Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Robert Pickton will suck c*cks in hell

Okay, this is only something I heard during my time f**ked up and working the streets of Vancouver. I heard it from a dope peddler that I had some "dealings" with (you know, the barter system is in full effect down there). He told me this, we both knew the girl, and she was a super tough, don't f**k w/ me type gal. I am not saying this story is true, but it is what he told me.

When I was out there, it was post Pickton. I was still working at the coffee shop, was being maintained on methadone and basically functioning normally. I remember when the newspaper came out with Mona Wilson's picture in the upper right hand side and it said missing since Nov. 30th. That is what I remember anyways. I knew Mona Wilson, but just through circumstance. Her and her bf/husband used to come into my store and steal/try to steal commuter mugs and other stuff. We had banned them, but they always came back. I really had a dislike for the both of them. I had no idea what their story was, so in my ignorance, I decided to NOT be on their side. Ironically, I ended up doing a bunch of dope and provided services w/ her bf way after the fact. He told me about when she went missing. He said he knew right away something was wrong. They had been together forever, and he always knew how to find her.

Then her picture was on the paper, and the horrible reality was uncovered and shared with all. I remember the morning that particular paper came out and my idiot, loser boss, who was so NOT empathetic to anything she has no understanding of or for anything she has never been exposed to [which is basically seventy (that is being generous) percent of society]. Here I am struggling with my own addiction, being sort of stable by my methadone - and she sees that this woman we were familiar with was missing. She said "you know, I think they should take all the drug addicts/HIV + individuals, etc and drop them on an island have them kill themselves off". What an arsehole. It even sounds cliche when I type it, but it is what she said. Not verbatim, but basically.

But this isn't the story I meant to tell.

Let me give a shout out to my friend *R*, who actually WAS a friend of mine, regardless of our dealings. He battled his own demons, and I wouldn't hurry to call him a scumbag, as I do with most males I have mentioned in my writings. I swear to you I never met another person that could go through withdrawal with as much dignity as this guy. No bitching, no whining, just deal with it, and over. We lost touch when I left my life down there, and he ended up calling my parents (he knew my last name) about a year ago, to find out if I was alive or what. He is doing very well, he is clean and is working for the city or something. He had contracted hep c too, maybe from me, if I am to be honest, and has completed his treatment and is now waiting to see if it it stays gone. It was he that told me this story.

As I said, it was after "Pickton" when I was out there working, but it was not something that forgotten down there by anyone. Didn't phase things though, life stops for no one.

My friend told me about this girl we both knew that had gotten picked up my the man himself. *R* claimed she told him this, as she was one of his customers.

Pickton had picked her up, and told her he would give her $100 bucks (or so) to buy dope, to come back to his place in Poco for ... whatever. Sex, who knows. She agreed. She gets there and sits down at a table and commences to do her dope. While she is at it, I guess he came up behind her and ended up quickly cuffing her to the table, to the table leg or something. Maybe to himself, I can't remember, but I don't think it was that. This woman was no small woman. She was not fat, but she wasn't small, she was a tough woman. He slapped the cuff on her, and she freaks. I guess he had a knife or there was one near by and she grabbed it and ended up stabbing him in the stomach and ends up getting away somehow. I seem to remember there was talk of how Pickton was actually charged previously with some crime, maybe false imprisonment or something, but he was acquitted because she had stabbed him first. I am assuming this woman was the one that inspired this tale, truth or no.

As I have said in my "disclaimer", I am not saying that any of this is true. I realize that it sounds like an urban myth or something, and it may just be that. All I know, is that if it was her, she is one lucky lady. I know I read that they found Mona Wilson's DNA, one of the first found, and that her head was found in a bucket, head split down the middle, and that a dildo had been fashioned over a gun also had her DNA on it. That is just too gruesome and a horrible, awful way for anyone to die. I don't even have words for it. No one deserves that, well, maybe he does. I also read that one of the witnesses had described seeing a girl strung up upside down, being "bled". She remembered her painted toenails. You know, it is even more horrible that so many women were missing and all the mistakes were made for this to be missed as long as it did.

The message is: it really could have been me. When I would discuss it with others or with some family member that would track me down, and ask me "you know, aren't you afraid of someone like HIM getting you and murdering you?". And I would reply that no, I wasn't. I seemed to think that I would never go all the way to Poco with just a hundred bucks worth of dope, with a guy that smelled awful and was dirty (I read that, plus he must have been). But when I think now, what nonsense. I would have gone anywhere with him if the price was right. I have done truly humiliating things for much less, as I mentioned in my previous posts. I also used to tell myself that I looked too good to be one of the girls he would pick up. HE looked for girls that wouldn't be missed. And surely I wasn't that.

