A Note From The Writer

Welcome to the archived blog posts (when I was a wee blogger, wet behind the ears and not aware of spell check and various other gramatical structures!) I have kept the writings unedited or reworked as I am in the process of doing a massive rewrite of my entire life, many posts I have yet to publish and this blog was merely writing practise for the massive job of sorting out my emotions whilst retelling the story as cuttingly real and dramatic as the real memory was.. some of the posts contained are raw, streaming emotion.. many posts although painful to write, had a tremendously cathartic effect - cheaper than therapy one would say. I welcome new and old readers to keep in touch via my author email (sensualexplorersatHotmaildotcom) if you have any questions or wish to share the feelings and emotions raised by my work.
I will announce the publish date and title whenever it happens and I have been clean now for three years. It is possible.
But it is never easy. It's a lifelong journey, I will always be an addict, but I must stay one step ahead of myself and protect all that can be ruined in the eternal struggle to be
at ease once again, comfortable in this skin.
Thank you for being a part of my story.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Night Vision

Tonight BF and I went to the theatre and saw opening night of a small show that is doing a national tour. I haven't really mentioned that the BF is actually quite well known in media circles and I always seem to feel oddly inept at these functions that the glitterati attend , for fear of being recognised as a fake or imposter. But together, we luxuriate on the very borders of the limelight, enjoying the benefits of privledge yet not indebted to it. It is fun and happy times.

But these socialites live for this stuff. Celebrity and Has Beens and Who Will Be's.
Not that is announced with a spotlight " hangeronerer please attend". No I dont want that kind of recognition. I think one of the most "candid camera" moments was when I attended a charity christmas benefit and I realised I had given the very "married" santa a hot candle wax massage with the happy ending. Jingle Balls!

Have to go now.. its late ( I havent forgotten to finish the story - just have to stop all these functions - just doing my bit for high society or so they think ;) )

When the theatre darkens and the orchestras first notes sift up to the balcony, I look down on the punters below and I think how did I get here ?
I'm not fancy at all.
Then I just watch the show yet dare not to blink in case I fall.

Nighties Lovelies

Monday, August 30, 2004

That's The Name Of The Game

Evening everyone :)

I have had a few reciprocal links to HG and I am so grateful for the exposure just because I believe my blog will give hope en masse to otherwise jaded mysteries.

Tonight I am in quite a broody mood, The Cure is playing and the moon is full and looming.
One of my favorite songs is The Edge of The Deep Green Sea .
I think everyone has the fallen love hero and for me , he was a beautifully tragedy that burst into my life in a explosion of drama and energy and burnt out, just as hard.
I call him the Ex for the purposes of this blog.

The Ex was highly instrumental in the experimentation of heroin. Not that I have ever resisted encouragement. Still, I was niave. It pains me to admit that.
The Ex was eight years older than me and had burdens of his own. Black sheep meets Black Sheep. A union of dysfunctional proportions.
But the bond we had was the most intense cord that bound us, sometimes in moments of unparalelled bliss or alternating with moments of the deepest despair.
It was heroin that leaded me into the industry.
The fact that I liked the opiate rush, did not mean that I had a personality and integrity transplant, like so many people ( drug addicts mainly) depict in movies and the like.
To me, I was not going to beg, steal or borrow. The amounts needed to sustain the both of us was in excess of a thousand dollars a day.

I remember my first brush with 'The Game'.

The Streetwalker had been working the game for over a year. This game seemed to have harsh rules. Winter chill with bursts of pelting rain then in summer the hard relentless sunshine beating down upon her as she worked in a slick on constant sweat. Her face unaturally weatherbeaten. Streetwalker lived in the rickety shack with The Man & Small Boy too.

Small boy was adorable and highly intelligent, something I witnessed was common amoungst children whose mothers who were addicts or methadone patients.
I would sometimes baby-sit him whilst his mother "entertained" gentleman friends in her room. The room was a damp and acrid alcove with strategically placed sarongs and some candles for light. I remember the client would slink out the door to his BMW, discreetly parked down the side street. Streetwalker would come out with a fistful of money to buy her family dinner and to also buy the next morning’s heroin. Sometimes she would have to work sick and I would run out and score for her - so it was ready when he finally had his fill and left.

