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.

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.

ON DECEMBER 24th I WILL BE CELEBRATING 3 YEARS CLEAN.

I am alive, and I am happy.

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.

Rule No. 1: ALWAYS GET THE MONEY FIRST.

Ode to Norm : Black Evidence

This next post is an homage to one of my old regulars, Norm. This isn't his real name, but it is not far off. I just didn't want to obviously out him,.. just maybe out him a little bit...The chance of anyone putting two and two together, and actually figuring out who he is, is less than likely. Of course, the more details I share, the higher chance of him being "recognized". Any girl that worked the area would probably be familiar with the individual I am writing about. On the off chance that he himself stumbles across this, he would know it was him, and for that, I feel sort of bad. But not bad enough.

One Friday night I was picked up an English guy, his name was Norm (you can't have any idea how badly I want to use his real name....first and last). He looked totally normal, attractive, quasi-stylish, etc. He wanted me to score some dope (crack) and then we would go get one of those $20/hr rooms they offer at various 5 star establishments in the downtown eastside. These type of dates are good. Taking your clothes off is usually part of it, but generally the guy thinks that he will be this massive stud/stallion with regards to his sexual prowess, but more often than not, it is the exact opposite.

As I said these dates were good. It would be indoors, he paid for the dope, he was attractive, nice, and seemed clean . So, we did our hour, smoked the dope, and then he gave me some money to go get more, which I promptly took and left with no intention of coming back. I had a prior "engagement" and business is business after all. I had my own best interests at heart. Served him right for trusting me, right? Well, no actually. I usually always came back when given money to go get dope, but not this time.

So, I was very surprised (well not overly surprised I was fabulous, even for a sex trade worker- get rid of the track marks and I could have passed for a really, really tired college student - ha ha) when he picked me up again the next weekend. He said he didn't care that I didn't come back the previous Friday, it wasn't much money that I had taken. This time though, we went to his house after I scored. He became one of those dates that I have mentioned in prior posts, one that thinks that maybe he is in love or something, they forget that the girl is being paid to be there, that why she is so nice and agreeable, etc. As long as I had my dope paid for I was fine, but after a time (weeks) he was getting into dope crazy, crazy like. He would drive me downtown in the morning so I could score cause I would dope sick, and I would always buy down AND up, and soon enough he was wanting to get high before he went to work. He was an ESL teacher. And as soon as he would get home from work he wanted to smoke crack right after he walked in the door (I can relate to this, but he had not been like this in the beginning of our acquaintance). Then of course he would want to get all sexual, and not be able to perform (which was fine by me). He was attractive, had the saucy accent, blah blah, but something about him just grossed me out, I didn't like doing dates with him at all. There was a couple of reasons for this. One being that I actually found it offensive that all he wanted to do when he got high was pretend to have sex (I say pretend, because we both knew it wouldn't happen) , but also because I smoked crack daily, I could remain relatively mentally "sound" and didn't get all wigged out and weird like him, and I would just want to talk. I would get pissed off that he wouldn't listen to what I was saying to him, all I he could think of was sex. Apparently crack can have this effect on the males of our species. I was a drug addicted prostitute but I wasn't blind, and he looked way better with his clothes on. It was easier to do dates with men I didn't know, than men I had gotten to know. The more you know someone, the more you are aware of them as a person, and my job wasn't to have sex with a "person". Oh and by the way, the whole "Pretty Woman" no kissing clause, is bunch of bullsh*t. I would prefer not to have to kiss, but if the price is right everything is negotiable.

The reason I am telling this story is because it still amusing some facet of my soul. Don't get me wrong I feel like a jerk because I am sort of making fun of him, and I did deplete his savings and took part in his descent into crack usage, but he had used before, so I am not totally evil. I didn't even WANT him to use, I just wanted him to get dope for me, but if I had to put up with his weird and pathetic self to get well, then I had to do what I had to do.

Some people are allright when they get high, others are so obviously under the influence that one can actually feel embarrassed for them. He used to get so paranoid. I remember one time he took me to score in the middle of the night, and there was a roadblock due to a car accident, and he actually thought that the cops had set up the entire thing to just to bust his ass. This paranoia is not out of the ordinary though, psychosis is a real side effect especially from coke. I too fell victim once in a while, but usually only if I had been awake for days. One time I was in my friend's room at a slimy hotel, and he went to score, and while he was gone I swore I could hear him through the vent in the floor taking to some guys and planning my murder. Even when he came back, I didn't believe him when he said I was nuts, and I took off. If I was outside I could at least run from these would be murderers. Norm was always paranoid, and the dope actually made him stupid-er than he already was in everyday life. He was a nice man, but a total easy mark for a girl like I me.

For example, we had scored a bunch of coke one night, and ended up going to sleep with some left un-smoked, and so the next day he gave me some for me to have and then hid the rest in his room for when he got home from work. He actually left me $20 too, so I could get my methadone (which I wasn't on, but he didn't know that- I had him believing this because I was having to make false promises that I would get off of heroin). When he hid his portion of dope I had every intention of respecting his wishes and just smoking my dope, and then taking off for downtown to get well. But of course, that isn't what happened. I did what dope I had, then about ten seconds after that, I had found his hiding spot and proceeded to blow through his as well. I just wanted a bit, but I smoked it all. I actually felt bad, and wanted to cover my tracks in case he found out. My plan was to put bunk dope in his hiding place (I actually used pieces of white hand soap) and was just going to go downtown, make money and buy more crack and be back before he got home from work. But, he had gotten off work early that day (probably because he knew he could get high once he got home). I wasn't overly worried about what would happened if he did discover my attempt at covering my tracks, he was sort of a wimp, and he needed me to score dope for him. It wasn't like he couldn't get too mad. I worry though, that I am making myself seem like a total b***h here, by taking his money, dissing him, etc. Realistically though, he would have been getting high with another female, if I wasn't there. Better me than her.