But I was. I mean, I wasn't, as they weren't. But I was just like them, and it COULD have been me.

Bless those women, and I hope that wherever they are now, it is much more pleasant than the misery they experienced in this life.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

I am pretty sure I didn't ever do a date with a minor, but kids grow up so much faster these days...

Since I have been in the sex trade and I know the sort of people (EVERYONE) that uses that sort of a service, little surprises me. But on the outside, to you, you may be surprised at some of the "patrons" of my service. What I am getting at is old men. I mean really old. Well, not like 100yr old old, but 70 ish give or take a few years. The ones that I can remember were always so cute. Maybe that isn't cute to you, but compared to what I dealt with on a daily basis, they were very sweet. There was a few very old Chinese men that I would do dates with and they honestly could not speak a lick of English, but we still worked it out. Sometimes they would have alot of money, and then sometimes not very much. They were never weird, or agressive and usually hygienically "sound"..they were just nice. We would just hang out, and try to talk despite our language barrier. One man that I used to see had a little bit of English, and when I did see him he would rent a room for us by the hour. I saw him on the street one time and he said hi to me even though his wife was with him. I said "how does your wife think you know me?" and he said he told her that I help him with English lessons. Awesome.

These old men would generally always say or give a nod on the street, and would always hand me a twonie of finsky or something. Like a grand parent shooting their grand kid a quarter. See? I told you they were "cute". Well, maybe it isnt cute for old men to want to get crazy with much younger women but it doesn't mean it doesn't happen. Maybe that's REALLY what your Grandpa is doing when he tells you he is going to the Legion....

It was almost as if they would hire me just because they knew that I wouldn't necessarily expect them to have a normal and functioning sex drive. Little known fact.....just because he doesn't have an erection that doesn't mean he doesn't want to have sex or have an orgasm. I came across that every so often: total orgasm, flaccid appendage.

Today I am going to tell you about this super old East Indian man that I had done dates with quite a few times.

I remember I had been up for like 4 days I think. I was in desperate need of sleep obviously, but the thing is, when you are a junkie you can remain more "well" if you stay awake as opposed to when you sleep. For example, I had done a wack of down, and wasn't dope sick and then didn't use again for a few hours, I could go a long time without getting super sick again. BUT if I did the same wack of down but feel asleep for much less time, then I would wake up sicker than I would if I had just stayed awake. This was my dilemma as I begin my story.

I ran into some dope acquaintance, it was the afternoon on a regular day, and he asked me if I wanted to go to his friend's apt which was right by Oppenheimer. He said there may be dope there, and that he had been sent out to look for a girl for someone. Even though I was in no shape to try to convince some guy that I could show him a good time, I said "hells yeah" (well, I dont ever actually say hells yeah). We went to this guy Wayne's place and I sat down and pretty much fell asleep right away. I was woken up about a half and hour later with this super old East Indian man looking at me, really close to my face. I mean, this guy had a turban on, the traditional dress, heavy accent, etc. He was trying to wake me up. He was saying "you want to do toke? smoke? you need down?". Why thank you for asking sir, that would be a resounding YES to all of those questions.

So anyways, this man (his name escapes me, I will call him Willy) paid Wayne so we could use his room for a few hours. The only people that were in the room besides us were the odd runner we would have go score dope for us. Seriously, it was one of the best dates EVER. This guy had tons of cash, was in no hurry, let me do dope, it was awesome. And he was super nice, we just talked and stuff. Of course, we WERE naked, but it wasn't overly offensive. An old man is still just a man, and when you are paid, they all look the same really. I never remember the body, it is always the person.

This guy was old as I said, he was ancient pretty much and he was smoking crack with me, matching me hit for hit. Crazy right? No, not at all, as I said earlier, these old guys are like little kids stealing their parents car. They have no real concept of danger, etc. Maybe because these guys are so old, they figure what better time than now than to experiment with drugs. So yes, we got high. I rememeber at one point trying to get a wack of down ready and I kept nodding off and spilling the dope all over the place. That was some good heroin.

Eventually we had to leave Wayne's room, so we moved our location to the Astoria on Hastings. Seedy, seedy place, but cheap. I hated those hotels. They still scare me. I mean, all that is separating you from the crazy dope addicts fighting and stabbing each other in the hallway is the door to your room. Makes me shiver. I felt safer in a friggen alley at 3am than I did in any room in one of those hotels. Not sure why though, since no one would come running if they heard you scream in either place.

We had our room, and he kept pulling out money. He had about 50 ten dollar bills in the breast pocket of his shirt. We slept eventually, after we pushed the bed in front of the door. I got to see him without his turban on. I have never seen anyone with a turban on, and then that same person with the turban off. He had really long, silvery hair, it made him look very fragile. It was sort of creepy looking, but only in the sense like if you see someone that always has a moustache and then they shave it. They would just look different.

