It’s not exactly fast money, honey…

“I’m broke… I need cash, tell me how you do what you do”

Every day I have girls asking for advice, wanting to know what I do, what I’ve done, how I make money. I don’t mind people asking, however I no longer dish out free advice. Nor am I sorry for that, people don’t appreciate anything handed to them on a silver platter.

I have girls begging and pleading me to run them through the steps of becoming a profitable escort, the thing is, no matter how honest I’ve been there is still an illusion that’s it’s fast and easy money, that it’s the way to turn when you’ve got no where else to turn. 

People seem to think it’s the perfect last resort, that sex work will get them through when they are desperate and they can erase that part of their life once their crisis is over.

Now don’t shoot the messenger here, but sex work is real work. What I have is a real business, which I pour my heart into along with a ridiculous amount of effort and time. The money doesn’t just land in your lap as soon as you take a role in the industry, you don’t become a money magnet once you lend your body for pleasure. You have to work for it. Just like any other job or business, you don’t just get paid for existing.

My career costs me a ridiculous amount of money, every girl has a different way to run her business and market herself but below is a very vague idea of my costs, bear in mind that these can flactuate dramatically from month to month, from girl to girl… It’s just a guide:

Advertising: $450 per month minimum

Photoshoots: $2000-$5000(photographer, location, lingerie, makeup, hair) 2-4 times a year

Tours- $2000 (flights, accommodation, food) 1-2 times a month

Nails-$40 a month 

Hair- $350 a month

Make up- $200-400 a month

Incall- anywhere between $200-$600 a week

Taxis- $100-$300 a week

Personal training- $200-$300 a week

Lingerie- $300-$800 a set

Tax- percentage of my earnings

That’s a very rough guide to what it costs to be an independent escort but you get the idea.

There’s no way I would of ever of been able to pay expenses like that if I were broke and desperate.

It’s hard for so many to comprehend that I chose this career because I love it, I love so much about it, not because I needed to… And it’s unrealistic to think someone  going through a financially rough time can jump straight to that kind of career.

So, how do you do it? You work for somebody else. You join an agency or you work for a parlour. You learn the ropes, learn the industry, learn what it takes to be in and you quickly learn whether or not you’ve got it.

I hear so many girls complain that the agencies “take all their money”. While it’s true their are a lot of agencies that prey on the naivety of new sex workers, agencies take a cut of the money that is rightly earned. The hand you clients, they give you the experience and the skill. Why you are doing the physical work, you are only doing half the job it takes to be an independent escort, so your full rate isn’t all your money. 

I spend just as much time, perhaps more than the average person working each week, however only my client hours are the ones that I’m paid for, and that’s what business is. All the time I spend marketing, planning, analysing, completing administration, answering client inquiries etc, is all work that is completely necessary yet unpaid. I could however employ someone to take that off my hands which would be yet another expense.

There is a huge misconception that we are sex workers because we are lazy and it is easy. Not true. There are more people who fail to thrive in the industry then there are succeeding.

Another misconception is that we are stupid. Some of the savviest business women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting are sex workers. 

Everyone has the potential to make big money in the industry, yet people often overlook the effort it takes to acheive it.

Take a lover that looks at you like maybe you are magic

His arms are wrapped around me, as he snores peacefully beside me- noisily snores, though not breaking the contentment in my dark bedroom.

For the first in perhaps forever, I feel a blissful contentment fill my body as I casually intertwine my legs with his as he sleeps while I write, as I attempt to find a balance of doing my day to day life with the addition of his presence. 

Day by day he continues to stun me, leaving me speechless wondering how the fuck I got so lucky. The things he does, everything he notices, the things he says, the way he looks at me, the sense of incredible ease and comfort when I’m near him, the way my body pulls me toward him like a magnet, finding refuge in his arms.