By the time I got myself back his place in Kits, he was already there. I was waiting for him to give me a hard time about doing his dope, but he said nothing. I had purposely took all the smoking utensils (pipes, etc.) with me when I left, in case he did return before me. But there he was, not letting on that he knew I was guilty, and he just says to me, "oh, we have that dope, do you want to smoke it", and I said sure....then I notice that there was a tiny piece of a broken pipe on the kitchen table. He must have fished it out of somewhere. In this glassware was a horrible, black, burnt toke sized nugget of the soap. He had tried to smoke it when he got home, but when it burned black the way it did, I guess he assumed that he was doing it incorrectly and just waited for me to get there. I used to give him shit all the time about burning the dope anyways, so I guess in his mind it made sense that he must have lit his pipe incorrectly. I mean, smoking crack IS a skill after all (laugh). I couldn't believe it though, he really had no idea that I had done the swapped his crack for hand soap. Wow. Come ON.

His dad actually died after some time (months), and I guess it snapped him out of the mind space he was in, and he moved in with his mom to take care of her, and so he could clear his head. I was fine with that, it was getting harder to get cash out of him anyways, plus eventually even I started to feel bad taking his money. I knew how broke he was, plus, it wasn't even like I was earning it, cause I never did dates with him when I saw him. I was just bleeding him financially.

I would see him once in a while though, he eventually moved back to Van from White Rock, and still wanted to get high once in a while, but I wasn't the only girl he would pick up.

One of the last times we did see each other, I had asked him about the other girls he spent time with and if they were weird or freaky, who were they, etc. He proceeded to tell me that the girl from his last bender had taken him to her place in a hotel and as soon as he was high he had taken his clothes off and asked her to do the same. He always did that. It's like they "assume" that we too, want to have sex as soon as we get high, when in reality, we would rather do anything but. So there he was, naked, high, waiting for this girl to tend to his "needs" when there was a loud banging on the door. He guessed that when the girl had gone to score she had set up a scam with the dope dealer. The dealer banged on the door, making threats thug style. She opens the door and then the dealer says that she is his woman and accuses Norm of molesting her. Norm, being the champ that he is when under the influence, was relieved of his clothing, dope and his wallet, and was made to fend for himself once he was evicted from the room...(naked).

This makes me feel kind of sorry for him, so much so that I had to use a fake name. It wasn't his fault that he was so ridiculous.

Maybe I was the villain in this story. Or maybe some people just weren't born to do drugs, it isn't in their DNA. (laugh)

In the Patricia Parking Lot with Peter

And yes, his name really is Peter and he used to drive a white cavalier. He wore glasses and lived in Burnaby.

It was a really rainy, gross night (most of my stories have this setting for some reason, but this is how I remember it). I had started out the evening dope sick, and had managed to score one date with a regular- was paid $30. It is hard to get a date when it is ugly outside, and every girl will be out trying to make money, and the guys know that they can negotiate cause everyone of us needs the money BAD.

I was pretty stoked I had that money. I was able get myself well, basically, and was also able to get some crack to keep me company while I worked. I wasn't one of those girls that would go make money, go buy dope, and go back to work when the dope ran out, the usual vicious cycle. I preferred to make money, go buy dope, THEN go back to work right away. It did make the whole "process" a little less offensive to my soul. The soul I still had somewhere deep inside of me.

Pretty much right after I had bought what I needed and had fixed the heroin,

a regular of mine pulls up to the curb before I even had a chance to do a hit of the up that I had. It was Peter, and I was STOKED. It is awesome when you could do back to back dates, especially when the streets were deserted.

I had known Peter for a while, he was young, he grew weed for money, and was a normal guy. I wouldn't say that we were friends...cause one friend usually doesn't pay the other friend to perform sexual favors. But we were familiar, I had been to his house. When we did hook up, we did the date first and then we would always hang out for a while, and go to Stanley Park or something. He would smoke his weed, and I would do my dope.

I got in his (lame) white cavalier and we drove about 10 feet and he pulled into the Patricia Hotel parking lot. He said he had to take a "leak" and then we would go. He got out and starts urinating against the wall that was right at the front of the car where we had parked in one of the stalls. I took the opportunity to load my pipe and light it up. After a minute or two, when he was walking back to the car, I took no notice of him walking past the door to the back of the car. A couple more minutes pass, and I glanced behind me to see what he was doing, and guess what? Apparently, cops, the fuzz, or "six" (as we called them downtown) had been driving by and saw what he was doing, and pulled in to check him out. I had turned around right when they were getting out of the car and began asking him questions.

I am thinking , "Please Peter, don't be an idiot..", and then I notice that they were doing sobriety tests on him, and he was failing miserably. I had no idea he was drunk. Not that it mattered to me, it wasn't like I was going to not go with him cause he was driving under the influence. Finally this male cop comes up to my door, whilst his female partner is cuffing for drunk driving, even though he wasn't technically driving at the time.

I never tried to make excuses for what I was doing, whenever I was questioned by the police, but I was pissed off cause my date was going to jail, with the money I could have made. I got out as the cop is asking me, is there anything in the car that is illegal. I say that I had no idea. I knew about Peter and his weed, so not wanting to get my ass in trouble, I told the cop that Peter smokes weed, and if there is any in the car, it isn't mine. He finds Peter's stash under the driver's seat. My cop goes over to him and is asking him about the weed, and I can actually hear Peter blaming it on ME! Can you believe it? What a prick.

Cop comes back over, and wants to know if my bag contains any drugs, needles etc. I said "hell yeah, there's needles in it". I had thrown crack loose into my bag when I saw the cops. I often did this, cause they would have no idea if it is just garbage or who knows what in the bag, they are looking for a container, or something more obvious. Even with their little blue latex gloves, they don't wanna be getting poked by a "rogue", uncapped needle. Most people are HIV positive down there.

