Red Light District

How I Ended Up As An Extra On A Seedy Amateur Porn Set

When I venture out into the world I usually find myself [mildly inebriated and] shocked by human behaviour. See, I honestly believe I end up in the weirdest places witnessing the most heinous things. I am partly to blame for the evil I witness, in all fairness.  In a bid to attempt to not be the party pooper once in a while, I go against my gut feeling [Not the one that tells me to prove my dominance to every living thing, the one that tells me to go home. Now] and follow my friends to events I’d really rather not attend to see people I would rather avoid.  It’s my one good deed for the month, every month.

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Knowing my weakness for beer after a grueling writing session [Or whenever I’m awake, really] a friend, Vuyo, asked me to go to our favourite bar together.  I am not one to turn down a drink, nor an opportunity to tell Vuyo of the tragedies that constantly befall me, so I got ready and trudged to the spot, bank card in hand just in case I didn’t know when to stop. As I was about to enter the establishment he called to inform me that we would in fact be heading to another location, and since I was already there, and there was beer where we were going, I begrudgingly got into Vuyo’s friend’s car along with Vuyo’s latest Person Of Interest and some girl.

Off we went. First to get more liquor then to drop off Vuyo’s Person Of Interest who said she wasn’t “mentally prepared” for company. And then to the location we raced.

We arrived to find approximately 7 people sitting outside the house, drinking.  Two Black girls, two Portuguese guys and three other Black guys. So all in all there were 10 of us.  One of the girls, Pearl, a hefty, loud woman [The Ad companies would love her] was absolutely lovely. Although far from attractive,you could tell she was the life of the party. We smoked together as she perved over one of the Portuguese guys, Sean.  Sean was possibly the most striking man there, although he looked like a teenager and was dressed like one he had a gorgeous face. When we asked him his age he replied “24” to which Pearl said “Yes, baby. I could give you 25 strokes!” to my amusement.

As the sun began to set the two other girls left with some of the guys.  They got in the car and in the midst of all the farewells Sean started lip locking with one of the girls who’d previously claimed she had no interest in any sort of male, at all.  As we all turned to stare in disbelief some guy pulled out his phone and recorded the whole sordid thing. It felt like I’d stepped into a time machine and gone back to house parties we had when we were in High School, drunk off cheap liquor, the taste of freedom and arousal.  Except she wasn’t drunk and seemed to love the camera’s attention.  What purpose the footage will serve is still unknown.

So it was Pearl, Vuyo, Sean, Sean’s older brother Gordon and some guy they called Manxane. Gordon was absolutely shitfaced. I had a feeling he was drinking to forget something, really that was the only viable reason for anyone to purposefully get that drunk. He could hardly stand, one of his eyes was half shut, he had blood on his right hand and yet he still kept on asking for more liquor. Pearl kept on drinking and making sexual advances towards the Sean. Sean, who initially wasn’t interested, seemed to have decided that he would be an idiot to pass up on Pearl, and so he started encouraging her. [It turns out him and his brother had made a bet that one could pick up more girls than the other, and Sean was kinda sorta winning as Gordon was knocking on Heaven’s door.]

It got dark and the lights went on as we still sat outside. Pearl was swaying [read: rubbing crotches] with Sean, Vuyo and I were smoking and Gordon struggled to keep his good eye open.  At some point Gordon stumbled towards Sean and tried to get his attention, but Sean was obviously preoccupied and I don’t know how, but when we turned back around we stumbled onto what looked like an opening scene from a bad interracial porno.

Pearl was sandwiched between the two brothers, one nuzzling her neck and the other marveling at the size of her ass.  She was gyrating in between them  and giggling, beer in hand. See it wasn’t the scene that made my nipples shrink, it was the dialogue.

Pearl alternated between doing her best drunk Marilyn Monroe impersonation and imitating a drunk Colored woman a la Trevor Noah.  Sean and Gordon, although as far as I can tell not Colored, ran with it and kept on saying things like “We’re gonna goe you this here” while grabbing their crotches.

