Stay Gold, Ponyboy

Salutations, my loyal minions...I don't feel like ripping out my guts and putting them on display for you today. Nor will I indulge in a spell check or profred.

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On occasion guys/people pick up prostitutes for non-sexual reasons. I had requests from "clients" calling in sick to work for them to writing out bogus police statements. One time in particular I was hired by these two American guys that told me they were from New York. I have no idea why they were in Vancouver, but I do know that they knew no one. They wanted to go to a bar but needed someone that knew the area and so decided on a prostitute as their guide. Now, this night I am writing about was not an average night.. I seem to remember that it was the eve of a day that I had ran away from my parents house...

*If you can't remember from previous posts my parents would come to try to rescue me and would bring me back to their house and I would last about 12 hrs then I would bail. During this 12 hours I would shower, change in to some of the clothes I had there, and then climb the fence or run out the front door while they were asleep (they knew I left, the alarm would go off, but by then I would be gone - I have said this before: a girl can get picked up anywhere - those that have sex for sale and those that want to buy it are drawn to each other..it's a weird unspoken vibe. SO, I was able to get back downtown....fast and easy).*

So when these 2 "yanks" pulled up to me I looked like a normal person I guess. I know for sure they wouldn't have picked me up if I had been exuding a vibe of soul destruction and drug addiction. They were a little yellow in the belly if you know what I mean.. wimpy.. chickens, you know? I wasn't sick at the time, which must have helped my appearance.

So, they pull over to me and I get in. They were mid 30's ish, attractive, sort of geeky..kind of like what I would imagine the children of people with money might be like as they got older. You know, private schools and all that. Total Socs. They wanted me to go to a bar with them so I suggested the Penthouse. We drove there and I was starting to wonder what was going to happen next, the topic of bl*w jobs hadn't really come into play yet. That happens sometimes. I would meet certain people that made me feel stupid for bringing it up..stupid like ashamed, sort of. Usually if a girl and a guy ever approached me and she was around my age I always felt like an idiot. These guys kind of had the same affect. Of course they could never understand why I did what I did for my dope. People like them always say stupid things like "but there is always another WAY.." Barf. NO, SOMETIMES THERE ISN'T.

Guy #1 bought me a drink (which was weird because as a heroin addict I was soooo not into drinking) and the three of us just sat around a table..chilled out, talked. Then it was last call, so we left. I know all these small details may seem unimportant but they are crucial for me because this is how I remember the story, therefore this is how I must tell it.

Anyways, turns out they were staying at the Four Seasons or somewhere like that. Initially, after we left the Penthouse, I had asked guy #1 if he wanted a "happy ending" to the evening and the two of them were giggling like little girls but #1 agreed. They obviously had money and I wanted it. #1 and I went to his room while #2 went to his.

I asked for the money first and he hands me $300. I was stoked, to put it mildly. I guess he was used to "hookers" (hate that word) from TV or movies because apparently he thought my time was worth big bucks. Which it WAS....most of the time. Sometimes.

So, there we were, he gives me $$ and then starts asking me questions like if I do drugs..what kind, how old am I ...am I really a prostitute, etc. As I am answering his questions he makes it obvious that he has no knowledge whatsoever about addiction, drugs, life on the street or hardship of any kind and when I ask if he has ever used any sort of drug he says no. Alcohol yes, but drugs no.

Then, rather than asking for the hummer he shelled out for, he instead asks me if I will help him play a practical joke on his friend. He wants me to act like I did some crack with him, make like he is totally f*cked up and that I don't know what to do because he is wasted. I was to say to his friend that I think he should go to the hospital. A total Grade 7 idea but awesome none the less.

I go and knock on #2's door and I tell him that his buddy is wasted because he smoked some crack and I am a bitch and I don't care and I am just going to leave him there. #2 freaks out when I drag #1 into his room. He is asking me why? why did I do this terrible thing? #1, not knowing how a person is when they get high from smoking the up, starts moaning and swooning and says.."ohhh man..I am sooo high..f*ck I am STONED" and other such ridiculous statements all while feigning like he is going to pass out. #2 totally buys it.

After a few minutes the jig is up and #1 busts out laughing and #2 does not think this was funny at all.

I got paid $300 for pretty much nothing and it was awesome. The only down side was that after I left and went back downtown I spent like $100 bucks on heroin and it totally sucked. I mean, it was bad heroin, that is what sucked. The heroin, not me.

