No matter what a person’s opinion about prostitution, few would deny the desire to be desired. Certainly it’s nice to imagine that someone would take one look at your beauty and start thrusting high denomination bills your way, if only for the privilege of gazing upon your loveliness. I have enjoyed this very treatment. A half hour after leaving a man who gave me $300 just to look at me, I met another client who pulled up in a limo. He was a black man who did not smile when he saw me. He gave me $2 and instructed me to go you the 7-11 where we met and get him a soda. When I walked away from the limo, the driver peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. I called the would-be client and said if he was any kind of man he’d tell me why he dismissed me. After a brief hesitation he said “Frankly, I was expecting more,” and hung up. I had $302 so I headed for the apartment of one of the five men who gave me a place to stay in exchange for drug money and reflected on the lesson learned. Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder–I tried not to don’t take anyone’s disdain of my appearance affect me personally. After all, maybe in his subconscious he is looking for his grandmother, I told myself at the time of any rejection. But I was an accomplished narcissist and everything was about me, including being chosen or passed over by would be dates slowly cruising the mixed residential and lightly industrial Kukui Street. I liked the overt admiration,and had never been so lavishly praised by so many different people. I always wished I had been admired for my looks so in a bizaar but real way, one aspect of prostitution became a dream come true. I started to feel incomplete unless someone commented on my looks. I did not know then that a woman in her early 20’s is just about always pretty, even when she isn’t. I traded more on my youth than my good looks but I believed I made $300-$500 a day in downtown Honolulu because I was special and pretty. Only later did I discover that men looking for sex are not picky. The #1 most important asset a woman has going for her in this arena is simply being present and immediately available. The lure of having to look no further was powerful enough to cause men to screech to a halt within one minute after I stepped onto Kukui Street. I could have been anyone. Maybe the subconscious needed to turn the humiliation of doing…no, I cannot discuss it in detail…doing things…into an ego booster. What would have happened to my heart if I was standing on the street and felt the shame of what I had become instead of feeling I was on a model’s catwalk instead of the ho stroll, the track?

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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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