DMs open to all sex workers. Feel free to ask questions, seek support, or send me something you need to say and can't on your client facing account.

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Every whore has a story. Here's mine (🧵):
Note- I'm going to take my time with this thread and add to it slowly. I'm writing this for me because I need to tell the whole thing to someone, that someone is probably myself. (2/?)
Content warnings: suicide, domestic abuse, sex, drugs, smoking, general self destructive bullshit, kinky shit, sex work, trauma

Giving you full permission to mute this thread now as it will probably get quite long.

Hooking saved my life and I don't say that flippantly.

I was raised in a religious cult (Jehovah's Witnesses) and born to an alcoholic father and a mother with from what all my therapists could tell was undiagnosed BPD. Things were never good when I was a kid. (4/?)
And while I never want to play into the narrative that all hookers have troubled childhoods, that was the case for me. My life was a blur of church activities, parents fighting, parents drinking, physical abuse by my mother toward both my father and I (5/?)
With a weighted blanket of poverty that affected every moment. I wasn't an unhappy child, it was like a fish not noticing water that it's always lived in. This was just the way things were. (6/?)
I was always interested in sex and sexuality, at least as an older child. The subject as a whole fascinated me. The science of it. The psychology of it. The forbidden nature of it, especially given my strict religious background. (7/?)
My mother was a highly sexual person and did not have a good sense of boundaries. There was never sexual abuse but there was access to pornography, sexual books, etc. My mother used to invite me to watch skinimax with her and we tried to learn how to strip together.. (8/?)
..when I was 16. In the present say this would be highly inappropriate behavior, but I thought nothing of it at the time.

When I was 13, I met H, the man who would become my husband. He was 20 and also an upstanding JW. (9/?)
While the fact that I was a pubescent kid dating a full grown man was not exactly warmly accepted, my parents and the church were fine with it. As long as we didn't have sexual intercourse. You know because GOD. (10/?)
That started a few years of me being a loophole girl. A good Christian girl who does all sorts of dirty things but not actual penis in vagina sex because that was fornication. All other types of sex were on the table though. (11/?)
I remember the first time H took out his dick. I had just turned 14. We were in the backseat of my parents toyota. My dad was driving. Incredibly brazen of H now that I think about it.

I had never seen a dick IRL. I thought it looked weird and a little gross (12/?)
He kept moving my hand to touch it. I really didn't want to but gave in because well, you know, because most women have been there at some point. This type of thing continued for our entire relationship. Although I initiated plenty of encounters too. (13/?)
H was always a volatile, emotional man. He just was a huge fucking drama queen. Later, in the privacy of my own mind, I would call him Baby King.
Think of a combination Brett Kauvanaugh's self superior self victimization and crocodile tears when he was held accountable with (14/?
Donald trump's narcissistic self confidence and unwillingness to be told he's wrong.

For the life of me I don't know why I stayed. That's not true. I suppose it was a combination of him being a lot like my mother and feeling like (15/?)
This was the best I was going to do as far as a man was concerned. H had a little more money than my family. Had his own car. He bought me things. His friends were now mine.

I remember having a big fight with him when I was 16 or 17 and my mother telling me (16/?)
To break up with him and return his gifts.

I wanted to break up with him but I didn't want to give the gifts back. Lol

A SW in the making. (17/?)
My mother always would tell me that I was pretty. Although when she would say it, she always came off as accusatory or sad.

I didn't really feel pretty or think I was. I was an average looking girl who was chubby. I developed early and was curvy in a time when (18/?)
The ideal beauty standard was heroin chic. My mother though I could use a little weight loss as well and when I was 13 put me on a 200 calorie a day diet. This would start a pattern of disordered eating that if I'm honest, I haven't ever recovered from (19/?)
The 200 calorie a day diet didn't last long, because starvation. And also because none of my mother's per projects lasted long. I started a cycle of bingeing and purging. It was easier to hide from my folks. I romanticized what I thought was my tragic life (20/?)
My eating disorder. My abusive drunk parents. The poverty. My favorite book was Anna Karenina. I was a tragic heroine.

I switch to homeschooling in 8th grade, further isolating myself from a normal teenage experience. (21/?)
I'm wicked smart so I studied hard. Graduated at 16. College was frowned upon by the JWs at that time so that wasn't an option. I our all my focus on my future as the wife of H and how happy we were going to be. (22/?)
He couldn't afford an engagement ring. His car had gotten repo'd. I told him I loved him and didn't care. I planned my wedding for a few months but in the end we couldn't afford to do anything. Not me (I was working for minimum wage at a grocery store) (23/?)
Not him. Not my parents. Not his. It didn't matter we were in love.

I bought a white dress for $17 at Ross with the money I got for pawning my sega genesis. I didn't have a car so my dad drove me and demanded I thank him because without him (24/?)
I wouldn't have been able to get my dress.
My mother had a meltdown on the morning of my wedding and apat didn't come because her hair didn't turn out.

H and I were married at a local courthouse. I was 18. He was 24. (25/?)
I know now that I was just using H as a way out of that terrible situation in my family home. I kind of feel bad for it. I never was in love with him. I can only write it off as being young and living on the margins. (26/?)
I always was scrappy. I got it from my dad, who despite the fact that he was emotionally unavailable and alcoholic, was all in all a good man who life had dealt a bad hand. Dad was not particularly intelligent but he was hard-working. I respect that. (27/?)
I knew on some level that I had married H to better my life. His family was a little more well off than mine and he seemed to think the moon rose and set on my command. (28/?)
I worked a minimum wage job when we first wed. At a small retail store. Then got a slightly better receptionist gig at a car dealership.

I hated civilian work. I had always wanted to be my own boss and run my own business. (29/?)
I started looking at opportunities and reading self help and business books.