He starts searching my bag, finds my pipe, smashes it and says, "If I find something in here, and you lied to me, I can take you to jail". I had no idea if he was serious or what, but I said yes, I did have dope and I got it out for him. He didn't even go through my whole bag, so I probably would have gotten away with NOT telling him. By this time, Peter's car was already on the tow hook and on the way to the impound lot, and he was in the back of the cop car. He was probably so pissed off that I walked away. Ha ha, of course, they no reason to detain me. (Unless giving a good ******* is a crime- laugh- that was a joke)

After he confiscated my dope he proceeds to say all sorts of sympathetic sh*t to me, about how I seem like such a nice girl, I am being so cooperative and how I didn't belong down there. He saw I only had a minor record, and told me that I needed to get out of downtown and the whole lifestyle. He gets out one of his business cards and writes on the back the number for an organization that specializes in helping sex trade workers get themselves together. He said, "tell the Tom sent you".

I cried. Cried for various reasons: because my dope was gone, which was a "burn". I got to do ONE "toke" and that was it, my dope was gone. I cried because it was as if I just did sexual favors for some guy for nothing, since I had nothing to show for my "effort" (DOUBLE BURN). I cried because this cop was so nice, and I really felt that he meant what he said. I knew he was right, I was way nicer and way less screwed up than most of the lifers down there. I can't even explain it, but I felt his sincerity in whatever was left of my soul. Enough so that I remember him, years later.

But I never called the number, so I never did get to tell them that Tom had sent me.

I have written 2 posts that involved some sort of interaction with police officers that were sort of cool. As cool as a police officer can be, anyways. This is not always the case (female cops were never nice from what I remember). I did a date with a cop once, and he was hot even, but he was super creepy. I could not wait to get away. He tried to pick me up again another time, and I said no. Maybe he wasn't a cop though, it isn't like I asked to see his badge.

Well, I did see his badge, in a sense.

A Halloween Story

As a prostitute, I never wanted to work on Halloween. It was not safe, people do stupid sh*t and cause all sorts of trouble, which is why I wanted to tell this disgusting story, a horror story.

There was this van that used to drive around and hand out condoms, and needles, etc., for all the working girls and addicts (it was the DEYAS van I think, which stands for Downtown Eastside something or other). This van also handed out what was called a "bad date sheet". I think the name says it all, but it isn't obvious, a bad date was an encounter a working girl had and for some reason she considered it a "bad" date. "Bad" could be anything from a guy that said he would pay X amount of money but when it came time to pay he had little or no cash, maybe the date was threatening, or had a knife, nasty, mean, dirty, wouldn't use a condom or just plain creepy. Anything like that, and worse.

These bad date sheets were usually compiled of a week's (give or take some days) worth of bad dates reported by the girls to some source it that typed it and photocopied it. I myself never reported a bad date, but I had my fair share, but nothing like this one.

I remember reading this one B.D.S that had been dated the last week of October and the first week of November. It had the usual list of stupid men doing stupid things to working girls, but also had a report of a particular girl that had had a truly horrific experience.

Basically to keep it just to the details, this girl had been "picked up" by these two young guys. Now, they didn't really "pick her up" like in car, what I mean is that a deal was made, price was decided and so the three of them set off to find a place to do the date. What it was the date was for, whether it was sex, oral sex, or whatever, I have no idea. All I know is that they ended up down by some railroad tracks, which could have been any number of spots, since there was all sorts of railway tracks within walking distance of the stroll.

Once there, these guys beat the shit out of her, they repeatedly raped her vaginally and anally, and forced her to do all sorts of degrading sexual things. Once they were done sexually assaulting her, they both urinated on her, then tied her up, put her on the train tracks and covered her with a tarp and left her there. I guess some railway employee or passer by came to her rescue. They noticed her, or maybe she was yelling for help, I do know she didn't die down there.

I can only say to the world that you cannot know what kind of person could commit such a crime. And yes, it was a seriously demented and sick and cruel crime. It was a prostitute that was attacked and she may have gone with them willingly, but what transpired was definitely not what was agreed upon during initial "negotiations". It seriously makes me want to throw up.

These were two regular young guys, two guys that most likely slept well that night and every night after. They just went back to their lives, with no one around them having any idea what atrocities they had committed. This is my point, YOU CAN"T KNOW. These guys could have been ANYONE. They may live next door, or maybe they bagged your groceries at the IGA. Who knows, but they're out there.

"Pay her, Sir"

I had this regular, his name was Harry. Our "working" relationship was not short, we actually had meetings at least once a week for years. And I always knew he was coming cause I would hear the sound of his van. It was a white, extended cab vehicle, that made a lot of noise, especially when turning a corner. I think it was a diesel, which may have been the cause of it's noisiness.

We always did the same thing. he would pick me up, we would go park, do the date, and then be on our way. He was nice, he paid me well, and I guess you could say I trusted him. I never asked him to pay me first because he always did pay me, and I knew he had the money, so I wasn't worried about it. His van was a great too, cause it was so big, we could just get in the back, and didn't have to worry about getting a room or anything. Getting a room was good for comfort's sake, but then it meant that I would get less money sometimes, cause the room was twenty bucks. Yes, "they" do rent rooms by the hour, and the going rate is twenty bucks. It was a few years ago anyways, may be more now.

Harry picked me up one night, and we went up Hastings to some residential street by the PNE. Now, I don't condone doing car dates in residential areas, since there are children living there, etc, but whatever, it was fine, it was late at night and it was dark as well.

We did our date in the back of the van, like always, BUT afterwards, I was standing up getting myself put back together, and I guess that it was right when a cop was driving by, and he spotted us.

