Wednesday 31 August 2011

Sleep


Perhaps I’m cycling upwards again.  Its 5am, I’ve drank a bottle of chardonnay and taken 1.5mg clonazepam (3 pills) and I’m still not tired. Coupled with the nightmare I had when I finally did fall asleep last night, these are warning signs of a trip down manic road.  Let’s keep an eye on this situation and see what happens. On the bright side,  maybe I’ll get some good blogging in again, instead of the pathetic 3 posts of last month.   I was kinda bummed out in July.  I didn’t really want to get into it without giving away some personal info, but things are a little different for me now, in a good way I think.  Stay tuned my friends, lets see where the road takes me. 
In the meantime, I'll play my fav lullaby by Samuel L Jackson and hope I'll go the f**k to sleep. 

Tuesday 30 August 2011

Last nights nightmare


I had another nightmare last night.  It was very slum dog millionaire-ish.  Here goes...
I was traveling with a friend who betrayed me.  We had to stop to ask for directions but the guy I was with had set me up (unbeknownst to me at the time, until afterwards when it was far far too late).  We stopped into a  house where he said he thought could give us help pointing us in the right direction.   When we got inside and sat down on the couch I knew something wasn’t right.  It smelled stale inside, like the doors and windows had not been opened for a long long time. I didn’t like the smell inside, it smelled of fear, deceit, trouble.  The furniture was old and raggedy.  Like it had been through the Salvation Army thrift store a couple times round.  There was a middle age man and woman in the living room that had a strange look about them. They looked tired, strained and had fine lines deep through their faces, built in firm over some hard years.  They looked tired, uncomfortable but resolved. 
I didn’t like any of it. What the hell was my friend thinking bringing me here?! I tried to excuse myself but the woman hauled out a large butcher knife from under her seat and told me to sit back down and shut up.  The next thing I knew her male partner produced a syringe with some strange foul yellowish-greenish colored liquid inside it.  A large syringe about 10-cc I’d guess. He moved quickly and methodically, like he had planned it out precisely in his mind and executed this maneuver many times before.  Before I could get off the couch he plunged the needle deep into my arm, up near the shoulder, the same place where we got our grade school booster shots.  It was like I watched it all happen in slow motion. A train wreck you couldn’t turn away from but was helpless to prevent.  I watched him depress the plunger into my arm almost in disbelief, it all happened in slow motion it seemed. I felt the bite of the needle, a face-slap of reality, sting of betrayal, all in the 30 seconds that passed before I blacked out.  
I don’t know how long I was unconscious.  It could have been hours or maybe even days.  Although I lost my sense of time, I had not lost my sense of feeling, my sensation of pain, both physical and emotional.  I’m not sure which was greater.  The severity of the fear was matched by the pain that racked my body when I attempted to move.  I decided to stay still for the moment, laying down as I was, and instead to just open my eyes to gather information on my situation. Where was I?  I was still in the dingy living room.  There were soiled towels laying on the dull grey carpet but otherwise nothing was different, expect it was mercifully empty at least.  I was relieved to be alone.  I shifted my eyes down the length of my body next.  What shape was I in? What was done to me? Why did I hurt so much, so tremendously? 
My clothes were still on me, but they felt different. LIke when someone else dresses you, it feels different.  My clothes were removed I realized.  Attempting to move again I felt agonizing pain in my belly and my hands.  I lifted my hands and looked at them.  They were mutilated.  Instead of my normally slender well manicured fingers I saw a vision of digits that had been selectively cut away.  I still had all 10 fingers but half of them had sections removed. 5 of them were stumps that had half the bones removed or cut away.  They were horrific, mutilated and too painful to move.  I didn’t understand the point of the procedure.  Why do this to my fingers? My hands?  This was just sadistic, finger bones were not valuable.  Where they crazy or cruel or both?  I’d never be able to play the piano or type again. And for what reason? I didn’t understand why. 
Besides the pain from my disfigured hands there was one more source of physical pain in my body which racked through my core whenever I tried to get up.  I forced my mangled hands to raise my shirt to look at my stomach.  I knew what had happened without a doubt.  They had removed my right kidney also.  My left side was ok, they were at least sympathetic enough to leave me one I needed to live with.  They didn’t harvest all my organs at least.  But then why did they do something so cruel and seemingly pointless and profitless to my hands??  I understood them stealing my kidney in a sick greedy sense.  I could deal with that and accept that, as shitty as it was.  But I couldn’t reconcile what had been done to my fingers.  
As much pain as I was in I had to get up and get out of there.  I had felt pain like this before.  I had an appendectomy several years ago and I remember waking up in the recovery room after the anesthesia had worn off. I was post-op and had no pain relief.  The severity of that pain had burned a place in my mind and I’ll never forget it.  It was this same pain and I needed to get up and walk out of there without being able to scream at the anesthesiologist this time.  This time I was on my own and I was getting the hell out of there no matter how much it hurt.  I left that evil place and all I can remember was walking out into the night towards a better place. 