I decided on my own after watching how "easy" this was , I was an attractive girl and (also not a bad little actress ) that I would start to help her out on her jobs. I remember standing on the roadside, my heart beating and my face as white as a sheet. I kept expecting The Stepmother to drive past and connect eyes with me. Sick and desperate eyes. She would drive past later, but she did not look at me, she just looked through me and kept driving.

Within one minute a grubby looking yellow car pulled to the side of the road. I jumped in and tried to ignore the rubbish and hamburger wrappers swimming around my feet. The guy was medium build and fresh from work, in a sweat stained singlet and beady, searching eyes. He placed a pudgy hand on my leg and tried to slip it up higher. Instinctively, I took his hand and returned it to his own crotch

Dam the BF just said bedtime.. GRRR

Ok will do the rest tommorow.

Sweet Dreams

Sunday, August 29, 2004

Special Moments

Well the hangover has faded gradually much like the musk sunset outside the window.
The first hint of Spring is present , lacing the air with a hint of warmth and blossom.

Poignant Moments Since Being Clean

Taking my father to the football on Father's Day and his team winning by a point in the final thirty seconds. Feeling his wool jumper pressed into my cheek as we hugged at the same time.
Knowing that he is my dad. I still have one parent. I love you dad. X

Suprising StepMother with a house visit as we live (convienently) about a hours drive away.
Turns out , we suprised her and she was in the laundry sobbing after My Father left her. Crouched like a baby, howling and desperately sad.
He came back. I realised how fucked up parents are.

Ringing Close Friend and asking her to borrow her suit as I did not have any corporate clothes.
Knowing in the past that I had borrowed her shoes and trashed them, I felt awkward to say the least. As only real friends know, she did not hesitate. She would only give me her finest suit.
I remember she hung it in a private place so I could finger the fine fabric and take in the symbolic suit. With the suit was the trust in me that I could achieve anything I wanted to do, and my friends would be there in one way or another.

I got the job.

On detox with The BF , after days of endless sweats and pains and mood swings that I will never ever forget. Sweaty days of delirium and endless fear. I was sitting on the back steps and I knew , I just knew that I wasn't ever going to inject myself again.
I tipped the methodone bottle down the toilet .
That's how I knew. It was over.

Being on the dancefloor and looking down at my $250 dollar jeans , fancy shoes and much lusted coutre fashion then looking over to my best friends champagne toasting my six month anniversary. They are the million dollar girls.

Meeting the BF online.... asl ? and the rest is history
I love you with all of my heart , everyday you make me laugh and everytime you touch me I feel like I'm in love for the first time I ever saw you. I love how we are so competitive only because we know we have met our match. I love your romance. I love your caresses. I love your girlyness. I love your strength. You don't know it, but everyday I'm in the shower I pinch myself and grin like a dumb fool - you introduced me to not only your magic self - but love itself.

I have many more moments, but I am tired after a great night out with Little Sis.
Last night was just amazing. We are similar in ways that break my heart. We drink the same drinks and smirnoff black ice with a dash of lime , we dance the same moves ( although she does conceed I am the better dancer) We can be across a crowded room and just catch each other looking at each other. Like I found you. And we have again.

I drink in her youth and smile and savour it.
She told me last night , she is glad to have her sister back.
So am I.

Sleep well my lovelies

p.s link to this site if you are reading the more HG supporters the better !

Saturday, August 28, 2004

Smirking Girls

Ok feeling much better ! OoOLaLar !

HG is going out tonight which entails wearing some serious fashion and stillet's. ( stilletoes)
I just can't wait to dance.
I'm all spangled and ready to slink.