So, of course he pulls over, puts his lights on, and comes to the driver's side of the van where Harry has re-seated himself. I wasn't really worried, the only thing I was concerned about was that I hadn't gotten my money yet. And I know how things go, I have been busted before, the cops can't really do anything to me, but they always make me and him part ways, and it has happened in the past that I have completed the deal, and not gotten my money. Which means I would have just serviced an individual for free. Almost never would the date say "oh don't worry, I will get it to you next time", ha. As if.

This cop was really nice though, he got me to get out, asked us the standard questions. He knew what we were doing, and I never usually felt the need to lie to cops when they would ask questions, I mean they aren't stupid, it wasn't like I was this guy's daughter or niece or something. The policeman even offered to call me a cab, of which I would have no part of since that would eat up my dope fund, and though it was miserable out that night, all windy and rainy, I opted for the bus. Now that I think of it though, he may have even given me a ride to the bus stop, since it was so gross out.

As he is telling us to go our separate ways, I was stressing cause I hadn't gotten paid, and so I was sort of hanging around as the cop was giving Harry a lecture about having sex in public places, and he asked me why I was still standing there. I told him, "Well, I haven't been paid", and he says back to me, "Did you...complete the transaction?", and I said "yes".

He turns to Harry and says, "well, you better pay her, sir".

It was awesome. I knew Harry and thought he was generally a good guy as far as predators go, but I could see that he was tripping out cause he knew that he hadn't paid me and he knew that I was waiting for him to pay me, regardless of the police presence. He was worried that he may incriminate himself if he gave me money in front of the cop, and he was more than ready to drive away without giving me what he owed me.

But the lawman didn't want to see me walk away with nothing, despite the means at which I chose to earn my money, and he didn't have to do say that to Harry either. I had a similar experience and was made to walk away unpaid. Unpaid after a much more humiliating exchange of services with a different date, where we again, had been busted right after the act.

I just want to say two things:

1.Even if you know a date, get the money first, obviously, everyone knows this, no matter what business you are in, but for some stupid reason I felt like I was showing my regulars disrespect if I asked for the money upfront, since we knew each other it would make it that much more enjoyable for them if the money exchange was dealt with after the "date", making it less cheap for them maybe. More of my twisted business sense.

2. Some cops are alright.

Is it? Is it really?

I just wanted to write a quick note to explain my absence. My son has been sick for about a week now and hasn't been in daycare, so I haven't had a chance to get to my next post. I havent decided yet what I am going to write about, though I have a hefty list of stories to choose from.

Stay tuned for the next installment.

Sort of graphic, and very true.

Picture the quintessential middle aged father, overweight and driving a green Ford Windstar. This is the subject of my next recollection.

His name (he said) was Rick Layton but in actuality, his name was Mike. I know his name was Mike because he gave me his cell phone number, and I called it once and got his voice mail, and it said his name was Mike Patterson. He told me later that he chose the alias of "Rick" because it rhymed with "dick" and picked the "Layton" because of the "lay" as in laid, and the "ton" as in gets laid a ton. What an idiot. What an idiot for giving me his cell number too. He was married with 2 kids, and I could've caused him huge problems. Could have, but never did. Men would always give me their numbers, once they find a girl that will do what they want and not be a freaky, cracked out weirdo, they want access. I knew this one girl though, Angel, and she owed a dope dealer all this money, and so she went to one of her dates houses and tied him to a chair, pistol whipped him to get his bank card, and withdrew $7000 from his account. She then got charged with extortion. At least I think it was extortion. After all that she STILL got her ass beat by the dealer.

I will be quick to tell the beginning of the story cause it is the second half that is truly alarming. The first time "Rick" picked me up, it was on a regular day, during a normal person's work hours. We went to some random parking lot or side street. I had to kneel on the floor in front of my seat and feed into his sick fantasy. We never had intercourse, ever, I would just have to go on and on about how I was sooo young and innocent as he jerked off. I told him I was 17. He actually believed me, I have always looked young for my age anyways, but I guess my backpack and running shoes, complete with the pigtails made it more effective. My cover was blown one time though, when as he was driving me back to where he got me from he asked me about my family, and I said I had a sister that was 31, and that she was 5 years older than me. Which would have made me 26. Didn't matter to him though.

He never paid very well either, but since I never had to take my clothes off really, or had to have sex with him, it was an easy date. He seemed harmless enough, and sometimes he would even take me to a drive thru (and pay) or something after.

On one occasion things got pretty creepy. He had notified me that his wife and his 2 children would be going out of town for a weekend, and that he would like me to come to his house, and of course he would pay me extra. One of the cardinal rules of picking up prostitutes is to NOT bring them to your house, but whatever. It wasn't my house, not my wife, etc. No worries for me.

One night we had arranged to meet and go to his house. He had me lie down in the back of his minivan so I couldn't see where he lived. He was paranoid that I would come back there and rip him off or something. I guess it was smart on his part, but I never would have done that anyways. It would have been too time consuming.

We went into his house and as usual he had this whole deranged and sexually perverse role play scripted out for us. He always had these small bits of paper that he would scribble things down on, things for me to say, things for me to pretend,to act out, etc. This time was no different.

First I had to have a shower, which was fine, I like having showers. He didn't watch me or anything, he just waited patiently in his family room. After the shower I had to put on his daughter's nightgown (I still feel weird about this when I think about it. His daughter was 12 or something, and he was such a pervert. He would always tell me about her friends and how he had to stop wearing jogging pants because he would get erections when they were around). Then, as he watched a porno in the family room, I was to walk out of her bedroom, and ask him what he was doing. What he was doing was masturbating to a porno, and he would have to explain this to me. Then I would tell him that I wanted to try to masturbate him to the aforementioned porno.

It was tough even for me to pull this off. It would have been fine to have just your basic role playing, but wearing his daughter's nightgown, him being my "Dad" and all that was too much. But I did it, and it still gives me the shivers when I think about it.

