Ode to my favorite whore

Alternative title: From the outside to the inside – I’ll never be the same and that’s a good thing.

I am a college student. I have been one for a long, long time. I’ve been told I should try sex work. I would be open to it if I could get hard without being turned on. Plus, I get stage fright. I guess I am open to certain, very specific scenarios that I won’t ever find because I don’t have the time to seek them out (but the word is out with certain extremely competent Dom friends). So, I am a student for real, but I identify with whores. In another year, with a little luck and a shitload of work, some people will call me “Doctor.” My most recent stint began with a move across the country to a state I had never seen before. In fact, the first time I saw this state was from the driver’s seat of my U-Haul. I was moving to a town in which I didn’t know a single soul. All my friends said “Wow. Well, that place will be quite a bit different than here.” They couldn’t have been more correct. For all the shit we “Americans” get about how we supposedly all live—like we are all characters from Friends—our country is made of regions that might as well be different countries. My new town caused me culture shock that lasted for a couple of months. It was prolonged because I managed to talk a girl into driving out with me. I never intended for this to happen, but she ended up stayed for a month and a half before heading back to the other coast—which delayed my entire adjustment process. I was now all alone in a very strange place.

 

Like many other lonely people, I started cruising Craigslist. I found an ad that struck me in a way I couldn’t ignore. Since I was in my late 20s and good looking, it never occurred to me to check out the Casual Encounters section. Basically, I knew nothing at all about the sex industry. Well, not exactly nothing. I knew that I loved porn. In fact, it was a major source of friction with a previous girlfriend. In short, I stood up for my porn. At one point, my girlfriend said I had to choose between her and porn. I tried to tell her that was like choosing between air and water, but she didn’t understand. It ended up being more like choosing between air and a really fast car that broke down all the time. I am rambling now and that is another story.

 

I also had some minimal knowledge of strip clubs. However, they made me fairly uncomfortable and the drinks were way too much money. But, the dancers were hot and looked like they were having fun and many of them made their way into my memory—filed under “spanking material.”

 

At the time, sex work was not something I thought about a lot. I did believe a lot of the misinformation distributed by the media—but never gave it enough thought to discredit it. My mother was a second wave feminist, so I also had a bit of guilt about all my porn consumption (although the naughtiness of it was a big turn-on). BUT. I did know there had to be another side to the story. If sex work was so bad, why were so many girls and guys doing it? With the internet, I could see 40 different girls per session and not see the same girl twice in several months. Also, the girls at the strip club really did seem to enjoy themselves.

 

So, back to my new strange town and this Craigslist ad. The ad began like many other W4M ads—a checklist of requirements for the applicant. Oddly enough, I honestly met all of the requirements of this ad. Then, and this is what blew my mind, the ad described its author: Confident, attractive, intelligent, new to the area, and (I quote) “a vegetarian, so I taste good.” The woman was looking for “clean boys for dirty fun.” The woman also mentioned she traveled a lot and was very independent, so was not looking for a boyfriend. The ad was extremely well-written, it used proper grammar, and I could just tell the author was quite intelligent.

 

Holy Jesus! It was perfect. It was also one of the first times I actually responded to an online personal. I just had to meet this woman! I ruled out the possibility of her being a spammer—she mentioned the town by name in the ad AND it was way too witty and original to be a fake.

 

It took about an hour for me to write the response. I really had to give this my best shot since, I was certain she probably got about 3,000 responses.

 

By the next morning, there was a reply! The reply was also intelligent and interesting. It also came with a picture. The picture was obviously professionally done. This woman was beautiful! We exchanged a few more emails and decided to meet each other.

 

When we met, I was nervous and there was no denying it or hiding it. I hadn’t felt like that since early in high school (the wall-flower days before I learned how to be confident—or apathetic, depending on the situation). Occasionally, a pretty girl can intimidate me, but usually I can hide it. This time, I could not hide it. This girl was not only beautiful, but her emails were incredibly witty and interesting. Now, I was finally seeing her in person and she was even better looking than her pictures (on a side note, she has since met better photographers and her pictures now approach her actual beauty). She smiled and I melted. So genuine and beautiful! I didn’t know what else to do, so I asked what she would like to drink and her request happened to be my usual drink. Wow.