Get it? I didn't suck?? As in I did not hum his or anyone else's mer?

Deaf-speak is the Unword

Horrendous things happen in any area that has an infestation of drug addicts. As a dope addict with a conscience, a lot of the time I witnessed various sorts of heinous activities in action and it wasn't easy to see (most of the time). I mean, these people (addicts) are ruthless, they don't give a sh*t about anyone..almost psychopathic in a sense. Me, being the except to every rule (smiles), felt bad for the victims of these crimes against humanity. Maybe I am a pussy or maybe I just wasn't "there yet" in the sense of what I would do for my dope. Selling my ass was a more appealing method....Or, maybe I was just lucky to be a girl and therefore was able to make $$ easier than other addicts. The girls ALWAYS make more money than guys. Except for the dope addicts that could support their dope addiction by selling. But that was rare, everyone is basically a f*ck up and it always comes to the surface eventually.

It's true though, even the harshest of women can make money. I've seen it. I would be like, "What?? You got paid that much??" Meanwhile they have almost no hair because they pull it out, they pick their faces so bad it looks as if they got stung by an army of bees, they have track marks and scars all over them because they can't use their arms anymore since their veins there are dead, they have no teeth and are about 55 in street years - which is 105 in people years. I think some guys may get all riled up being with a prostitute, so they pick up the "textbook" example of what one is.

But this isn't even what this post is about. Not that it (the post) was going to be about anything in particular.

I witnessed things all the time as I said. I saw people smash car windows when they thought no one was watching. I was watching from a distance of course, not that it mattered because I was one of "THEM" so they weren't threatened by my presence. They'd smash these windows in broad daylight, so desperate that they do it in plain view..but still got away with it. I mean, say someone does see it, what can they do? Do a citizen's arrest? Maybe, but then they may be worried they will get stuck with a needle (never saw that happen, but it was a good threat though). Or they could call it in to 911 and tell them they are looking for a tall guy with a hooded sweatshirt, who looks dirty, making his escape on a bicycle. Which could be anyone.

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SO....

I was sitting on the steps of some building in Chinatown, myself and couple of other people. They were not my "friends", merely acquaintances, and total bullies. I had no dope or anything so they weren't muscling me at the time. That is how it is, when they aren't muscling you or jacking you up they just act like you and them-are just friends, hanging out.

It was late, we were sitting on steps and this old guy with a cane was walking by us on the other side of the street. This guy (we'll call him S) and this girl (we'll call him Tammy - since that was her name) that were with me on the steps came to a quick agreement that they were going to rob him, the old guy. They ran across the street, S grabbed the man in a headlock, the old man drops his cane while Tammy demands that he give the 2 of them his money. It was brutal. The guy was like ninety. It was horrible to watch, it made me feel really sh*tty and since I was sitting there, not doing anything in defense of this guy, I was a party to the crime. I wasn't about to do anything that may have lessened my chance at survival, so sorry, I just sat there and watched. better him than me. Sorry, that was my life. NOT that I have to explain myself to you anyways. You weren't there.

Tammy was screaming at this old guy and he was yelling for help and telling her that he had no money. She started digging in all his pockets and found his wallet. When she found it she smacked him across the face because he only had ten bucks. The other guy, S, released him from the headlock and the guy fell to the ground. Tammy and S just cruised back across the street to the steps, bitching about how dare the guy only have such a small amount of money on him. Like, how dare he make them rob him for ten bucks. They didn't even feel the need to run. They just traumatized this guy for a lousy ten spot. He probably pissed his pants, I would have. It was frightening to watch and how they can just be normal after that is crazy. I guess I would have sex with strange men and be normal afterwards but that was my "job", so I think there is a difference between what I did for $$ and what they did.

Another time on a Sunday morning I saw a guy on roller blades sucker punch a girl on Hastings for $3. Really I did. She was being all loud and may have been drunk and he just belted her. She hit the pavement and then he went in her pockets and took her whole 3 dollars. Understand this too, it isn't as if these people flee after committing these atrocities, they are in no hurry to disappear. What is she going to do? Nothing, she can't do nothing.

People get beat up all the time though, for whatever reason. Selling bunk dope, stealing, owing money, just for being an idiot. I got punched once because I wasn't paying attention and I went right up to a dope dealer and asked him if he was "working" at the same moment that a cop was walking by and as a result the dealer got busted that day. On a daily basis you see certain people you know that suddenly show up with the whites of their eyes gone, replaced by the blood red that is the evidence of a sh*t kicking. It's gross.