Friday 26 August 2011

Do you need a ride baby?


I’ll never forget the first time someone thought I was a prostitute.  I was only 16 yrs old.  I think I’d like to write about it now. So here goes. 
Some years ago, when I was only 16 (like I said), I was part of a volunteer committee for a charity group.  Every few months we’d have fundraisers for our charity.  In this particular instance, we had a DJ donate his time, as well as, a charitable hall owner donate space for the evening.  The night was a success and we had a great evening of fun, music and dance that raised money for our charity.  All was going well - it was a good night thus far.  
As a volunteer I was part of the clean up crew.  So I stayed late after the event.  Up until just right after this everything was fine. However, as the evening grew late all my friends’ rides came, and then went. They all got their safe ride home as I watched.   My father told me he would pick me up after the event (at 10pm) just like every other girl friend of mine.  But 10pm came and went.  The last of my friends offered me a ride home, but I told them it was OK, my dad was on his way. I was sure.  He said he would be there. 
The hall proprietor came out to lock the door and ask me if I was OK.  I said yes, my dad was on his way.  Now remember, this was before the time when we all had cell phones so instant communication wasn’t an option.  The hall owner offered to let me use the house phone (e.g. landline), because he was worried. I saw the concern on his face, so to settle his mind, I did, but the phone rang off the wall back at home.  Dad obviously had to be on his way to get me.  After much re-assurance, he went on his way home. 
I sat there on the steps of the hall, downtown on a Friday night, waiting for my dad to come get me.  10:30pm came and went. It was now 11pm.   I should probably add some perspective here for good measure.  The owner of the hall, who often donated in kind, was also located in the bad part of downtown, where the colourful characters came out at night.  Including the ladies of the night. Thus, it wasn’t long until the action picked up.  
The first car stopped for me at 11pm.  “Hey, do you need a ride?” he rolled down his window and asked me.  “No, I’m OK.” I replied.  Confused, he asked if I was sure then he moved on, slightly perplexed.  Several more cars slowed down, glanced me over, asked if I needed a lift before being uncharacteristically declined by a woman such as myself.  It was only after the second invitation that I realize what was going on.  All these men thought I was hooking.  I was 16. I was waiting for my dad who forgot about me and left me vulnerable to these predators. 
I always found it funny when I heard about those fathers who threatened to pull out shotguns on any guy who threatened to lay a dishonorable hand on their daughter.  Did those really exist?  My father never did anything like that. I thought that father was a creation of primetime comedy television.  My father - the real life father - was the type of man who didn’t really care that his daughter was left alone waiting for a ride home in the bad part of downtown on a Friday night while he lazily slept on the couch.  Lost in the land of nod. Dreaming sweet dreams of sugar plums dancing in his head.   
Alas, 2 hrs late he awoke, realized he needed to pick me up and finally did so.  Luckily, no one too aggressive approached me that night.   It was the first time I truly realized how less my father cared about my well-being than any of my other girl-friends fathers did for them.  I felt really shitty all of a sudden. 
Suddenly I felt confused, scared, sad, alone, frightened and disappointed. Please continue to add whatever word is appropriate here _______.
My dad didn’t give a fuck about leaving me alone in the bad part of downtown on Friday night while strange men preyed on me.  This was my first experience with prostitution.  I was 16.  Of course I was not really for sale until several years later, but it was quite the awakening experience.  I wish my father cared more about me.  Maybe I would’ve turned out different. But there’s no point asking what if questions.  They’ll only drive us crazy. 