I started my first MLM business shilling makeup for a big pink brand when I was 19. I knew this was my big break. It wasn't. (30/?)
Two years after we married. Six months after I started my MLM, I found out that I was pregnant.

I adore my 4 children but if I'm honest, I wasn't exactly hoping to ever have kids. I had goals and I didn't think I'd be a very good mother. (31/?)
For some ridiculous reason everyone we knew was so excited I was pregnant. Including H. I don't know why they thought a 19 year old having a kid was a good idea but they did.

About 8 weeks into my pregnancy, I had my best girlfriend, J, over to (32/?)
Our apartment to hang out. I went to the bathroom and saw I was spotting. I came out to tell H and J was sitting on the floor with her hands on the inside of his thigh laughing. It could have been nothing but I didn't even register it. (33/?)
I called my Dr next morning and had an ultrasound. Waited on the results. It was Friday. I miscarried that night. It was devastating mentally, emotionally and physically. My mother blamed it on pill addiction (34/?)
And still does. I was taking zoloft and percs for back pain. Both relatively low risk drugs.
This was back in the day when you could go in and tell your Dr you had pain and they would just write you a script for a narcotic or opioid. (35/?)
Ah, the good old days. I didn't want to be pregnant. But I still mourned that loss because I thought that having that baby would fix something.

Six weeks after that miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. (36/?)
Things already weren't great between H and I. Beginning on our wedding night, where he couldn't get it up and went to sleep at 8pm. I still don't really know what happened that made him suddenly turn his back on me. After all, we were finally going to officially fuck. (37/?)
After years. But he went completely cold and shut me out for days.

We went to a local city for a day trip as our honeymoon. Ten days after getting married, we finally had sex. It was painful for me and lasted a long time. I didn't want to say anything (38/?)
Because I didn't want him to shut me out again. He finally came and said, wow that's a relief for me. Glad I finally got that over with. I began faking interest and orgasms. A skill that would come in handy later. (39/?)
While I was pregnant for the second time, with my son, H's behavior became more erratic.

Chronic insomnia. Weird inexplicable illnesses that dragged on and would keep him in bed for days. Fits of temper and general moodiness.

I went in to labor with my son. (40/?)
My water broke dramatically in the middle of the night. I was trying to run one out. H was still up in the living room, watching tv.

Labor was difficult. And in the end I had an emergency cesarian. (41/?)
The following days I was so sore, I could barely lift my baby.

H took long naps in my hospital room. When visitors would come, he would laugh and tell them how exhausted he was. When they left, he would go back to napping. I began to hate him, honestly. (42/?)
Three months after my son was born, I was pregnant again. With my oldest daughter.

If I wasn't thrilled with the first pregnancy I definitely was less than optimistic about my ability to handle the second. It took months for me to come to terms with it. (43/?)
The baby was born. Healthy. Happy. I started my second MLM. H got more erratic. But something in me shifted. I knew I needed a way out of this marriage but with a one year old and an infant, it was going to be hard. (44/?)
Time passes. Nothing changes except we move to a bigger house. H was incredibly irresponsible with money. We were living on the poverty line. Child care was cost prohibitive. My daughter got sick with a rare blood disorder and almost died. (45/?)
She needed a transfusion and that's a strict no-no for JWs. I recanted my faith and she had the transfusion.

Free for the first time in my life to explore the world outside of the lense of religion, I began questioning everything. (46/?)
Studied the occult. Came out as bi. Started another doomed mlm. My early 20s were an eye opening time for me. Two years pass and I'm pregnant again. H was not thrilled this time. I was sick for 8 months. Things were rough. (47/?)
Still living on the poverty line. Facing eviction. Repossession. Utilities turned off. Food insecurity.

My second daughter was born. Healthy happy and beautiful. I had PPD with all of my kids but this one hit the worst. (48/?)
We made it through somehow. I was only 24 by the time all of this had happened.

I made a decision to lose weight. I was never slim but after that pregnancy I was a size 22. I went on a low carb diet and after 8 months (with a little help from my teenage friend bulemia) (49/?)
I had lost over 100 pounds and was a size 6.

H had repeatedly asked for an open marriage because he wanted to see me fuck another woman. Something that completely turned my gay ass off. But with the new male attention I was getting (50/?)
I revisited the subject. He was all for it. We never got around to acting out his fantasy though. 😂

Enter my slutty years. We had recently gotten our first computer and internet access (poverty, remember?) And I found it incredibly easy for a 25 year old blond (51/?)
With huge tits to find guys that wanted to fuck her. I had some experiences. I took uncalculated, unwarranted risks. I had a shit ton of terrible sex with absolutely no feeling.

I drank. A lot. I was fucking this dude from a nearby city who was an aspiring director (52/?)
Things with H had gotten worse dramatically. And I was fucking a lot of other people.

That year on our wedding anniversary, I took the bottle of wine that H's mom gave us to celebrate and took it to one of my lovers houses. (53/?)
Before I left I emailed the wannabe director and referenced the fact that my marriage was dead and I wanted out badly. H went into my email after I left and when I got back from fucking my lover, he had packed his things. (54/?)
I see my part in this now. What kind of bitch fucks another guy on her wedding anniversary? I know. Dark times, then. (55/?)
This started a pattern of break ups and makeups for h and I. We couldn't stay apart.

The thing is, H had this habit of stalking me after he would leave. It would be incessant and scary. Eventually I would take him back just to make him stop. (56/?)
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, you know?

I met this guy during this time. I'll call him K. He was a drummer and a minor league hockey player. K was the first man I had warm feelings for. I wasn't in love. But the infatuation was strong. (57/?)
K and I did nothing but fuck. Everywhere and anytime we could. He told me he wrote me a song, but that he could never show it to me. K and I did incredibly risky things and I loved every minute of it. (58/?)
K was also an alcoholic and would drive drunk regularly.