For someone like myself who isn’t so emotionally inclined when it comes to relationships, appearing rather aloof, never wanting to show I care too much, the way he has me showing my love and devotion has shocked me, the mere realisation that I just want him near me so much was shock enough.

It seems like my body and my heart knew he was special far before my brain wanted a part of it, perhaps because my pattern of self sabotage was coming into play, I was fighting all my natural urges to run away when he was turning out to be more amazing than any man I could dream up my self. I was getting overwhelmed by it, thinking it was too much, he was too perfect, he was too nice, I’d hurt him… Or perhaps I was resisting because I knew he wouldn’t run away. Pondering how fucked up I must be to of been chasing men that showed such huge asshole signals, being intrigued by the challenge or charmed by their much practiced smooth talk, that when an incredible man wanted me, confusion and anxiety would strike.

He was patient with me. Thankfully. Never pushing me for anything more than I was ready to give, he could sense my independent qualities adjusting to the relationship. Which was all I needed to suddenly be unable to get enough of him, craving him so much.

No one has ever looked at me the way he does, everything about his stare communicates his love to me, I catch him gazing at me often, looking at me so fondly as though I’m an illusion that has him mesmerised. Though I don’t doubt that my return gaze is much different. His eyes soften as I catch them, his love radiating from them.

He has an insatiable desire to make me happy, keep me safe and know how special and beautiful I am. I roll my eyes when I hear the words fall from his mouth because I can’t believe how often he tells me how amazing I am, though I smile as I kiss him, dismissing the compliment with my lips pressed against his.

I can’t begin to list the things he does for me because it’s endless. He treats me like an absolute queen, so much love and respect, I’ve never been treated so well. No one has ever been so thoughtful or kind, I don’t know how I got so lucky. I’m top of his mind and he shows it so well.

I’ve fallen in love with a man who has gone from a friend to a lover, to the man I cam picture waking up to forever. His love has stunned me, his devotion has melted me, and he has opened my heart in a way I didn’t know could be done. My King.

Why are you being so nice to me…?

I sat there sipping my drink, observing the men around me. They are the three I speak to daily, and the three who know me oh so very well. Perhaps more than they should. They are the three I can laugh with easily, where I wear no mask or hide my raw emotions, the ones who I’m so comfortably myself with and the three I know in so very different ways.

I watched the differences between them as we joked around though I sensed a deep tension between us that had been brewing for a while now. There was a lot unspoken between all in the room, despite our constant chat each day.

One was the Dom who I had been distancing myself from more and more, waking up to the fact that perhaps our friendship really was nothing more than the words I needed to hear when he wanted into my pants or needed into my wallet. So many situations were leading me to that conclusion and none more than his recent act at what appeared to be possessiveness…. Over me.

As I grew closer to the other two he became desperate to see me, to talk, to hang out, to throw random lines into out conversation that would seem to be some claim of ownership over not really me, but sex with me. Im not stupid, nor am I blind and could easily see how his requests responded directly with my friendliness to the others. His moments of sulking if I appeared to favour another more added to this even more.

And the thing is, I was. 

I was becoming close with one of the boys, I’d share more with him, we’d hang out, I’d be excited to speak with him. I had no idea what my intention was other than I wanted to get to know him more. I knew how much I excited him, though I knew I was more. I knew what effect both my photos and my words had on him. I knew he liked me, I knew he wanted more…. And perhaps so did i… I wasn’t sue. He was so nice to me, I knew he’d be amazing for me, though the thought of someone being so nice scared me. I thought perhaps I’d walk all over him and he’d end up hurt, but maybe was I just scared I’d end up happy?

As I sat at the table, diffusing the Doms sexual advances and his blubbering apologies for what he feels broke our friendship apart, I instinctively began to compare them.

At this point in time I was beginning to become embarrassed for the Dom and what I began to see as pathetic behaviour. Looking more pathetic next to HIM…

All of sudden something switched on inside of me and I had an overwhelming desire to be close to him, near him, for him to keep me safe. Not an emotion that’s ever really present in this painfully independent woman’s life.