On an unrelated topic: (sub titled : SCAM OF THE WEEK)

One of the people with the best scam going was the deaf girl (of course it is unfortunate that she is deaf, OBVIOUSLY). I saw her doing her thing on several occasions. She would do the quintessential deaf voice which made people really uncomfortable (especially the dope dealers, she was a bit of a heat score, her and her noise). There was no reason to it, her deaf-speak, there was no words. She would just wail while doing charades of smoking crack. Like hold an imaginary pipe to her lips and then an imaginary lighter to the end of it. She would do this until the dope sellers or someone gave her tokes. It was awesome. It is one of the rarities in our earthly realm... the mysterious crack addicted deaf girl. How does a deaf girl even get addicted to crack in the first place??

Anubis wuz here.

Lost of times guys that have out of town jobs..like jobs that take them away from the city for months at a time, hire prostitutes. Fishermen, oil rig workers, tree planters..anything like that where one would be in the middle of nowhere but get paid tons of money for it. Usually these guys like to "go off" as soon as they get back to town. Like go off in the chemical substance sense. Especially crack..they love that sh*t. These men tend to have a connection in the underworld (the red zone), some drug addict that will let them use their room, will have a connection to get dope, and also will FIND a girl for them to violate. Many occasions I had acquaintances come up to me telling me they had this "friend" that wanted a girl to get high with and could I come with them (the junkie) back to his room to meet this guy. This guy with tons of money.

Sometimes there is no need for a middle man though- I had this fisherman pick me up once. He showed me his wad of $28,000, I actually WATCHED him cash a check at Money Mart for that amount. Can you believe that? What an idiot. Turns out that I may have gotten syphilis from him..but I can never be sure. But I WILL tell you that when I found out I had it I told the nurse his name and the city he was from so they could contact him and tell him HE had it, or may have had it. See, when you have a thing like syphilis or HIV or anything serious "they" (the gov't) need to know your sexual partners so they can talk to them and try to stop the spreading of it. I gave them only one name. His. I would tell you that name now but I won't. Though I should.

Oh, I should really include this next bit because it is totally relevant to that last paragraph and totally effing hilarious. I knew this Asian guy that drove a truck. He had a business that was all about delivering plastic bags. You know, those crappy, cheap ass, only good for one use plastic bags that you get at corners stores? Well, next time you get one, it may have been handled by him or one of his affiliates.

This guy was one of the worst. I mean, he would pay okay but would always pay the girls in coins. Do you know how degrading it is to be paid in coins? I don't care if it is 50 two dollar coins or what but it feels pretty lame. This guy, he had zero loyalty to any one girl, he would pick up who ever, didn't matter. He was sure to always use a condom but MAY have gone without one a few times. I know he did with me maybe once. So this one day he pulls up and he tells me he just wants to talk to me. He tells me that he had gone to the doctor and found out that he had caught something from one of the girls. He said he had something called "clem-dye", he pronounced it just like that. Clem-dye? I'm like what the f*ck is clem-dye? I told him that he didn't get it from me because I didn't even know what it was, I had never heard of it and thought he must have been misinformed. And then it came to me. He meant chlamydia. English was his second language so it makes perfect sense that his brain would have computed it incorrectly.

CLEM-dye. Chlamy-dia. Clem (silent y) dAI - he got the i and the a mixed up. Clem-dye.

Hil. Ar. I. Ous.

One chilly winter evening I was approached by one of these out of town working guys. I had originally been with him months before, we hooked in a manner previous mentioned in the first paragraph of this post. His name was Ricky (that was his name for real. I hate that name, by the way. I always have and I am sorry if that happens to be your name). He was into the up, they usually are. I ran into him in an alley behind this old folks home on Cordova, just off of Gore.