I was shocked.

This really happens!

It looked liked some crass combination of race play and depravity.

You weren’t sure if it was going to turn into a threesome or if they were going to make her serve them beer on a tray placed on her behind. It looked like either would have made her ecstatic. For a good half hour or more all you could hear was “I’ve got two Portuguese boys here! Do you want to handle all this? Do you want to get all this Big Mama loving?” and “This one is a nice puta, heh? She’s ready! She’s a ripe puta. Look at how much she wants it!”

I don’t understand how I can avoid such things on the internet then be accosted by them in real life. It felt like a sick joke.

At some point Gordon stumbled away from the duo, obviously not getting as much attention as he’d hoped, slouched next to one of the parked cars and blacked out. After trying to keep his erection at bay for an hour or so Sean finally decided he was gonna take the plunge.  He adjusted his pants and turned away from Pearl [who had now become Big Mama, said in a Cape Colored accent] and asked Vuyo for a condom. After acquiring it he half ran to Pearl and showed her the condom, “Let’s go baby, it’s time,” he said, trying to pull her towards the house and into the bedroom.

But Pearl refused.

Not so much in a stern “No” way, but it was an evident objection. She came up with excuse after excuse as to why she didn’t want to go to bed with him. “I want a cigarette,” she’d exclaim then run about looking for one. After the cigarette was smoked “Don’t you wanna drink more? Let’s drink.” I recognized all the excuses a girl clings to in order to avoid sex with someone she decided she actually doesn’t want to sleep with but then what confused me was the fact that she was more than willing to let him fondle her in front of us. I decided that maybe she was an exhibitionist or something.

“Come here, little boy. Come make mommy feel nice and then we’ll go. Come,” she’d coo and he’d come running, erection leading him on. He pushed her up against the car she was leaning on and started dry humping her in full view of everyone, next to his brother’s unconscious body. You could feel the tension and hear his heavy breathing over the conversations we were trying to carry on.

At some point a window opened but we thought nothing of it as we all tried to pretend the situation wasn’t as awkward and gross as it was. Sean got up off of Pearl, slithered between the car and her body and started stroking her body from behind her. Her ecstatic squeals permeated our conversations when she tried to contribute to them. Sean tried to pull her towards the room again but she insisted on another cigarette and as she smoked, he pulled up her t-shirt and started stroking her belly and breasts, while she giggled and called him a “naughty boy”.

There was a giggle from behind us and we turned to see a little girl at the window, box of milk in hand staring at the pair intently. She wasn’t confused, nor was she amused, really she was simply intrigued. Turns out she was Manxane’s younger sister and when he complained that his sister was watching  and they should get a room Sean yelled to the child “Ei, go to fucking sleep,” then laughed and turned to Manxane and said “Why isn’t she going to sleep? Doesn’t she know she should listen to a White man?” then went back to kissing Pearl.

I was stunned.

Is this how the world is or did I just go to the wrong place at the wrong time?

At this point I was still fairly inebriated yet completely aware of my surroundings. [I live this life so you guys don’t have to, really.] Vuyo, to whom I’d been complaining the whole evening about the human rights violations I was sure were happening around us told me that I should simply “adapt” to the situation and everything within my Soul said “No.”

I prayed.  I didn’t know  what else to do and I appealed to all the known deities and ancestors to guide me and keep my Soul from being tarnished by all that I’d witnessed. At some point the little girl ran out into the little circle that we’d made outside, stared at the pair that was still recreating soft core porn in front of us, then the passed out Portuguese guy on the floor and at each of us individually.

All I could come up with when her eyes landed on me was “This is not how life really is, little girl. Don’t let this happen,” as her brother scooped her up and rescued her from Sodom and Gomorrah and took her into the safety of their home.