I often wonder how much this experience affected my life. If this didn't happen would I have thought as much about prostitution as I did?  Would things have been different if my dad wasn't a lazy ass?  Argh - these are what if questions.  I told myself I'm not allowed to ask these questions.  No good will come of them.  

Thursday 25 August 2011

That’s a Nice Blog


I’ve always thought the word nice to be complimentary, a good word.  If something or someone was described as being nice it was taken to be a good thing.  I call myself a nice person all the time, as do others.  I lumped it together with words like - good, kind, considerate, pleasing, enjoy or sweet.  You get what I mean, hopefully. 
But today a friend of mine pointed out the actual meaning of the word, and it really surprised me to hear the definition.  Apparently its not such a complimentary adjective after all.  
Webster’s Dictionary (11th ed.) defines nice as:
  1. foolish, wanton, silly, simple
  2. fastidious, discriminating
  3. pleasing, agreeable
  4. choosy, finicky, particular, persnickety
So when someone calls you nice it might actually be a thinly veiled insult.  Depending on how you consider words like silly and simple, of course.  Its not necessarily bad to be silly and simple.  I suppose its more to do with the tone really.  But its something most of us haven’t considered before. 
“You’re so nice.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?!”
Geez, when did nice become an insult?? 
I don’t care, I still think I’m a nice person.  
I’ll be taking it as a compliment. 
But I’m not sure what to think of the people who live in the town of Nice, France, now!  
Did they name the town themselves? Or was it named by perhaps a smug bunch up in Paris?  Hhhhmmmm.... makes you wonder. 

Wednesday 24 August 2011

What Stresses Me Out

We all face stress in our lives. Its inevitable.  The only thing that varies is the type and amount of stress that we each face.  Me, the BSW, I have found that I face 3 different types of stress, each with their own components.  
2/3 factors I can not change - bipolar and scorpio, but the 3rd factor - escort work - is by choice. With that said, I think no matter what our choice of job is, it will always have some kind of stress.  Its just that each job stress is different I expect.  Some will be more stressful than others.  
Lets start with what I consider the easiest stress for me to deal with:


1. Being a scorpio.  My stress usually comes from dealing with intensity.  I am passionate, suspicious, jealous, hardworking and loyal. These bring with them their own stress. But I can deal with that. 

2. The stress of escort work is the second largest source of stress in my life.  I have to worry about: 
  1. abuse from clients - e.g. physical, sexual, theft
  2. law enforcement (e.g. my incall operation)
  3. STI 
  4. injury preventing me from working (e.g. if I broke my leg I'd find it harder to make money)
  5. the typical problems of running a small business (cost of ads, overheads, competition, etc.)
  6. family/friends finding out 
Of the 6 stressors I have from my escort work, the latter is the biggest source of stress by far.  I hate lying so much, yet I find I have to lie to the ones I love the most in order to protect them from this secret.  My biggest fear in life is not being arrested or catching an STD, I would rather suffer one of those burdens then to ever have my parents find out about my escorting.  Its not that I would be embarrassed, but they would never understand why I do this.  They can’t see prostitution from both sides of the issue, they only see it as a bad thing.  Thus they would feel that they failed, that I was a victim, and they would be devastated as a consequence. They'd rack their brains over where they went wrong? They’d lie awake every night, in tears.  I couldn't bear that.  But why can't I make my own choice as an adult either? Its an awful situation. 
  