It was my birthday and I was expecting us to go out. He cancelled on me because he had to work late. I saw him at a local gas station five minutes later. (59/?)
I called him and asked how work was going. He said he was slammed. I said dude I can see you. If you want to break up just tell me.

He said he wanted to break up. I said fine by me and cut my losses. That's how I always played it. (60/?)
I got back with h shortly after that. I wasn't good at being alone. My mother was still very much involved in my life and I felt like I needed the buffer of a man to keep her at a distance. H and my mom had always hate one another. (61/?)
The make up, break up pattern repeated 6 more times. H grew more and more unbalanced. I stopped looking at his volatile behavior as moods and started seeing it as what it was, a cycle of abuse. I had more affairs, well, lovers because we had an open marriage. (62/?)
I started more doomed businesses. We lived on the poverty line. I slowly gained the weight back. We had our youngest child. I started a blog. Began writing. Couldn't successfully monetize it. Took dead end jobs. Always quitting within a few months (63/?)
H would suddenly become ill with a chronic mystery illness and I'd have to start calling off for lack of childcare. My parents wouldn't watch the kids on a regular basis without being paid. Then things got really bad. (64/?)
My license got suspended because I got pulled over and didn't have insurance. I started fucking G at this time. Well we never fucked. I basically grifted him for a couple grand. Then ghosted. It was incredibly easy. He messaged me on Facebook (65/?)
For years after that. Poor guy. Lol

I was 11 or 12 when I first attempted suicide. Coming from a religious family, the remedy was to pray on it. A few months after that I held a knife to my wrist sobbing in the kitchen while my mother yelled "go on and do it you don't have the balls" (67/?)
I had pretty much resigned myself to the idea that I would eventually die by suicide. Around the time I grifted G, things got very bad. I a matter of months, got pregnant by H after he forced himself on me on Valentine's day. I had had my tubes tied but something (68/?)
Must have grown back together.

They think that the pregnancy was ectopic but I asked for an abortion anyway. I couldn't have another baby. Not with my mental health hanging by a thread. (69/?)
My Dr put me on birth control to prevent another pregnancy. I gained 70 pounds in three months. Money was insanely tight. H got his hours cut and our household income was about 800 a month. I tried for work but I couldn't find any. (70/?)
I decided I was going to check out. I couldn't try anymore. I just needed to figure out how and when. Months went by and I made my plan. I just needed to find a time. A week before Thanksgiving, I had a surgery to correct the botched tubal ligation. (71/?)
When we got home, the electricity had been turned off for non payment.

H was furious with me. Over the next few days we found a way to raise the arrears and finally got a grant for the remaining amount (72/?)
From the local welfare office. I remember H driving me to the office. My stomach still hurting from the surgery. Asking him to take the corners a little easier because it hurt. He gritted his teeth and punched the dash. (73/?)
You think this is bad? Just you wait. He did not slow down. (74/?)
I always host Thanksgiving. Still do. That year, as I was cleaning the kitchen, I knew tomorrow was the day. I felt nothing but relief.

The next morning, I woke to find H groping me. He climbed on top of me. I said no. I had my period. He didn't stop. (75/?)
Something I'm that moment woke me up. I got the angriest I've ever been. I started to cry. He finished. I told him I needed help. That I was going to kill myself. He said it wasn't that bad. I asked to be taken to the hospital. He finally agreed. (76/?)
I checked myself in to a behavioral hospital that day. It was the scariest experience of my life. The people I met there. Their stories. I felt so much pain for them.

The first night there, I remember laying on the thin plastic covered mattress. (77/?)
And thinking okay universe. I give up. I'm not going to try to be good or productive or figure any of this shit out anymore. All I care about is feeling better. You help me figure out the rest. (78/?)
I stayed 4 days. When I got home the dishes hadn't been some the whole time. My kids were confused because no one explained to them where mom was. H had a headache and went to bed before dinner.

I fielded questions. Fed the kids. Cleaned up. Reassured. Went to bed. (79/?)
That next week I started a day therapy program. It was from 9-3 and I was to be there three weeks. We only had one car (poverty, remember) so h had to take me and pick me up which he was not happy about. (80/?)
I had a wonderful therapist there. Kate. She was a soft spoken older woman who wore a gold cross. As I began to talk to her about my experience, she was the most open non judgmental person I had ever met. (81/?)
One night, a little less than a week in, H had a very bad night. He still had chronic insomnia and sometimes when he was in a particular mood, he wouldn't let me sleep if he couldn't.

That was this night. Things escalated. There was yelling. (82/?)
I was backed up against the wall. H punched the wall inches from my head.

He often punched walla and our drywall had many dents.

I was sobbing and screaming. I hated him so much. I was so scared. (83/?)
Every day in the program you had to rate both your suicidal ideations and your homicidal ideations on a scale of 1 to 10. For the first time my homicidal ideations were not a zero. I wanted him dead.

"Looks like you have something you need to talk about" said Kate. (84/?)
I did. After talking with the group about it, sobbing in front of relative strangers, Kate said to me the first of three things she would say that would change things for me:

"[Redacted] I want you to understand that what you're describing is intimate partner abuse..(85/?)
..the sleep deprivation, the terrorizing, the punching, all of it. Now, you don't have to do anything about it now but I just want you to know that you're being abused and that you, and every person, deserves better."

I felt validated in my experience. (86/?)
Thank you, Kate. ❤️

That week end because I'm an idiot I tell H that my therapist tells me that I'm being abused. It did not go well. I told him I needed him to seek help. He refused. I knew then ..(87/?)
That for all intents and purposes that the conversation was over forever. That my only option was to get me and my kids out. But one car. No job. Four kids. Two going into college. I had a hard road ahead. But I would have to pull this off in secret. (88/?)
I dropped day program shortly after that. Didn't complete it. Kate understood. It was right before Christmas and h was growing more tired of helping me with transportation.