Sorry for getting all narky yesterday - It was purely politics and I'm over it. Enuf said.
I'm here for the underdog's though.
I'm not going to sell you out to all the image crap
I'm just HeroineGirl. Educated by The School Of Life.
We probably have a lot in common , and if that offends then go search the thesaurus for the savvier definition of " ignoramus"

My little sister is coming up tonight to escape The Stepmother, she drives everyone around the bend and down the street, and Little Sis and I are just starting to get to know each other, so I'm glad I can offer her some refuge.
A little intrepid at first, we are both making tentative steps towards forming a sisterhood, which gives me huge amounts of pride. Finally, I can be a good example to her. Whilst in the throes of my self-inflicted affliction I missed about seven years of her growing up, and that's how I believe I failed her the most, as she was always accepting of me, even when I was sick.
To me , it seems like only yesterday she was in a little sundress and cascades of babycurls, cheeks flushed with the onset of teething. Now, she is a woman.
Part of me , mourns not witnessing the transition and the shock sometimes is a bitter pill to swallow. She is 18 now , it's like I have been wind time forward in a blink of an eye, as I definately feel like I haven't matured half as much as she has. She is a young lady now.
But to me , she is always Lil Sis and for once I am actually playing the part of Big Sister.
Tonight is her first night at the discoes with me.

My Shout.

HG "keeping it real"

I think that even though I am mid twenties - a big chunk of my life

Friday, August 27, 2004

Bees In Bonnets

Hmm. I'm going to have a little nana nap for now as I'm extremely cross.
Cross at myself for thinking that snobbery does not exist.
For the record, I do NOT think being a WG for a shoe habit is the same as doing it to furnish a drug addiction. I have seen both sides to the coin and can assure you. It's hell on one side and a different challenge on the other.

Each to their own.
Who am I to judge.

Grumpy Pants HG

Take It From Wherever to Wherever You Are

Morning. Second day not at work ! Omg the faccarde of my corporate desire is falling away to reveal a pyjama clad, coffee sipping truant/blogger. BF is not impressed. Ex-cellent.
Not that I know what I'm doing ! All I know is I want to write for a living and I want to not work in an office of a multinational company. It's doing my head in.

Stop whinging though, I know. A big part of me is going through reams and reams of "supposedly inappropriate" avenues for revenues, that would allow me to write.
*exchange knowing looks here* I mean how many times have I heard this...

"You know it's just not part of reality that you earn that much money, you have to put a price on your diginity - sweetheart."
" So what exactly do you do (insert probing laser stare) and don't you feel dirty about touching Those Men and letting them put thier hands all over YOU (insert distasteful grimace here)

That's how I got into The Skyscraper where I toil/work. It has been so agonising. Sometimes I just feel like I'm there for the BF, The Stepmother and The Future. But not for the HeroineGirl.
How can I ever make it to be the Heroine of the story if I have " writers block" ie: no time and energy and inspiration to write. It's been seven months since I finished up in the sex industry.
In the meantime I have always felt that I am trying to prove I can fit into the society "mould".

So yes I went back to it after I quit the drugs. I was on a point to prove as the money was still good and I saved alot more the second time around.

But I also spent alot of time on The Internet - doom doom DOM ! I said I would write and I didn't. ( Sheepish face ) What can I say, my mainline is online. But this time will be different cos I just HAVE to do this. I also attempted to start a study-at-home course *looks guiltily at the dusty textbooks propping up my monitor. *blush*

I met the BF online , so he dismiss the whole "internet addiction" thing. He thinks I am addicted to the internet * Duun Duun Daaaa!* No, I'm just obsessed with creativity.
To his credit, he is very supportive of my dreams, why it was only four weeks after I met him that he flawlessly helped me detox. It was not pretty and I'm still amazed we did it. A wonderful story ( I will cover later in the story)

He wanted to be called WK in this blog. I'm like No One will get that.
And besides - you can't choose your own Blog-anon. It's just not cricket.
Besides , WK seems a bit like wanker - lol.
WK is White Knight, which yes he is - but you don't tell them that.
Ok well sometimes.