Afterwards, he paid me, took me back and that was that. He did get a pay back from good old karma though. He ended up getting fired from his job at a car lot, and had to start delivering pizza's. He didn't even tell his wife that he lost his job right away either. He had to though, after a while. He worked for $2 per delivery, plus tips.

I sort of felt guilty taking his money after he lost his car dealership job, especially when he would have to pay me with 15 two dollar coins that he made from being a pizza delivery guy. But I didn't feel guilty enough to not take his money. I felt bad more for his family than anything.

Guys pick up prostitutes for some f$#@ed up stuff. I had this fire fighting, helicopter pilot pick me up on a regular basis, took me to his house and pay me do him in the behind with this huge black strap on. He loved it and he always paid really well. I remember, his name was Ken, and he was 100% heterosexual. I guess it is comforting to these guys that we can't really judge them, whereas their wives would probably freak out if they knew their husband's desired sexual exploits.

I had this guy named Robin pick me up one late weekend night. He took me to Stanley Park, and paid me to let him ejaculate into my shoe. There was this guy Alec that had a thing for vegetables, and then there was this guy that had a serious pantyhose fetish, and kept them in his trunk to fondle whenever he picked me up.

Ford Explorers make me want to puke

I met this guy while I was on the street, he had picked me up while I was working. He was big into crystal meth and said he just wanted to have someone to talk to. He agreed to buy me some dope first, and then to give me more money after, when he dropped me off after. But no sex, just my company. That was the first visit.

This guy started to become a very regular, regular, and he became sort of obsessed, I guess you could say. Always out looking for me, driving up and down the stroll. And as I think I have mentioned before, these men misinterpret the time we would spend with them, as time we WANT to spend with them. It is all about money for us, there is no way I would voluntarily spend time with them. Even when my Dad would come downtown to find me I made him give me money so I could buy dope, otherwise I couldn't even give him the time for a conversation. But if I had what I needed, I would hang out with anyone.

Over time I started staying at his house, which wasn't far from downtown, sort of near Boundary and Hastings. It was a great gig at first and I really thought I liked him. He had gotten an inheritance before our initial meeting, so of course I was happy to be around him. He fed my habit. I did still run away though. Sometimes I just wanted to get high and do whatever I wanted, alone. As I have said many times "it is much easier to be an asshole by yourself, than to be an asshole in front of other people". Which means that with him I had to maintain some appearance of trying to control my consumption of substances. When in actuality, rationing was not fun, and I just wanted to spend as much money as I could on getting high.

Between my heroin/crack addiction and his speed addiction, eventually his money did run out. It was an inconvenience, sure, but I could always go out and get money. I would just have to go make it, by going to "work" and he was not okay with this. Even though he picked me up on the street , he was a hypocrite and actually tried to forbid me from working the street anymore. Just like a guy that picks up a stripper in a club, and then decides that his new woman can no longer be a stripper.

I was permitted to go rip guys off or come across money some other way, but I was not allowed to have sex for money. I was never really one of those girls that could pull off scams like that. Not to say that I didn't do it, but to me it seemed easier to just do the deed and get paid for it, rather than risk getting your face kicked in because you ripped some one off. Plus, if you rip them off, chances are that they will NOT ever pick you up again. Whereas, if you just do the date, then they WILL most likely pick you up again. And dope sickness is never far off and not far enough to risk it, as far as I was concerned. I used to think to myself that one day I would be clean, and I didn't want to have my face smashed in and the battle scars to prove it. I had to pretend to him that I was going out to scam men, when actually I was just going to do what I always did. To make money the old fashioned way.

Generally I would be out all morning until early evening, working just so I could keep myself well and fine until the next day. We had a meeting place predetermined, a gas station relatively close to the stroll, and had arranged what time to meet up. He was already seriously abusive by this time in our relationship (a few months had passed had since our introduction), and I would just dread having to meet up with him. I would way rather have stayed out on the street all night and made money to get high.

When we would meet up after my day, after I had gathered all the funds I needed, I would have to have a whole speech prepared about who I had ripped off, when, how much I got, etc. It is a miracle that he bought it for as long as he did.

Then the day came where I was a little late in meeting him, and he lost it. He had lost it before, and I was already scared of him but this was the first time that he actually hit me (but this was not the first time I had been hit by a guy).

I jumped in his Explorer, and proceeded to unveil my tangled web of lies and deceit. I don't know what set him off, maybe have been that as soon as I was in the truck, I said "okay, let's go get my dope" rather than a "hello, how are you". But I really didn't care how he was, but it must have been impossible to ignore how the drugs were my utmost priority, rather than him. This must have infuriated him, because not only did he fault me with the depletion of his inheritance, but I had the balls to go out and have sex with other men, and then come back to him, and expect him to take me to meet my dope dealer. Which was in south Vancouver.

Before I knew it, we were driving down Clark Drive, and as I was telling him about my "day" and he pulled back and sucker punched me in the face so quick and so hard, he split my lip in what must have been a half a millisecond. As I caught my breath, he saw that I was bleeding, to which he said, "you better clean the f$#@ing blood of your face right now, before someone sees it". Then as I cried and tried appease him, he reached into my bag and grabbed one of my used rigs and ripped the cap off. He then grabbed me with his right arm around my neck, and held the needle to my neck, screaming how dare I try to lie to him, I had f%$#ed to get that money, and I was a whore, (of course I was, I was when you met me, idiot). Then, he began telling me that he was taking me to his friend Simon's house, who had a rubber room in his basement. This guy was hard core dope dealer and would torture people that tried to ripped him off or so I was told. This rubber room would muffle my screams as he murdered me.