In the morning he flipped me ten bucks and we were saying our goodbyes but before I went he asked me if I would chaperone him to the washroom. I took him there and as I was helping him get back to our room (helping him, like as if I was helping him cross the street) this girl I knew came out of one of the rooms adjacent from ours and saw us and started laughing. I imagine it was a strange picture maybe, but she had no idea. He was like the best date ever, and she was mocking him like she had much better things going on. A girl can never know who has the money.

Willy wanted to get on the bus back to South Vancouver, and I wanted to get back to my miserable existence, so we parted ways.

I saw him a few other times, but the first time was the best. This one time I ran into him he had brought a friend with him, and they were wasted drunk. His friend was old, but not mega old like him. And his friend spoke no English at all. I guess his friend wanted a good time, but he wasn't nice like Willy. At least Willy treated me like a real person, and this guy was a prick, so rude and mean, he was taking forever to finish and when we were doing the date he actually head butted me super hard in the forehead. I am surprised he didn't break my nose, because I heard it crack. I pushed him off me and told Willy (because yes, that is how it is, Willy was sitting right beside us watching) that he better find someone else to take care of his a**hole friend. So another girl was found for him and she was no prize but as soon as she had gotten him to "finish" he passed out and she couldnt get him out of her room for hours. Haha.

Another time I had seen him he told me that he had to be careful downtown because the very guys that he would pay to get girls for him were attacking/mugging him and going right for the right hand breast pocket of his shirt, since that is always where he pulled his money from. I guess I shouldnt be surprised, but it never ceases to amaze me at how shitty people are. But that's is how it is down there. That is why a lot of the dope addicts can't sleep, because there friends will jack them up and take all their dope and the person will have been awake for so long that they are helpless to do anything about it. I heard of people burying there stash so it wouldn't get stolen when they slept. It happens, there are really no friends down there.

The last time I had seen him he had like 20 bucks, wanted to buy crack and to take me some where to smoke it and get all sexual, etc. But I said no. Twenty bucks worth of shared crack is not payment. It was sort of sad, because it was almost as if he had no money left and he was all skinny, had this tiny busted up stump of a crack pipe...and he was reduced to resorting to blow jobs in the alleyway rather than all night trysts in a one star hotel room.

Oh I just thought of this now, and am going to mention because I dont want to forget it. There is not much a of a story behind it, but I just remembered that this one time, on sunny Sunday morning this elderly Asian man payed me to hit my vagina with a stick. Ha ha, really. He had me pull my pants down in an alley, stay standing and he would just wack me on the vagina with a friggen stick. Ahh, easy money. Things like that happen all the time. Quite often I would come across some guy that had some random request like this and I would do it happily. Ten or fifteen seconds, and done. 20 dollars richer.


I am alive, and I am happy.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Sometimes the word "jacked" doesn't always precede the word "off"

This post is going to be about the first time I was ripped off by a date. This was not an isolated incident, but it wasn't a common occurrence. I guess it is a right of passage for a street prostitute, like when the Hell's Angels get their colours....

I was still relatively new to the downtown stroll when it happened.. What I mean is, I was fresh and still making good money, able to turn down dates if they didn't want to pay a certain amount, and I looked good, not all f**ked up. I was naive in the sense that I still believed that the men that were picking me up were nice, that they respected me in a way, and that they thought of me as a real person. Not true, so I found out. Not all guys are scum, but most are.

It was a summer night, warm, pleasant, no jacket required. I had begun my "new job" in the summer, as was custom for most girls that were new to working. It is mush easier to work when the weather is nice, and the reality that soon enough you will be working through Christmas and New Year's, in snow and rain hasn't sunken in yet. More girls always show up in the summer months, from what I noticed anyways.

It was a typical night, as I said, and I was on Cordova. There was a bus stop right across from Oppenheimer Park and I used to plant myself there to make it seem like I was waiting for the bus, when I in actuality I was "working". I thought people I knew might drive by and recognize me, and at this point I still cared what people thought. That didn't last long by the way, there was more things important than preserving my dignity. Like heroin.

This two tone, blue Astro-van had pulled over for me and we spoke through the open passenger window. We were talking for quite a few minutes and so eventually he just told me to jump in while we talked. He was a really nice man, not much older than me. He told me he was married and that his wife wouldn't perform oral sex on him, or anything beyond the basic sexual necessities that are mandatory for reproduction. This is why he was out looking for a girl. Now, my philosophy at this point was that I would basically agree to most things if the price was right, and would just try to do my very best at bringing things to the end point quicker than he expected, without my having to do any of the other stuff that he may have requested. This was pretty easy to do, especially if it was some new guy that was so hard up because his wife never has sex with him or whatever reason. Sometimes the guy will feel like he didn't get his moneys worth because it would be over so fast, but that wasn't my problem, it was his.