I'm going to shower and pretty myself up ! Must do my bit for hygiene.
The BF just purchased a home entertainment package and set it up for me to watch my movie today. I can't wait to hear the SuRrOuND SoUnD. Car doors slamming right near my ears and sirens all over the shop! It's the simple things in life that really are the best.
Like movies and butter popcorn and a day off work, leading into a weekend.
Then some praline chocolate.


Ok be back soon, you go fix a snack and I will meet you back in 20 ?


Thursday, August 26, 2004

In the Company Of Stangers

Hello lovelies !

Omgosh. I have just been weblogging safari and I am totally humbled.
The talent is extraordinary. Welcome to any new visitors, hope I don't dissapoint.
I think I might find out how to add a link bar so everyone can discover the talent.
Somehow though, I suspect I am the last one to catch on !

Ha ! Latebloomers, flatchested and pimpled that's me !

*Little bit later*

I'm so nervous to tell my escort stories, some of them are SO *searches for a word* Bad!
(That was so not it) I have NEVER spoken about it. Fancy That !
Ok well seeing I have some new visitors to celebrate I will tell one little bit.

The NappyMan

Knock. Knock. A soft tapping at the door. I knew it was him. Clients either knock uncertain or way too loud.

I answer the door after a few tasteful minutes and saw Mr. Nappy looking decidedly sheepish. His hulking figure taking up the entire doorway.
Mr Nappy was a weightlifter with a tanned broad frame and peroxide permed hair. A cross between Hulk Hogan & Jenna Jemmison. Definitely not my type. I usher him inside impatiently. I make sure no one saw him enter, as he would be one of many visitors that day.

I also wanted to get people in and out as soon as I could, not only out of sheer embarrassment that I would entertain such weird looking people, but it was harder for them to leave then. Once they where inside I would smooth talk them out of at least a hundred dollars or so. It was like taking candy from a baby. I was the baby though.

I eyed Mr Nappie's plastic bag suspiciously. I always found, the ones who prepared for their fantasy, quite anxious and frustated with any lapse in the fantasy.
Every prop, meticulously chosen, every movement carefully planned. Normally, they would bring a sports bag. This would contain whips, restraints, some porn, any special props (in Mr Nappies case he bought wet wipes, rattle and pacifier) and a fresh change of clothes and their wallet (of course)
I have a bent sense of humor and through all the pain of being a junkie and humiliation of what I had to do - in order to support my habit, sometimes a fantasy world was a release for me too.
So thats how I ended up doing play acting . I do not claim to be a professional mistress!

Now I know there are Mistresses that do this for a living and do it well. I, myself have been known to enjoy the submissive pleasures of servitude. But, I never claim to know what I was doing, I was a spank- by- the-seat of my pants kinda girl. I always believe , if you dont know what your doing, be brave and pretend you do - no one can tell the difference.

I remember, as I was trying to slip this sheet-like nappy over this grown man's hulking ass, I started to laugh hysterically at the mental picture in my head. He started to sigh and wish he picked a better mummy. Oh well! I smacked him and popped the pacifier in his mouth. Too easy. He did build the belief of the role play, by going "goo-goo gah -gah" every five seconds; I mean he was old enough to be my father!

It was always easier to explain to The Ex that it wasn't sex. It was just some dude with a fetish to put pegs on his willy or watch me pee my pants ( few a few hundred dollars). It wasn't as demoralising - was it ? And hey, we would stop using and I could go back to Uni , everything would be OK - just wait and see.

Even though it had been two years "waiting and seeing since" we had sex. This no longer worried me. We clung to each other all through the night. In three years we spent not one night apart. But we always woke to the nightmare. Like most couples we had little soothing rituals to help us sleep. The Ex would stroke my hair until I would finally fall asleep, sore and emotional. In this, I knew I was loved. In this, I knew I wasn’t alone. I would rub his back gently, and tell him how lucky we where to have each other. We knew each other implicitly. The only time a junkie feels normal is when he or she is sleeping, the rest of the time they are doing something towards getting high. Every breathing moment was seemingly affected. Except those moments. Those ones before you drift off to slumber land. When you hear the soft, dreamy voice of your loved one. Dreaming out aloud, of a time where needles wouldn’t play a part, when couples can be normal couples again and dreams of university, family and friends.