The other two words of wisdom from Kate that changed my life? (89/?)
When asking me what I thought I'd like to do with my life I told her something around sex because it's interesting but I think that people will judge me:

"You have to live your life for you and every time you second guess yourself I want you to (90/?)
Give yourself a mental hug. Remember it's just because you're scared. And keep pressing on to your goals"

And "[redacted] every little girl deserves to be cherished by her parents. None of that was your fault." (91/?)
Early the following year, I had an amazing opportunity. A sex you company start up contacted me through a friend of a friend because they knew I could write a little.

They needed someone to handle website copy and write reviews. I jumped at the chance. (92/?)
It lasted a few months before H repeated the pattern. Eventually smashing my laptop in a fit of rage.

No matter. I pressed on. (93/?)
I found an office job that paid very well. And they didn't regulate overtime at all. I could pad my schedule with extra hours and no one would notice. I stayed there a few months before H's pattern began again. This time with a new exciting twist (94/?)
With his regular chronic illnesses not throwing me off, he threw a massive fit the morning of the first day of school before the kids left. By the time I got them on the bus, he had packed his things in the car.

He left again. Sixth time. At least I had a job but no car (95/?)
He came back a couple weeks later after stalking and trying to break in the house. I had already lost my job. It was October. I had to come up with another plan.

It was around this time I discovered phone sex work. (96/?)
I toyed with that for awhile. Then found the world of escorting. I realized that I any be able to stack cash faster that way.

I researched. I found a mentor. I was overweight. Over 35. I never thought I would end up doing this. (97/?)
But I had almost killed myself so I figured this would be better than that.

I remember my first call with my mentor. I was like " do you think it's possible that I can make $1k a week?"

They chuckled quietly and said absolutely (98/?)
That night I told h my plan. Leaving out the fact that this was also my escape plan.

I explained that I needed a little money to start. About 200. Enough for a cheap nightie, ads and a cheapish hotel.

I explained that I could make an extra 1k a month. (99/?)
Slightly altering his expectations. He signed off on the idea wholeheartedly. Next day, I bought a nightie, h took my photos, asked for sex after which I have because who cares at that point and I chose a name. (100/?)
Next morning, I posted my ads on the site. You know the one. My rates we low as hell. But I wanted as many bookings as possible.

I had my first two clients that night. I profited $320. I was in business. (101/?)
I wish more than anything that my mentor was still around, but they dropped off the radar after FOSTA/SESTA. Actually the day that passed was the last day I spoke to them.

I wish I could thank them for changing my life. Every bit of advice they gave me was helpful. (102/?)
I did pay them for the coaching by the way. 10% of my first six months of warnings wired to somewhere over seas. Sketchy as hell lol.

I want to clarify that this was not a pimp or a madam. There was zero pressure. They were there for me at any hour with questions (103/?)
Big or small. During months that I couldn't pay the 10% (I was still learning how to manage money after a lifetime of being very poor), they never even mentioned it. Hours of phone coaching on every aspect of the business. If you're out there, thank you for everything. (104/?)
You have no idea how you impacted my life for the better. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're an angel. (105/?)
Things took of extremely quickly after that. I went from being on welfare and having housing and food insecurity to making 18k a month. But that's just the beginning. (106/?)
I never want to perpetuate the sex work has to being considered empowering to be valid work trope, but in my experience, my god was it ever.

As someone who has some marginalizing factors (Poor, no college education, fat), it was amazing to feel like I had some (107/?)
Agency and control over my life for the first time.

I am white and I do know that comes with privilege. I want to recognize that, if I had been POC and had all of my existing marginalizing factors the road would have been much much harder. (108/?)
I was slowly building my business. My notoriety. My social media following. Raising my rates. Getting professional photos.

We were going places, baby!

I never lost sight of the end game. Leaving H. But for now he was in a fucking fantastic mood. (109/?)
Nothing like 18k a month to make a dude feel at peace. (110/?)
But a cycle is a cycle. And it took a little while but it slowly started again.

H was only working part time. Making that 800 a month. After some discussion I suggested that he quit and go to some type of secondary school to increase his earning potential. (111/?)8
I don't know what temporary insanity came over me but that was what I suggested. H quit. And that was that. He never returned to work or school for the reminder of our marriage. (112/?)
The decline was quick. Illness. Calls to me when I was at work. Making me cancel Appointments because he was angry at me or the kids.

Angry because money started slowly decreasing. Spending binges. Angry because I wasn't working enough or too much. (113/?)
It was around that time I met P. The client who would become my lover in real life.

He booked an appointment and one of the first things he tells me is "I'm not at all attracted to my wife" (114/?)
You know how when you're a hooker dudes are always telling you shit you don't want to know or even care about? That's when I always sit on their face.

Which is what I did. It was a lovely appointment as they go and I even ran over a little because he was cute (115/?)
Funny, and the conversation was so good. He became a regular. Always treated me very well. Gifts. Tips. Respectful and prompt. We probably should have left it at that. (116/?)
The situation at home was gearing up fast and hard. Worse than it ever had before. Scary, but at the same time I was pleased because I had a real excuse to end it now and the funds on hand to follow through. Plus my own car and a career that could support me and my kids (117/?)
September. I tell H. Listen. This is the final straw. Either seek counseling within three weeks or I’m getting a divorce.

Three weeks pass. Things have not gotten better. I ask him if he has sought or has plans to seek help. He says no. And with that I tell him I’m done (118/?)
I tell him to find a job and move out by January. And that that is my final word on it.

He says fine.