You would think, why would I stay in his truck..why not get out and run, right? Well, it wasn't as simple as that. If I did run, he knew where to find me, downtown, he knew my haunts, and that was where I "worked" so there was no getting away. Whether he found me the same day or another day, he would find me, and slit my throat or something. I don't even know why he was so angry, as I said, I didn't care. Even then, I just wanted him to stop being angry so we could get on with it and go get my friggen' dope already.

That was still and had never stopped being my main objective during this whole altercation. I just needed him to take me to south Van to get my dope. I had no other way to get there, and if I could make him believe my apologies and denials, then he would take me there. I could get drugs downtown, but to get the most for your dollar and for better quality a "dial a dope" operation was the best bet. And that was my main concern, getting the goods.

I found out later, that there was no rubber room, and I still have a scar on my lip from this incident. And you would never believe that I stayed with him for 3 years and suffered his horrible abuse the entire time. I knew he went out and picked up prostitutes cause that is how we had met, plus he was out of the house all the time, especially at night, all night. And they would call his phone at all hours. One time I even checked the text messages in his phone, and there were all these gross messages between him and this Surrey working girl named Shelley. The texts were all about oral sex and how he wanted to have a threesome with her and him and I. Barf. I really didn't care too much though, if he was getting "it" somewhere else, then he wouldn't want it from me. I just didn't want him thinking I was ignorant of his escapades, or think that I was oblivious to the garbage he was up to.

The ONLY reason I got away is because I actually had a baby with this guy, and had to get my life together for my child. I used to be so thankful that I had never gotten pregnant with him, since we never used condoms at all. In the end it was that pregnancy that saved my life.

On the Steps on Sunday

It was a Sunday morning. Early, early morning, and I think I was sitting on some steps in front of a house on Cordova St. Now, early Sunday morning is not really the best time to try to make money. Don't get me wrong, there is always guys cruising for women, but early morning with the sun shining, they cannot really remain inconspicuous while rounding the blocks. At the same time, the guys that usually cruise on Sundays, always cruise on Sundays. Maybe they go after they finish church:)

So, it was Sunday as I said and early and sunny, and very cold. It must have been about 6 or 7 am, and I was on the prowl. I don't remember being dope sick, but still, all I ever did was try to make money (with more of a sense of urgency when I was sick). And since there were so few cars out looking and lots of girls needing a date, it was definitely awesome and relieving to be the one chosen for a date. But I really expected that alot of the time. Though I had my terribly ugly moments on the street, I like to think that most of the time I looked pretty good. Normal, not obviously a drug addicted, undernourished prostitute that had been awake for 4 days and had only eaten a stick of gum in the same amount of time. Or so I thought, but I was strung out on heroin and cocaine, so when I thought I was looking alright, in actuality I could have looked like garbage. Who knows. Doesn't matter.

I saw this truck circling around and around. It was one of those big rigs trucks with a bed built into the cab behind the seats. A Mack truck, I guess it was. I had no idea who was driving it, I had never seen it before. I didn't really think anything of it, except that whoever did the date with him would be lucky because they could just do it in the back of the truck, without having to go somewhere and worry about getting caught, etc. Also, I had encountered more than one truck driver that was into crack, and would be looking for a girl to help him score. Either way, it seemed like it would be a win/win.

So, there I was sitting and waiting for the inevitable. A date of some kind. I looked up the sidewalk and there was this skinny, little Asian man walking down the block towards me. He sort of had a limp like one of his legs was longer than the other, and you could see that something was weird with his neck. I was surprised when he stopped to talk to me, as I thought he was just going home or something because we were so close to Chinatown.

He approached me, asked was I working, I said yes, I was. Then he asked me how much and I noticed how nervous he was. I told him a price, and it was higher than the norm I guess. It's weird but sometimes you can just tell what guys are going to pay well and which ones aren't. And he said, "okay, let's go". So we walked.

I made small talk, asking his name, I told him mine, etc. I generally tried to make these guys feel comfortable, to make them feel safe, like I am not gonna f@#$ing freak out and cause a scene. This is what is called good business sense. I was trying to ensure repeat customers by being nice and personable. And obviously delivering the service with a smile and hassle free. Yes, I know how retarded that sounds.

As we walk and talk, we round the corner where his vehicle was parked. And if you hadn't guessed yet, his vehicle was the big rig that I had seen cruising.

You have to understand, even I was bigger than this guy. He was tiny. And he was so nice. Excruciatingly nice. He asked if he could hug me first before we got busy, and I said sure, and we just lied there, obviously he just wanted the physical contact. Maybe the hugging made it less ugly and offensive to him to be buying sex and affection. Besides that, the transaction was completed without issue, and he paid me very well.

During my time with him, I could see that he was unable to turn his head left or right. He would actually have to turn his body to look either way. I couldn't see what was up with his legs, why one appeared to be shorter than the other. I never asked him about his neck, or his legs. I purposely did that knowing that people probably asked him all the time about that. And I just wanted him to feel like I didn't notice. I wasn't a prostitute and he wasn't paying for sex. I was just a woman, and he was just a man.

The point of this whole post is that I know I go off about how these guys are all scum and are predators. But there are exceptions to every rule, and this guy was one of them. I saw a truck just like his the other day, which is why I thought of him, and it made me so sad. It made me sad that he probably didn't go out on dates (real dates, not my kind of date) much.He was such a nice person, but because of circumstances, appearance or whatever, he was alone. I could just feel his loneliness, and it is crazy that I still think about it. Everyone needs love and affection, even if you have to buy it. Or you'll end up like one of those Romanian orphans that were kept in cages.

His name was Ty and he was the same age as me, 27.

I guess you could say I worked for SHAW

One of the reasons I made reference to Mr. Z in my previous post is because besides Mr.Y, Mr. Z is someone that I had known in real life as well. Again from the coffee shop.

