I knew I was Meant for Sex Work the Moment I Had Sex

Fri, 01/29/2010 - 08:40
Submitted by Anonymous

My name is Charlie. I am a professional ebony courtesan. I share my story with you as it unfolds.

isn't anything more frighteningly revealing as placing a price on your
body and your time. I've struggled with this for a week. After the rush
of clients in and out the door, the "shiny box syndrome" (I was able to
fulfill rent with enough left over in one week) has worn off. The bed
hasn't been made in days and I'm polishing off my Smoking Loon alone.
During this hopefully temporary lull, I aim to reinvent myself. I aim
to become a Courtesan Ernesto, an honest Courtesan.

won't bore you with details about preparing for a client's arrival. I
won't talk about the supposed "loneliness" that comes with this line of
work. Quite frankly, if you like to fuck as much as I do, and pursue
this venture often, then you already know the story and know it well.
Preparing for a client is literally preparing for a hot date that you
want to impress. You pull out all the stops; you buy your best
lingerie. You make sure you're at your personal best. There's a rush of
anticipation, the anxiety of considering if this one's a Ted Bundy in
the making, and the wetness that develops at the thought of what could
happen. The bad and the good, all wrapped into a mindfuck that makes my
line of work the ultimate fantasy for me. I'm constantly excited.

when there is no one knocking at my door, it's a disappointment. No, it
sucks. Like a swimmer without a pool to swim in, a jogger without road
to tread on. I can have sex just about anywhere but it becomes a sport.
I need to play with someone; this is part of the thrill. Of course,
masturbation helps very much. So, I end up doing this once or twice
throughout the day to take the edge off. Then, I light some incense and
consider my frantic state. All of my boys are back in their houses,
living their lives all on their own. And, I'm made to wait. Because I
am their fantasy. Everything they want but can't have... so they must
pay. Fine by me. Even a walking, talking fantasy must earn her keep.

knew I was meant for sex work the moment I had sex. It was obvious. I
hated to work. No job would keep me for more than six months. A
boyfriend? Pfft. I could only keep them around for three. I either
wanted all or nothing. I expected more than what they could provide. It
was always disastrous. I loved the freedom of loving and living on my
own terms. My mother was a woman who sacrificed her own happiness for
me; she wanted me to know that everything and anything is possible,
including the opportunity to control my destiny. And now, I pay my
reverence to her by taking up the most discriminated, offensive,
morally reprehensible line of work that I could find (for a woman), one
that I must hide from her to some degree. This entire tragicomedy is
just waiting to explode. Mama, I found my calling... I want to be an instrument of sexual and sensual pleasure.

I recently found myself in a place of financial security, enough to pursue what I'm really meant to do. But, I had no name for it. Prostitute, like pornography, is a labeled steeped in obscenity. It's meant to be; it's how you know what I'm doing is wrong (and what you're not doing is right). Escort. Fine. I'll be an... escort. But, what does this mean? Well, the definition of it was vague so I had to make up the rules as I went along. I charged by the hour, at first. 250/hour. Six clients a week at least. One a day. That was the goal. But, my look... I'm black but have yellow-brown skin. My entire manner is unlike other women advertising on the internet. Quite frankly, I'm a whore but I don't flaunt it. It's rather distasteful and never fares well. No, I wanted to attract men who were aroused by what I would not show, what they would have to pay to see. So, I took pin-up pictures as a testament to the old school Norma Jean appearance, all smiles and sensuality. All-American and sexy in a way that isn't easy to pin down. Good. If it can't be easily defined, then it means the client will be curious enough to pursue it. I dyed my hair blonde to further distance myself from my competition. I created a fantasy world in Cyberspace, an online opiate den in which my eyes are in a post-coital daze and my words are like big puffy clouds exhaling from my mouth.

My very first client arrived at the door with a bottle of sweet champagne and pink lingerie from La Perla. It was the New Year and he wanted to celebrate. He offered me fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate. And, from that moment I knew that this would be a very strange and very incredible journey. I dare not exaggerate.

Will tell you more but I'm feeling restless at the moment. Preparing to have a snooze..

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Amazing! Please write more.

Sat, 01/30/2010 - 01:13
jadoreobscurite (not verified)

Amazing! Please write more.

ooh can't wait to read more!

Sat, 01/30/2010 - 03:00
jexhibitionism (not verified)

ooh can't wait to read more! I've always been interested in sex work. but as far as I know I wouldn't be making too much catering only to other women haha