Laying down on top of him , we would stare at the glow star speckled ceiling.
I could feel tears slide down my cheek, and felt the spreading patches of wet on The Ex's shirt and all I could make out was deep muted reassurances for us, my head resting upon his beating, determined heart, as mine broke to a thousand pieces.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.

I have never been afraid. I have never been judgemental.
But I have been afraid of being judgemental.

I first started to experiment with drugs when I was seventeen.
Granted, I had left home at seventeen - but the drugs and experimentation was not consequential of this.
Should I start with why I left home?
Yes, why not ?

I left home because I had to. Even as a child , very small and afraid, I would count down the days until I could leave that horrible house. It reeked of sadness and frustration. It still does, but it doesn't own me the way it does when your a child. When you just want everything to be perfect or at least a chance to be. Just a chance. Some kids never had one.

It seemed like my childhood was an endless prison sentence, my stepmother a looming menace in my life clutching keys to my vanished peace of mind.
My homelife confronts me, when I gaze like a foreigner, upon albums of Birthdays, Christmas and other Special days, it seems on the surface the same as anyone else's. Why couldn't it be ?
I am not smiling in the photos. I look like my heart is already broken. I look tough.
Unfortunately, I was a very good liar.

My birth mother and I were separated when I was six. She simply dropped me at school and told me she would never see me again. Unfortunately, this was the one promise she would ever manage to keep. It was a sad day and an important one. I remember staring so hard at the horizon, daring not to blink and the car wavered on the heatline and then disapeared forever.
In my heart of hearts, I knew I would not see her again. And I haven't. She wrote a few times and I fell asleep with the tear stained letters grasped in my tiny hands, it was all I had.
Then she stopped writing - but I never stoped loving.

My mother did not get custody of me when my Father remarried , for a few reasons, some of them I know, some I have never been told or explained. Family versions of Urban Legends, hurtful things that get whispered as a child, when they think you are not listening.
But you hear. And you wonder. Things that are said over the dinner table to other adults.
Drug Addict. Didn't want her. Court Custody Lost. Like headlines in some horrible story that you can't believe is becoming your life. Strangers became stayers in my life. My father remarried and his new wife brought a son. He ended touching me in ways that I later learnt was not the way brothers behave. Things happen though and I am not searching for sympathy. Certainly not from strangers.
I only search for answers.

In my mind (as is common with childhood memories) my mother is an angel, she is larger than life. Warm and embracing. My Mother's image is sunlit from behind, the sun weaving golden threads through her blonde hair, motes swimming drunkedly in the sunset , swarming like a halo. She is smiling and her arms are outstretched to me. She is wearing a light cotton dress and she smells like comfort. Her eyes - my eyes - are shining with health and pride. I just remember those outstretched arms. How sad I don't remember how it felt there.

Its wierd to summarise such a huge impact on my person in one paragraph , I promise we will go back there in time, I just want to make progress in the illustration of how I became the heroine of this story. Well I guess it is not a story, it is my life. ( That made me smile )

I dont remember much of my childhood , except it lagged and hurt me alot. I think my stepmother would be hurt to read such things, but I confronted her last Mother's Day.

I spoke confrontingly , blurting it out in the supermarket carpark .....
She looked down at her shoes as if they could validate her existance. She could not face me directly.

"Why did you treat me so bad?" I said almost crying, but on that edge of anger that you get so that you can't. Just teetering, and thats how it is for most daughters who don't get on with The Stepmother's.
" I was a good child, so full of love - TELL ME I WAS GOOD ENOUGH ! " I waited, dubious she would satisfy the huge chasm of unrequited love I had.

I felt five again, on the steps of the new house where I met The Stepmother for the first time. I was scared, nervous and very keen to please as only a child can be. I remember her eyes, summing me up. I remember her hands , washing my hair and my sins.