 

Luckily, by the time those drinks were half gone, my nervousness was entirely gone. This girl was also a very skilled conversationalist—possibly even better than my father’s barber. We talked for a couple of hours and a few more drinks. Before long, it felt like I knew her for years. It really struck me how well developed her political and social ideas were—she was extremely radical, but to say her views were logical and well-supported is a tremendous understatement. Her radicalism was genuine. People who parrot radical ideas to impress other people piss me off. It takes passion to know how to support radical ideas and even more rare is the commitment and selflessness necessary to spread those ideas and make them seem like common sense. People who have this passion and commitment are able to spot their own kind—they have to. It is necessary because they are small in number, but through meeting and collaborating with each other, their ability to make change expands exponentially (I see this happening on BNG).

 

We talked about a very wide range of issues in a conversation that flowed very naturally. It was obvious we shared a lot of common ideals—mostly clustered around social justice and freedom of opportunity for marginalized groups.

 

One question was still rattling around in my head. This person was so articulate and honest, but three hours of intense political conversation and personal history had gone by and I still did not know how she made a living. She mentioned that she used to strip, but now works for herself and spends time working with advocacy groups who fight for sex worker’s rights. She had a lot of stories about traveling, political activism and volunteer work. I know from my experience that activism and volunteering cant support this kind of travel. I thought she was either a stripper or a trust fund baby who felt a social obligation. Pretty soon, bits of stories and mentions of her family ruled out the trust fund baby theory.

 

Three hours went by like 5 minutes and she asked me if I’d like to go to her place because she had some herb. Of course I went. Even if I didn’t enjoy it, I would have gone. We finally had a moment where there was a lull in the conversation and I asked what she did for a living. She said point blank, looking me directly in the eye, “I’m an escort.” I asked “does that mean you take men out to dinner and shit?” She said “Sometimes, but mostly we just fuck.”

 

At the time, I had a comfortable buzz (not drunk, mind you—we were talking too much for me to actually get drunk), so my reaction was to roll with it. She said something along the lines of how she liked stripping, but found that being an escort suited her better because she could work entirely independently. Then (about 30 seconds after telling me she was a hooker) she said she had a client coming in 15 minutes, but that she really enjoyed hanging out with me. I returned the compliment and she asked if I would like to come back in about an hour and a half. I said “sure—give me a call.”

 

When I was driving home, I was in the weirdest state of mind. I thought about how life is not at all random. This person was exactly who I needed to meet at this point in my life. For one thing, I was very horny, and I thought that this person had to be down with casual sex. For another, I was in need of a good friend. Oh shit. Sex plus very good friend in the past has equaled relationship. I remember thinking about how I promised myself not to give my heart to someone who would break it—which at that point, basically meant not having a serious, monogamous relationship. I thought to myself “This is good. A friend who will have sex, but won’t become my girlfriend.” At the time, I believed her choice of work would keep me from getting too serious with her. This was my first personal contact with whore stigma. I try to be an honest person, but how could I tell my friends and family that I was falling in love with a prostitute? I thought “if she actually calls me, I will go back.” She called and I went back to her place and we DIDN’T EVEN HAVE SEX—despite the fact we met looking for casual sex on Craigslist.

 

She and I developed a very deep love for each other. If felt natural—actually, it felt inevitable. She taught me how to teach myself about polyamory. Through her, I learned and explored things like how societal constructs and conventions can be so ingrained that we mistake them as natural, universal and sourced within ourselves—when really, they are as about as natural as any other thing humans create, like Styrofoam, Chicken McNuggets or AK-47s that come from society. A prime example is jealousy. We are taught to be jealous when someone we love fucks someone else. Once I realized that jealousy is really just a reaction to a personal insecurity—jealousy is a thing I got from society: a convenient, pre-packaged way to deal with my perception of inadequacy. Jealousy—at one time the cause of so much pain in my life, is now something I understand and can actually reject, because I realize now that it is a distraction—a misdirection of energy that prevents me from exploring something scary (which like many scary things become less threatening once you learn more about it). I learned enough from her to write a book (and someday, I might just do that). She is a great friend who introduced me to some amazing people. She even helped me with my professional work (advocating for a marginalized group of people). She became my best friend very quickly. We went on many adventures together and shared enormous portions of our lives with each other.