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*At this point I feel the need to say something: This alley I'm writing about right now wasn't super harsh and gross like the alley one's imagination might conjure up. It was harmless, wide, in the back of a few businesses..what else can I say? It wasn't totally used-needle ridden with piss and feces everywhere, etc. In fact it was my most frequented alley. It was spacious and most of my dates knew that I did a lot of my dope there. There were stairs behind the old folks home that people could sit on. It is gated now but wasn't when I was there. My Dad actually knew of this spot too and came to find me there on at least one occasion that I remember. Did I ever tell you about the time my Dad came to see me down there and at one point we were crossing the road and this addict saw us and actually asked us if we needed a room? How humiliating, I was like, "No, this is my Dad".*

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Back to Ricky. I ran into Ricky in this same alley. Like I said it was cold and wet and gross out and I was sick as f*ck. Like very sick, sickness amplified by the weather. It was early evening and pretty much every girl out was hurtin'. I saw him and was thanking the heavens...He was doing fine, had obviously just came back from months out working (I assumed) and was smoking tons of crack and wanted me to do things to him while he smoked. He said he would share his dope with me and would give me money for heroin. I was so happy (relieved) but still very sick.

I got no relief from the cold because what he wanted was to be done on those very steps, the steps that I was just describing. (This was not a busy alley, just so you know, it's not like there would be Christian families driving by on their way to drop off the kids at youth group. The only guys that drove through it were trolling and if a cop DID go by you could hear it coming. A police car motor sounds like no other and I can still hear one before I actually see the car) I wanted my $$ first but he only had a hundred dollar bill. He did show it to me and told me that I could hold on to it until we were done doing what we were doing (I wasn't having sex with him on the steps in case you were wondering, it was just a ******). Fine with me. He made it seem like afterwords we would go get a room, warm up and all that nice stuff.

I did what he wanted, I smoked some of his dope (which only made me feel worse. Crack does that when a person is dope sick, at least that is how it was with me), and then I said that I HAD to get some down. He said fine that he would wait for me in the alley since I was literally going to run to score. There was this pizza place 2 blocks away that sold relatively good dope so that was where I was planning to go. I left him my winter coat so he would know I would come right back. This coat was my only means of protection from the cold. I had a toque, I have always been a toque wearer, but the jacket was key too. It had everything I owned in it. Pipe, rigs, water, chap-stick, condoms, whatever. I run to the pizza place with the hundred dollar bill in my sock. I can't even describe how sick I was. I mean, I was soooo ill. I think I hadn't even used that day, I had woken up in my friend's room in the afternoon with nothing and had been wandering the streets waiting for a regular when I had bumped into Ricky.

I get to the pizza place, told the guy what I wanted and gave him the hundred dollar bill. He looks at it and tells me "this bill is fake". Crash, burn, implode, ....my world is destroyed in about a millisecond. "Fake?" I asked him. "Fake. Watch this" he says and proceeds to put a tiny bit of water on the bill and the ink started smudging only slightly but enough. I couldn't believe it. I was devastated. I mean, I had just given this a guy a bl*wjob in a f*cking alley in the middle of a snowstorm for nothing. Sure I got a few hoots but that didn't count, just common courtesy if you will. FAKE??

I ran back to the alley and of course he was gone. Not only was he gone though, he took my f*cking jacket. Can you believe that? I found remnants of my pocket contents strewn throughout the alley. He had obviously rifled through the coat during his escape. I felt like a fool and a dirt bag and totally worthless.

No happy ending this time. I ended getting helped out by another working girl, or at least she had intentions of it. She had heroin and said she would share it with me (this happens down there, I help you out, you help me out). She wanted to go to her friend's room but on the way she wanted to smoke some of her crack. I had no idea how she was after smoking crack but I was soon to find out that she was crazy. She starting thinking that the buildings were out to get her and that they had a very ominous feel when she touched them and basically begged me to stay with her while at the same time telling me that she had changed her mind and would not be sharing her heroin.

Bad bad bad bad. I would bust out yet another f-bomb whilst summing up the events of that evening but I fear another one may not be entirely ladylike.

Points

Since last week's post was so graphic and intense, I have decided to be "lighter" this week. What follows is just something that happened..one night..like any other night. Actually come to think of it there may be a little graphic undertone.....

I used to see this guy, his name was Francois. He was a heavy (more round than heavy), short, harmless French man. He used to pick me up and give me half of my money up front so I could score and then give me the other half after, when he drove me back after the date.

He always picked me up for the same thing. After he was done work he would swing by and get me every month or so. The "same thing" that he wanted was,...sigh...was for me to put a latex glove on my hand an insert it into one of his orifices. Guess which one? Anyways, that isn't really what this post is about, as I mentioned I don't feel like getting heavy.