He treats me with so much respect, listens to everything I have said, interjecting and correcting the others on my behalf. He always pays so much attention to me, he cares. He’d always make such an effort and go out of his way to help me, or make my life easier in some way.

I couldn’t recall a time when a man was so genuinely interested in me, not my body…. Though of course, I knew he wanted that too… Yet never disrespected or made a move to get it outside my own leads.

I was beginning to become confused and to be quite honest, I still am, have I been so fucked around by men that all I’ve craved are the ones that make me chase? That show no respect, that don’t care, do I really not know how to act around a guy who does?

He was so attentive to me and everything I could possible need. Everything. 

We left together, with no intention other than spending time together. As we sat there drinking in the hotel room my client so kindly left me, he finally had the courage to kiss me. 

We kissed and cuddled, drinking and talking as the sun rose over the water. For some reason I still felt it important to say that I didn’t want to have sex. Even as the words stumbled out of my mouth, I knew it was unnecessary and bordering on insulting him.

I was comfortable with him, I showered and curled up next to him naked on the bed without giving it a thought. He held me tightly and kissed me gently, assuring me further he wanted to take things slow.

“Why are you so nice to me…?” I asked quietly as I lay curled up next to him confused…

So.. why are you a ho?

I don’t really know anymore.

I mean, I thought I did. Every phase of my life I enter with such extreme conviction, so sure of myself and where I am going, what I want and why I want it. But we change as we grow don’t we? Well, we should, ultimately that’s what we should want, to develop, and not stay in the same place too long, never stagnating past the point of ill repair.

Sometimes I wonder if I chose this career as a big fuck you to conformity, perhaps I did subconsciously. I’d be a liar to say the money wasn’t the biggest draw card though there was always more than that. The more I learn about the world, the more I understand that it’s not just the money itself that is appealing, it’s the power and the circumstance associated with the exchange that makes me smile. The pleasure of being handed a stack of notes before I fuck a stranger is not associated with the dollar value, but the fact that I have disrupted the power play of society by taking it.

The longer I work, the more people I meet, the more I discover about myself and society, I begin to uncover what really pulls me toward the industry, the grip that has me staying so tightly in its wraps. That in itself fascinates me, the fact that I don’t really know why I’m so attracted to a life that is inevitably going to be tougher simply because I loan my body to strangers for their pleasure. One where somebody’s whole perspective and demeanor toward you changes in those four simple words “I’m a sex worker”. One where respect is stripped from you, people can’t view you the same, they don’t see you as one of them, I’ve heard it time and time again, I see it in their eyes, it’s in the way they stumble to regain composure after hearing what has completely thrown them off guard.

That’s what I love. That’s what I live for.

There’s such a deep imbalance in the way society views sex work and sex workers. There’s such a huge misunderstanding and stigma attached to a whole industry that has been around forever. It scares people, we are taught to hate it, to fear it, be concerned by it. We are conditioned that it’s dirty, sex workers are lazy, we are scum, we aren’t worthy of basic respect or of basic human rights. That if we are raped, it’s ok, we are sex workers, it’s our job, so we asked for it. If we are beaten, it’s the same again, we put ourselves in that position.

Time and time again you’ll see the media use sex work or prostitution to depersonalize victims, as though once you enter the big, bad world of sex you become a sub human that should expect such tragedies to occur… after all, we lend our bodies for another persons pleasurable experience… that of course is not what society stands for, so why should we expect to be protected?

You could wonder how I have found my passion in this and it’s rather simple. It’s not right, it’s not fair, and it needs to change. Sex workers are real people, and sex work is real work.

The moment I began to feel disadvantaged, my passion began to grow. I love being in a position that not only can I experience first hand an injustice, but where I’m wise enough and strong enough to stand up against majority and contribute to changing the perspective of it and improving conditions for so many people.

