I completed by first call last night. It was with some Asian dude who had a really small penis. He was a good kisser albeit, so I just closed by eyes and pretended I was a Hollywood actress playing the role of a seductress. When that didn’t work, I just thought about money. Conner calls it “compartmentalizing”. I call it completely checking out. I don’t know who that girl was, but she was frisky, sexy, giggly, and charming. She said all the right words and wasn’t coy when it came to making the first move. She started off with a nice massage, flattering his oh-so-soft skin, kisses his tiny body.. and so on. He finished on my tit.

As I washed myself off in the bathroom, after having semen particles from two men on my body at once (one from Conner).. I thought, “You’re such a whore.” And I am.. Fuck.

A poem – crystal

Maybe you can tell me. What the hell I’m searching for.

Tell me when you touch my skin, do you feel something?

Anything more?

Or am I just a hollow shell, with her panties on the floor?

Another name I can’t remember for another hundred spent on drugs

Another lie

Another intruder

I let into my soul

Is it not still rape if I consent?

IF my consent is conditional ..

A “yes” to pay this month’s rent.

Can you tell me what happened?

To that innocent little girl?

Who got A’s on all her tests,

Whose hair around her hand she’d curl ?

Can you tell me when I said I’d never hit a bottom this low?

When taking off clothes for men was disgraceful?

Unclassy?

When did the line suddenly become a blur?

When did I start breaking my own rules?

When did I become this person?

When?

Distracted

Crystal—I’ve been stuck in the house all day, bored as ever. I haven’t been able to go to work (my day job) because I caught this nasty pink eye virus in both eyes and look like a stoned, sick 11 year old without my makeup. No, I’m not refusing to leave the house because of my makeup (im not that vain). I’m also highly contagious and my eyes feel like they’ve been pulled out, dropped in a pile of cat piss, clawed and scraped, then stuffed back in their sockets.

And it sucks because I was supposed to meet lance*, a representative from a local escort agency and had to cancel for a second time. My boyfriend is playing this annoying game he does where he hides in his house, in his bed, crying, and won’t answer my calls.

We’ve been through a lot in the short time I’ve known him. I should have saw this coming..I mean, I met the guy in a chemical dependency outpatient class. You know, for people coming off drugs.

I pick them so well.

I couldn’t help it. The class was filled with old geezers for quite some time, so when I saw his fresh face walk through that door my fresh-out-of-rehab hormones started wailing! And when he sat down behind me, I made it a point to sit up perfectly situated so he could catch a perfect view of my ass.

My counselor called him a “distraction”, but I blamed her negativity on her old age and dwindling if non-existent sex life.

Boy, was she right though. After we both “graduated” that program, I got involved in the strip club scene  and picked up heroin faster than my counselor could sign that graduation slip. Kyle* followed suit and we fell into this drug-induced utopia kind of love. Then, we both decided to go back to detox. They wouldn’t let us on the same unit. I told them I wanted to kill myself (which was semi-true) so they put me on the psych ward and him on the detox unit. The reason they didn’t initially put me on the detox unit was because I wasn’t visibly detoxing when I came in .. I had used that morning.

You could probably say I “did it for HIM”, because it wasn’t long before I was high yet again. Or I may have did it for my dad because my ex screenshotted texts I sent to him crying for help and how I’ve been stripping directly to my father who blew up my phone with several angry messages calling me a “whore”.

So now, instead of being at the strip club, I enjoy working private bachelor parties. I bring my female partner and Kyle* as my bouncer. He says he doesn’t mind me doing this kind of work (which involves getting completely naked in front of 7-10 guys and eating out my partner while we make noises and body movements that create the illusion were actually enjoying it),  but I know it may bother him at times. Still, he says he’d rather be there then me to go alone and be unsafe.

So let’s get this straight. He’s Ok with my stripping, NOT OK with sexual intercourse. So I keep the porn and escorting on the low.

Anyway, I have a shoot coming up on the 22nd. Anal. Ugh, I’m already icing my sore butthole in my mind. My agent told me to buy a “big dildo”. “No not just big, but the biggest they sell” and to stretching exercises with my asshole and Skype him videos. The fuck?

Then he said they’d be giving me an enema which he said feels “really cleansing”, and not to eat after 6pm until the end of the shoot the next day because he “doesn’t want things to get messy”. The good news is it’s $1500 so 500 more than a regular shoot. I think it should be $1000 more. I mean, this is my butt were talking about. So if I fool around with the manager again I should leave with $2500. Just in time to pay my rent. I just hope I don’t blow it all on drugs this time..