The thing about Mr. Z is that he was actually my boss from the coffee shop's best friend's boyfriend. Does that makes sense? There is no other way to put it. This guy was a scumbag, they all are, but I never really hated having dates with him. Some dates are better than others, just like anything in life. Lots of times he would be driving by and just give me $20 now and then. I never actually KNEW him at the coffee shop, I SAW him there but we never spoke. I really didn't like my boss, and so obviously I didn't make it a habit of chatting up her best friend,

or her best friend's beau.

I remember the day he picked me up the first time. See it is funny because I would see him cruising the stroll for a girl - I will call her "K"(he was usually always looking for her). And as an aside I will mention that he was actually going to leave his 5 year relationship for K. Ha. See these guys get confused and forget that the ONLY reason we spend time with them is for money,it is not because we want to hang out with them. Idiots. Don't get me wrong, some dates were nice, but it never takes long for them to want to take you out for food and other B.S. but pay you the same money they would for the usual duties performed. Oh yeah, while I am thinking of it, I remember at one point K was pregnant while we both were working the street. She went and had her baby at Royal Columbian Hospital, and within hours of giving birth she called a dope dealer friend of mine (whom I happened to be with when the call came through). We drove there and sold her some down/up. After all, there nothing better than a good old fashion speed ball to celebrate the birth of your child. We picked her up at emergency and drove her around while she fixed in the backseat. Then we took her right back. She cleaned up after that though, then relapsed and the baby's father got custody. I actually ran into her in Surrey, and she told me. The had been an addict too. He used to wait for her while she would go do dates, sometimes he would even keep watch for 5-O for her. He lived off of his girlfriend getting screwed by other guys. But he got clean, and is married.

Back to the story. I would see My.Z cruising and he would see me on the street working. It was humiliating for both of us. Humiliating for me because I knew he recognized ME from real life, and it was humiliating for HIM because I could see that he paid for sex. And I knew he had that girlfriend. Which doesn't really matter, they usually do.

One day he got the balls enough to pick me up. We exchanges services for money. And that was it. Many times over.Through out the time I knew him we would have conversations, you know before and after the date. And he actually told me that he worked for a cable company (SHAW) and drove a company vehicle, which had the company logo on the side. I guess during work he would cruise for K in this van. He told me one time that he was doing a date with this girl, in the van, and he forgot to remove the stencil from the side, and someone reported him. He almost got fired. It happens all the time. "They" always come around in work vehicles. He wasn't even the only guy I did dates with that worked for SHAW. Mr.Z also told me that he pissed in K's mouth. I mean, he paid her, and she let him urinate in her mouth. I have never let anyone urinate in my mouth. But maybe I would have if the price was right. Nah, I am just kidding. I was messed up, but I would like to think I wasn't that messed up. But if someone wanted to pay me to do that to them....seems like easy money to me. Or should I say it was easy money?

Second to last I will note that he also told me he had seen my old boss' husband cruising and that some working girls had said was looking for a hand job for ten bucks. This is just what Mr.Z told me, I never actually saw him cruising. He cruised a different area, closer to Commercial and Hastings.

Lastly, I also wanted to mention something, in regards to doing dates with people I knew in real life. One date that I saw regularly, is someone I knew from high school. He actually used to date one of my best friends. Who would have known? I didn't care who the f#@& he was. I saw him only as a way to make money.

If you have paid me for sex, beware. No one's anonymity is guaranteed.

Friend or Predator?

For 4 years I worked at a coffee shop. At the start of my employment there, I was only smoking weed and doing crystal meth 1 or 2 times a week. But by the end, I was a full on heroin user. Working in a coffee shop is very much a social situation and it is hard not to become friends with customers, since you see them all the time. Which brings me to the topic at hand.

Despite the fact that I was living in Vancouver for years, as a prostitute I only crossed paths with a few people that I had known prior. There was 2 men I am thinking about in particular, Mr. Y and Mr. Z. I will start with Mr. Y.

Mr.Y and I had been "friends" for alot of the time I worked at the coffee shop. He was more than a couple of years older than me, but that didn't bother me. He was married I knew, but I always felt that given the opportunity he would totally get busy with me, wife or no wife.

In the very beginning I used to stay in a hostel, which costs money. One Friday night (why do I remember the day of the week? I have no idea), I was at the Main Street skytrain station, but below on the street. Wrapped up in my own mind, I suppose I had the appearance of someone waiting for a bus. I felt a tap on my shoulder and it was Mr.Y. I was glad to see him cause I knew that I could probably get the money I needed for my room from him, plus we were "friends". I knew he would buy my B.S. story that I had run away and had no where to go...so sad, so sad. So we went to have a coffee.

He starts telling me about how he is in recovery, used to be a heroin addict, that he goes to meetings (AA/NA) etc. After the coffee, he did offer to pay for my room. I had tried to give him the impression that I was helpless female at the mercy of East Vancouver's downtown streets. I began seeing him more often. I would call him late at night if I needed money or food or whatever cause I knew he would be around (he worked by himself at night at a company that did screen printing of T-shirts). We would go to his work and hang out, I would get high, and it was fun. We had an understanding, I thought. But I totally knew that he wanted to have sex with me. And eventually it happened. No money exchanged hands, but it happened. Maybe I felt like I owed him, I don't know. He actually had only gotten married a year earlier, and I STILL feel bad about that. As a prostitute you deal with married men all the time, but this was different because I KNEW Mr.Y and had seen his wife at the coffee shop, and I just felt bad about it. Like his infidelity was my fault. And it wasn't. Obviously. I was never in desperate need for sex, I would have much rather NOT have had sex.

Anyways, over time we saw each other less and I was on the streets more. When I DID see him, it didn't take long for him to become what I will fondly (ha) refer to as a "predator".

When we first began spending time together he would just give me money. Like $50 here, $20 there. Regardless if we had made out or not. But sadly, of course sometimes he would come and find me in the middle of the night. When I was junk sick as hell, freezing cold and needing money.