So many are so thrown by the fact I honestly tell them my career choice, which is quite standard for most of society. We don’t do anything special, I shouldn’t have to sugar coat my response because another human may not respond in a positive manner to the choice I have made. Most the industry carries out their business in a secretive manner because of the consequences the news would have if it became wide spread… that isn’t right.

To live in a world where killing another human being in war is a more favoured choice than to somebody carrying out sexual favours, to me is simply mind boggling. Why do we support war and violence, yet a person contributing to another’s basic human need of sexual satisfaction is so frowned upon. I don’t understand it, but I love that perhaps I can give others something to think about.

Most assume I chose my job because I love sex and sex is fun. While I do love sex, and that fact alone has led me to become very comfortable with myself and see it for what it is sometimes, simply an act, that’s not what I love. I love that I can make people happy, that I can make their day. That I am able to give them the satisfaction they can’t receive in their normal life. That I offer them a slice of an alternate, fantasy based reality that they need to visit from time to time.

Sex work is so extremely diverse and has so many facets, it opens up so many different perspectives and injustices, contradictions and inequalities in the world that I’ve realized I’m passionate about exploring them, learning more about people, about myself, about how we all fit together in this world. There’s nothing in the world I could possibly be more intrigued by… and that’s why I’m a ho.



Such a beautiful train wreck…

There’s bad days, and then there’s life crippling, function stalling, derealization and anxiety heightened straight, emotional and dramatic melt downs.

This last one was the worst. They seem to be getting more extreme and closer together. Like the rollercoaster ride is speeding up and I’m falling more than I am ever climbing.

Or is that what it is? The further you’ve climbed, the greater the fall to the same place. That deep dark hole that almost suffocated you, isolates you, segregates you from everybody else. The same hole that seems to resemble a bubble or a glass square, always a barrier between you and the rest of the world, like nothing quite translates, it gets so hard that you just stop. Everything is jarred, and nothing syncs, every step is out of time, why won’t it just work, why won’t my mind just function?

I honestly can’t tell you a more frustrating feeling than being of what I’d class as rather high intelligence, yet having your mind fail you. Not being able to remember simple tasks, to do every day things, to cope with every day life. To feel like nothing is real but you know it is, which makes it worse, because fuck can these people see how awkward you feel, can they see you can’t see straight, do they know you aren’t connected. What the fuck is this?

Life has been hard. I thought I was tougher, I really did. And to give credit where it’s due, perhaps I handled it better than most. Well mostly with my head held high.

Having hundreds of people public degrade and shame you is one thing. That was ok. I got through that.

To have known people public try and embarrass and ridicule is another, I got through that.

To have a terrifyingly manipulative client seeping your energy is another. I got through that.

To realise a friend and confident had Ben causing your problems was another.

To have your daughters dad bully and put you down was another. Manageable.

To have him fight me for custody was where my mind caved.

The thought and real threat of losing the light of my life to someone who never prioritised her, killed me. To know she could be going to a home where she won’t have half the support, love or time for her as I do simply broke me. Just broke me.

Tossing up back and forward , back and forward, how to proceed, what to do. Knowing there is no right answer was eating me.

I broke down. I just couldn’t life. I cracked. I cancelled all my  bookings, kept my three night long hotel reservation.

I got smashed, fucked a guy I didn’t like simply to let loose, go crazy. I fucked and fucked him. 

He left the next morning and I slept. I woke up and still couldn’t life. I slept until it was dark again.

Then I partied. I sat smashed with a friend all night before knocking myself out well into the next day’s daylight.

And again I just slept.. I slept and I slept and I slept. I ignored all my phones. I ignored the world. I didn’t know easy to do, I fight know how to live. So I just didn’t. I hid in my hotel room for three days wasted of sleeping…

It didn’t help. But I understood how addictions start. Reality is so hard and painful, you need an escape to feel normal. Because reality isn’t normal anymore.