One night Francois picked me up, gave me $$ to score (which I did) and then we went back to his apartment like always. BUT this time we made a stop on the way to his place. I cannot remember what he was doing and why but I just remember that the crack I had purchased burning a hole in my pocket and I told him that while he was doing whatever it was that he was doing, I would go find some public washroom somewhere to do some dope.

We were parked on West 4th right by a restaurant. I went in there and asked them if I could use their washroom. They agreed. I go into the washroom and took out a make up container..like eye shadow or something (it had the dope inside)...another one of my ingenious hiding places. I smoked some dope and then re-braided my hair or combed it in the mirror. In this process I completely forgot about the eye shadow container that I had placed on the toilet paper dispenser. I finished in the washroom, went back to Francois and we continued on to his house, which was not far. A few blocks.

The drill was basically the same every time. We would arrive at his house, he would shower while I would sit in the living room and do dope. He would get out and go into his room. He would lie on the bed face down and wait for me. Wait until I WAS READY. See I always had to do a lot of dope before I stuck my hand inside someone. It may not have been the whole hand but my job was to do one finger at a time..working up to, but never was, the whole hand. I know it sounds gross, weird, or maybe it doesn't but it wasn't weird. I was wearing a glove, he didn't have to penetrate me..so I was fine with it. You have to understand that when I am doing these sorts of things my mind is everywhere else and not in the room/car, etc. with me and the date. I am thinking of dope most likely...and anything else. He told me that his ex-wife got him into the whole "rear entry" thing. Yeah, sure Francois.

I keep getting distracted. I didn't even mean to include that part because this particular evening (the evening I was talking about in the beginning of the post) we didn't even GET to the hand insertion.

He did get in the shower and I did sit down to smoke a bowl but then chaos ensued.It's what I considered a catastrophe. I couldn't find my dope. If you have ever been around dope addict that can't find their dope, it is not a pretty sight. Everything pales in comparison. I mean, the house could be burning down and they aren't leaving until they find it. As I mentioned before though, I had left it in the washroom at the restaurant. Francois had already given me half of the money for the date but he knew me well enough to know that he was going to get nothing good out of me while I was in this frenzy. Obviously I HAD to go back to find it, there was no way I was going to wait until after the date. He gave me bus fare to get back downtown and I told him I would get him back for the cash he had already floated me.

I had forgotten dope in lots places before and usually had good luck with finding it. I had left some on the floor in a 7-11 washroom early one Sunday morning HE (the date) was not one that was "cool" with me doing dope around him so I casually asked him to stop so I could use the 7-11 bathroom-and got high in there). On the way back from the date I got "him" (whoever it was) to drive me by there on the way back so I could go in and get it. It was there, where I left it, on the floor. Crack is white, floor was white. So it wasn't very obvious to an average person, plus I doubt any one even used the washroom since I had. But this time, the time with Francois, I had not only left it in a washroom but had left it very visible on the toilet paper dispenser and it was a very busy restaurant. The chances of it being seen was %100. Not that anyone would pick up someone else's makeup, I mean that is uber unsanitary. But, though the reason escapes me right now, I seem to remember that the dope must have been obvious IN the container for some reason. I was extra concerned, as well I should have been.

I get to the restaurant, bee-lining for the washroom. The place was emptying out. I go in..and no eyeshadow container, which means no crack. F*CK. As a dope addict you will do anything to get the dope back. It is that serious. I went up to a staff member that worked there and asked them about my makeup and where was it..could she ask her servers and all that if they had seen it. This is where it gets stupid..I actually told them that I had HEART PILLS in the container and that was why it was soooo important that I find them. Like who would believe that? Anyways, it turned out that one guy that worked there HAD seen it and had thrown it out. Once he knew it was mine he just happened to be able to locate my missing makeup in the garbage. Good thing because I would have seriously turned the place upside down. Garbage or not (I guess that digging through garbage is nothing compared to s*cking off random strangers in all sorts of dangerous locations). I KNEW just by looking at him that something was up. He gives it to me and of course, it is empty..besides the eyeshadow. Now, HE knows that I know that there was dope in there. He can't rat me out to the people he works with because he would have to explain where the crack was because why would he not have just thrown it out all together, why remove the "pills" (dope)? Does that make sense? I hope it does, I am moving on.