To get to the point of the story is that by the end of my "relationship" (I don't even know what to call it) with Mr.Y he was just like any man on the street. Offering me an absurdly small amount of money for dope and the refuge of his truck for warmth. Promising that we would just talk, about recovery, meetings or whatever I felt like talking about. And I always hoped that's how it would go. He would make it seem all innocent when more often than not, he would make me feel like I had to give him sexual satisfaction in some way. I mean, I WAS a prostitute and I was in his truck anyways...

And you know what? Friends don't make friends give them a -------. I still think about him. It still disappoints me for some reason that he ended up being such a shitty individual. Cause despite my using etc, I did trust him and stupidly thought that he cared about me since we had known each other in "real life" (the coffee shop).

I will get back to you about Mr.Z. More of the same. Just a word of warning, the men that pick up and prey on prostitutes are just regular men. You would never know by looking at them that this is something they do. It is a common misconception that only really gross, hurting men actually pay for sex. And that really is the farthest thing from the truth.

Beginning week 2

I just thought I would write a note acknowledging that I have not been subjected to the usual side effects from the interferon injections. I have now administered two injections in my body, a week apart. And aside from being exhausted easily, some minor eczema, itching at the injection site and having difficulty going up stairs (due to joint pain, etc), I can say that it isn't at all what I was expecting. Very anti-climactic considering I had psyched myself up for living hell.

Now I am convinced that maybe the treatment isn't working because I have not experienced any negative effects.

How is it possible that I am an exception from the norm? What's wrong with me? Did I perhaps get placebo or even water in my pre-filled syringes? Was it the doing of a lazy or pissed off employee at the drug company? I am 50% convinced that this is what has happened.

Now it is just the waiting for the all important blood tests to show if it has started working, or if I am a non-responder.

Of course I will let you know.

Matthew at the Savoy

As I am counting down the days until I embark on my journey to (70% chance) wellness, I thought I would utilize the time and share...

It was December, I am pretty sure because it was really cold out, there was snow on the ground. It was Saturday night at about 3am. I was hanging around outside of the Savoy, that's where the dope dealers were that night ( the dope dealers that I preferred - there were MANY other dealers elsewhere), and I also had a good vantage point because I had a clear view of Hastings and Gore, which is good corner for spotting potential dates.

But this night it was really dead on the street. The only people out were the people selling dope, the people scoring dope/trying to score dope, girls selling sex, (very few) men looking to buy sex, and the Police. I remember I was almost crying, I had no money and no prospective ways to MAKE money. And it was f'n freezing out.

A fellow street urchin named Todd said he may know someone that I could do a date with. He walked up to this old guy that was going into the lobby of the Savoy and offered my services.Next thing I know we are heading up the stairs to his room. His name was Matthew. I don't know why I remember his name, but I do.

At first I was just ecstatic at getting out of the cold, and at the chance to make some money, but that faded quickly. I never liked those downtown hotels anyways, I found them, frightening and intimidating. I always felt like if I was in serious danger and screamed or got stabbed, no one would care and come to my aid. At least on the street the cops MAY show up.

Anyways, back to Matthew's room. It was filthy, it was like one of those TLC shows about "hoarders", but much worse. There was garbage and dirty clothes and needles and roaches...tons of roaches. Like usual, I just wanted to get things over with so I could get my money and get out of there and of course I was being severely underpaid.

And so begins one of the many humiliating and degrading moments of my life. During the "date" in this horrible sanitation nightmare of a hotel room, Matthew starts speaking to me very quietly and deliberately. He was saying things like "who do you think you are, you fucking whore...you are nothing" and "you are worthless, piece of garbage". Over and over and over. I remember how it shredded any ounce of self respect I may have had still lingering in my soul.. It was painful, it was like I was outside myself watching and listening to all this. It was surreal, because usually I could go through the motions and not think about what I was doing. But I couldn't this time. I can't even explain myself enough to possibly make someone understand how truly humiliating it was to have someone say something like this to me and mean it. Especially someone like him. While I was having sex with him for money. And not a lot of money, so I couldn't even justify it to myself because I was being paid well.

When he noticed I was upset, he just said "oh, I didn't mean it, it just gets me off" or something stupid like that. Then it was over and I left. I went back outside and it probably wasn't long until I found myself in the same situation I had just been in. Except the next time maybe the setting was different. Could have been in a car or a stairwell.

We did use a condom. He was actually very adamant that we use one. Weird. I was a threat to his health, but he obviously wasn't concerned about the cockroach larvae, bed bugs and whatever else thrives in filth.

Combat Hep C

Yesterday I went in for my liver biopsy, a procedure I needed done to assess the damage to my liver from my Hepatitis C. And it was so easy. A little bit of pain after, but I am feeling even better today. I have attached an illustration, I figure that would be less gruesome than actual photos.

I saw my infectious disease doctor last week, and he had good news. Turns out I have been approved for treatment. So for the next six months, starting next week, I will be giving myself injections of "peginterferon alfa-2a" and six "ribavirin" pills everyday. The treatment is not always successful at getting rid of the Hep C and the side effects are quite intense, but it is better than the alternative. According to my doctor I have about a 70% chance at getting rid of it, which are pretty good odds. I actually don't even feel sick at all from the hepatitis, would not even know I had it unless I had gotten the original blood test 4 years ago. That is what is so dangerous about it, it can live inside some people for 20 years before their liver begins to fail. I read that Hep C is the number one reason for liver transplants today.

The weird thing about this is that one day I went into a walk in clinic, for reasons totally unrelated to Hep C, and when I mentioned my disease to the doctor, he ordered various blood tests, and then made me an appointment to see a specialist. And now here I am, days away from treatment. And I never would have known that my liver function was deteriorating if it hadn't been for the walk in clinic doctor. Bless him.