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This Chastity Belt Makes My Ass Feel Good

I used to be one of those people who felt that sex was as much of a necessity as wine for one’s mental well-being and overall joy, and if you know me you’ll know, I’m a firm believer in wine’s healing powers. Nights where one found both wine and sex were divine, if only for two hours, before you began to miss your own bed and got tired of the stench of whiskey coming from the body next to you and if you’re really unlucky, the repeated “I swear this never happens, I’m just tired,” from said body. I recall having a conversation with a friend and me pointing out that I hadn’t had sex that week and I wasn’t sure how I was functioning. [It was a Tuesday, that day, mind you.]

I don’t think myself a nymphomaniac, not even close, I just had a certain love for the act that made me want to indulge, often. Whether out of boredom, desire or a suppressed feeling of necessity. I was a younger, sexier version of Dr Eve, if I do say so myself, and I oozed sensuality.

A little sexpot, if you will.

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When I saw someone I liked

Something absolutely wondrous happened then though: I got too busy, too distracted, to maintain a sex life. Please note that as I type this there’s a certain level of horror I would like to get across. I’ll need you to clutch your pearls and throw your hands up in disbelief. Think Marilyn Monroe turning into Hilary Clinton.

For the first few weeks I simply forgot to desire sexual gratification from another human being. Honestly, when I got down to crunching numbers, the effort time and effort it would take to set up liaisons, prepare and travel just didn’t seem worth it. Now here you might say “Well, honey, maybe you jut didn’t have anything worth travelling to,” and I can’t dispute that, really. That’s a possibility.

Or “Well, maybe you’re just lazy now,” and that too, might ring true. I might know why and simply refuse to dig it out of my subconscious.

I can tell you this however; Too much bad sex will make you too lazy to seek out sex, period.

Bottom line, a fortnight turned into a month and that turned into way longer than I would have been able to accept could be true, a while ago. I became [voluntarily?] celibate.

The most shocking bit being: I was okay with that.

My sex drive simply went away. She started visiting less and less and one day, just stopped cumming at all, and I was fine with that.

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She came and left

It’s weird when you thought you based most of your character on your sex[ual] experiences/life, or when you’ve been told that, and one day you’re simply okay with not getting any.  I went from thinking sex was like water to considering it flavored water that comes in a 1.5l bottle, I mean, I can get it if I wanna but I don’t need it. And on I went, uninvolved, unfucked and uninterested.

 

Yesterday I felt good. I had on a long, beautiful red dress and an equally bright outlook on things.  A girl I encountered asked me why I was happy “You’re like.. glowing, dude,” she said and when I told her I was simply happy, for no reason, she said “You’re lying, you got some.”

Two things irritated me about that statement.

1. I’ve never been known to lie about sex, because I don’t.

2. Why would she think one could only be ecstatic when one is sexually satisfied?

Of course I then informed her that I in actual fact haven’t been touched by another in ages and simply have no desire for the act and her response again ticked me off: “What? Oh man, what a shame!” See, here, I desperately wanted to address the fact that I felt she might have been bothered because I used to have an “overly familiar” relationship with her ex which might have interfered with their relationship but I tried to avoid the issue. No use starting something you don’t want to be a part of. 

Being on the receiving end, however, of comments I later realized I’ve made countless times over the past couple of years made me realize what an annoying twat I must have sounded like. While I marveled at the insurmountable number or times I’ve sounded like a douche I said the words I never would have dreamed I would: “On the contrary, it’s actually quite comfortable. Once you realize that sex really isn’t as huge a deal to you as it once was, you act accordingly and adjust your lifestyle to it. It’s simply not a necessity to me and there’s nothing sad about that. What would be sad would be for me to keep fucking if I didn’t want to.”

 

I’ve been thinking it over.  There’s no fun in doing what you don’t want to do. There’s no joy in forced interactions. Whether it be because you simply feel overworked, insecure or simply uninterested, if you don’t want to, you don’t.  And as much as we live in a society fixated on one’s appeal and ability to turn somebody else on and satisfy them, it’s nothing to be ashamed of if you don’t want to do it.

Sometimes you have better things to do than fuck.