 

Now, after two and a half years. It is time for a change. We both feel the need to step away from the fire. I need to retreat back into my solitude to confront personal demons that have hurt both of us and she has work to do as well. I managed to keep my promise not to let someone break my heart, but it is not because I protected it or kept it from her. It is because she is one of the best people I have ever met. She is that rare someone who lives by her own high standards (which means she is a fighter and can really piss people off). Once, I said one of the things that made me happiest about her was that I knew for certain that she was with me by choice—and if she was ever uncertain about that choice, she’d be gone. She, like many of the other whores I’ve come to know, is among the strongest and most capable people I know.

 

Our society has its good and its terrible aspects. I tend to believe our society must change because its terrible aspects are out of control. This is especially evident to me right now. Poor pitiful whores, it says. No way. OR it’s that nasty evil whore. Again—no way. This whore is anything but pitiful and certainly isn’t evil. She can have the piece of my heart I gave her. I know she will take care of it—just like how she takes care of her best clients. I also know the farthest I will ever be from her is a phone call—which at this time, seems like the best distance. And me, I took a test that said if I was an animal, I would be a wolf. I face a dilemma of being a social creature who cares very intensely for a few select people, but I also need a wide space to roam by myself. I know now that this whore I met on Craigslist also needs her space to roam—but she’s more like a queen bee (the test said she was a badger, I think that’s because she was in a bad mood when I made her take it after I found out I was a cool animal). And now, she needs to tend to her hive—which needs her more than ever. It seems like a tipping point for sex workers rights (and maybe, hopefully, even perceptions of sexuality in general) is on the horizon and her strength is better applied pushing the movement over that tipping point in the best direction than dealing with a crazy ass like me. She is a visionary, revolutionary, sharp as a fucking tack force of nature. She is flying away tomorrow, and I had to get this out—as much for myself as for her or, for anyone who doesn’t think whores are real people who are contributing to our society (and always have been–think: which women were the first to learn to read and write and more directly, who has been whispering into the ear of society’s most powerful men for as long as there has been society?) I feel like a more capable, stronger person for having met her–if for nothing else, if I am facing a tough decision or ethical dilemma I can now answer the question: “What would that whore I met on Craigslist do?” (WWTWIMOCLD?) I love her and always will—the whore I met on Craigslist.

Memory Lane

I have a book shelf that has old notebooks from school, day planners and such. I recently decided that it’s time for a major purge so I’m sorting through all of it and throwing out what I don’t need.

Going through the pages of one of the day planners I came across one of my first web-based sex work experiences. Scribbled on the back of a printed email is the name of a store and cross streets in San Francisco. That was where I met him at- across the street from his apartment. And his phone number, just seven digits, because everybody in SF has a 415 area code.

He had posted an ad on craigslist.org seeking a student who’d be interested in mutual masturbation. I was about 20 or 21 years old. At the time I lived outside of San Francisco. I had been a dancer, but there weren’t many dancing opportunities in the town I’d moved to. So I sought out sex work opportunities in the Bay Area because it was the nearest city where the sex industry was easily accessible, but it certainly is not the only city where the sex industry is easily accessible.

So I replied to his ad. Sincerely able to say “I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

The idea of going to a man’s house and letting him watch me masturbate really turned me on. Getting paid for it was even better. But obviously, I had safety concerns. Was he really going to respect my boundaries and not touch me? What if he was psycho? I didn’t really know what to expect, but how would I know if I didn’t just drive into the city and find out?

