What do I do?

I do not know why I failed to embrace the sex that was a necessary part if my job, but I never got used to bedding strangers. nolulu in the early 2000’s, I liked when male drivers pulled over to the curb of Kukui Street and looked at me with admiration when I got into their vehicles. I loved being chosen. I will even go so far as to say I came to need the affirmation that I was a pretty lady. Yes, I really was. And I knew it because people told me so. But I was not simply chosen to be pretty. My looks offered a promise, unspoken but loud. The promise was sex and in order to get the money I had to go through with it. At first I tried stalling, talking, distracting. But I learned it was quickest to get it over with. Years later someone told me when he met me, I had the body of a sexy soccer coach but I laid in the passenger seat stiff and perfectly still, clearly waiting for things to end. I had no idea my unhappiness was so obvious to others. I did not want to feel unhappy. I did not want to feel anything. The realization that I wanted to be numb sparked a brilliant idea. Ambesol! Thetemporary remedy for toothache was the answer. I would put it on my personal area and I could get through the time as if I had not done anything. Ambesol effectively numbed me. I failed to consider that the product would numb him too.

“Something is wrong. I don’t feel anything,” said the one and only client subjected to my experiment.

I feigned puzzled innocence. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Maybe you could explain…?” I let my voice trail off as if unable to put into words the strange idea that there was a lack of sensation. Whoever heard if such a thing?

“Did you put something on? I smell some kind of menthol. You did use something! It’s not going to start burning is it?” The client was angry and suspicious.

I had committed to my lie and I made my voice rise to match his tone in volume. “Here! Take back your money!” I flung the two twenties and a ten at him as he zipped up in the driver’s seat after getting off of me on the passenger’s side of the car. I could tell he was too upset to let me keep the money so I thought it wise not to try. My policy was to avoid being hit no matter what and from the look on his red face as he complained about his blue balls, that I was in danger. “I am not going to be accused of…I don’t know what!”

I scurried out of the car and slammed the door in an angry huff, grateful I had chosen the nearby parking garage that lacked security cameras for the rendezvous. I hated walking long distances on tired dirty feet shoved bare into scuffed high heels but my temper resulted in unsuccessful encounters more often than i cared to admit. I was used to walking when I was not offered a ride back.

Was I sorry about being deceptive? No. I was at least self aware enough to know I had been lying because I had met drug addicts who never took responsibility for anything, and everything was someone else’s fault. Yes, I lied but I forgave myself because I was trying to make the distasteful more palatable. My fake outrage turned to genuine anger over my inability to get dope at that moment. Dope was the underlying factor in all events and emotions and I was truly annoyed that I did not have even $20, enough for a so-called “paper” or a single serving of dope. Months later I would learn how to disengage my mind through the effective use of dissociation, thus removing my true “self” from a situation in which my body was used, by me and by men, in pursuit if our respective goals. Menral disassociation was better than Ambesol at keeping my nonparticipation a secret from the client. Or so I thought…


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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