Shoot Numero Uno

Crystal –

“You’re already in the pool”.

He looked up at me, hand pressed against the bed sheet beside his flabby naked body. i watched his hand glide across the seams of the comforter, meanwhile, feeling so detached from the situation. As each minute passed, I had to internally pinch myself as a reminder I was not just having a really bad nightmare.

Now, don’t take this the wrong way. Never have I been the type of girl to hop on a plane to meet a man I’ve never met. To have sex with the owner of a multi-million dollar porn company. To do a bgg (boy/girl/girl) sex scene on camera. For money.

The whole flight there felt like it lasted ten times longer than it did. I watched my life flash before me with each nauseating jerking motion. I honestly felt that the universe was going to put a halt on this escapade before it happened, and I kept visualizing the plane plummet to the ground. I decided to grab one of those consumer magazines to distract me, but my conscience was louder than ever… telling me this whole thing was a bad idea.

Did I mention I have a boyfriend? Yeah, he’s the one that planted me a kiss as we waved goodbye at passenger drop-off. He thought I was making a trip to Vegas to see my family to help my aunt with a a charity event at an animal shelter. The camera guys thought it was funny.

“Yeah you’re getting down with the doggies alright. Doggy style”, they laughed and proceeded to bark. I laughed too, but winced, trying to get rid of the bad taste in my mouth. Is it cheating if I have no feelings whatsoever for the male talent? Is it cheating if I’m doing this solely for money?

No need to make me felt guilty, I already do. I feel like the worst girlfriend in the entire world. But, I was desperate and a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. Right?

My agent didn’t tell me I’d be having sex with the 50-something-year-old company owner. When I got to his luxury suite, he handed me a shot of vodka, and smiled.

“You know what we’re going to do now, right?”

Wrong. At this point, I started to sweat. He was going to lock me up now. He was going to take my phone and my belongings and chain me to his bed while he proceeded to let men rape me. Then, he was going to kill me. I began backing up.

“Should we call your agent? You don’t seem to be on board?” What the heck did he MEAN? On board for what?

“For what?”

He reached for the phone.

“No, you don’t have to call my agent. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about hooking up so I can give you the 500 you need for tonight,”

“Oh. ok. Can I have another shot?”

He handed me one, and then showed me his negative std test results. gonorrhea, no. syphilis, no. HIV, no. Yeah, but what about herpes?

“You aren’t going to, like, hurt me are you?” I hung my head low, as I followed him down the dark hallway to his room.

“No, honey, I don’t have energy for all that?” I laughed at my own stupidity. Why would anyone say “YES”?

——

“Some girls do it for a little extra cash,” he said when I asked him if he f**ked every new talent.

“Oh he does that with EVERYONE,” said my female co-star the next day as she tucked awhile the blond hair that’d soon be hanging in my face as she made out with me on the porn bed. I call it the “porn bed” because after skimming through the scenes online, the settings look suspiciously familiar and I wonder just how many other naked bodies have rolled around on that mattress.

After the excruciating 15 minutes or so, the manager asked if he wanted to go again for another 500? I rubbed my neck.

“You’re already in the pool. Might as well go for another swim. It will be easier this time.” What a sicko.

“Sure,” I said. Maybe, this time he’d finish quicker. And he did.

At one point, my eyes teared up. What the f*** was a doing? Am I even really here right now? Fortunately, he was behind me so I could discreetly rub my eye and proceed to moan so he wouldn’t be displeased and withhold my cash.

Afterwards, he could probably see the distraught look on my face because he said, “Tell me how you feel.”

Disgusting. Horrible. Awful. The scummiest scum on earth.

“Well, its just hard”. I pursed my lips. “Sex is so much more than physical motions. It’s a display of a much deeper emotion connection. It’s hard to do this with someone I just met.. someone I haven’t developed feelings for.”

For a reason I do not know, I wondered if I had hurt his feelings. And while I waited for him to respond, I thought of Kyle*, my boyfriend.

“I used to be like you, you know? So romantic when it came to sex. Now,” He took a breath. “I’m more realistic. That passion doesn’t last. People grow old. People grow apart. That’s why you see all those old cranky women who hate their husbands because they don’t f*** them anymore.”

I nodded, but tried not to let his pessimism ruin my idea of love. Because his case can’t be true in every situation. Can it?