everyone do this
I’m neurotic. I’m so neurotic its sometimes ridiculous. I want to think I’m beautifully neurotic, but I don’t think that’s true. I’m simply neurotic, and one of these days the neurosis will turn me into a flat out crazy girl.
Sometimes I can see myself throwing things, breaking glass, and destroying everything beautiful around me. Eventually I know I’ll collapse and be that crazy girl rocking in the corner trying to escape the voices.
This all sounds very sad and depressing, but its really not. I mean, it is, but I know its part of my future and past, and I’m ok with it. Crazy people are among the most successful and creative.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and sadly have not come to many conclusions. But, its the journey is the best part right?
Laying on my living room floor the other night (I took a nap there because it was warmer than my room), I had the bizarre thought that I was content. Not completely happy, mind you, but content.
I’m enjoying this slower paced lifestyle filled with sex in swanky hotels and apartments. Its not a forever content, but the content where you know you’re doing the best you can in the given situation, and don’t regret it.
The past month I’ve been trying to get the Kid to understand that we are not poor anymore, that we can put food (sufficient and quality food) on the table consistently, and that we won’t have to share small kid’s drinks (gasp!). We don’t have to scour the kitchen for hippy-dippy-tastes-like-paper crackers, and we can spend the extra dollar to eat brand name cereal.
While I don’t tell him exactly what I make, I tell him not to worry about the necessities, and that the necessities are going to be of quality. I don’t want him to scratch his way up; he deserves much more than that.
I think he’s finally understanding what I tell him, and he said to me the other day, “Please don’t let us be poor again.”
No, no kid, we will not be poor again. Never. I swear to you, you will never have to worry about that again.
(Its like the scene in Gone With the Wind when Scarlett swears she will never go hungry again, right before intermission. I knew I was Scarlet in a past life!)
The rest of my thoughts have been more personal, and (surprise surprise) related to my personal life. A recent conversation with a new friend, henceforth known as the Director, made me question why personal sex is unfullfilling.
I don’t exactly have the answer, but I’m not worried. I know I can have romantic feels for boys, and it is possible to keep my interest for more than a week, its just rare. Whenever I’ve have those feelings for boys, they have broken my heart until I’m a miserable mess. It doesn’t help that my first boyfriend was mentally (and simewyst physically) abusive.
Yes I’m a cliche. And yes, I have daddy issues, in case you were wondering.
But that’s not it, that’s not the reason I protect myself and my personal sexuality so much. Some part of me is a romantic and wants to believe in true love. Some part of me wants personal sex to be with someone I’m truly in love with, and not someone I could possibly fall in love with. Some big part of me wants to wait for the right person.
Confused yet? I sure as hell am.
Now, dear Director, do you understand a bit more? A year ago I would have fantasized about you asking me out, and doing naughty things with you in naughty places. We do have some sort of a connection.
But the past year has taught me that…
A) if its meant to be it will happen
B) it needs to happen slowly and naturally because I am damaged beyond repair
C) its no fun waiting for something that may or may not come to be
D) sex is so much better when the indescribable chemistry hits you over the head
Today, and for the time being, I’m going to let things happen as they may, and wait (patiently) for that indescribable chemistry to hit me over the head, whether is happens over time or within seconds.
11.11.11 today. Shouldn’t I make a wish? What could I wish for? What do I want?
Well that’s a lie. I want Sunshine to not be easily upset. I want to find someone to keep my interest. I want the Kid to be ok. I want my father to understand. I want my mother to be successful. I want to know what I’m repressing.
But those are all things I can’t do anything about. And if if those things hadn’t have happened, or people were how they were, I wouldn’t be how I am.
And I love myself.
Despite the fact that I’m a ridiculously pathetic stereotype, I’m happy. I enjoy why I do, don’t have insolvable issues, and have the Kid to keep me straight.
It did occur to me, last night however, that civilian sex is just not quite for me. I have to have a very good reason to fuck, and “because I’m bored” just is not a good enough reason.
Sunshine and I had an adventure last night. It ended with him mad at me, but until then it was quite fun.
We found a bi guy to fool around with, and yes, he was actually bi. I just wanted am orgasm via oral (which I never got), and the guy attempted sex sans condom.
Anyways, after my horniness plateaued and I knew I wasn’t going to orgasm, it occurred to me that he didn’t care. The guy had no care in the world for us, none at all. It was almost like he was just going through the motions. Just like a washed up hooker.