She spoke , suddenly looking very tired and haunted by things beyond the muddy brown of her eyes, her own selfish misery lurking within.

" You were. You dont know how many times I have regretted how we treated you, it makes me ashamed as I love you , like a daughter now" She starts to cry, just lightly. Nothing like tears I have cried, or kept inside. Just muffled, like a whimper without reason.

I become uncomfortable, its like aloe on sunburn , a slight comfort but still leaves you sticky and stinging later on.
What more could I ask ? Plenty. What more could she give.
Nothing. As a mother she was spent. She would have to fight to be my friend.

Not that I am difficult. I am not and never will be. I am an open book. I'm an open embrace, a wide smile and a beckoning gesture. Stepmother and I are working on adult friendship now.
As for Stepbrother, he will get his just desserts. Revenge is a dish best served cold. And it's only lately there has been a change in the weather.

So by now , people reading will notify the red flags and neatly presume this is why I became a drug addicted WG. I cannot say exactly for a moment if any of my childhood did not entice me to do heroin, I think in many ways I just wanted to try it and then I got addicted.
I conceed that perhaps better education of drug use as a child could of benefited me the luxury of knowing the consequences of choosing this direction. But I made it to the end.
Well it's definately not over. It is only the beggining. I want to help people that have been in one or many of the vast situations I have been in. From the gutter to the stars.
Thats where I am headed.

One blog at a time.

Love HG X

Lemonade & Strawberries

Morning. Well afternoon. I am taking a sick day ( at my own expense I might add) as I have finally fallen prey to the abomination known as the common cold.
Just what my temper needed.
To be fumbling around for a itchy lipstick blotted tissue - whilst an attractive stream of transculent watersnot elegantly streams down my face. Charmed - I'm sure . The commuters are pretending not to notice, but how could you not it was just amazing it a totally gross way.

Moving past body fluids of one kind and moving onto and into another , BF mentioned today I had seemingly lost my mojo. I think the words "two months" and " you have seem to of lost interest" were muttered in The Doctors Surgery in the SAME sentence. He may as well of sealed up my vagina with masking tape and marked it "Winter Clothes".
You know , there is a time in every mid twenties girls life when its just OK to be tired. Well it should be ok. To be trademarkedly confusing, I often like to go to bed wearing these but that's only before sex, normally after that I get into these. So if I start off the night wearing the latter, it's normally fair indication I just want to drift off in a nice spoon position. Not the fork postion. ( Sharp Prong in the middle).

I haven't really begun to promote this blog yet as I was perfecting every post, going back and trying to get rid of things that sounded pretentious and gitlike and basically proofing over for spelling errors. I'm about to link up with some sites - If they will let HG to do that of course.
I had one feedback, so I'm possibly not just talking to myself anymore. Horray for sanity.

At the moment, I am unsure how to divide my past into my present. Everyday is an adventure and I want to share but in order for you to fully understand the dailies I perhaps should start from the begginning and race full speed. I think in about three weeks we should have it done.

Let's get started shall we.. Let me pop on a record. Splendid.

Monday, August 23, 2004

I Pay You One Dollar To Make U Holler

Im listening to Wild Thing, you know the one by Tone Loc that makes you bodyroll like some kind of salt n pepa throwback * bodyroll *

BF just did the stomp ( dance move invented by bobby brown) down the hallway - it's official - dagginess is catching.

Who am I talking to ? It's like when you record yourself singing and you have to say test one two, not sure why but it always sounds so ridiculous. That's how I feel when I address myself in this log. Here goes nothing.

My lastest post was a little bit of light shedding. I mean, I dont wont to bog you down with the contradiction that is the Princess Excess experience.

Picture the idea of a plant.

I have come from a seedy place of stale sweat and frustration, blossomed onto the colourful palette of mishap and adventure, softened the ground of sober intrepidation with an ocean of tears, and probably making a fresh start from this deep earth.