Spoilers: he does NOT move out by January nor find a job. (119/?)
What he does do in those months leading up to January is escalate the abuse. Including totaling my car and his car within three weeks of each other.

Prevents me from working as much as possible. I use my savings. I cancel appointments and lose deposits. (120/?)
I get money for Christmas that year by taking a several hour appointment with a very drunk navy seal who puts me in a naked full Nelson and tells me “I could kill you now if I want”. I laugh and go to the bathroom to “pee” (read: not freak out) (121/?)
When I come out he’s passed out from drink. I take my 1800 and leave him a note saying “you fell asleep, baby. Merry Christmas. See you next time! xx”

Merry fucking Christmas indeed, asshole. (122/?)
Note: this is all happening while I was a very well known high end escort in my city and on Twitter (20k+ followers).

I know you all know this but it really is all smoke and mirrors. (123/?)
I’m sleeping on the sofa by this point because when I’m in bed with H he won’t allow me to sleep.

He begins to sit in the living room all night and stare at me silently. I try not to let him know I’m aware of him. If I move he’ll escalate. I’m scared. I married a monster (124/?
One night he somehow knows I’m awake. He hits me with three pieces of info.

1. I should fuck you here so you remember how good it is.

2. I’m going to kill myself.

3. I’m taking your car tomorrow. A trip upstate. I don’t know when I’ll be back. (125/?)
I don’t care if he dies at this point.

And I’ve submitted before sexually. When I consulted the domestic violence hotline, they flat out told me that if he tries to rape me I should let him so he doesn’t hurt me more or go after the kids. Still trying to process that (126/?)
But he’s not taking my car and totaling it again.

I tell him so and he loses his shit.

He gets so loud with his threats my son (19 now) wakes up to protect me.

H threatens suicide. My son begs him to go to the hospital. He refuses. (127/?)
I say to my son, baby we can’t force dad. I understand where you’re coming from but dad needs to seek help on his own

My son looks at me with tears in his eyes and says Mom, I can’t lose my dad this way. (128/?)
Emergency services is called and we go to the hospital.

Up the entire night that night. My son and I explaining the suicide threats. The threats of violence.

H on the other hand is acting completely fine. Joking around. Telling staff that this is just (129/?)
A wife who is filing for divorce and that I’m mad at him. He’s fine, everything is fine. It’s all the lies of an angry woman and her manipulated son.

I attempt to have him admitted against his will. Both my son and I make a statement. It gets denied. (130/?)
We get home at 11am after a sleepless traumatic night. H goes to bed. I clean, take care of the house, do admin.

I take a quick nap after dinner and go to The Four Seasons downtown for my 7pm, dressed to kill like my life isn’t falling apart. (131/?)
Taking a detour from the narrative to reflect on this:

During this entire ordeal, especially the last few years, from the outside we looked completely “normal”.

To our civilian acquaintances, we were a happy healthy nuclear family. Mom, dad, four kids who were (132/?)
In scouts and band and school plays. Kids going to prom and going off to college. Sleepovers some weekends. A black lab. Volunteering at school. Nobody knew about the abuse or the fact that I’m a hooker. Blows my mind. (133/?)
In the demimonde, no one knew that my life was in chaos. No one even knew I had a family. Or where I had come from. I was just a part of landlord hooker Twitter. Another bitch with a fake advanced degree who is a professional jet setting hedonist. No shame in that hustle (134/?)
And I’m not even mad about it. I’m returning to it myself, because you gotta do what you gotta do to make rent. More on that later.

It just fascinates the fuck out of me. For real. (135/?)
I canceled on P that month. He told me to keep the deposit. Met me at a coffee shop to give me a little financial help.

Sitting across from him I blurted out “you know, you and I could have been lovers in the daytime of things would have gone differently for each of us” (136/?)
Two things my branding wasn’t lying about is that I’m a romantic and that I often don’t think before I speak. (137/?)
H didn’t move out January 1, I already told you that. He said no, he wasn’t moving. So I set to work finding a rental that was big enough for my family that allowed pets in our school district. Options seemed slim.
I looked at shelters. They wouldn’t work for us. (138/?)
My oldest daughter had a friend who’s family had a spare apartment. We met with them and explained the situation. They were a Good Christian Family.

They told me that me and my daughters could stay, but not my son. And also no pets. (139/?)
My kids had grown up with their dog. It broke my heart. I cried. I didn’t want to split up my family. The next day, driving near our house we saw a house for rent. My daughter said just call. You never know!

A week later I signed the lease. We move our February 1 (140/?)
I had taken to sleeping in my daughters room on the floor those days, after what had happened the night H went to the hospital.

At night he would come up and try the door and then knock loudly if I had locked it.

“No locked doors in this house!”

Moving day came and H was a model husband and father in front of my sons friends who helped us move.

Later, he would bring this up repeatedly. “How can I be the monster you say I am? I fucking helped you move for fucks sake!” (142/?)
I couldn’t breathe easy quite yet. A pattern is a pattern and H repeatedly stalked me after each and every separation.

Which he did. And although I’m much better at managing it now, still harasses me through email to some degree. (143/?)
A couple months after our move, my middle daughter reported an instance of physical abuse that I didn’t know about by her father to her therapist, a mandated reporter.

Children’s services was called. He was investigated. He said she was lying. Investigation closed. (144/?)
H isn’t through with me yet. He still has his cycles. I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly free of him until he’s dead and gone.

Even though we’re divorced now, I don’t feel I can see legal protection because I’m a SW.. I hope for a future where other SWers can. ❤️ (145/?)
P and I had our appointment that he made the deposit for that February. “What the fuck. Let’s make it five hours.” Awesome.

He came with a gift as usual. A poem. Not a great poem lol. A poem he had written for me.