I don’t know whether it’s a search for normality or a complete escape. Either way it didn’t help. But it wasn’t real for a while there. I acheived some form of clatity.

And then the days go on.. Life goes on and you have to find something inside you to let you function, to do what life asks of you.

And it’s tough. The rollercoaster is getting scary now. The highs just can’t compete with the terrifying lows.

It hurts to be human.

The last week has down a completely stellar job of seeping inside the cracks of my strong exterior to work on making me crumble.

I created this situation, I knew what I was doing, everything went as I calculated. Well mostly.

I hadn’t expected the article to to viral, both a blessing and a curse. See, I did want everyone to know, I guess I just expected I was strong enough not to crack under the weight of judgement to come.

Though truth be told, that shook me to the core, it didn’t break me. It took my breath away how harshly I was judged by strangers, such evil and nasty words, targeted right at me. Keyboard warriors voicing their true opinions on how I went so wrong in life. That’s ok though, that’s one reason I did it.

You can’t fight a battle without putting yourself in the firing line.

No, what broke me was my daughters dad finding it, though again this was part of the plan. He took it surprisingly well and though angry, kept his texts very reasonable.

We met and he let me know he wants me to hand over my daughter for a year or he’ll take me through court.

My heart broke into a million pieces. How dare he after never putting her first in 6years decide it’s time he wants ‘His turn’ and put me in this position.

Everything was so public, I have no idea what can be used against me in court. The last thing on earth I want is to have my daughter  suffer through that.

I cried, and I cried and I cried. For the first time in a remarkably long time, I felt helpless and defeated. I sat on the edge of the bathtub wrapped in a towel, hunched over with my head in my hands, mascara flowing freely down my face with the tears. And I sat there sobbing.

Could the life that has provided my daughter with so much actually be one she needs to be taken from?

Doubts ran through my mind, I felt so conflicted. What do I do now? Do I fight? Would she be better off with him anyway? I just don’t know.

All my certainty about everything was quickly disipitating. I just don’t know.

To add to the further confusion of the onslaught of emotion coursing through my body was the guy. The one that made me fall for him a little.

I remembered what it was like to have emotions, I remembered what real desire felt like, I remembered how nice it was to be excited to hear from someone.

Reality is though, that type of guy doesn’t like his girl doing my job.

We spoke as though we were already together. Planning beautiful romantic evenings together, so many places we want to go.

But he’s not cut out to handle a girl like me. He can’t date a whore. I can see it written in invisible ink in his texts, I hear it in the words he doesn’t say, beautifully aligned with the ones he does.

This kills me also. I want a relationship, I want a guy to hold me and make me feel special. I want someone real in this world of fantasy.

The doors to all it raw basic, human emotions have been opened and I just don’t know how to feel so much pain all at once.

The big, bad World Wide Web

Today marks a rather interesting day in my career as a sex worker. Since the beginning of my career I’ve become passionate about the stigma surrounding the industry and us, who work within it.

Changing the perceptions of everyday people is never going to be a task that is easy or quick. People are generally so close minded about things they have been forever conditioned to fight against for various, and usually ridiculous reasons.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t fight to make a dent in that stigma.

I was approached by an online newspaper to do an article on breaking the misconceptions of the porn industry. Though I’m relatively new to porn, I jumped at the chance. You can find the article below.

I was quite surprised at my own emotions regarding the article. To be honest, I’m fatigued from it. 

I’ve wanted to badly to have the opportunity to have my voice heard, and today was my chance. I was nervous that my words would be misconstrued and that I’d come away looking a fool.

I was prepared for the public backlash though nothing really prepares you until you live it.

Anyway…. Here’s the link

Why won’t you just fuck me already?

“Ohhh he is young!” I said to the escort as I buzzed up my client using the intercom. The escort and I are on rather good terms now and he kindly let me use his incall apartment for the afternoon. Apparently when we aren’t sleeping together or working together we get on quite well… though he does have a VERY questionable video of me….