He never coughed them up, he had no reason to, but he DID have to act like he was all sympathetic and all that. Did they know I was bullsh*tting? I have no idea, probably. What I do know is that as an addict you have to be one hell of a hustler to get your needs met. I ended up convincing a different guy that worked there to drive me back downtown and then to give me ten bucks. It is the last part that I find so awesome. I still managed to turn it into a win.

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PS: I thought I would add in another something that this post made me think of. I used to be a total raver. Like fat pants, bright colors, all of it. No soothers though OR glow sticks, FYI. During this phase of my life I was heavy into the crystal meth. Me and my methy posse used to call it points ( holy sh*t, isn't that the best phrase ever?? Methy posse?? Haha, awesome). You know how a point of something is .1 of a gram? Thus the term, points.

One day me and my friend M had been up for a few days and she had exactly ONE POINT left on her and she had it in her wallet. We were waiting until we absolutely needed it before using it. We were far from home out in Dunbar I think and we were on our way to a friend's and had stopped at the local Safeway. I have no idea what was bought. Maybe water.

We got to said friend's house and after a time we go in the washroom to do our secret points (even though there was only 1 point, it was still referred to as points). They were a secret because we were surrounded by a house full of hurtin' jonesers so we had to be sneaky. The points were not in her wallet where they should have been. We searched everywhere and realized we had to burn back to Safeway. It was tough going back there, I mean I felt paper thin at this point in my Binge??..I had zero energy left.

We looked up and down the aisle we had been in, around the cashier's desk, I am sure we must have looked harsh. Cheeks sunken in, bags under our eyes..super fat pants...we actually asked the cashier to find out if anyone had swept that isle. She asked us why and we told her that my friend had had a small piece of paper with a VERY important phone number on it and we had to find it..had to. We laugh about it now, like as if. A small piece of paper? We couldn't tell them it was a bag of dope and we had to tell them something, so it was piece of paper.

We then turned our search to the parking lot when "it" wasn't found inside. I am sure we looked even worse outside. We were looking very slowly everywhere we had walked, total backtracking. I ended up spotting it right by the curb, by the main doors. It must have fallen out of her wallet when she put her money back in.

The moral of the story is what? I don't know. But both stories had happy endings.

Ashtray Love

This post is VERY graphic, read at your own risk. I mean it, but it is part of me, so whatever, you have been warned. I am pretty sure my step mum does not read my blog very often but if you are reading this...STOP HERE. There are things in this post I am positive you don't want to know.

I was just panicking because I couldn't find my notes about this post. I have random bits and pieces of paper around my house with various descriptive adult words on it and had misplaced the paper I had this particular topic on. But I found it, I must remember in future though...when I am in school and there is a sitter here to watch my son, I should probably not leave out papers that say "blow job in elevator" or "wanted anal" on it.

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"Smell is often called the sense tied most closely to human memory, profoundly influencing people's ability to recall past events and experiences...".

I had this regular and he was old. Well, not super old (though I did have old guy dates..like they couldn't get it up but still wanted to hang out with me..well, hang out with me naked that is) he was about 65-ish..close to retirement sort of old, and quite a bit older than me. He had that old man smell..ahhh, just like dust and....newspaper? Something like that. Anyways, he was awesome though.

The first time he picked me up was early on a Sunday morning I think..I can't remember his name or his car I just remember him. He gave me money for dope and then he asked me to come to his house. He lived in a top floor suite in one of the apartment buildings on UBC property. Turns out he was the maintenance guy or janitor I recall. I can't even remember what we did sexually, which is weird for me. I mean, I have tried to think about what it could have been but it is gone. Lost in the catacombs of my mind.

We arrive at his apartment building and it was very, very early. I asked him why he was up so early (it was the summer so it was light already by this time) and he told me that he wanted to be slightly inconspicuous because when he had brought another prostitute one time, there had been some students outside in the parking lot and he heard one of them say "oh, look at the old man and the prostitute". He didn't care about what anyone could say, he was just concerned because of his job. He also told me that she was a very, very obvious prostitute picked up from the track on Richards St. with the high heeled thigh boots, etc. I was not like that but still he wanted to be careful. We go in the building and go to his apartment.

As a prostitute I met all types of people and he is was I would classify as a "hoarder" (you must have seen shows about them on TV). I swear to you this guy had stacks of paper and newspapers up to my waist EVERYWHERE and all over the coffee table and floor were pennies. This may be why his old man smell was so obvious. Like unwashed body (but not like B.O. or anything..use your imagination..just like..stale body) and dust and newspapers with a hue of copper penny. But I was not there to judge, plus it wasn't like it mattered. I met quite a few people like that and who am I to care? I still don't care. We all have our issues.