But its the small shoots of hope that I intend to nuture here. My first attempts to record the whole journey whilst I stay green and healthy, blowing in the warm breeze of recollection, not torn in a cold icy wind that blows from unknown places - yet ruins all the same.

So my log is like my potplant , you the soil and I the seed.

May we grow together.

When people ask about what happened " that time ago" they seem morbidly fascinated. They know it is rude to ask, it is not unlike driving past a ar accident and ogling the bloody and exposed victims. They just want to know what happened.

So do I sometimes . But i cant supersize it into a lunchbreak conversation, I cant email you my story, I cannot tell you before we drift off to sleep. I just can't begin something I don't know how to stop.

I think when people say I was addicted to drugs and then name heroin , people go ashen.
Then when you further add that you were an escort, interest piques. There are so many angles and mental pictures people draw. Not all of them are educated !

So here we are , filling in the blanks. Growing Up.

I was inspired to write my log since happening across Belle De Jour's fabulous log. A wonderful delicate flower and I draw some similarities. Thank you for your inspiration and courage.

However yet different as people are.

I am not an escort anymore. I'm not bitter about my past. I don't blame anyone for my drug habit. I didnt't beg , steal and I tried to lie minimally. Coping mechanisms die hard.
I dont hate men. I adore life. I'm not and have never been lonely. I'm not a battler. I am an experience I suppose. I am just a girl trying to find her way in the wide world.

It's a choice some girls can make easier than others.
It is not who you are, just what you can be at that moment.
Is it an art ? The rewiring of emotional connection ( note i do not say disconnection) and the servitude of physical intimacy - all the while managing the money and implications of it , of one of the highest paid occupations in the free world. And you do this without a Harvard Degree ? Ok well some of us do have degrees ;)
I don't think the oldest profession has a workplace health and safety workbook or a code of ethics that is universal.
Its more common sense. And a tonne of luck.

I think the subject of professional escort accompanies "political bitching" about some escorts threatening the industry due to drug abuse and associated unsafe conduct.
I do conceed there are health issues with drug abuse and the laxness of some WG who give the industry a bad name. But let's not generalise. I also have a very important story, where education is key. I'm not here to defend prostitution. This institution of money will buy anything a man wants , is bigger than me and you, and definately bigger than this blog.
Supply and Demand are my two evil stepsisters.

If we blacklist these drug-disabled escorts and not talk about a large percentage of girls who actually do this, if we keep them in the dark , pretend to not to notice they exist - are we doing any better for society than they are?

And if you dare think - this may not effect you.
Dare think twice. With few exception to my experience, A Man can be easily tamed for the quick thrill of buying with common money, the thoughts he rarely has in reality. Wrap it in a clean, willing and discreet package and come for a swim in the endless worldwide stream that is prostitution. A endless flow of money, time and sexuality all in bountiful supply.

I should forwarn that this log is not for the fainthearted. It will challenge your beliefs, make you laugh, cry, think and think deeper. And for the record. I am very, very real.
I completed high school and attended university. I am mid twenties. Not jaded.
I have a "normal" ( scratch that - what the fuck is a normal family *)
I have always have large amounts of friends and positive outlook.
Heroin does not discriminate.

Join me on this journey and feel free to ask me anything you wish to know about me or anything I have wrote.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Cherry Popper

Finally I have arrived - and I have NO idea what I'm doing !
The whole blogaramarama trend is supposedly dead.
That's ok - I'm the quintessential late bloomer.

Perhaps this disclaimer should have been the first thing I wrote ( to cover myself)

I mean to be fair, I'm quite articulate and bluntly honest and known to be quite the entertainer.
I just dont want to come off concieted or self absorbed - and most of all I want to be brilliant.
My spelling is mediocre and my punctuation utterly dissapointing. But I will try, just not too hard as that is quite ordinary.

But first things first.

For my role as Heroinegirl ( spelling is deliberate) that is all you will know about me, the blogger. It is my story that is of meaning , not my petty particulares'.
I just made that word up.

I know I will get mixed feedback, but I look forward to it all. You can do comments or email

Yippee ! My first link..I'm well on my way to bloggdom!