This was my third client back to back, with about 15mins in between each one so I was getting rather tired and drained. I only had to put in a huge physical effort the first client, the second had been rather draining mentally and rushing to get ready and catch taxi’s and what not had just taken the life out of me a little.

This particular client had requested originally just to cuddle and possibly to stroke my legs and see where his hand takes him, though he didn’t want sex, he wanted intimacy and I don’t provide that at a discounted rate. Surprisingly he still booked me and chose a specific outfit I had posted one time on Twitter.

It was a very cutesy, tight, bright lycra dress, Blackmilk if you are familiar with the label. I’ve never actually worn it in public because it is ridiculously short and to be honest, a tad too tight. One of those ones that hangs in the cupboard ‘for when I lose 5kgs’.

Anyway the escort left as I waited for my client to make his way up. I was sitting on the lounge, my low energy begging me to just lie there and not move, ignoring the knocks at the door.

I quietly tried to gather all my energy, and plaster on my escort persona as I made my  way to the door. Finding whatever I had left to turn myself into the sultry siren, men pay to see.

I greeted my client happily, kissing him on the cheek as I invited him inside, ignoring the nagging exhaustion, pulling at my energy levels.

“Oh wow, you are absolutely stunning, oh wow!” He said stunned as he handed me a box of chocolates “I was going to get you more but this is all I could find on the way from work” He said flustered

“Oh my gosh! You are much to sweet!!” I answered in the appropriate excited and slightly high pitched tone one would expect of me.

“I just can’t believe how gorgeous you are! And I’m here with you! Oh wow! You are incredible” He again said in a flustered tone as he sat next to me on the lounge, and placed a hand on my leg.

He was very coy and sweet, bordering on nervous but not really I couldn’t quite pick it. He kept saying over and over how amazing I was, how beautiful, how gorgeous, how incredible. He said it so often, I honestly thought something strange was going on, like a candid camera moment. It felt almost put on by how over the top his compliments were.

I was silently hating he had turned down wine, like the other two clients earlier in the night. He turned down the shower also as we weren’t having sex. Internally I sighed that I really did have an extra 110-15mins of actually working due to no shower either side of the booking.

I began to kiss him as he giggled shyly, pulling me closer and rubbing my back. After a few minutes of making out, his hand slid up my short skirt and he began to rub away…

I’d just like to mention that I have it on VERY good  authority that men improve with age on the sexual front, so if he was going to be hitting the right buttons I would of been very surprised…

He of course did not surprise me. Like the rest of the young clients in their early twenties, though they are typically very sweet, they really haven’t learnt their way around a womans body. He was rubbing slightly to the right of where any part of my vagina really is and to be honest I just ran with it. I probably could of taken this moment to school him, but he was so into it.

“Oh baby, I can feel how wet you are getting for me” he whispered in what I’m guessing was an attempt at a porn style tone.

Again, invisibly rolling my eyes, I played a long, this was his time, his fantasy. I leant in closer pushing myself into him. “Yeah babe, you are making me drip” I said kissing his neck eagerly, passionately making my way to his ear to gently bite with my hands in his hair .

I was as dry as a freaking bone. Not that he would actually of known if I was wet unless he was rubbing a good 2cm to the left of where he was.

His fingers made it inside my underwear, he foraged around, finding the hole he was trying to, I ended up guiding him to the right spot so he could insert one finger into my ‘wet’ pussy.

He was biting his lip as he moved his finger in and out, and out, as I moaned appropriately, frustrated at myself that I hadn’t of thought to bring some lube into the lounge room with me. I was so dry, and his finger only seemed to be aggravating the dryness. Suddenly I felt this would be a long booking. I had so stupidly assumed that a quiet cuddle booking would be so much easier than my typical, full service one. Boy, was I wrong.