As he was washing up to leave, he made fun .. (146/?)
.. the hotel soap. “Luxury soap!?” he yelled from the shower “Holy shit I feel like a billionaire!”

I was naked in bed, wrapped in the sheets. I giggled and rolled my eyes. This guy is such a dick, I thought. I kinda like that. (147/?)
The same month, P emailed me. “May I call you?”

I was early to an appointment, parked in a hotel parking lot getting ready to meet with a guy whom I would later black list.

“Of course. 😊
“My wife found out,” he told me. “I’m not going to be able to see you anymore.”

Odd that he would call and say that. Usually they just drop off the face of the earth. But here he was.

And I was disappointed. I liked P a lot. Weird. (149/?)
I knew he had seen other escorts as well. No big deal. I didn’t have any delusions about that. She had found out about all of us. But specifically me, and one other. He had mentioned us by name in the journal document on his computer that she’d read.

“Because you two are special.”

Okay well fuck me then. Thanks for that. Have a nice life and best of luck, son. See you never.

Things were evening out on the home front. My kids decided that they wanted no further communication with their dad after the physical abuse my daughter reported. In this house we believe victims. 💖

Work was picking up in a huge way. Lots of dinner dates and (152/?)
Overnights. It had been a year since I had had a photo shoot. But I needed a good deal.

P still had his punter account open and would consistently reply to my tweets. What a guy.

I knew he was a talented photographer. I bet I could just pop in (153/?)
See how he is and see if we could do a reduced rate on a photo shoot in exchange for service.

I DMed him. Kept it real light.

He was open to it and we set up a phone call to discuss the shoot. (154/?)
P had a great voice. Smooth and deep. He spoke with a quiet authoritative way.

He was all business, which was frankly, hot.

We discussed the shoot. The aesthetics. I told him I would email him my private branding guidelines doc. We set a date. (155/?)
“So let’s talk dollars and cents, P”, I said. “With just buying my duplex (lie) and the Bitcoin bubble bursting (another lie) I’m a little cash poor this month. I was hoping you’d be open to some other arrangement” (156/?)
“I tell you what. Let me handle the shoot. I’ve been meaning to launch this business. If you’re happy with the service, recommend me and shout me out on Twitter and we’ll call it even.” Wow. What a guy. (157/?)
P later told me that he first fell in love with the woman behind my persona as he was reading my branding doc.

“The mind that could come up with all of that. As a sapiosexual I found it incredibly arousing.”

The use of “sapiosexual” should have been my first red flag (158/?)
Photo shoot day came. I rolled up with my outfits to the air bnb. True to his word. P had handled everything. Paid for the location, hired hair and makeup, even had snacks and drinks for me when I arrived. Charcuterie and bottled water, but like the expensive kind. (159/?)
I arrived barefaced in jeans and a sweater. Hair pulled up in a messy bun.
“I figured I’d get dressed here. Sorry I’m not camera ready.”
P grabbed my suitcase, leaned close and winked, “Oh, I’d still fuck you.”

Rascal. (160/?)
Hair and makeup done. And the girl offered to stay so I’d feel safe with my photographer.

No I’m okay, we know each other quite well, I said.

I wanted to be alone with P.
I’m a pain in the ass in front of the camera. Awkward and stiff. I hate photo shoots with a passion.

P was patient and guided me. I was giving him the fuck me signals and he wasn’t picking up on them AT ALL. Frustrating. (162/?)
I asked P about this later and he replied with “I didn’t want to violate your boundaries. I was working and so were you.” Ah, what a guy.
A few weeks later and having masturbated to my photo shoot seduction sex fantasy a lot, I was getting out of the shower when I thought fuck it. I’m going to ask him out. What could happen?

I could use a fuck buddy and I can definitely handle this. (164/?)
I DMed his punter account again.

Hey. ❤️ I hope this isn’t over the line but would you like to get lunch sometime as friends? If this makes you uncomfortable let me know and I’ll drop it and never mention it again. (165/?)
You sure? He says

Yes, I say. Wednesday?

It’s a date.

At lunch I told him most of the truth. You know, I have kids. Etc. my real name. I’m divorced.

I left out the less savory details. As one does.

Things moved quick. The chemistry was intense and I’m still not really sure what happened. (167/?)
A few days in he said, I want to try something. Meet me at my dads place.

His dad was out of state. And let’s not forget P had a wife at home.

Would you fucking believe I drove a half hour to make out with a dude in his dads garage? (168/?)
Still can’t believe I did that. Still can’t believe how hot it was.

See that was the problem. I was so attracted to him. He was so charming. One look and just...WET.

I remember doing dishes and thinking once I fuck him, I’ll be over him. (169/?)

A week in I told him, P. We need to slow down. I’m falling in love with you and that’s not good for either of us.

He said I’m so glad you said that because I’m falling in love with you too. I’m head over heels for you baby. (170/?)
A week later of ridiculous horny teenage behavior, we finally had sex outside of the business. P had gotten us a hotel room.

The sex was unbelievable. He was so romantic. So attentive. So affirming. So fucking great in bed. (171/?)
I cried on the way home. I knew I was fucked up over this guy. Fuck. (172/?)
P was telling the truth about leaving his wife. Three months after our affair started they sold their house and he moved into his midlife crisis bachelor pad. The day he moved in, he gave me a key, then fucked me on the floor. I was in a real relationship (173/?)
P had started early talking about our future. Married in Maui. He’d never wanted kids but was happy to explore the possibility of being a step father to mine.

“You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of in a partner.” (174/?)
P had his issues though. Surprise surprise. Depression, anxiety, indecisiveness, low testosterone that he was medicated for, oh and of course the fact that he cheated on his wife for a decade with hookers. None of it mattered to me. He had told me I was the (175/?)
Love of his life and I agreed. I could not believe my luck. 40 and a divorced hooker. And I had gotten so lucky. Never one to do anything half way, I threw myself into the relationship.

