Harvard Hooker

Harvard Hooker, July 8, 2018
Harvard Hooker
I did not expect to become the lowest person in everyone’s opinion. Sure, I knew that people who lived conventional lefeztyles would certainly look askance at my way of life. But I did not expect people who lived beyond the pale of normal society to look down at me. Im talking about thieves, extortionists, ne’er-do-wells of various types. I always held myself above peoe who had to cheat to make a living. After all, people choose to give me their money. And they do not ever want it back. If I had to resort to stealing it would have to mean my looks and/or skills had fallen below my acceptable standards. I worked out enough to stay in shape and I always acquired continuing education credits in sensual arts. I was self satisfied and I imagine many self satisfied people think others share our view of ourselves. I discovered a definite difference of opinion among a small group I recently spent some time with for companionship. They were gamblers and soent enormous amounts of time in “game rooms around Honolulu. Game rooms are secret, dingy spots where people put thousands of dollars in electronic video type games that have the visual sophistication of Atari. I don’t gamble because too many people get in trouble with it not to believe it’s potentially addictive. Bit I was a willing audience for tales of huge riches lost and small sums clawed back. Over the course of telling these tales someone let it slip that I had a nickname. Unbeknownst to me they called me the Harvard Hooker. I wasn’t offended by the name since it wad an amusing spin on a sometimes grim reality. I wad upset that thr title was meant ad an insult and was told to me to stir my ire against someone they disliked. They did not disagree with the appellation or the sentiment behind it. They not only didn’t respect me but they actively participated in badmouthing me and casting me aside as an unworthy other. What does it mean when the people you think you are settling for reject you?

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Published by X-Streetwalker Turned Sex Talker

Caroleena used to be a drug addicted hooker on streets of downtown Honolulu in the early years of the 21st century. She was not the only learned streetwalker among the sex worker addicts. This group would have been a liberal college admissions officer's dream of diversity seeing as how they represented such a wide range of ages, races, family types, locations of origin, education levels, and gender identities. The two constants were trauma and dependency. Everyone out there had experienced life altering trauma which spurred them to seek refuge in drugs. Addiction was the unexpected phenomenon that kept them stuck in the dope. This downtown area was different from other drug saturated areas of America in one important way. The U.S. is the most violent country in the world, but in this corner of the nation there were no street gangs, no gun violence. You wouldn't get shot but you were probably going to be beaten up and robbed at some point. Interpersonal violence between intimate partners, friends, and family members was viewed as a natural part of being close to people. "Domestics" was something an individual brought upon herself or himself by causing problems in an interpersonal relationship. Caroleena, the perennial pariah even among society's rejects, had no intimate associates who might harm her. Prostitution was not as risky on Oahu as it was most everywhere else because the island was just too small. Everyone was somehow connected to everyone else with only something like two degrees of separation. You commit a crime, someone will know who you are and someone else will know how to find you. Hookers rarely got killed. Honolulu's relative safety allowed Caroleena over 10 years of street longevity until the scene ended when authorities started arresting men for allegedly soliciting undercover police for sex and posting their pictures on the evening news. ExpertEscort2018.com/ tells Caroleena's adventures during her decade of addiction and its consequences--homelessness, prostitution, drug dealing, incarceration, family destruction, the list goes on. Every story relates events Caroleena experienced, witnessed, or imagined. The tale of this outcast is skillfully and paradoxically told in the language of the elite. The wording of the posts is itself a testimony to the wide grip that addiction has on all levels of society, even impacting the privileged who were previously thought to be immune to the troubles of the lower class. During these days of opiate addiction maybe she can answer some questions and present applicable solutions. If not, you are still in for a hell of a good read.

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