Tough Confessions of a Former Sex Worker and Drug Addict

[Borginborg]

It is sad that a whole section of our society is forgotten and pushed aside. I know it is a taboo subject but it is one that needs to be addressed occasionally.

Truth is (hell I feel uncomfortable saying this even though I have given the same speech once a year for the past 3 years), I used to rent myself out. I was an addict and needed to support my addiction and because of the sexual abuse as a child I already viewed my body as nothing but a sexual object for other people's pleasure, so why not?

Although, my clientele was not just limited to just men; in fact, the majority of my 'clients' were female. Which was no surprise to me as the majority of my abusers as a child were female (don't look so shocked).

So lets start:

I am on a drug binge one night, I am out of money and so I go do what I feel I need to do.

The client is female and has poor hygiene which means that she has extremely bad odors coming from her creases and holes and I have to put my face and other parts there. I do what i have to, It takes me about 20 minutes to get rid of the sexual frustration that drove her to hire me. I get my money and leave, with her stench stuck to me like glue.

I go around the corner and scrub my face and hands with the steel wool I keep in my pocket using a puddle of muddy water at the side of the street. It seems to do nothing to help get this stench off me so I pour on a quarter bottle of Aqua Velva and head on my way as I drink a sip of my cologne to get rid of her taste.

I go get my drugs and load them into a syringe and jam it home...finally, peace from all those triggered memories. I go out a few more times that night, each time re-triggering the memories of abuse. Each time scouring myself afterwards with steel wool and drinking cologne.

The next morning I decide I am hungry and walk 2 hours in order to access one of the community resources that provides lunch to the homeless. I get in line and there handing out plates of food is a "big chunky stench" (I never did come up with good nicknames for my clients but that is what i knew her as).

Immediately I started to gag; if anything had been in my stomach I would have had a new home there on the floor. Luckily my stomach was empty after being on God knows what of a drug bender. I started sweating profusely and couldn't stay, so I left hungry then went and repeated the cycle yet again. I remember that all day I couldn't get the memory or the taste of her out of my head. I stole and drank a bottle of mouthwash just to get the taste of her that I was imagining our of my mouth..

"How dare she pretend to care and help us when she uses us for her own pleasure?" was the thought going through my head all day. I kept getting angrier and angrier. Then it dawned on me: if I keep going I am going to lose that fire in my eyes just like so many of the street workers I knew as friends. Lost, given up on themselves and society, hopeless, helpless and could care less. I refused to become a walking zombie, a toy for a body with nothing inside.

The truth is many street workers, escorts', companions and adult entertainers have difficulty going out in public because they may run into their clients. Nothing would be worse than going to the movies with that person you finally met that understands you. You think maybe this is your opportunity to finally leave the life and start over again, and then you see your client there with their family and they sit right behind you and rub their foot on the back of your neck, or says something that scares away your date.

Try shopping as a normal person and seeing the client that stiffed you and threw you out of their vehicle with less than you went into it with.

Try going to a restaurant and being served by the person that was into BDSM and scarred your face for life.

How did I escape it? you ask, I was given a rare opportunity by a man that has since become my mentor, friend and father of choice (that is another myTake for another day). But before that all happened I was already healing for this line of work. I came to embrace the fact that I am a walking stigma. I cannot change the past nor do I necessarily wish to. I learned to take pride in who and what I was.

Yes, I will feel shame about things I have done for the rest of my life but I will not allow the people that used and abused me to have control over me because of it. I will not be afraid to show my face in public because I might bump into the guy I sucked off for $40.00 or the lady that paid me $50.00 to shit on me. I will also not go down between your legs again just because I did it in the past not for any amount of money..

I am more than that. I have more power than my abusers. I am worth more than my drugged-out mind charged you for the temporary use of my body. I am someone, the fire in my eyes will not die, and to my ex-clients if I ever see you out there in public, seeing you will only make that fire burn that much brighter.

So here is to the abused, raped, used and discarded, the streetwalkers, street workers, adult companions, adult entertainers and escorts...

**cheers**

And don't give up the fire inside you, because no man or woman on earth can take away what is inside you.

[corbynHALTZ]

that's cool. but then drugs are for losers.

[Borginborg]

I was a loser lol

[Anonymous]

Know the feeling on the smell situation, been there got the tshirt!!! U can wash and wash and still get whiffs of it - well done for getting out of it !!

[Borginborg]

Thank you