Business began to lull slightly. I didn’t want to be touched by any other men (176/?)
And then there was the thing with his dogs. (177/?)
P and his wife (separated but not divorced) shared custody of their dogs. Coparenting them.

Beyond that, they texted every day. And he would take her call when we were together. (178/?)
Now the argument could be made that he wasn’t hiding anything from me. Which, yeah whatever.

Until Christmas. (179/?)
I had let myself into his place before he got home from work as I often did. I texted him and asked if I could use his computer. He said sure. While logging into my google account I accidentally (and I swear it was an accident) hovered over his search history. (180/?)
He was browsing escort ads. I wish I had reacted calmly but I really felt like I was going to vomit. Sorry but I was thinking am I just an easy lay to him? Free pussy?

I left him a note saying goodbye and left my key. (181/?)
He of course called me and we talked it out. In the end he was never able to forgive me for “snooping in his computer” and didn’t really take any responsibility for how he made me feel. But don’t worry, I get hurt lots more before all this is over. (182/?)
P and I were still together. He said he forgave me which I was grateful for but the actual issue was never addressed. He said that I often tried to sabotage our relationship and that I needed to not do that. (183/?)
Then one day, H showed up at my door and wouldn’t leave. I was texting P at that time.

And dude just knocks on the door. I had explained to P more of my real story over time, at the advice of my mother and my therapist that the real (184/?)
Problem here was that I’m never vulnerable with people. I never let people in. So I was trying to do that and the more I did, the more P drifted away.

So. H is at that door that night. I’m firm and not afraid. (185/?)
Okay I’m terrified but I’m trying not to show it. He won’t leave and the police are called. They force him to leave. I hear H say “what if I have evidence she’s doing something illegal?” And I fucking KNEW. Motherfucker is going to out me. (186/?)
After the cops make H leave. They didn’t respond to his question thank god. Or press for more info, I text P.

He was worried of course. Reassured me. Said goodnight. I was terrified. And I felt abandoned by P, “the love of my life” (187/?)
H never did out me because I threatened him with the info that he too could be in legal trouble for living off hooker money. And after all I was a minor when we got together and we wouldn’t want our small town to know about that, now would we? (188/?)
It calmed him down. I still slowly started dismantling my hooker brand though. I wanted to retire. I wanted to write. I wanted P and no one else. I was totally in over my head. (189/?)
Valentine’s Day and I’m a good girlfriend. I had the outfit. Cutoffs and a red lace corset. Presents for my valentine. And a card that I embarrassingly wrote a paragraph of love shit inside. I had let myself in as per my norm and was getting ready for P. (190/?)
I had learned my lesson not to snoop. Besides at this point I really didn’t want to know. I was happily in denial also know as “create your own reality with the law of attraction”. And I was going manifest a happily ever after with P and in order to do that I (191/?)
Needed to ignore all evidence to the contrary and FOCUS.

I didn’t mean to look at the papers on his desk. But as I walked past a receipt fell on the floor. I bent down and picked it up. Flowers. Cute. Guess I’m getting flowers. I peeked into the kitchen and fridge. (192/?)
Not there. Fuck. They weren’t for me. They had to be for his wife. That same I’m gonna puke feeling came over me and I felt a true panic attack coming on. I really didn’t want to ruin our night. So as soon as I heard him unlock the door I put my best hooker face on and (193/?)
Fucked the shit out of him. Oh and he got me an exfoliating glove btw lol. Romantic. And his card? “Happy Valentine’s, babe”

Shit. (194/?)
Sex was always amazing with P until it wasn’t. He was always “my dirty boy” until we started exploring our fantasies together. Turns out when you fuck for a living and you’re dating a dude whose idea of variety is hitting it from the back once a month there are issues (195/?)
When we met, we couldn’t get enough of each other. Nooners during his lunch break. Sex three or four (sometimes five!) a night. And then again in the morning.

I took him away for his birthday. (196/?)
P hated his birthday. He was an introvert and didn’t enjoy the attention at all. I didn’t want to let it pass without fanfare. Plus if I’m honest I was trying to teach him how I wanted to be treated. I booked a suite at the best hotel in the financial district. (197/?)
I didn’t lie to P much. I wanted our relationship to work so badly. But I did lie about how much that weekend cost me. A shit ton. We had a wonderful time. We got high, had great sex, had a delicious dinner. A perfect weekend. (198/?)
I was still slowly tanking my brand. Transitioning out of hooking. He was worth it. Then he told me he was going to stop taking the testosterone. (199/?)
I had concerns, obviously. But he assured me that he’d always be able to get hard for me. It wouldn’t be a problem, trust him. And it wasn’t. Except for the fact that we went from hot can’t keep our hands off each other sex to (200/?)
Once a week for a half hour. I mean, I still came. P ate pussy like no one else I’ve ever met. But that fire was going, going, gone. (201/?)
He once told me that he had had sex with his wife less than 50 times TOTAL. And that what he most looked forward to when we started dating was having a regular sexual life. I took it as a compliment at the time. (202/?)
Things hadn’t felt right for awhile with P and truth be told I had some civvy dates with other men, just to see what’s out there. (Nothing lol)
I almost broke up with him several times but I was dreading him telling me that I was sabotaging the relationship. (203/?)
I wanted this relationship to work more than anything in my whole life.