He asked me what sort of porn I like to watch. I told him girl-girl porn because I was mostly into girls around that time. I took all of the safety measures that I could think of. I gave the address and his phone number to a friend and promised to call her when I left his house and when I got back to my place. I did call her when I left, but I forgot to call her when I got home. I was so tired I just fell asleep. A mistake that I will never make again. It’s not fair to leave people who care about you to worry. Especially when they’re being supportive of your choices and helping you be safe.

So after many emails and phone calls I finally felt safe about going to SF for the meeting. I was excited all the way there. It was one of the most outrageous decisions I’d ever made. But I felt prepared and equipped to make that decision. I felt very safe after some investigation and planning with friends. If I had been driving into the city with nobody looking out for me I may not have been so confident. Having a friend who knows what you’re doing is so valuable.

I didn’t even have a cell phone at the time. When I arrived at the store he was there to show me where to park. He was in his mid-30’s, balding a little bit, about 5’10”. A little over-weight, but not obese. I could tell he was nervous, which somehow made me feel relieved because I wasn’t nervous at all. I think in that moment I understood that I was the one with the power, even if I couldn’t articulate that feeling at the time.

So we went up to his apartment. It was a typical one-bedroom in San Francisco: wood floors, tiny kitchen with tiny bathroom that hadn’t been updated in at least ten years, a decent sized bedroom and a living room. He was a bachelor working for some tech company that was probably later bought out by Microsoft or Oracle.

When we got into his apartment $200 was sitting on the counter. He just sort of waved toward it then offered me a drink. I asked for water and slipped the cash into my purse. Then I used his phone quickly to check in with my friend.

I was happy and enthusiastic. It was obvious that nothing was going to happen if I didn’t initiate it. So I jumped right in.

“Let me check out the movies you got!”

“Oh, they’re in the bedroom,” he said in a mumble. Now I was starting to have sympathy for him. He was so nervous! I wondered how long it had been since he’d had a girl in his apartment.

I went into the bedroom and chose from three videos. I opted for a dvd with a three-girl scene. Why not? He put in the video and then said, “Uh, I got you some toys too.”

“Yay!” I was genuinely pleased about that.

He handed me a package that had a little mini-vibe plus additional attachments. Perfect.

I didn’t see any reason for making conversation. It would have just put more stress on this socially awkward guy. He wanted to hang out for a while with an adventurous woman who would show him a good time. So I did.

The girls in the movie were hot and it had some elements of kink with boots and riding crops. I liked having the movie there for both of us to look at in order to avoid awkward interactions with each other. But what I really got off on was being watched, and knowing that he was getting off on watching.

So we masturbated for each other while watching porn. Nothing too kinky or unusual. He was very respectful. He didn’t make any unwelcome advances. He seemed to understand that if I felt comfortable that I would take the experience to a fun place that was pleasing to both of us.

As we watched the movie and played with ourselves I got more and more excited. I took one of his hands and placed it on my right breast. I turned so that he was directly in front of me and placed one foot on each side of his body so that I was straddling him, spread eagle with a clear view of my pussy while I massaged my clit with the mini-vibe and fingered myself to climax. I felt him squeeze my tit harder as he moaned and came into his own hand.

“Wow! That was fun!” I wanted us both to feel good about the experience. I knew that his pleasure was reflected in my pleasure. And I genuinely enjoyed myself.

He was shy, but clearly happy. He offered me a clean towel if I’d like to have a shower. I accepted and quickly rinsed off, sure to take my purse and all of my clothes into the bathroom with me. He seemed nice, but I was still protective of myself and the money I’d just earned.

When I came out he had a bottle of water for me and smile. He thanked me for coming with a shy giggle. He was sweet and I was happy to have shared the experience with him. I used his phone quickly to say I was heading out the door. And I left.

On the way home I stopped for gas and realized that I was standing at the pump with a huge grin on my face the entire time. It was kinky and fun, and I’d just made in one evening what I was used to making in a week. Suddenly, so many options were available to me that I’d never had access to before…