I’ve thought about this a lot.  And I have come up with an excellent excuse if they ever did find out about this.  I know you’d love to hear, but I’m not comfortable disclosing my safe bailout plan online.  I will tell you this much.  I have a legit small business that is my cover job, and I have a second legit excuse to cover what might appear to be prostitution.  I’ll leave it at that.  But I have a 2 step plan, well thought out and already in place to cover my ass just in case I’m ever outed.  Let’s just hope it never comes to that. 
Not to sound too scary, but if BSW was ever outed by someone, and she knew who it was, god help them.  I have the same view of honour, integrity and trust as the mob does.  But that’s probably a scorpio trait too.  Loyalty and honour is gold.  Betrayal is unforgivable.  A good escort would never out her clients. And a good escort should also be protected.  All those who’ve met me will agree, I am truly a kind person.  But you’ll all just have to settle with the anonymity or have fun guessing. 

3. While lying to family is damn near the biggest stressor in my life, I have to admit that the stress my bipolar disorder causes just narrowly beats it out.  
If I could change one thing in my life it would be being bipolar.   
I do not have the time or energy to state every reason why this trumps all, but I’ll give you the 2 main reasons I think explain the significance of my particular case of BD. 
  1. Ignorance
  2. Side effects of medications
The average person does not understand bipolar disorder.  Because of their ignorance they often believe that those suffering with bipolar disorder are ill all of their life; constantly delusional or psychotic, unable to control themselves, unable to reason, and are thus dangers to themselves and/or others.  This is simply not true.  While all of these factors are of concern to people with bipolar disorder, most people blow them our of proportion in terms of frequency and severity.  I have experienced this first hand, and it feels horrible. Its a huge reason I hide my mental health issues and of course this is very stressful for me. 
Secondly, the medications for the treatment of bipolar disorder all have awful side-effects. I have tried to treat my disorder with several mainstream medications (e.g. lithium, lamotrigine, seroquel, abilify) and all medications have had side effects that have seriously affected the quality of my life. I won’t re-state those side-effects here, I’ve mention this in a previous blog.  
So many people have said just take my medicine and I’ll be OK, but when the side-effects are often worse than the disease, its not such an easy decision.  Most people don’t understand this. 
To sum this blog up:
Ignorance and medical side-effects are 2 of the biggest stresses in my life.  Followed closely by lying to family and friends about my ‘real’ work.   
IMHO, as the BSW, I think its easier to be a prostitute than to be bipolar.  