Sometimes you simply don’t want to. And that’s perfectly alright.

 

It’s not about them, it’s about you. Always. 

We continue to say No:Why Akona Ndungane’s story still matters

The We Are The World days are long gone.  We’re currently smack in the middle of a culture that sees activism and story telling stripped from main art forms: music, literature, photography, painting etc.  I wouldn’t say stories aren’t still being told, of course they are, but not as honestly as they used to be.

And I guess I understand why.

As art becomes a business, image becomes [slightly more important than?] the craft itself.

For some. 

To those who continue to give us their truth, and teach, and inspire, and strengthen: Thank you.

 

 

I was going through my music collection when I found a gem.

The POWA  Mixtape. 

 

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Born from Akona Ndungane’s chilling account of her rape ordeal, POWA saw artists such as Tumi Molekane, Reason, Zaki Ibrahim, Zubz and Tuks, just to name a few, and Akona herself, collaborating to bring a project that will leave you emotionally wrecked, to say the least.

 

 

 

 

But it’s the truth.

It’s her truth.

And it’s the truth of many young women out there.

The reality of it is, we don’t talk about these things.

Society whispers to us to maybe, just maybe try and deal with the fact that this is our reality.  Few people have the lack of empathy and ingrained misogyny in them to say “Get the fuck over it. You’re walking targets and you will be preyed upon,”  but some do nonetheless and they really just verbally express what we’re shown.

It’s why sharing your rape story gets you stigma and shame, being shunned, instead of support.

It’s why people ask you what you did to deserve it before even considering that you aren’t the problem.

It’s why, when your partner rapes you, nobody calls it what it is, in their minds you signed over your rights to your body the moment you agreed to the relationship.

It’s why I’m writing this.

Because I can’t explain why I’m constantly crying at stories that other people tell me don’t affect me.

Because I’m constantly trying to explain to my male friends that at the very least, we live life constantly vigilant, if not terrified.

Because when I log on to Twitter it’s a shock to constantly see the number of women who share their stories of abuse.  It’s a bitter pill to swallow, that we’re all THIS connected… by trauma.  That we’ve formed a sisterhood because of all the things that’ve tried to break our spirits.

I’ve been an emotional wreck.

It’s not that it took me 5 years to realize that somebody violated me, it’s that there are countless other women who can either relate or never accept it, so never will.

It’s not that I know what I know, it’s that other women don’t.

It’s that I constantly have to find a new way to use everyday objects as a person.

I got excited when I found out that KEYS can be used for self defense.

 

Fucking. Keys.

 

That excited me.

And then it hit me how tragic that is.

 

 

Akona’s story, four years after it’s first telling, fourteen years after it happened, still needs to be told.

It needs to be repeated, felt, understood,for as long as is necessary.

Until our women aren’t being hunted anymore, until our men don’t think that’s a normal part of our lives, until the destruction of our society is halted.

But this is where we’re at now.

This is our reality, now.

 

Think about that.

Really think about it.

 

*Visit ISaidNo here

 

 

Nymphomaniac I: Part 1, The Lessons and Formative Years

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“As a young nymph, it was imperative for me to get rid of my virginity,”  These are the words of Joe, the protagonist in Lars Von Trier’s oddly controversial Nymphomaniac.   

Nymphomaniac: Vol I and II tell the story of Joe, a self proclaimed nympho/sex addict.  Far from being the seedy low budget smut, one would expect it to be based on the title, it is in fact a rather honest, eye opening depiction of Life through the eyes of an insatiable woman, and the experiences one goes through.

Nymphomaniac I:Joe’s story begins.

She’s found beaten half to death close  to an alley by an elderly man, Seligman.

Already?” I think. “Shit’s gone bad for her already? Jesus, is this one of those movies that depict the downfall of promiscuous women? Cos I’m not here for that.”

She refuses medical attention and instead  goes to his apartment to lay down and have a cup of tea with milk. [No, really.]