Then our one year anniversary came. I had learned my lesson on Valentine’s Day. So I played it cool. I was going to buy him an office chair but the week before I saw he had a new one. (204/?)
“Oh it’s a Father’s Day gift from the dogs” oh so a present from the wife. Nice. I got him a card that said happy anniversary babe. He got me a dior lipstick and a card that said “I knew when I started dating you things would get interesting but holy shit.” (205/?)
Funny thing, I had been making myself smaller for him, hiding parts of myself for months. (206/?)
We still had sex. There was no talk of the future. He and the ex had been going to couples counseling. No joke. I asked about it and he said we’re processing our feelings about the end of the relationship. I knew he was lying (207/?)
He was a nice guy. He didn’t want to hurt me in a big way, so he did it in a thousand small ones. (208/?)
Things got real as the world got crazy. Specifically P’s depression, anxiety, cynicism. He became a regular misanthrope.

I was still in love but I couldn’t see a person like this in my future. Then 1,2,3 it was over and I didn’t even see it coming (209/?)
1. P stopped hiding everything from me. He commented on women he thought were hot. He would flat out refuse plans because he was doing something with the ex. He used the word hooker in conversation. He spent his wedding anniversary with her. (210/?)
I was deep in cool girl mode by now. I didn’t say anything about the anniversary dinner. Whatever, man. (211/?)
2. He told me that he had been suicidal and the reason he had separated from his wife is that he wanted to hurt her less when he killed himself. I’m sorry, WHAT? And you’re getting me to fall in love with you why? For someone to fuck before you die?! (212/?)
Didn’t say anything about that either. Other than crying and offering help. Telling him I loved him. Telling him to talk to a counselor. (213/?)
3. Then there was the last thing. The thing that ended up breaking it. P had been planning to take some college classes for career advancement. He warned me that he may not have as much time for us. I assured him we could make it work. (214/?)
This conversation happened over and over. Then one night were cuddling on the sofa, both looking at something he has pulled up on his phone and someone texts him. I know this name. It’s the other escort. I don’t say anything. I don’t want the conversation. I should have. (215/?)
I can’t shake this feeling though so I text him the next night. I’m sorry babe but I need to talk to you about something. I him what I saw before he quickly swiped it away. He says flat out, no one texted me but my ex wife. (216/?)
Now I feel crazy. Because am I just seeing things? The next morning I text him again. I’m so sorry baby. But my intuition is pinging me on this and I’d like to talk about it. Well, your intuition is wrong, he says. (217/?)
He doesn’t text the rest of the day.

Except for a single goodnight that night.

Next day he says he needs time to think. I say okay. How long? He says I’ll call you. (218/?)
Four days later he calls. “The problem is that you just don’t trust me. Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

I can’t think of anything to say so I say no. Although he’s given me tons. (219/?)
He says he’s busy and needs to focus. He needs more time.

A week later, I ask to come over. We talk. He tells me he’s got a busy work season. He’s got classes. He needs time. He just needs time.

I keep a brave face. I give back my key. I kiss him goodbye. (220/?)
It’s a good kiss. They all were. (221/?)
I’m lonely. I miss him. This sucks. A week later I email him. “I don’t like not talking to you. Wanna stay friends?” Sure, he says (222/?)
We keep it light. I invite myself over for a friendly pizza. He says yes. Don’t try to fuck him, I tell myself.

Just. Friends.

But I don’t have to try. Because dude is coming on strong. Like the charming sexy P from the beginning (223/?)
The sexual tension is palpable. I can barely breathe and he’s barely touched me. We’re just sitting on the sofa and giving me the look.

Finally he smirks and says “what should we do to break the tension?”(224/?)
My god I want to fuck him so badly. To kiss, feel his hands all over me. His mouth. Fuck.

He’s still the perfect gentleman. “Would you like to have sex tonight?” He asks.

“Yes,” I breathe, blushing like a damn idiot. God damn him. (225/?)
“Okay. Do you want to go into the bedroom together?”

“I don’t know” I say. (226/?)
I don’t want to be your FWB, P. I tell him. And I know I won’t regret this in the morning. But I don’t want you to. I think we should sleep on it.

We still end up making out on the sofa, with me on his lap. It’s hot as it ever had been. Everything I had missed (227/?)
From the early days of the affair.

But I have one question before I leave. (228/?)
I know his lease is up in 10 weeks. He had been talking about not knowing if he was going to renew or move.

“Are you thinking about moving back in with [ex wife]?”

Him: well we decided we wouldn’t want to be just roommates

I was drunk off of horniness. I didn’t realize what he said.

I woke up the next day, so excited to be in his arms again. No text.

Finally I texted him “listen I thought about it and yes I want to come over and have sex and spend the night.” (230/?)
“I’m actually in the middle of some stuff. A lot to do today.”


“I think we should talk about this. Can I come over?”

“I think a call would be better.”

We get on the phone. He was all business. He’s busy. He needs more time. (231/?)
“P, I don’t want this to end. I think there’s good stuff here.”

“I don’t want to lead you on anymore. I’m sorry.”

I wish I could say I gave him the old fuck you and moved on immediately. But that wouldn’t be true. (232/?)
I took me a long time to get over this one. And truth be told I’m not all the way there yet. I still get pangs in my heart. Stupid whore, me.

We kept in contact through email and text. He apologized for “not communicating better”. I was flirty and light. (233/?)
Finally I just couldn’t anymore. I finally texted him and asked him to call me.

“Listen,” I said “when you told me you needed time I didn’t realize that you were breaking up with me while trying not to hurt me. I just didn’t want to believe it because I fell (234/?)
Hard in love with you. I’m going to bow out and not reach out anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t want to lead you on.”

You already did I though. But I just said “I know.”

P was always one to try to lighten the mood. He changed the talk to light chat (235/?)
After a couple minutes I asked him if what he decided to do about his lease. Are you renewing or moving?

Long pause. He answers quietly “I haven’t decided yet.”

What a guy. Trying to spare my feelings til the very end. (236/?)
“Hey, [real name],” he says, “take care of yourself, okay? I guess I’ll see you around.”

No. No, you won’t, P.

(237/237 END)
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