Wow. It’s been almost 2 years since I last posted.
I obviously decided not to write a book… yet. Maybe not ever. Who knows.
Around the time of my last post, I went into psychotherapy for some of the things that had led to me being in the position where I had to escort to pay the bills. As part of treatment for post traumatic stress disorder, I had to write everything down. Repeatedly. And read it outloud in twice a week therapy sessions. I did not have the energy to write. It was structured and my therapist didn’t take shit, so I couldn’t avoid addressing the painful details of all the trauma that happened, by escaping into writing about the good and funny and interesting parts of escorting; like clients who like the color aquamarine so much that their entire homes are decorated with aquamarine everything, including the lingerie he gave me.
Ironically, the shit that was most traumatic for me, ultimately, was for the things I experienced that are sadly most common: Abusive exboyfriends, parents more fucked up than I ever admitted to anyone, etc. The whole outing and being outed and escorting shit was just icing on the cake; but then again, I could have been in a car wreck or gotten pregnant or any number of things to complicate and make things worse. Escorting, being outed, was ultimately just a unique additional complication… and when I went back to it, an escape into a fantasy world of denial that life had ever really been that bad.
If I hadn’t saved up the money from escorting, I would not have been able to afford the luxury of not seriously working as I put myself thru such intense self improvement/therapy/help. I couldn’t have held even a part time job for sure! In January of 2012, my therapist told me what she’d put on my insurance papers as my diagnosis and the treatment plan that “cured” me, and told me that I didn’t need to come in anymore. If you’re seeking a therapist, I would recommend someone like this woman, who has experience treating troubled teenagers and those in extreme poverty. At first I had to convince her that I wasn’t racist and was sincere about wanting treatment, because what well dressed white chick goes to the border of the black ghetto to get psychotherapy in one of the nation’s most racist metros?
If you are an escort reading this, I don’t know what to say… Except that once you’ve quit escorting, the further in the past it gets, the less relevant it gets. I’ve been able to be fairly open amongst my friends, and even when word somehow got to my boss that I’d done it 2 years ago, it wasn’t a big deal. Ofcourse I denied everything, and the girl who I had made the mistake of revealing that to, had many reasons to be jealous of me. It is a pathetic double standard that having a pretend rich exboyfriend who bought you a car, is a much more socially acceptable and believable fable than any truths. I really don’t talk about it that much, anymore, except when I get drunk, or emotional about other things (and during the latter times of high stress, I fantasize about going back to escorting – it’s an escape from real life when you’re feeling hopeless).
For a while, there were some Backpage escorts across the street from the office I work at. I could tell, so could the guys in my office, that men using our parking lot and knocking on the door to that apartment over the bar, weren’t just going in to get their accounting done! The restaurant/building owner eventually figured out what they were doing and kicked them out, and it was kind of sad, because they kept watch on our back parking lot and their lower-middle-class clients never bothered anyone. A family with rowdy teenagers moved in afterwards, and one of my coworkers got his windshield cracked by a rock they threw, and female clients parking in back were not comfortable (with all the cat calling, and “hanging out” that bored 17 year old boys do). The family ultimately got kicked out after one of the boys threw a moped off the balcony, and now I think the current tenants are drug addicts (but don’t appear to deal them).
An ironic thing is that being friend requested by random guys who could be former clients on my mainstream facebook page has been much less creepy than being repeatedly contacted by my parents, who I have explicitly told not to contact me (at the advice of my therapist, and she was only the 3rd therapist I’ve seen since I was 16 who advised me to have nothing to do with them). I accept their friend requests and put them on my “restricted friends” list. The guys I saw were genuinely nice. I’ve forgotten their faces and names, so I can only guess and go with my gut vibe on how someone knows me or why they requested my connection on FB or LinkedIn.
In the past few months, my self portraits were shown in a large art show, and I know that former clients and escorts in town who knew me, recognized and made the connection. I even ran into one. All 3 nights, with 3 different guys. The first night, my fiancee asked why we’ve never gone out with her and her guy because they seemed like such a nice couple. The second night, with her second guy, the friends we were there with never guessed either. She was a coworker somewhere I used to work. The third night, a big final party, I was dressed so slutty that she didn’t even say hi to me.
I told her I’d give her a good solid fake job reference, and that my fiancee probably would too. We exchanged numbers. She was too busy to get together for lunch. I guess that maybe she does not realize how good it is, when you finally decide to quit escorting, to have someone to talk to, to tell your stories to, to give you validation in the tremendously large and less highly paid world of not-fucking-for-money… I would have gone insane if not for talking to my therapist, and talking the ears off of my fiancee and my close friends!
I am probably going to renew this domain name, because I’m that stubbron. I make no promises to write any more, though.