He was fine with using the condom I said I had had, and he agreed to pay me $XX.

We started driving to a place where he would feel comfortable. He wanted to find a place where he could relax and not worry about getting caught. We were so deep in "real" conversation that I didn't realize we had been driving for quite some time, and we were pretty much in New Westminister. It didn't really concern me that we were that far from where we had started because I had already made money that night, and it was nice out, I was going to be up all night anyways, so WTF. Really, a girl can make money ANYWHERE, location is not important. Even if I jumped out there, in New West after the date, I was fine with it. I was a very...resourceful girl.

Eventually, we arrived at some deserted industrial building and parked in the lot. We had discussed the price, but we had had such intense real person conversation (or so I stupidly thought) and I had concluded that he was a really nice guy, and seemed not at all creepy (which they all are in the end), and I am embarassed to admit this, but I didnt ask him for the money right away. I was so sure he would pay me, that I wasn't concerned about it. I had done that before with regulars of mine, and had always been paid for my services. In retrospect, obviously, I see the err of my ways. Another mistake was allowing him to take me to this secluded place, with no one around in an area I wasn't very familiar with.

We did the date. By the time it was over, it has been quite a while. Between the drive, the inital conversation and then time spent doing the date, it was a good hour and a half. Way longer than most girls could stand. Like I said though, I already HAD money, so it wasn't like I needed to do this date. I wasn't dope sick, so time wasn't an issue.

The date went fine, it was slightly humiliating when I think back, only because of what happened in the end. I had gone over and above the usual "money, sex (date), take me back" progression of things. Also, and I am going to be graphic for a minute, he had asked me at the last minute if he could ejaculate on my face. Not in my mouth, but on me, just the same. And for all those ladies out there, you will know, this isn't an unheard of request, but it is very intimate, and it isn't something that one would casually do with just anyone. Well, maybe they would, but I never made a habit of it. I forgot to mention, when the date began he had changed his mind about the condom, and it has been so long I can't recall what my response was, but I am pretty sure I believed him when he said he was clean. I made many mistakes that night. I made mistake after mistake.

After the date, we got organized, got dressed and started back. I hadn't asked for the money still, because I knew I had done my job and I had earned every cent of that $XX (it is even embarrassing to admit what I would do for that for $XX amount of money, but I try to be as straight up as possible here, and tell people what really goes on- we were always underpaid, and we accepted it). I asked him to take me to a gas station so I could buy cigarettes and he agreed. I ran into the store to buy them, with the money I already had, leaving my bag with my whole life in it, in his van.

And you probably have guessed by now, that when I came out, he was gone. It took me a few minutes to realize what had happened. I thought maybe he was turning around, or getting gas or something. Then it started to sink in. I honestly felt like I was punched in the stomach. Hard. Like how anyone would feel if they realized they had been ripped off, scammed, etc. Except I had also prostituted myself to this man, and had made all the necessary mistakes for this to happen. Of course he left, why would he stay? I was nothing. It wasn't as if ripping me off like that made him feel bad. He was probably stoked because he got away without paying.

In his haste to get away, he didn't even throw my bag out of his van. So, there I was at this gas station, its like 1am and I have only my wallet (thank God, at least I had the money I had already made) and my cigarettes. No sweater (it was the best sweater too, I still miss it, even though I would have lost it a million times over through my time on the street. Wow, I miss that sweater. The loss of money was one thing, but my favorite sweater? Come on, is there no decency in the world?). I had no bag, no pipe, no needles, no nothing (which was funny cause I told him I wasn't a junkie, when I totally was, so hopefully he went through the bag and saw the IV gear in there, and had a minor anxiety attack. I would like to think that maybe he freaked out and thought he got the HIV from me- I didn't have the HIV, but he didn't know that).

I ended up calling a friend of mine, a friend I mentioned in one of my earliest posts, and he came and got me. I was bawling my eyes out, and I had to make up some bullsh*t story about what had happened. I told him that I met this guy in the hostel I was staying in, and we went out for dinner. I told him that this guy said he would pay for his half of the meal with his interac card, but when it was time to cough it up, he bailed. Hardly worth bawling over, but it wasn't like I wanted to admit what really happened, plus this person didn't know yet what I was actually up to most days. Or maybe he did, he was a scumbag after all. He thought I was a fugitive from my abusive relationship, but that never stopped him from trying to get with me. He probably tried his best to seduce me that night as well. Of course, I would have obliged, he was still a good source for money and rides, after all.