Tuesday 16 August 2011

What I've learned about marriage - working as an escort


Contrary to my current lifestyle, I do believe in monogamy and happy marriages.  I can’t say if I want to marry eventually or not, but I am leaving that option open.  Although I’ve never been married, I’ve gotten to know a lot of married people and learned a hell of a lot about their problems. Yet, if both partners want to make it work, I think they can make their fairy tale come true. It definitely takes hard work, patience and communication - which takes effort, but is not unreasonable or impossible. Honestly, from what I’ve seen in life so far, I’m amazed and saddened that so many people don’t make the effort to make their marriage work.  Do vows mean nothing? 
I believe the 3 biggest problems for a marriage are: 
  1. lack of communication 
  2. lack of effort 
  3. assumptions made and left unspoken  
Why am I writing about this? Or even noticed this?  
Its because my job, my role in society, exists primarily because of these things.  A large number of my clients are men who are not fully satisfied in their relationships.  I truly believe men would not cheat (as much) if wives did more to please husbands sexually.  Yes, I wrote the right. The topic of this blog is how unfair it is for wives to withhold (reasonable) sex from their husbands. 
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying she has to turn into a porn star, anal freak, or nympho - there is a line that must be respected.  However, using that same reasoning, she has to keep up her end of the matrimonial bargain (assuming she is healthy and capable of course).  I feel its wrong to ask a man to commit to you (one woman), and you alone, for ever and ever, ‘til death do you part, and then reduce/stop sexual activity over time or start using it as a weapon. Its not fair.    
This is where the issues of communication and assumptions come up.  Rarely do couples discuss their sexual expectations of each other before they wed.  They just assume - and this is a killer assumption.  Before couples get married they really need to discuss what they expect of each other - in an extremely blunt nature - if they are going to know how compatible they are in the long term and in different situations.   It’ll save a lot of heartache down the road.   But most people are not realistic or pragmatic enough to do this.  Its the same reason most people end up obese, diabetic and/or buried in debt.  But that’s another blog, I just couldn’t resist the jab, its a topic that really irks me.  I digress...
My clients are not newly wed men.  My typical client is 35-65 years old, and his partner has basically lost interest in fucking him.  She’s no longer holding up her end of an unspoken and assumed task in their relationship, and, as a result of this he’s come to me.  While I would never wish ill on a relationship, its the reason my role exists and it pays my bills.  It is what it is. 
Just for fun, as we all want to hear about a sex scandal, here are some examples of what my clients ask me to help them with.  All anonymous.  
A fantasy of one of my clients is to simply drink a beer while getting a BJ.  While his wife still performs the basics for him, she feels insulted by the beer drinking aspect and refuses to fulfill this fantasy for him.  I think this is absolutely ridiculous because it is so simple to oblige.  However, she refuses anything that is not ‘vanilla’ and thus he comes to me.  Thanks hon, I guess.  What can I say?  I only know one side of the story obviously. 
Another client of mine starting coming to see me when his wife stopped having sex with him after the birth of their child.  He waited until she was recovered, of course, but its been 2 yrs since she had sex with him.  She just shut down, no explanation offered.  I don’t think its fair for a married man to be denied ‘reasonable requests’ for sexual satisfaction from his healthy wife.   Her frigidity drove him to me. 
Here’s one more situation which is a little more complicated. I’ve always said that if the wife is healthy and capable of performing then its unfair of her to deny a reasonable request of sex from her husband.  It gets complicated when she’s sick.  If she’s too ill to perform, and you swore a vow to stick with her in times of sickness and health, then her husband isn’t being unfairly treated by his wife and its not really fair to cheat on her.  But, as we’ve all learned by now, there are many avenues for sexual satisfaction.  If her pussy is out of commission, can she still use her mouth, breasts and hands?  Is providing oral still an option? 
One client of mine is in a committed relationship, but his wife has a health issue ‘below the belt’ which prevents her from having sexual intercourse.  She has rejected all sexual activity, even oral, which she is quite capable of.  Of course, I don’t know all the dynamics of their relationship, and never met her, but I just don’t think its fair to demand monogamy from a man when she refuses BJs and even HJs.  Sure, its complicated, but come on, that’s just plain selfish.  (I sincerely hope her health improves in the future.  I might sound mean right now, but I wish her no ill. I believe in karma and )
Wether its marriage by wedding or common law, a husband and wife are a team, are partners.  They help each other, consider each others needs and do what they can for each other.  Otherwise, its not a respectful equal relationship and is doomed to fail.  The  sexual expectations should be discussed (because that’s going to be different for each couple).  Compare it to a work contract - would you take a job without knowing your duties, hours and salary? Of course not.  Marriage is even more important than a job, but most wed blindly and vaguely. 
If I ever get married, I realize that there is a minimum level of sexual activity I fairly need to live up to, for the entirety of the marriage.  If I expect monogamy, to be the only woman in his life that he can be intimate with, then I have to provide for his needs.   
Wives who unreasonably deny their husbands are cruel bitches.  Its blunt but true.  Don’t marry a man if you can’t deal with this. Let me be clear, sexual assault is never ever justified, and someone should never force sex on another person.  That’s unacceptable.  But if you marry someone be fair to them.  That’s all I’m saying.  That’s the point of this blog. 
I wish I could say what exactly ‘fair’ and ‘reasonable requests for sex - both in terms of frequency and fantasy’ are but those are relative terms.  They will range greatly due to cultural/religious/personal beliefs. Hence, why I stress the need to be discussed by both partners before committing.  
Most prostitutes are not bad people.  We’re misjudged.  I’m an incredibly kind and compassionate person.  I let my clients come to me, they instigate and initiate when they are ready. I am not a home-wrecker, their problems existed long before they ever met me. 
I’m not just a sexual release, I’m also a therapist, a confidant and an actress.  I’m a safe and discrete source for them to satisfy their unmet needs in a supportive, compassionate environment.   Its astounding how much guilt and shame people feel about their sexual fantasies.  I experienced this feeling as catholic guilt before I learned to love and accept myself.  While not all of my clients need such compassion, many of them do. 
There are a few finals points I wanted to make before I can wrap up this entry.  As an escort I’ve learned that one of the main reasons marriages fail is because wives do not keep up their end of the bargain. I wish this was discussed more openly and honestly, without judgement.  I’d like to discuss this with women, I’ve heard their husbands thoughts. I doubt that many women will read my blog though.  
This is only one marital issue. Since I’ve been throwing around the word ‘fair’ this whole blog, I feel compelled to make this brief but necessary endnote. I am not blaming women for all failed marriages.  There are many women who happily and regularly fuck their husbands but have not secured wedded bliss.  Men are not without blame.  On the other side of the coin, husbands can erode their marriages overtime if they become lazy, unsupportive and unhealthy (placing unfair and completely preventable burdens on their family such as diabetes, obesity, heart disease, etc.).  This too is unfair behavior by a partner.  But I’m saving this for another blog.  
I’m not attacking men or women here. Or the institution of marriage.  Or the necessity of prostitutes in society. I’m neutral on this topic. Seriously.  I’m just sharing some of the things I’ve noticed from my unique perspective.  Take it for what it is... the thoughts of a bipolar scorpio woman.   
Maybe it will help us be better partners.  
Maybe it will help people understand a certain role of prostitution.     
Maybe it will briefly entertain you.
Dare I wish all of the above.  
Thanks for reading.    