Like I mentioned, I know that I took my clothes off but have no other idea as to what took place there. I remember us just talking for a long time. He was talking about the girl that he had been looking for when he picked me up. He told me she was not a girl from the stroll I worked. He knew where she lived and had found her out when he arrived and had tried other means of reaching her but to no avail. He had been looking for her and was slightly concerned of her whereabouts - I guess they were tight. Then he started telling me about the girl that he had picked up a few nights before. She was also not from my hood and was not addicted to drugs. I don't know where he found her.

He told me that when he picked her up he thought she was very beautiful. Once they got to his house she informed him that she was not actually a she, she was a he. Some people can pull this off really well, so I wasn't surprised. I did dope with transvestites all the time, in alleys, in rooms, whatever. Anyways, he wasn't put off by this new information. I want you to understand what this old guy was like. He was short, balding, always had on his work shirt and pants that were institution green in color, with the keys on his belt ...total janitor outfit. He looked like a regular guy (most of them do) and he was really nice. I remember he treated me with respect..(I mean, either he drugged me and I don't remember or he really wasn't overly intense when the sexual act between us was performed). He was a nice, laid back guy that was lonely, had money and that was it. Plus I think may be some guys get more adventurous when they get older, I mean, if you have no one to explain anything to, then who gives a sh*t?

He starts telling me about their date, him and this transvestite. He told me that she gave him a blow job and then he came, fine, no big deal. But THEN he told me that she asked if it was okay if she came too because apparently she had an erection from giving him the blow job. Old guy said no problem and proceeds to let her f*ck him and then when she was about to cum, she took an ashtray nearby, emptied out the pennies and came into it then asked/demanded the old guy to drink it. And he did.

Holy sh*t that is disgusting. I mean to each his own, and I think it is awesome that he so casually engaged in anal intercourse with this person, but I am talking about the whole drinking cum out of the ashtray part. I mean, even besides that, it just seems a little extreme. Like, why did it have to go into a dish of any kind? Why not just into his mouth or on him or something? I really don't think of it as a beverage.

See, when I was a young sexually active adult, I engaged in various sexual activities with my partner..and oral sex is part of the deal. I was one of the "swallow" mentality as opposed to "spit" as I found it more sexually appealing and also less messy. But now, it is completely different. I often muse about what after effects I suffer from since straightening out and this one area I am positive has been affected. As it is now...I WANT to be the same as I was before and I basically feel that I am...BUT I can tell you in all honesty that I HATE semen now. I don't hate the look of it but everything else about it makes me shiver.

The thought of drinking it like that makes me want to vomit, just thinking of the consistency gives me the willies.. And I have realized now that it is also the smell of it that even gives me a gagging feeling in my throat. I am not even sure you can understand what I am saying, I can even smell it as I write this. I used to pride myself as good at my "job" when it came to hummers. Now, completely different. On the odd occasion that oral sex does come into play in my post-prostitute life, I can't even put it "him" all the way in my mouth without reacting in some way. I can describe it as like if someone was drowning and their throat contracts to block the water from getting in your lungs. Not that I have ever been close to drowning before but I mean in the way that it is not a voluntary response. It just happens. I am not saying I don't like oral sex, quite the opposite but..it is the semen in my mouth or within my olfactory sensitive personal area (does that even make sense?) I can do without. I can't even imagine how this is coming across, but how can I make it sound anything other than what it is?

I don't know where this stems from, which may be hard to believe considering I was around "it" every day, several times a day for so long. But "before" I had never thought of cum as gross and even the word gross is unfair because I like what it represents (haha, what?)..but this is the way my brain computes things now. I guess it is a conceivable response considering I allowed myself to be violated so often. I remember this one time I had provided oral service to this guy in his truck one day in Burnaby. He asked to unload on my face and I said fine, whatever gets you off, and then afterwards he told me if I didn't give him his money back and that he was going to beat the f*ck out of me. Perhaps it is times like this, compounded with all the degradation I suffered over those years that have changed me. Or maybe it is just like when I go into certain cafes and the smell reminds me of when I worked in a coffee shop. That seems plausible.

I have faith that love may help remedy this issue. I will let you know.