Here, her story unfolds.

 

She is not “just another girl with daddy issues”.  On the contrary, Joe has a rather close and warm relationship with her father, they bond as he tells her stories about trees. Her mother, however, is described as “cold” and often, a “cunt” [You’ll come to find, it’s not a dirty word in the movie] .   She “discovers” her vagina when she’s 2, and as she grows with a female companion known only as B, they discover the different ways in which the female genitalia can provide and feel pleasure.

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“Perhaps the only difference between me and other people is that I’ve always wanted more from the sunset. More spectacular colors when the sun hits the horizon. That’s perhaps my only sin,” she muses.  Giving the impression that there is no real shame to the life that she has lived.  She is not burdened by society and religion’s  view of the “Unholy” woman.

“Are you insisting that children are sinful?” asks Seligman.  To which she responds in a childlike voice “Not children, me.” So maybe things aren’t exactly what they seem, for her.  It is not shame that cripples her internally, not at all, but she is fully aware of her own misgivings.

She grows and is drawn to her vagina.

Curious.

Understand that  when you really start taking note of your vagina and it’s workings, appearance, feelings, it’s amazing.  As a child I personally was intrigued by it.  How simply complex it was.  Why it was a secret.  So Joe’s desire to know more, and experience more regarding it resonated with me.

She loses her virginity in a rather inelegant manner, as  most of us have, methinks, but will never admit.  A young Joe considers her target sophisticated because he as a Moped and quite bluntly asks him “If I asked you to take my virginity would that be a problem?”

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He doesn’t turn her down, and proceeds to penetrate both her vagina and anus [NO LUBE! Christ, the savagery].  Now, I wouldn’t go so far as agreeing with Asa Akira’s sentiments that it’s really practical to just lose them both at the same time since the first time for both is always rather uncomfortable. But It would make sense to lose them.. close together.  Not on the same day though, unless if you can take both your holes being sore.

He’s clumsy, swift and really, a terrible lover.

He is Shia LaBeouf, playing Jerome.

“It hurt like hell. I swore I’d never sleep with anyone again. But of course that only lasted a short while.” Oh honey, don’t we know it?

Years later, with her friend B, again, she really cums into her own regarding her sexuality, so to speak.  Young, dizzy and eager, they go out dressed provocatively on a quest.  To fuck as many men on a train as possible, winner gets a packet of sweets. No, really.

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It’s not shocking, really. Not in the least. When you’re young and sexually active, stuck in that weird place where you think you’re an adult yet still have the urge to act young and stupid, things happen.

Everything up to this point had passed without so much as an eyebrow raise from me.  But when you watch the movie, you note that Joe looks rather young.  Skinny, lanky, simply childlike.  She could be a model if she were taller.  But it’s still evident that she’s a girl. This however, doesn’t hinder the men she manages to “seduce”.  Men twice her age still  fuck her, and this is not an issue for them, in the least.

The fact is a girl who thinks she can act like a woman will be treated as such by those who know better.

“I discovered my power as a woman and used it  to my advantage without any concern for anyone else.”  It’s funny that she would have guilt over this, yet understandable.  Society doesn’t condition us to do so and therefore doesn’t condone it. With that in mind, whether we know it or not, many of us internalize society’s perceptions and opinions and use them to gauge whether or not we are “good” people.

This is a recurring theme  throughout her telling of her story and the subsequent conversations with Seligman.

Joe

Is she a good person? 

What IS a good person? 

She’s adamant that she’s a horrible being, but he constantly has a counter argument that suggests that possibly, she is too harsh on herself.  They represent both sides of the conversation when it usually comes to issues dealing with promiscuity, and life really.

Are you bad? Or simply a person who’s reacted to circumstances as your Spirit saw fit?

B and Joe start a club: “The Little Flock”.   A group of sexually emancipated/promiscuous girls who’re seemingly, anti love.

The Little Flock

“It was rebellious,” she says. “We were committed to combating the love fixated society”.