His finger was doing nothing for me. I actually don’t offer fingering as part of my service which extremely upsets some men, but they are just too rough. On so many occasions they have left me bleeding that it’s not worth it…and also sometimes I have my period and have a sponge in and would die, if they felt it and questioned me… or pulled it out or something quickly as bad.

I decide my best option was to get him to fuck me, I began sliding my hand up and down his inner thigh slowly, I could feel how hard he was and massaged his cock from the outside of his pants. I began to undo his belt..

He knocked my hand away “No. I’m here to please you, treat you like a princess, make you cum. Its all about you today”

Fucking great.

“I know how bad you want it though.. I’m such a tease” he continues, this time reverting to the porn tone.

I laughed internally once more at the comment.
“Oh baby, you know I do…. having you fuck me would be amazing” I replied, stroking his leg, smiling at him coyly.

He shook his head and continued to pull his finger in and out of my pussy. I let him add one more because I’m really generous like that, but turned down three. I was dry as all fuck, and he wasn’t being gentle. An hour of two fingers sliding an out of your vagina when it’s already been pretty well pounded that day doesn’t actually sound good to anyone really.

I just went with it throwing myself back on the lounge moaning, thrusting my hips and pretending to cum, hoping that would be the end of it. He was satisified that he made me cum. That he’d done such a good job.

He cuddled and kissed me more, before creeping his hand back up to my pussy.

Fucking really?

“Hehe, it’s so sensitive since you made me cum…. give me 5 mins to recover, come with me” I took his hand and led him to the bedroom, hoping that it would encourage him to just fuck me, cum, and be done with it.

But no. I even completely undressed, dress, bra and panties to get him to change his mind. He continued to only want to finger me. Quite hard actually, and he kept wanting to add another finger. I giggled as I declined, commenting on how tight my pussy was. I was getting sore so fake came again, this time much quicker, I actually couldn’t keep going. I thrust hard into his hand and moaned more loudly, sighing deeper before collapsing back onto the bed.

He had 10 minutes left of the booking and he kept wanting to stick his finger back in. I had to decline.

“Babe, it’s so sensitive now… that’s a lot of finger action.. a cock would of been a nice touch…” I said smiling.

My energy was beyond depleted, I had no idea that a booking where I wasn’t able to fuck the client could actually be so fucking draining, I was silently begging for it to end but the minutes seemed to drag on.

“Hey, would you be able to put your dress and underwear back on and just sit on my face for a minute” He asked casually

I looked at him blankly. “Why?” Still half concerned that it wasn’t being weirdly filmed or something

“I just want to see the view from that angle, and kind of smell you” He replied.

Begrudgingly I obliged, I clothed myself and sat on his face once he had laid down. And I just sat there, admiring my reflection, thinking “What is my life?” as I just sat as he admired my clothed body. I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do, so after a couple of minutes I laughed and jumped off his face.

He could of at least let me sit on his face properly during the booking but whatever.

I wrapped up the booking kissing and cuddling passionately, marveling at how skilled he is with his hands. I walked him to the door thanking him for such a wonderful evening, as he kept going on about how beautiful and amazing I am.

He was an incredibly sweet guy…men just really do get better with age, and I totally have no idea why a young guy would pay my rate and not fuck me, that part seemed so bizarre to me.

I called the escort to let him come back in, I waited on the lounge exhausted, ready to devour the McDonalds he had bought me. Ah… what is my life….





Give them something to talk about

Today I had an advertising meeting with a magazine. It was an absolutely amazing meeting, I walked out of the office on a natural high out of what we have planned.

Everything I do in life tends to fall into the catergory of calculated risk. I make a lot of big decisions and choices that aren’t deemed socially acceptable, though I feel like if I was living my life in a ‘socially acceptable’ way, I’d doing myself and my daughter an injustice. I don’t believe in the way society segregates and their deluded standards, that have been formed over centuries and are purely disfunctional if you want to live a life of freedom. I stand by every decision and choice I’ve made and will continue to.