First things ..Im female and fully functioning. I'm also mid twenties. Hot.

Just joking. I was merely seeing if you were paying attention.

I'm not quite gorgeous yet not bung ugly, once drunkenly decribed as extremely sexy in nature but also a huge dork. Hmm.
Like most mid twenties girls, I obessess about lines around the eyes, whether I have found The One, when am I ever going to go overseas and whether renting for the rest of my life is a dim reality. That's for about twenty minutes total a day. The rest I think quite different. I am planning to write my auto-biography so I time travel to a time in my life that my story unfolds. Part of the plan is to blog these times and get regular writing habits.

Back to Me!

I'm the kind of girl that walks to work from the train station with headphones on and dances at the traffic lights, to tunes on the radio. Commuters often are listening to the same tunes and smile appreciatively - which makes us both smile.

I'm the kind of girl that works in a corporate salt mine of overworked and underappreciated "Jane-Does-It-Mediocre"s and "Jim Do-You-Know-Who-I-Was". I'm not saying I'm better than that. To some people that is reliable, comfortable and easy. I do not aim to be a "team senior task coach", second In charge. They get a few extra G's and bowel cancer at 50.

To me though - and it is my blog afterall - I sit infront of my ' Dell of Despair" prattling onto customers with ambigious multinational spin and just on the periphal rim of my glazed expression, I see Her. She floats with outstanding patience outside my window at my desk. Seems odd I know, especially as she never stops smiling flashing bright white teeth that actually sparkle like Van Cleef's. A vision, not unlike Supergirl in Victoria Secret , beckoning to me with a finely manicured hand. I explode through the chrome and plaster walls of the massive scryscraper and fly away holding hands. Through the gaping hole I leave in the side of the building , thousands of unfinished emails and urgent corporate confetti flutter onto the streets below ( as well as a handful of annoying collegues who are sucked out) our shadows bounce from cloud to cloud . And everyone would be shocked , mouths agape as we fly off ..

Snap! Did I mention I daydream.

Im the kind of girl who cries at television advertisements , cries over reality television stuff, cries over anything actually. But I can also be very tough, lasting though a lot of personal tragedies and adversities. All covered later. All in time.

I like anything frilly, pink and good qualilty.
I adore cheese.
All kinds.

Just not pink cheese with frills.

I adore sillyness and cherish humour.
Must be funny or have a sense of humour to get "me". I often get the inital "your a wierdo" but then when people see I actually do have a brain, it's loaded and I'm not afraid to use it -
well then things get fun. People are so frightened to be passionate , but not me - I approach things in technicolour and tap-dancing. Speaking of music...

I love to sing aloud and I love how when your with your girlfriend, driving in a car, you both simulanteously start singing at the same time - in the best parts ;) And dont you sound good!

I'm the kind of girl that dislikes silent treatments/mind games, poorly presented meals, overpriced singlets ( think von dutch) rude hand gestures when you honestly didnt mean to cut off, trip over, step on, spill over, run from said gesturing person. Im clumsy so this happens a lot. Pettiness. Not being staunch. Public Toilets and hearing women fart, and them hearing me whizz - I dont fart (LOL) Oh and let's not forget people that are too cool for school.
School was cool , dickheads.

I love scary rides and I love to let my hands go and feel the stomach touch the tonsils. Whoopee.Im the kind of girl who you would not think had a drug problem. But I did.
I have been clean for 2 years. I did it without rehab, shock therapy, incarceration.
I just did it. I will tell you how and why and when. Time will show.

Im the kind of girl who is ok with that and its not all of me, who I am and who I can ever be. Im the kind of girl that did things to survive that could give me nightmares but my hope is that those dark days are over, and that the light I bring to others will always guide my way.
I think that without showing you the darkness, you cannot fully feel the strength behind the sun.

XIts late. Pay no attention to the times.
They are wrong.
I dont know how to fix them yet.
I will finish talking about me tommorow.
All rather exciting.

Sleep well Lovelies