But B lets the girls down when she falls in love. It’s a betrayal to the Flock. A betrayal to the inner vixen who vows never to experience true intimacy.

This is the first time that affection, love, attachment taints sex for her.

“You think you know everything about sex.

The secret ingredient to sex, is love.” says B.

“For me love was just lust, with jealousy added,” muses an older Joe.

And this is all before Varsity.

It’s amazing the lessons one learns when they jump headfirst into “maturity” and “adulthood”, blindly.  Having personally lost my virginity at 12, I completely related to Joe’s experiences.  By the time you get to Varsity, you’re weirdly both naive and relatively mature.  I loved how the story was told in a purely matter of fact manner.

She was not a “victim”.

She had no “daddy issues”.

She chose to do as she pleased with her body and faced the consequences and lessons as they played out.

There was no shame to being promiscuous, she simply was.

 

*This is the first in a series of posts to follow.

**Also, something I noted. B and Joe’s initials together is : BJ. Ha.

 

 

Novacane

“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.” – Buddy Wakefield

I remembered this as I lay underneath someone recently, my body being dragged and used any which way. And I felt old and worn down by the whole thing.

I used to adore rough,aggressive sex. I would like to believe I still do and that time, it just wasn’t done right, or it wasn’t with the right person, or I wasn’t in the right mood.

Something.

Something simply wasn’t right.

The next morning, the bruises that I used to look at with pride were an annoyance. As were the bite marks and any sign, really, that the act had occurred.

I realized, there’s an art to rough sex.

You can feel the difference between a lover who ravages you, while still being mindful and making sure that you’re both satisfied and comfortable, and one who simply wants to use you like a rag doll.

And possibly, when I first realized that I was a sub, before I knew what I know now, I let some lovers release their frustrations and use me as a stress ball because I felt that was how affection and appreciation was shown. Maybe because I thought one could FIND affection in the one who brings them peace, whatever the reason, I can no longer recall it and so see no reason to let it continue.

My views on sexual performance are pretty simple:

If I’m getting naked for you, appreciate it and treat my body well. 

If you get naked for me, I appreciate it and will treat your body well.

Experience has taught me that we don’t all view it the same way.  Possibly due to the fact that sex is so easily attainable and people seem to value exclusivity, most feel no need to make it a memorable experience for their partner, even if it’s just for one night.

Sex is usually really a trial run for me anyway, but even during that trial run, one gives their all. I don’t believe in the “It’s only once so it doesn’t REALLY have to be good” excuse.

If you want to be bad in bed, go fuck yourself.

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Fuck you, Pay Me: On Business, Sex Work and Courting

I often find myself discussing sex work with possible suitors.  Probably a cringe worthy notion to some. Why would you discuss sex work with a man who’s trying to woo you? Won’t that dissuade him?

2 things.

1.   I don’t really care if it does.

2. I’ve found a person’s opinion on something like sex work says a lot about their mindset.

It’s no secret to those that know me that in the future I would love to actively work in the sex industry.  Now here, for most people, their first thought is “She wants to be a prostitute” because to them, it is the end all, be all of sex work.  This thought is usually followed by “Why would a sane [haha, I haven’t been that in YEARS] seemingly normal person willingly want to be a streetwalker?” and when we get here, I have to turn back and explain a few things.

Sex has never been taboo for me. As far back as I can remember, it’s always fascinated me beyond the prepubescent frenzy things kids shouldn’t know causes.  I’ve always wanted to understand it, how it makes people feel, what it does, the effect it has on the body and the mind.  As much as many over the years tried to dissuade me from viewing it in a non taboo way, it hasn’t worked.

I still marvel at how something so simple, so natural, has so much power.  How cleavage can cause a ruckus.  How the female body can be seen as both the Devil’s playground and  a mecca for society at large.  How a man’s body is viewed by society as a Temple, a pillar, no matter how ugly it is.  How the meeting of these two, for pleasure, for financial gain, with consent or without, is viewed  by society.  What it means.