Im incredibly open and straightforward about my choices and career and will continue to be that way. I feel ashamed for society that I should have to hide what I do as to avoid an awkward confrontation with someone who isn’t comfortable with the way I make my money. Something that has zero to do with them.

After the excitement of my plans subsided it dawned on me just how prepared I’m going to have to be for an inevitable backlash.

I take my business seriously and the goals I have are for certain reasons that are long term goals. Building my business and my brand is so important to everything. Obviously this means more and more people will know what I do.

I’m fairly certain it’s quite widespread knowledge however it hasn’t been thrown in people’s faces… In a way, now it really, really will be.

I began to second guess myself. 

I began realising just how many people it opens the door to be ridiculed or confronted by it. So many family members, old friends… My dad, my brother, my ex.

I’m trying to comfort myself with the knowledge that they aren’t in my life anyway so what does their opinion matter. 

I wouldn’t change a thing about what I do, yet I find the impending confrontations disturbing.

I 100% want to go through with the advertising, I’m just praying I’m strong enough to hold my head high when the storm comes.

We all suck cock for cash… Stop romanticising it.

One of the hardest things to watch and see is how differently all catergories of sex workers (full service workers) are treated. There seems to be a strong, wide spread belief that one way to hustle is more accepted or somewhat more respected than others.

There is plenty of different ways to escort, and they tend to be catergorized. I prefer what’s deemed the ‘high end’ or ‘high class’ side of things because it’s simply what I enjoy and what I can cope with mentality.

I don’t have the mental or physical endurance to work as many, many other happy and successful girls do in parlours or targeting a different clientele.

The thing is the term ‘high class’ actually reflects in no way on the girl working as commonly believed. I know many ‘high class’ girls who feel they are better than the ones working in parlours, or working on the streets. It’s so far from the truth it’s sickening.

We all suck cock for a living. We all do the same job, we all have the same basic goal for a client. How we acheive it is the part that differs.

I find it absurd that I have girls on my Instagram asking me ‘how to get to my level’. I’m not on a level, I’m not on a pedastal. All I’ve done is figured out which men I appeal to the most and market to them.

I have innocent girl next door looks, I can happily listen to a client talk about himself and his problems for hours on end. 

I don’t believe I’m the girl men look at, and instantly want to fuck. I evoke doke primal urges but I don’t ooze that intense sex appeal I need to hustle harder than the girls it comes naturally to. I wouldn’t succeed. I get tired and drained if I have three clients in a day, there’s no physical way I could do what so many ladies are capable of, working 12hrs+ shifts in parlours. 

This makes zero difference to the type of person we are as a sex worker. We each have our skills and makes sense to pander to it.

Whichever hustle we choose says nothing about our intelligence, our looks, our class, our personalities, our goals. Nothing at all.

What gets tone the most is hearing or reading well known escorts claim that the job for the most part is non sexual and she spends most bookings talking. This same well known escort has declared that she’s ‘she is better’ than other escorts, and too good or high class to attend certain industry events. 

The irony of the above is she really has zero credibility in the adult industry. She is not known for being a good escort but for declaring she is one. She has barely loved and breathed the life of a sex worker and girls idolise her. 

I have girls idolising me also… This is I find a little unnerving for the simple reason most idolise the wrong parts of my life. The skim over the extreme mental fatigue I so constantly suffer and see that I have vestigial lingerie, that men by me beautiful gifts.

That’s not what sex work is. I have this lifestyle because I have sex with men. There’s no sugar coating it, and I have nothing but pride for it. But if you admire me, why aren’t you admiring the girl who works at an age to that sends most of her money overseas to her family, the ones in the parlour that work much harder than I do to fund their education and keep a lifestyle they are happy with.

We aren’t any different from each other. The segragation within our line of work needs to stop, we are all important, we all work hard, we all face the same issues and we should be able to turn to one another.