We didn’t make eye contact, no kissing, no connection. Totally not worth it. His interest was almost as bad as my least favorite client.
It was odd. Maybe I expected romance and conversation? Maybe it was because it was a cheap hotel? Maybe because there was no white envelope?
No matter what the reason, I ended up making faces at Sunshine and wishing I was with a client.
At least then it would not have been just wasted time.
After we left, I went to the Firefighter’s, in hopes of salvaging my mood. Alas, I felt just as used as before.
Before last night, I felt fine, not used like a commodity at all. I felt like a whore with these normal guys, whereas I feel like a princess with clients.
Some little fucker from Ohio is texting that I will regret laughing with the sinners when I could end up praying with the saints. Oh what a hard choice to make…Apparently he is known to text many working girls. What fun!
Despite how it seems lately, I do quite enjoy escorting. And its not because of the money, its the whole package. Its the different way everyone goes about things, the stories they tell, the sex, and of course the money. But one without the others…wouldn’t be as fun.
Anyways, I’ve redone the way I work, and it is much more efficient and better for me in the long run. Its been nice.
I also took a week off in order to have sex, sex just for me. It was very good sex. A few bruises were left, a few new adventures to tell, and a cheap sugardaddy blown off in the process.
Divisadero was especially helpful that week. He is a perfectly acceptable guy, nothing wrong with him, but I only want to see him for sex. Great sexual chemistry (he hits so well), and as soon as it is over I’m happy as a clam.
Interesting how that works.
I do believe I have officially been blown off by the Fireman. We tentatively agreed to hang out a few days, and each day I never received a text from him. Yes, I did text him.
So he is out.
Which is fine, really. He was a great guy and I would have loved to pursue things with him, but I had a sneaking suspicion the other girl he was seeing was actually his girlfriend. And, he turned out to be a little tame for me.
Yes, I think I fit this quite well.
As far as work goes appointments have been particularly trying this week, and only half of them “real” appointments. I will admit it was rough, and my patience for the male species (even the ones I genuinely like) is fairly low.
The Fireman came over this morning, and yes, it was very rough, animalistic and hot…Many things fell off my bed, and my bed itself is in a different place. Afterwards, I fell asleep in his arms, but he had to leave far too soon. I didn’t feel satisfied.
Several work dates this week, not much sex, which was a rather pleasant surprise.
The first was quite enjoyable, Japanese food, not much leftovers but pleasant conversation. Turns out he works where a) where my ex’s old roommate works, and b) with a boy I went out with. They seem to be in the same departments…Best avoid work meetings with this one….
Second was a work date as well, and was considerably less enjoyable…He was very much into PDA (which I am vehemently against, at least when work is concerned), kept asking what turns me on, and tried to feel me up in the restaurant.
Sex is fun, and the world knows I am a sex addict, but I do not like talking about what turns me on, especially in public. Besides, it depends entirely on chemistry.
Third was with a client I’ve seen before. He and his cock are nice enough, but it was period week so no sex. I told him that, and that I wanted to be home early as well. He said it was fine, so went to dinner. It was a very nice Japanese restaurant, and pleasant conversation.
When we left it was already later than I wanted to be out, but he insisted on a blow job. Just kinda put his cock in front of my face.
Fine, whatever. I’ll blow you.
I cried through the blow job, and he didn’t notice a thing. Afterward he said it was great, what a connection we had. Uh huh.
He dropped me off at home and didn’t pay for my time or services.
The hardest part was going home, holding back the tears and anger so The Kid wouldn’t see.
He makes it worth it though, The Kid. He fell asleep in my bed that night, and was so adorable. I love him more than anything and will do anything to give him everything (and more) that I never had.
I feel like a doll. Different outfits, different personalities, different positions, different names. Its all a game, which is fun, until it isn’t. It isn’t when the other person (typically the client) gets too far into it, and thinks it’s more than there actually is.
It never is, but they insist their fantasy is reality, even when the night is over. When our time is over I do not want the goodbye to be drawn out, and I sure as hell do not want you to “stare into my eyes just a minute more.”
No. I want to go home and jump in bed. I want to resume my own life, where I am no one’s or fantasy.
I do not appreciate excessive texts or emails in between appointments. I do not want to spend my free time (like I have any) texting back and forth. The occasional hope-everything-is-well text conversation is great, but I do not want to talk all day.
And I sure as hell do not want to chat on the phone.
(Source: c0nvert, via thegirlwriteslife)