My views on sex were never as simple as “It should only be had by people in love”.  Bodies were Legos to me.  Where’s the fun in only joining the two pieces that fit exactly together? What can you learn from that? What does it create?

Because I appreciated sex, I appreciated those who had it.  You can’t love the product and hate the producer.  Sex workers, to me, were kindred spirits.  I read about them, I watched movies about them, I wanted to know their stories, their backgrounds, who they were beyond what society says.

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And I did.

And the more I understood, the more at home I felt.

I’ve often told people, writing about sex isn’t something I chose, it chose me.  The life that I live is conducive for that and honestly, it comes too effortlessly for me to NOT think it’s one of the things I’m meant to do in Life.

Oprah, Karrine Steffans and Asa Akira are the closest to role models I’ve ever had.  People worlds apart who fit perfectly in my mind when it comes to my goals.  All three women have been trail blazers in their respective fields and are celebrated worldwide for their achievements.

Oprah has an award winning mouth, Asa an award winning anus and Karrine, an award winning mind.

I deem them all glorious.

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I’ve met so many women over the course of my writing career who just needed some reassurance.  A helping hand, an ear. Understanding.  And I have related to each and every one of them.

I have friends who are sex workers and I have friends who are chaste and unapproachable on the subject.  I have seen both sides and I judge neither.

A lot of people use the law to shit on the credibility of sex work.  People who watch pornography and listen to urban pop stars and have galleries full of scantily clad women will be the first to spit on a prostitute should they meet one.  Or judge women with Sugar Daddies.

A person with a favourite pornstar will be the first to yell out how whores are disgusting.

The cold, cold irony.

They pick what makes them feel morally clean without logically and critically thinking of their statements.

An escort and a porn star aren’t worlds apart.

A street walker and a stripper one can pay a little extra for other favours aren’t worlds apart.

Hell, the modern day pop star isn’t all that different from a stripper.

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They all deserve respect but a lot of people don’t see this. Even in the sex industry itself there’s classism.   The porn star will think she’s better than the prostitute.  The lady with the sugar daddy will think she’s smarter than the stripper.

And that is honestly how a lot of people are.

When people ask me with thinly veiled contempt if I’d be a prostitute my response is “I wouldn’t particularly WANT to go into that avenue, I’d rather be an escort but hey..” And it’s not a classist issue for me. Hell, it’s not even a safety issue per se because at the end of the day you end up behind closed doors with a stranger.  Escorting would just be way more convenient.

No, I’m in no way trying to gloss over the problems sex workers face.  The abuse, the rapes, the loneliness and solitude, the shit side of it, but I’m saying, as a society, viewing them as unworthy of compassion or understanding, as less than, because they do what they do, is grossly hypocritical considering that in one way or the other, everyone is connected to the billion dollar industry that is.

Sex work stories need to be told.

Not just porn star memoirs, we need more honest depictions from both those who joined it out of necessity and those who joined it of their own accord. We need to make this a safer place, a stigma free place, for those who partake in it.  And I want to be a part of that transition. A part of that change.

First and foremost I dedicate what I do to educating and assisting. I’ve found I make the little difference that I do through relaying honest experiences and sharing what I’ve learned, and that isn’t changing.

That isn’t changing and I need possible suitors to understand that my mission, my journey in Life, though not set in stone, has a path, and what’s on it may not always be peachy and mainstream.

I don’t desire the “Sex work is disgusting” men. I don’t desire anyone who has a problem with what other people do to survive and thrive, that doesn’t affect them.

And so the “I’d pay for sex but sex work is immoral” people are written off.

So are the “Why don’t you do something more noble?” people.

People need protection and they need someone in their corner.  They need understanding. They need to be heard.  What they do with their bodies does not suddenly rob them of their rights, contrary to what a lot of Governments and society tends to assume.

So, if I do become a full fledged Whore, I will do so wholeheartedly. Because what is ownership of one’s self if what one does is still dictated by everyone else?