Christmas on the Ho Stroll

The streets were pretty empty of cars and foot traffic Christmas day though the emptiest day of the year was Superbowl Sunday. Nevertheless, hi there’s always business. Over the several years I was out there on Christmas day a single guy would pick me up bc he didn’t want to be alone on the holiday. Truth be told, neither did I. I never would have imagined anyone would look to a hookror true companionship but that tells you how little I knew about human interactions.

I met someone who was really into me, the same year I finished my stretch in prison. My belongings had been stolen by one if the many working girls or addicts that created a stream of traffic to an associate’s apartment. I split my time between five a low income apartments occupied by guys who traded their space for dope. My new client obligingly took me to Walmart because I needed foundation and other make up. I always needed foundation bc of my problem skin. This person understood my desperation to acquire make up without me having to go into embarrassing detail. I was grateful for the help. He gave me the makeup money and I made sure to spend all the money then return half the items so I could show a receipt proving where the cash went. I correctly guessed he would not compare the items I actually had to the documentation.

I returned to the car he showed me pictures of my legs taken with his phone. My legs were well toned from years of running track and running the streets. The Hawaii weather allowed me to show them to their best advantage. Short skirts and heels we’re a tad too dressy for Hinolulus relaxed style of dress but it wasn’t like I was trying to fit in to society. Prior too my breast augmentation my legs were my most attention grabbing feature. On the way back to his place he offered to let me stay indefinitely, and use his car to take my road test. I looked at the other pictures on his phone while he skillfully backed his car into the tiny parking space that came with his small $1200 a month studio. (Right outside of downtown he was grateful to find something for that price.) I was the only woman on his phone. The rest of the pictures were mahus, chicks with d****s. When I made my customary grand entrance without clothes I looked for the admiration I expected but saw only disappointment. He was no longer interested in sex or letting me stay for a bit. Then he withdrew his invitation to stay for the day. It was only after he dropped me off that I understood.

He had thought I was a guy. He wanted big black c**k and there was none. I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had money for dope from the Walmart make up money. I reminded myself of a standard phrase I often heard: the prettiest mahus are prettier than woman. That’s when I became determined to get money out of the 3 or 4 guys who picked me up every week and let me out after I had the wrong answer to “are you a boy or a girl?” But this Christmas, I was getting high and for right now, nothing else to worry about.


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. 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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