Saturday 6 August 2011

The Chicken or the Egg?

What came first - the chicken or the egg?
Its a question we’ve pondered for ages.  Many consider it unanswerable due to its cyclical nature.   Well consider yourself lucky, as I am now going to share with you one of the secrets of the universe. Ready?
The egg came before the chicken.  
There is a very logical explanation for this - Evolution. Let me explain. For those of you who paid attention in science class or watch discovery channel, you probably already knew this but just never put two and two together. Let me connect the dots. 
  
To answer this riddle all one has to do is look at the evolutionary development of both eggs and birds.
Animals use eggs to reproduce - worms, fish, birds, humans (woman release eggs each month as I’m sure you’re well aware) - its a very long list of diverse creatures. Eggs have been around for a long long long time because animals use eggs to sexually reproduce.  Its one of natures greatest inventions. 
The riddle of the chicken and the egg can now be easily determined by simply looking up when chickens (birds in general) appeared on the evolutionary time scale. 
Here is a very simplified version of animal evolution (in chronological order naturally):

worms - insects - fish - amphibians - reptiles - birds - mammals
By the time birds showed up, eggs were already being used by many other animals for millions of years. Thus, the egg came before the chicken.  This is a wonderful example of how science can be useful in your life. Tell your children so they can show up their science teacher.  You’ll be a hit at parties. 
I’m still working on the Caramilk secret.  When I figure it out I’ll let you know. 

Monday 1 August 2011

Writing Spurts

I wish I could write more consistently, but writing always seems to come to me in spurts.   Sometimes its related directly to my mood.  I tend to write more when swinging towards mania than when I do depression that’s for sure. But there are times when I just lack inspiration, motivation or the time.  

I’m going to try to post a little something once a week at least. It would be a good thing for me to have a small goal. Maybe I’ve put too much pressure on myself to make each blog something deep or introspective or significant. I don’t know. 

There are many things I know I want to write about but just not getting to it.  I'm like the horse in that old saying - you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.  Don't worry, I'll get thirsty again soon my friends.